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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

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I find myself travelling back to you // Simon Basset

Request: Could you possibly write a Simon Basset fic where maybe the reader is like a childhood friend and he bumps into them and they talk and catch up with maybe some romance or something - anon

A/N: My first Simon fic! I am a little uncertain of this as I am not sure whether I have Simon’s character down yet. I hope you all like! Thank you for requesting, I hope I have done it justice.

Pairing: Simon Basset x Fem!Reader

Warnings: childhood friends, pining, mutual pining, fluff, some angst, she/her pronouns, female reader.

Word count: 3.8k

There was not a cloud in the sky as you made your way through Mayfair after having turned down a carriage. Instead, you chose to walk away the morning, happy to feel the warmth of the sun through the layers of your dress.

The streets had started out as quiet; a few souls here and there, but they soon grew busier and busier as routines were started. Dodging bodies here and there, you found it hard to be annoyed at the crowds – the weather too perfect for your mood to be sullied.

A flash of deep red amongst the crowd has your eyes and body on alert; the sound of a deep voice has your ears pricking. “Simon?” You call out, eyebrows furrowing as you spy a familiar head of hair making their way through the crowds.

“(Y/N)?” The man in question answers, eyes wide as he takes in your form.

“It’s been so long,” You whisper, staring into his brown eyes. “I suppose I should call you ‘Your Grace’ now. I was sorry to hear of the passing of your father,” You comment softly, not overly sorry for the death of the man who had mistreated his son so poorly but offering your condolences as a form of social etiquette.

Nodding his head, Simon smiles at you. “Thank you,” He gestures to the elderly lady on his arm, “I am sure you remember Lady Danbury.”

You smile widely at the elderly lady as she grins back at you. “Of course I do,” You laugh, “We meet at least once a week to have tea.”

If possible, Simon’s eyes grow wider to the point where Lady Danbury snorts. “Really now, Simon. Did you expect us ladies to go our separate ways when you left the country?”

“Of course not,” Simon drawls, amused by the elder. “I just didn’t realise you had a close relationship.”

“Well we do. That reminds me,” Lady Danbury pipes up, “I will not be able to make our tea appointment this week, dear (Y/N). My grandson, Gareth, is visiting.”

“Of course, Lady Danbury. We can always rearrange to the following week.”

“Nonsense,” She declares, slamming her cane onto the ground, “Simon will meet with you.”

Casting your gaze to the tall gentleman, it is not hard to miss to the surprise in his eyes. Shaking your head, you state, “I am sure the Duke has more pressing issues than tea with an old friend.”

Lady Danbury opens her mouth to protest your point but is beaten by the Duke. “I have nothing so pressing that cannot be rearranged. I shall meet you tomorrow, I assume Lady Danbury knows the spot.”

With a nod of your head, Simon smiles. He reaches out, grabbing your gloved hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “Until tomorrow then,” He promises, stepping away from you with Lady Danbury in tow.

“Until tomorrow,” You whisper, watching the strong figure of your childhood friend walk away from you.

Glancing up at the still cloudless sky, you wonder how it is possible that the world keeps spinning when your own has changed so much. Simon left the country years ago, and even then, contact with the man was few and far between. He had left for school and seemingly left you behind. The very fact that he was happy to have tea with you sent shockwaves through your body; not a word for so many years and then this out of the blue.

Now glaring at the sky, you wonder whether there wasn’t a larger game afoot. One that had you reuniting with the childhood love that had left you a bereft teenager; it had you hoping you would not be left a heartbroken adult.

------

The pleasant weather was to continue, you thought to yourself as you sat down in the drawing room. Despite the calmness of the room; the sweet sound birdsong outside of your window, your stomach would not calm. Instead, it was threatening to make a mockery of your breakfast. A missive had arrived late yesterday evening from Lady Danbury explaining that Simon would indeed be calling on you for the promised tea.

Smoothing out your pale blue skirts, you wish desperately that you had brought something to keep you occupied as you wait for his imminent arrival. You curse the fact that you left your latest cross-stitch upstairs in your room, having worked on it late into the night. You could have used it to the pass the time to keep your mind busy.

“The Duke of Hastings,” The butler announces, startling you slightly, stepping aside for Simon to stride into the room.

Simon smiles widely as he spots you standing by the table; he rushes over to you, reaching for your hand, placing a lingering kiss to the back of it before straightening. “(Y/N),” He greets, breathless as if he had rushed all the way over here.

“Simon,” You answer, smiling just as widely.

Following his lead, you take a seat at the table, waiting for the tea service to be brought up.

“How is Lady Danbury?” You question, trying to fill the time for the service to arrive.

Simon laughs. “It seems she is on the warpath. Her grandson, Gareth, arrived this morning still out of sorts from the previous night.”

“No!” You gasp, “He’s barely of age!”

“That is what dear Lady Danbury was reminding poor Gareth as she swung her cane at him. I thought I better leave before her attention and her cane turned to me.”

“A good decision to have made.”

“Definitely,” Simon agrees, “As I was leaving, Gareth was promising his grandmother not to touch another drop of alcohol again though I doubt that promise will stick.”

“Poor Gareth,” You lament, thinking of the times you had been on receiving end of a lecture from Lady Danbury. “She does love him so though.”

“She does,” Simon states, “I remember his birth. It feels so long ago.”

You hum in agreement; wondering how quick time had flown by. Gareth was to be part of the next generation of society; he was to bring it into its future, especially if his grandmother had anything to say about it.

“How long have you been home?” You ask, pouring the both of you some tea now that it had arrived.

“I travelled to Clyvedon to settle things there before journeying down to London. I’ve been back in England just short of a month.”

“Oh,” You murmur, trying your best not to feel hurt that he hadn’t actively sought you out. After all, it had been years since you had last spoken. No correspondence had been exchanged throughout the duration of his travels; Lady Danbury had been the one to update you on where Simon was in the world. He hadn’t written you a single letter despite the long friendship that you still held dear. Instead, it had been an utter coincidence, a meeting in the streets that had proved to you he was still alive and breathing.

“I wanted to come see you,” Simon states, feeling bad about the broken sound that had left your mouth just now. He wasn’t one to talk so openly about his feelings, but he found himself needing to explain to you that he hadn’t stopped thinking of you since he stepped foot on English soil.

“Did you?” You question, sounding very much as if you did not believe a word leaving his mouth. By the unimpressed expression on your face, Simon knew you did not believe him.

“I did, but I got so busy. There were estates to manage, ledgers to balance and announcements to be made. By the time I landed in London, I was so thoroughly exhausted that I simply wandered to Lady Danbury’s home and fell asleep on her chaise-lounge. She wasn’t impressed.”

You snort before realising the impropriety, “I can imagine.”

Simon laughs entertained by the thought of Lady Danbury’s face when she found him snoring away on her chair. “As punishment, she made me accompany her on a walk… where we ran into you.”

“What a punishment,” You drawl.

Simon rolls his eyes at your tone. “I like to think of it as a happy coincidence.”

“Then I shall look at it in the same manner.”

There was something different about the man sitting across from you. Was it how he held his spoon? How he stirred his tea? Had the years abroad moulded him into a new person, one you could barely recognise?

Simon held himself entirely different to how he would when he was younger. His posture, perfect. His stance, brimming with confidence. It takes you aback somewhat as you take in the changes the years away at school and abroad have placed on his body.

Would your friendship still stand after so long apart? Is Simon simply placating Lady Danbury by having him meet you for tea? He talks such pretty words; can form sentences that leaves your mind in a spin, but this is the same man that had left the country without so much as a goodbye in your direction.

Reaching for your tea, you distract yourself from such intrusive thoughts. The tea clears your mind; letting you form a blank slate in your mind. “Enough talk of the past, no matter how recent,” You declare, “You left so long ago and came back a new person. It seems I need to get to know the new one.”

Simon smiles at you from his place across the table. “The same could be said for you too.”

You smile though it doesn’t reach your eyes. You don’t mention how you had spent the last few years turning down every marriage proposal offered to you due to your heart belonging to another even in its broken state. “Time is a marvellous thing,” You offer instead, grabbing a small cake from the stand.

“Indeed,” Simon murmurs, eyes following the cake from the plate to your mouth. Despite the time that had passed, his feelings had not changed. They had grown stronger instead. By now, Simon truly understood the meaning of absence making the heart grow fonder. All through his travels, he had cursed himself for not asking you to join him. Through every country, principality and dominion, Simon wondered how it would be for you to be there with him, experiencing the wonders of it all.

“Where was your favourite place to travel?” You ask, leaning forward slightly, “I’ve never travelled further than France.”

Simon nods, remembering your trip abroad with the same pang of sadness he felt back then. He knew logically that you were sat across from him, yet the longing in his body did nothing to help repress the urge to reach out for your hand across the table – to touch you so he would know that you were there, and this wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

“I think my favourite place to visit was Greece. I stayed on the mainland for a while before eventually making my way around the islands. Each island had its own charms, but there was one that had me questioning whether I could live there for the rest of my life. It was so calm, so quiet. Not even the thoughts in my head could distract me from its serenity.”

“Do you miss it?”

“The island?”

“The travelling.”

Simon sighs, staring out of the window as he thinks of over his answer. Eventually, he says, “I miss the sights and the people. I miss the smells and the food. However, I do not miss the time zones. There were moments where I didn’t know what time it was, let alone what day it was.”

“It sounds as if you had a magical time,” You sigh, trying your best not to think of Simon in the desperate heat of the Mediterranean.

“It had its moments,” Simon admits, thinking of the hours he had spent in markets, trying local delicacies and drinking traditionally made coffee. He had adored every second of his travels; he hadn’t minded the odd illness that came along with a new environment when there was so much to learn and so much to experience.

“Will you be travelling again soon?”

“It depends,” Simon answers.

“On?”

“On whether I find anything to keep me here.”

Silence falls over you both as you take in his words, trying to find the meaning of them. Taking a sip of your tea, you wonder whether your friendship with the Duke would be enough to keep him grounded at home for longer than a few weeks at a time. Your heart skips a beat at thought that you might not be enough; your feelings for the Duke had never surprised you. They had not surprised Lady Danbury when you showed up on her doorstep in floods of tears after Simon had left for the continent; she had simply welcomed you into her home with words of comfort and reassurances.

“Will you be attending Lady Danbury’s ball later this week?” You ask, needing to take your mind off that terrible evening.

Simon chuckles, placing his teacup on its saucer. “I shall be in attendance. I find it hard to turn down Lady Danbury. Will you be there?”

You nod, thinking of the dress you had made special. “I will. I’m quite excited if I’m to be honest.”

“Why is that?”

You shrug, “The theme, the music, the company. Lady Danbury never fails with her balls.”

“She does not,” Simon agrees, remembering the grandiosity of such events before he left to travel.

“So I shall see you there?” You ask, your voice hopeful as if daring to wonder whether Simon would attend before no doubt leaving the country once more.

“You shall. Would you save me a dance perhaps?” Simon asks, his usual mischief alight in his eyes.

You smile widely, “Always.”

--------

The rest of the week is spent in anticipation; desperate for the hours to quicken so you could walk through the home of Lady Danbury to find Simon already waiting for you. A hopeless dream, but a dream, nonetheless.

The Duke of Hastings remains on your mind for the rest of the week. One chance meeting and one organised tea and it seems that the man had made his home in your mind and brought to life the feelings you were certain were dormant.

With those feelings in mind, you prepare for Lady Danbury’s ball knowing full well you were about to spend the evening in the presence of Simon, but also watching the mothers of London’s available fawn over him as if he was a prize to be won. It was enough to make your blood boil.

Ridding yourself of such anger, you enter the home of Lady Danbury.

Lady Danbury never spared any expense when it came her to time to host the event of the season. She knew that it would be reported on, that it would be spoken about. She also knew that there was a chance that many matches could be made that night; so no expense could be spared in the battle for love matches among the ton.

The sight of the ballroom takes your breath away as you enter. Lady Danbury had chosen the theme of the moon, stars and sun – asking her guests to dress in colours relating to either. Your navy blue skirts swish together the further you walk into the room, distracted by the moon and star decorations hanging from the high vaulted ceilings.

You’re so enraptured by the scenery that you do not hear the footsteps approaching or the whispers of the women beside you. It isn’t until you hear him call your name that you turn your gaze from the silver decorations.

“Simon,” You greet with a smile, “How have you been?”

“Very well,” He replies, “And yourself?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

“You look wonderful,” Simon compliments; eyes raking up and down your body.

Your skin heats at his rapt attention; flashes of heat soaring through you as your mind begins to think of all sorts of scenarios where you could keep his eyes on you for much longer. “Thank you,” You answer, voice breathy, “You look very handsome too.”

“Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?” Simon asks, voice quiet in the loud room.

Nodding your head, you take his outstretched hand and allow him to lead you onto the dancefloor where many other couples are gathering.

Simon’s hand is soft on the small of your back; soft but insistent as it brings you closer to his own body. Wrapped up entirely in him, you find it hard to concentrate on the steps of the dance, easily being led around the dancefloor by the man who had captured your heart before you had even known the meaning of the word.

A large smile spreads over his face as he spins you out and brings you back. A surprised laugh leaves your lips as Simon spins you once more; the delight settling deep within your bones, melding to become a memory that would always be with you. Simon’s own laughter soons join yours and before long, neither of you are paying much attention and custom – the both of you having far too much fun in each other’s arms to be aware of the looks and glances being sent your way.

As the music fades into silence, Simon’s grip on you loosens reluctantly. He doesn’t want to let go of you; doesn’t know when the next time he can hold you this close will be. If he could, he would steal you away right now, but etiquette and his title demands he be a gentleman.

With a strained smile, Simon bows at you once before turning away without a word. So deep in his thoughts, he doesn’t see you escape to the gardens before it is too late.

------

The gardens at Lady Danbury’s home had always been spectacular, but in the night, they were even more magnificent. Despite the shadows of night, you were not scared as you walked down the paths, fingers absently brushing over the flowers of delicately blooming flora.

Rather, your mind was occupied by the one man who had returned into your life after such a sizeable absence. Simon had danced with you tonight, and every aspect felt so perfect. The way his hand covered yours; the way his palm felt pressed against the small of your back. Bringing your hand to your mouth, you hide the smile on your face as you think of the way he had laughed with you as he spun you across the floor. He had looked so young; so carefree, as if he hadn’t the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I wondered where you had wandered off to,” A voice sounds from behind you, startling you.

“Simon!” You gasp, clutching your chest, “You scared me!”

He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender as he steps closer to you. “That was not my intention,” He promises, his smile wide.

“What was your intention then?” You ask, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

“I wanted to ask you a question should you allow it.”

“We are alone,” You remind him, “We should move inside.”

“Please,” Simon pleads, “It won’t take long.”

You pause your steps. The cool night air settles around you as you wait for Simon to ask his question.

“Why did you never marry?” Simon demands; his eyes blazing with the need to know. “I know you had proposals; Lady Danbury even told me so.”

“There was never anyone good enough,” You confess, fisting your hands in the skirts of your dress to keep yourself from reaching out for him. “I tried. I really tried, but I always found myself thinking of you or wondering about you. Even though you never wrote, I still fell in love with you.”

Simon inhales sharply; not expecting your confession. You hadn’t expected to be so honest, but your heart was in control of your mouth; your mind taking a backseat on this one. Your heart had yearned after this man since you had learned the very definition of the word ‘love’.

“Why did you never write?” You ask, finally verbalising the question that had plagued your mind since the moment he had left.

He remains silent, so you repeat your question with a firmer voice. “Why did you never write, Simon?”

“If I had written to you, I would have come home.”

“Would that have been so bad?”

“I needed to get away, I had to leave. To do that, I had to cut strings with you, or I never would have become the man I am today. I never would have become worthy of you.”

“It is for me to decide whether you are worthy of me, Simon Basset. I have found you worthy of my love since you were ten years old and getting caught hiding a fish in the footmen’s bed if you must know.”

“For that long?” He asks; his voice a mere hoarse gasp as he battles with this new information.

“For that long,” You affirm.

“I always found myself travelling back to you,” Simon admits, “I would be in the furthest corner of the world and my mind would question why you were never by my side. On my last trip, I found myself packing my belongings with you on my mind before I had even made the decision to return home. My father was part of it, I’ll admit. But you… you were the whole reason why I returned to London.”

“What does this mean?” You ask, confused and emotional over the night’s confessions.

“It means I no longer want to travel the world if you are not by my side. It means I want to court you and follow the traditions of society. I have two loves in my life: travel and you.”

“You love me?”

He nods, “I have since I was a teenager.”

“I love you too,” You respond honestly, seeing no reason to lie in a moment like this.

“So,” Simon sighs as your words settle over him like a balm over an open wound, “Shall we do this properly? Courting and the like.”

“I think I would. I think we could start right now,” You whisper, stepping closer to the man who you felt certain was the love of your life.

“Right now?”

You nod you head, smiling widely as you reach for the lapels of his jacket. “I think we could start this very moment with a kiss. What do you think?”

Simon glances from side to side, checking for witnesses, “Only if you promise not to kiss another.”

“I don’t think that would be an issue,” You admit happily, “Kiss me, Simon.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

*******

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley

#simon basset x reader #simon basset #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #simon x reader #bridgerton imagines #simon basset fanfiction #simon basset imagines #duke hastings x reader

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laminy · 2 years ago

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The music is probably far too loud. But that’s the perk of having a house up on a hill (so mysterious) as opposed to a flat. Ben doesn’t have to worry about headphones or his footsteps bothering any neighbours below.

And it doesn’t matter, because he fucking loves this song in all its ‘80s glory. He doesn’t even remember the first time he heard it. It was old when he was a kid, so it’s sure as hell old now, and it’s so good.

He spins around, and his eye catches— he does a double take, and— his feet falter, and he stops, staring at Gwil, standing there in the doorway.

Ben’s office had been closed today, they’d needed to close to fix some water damage (dangerous business in an archive). So, he’d stayed home. But Gwil had to work, poor guy. And now he’s back. Watching Ben dance (poorly) around the house.

“So, this is what you’ve been doing with your day?” Gwil’s smiling, clearly amused.

Ben stares ahead at Gwil, still trying to catch his breath. He’s in pretty good shape but he was also going really hard.

“No wonder you didn’t want me to stay home.”

“I didn’t say that,” Ben says, and Gwil laughs.

“I’m only teasing, love.”

“So.” Ben nods a couple times, and swallows hard. “Should I uh, should I ask how much that you saw?”

“I came in around something about six-foot-four and full of muscle?”

“Right. So…”

“A lot, yes,” Gwil says. “Most.”

“Yeah.”

“Was that bit about me?” Gwil asks.

“Well, I didn’t write it,” Ben says.

“Did I inspire it?” Gwil asks.

“No.” Ben shakes his head, tries to shake off the whole thing. It’s ridiculous to be embarrassed by anything in front of Gwil, a guy who has seen him at his…everything. Worst. Best. Horniest. Sickest. But also, dancing around his own house, a house he helped pay for! That’s not embarrassing.

Okay, it’s a little embarrassing.

“I need a drink,” Ben says. “Ugh.” He got too into it. That was too much. He walks over to the sink to run the water, and pauses the song on his mobile while he’s at it. Gwil follows behind him, and leans against the counter. Ben fills a glass and takes a drink. Then he looks over at Gwil. “It was Leo.”

“Oh, is he here?” Gwil asks, looking around.

“No, he rang me,” Ben says. “He wanted to talk rugby.”

“He should’ve rang me then!”

“I like rugby too! Anyway. I feel bad. But I always think of that song when I talk to him. Land Down Under.”

Gwil snorts. “I get it now.”

“That was actually the third time I listened to it,” Ben says. “I just got really into it.”

“Your moves were brilliant,” Gwil says. “I particularly liked when you did—” He straightens up, and pumps his arms in the air, a couple times to the left, and a couple times to the right, feet shuffling as he does. Then he kicks his feet a couple times and spins around. “That was all great.”

“Thanks,” Ben says. “Got that from a— an exercise class in London, back in the day. Joe took me.”

“Fun,” Gwil says. “Yeah, I—” He does the move again, shuffling his feet as he moves his arms, and he hums the tune. “That’s good.”

Ben does still want to be a little embarrassed, but he starts laughing instead. “Yeah, damn right,” he says. “I’m great.” He turns around to restart the song. “You wanna go?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

#for mccorky #thank you as always #snippet headcanon #harlee #fluff

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shofics · 4 years ago

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So tumblr ate the ask (thanks! I hate it!) but @knifemartin sent the prompt 13. pirate au but make it... sky pirates with Earhart, Zolf, Sasha, and Wilde! This got frighteningly long so I had to put it under a cut, I hope you enjoy my ramblings. <3 They’re going to kill a dragon!!

I think I genuinely might clean this up and make it into a proper fic. Watch this space.

Zolf Smith is a miner. Zolf Smith dreams of the sky. Zolf Smith kills his brother. Zolf Smith takes flight.

The Meritocracy doesn't have air forces- don’t really need ‘em when you’re a huge fuck-off dragon who can fly- but they’re worried about the increased presence the separatists are having in the skies above their lands, so they’re building one. Zolf leaps upon it like a life raft.

When the ship goes down, there are two reasons he doesn’t die; his past, and his god.

The Reliant answers the emergency call, and that surprises Zolf- a known separatist vessel, making an attempt to save the crew of a ship in the Meritocratic Air Force- but a lot of things surprise him about Captain Earhart. It’s not the Reliant’s fault that he is the only survivor. It is due to the Reliant that there is an only survivor at all.

His family were Harlequins. Captain Earhart recognises him, visits him in the sick bay as her medics do their best to save his legs, asks after his father, asks after his brother. Gives an understanding nod when he refuses to speak about them. Offers him a job, because he desperately needs one.

It’s a lot all at once, and they can’t save his legs, but he finds he doesn’t need them. Dwarves don’t have the build that most of the Hermes lot have, but he’s never let not fitting in stop him. The feeling of the wind in the rigging is like wings on ankles he doesn’t have anymore. He’s freer than he’s been his entire life.

When he is thirteen years old, Brock Rackett successfully makes it out of Other London and out of the clutches of the Rackett clan by chopping off his ring finger and escaping on the first air vessel that will take him. At least, this is what Sasha believes. She’s sad he left without her, but she knows well that when an opportunity comes, you take it. She hopes he made it out safe.

Nine years later, at twenty-two, Sasha’s opportunity finally comes. She heads for the aeroport. Maybe she’ll be able to find him.

Barrett’s men are following her, she can feel them on her tail all through the crowd like a bad smell; she needs a cover, needs somewhere to hide. There’s a drunk in the corner of the bar, some once-foppish-looking dandy, and Sasha decides to make him her cover.

She slides into the seat next to him and tries to be as inconspicuous as possible, but the drunkard starts and leaps to his feet, swaying. “Keep your trousers on,” she hisses, jumping up to pull him back down in front of her- he’s tall enough, he should provide good cover.

The man staggers out of her grip and produces a dagger from nowhere. He tries to fend her off with it- poorly- and then his eyes roll up and he collapses. Sasha just barely manages to catch him before he hits the ground.

Wilde knows the Meritocracy is crumbling. He can feel it in the air; something big is coming, something very bad, and he really doesn’t want to be here when it finally arrives.

Though maybe the sense of impending doom he’s getting is just from lack of sleep. But he’s sure that’s fine. It’s fine. He’s fine.

So he puts his bardic talents and his espionage training to work, following the trail of the odd orders and the disappearing agents, and realises quickly that if he stays, he’ll probably end up disappearing as well- or worse, become one of the people giving the odd, conflicting orders. He doesn’t know what that’s about. He doesn’t want to find out.

Wilde fakes his own death in the hopes it will throw off the scent, and decides, like so many others seeking the separatists, to head for the Americas.

In a bar at the aeroport he is accosted by a mugger, and he knew he was being conspicuous, but with everything blurring and the ringing in his ears he’s in no shape to properly defend himself. Instead of killing him, though, the dark figure hauls him up and runs.

He’s not lucid enough to take in the scene of the room she drags him into, and so he doesn’t resist as someone snaps something cold around his wrist, and he at long last sinks into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Earhart knew the look of people like Zolf Smith- lost, angry, needing. She’s seen plenty of it, in her years as an airship captain, because there are only a few reasons why people set out for the skies. And so she took him on, and he proved a fantastic first mate, knew his stuff inside and out and indulged her more reckless tendencies.

Plus, he’d been fleeing the Meritocracy. That automatically put him in Earhart’s good books.

Famous (and infamous) Harlequin airship captain Amelia Earhart was, by that point, becoming famous and infamous enough to become a thorn in the Meritocrats’ sides. They decided to target her. The fact that they tried to take down the Reliant was not her fault. The fact that she turned the whole ship around to attack back, causing a wreck that killed almost all of her crew and blew the Reliant into unsalvageable bits… that was.

The only reason she hasn’t drunk herself to death by this point is her ‘fantastic’ first mate (she’s regretting that now, in an angry way), who for some unknowable reason is unwilling to let the guilt swallow her whole.

Zolf Smith was an airman. Zolf Smith dreams of gods and wings and roads not taken. Zolf Smith is given a choice. Zolf Smith chooses no.

Zolf Smith loses his magic.

Earhart is trying to die, and he’s doing his best without access to his healing magic, but it won’t work forever, not when she’s this determined to let herself waste into nothing. He’s not good at talking, and that’s what she really needs- someone to talk to. Someone to listen. But he’s got no legs, and he’s got no magic, and he’s got almost no hope left, and nowhere to go.

They take refuge in a seedy bar in the closest aeroport and report the crash; two survivors, him and Earhart. They’ve been there a month and a half when the door to their room bursts open and a terrified kid with dark shaggy hair and an enormous jacket practically falls through the doorway, lugging an unconscious man in a blue and green waistcoat.

For a split second they all just stare at each other- everyone except for the unconscious man, of course, being as he is unconscious (and bleeding, from the nose and from the ears, and Zolf may not have magical healing but he has medical training and he knows that’s bad)- and then the kid drops her charge like a sack of potatoes, slams the door closed, and dives under the bed.

“Are you in trouble?” is all Zolf asks, and the kid nods, petrified and utterly silent. “Fine. Stay there.”

The unconscious man begins to shake and cry out as Zolf manhandles him into his bed, as though having a nightmare. He wakes with a scream, eyes wide and terrified. Someone bangs on the door. “Do you mind?” Zolf yells. “Little busy in here!”

The door bursts open a second time- those poor hinges- and two men of the kind who aren’t holding knives until you look at them from the right angle, and then they definitely are, and they’re pointed right at you, appear in the doorway. They take in the sickroom and the man with the two prosthetic legs, look nonplussed for a second, and then one nudges the other and tells him to “get a move on, she’s in here somewhere,” and they disappear down the hall.

Zolf pulls the door shut behind them and goes back over to the man in the waistcoat. It takes a bit of figuring out, but eventually, in desperation- the man is obviously dying- Zolf fishes out the anti-magical handcuffs issued to him as soldier and medic in the Meritocratic Air Forces, and clips one around his wrist. He goes limp.

He turns around to find the dark haired kid staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers. “Were they lookin’ for you?” he asks, and her eyes narrow.

“Why do you want to know?” she asks defensively- as though they could be looking for anyone else. The kid has ‘runaway’ written all over her.

“‘Cause I’m tryin’ to save your life,” Zolf snaps, and that seems to shock her, “so if you could work with me here, that’d be great, I’ve got enough on my plate tryin’ to save her life-” jerks a thumb to Earhart- “and apparently this one’s as well-” to the now asleep man taking up his bed. “Who are you? Who’s he?”

“I dunno,” says the kid, “he just kind of fell over.”

Sasha does not make the decision to trust him then. She doesn’t even tell him her name. She makes the decision to trust him when he tells her, a day later, as they sit against the wall and watch the man in the waistcoat mumble in his sleep, that he used to work on an airship.

“I’m Sasha,” she says. “Can I come with you?”

The white-haired dwarf named Zolf Smith- he looks too young to have white hair, but Sasha knows not to judge from appearances- grimaces. “I mean,” he says. “Dunno why you’d want to.”

“I want to see the sky,” says Sasha, who has spent her entire life underground. Zolf looks at her and seems to see something in her that pains him.

“I dunno where I’m goin’,” he warns her mournfully, looking back at Earhart, who is also sleeping. “But you can come with if you want. ‘S your choice.”

He doesn’t ask Sasha’s surname. She decides to trust him.

The name of the man in the bed next to her is Oscar Wilde, and Earhart starts frantically reaching for a gun, any gun, forgetting in her automatic fury that Zolf had taken them all off her weeks ago. A Meritocratic agent-

“Ex-agent,” says Wilde politely. “Please don’t shoot me, Captain, I’ve almost died once this week and I’m not really eager to repeat the experience.”

Earhart feels more lucid than she has in ages as she listens to him describe the strange series of events that brought him there, how sure he is that something is brewing within the Meritocracy’s upper ranks, the disaster that is coming. She can feel Zolf’s eyes on her as all her grief and guilt and despair and boiling anger calcify inside of her.

Wilde is like her, like Zolf, like Sasha- lost, angry, needing.

Wilde has information she can use.

“Mr. Wilde,” Earhart says, her voice hoarse with disuse but filled with more fire than she’s felt since the crash, “you are going to help me kill a dragon.”

She didn’t like him at first- he talked down to her, and his posh affectations grated on principle- but Sasha has to admit that Wilde is smart. She stares in disbelieving wonder as he produces a bag of holding full to the brim with more gold pieces than she’s ever seen in her life. His Meritocratic funding, he tells the spellbound group, because he can spellbind even without his magic. He liquified as many assets as he felt he could get away with before leaving.

“Pick a ship,” he says, “any ship. We can buy it. No need to steal.”

“We’ll need elementals,” Earhart says. “At least two.”

Wilde turns to Zolf. “You’re a cleric, aren’t you?” he says. “You can summon elementals.”

“Not anymore,” Zolf bites.

“Why?”

Zolf makes a face. “I don’t- when- okay.” He sighs. “Look-” and casts Spark into the fireplace. He jumps back in shock.

“I… don’t see the problem?” Wilde says after a good minute of silence, looking from the roaring flames back to Zolf. Sasha gets up and goes to dry her hair by the fire; the weather around the ports has been awful lately. Zolf stares into the flames in surprise.

Zolf Smith was a cleric. Zolf Smith dreams of a new ship. Zolf Smith finds a team, full of people who need healing, the kind he can now provide. Zolf Smith has hope.

#my post #answered #prompt fill #my writing #knifemartin #rqg #rqg fic #rusty quill gaming #rqgaming #sasha rackett #zolf smith #rqg wilde #wilde rqg #rqg earhart #earhart rqg

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bibliocratic · 4 years ago

Text

I was going to write this for the Aspec Archives week, but I got overexcited, so here we are.

AU: Mythical creatures. OG Archive team.

Some CWs apply, see tags.

The sea is more than water, her elder brethren taught her, warned her, chided her. It is home and harm and hungry, and you should not face it alone. Her siblings were older, ever knowing better, boisterous and boasting braver, but even they worried, scolded and fretted when she swam out too far alone into deep waters.

It will love you, but it will not always be kind, her eldest sibling bit out, snapped to mask their anxiety. There can be no bearings, in the deep-deep down, no anchors to denote where the sky lies.

When her people sleep, they rest wedged into some secure rock or crevice, tails looped around tails so no one is lost while dreaming.

You cannot be a shoal of one, my dearest, my youngest and bravest, the oldest of their shoal had said, when she told her she was planning on taking the rising when the waters warmed. Ascending landward on the tide swell, letting the shimmering scales of her tail split into skin.

She had not used the name Sasha at that time because that was a landward name she chose with care. Her folk gather names like a garland of pearls, to be constantly strung longer through life as age advances them; names for qualities, for momentous events, for hopes and desires. Her first name, gifted by her shoal, was guttural. It starts at the back of her throat, trails off into a susurration through gills. Mer is a difficult language to learn, though not impossible.

Tim tried. There is no one singular language of those who skirt the deepwaters, so he attempts to mimic her dialect. His pronunciation stumbling, he makes tentative sentences with the butchered grammar of fry. Martin’s grammar is even worse, though he picks up the eddies and waves of the sounds easier.

Jon, like most things in life, takes it as a challenge. One day, almost stubborn with nerves, to perform his task to perfection, he pushes out a juvenile approximation of her first name. Clipped and textbook and the stress in the wrong places, but Sasha smiles, showing her sharpest teeth in delight. Instructs him where to hold the hum at the back of his throat, how to roll the third phoneme upwards like an air bubble. Jon repeats it and repeats it, quietly smug and pleased at his achievement, and the sea in her soul rocks fondly at the sight.

She broached landward in the rising two moons after her age of maturation. She was one of a handful to come to shore. A sibling in Brighton who she phones every week, another two in Holyhead. Her first shoal traverses to warmer waters when the season shifts, and she would feel the rock-hollow absence of them if it was not for Tim, inviting her to participate in a hundred-and-one inane activities that keep her from feeling swept out; Jon, with his libraries of questions and intrigues, his quick-silver tongue; Martin, who sometimes swims a little further out from them but who finds her small knick-knacks in charity shops and craft markets and leaves them on her desk for no reason other than he has thought of her.

She makes three necklaces, plain with a strong chain, a single pearl attached. And on a day where her folk traditionally string garlands of seaweed and mangrove roots and colourful plants from coral reefs in a celebration of family – there is no one word in her language for this idea; it poorly translates into hierarchies like sibling and brethren and elders, but these are not concepts that fit it exactly – she gifts them to the shoal that will anchor her in the depths of the sea, and bestows upon them names. Most Mer names are wishes for quick fins, calm waters, safe shores, and so she wishes these for them in a language they are not quite proficient in yet.

Her landward shoal is smaller than is traditional. But she loves them as treasures of her heart, and thinks she understands what her siblings told her, about anchors.

His parents, both harpies from local nests, are perplexed when his wings start coming in.

Must be a colouring from your mum’s side, his dad hums thoughtfully when Tim’s primaries grow in long and shining like struck bronze. He runs a careful finger down the central line of the rachis, and the wing shudders and jumps, the feathers still sensitive, and Tim complains that it’s ticklish. His wings are too small to fly away as his dad dives in, captures him in careful arms, corkscrewing upwards a little off the ground with Tim squirming and squealing and squawking in play, but they flutter and flap nonetheless.

The wing span’s from your dad’s side, no-one from my nest ever went more than five foot, his mother says, rubbing at the dark brown of his downy secondaries. Tim stretches them out wide, eager to boast at their length, the tips of his longest feathers reaching past his arms held out wide.

Danny’s wings are smaller. Magpie like, bold lines of white broken up by blue and black, the same as his parents. Tim’s wings, broader, a colour like beaten brass that tips into gold at the ends, draws attention, but he’s never been embarrassed. His family never treated him differently, so he didn’t dwell on it.

He can fly, though he doesn’t often. After his parents died, and after… after Danny, he moved to London, where there’s tighter airspace regulations and permits involved, so he mostly doesn’t bother. This doesn’t mean never, however. He has learned, while working in the Archives, that from the ground, his wings have enough lift to pick up both Jon and Sasha by at least a foot. He thinks he could probably manage Martin as well, if it wasn’t for the unfortunate fact that Martin is mildly allergic to a whole host of things, including feather dander, meaning he gets a bit watery eyed whenever he gets too close to Tim’s wings, and he’s a sniffing, red-eyed mess come moulting season.

Anyway, he can always fly when he leaves the city. When it’s been too long since Sasha’s scales touched seawater, she invites him out to the coast. Jon apparently has had enough of the coast to last a lifetime, and Martin gets funny about large bodies of water, so it’s often the two of them. She swims out, the greenish scales of her tail catching the sun-struck water, and he, above, feeling the breeze brush through his cramped wings, follows her wake. When she breaches the surface in a playful arc, he swoops down, trying to catch her at the same time as she tries to splash him.

“You never thought to look into it?” Jon asks. Always brewing with questions. Tim is obligingly holding out one of his wings, and Jon, who takes everything like a project, has books out and webpages up but with no further clue as to why his colouration and span differ so from his parents.

Tim shrugs. “Doesn’t matter really, does it?”

Jon hums, clearly not agreeing, and Sasha rolls her eyes fondly, and that is the end of that.

Marysia had hoped her child would not take after her husband. She’d lit candles and attended masses during her pregnancy, worn the beads of her rosary smooth. Her child had been born on land, miles from shore, and her husband had been a grounded man, who had folded up his pelt on their wedding night for her and swore to wear no other soul than his human one.

But then her husband leaves, the box where he kept his second soul empty, and Martin is eight years old, and he wakes up one morning glassy-eyed and complaining of nausea, his lip bleeding from where his sharpening teeth have ripped the skin, and she knows her prayers were not answered.

It is not unknown, for the second soul of some folk to flourish later. But it is a rough awakening, to have one’s body grow a new skin out of itself, and Martin is off school for over a week, riddled with fever and fervour, constantly parched, crying and sweating out salt-water.

She watches his skin prickle with grey and black fur, blotching with white over his stomach as he coils up under his covers, throws them off only for his limbs to reduce to shivering. His brown eyes have gone black-shot, his cries a mix of language and barks, and Marysia fears she will lose her only child to the sea.

It will be hard for him to fit in, she tells herself. It would be best to choose one, and he has his friends and family and her on land, and who knows where his father is now, and surely it would be cruel, an unnecessary agony for him to endure some other foreign pull away from all he knows.

She does what she thinks is a kindness, though that is neither excuse nor forgiveness. After nine days, his fur has come through, sleek and soft, his whiskers twitching, and she helps him peel it off as one would do clothes, revealing sweat-sheened limbs, his eyes slipped back into brown again. His gaze still distant and feverish, he tries to cuddle into her, and she soothes him while she finishes stripping off his pelt and folding it neatly.

While he sleeps, she burns it in a fire in the back yard.

When he comes back to himself, she lies and tells him that he’s been sick with a bad fever. And he trusts her, and never questions it. He doesn’t understand that she’s burnt a part of him up, scattered the ashes to the winds, but it was for the right reasons. To keep him safe, and happy, and with her.

He grows up human-limbed and cloven-souled, and she never tells him the truth.

Sasha floats in an ever-dark, stolen away and hidden. There is a knot, a cage-trap around her legs, which have fused into her tail although there is no water. The sea, far away, like the wail in a conch shell, throbs in her soul as she strains and shouts and snarls in the wrapping of spider’s webs.

The sea is the only thing with her in the dark.

Sound has a particular quality, underwater. She hears it first, an echo that shivers through her, like being thrummed on the backdraft of some shallow wave. And then it is a wash of insistence. A command.

The compulsion uses her names, landward and seaward and it pulls and demands her attention, and she shrieks and cries back, struggling in the depths. She is being called home, up up up to breach the surface, and she cannot help but answer.

There is a crack and the sea splits, and she is choking on cold and dusty air.

“Sasha!” someone is saying. “God, is she – she’s not – ?”

“Get that stuff off her, come on. Sasha. Sash, love, can you hear us?”

A series of thuds as she splutters. A twisting, gnarling screech, and several swear words.

“Jesus!”

“Shit – shit, get her out of the way.”

“Boss, move, give me the – ”

The screech degrades into a glitching, warping scream. There is the multi-layered sound of compressed air, and crackling fire,the woosh and stench of something burning.

In time, she cracks her eyes open to the punch of light. Her tail flaps weakly. Someone is pulling great strands of silk that has clumped like poorly soldered iron around her limbs, making visceral noises of disgust. She’s cold-stream shivering, surrounded by broken wood and chippings.

“Hey, hey, we got you. We got you. You with us, Sash?”

The faint scratch of feathers against her cheek. Furnace-warm arms are holding her.

Jon is kneeling down in front of her. Holding an axe and stinking of smoke, and she knows, she knows, that it was his voice she heard, although she doesn’t yet understand why.

Martin throws a blanket over her as she shivers, her tail shrivelling and bisecting into legs. He has silk in his hair, and his fingers are trembling, but his face is broken with a look of such relief.

“It’s you,” he says, and his hand touches at his throat, at the necklace she made for him. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

It’s Martin in the end that carries her out of the tunnels, tucking the blanket completely around her. He is talking in the scatter-gun way he does when he is anxious, babbling, and she can’t bring herself to listen. He smells of soot and saltwater, and she’s never noticed that before.

She falls asleep, curled up into his hold, drained and shaken, but feeling utterly safe.

Jon is human. Completely, one hundred percent, although Sasha had joked once that way way back there must have been some Spinx in the family. Tim’s long suspected that Martin’s not quite human, no matter how he presents, but that’s Martin’s business, not his. Some folks have lineages that are rare, or mistrusted, or misunderstood, and Tim’s not one to pry.

Jon, though. Human through and through. Which is why he’s so worried.

“I shouldn’t have been able to do that,” Jon says. Martin’s with Sasha, making sure there’s no nasty side effects to her imprisonment in the table. Jon’s had a face on him for a while which means he’s Worrying with a capital W, and it’s taken hours for him to untangle himself into a blustered declaration to the rest of the class, spiked with nerves. “That place, it had her. It shouldn’t have… I don’t know what I did, but I told her to leave, a-and she could. And she shouldn’t have been able to.”

“And you think that you did that?”

“I – I know I did that, Tim, I felt it, o-or. I mean, I felt something!”

“Ok, alright. Alright. Let’s, let’s calm down and look at this logically.”

Jon goes over what he said while they struggled to rescue Sasha from the deep. It was something he said, he’s sure of it, which is why he is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the main archive office space with Tim, his trousers getting dusty and his temper scraping frayed, getting increasingly frustrated when he tries recreating exactly what he did with his voice, going through questions and commands and instructions and inquiries. And while Tim answers, it’s clearly not what Jon’s looking for, and he’s rubbing the hair at the back of his head in the way he does when he’s getting increasingly frustrated and is too bull-headed to walk away.

Then Jon, rolling his eyes and seething in annoyance, asks him a throwaway question, one of many he’s been trying – what’s your favourite colour? (seriously, Jon, that’s what you’re going with?!); What did you do at the weekend? (you know what I did, you and Martin were with me!).

“Why did you join the Magnus Institute?”

They both sit, frozen and horrified as Tim’s mouth opens and his words trip over his tongue in their eagerness to leave his mouth. As his eyes grow wide and water with tears as he cannot stop speaking about Danny, about the Covent Garden circus and Joseph Grimaldi. As Jon sits, ramrod-backed and cannot stop listening, a muscle jumping in his jaw. His expression wars between frantic and panicking and hungry.

Tim feels wrung out and hollow once he’s finished. Jon’s manic with apologies. It takes both of them a long time to calm down.

“Maybe… maybe you’re a siren or something?” Tim suggests, but Jon is shaking his head.

“It’s this place, Tim. It’s those statements, when I read them. It’s … I – I think they’re doing something to me.”

Tim looks at Jon and the light strikes off his eyes in a way that it shouldn’t on a human.

He touches Jon’s arm.

“We’ll sort this,” he promises. “We got Sasha out, didn’t we? The four of us, we can get to the bottom of this, yeah?”

Jon nods, and gives a small fragile thanks, and that’s human enough for Tim.

Marysia told herself she was not a bad mother. That her son was simply a hard child to love, that he had all the worst trappings of his father, his brown eyes perpetually caught with a far-away look that doesn’t know where to place its longing. But even as she sickened, and he sloughed off every facet of himself in a pathetic attempt to please her, she couldn’t find anything but sorrow in her heart to look upon the man grown over familiar in face, a growth that grew deep-set and fungal into contempt.

She almost spat the truth out to him. Once or twice, with the thought that confessing might bring them closer. She wished he’d chosen the sea instead, so she wouldn’t have to look upon her amputated, half-formed child who would always be lost.

But she never did.

And Martin finds out alone, cornered in an unlocked office, his hands dropping the lighter as a thousand eyes open and watch satisfied as they pour his mother’s choices down his throat to choke him.

It starts when Martin starts sleeping in archive storage. When Tim watches worms burrow into Jon’s skin at the same time as they latch and gnaw and wriggle under his own. When they get Sasha back, and find Gertrude’s corpse and Jon leaves and gets hurt and hurt and hurt again, and the world around them gets smaller and meaner and there is nothing Tim can do.

He takes to storing food in their desk drawers. Nothing that will go off, or won’t keep. Tins and dried goods and non-perishables. He lines the walls of Martin’s storage room with fire extinguishers of different types, fire blankets, and spare first aid kits bulging with plasters and bandages and antiseptic wipes. He buys blankets and pillows and rope and penknives. He stress-moults constantly, and tucks his feathers out of sight, irritated and embarrassed at the sight of them, and it occurs to him that nesting is not a healthy way to deal with this.

He wants his family safe. He used to think it was such a small thing to ask for.

He thinks about that when the bomb goes off.

He burns, and he is dying.

His rage and fear burn off into a different fury. That it has come to this, his family so threatened, that all he has to his name is his sorrow and trauma and frustration and vengeance.

Tim wants nothing more than to live. To see them safe. To rail and rage against what seeks to harm them. So he burns and he burns and burns, his wings aflame and his mouth twisted in a scream, and does not die.

They dig him out breathing from the rubble. His skin stained grey with ash and soot.

His new wings stretch out red as the sunset.

#tma #the magnus archives #fic #alternative universe #mermaid!sasha #pheonix!tim #selkie!Martin #regularOGhuman!Jon #with added Beholding spicyness #cws for implied child mistreatment #cw fire #cw burning #cw canon typical violence #cw compulsion #ask to tag

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achliegh · 3 years ago

Text

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @the-most-slytherin-hufflepuff & @punkkkkboi

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death/suicide, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 16:

Hours after Noelle Landed in Montreal, Thomas and Clay landed in New Orleans. A few hours ago Clay’s parents dropped his truck off at the airport so he could take Thomas around the city to see his favorite places. They didn’t bring much just carry on backpacks, so walking out the door and feeling the heat was what they did next.

“It’s Winter!”

“It’s so warm, I missed it.” Clay sighs happily and grabs the little dangly adjustment strap to Thomas’ bag and starts leading him to where his parents said his truck was following the directions on his phone that his mom typed out. It stayed in daily parking so they didn’t have to go inside the parking garage. Thankfully. Thomas was expecting Clay’s truck to be just like his one in Gryffindor, large bright red and loud, but to his surprise they start walking over to a teal blue old truck. It must have been from the 70’s or something. Thomas stopped a couple feet back just taking in the scene.

Clay, glowing under the sun just in a shirt and jeans standing next to a light blue truck making this all seem like a picture on one of those tiny calendars with old cars on them. The concrete around them was a bit off but he didn’t mind.

“What? Something wrong?” Clay looks at him from the other side of the truck after finding his keys in his bag and tossing it into the bed of the truck. “You can toss your bag in the back if you want, there isn’t a ton of room in the front.”

“I was just looking at something pretty is all.” Thomas acts all nonchalant as he tosses his bag in the back next to Clay’s and climbs in the now unlocked vehicle. Clay gets in on the driver's side and gives him a confused look, turning his head in the direction of where Thomas was just looking.

“All I see are cars, was there a cool one I missed?” He looks back at Thomas only to find his boyfriend a good inch from his face. He feels his cheeks heating up and hopes Thomas can’t tell. “What?”

“I was staring at you, Stupid.” Clay feels his cheeks get even more red and glares at Thomas a bit. Thomas has definitely stuck to his words recently in telling Clay he is ‘Pretty’ and ‘Beautiful’ all the time but Clay still doesn’t know how to react. Recently it has been smacking Thomas upside the head… then usually smooching him but that's besides the point. He has grown up his whole life being criticized for how he looks, then suddenly girls were throwing themselves at him and calling him ‘Hot’ and ‘Sexy’ but never the things Thomas or Noelle says.

It makes him feel vulnerable when they say stuff like that.

“Shut up.” Clay gives him a quick kiss and goes to pull away but Thomas holds him by his shirt to deepen the kiss, Clay doesn’t even try to fight against it. He smiles and kisses him more sweetly before they actually pull away. “I’m hungry, let's go eat!” He smiles a bit as Thomas laughs and buckles up, pulling out of the parking lot he starts to drive further into the heart of the city. Thomas watches all the old and new buildings mix together to make a wonderful blend of modern and historical.

It was so amazing, beautiful and fun.

He notices the buildings are getting more off the ground and raises an eyebrow, he goes to ask Clay what the houses are doing on stilts but the NOLA Native beats him to the punch.

“They are for when it floods during storms. Like hurricanes and flash floods, we have a flood wall as well but they don’t always hold up.” Clay has put on his dark wire framed sunglasses, driving with one hand on the wheel and his other elbow resting on the open window seal of the car, wind blowing through his hair. Just looking so in his element. “We are headed towards the harbor because they have the best seafood boil restaurants. My favorite is Mama Junes but Leo’s is Olive and Otto’s. So we tend to fight about where we want to go.” Clay glances over to Thomas who is just soaking everything in. Looking relaxed and calm.

They pull into the small broken concrete parking lot and park right in front. There are old buildings lining the narrow sidewalk just feet away from the docks. The sidewalk was poorly taken care of but it added character. Clay hop out of the truck and wanders over to Thomas side and opens the door bowing to him.

“Your highness.” Then he trips him on the way out making him stumble causing Clay to laugh hard enough he has to lean against the truck so he doesn’t fall over. Thomas rolls his eyes smiling and closes the door. Looking out at the docks he notices all the people doing their jobs and wonders what it would be like to be on a massive ship. He is knocked out of his thoughts by being hit in the side of the head by a pen.

“Where did you even get a pen!?” Thomas picks up the pen from the ground and starts chasing Clay around the truck for a good few minutes before he finally catches him from behind and wraps his arms around his waist picking him up, swinging him around to the other side of him, both laughing uncontrollably. Thomas' stomach lets them know that it senses food is nearby by rumbling loudly.

“That was weird I could feel your stomach growling, we should go eat before the fishermen get off work for the night.” Clay turns around in Thomas arms and just looks over his face for a moment, running his fingertips over the side of his face. He loves Thomas…

He should tell him soon and Noelle, of course Noelle. She is everything, beautiful, smart, sarcastic, and treats him like a real person. Clay didn’t know if he was ever going to date another woman after Ashley, hell, he didn’t even know if he would ever get away from Ashley. But he never expected to get so lucky. He never in a million years ever expected to be loved like two people.

Well, he hopes they love him.

They pull away after just looking at each other for a solid thirty seconds before Clay leads Thomas down the street a bit to a restaurant that looks straight out of the 60’s. Thomas was picking up a theme of stuff Clay likes… the theme is old. Doesn’t help that he and Noelle are older than the southerner either. They get a table, order food, and people just keep coming up to the table to talk to Clay like old friends. Men, women, old and young everyone wanted to talk to him.

When their food does show up it is something called a ‘seafood boil’. Thomas has heard of it before but always thought it was boiled right in front of you, which it is not. It also shows up in a plastic bag for some reason. Clay teaches him how to crack crab properly, only ending in one thumb being cut open by the sharp shell. Whose thumb?

Clayton London Bruss’ and he was annoyed about it.

They finish up eating and paying, Clay gives the young waitress a 50% tip because he can and wants to. They head out the door full and happy, walking past a group of old women who are playing poker at one of the tables out front.

“Well if it isn’t Mr. Bruss himself! Long time no see, Sugar.” The woman the farthest away from Clay smiles at him and Thomas is worried this is going to go bad. “Looking mighty handsome there young man, be careful one of these days I’m gonna leave my husband for you.”

“Mrs. Bell! You can’t say stuff like that!” He laughs and walks over to give her a kiss on the cheek, giving Thomas time to take a good look at her. She was an older looking black woman who has definitely lived a full life, she was wearing a lot of blush and eyeshadow but her ruby red lipstick is what really stood out. Especially when she gave Clay a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m old, I can say what I want, within reason. Now tell me where you have been these last few months! We miss you and Leo on Fridays.”

“You here to stay for a while before you take off and get yourself hurt at those rodeos?” The woman across from Mrs. Bell spoke up, she was a white heavy set woman with a shirt that has two hurricanes on the boobs of her shirt that say ‘Lily’ and ‘Katrina’. He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“I assure you Miss Lila, I am only here for a day or maybe two.”

“Who is this hunk that with you Clayton, I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on him.” Clay smiles brightly and walks back over to Thomas’ side. Ignoring the hungry stares pointed in Thomas' direction by all four women.

“Sorry but he is off limits.” All the women make a mock sound of disappointment. “He’s my boyfriend.” They are stunned for a moment before they all gasp in delight and congratulate them.

“You always knew how to pick them, I always thought Your friend Leo and you would end up together. But I am so happy for you.” Mrs. Bell smiles at them.

“Everyone always thought Leo and I would get together but honestly, he's not my type.” Clay winks at the ladies who all giggle as they walk past, saying goodbye to one another. The ladies pick up their game from where they left off. Thomas was still in shock. Those elderly ladies.. Congratulated them! He was not expecting that. He was expecting to be chased off with a purse or something. Then again, Clay does seem rather close to them.

“How do you know them?” Thomas looks at Clay who is saying hello to the people he knows that pass them on the way to the restaurant. He apparently knows everyone.

“Well, they have a poker tournament every Friday at Mama June’s so Leo and I would volunteer there for fun. Other people would work to get paid but we never needed the money, instead we were the two who would lose on purpose just to give the people their money. Most people who go to the tournaments are on the poorer side of town and we always tried to give back. So that's what we did. We would bet obscene amounts of money just to make sure people could pay their rent or bills or do whatever they do to relieve stress after a long week of working.” Thomas stopped walking, Clay didn’t notice for a few steps and then turned but to look. The sun was sinking down behind him and it made him glow. Thomas has known he has loved Clay for a while now but Noelle and him had a plan to tell Clay together. But at this very moment in time, his heart was so full of adoration he couldn’t help himself.

“I love you.”

Noelle watched, she watched the entire interaction her father had with Leo. She knew it wasn’t going to be good. She had listened to his insult Leo while she was in the kitchen with her mother and honestly it made her feel sick with anger. Leo was exactly what they wanted for Logan. Yet, they brush him off because of something stupid. She was pissed, helping her mother get ingredients out for dinner but decided she didn’t want to help. She was exhausted mentally and physically. So she decided to go take a nap, walking out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her childhood room.

The biggest bedroom in the house. It was painted seafoam green because that was her favorite color in secondary school, posters of her favorite bands and pictures of her friends all over the walls. Little origami birds made by her best friend hang from fishing line over her king sized bed with pristine crisp white matching bedspread, pillows and sheets. Her full length mirror was next to her large white desk with a lamp that cost forty dollars on it. Her bean bag chairs of varying sizes and colors on the corner next to her TV and PlayStation.

She never noticed how spoiled she was. But being in this room and then thinking about her sisters and Logan’s room, it made her ears ring with guilt. She started going to therapy after she got out of the house because she didn’t understand why she would just be consumed by guilt or sadness whenever she was around Logan. They never had a good relationship when they were younger fighting all the time, Noelle just saying really nasty things that she regrets and now they are pretty much each other's best friends. Her therapist told her that it was because her father was a narcissist and raised her to believe she was better than all her siblings but as she grew older she knew that it was wrong.

After that appointment she called Logan to apologize for everything over the phone, he was confused but still listened and let her get everything off her chest. Then he invited her and their sisters to family skate. There is where she met Thomas, she was uncomfortable around him for a while but she couldn’t understand why. Then it hit her.

Her father would speak poorly of any person of color any chance he got… and she believed him when he said all those terrible things. Things that should never be said. So she erased everything he ever said from her morals and continued to hang out with Thomas, when he asked her out it was a no brainer to say yes.

Her father wasn’t happy but it's not his life to live, she paced up and down her dorm on many nights when she should have been studying worrying about what her dad would say but in the end she understood that none of it mattered… By then she knew she was in love.

Months later she started going to the Godric University in Gryffindor to continue her masters degree she told her parents it was to keep an eye on Logan, she moved in with Thomas but never told her parents. Logan was ecstatic. She hadn’t seen him that happy in… well, when their dad told him he was proud of Logan for getting drafted and “doing something with his life”. It stung but Logan couldn’t stop smiling.

Then there was Clay. Stupid, Charming, Challenging, Beautiful Clay.

He waltzed into their lives like he was meant to. Stumbling once but never stopping. She wasn’t expecting to get a text from a random number saying “Hi, My name is Clayton and I have been talking to Thomas over the phone for a few months. He mentioned he had a girlfriend but I think we have started flirting and I wanted to let you know, because I know Thomas talks about you all the time and is madly in love with you. I just wanted to let you know that… I think I have caught feelings for him and if you would like me to stop talking to him I will.”

It scared her at first not answering the message for days, letting it hang over her like a storm cloud, Thomas had never mentioned an interest in the same sex before and she was worried she would lose him. So they talked about it, Thomas showed her the messages willingly and hadn’t noticed the flirting until she pointed it out. She started messaging Clay. They got on really well and before she knew it, he was all her and Thomas talked about.

They both realized they liked him, together.

Meeting him in person for the first time was intimidating because how do you balance a relationship already formed and stable, to a relationship with a new person at the same time? Would they get jealous? Would they fight? Would they end up splitting up?

But instead, Clay made them stronger, happier. They were happy before but sometimes it felt as though something was missing. Noelle didn’t really know or care about Polyamrous relationships until Logan started talking to her about how it feels to love two people.

“It hurts sometimes but it is also something I can’t live without. One being wild and free and the other grounded and calm, sometimes they switch or we all switch in dynamics but… I wouldn’t trade either of them for the world. It's the most I’ve ever loved and been loved in my life.” and she wanted that as well but never thought she could do it.

Then it happened, she felt like she was on the edge of a cliff ready to dive off at any minute but she was worried she would regret it. She eventually jumped, landing in the water below of safety and love, never looking back. She never would.

Her and Thomas told each other they loved one another on the same day at the same time. A day she would never forget. They were stuck in traffic arguing about something stupid, probably about schedules because that was their main issue always missing each other on the way out the door, they stopped for a moment. Noelle was still fuming but Thomas was calm, he was always calm, he put his hand on her leg and she looked at him. They held eye contact for a few seconds before they said at the same time.

“I love you.”

Clay was stunned. He stared at Thomas letting the words he just spoke sink in. He never expected to be told that by someone other than his parents, Leo, Reg and Eloise. His heart suddenly started aching and his throat became tight as he felt a drop of something on his cheek. Looking up to see if it was raining he only saw a clear blue sky beginning to tint purple. Then he felt a strong arm wrap around his waist and a hand cup his cheek, turning his head to meet those soft dark brown eyes.

“Is it raining?” Thomas smiled a bit at him and wiped his cheek.

“You’re crying. Are you okay?”

“You love me?” Thomas smiles so bright, so calm and so lovingly at him that it makes him feel like he is about to burst with emotions.

“Yes, I do.” Clay puts his hands over his own overworking heart and squeezes.

“Why?” Thomas is a bit taken back by this question, his expression changes a bit to concern for a moment. Wiping away another tear that has fallen.

“Because, you make me happy. You are caring, sweet, kind and…” Clay squeezes his eyes shut listening to Thomas list off things about himself that he couldn’t believe were true. “You are beautiful.” Clay lets out a strangled sound from his throat and turns to bury his face in Thomas’ chest hoping he could hide. “You are so so amazing Clayton, I just wish I could show you what I see, what Noelle sees too.” Oh god, they have talked about being in love with Clay and he didn’t even know! Noelle wasn’t with them but it felt as though she was everywhere. She was in the blue of the ocean, the sound of it hitting the shore. The beauty of the city just so alive yet caring. She was everywhere and not there at the same time.

“Noelle loves me too?”

“Yes, but don’t tell her I confessed for her. She will kill me.” This makes both of them chuckle. Clay pulls away enough to look Thomas in the eyes once more and he says back.

“I love you.”

Judy was waiting by the door, the food for dinner was in the oven staying warm, Garland was outside on the porch smoking a cigarette waiting for the boys to arrive. It would be any minute now. Clay says they just ate but Judy isn’t one to let her guests get hungry. She remembers Thomas from when the team was down at the Knut’s ranch for a week. She remembers him being polite and helping her move the chair around the table to make sure everyone would fit for the meals.

He was also a very good looking man, he was tall, dark and handsome as Clay would say. She never in a million years would have thought that that would be the man Clay ended up with. There was also Noelle who she spoke with when some of the team was at the bar, she was so very sweet and funny as well. But again, never someone she thought Clayton would end up with.

She saw the dust down the driveway and knew the boys were moments away, Clayton knows she doesn’t like him driving at night. She remembers when Clay was just a young little boy, coming home after driving in the dark crying because he almost hit a possum. He was always emotional. She knows people like to take advantage of his kindness and use it against him, his vulnerability showed everyone he has ever met his flaws.

She can only hope that her son is being treated well up north. She prays they aren’t like Ashley.

The truck pulls up, parking in his normal spot across from the door, hopping out of the truck Judy watches as her son and Thomas link hands as they walk towards the door. Garland stands up slowly, his back and hips have been bothering him as he gets older, shaking Thomas hand after stubbing out his cigarette he leads them inside.

“Ma!” Clay runs over to hug her and lifts her off the ground making her laugh, he seems to be in a wonderful mood. “I missed you.” He starts sniffing the air and making his way towards the kitchen knowing his favorite is somewhere to be found. He was always reminding her of her puppy. Judy places her hands on her hips and shakes her head at him. She looks at Thomas and notices the absolutely love sick face he has on as he watches Clayton leave the room. She smiles. That was something she only ever read about in her romance novels, she wonders if Garland ever looks at her that way.

“Hello Thomas, it's good to see you again.” She watches as he smiles at her and extends his hand for her to shake, she playfully swats his hand away and pulls him into a tight hug. It takes him a minute to hug back but when he does it is tight. Clayton was in good hands.

“Long time no see.” He smiles at her as they pull away, a bit pink in the face. “You look stunning as ever, I might add.”

“Stop hitting on my mom! You’re gonna make my dad jealous.” Clay smiles at Thomas from the doorway of the kitchen with an oven mitt on one hand holding a large bowl of what looks like red beans and rice. Something he always tries to replicate at home but can never get it right. A spoon on the other hand and eating straight from the bowl. Judy laughs for a second.

“Clayton, please use a plate. How many times have I told you that you can’t just eat from the bowl.” Judy takes the towel from over her shoulder and takes the bowl from him, walking in the kitchen. A few minutes later they all sat around the table eating and chatting.

“I think I’m going to bring Noelle down for the two weeks we are back here before we leave for rodeo this summer.” Clay talks with his mouth full and Thomas rolls his eyes a bit. Smiling. Sharing a look with Judy.

“Clayton, have I taught you no table manners over the years.” Judy smiles at him and Garland snorts.

“Nope!” He laughs but moves to the side so Judy can’t smack his arm. “Okay, okay. You have but this is who I am mother goose. I can’t change it.”

Garland actually laughs at this. Thomas has noticed that Garland is a rather soft spoken man, old with a round beer gut but still jolly. Kinda like Santa with the beard, but he doesn’t think Santa wears work overalls. Thomas also notices a bisexual flag pin on his old beat up hat. That must be the pin Clay talks about sneaking onto his dad's hat that he ‘never noticed’ Thomas suspects he did notice. But wants to support his son in any way he can. That makes Thomas feel so happy that he can’t explain it.

Later in the evening before the sun has fully set but the stars are out and bright, plus there is a full moon tonight lighting up the area with ease, Clay had excused himself to the restroom to clean the lipstick off his face while Garland and Thomas went outside to chat.

“Has Clayton told you anything about his last relationship?” Thomas shakes his head no watching as Garland sits down in an old rocking chair and lights a cigarette. Offering one to Thomas. He declines. “Well, she got him into a lot of trouble. Being the Sheriff daughter and all. Plus she had a temper and if I’m being honest I don’t think she ever actually liked Clayton.” He takes a drag and Thomas furrows his brow listening intently. “She only dated him for status, he was one other the only people targeted by the sheriff and he is black so she thought of him more as a chess piece to her rebellion than anything. She is pregnant now and I have a terrible feeling that…” Garland shakes his head, deciding not to tell Thomas what his theory is.

Clay walks out the door and finds them chatting.

“Not giving him the shovel talk are ya, Pa?” He smiles at Thomas and puts out his hand for him to take. “I’m gonna take him on a tractor ride because he has never been before.”

“I wasn't giving him no shovel talk but I am telling him he best respect you.” Clay smiles at his dad and nods. “Go on! I’m not keeping you from counting the cattle.”

“Ha Ha.” Clay rolls his eyes and drags Thomas over to the old looking tractor sitting by the entrance to the gate to the pasture. “Come on! There is somewhere I want to show you!” Clay got them settled, the tractor wasn't very large and it was old so he sat on Thomas’ lap as he started driving in the pasture.

“Comfy?”

“You are a very nice cushion.” Clay smiles as Thomas scoffs and wraps his arms around his waist pressing the side of his head to Clay back. He was having a great time but he was getting a bit uncomfortable from the old seat… and Clay’s ass bouncing up and down on his lap. The drive from a bit before his hard on became noticeable.

“Thomas… are you hard?” Clay can feel his cheeks heating up as he feels Thomas dick under him, ever since Thomas told him he loves him he has been wanting so have some passionate lovemaking… not necessarily on a tractor though. “Please don’t tell me tractors are you new kink.”

Thomas laughs into Clay back and smooths his hands down Clay's abdomen to rest on the top of his thighs. “Maybe not tractors but you bouncing in my lap sure does get me going.” He laughs as Clay pulls off into a grove. Trees surrounding a pond or lake, just a body of water. Wildflowers everywhere, not blooming but he could still smell them. Clay turns the tractor off and stands up doing his best to turn around to face Thomas and not trip on the petals.

“Want to do something about it? We are in a place that Leo and I call ‘Secret’ so we might as well.” Clay straddles Thomas, his arms resting on his shoulders as their faces are just inches apart, only the light of the moon is making them visible to each other. Thomas wastes no time gripping Clay ass and pulling him in for a ferocious kiss. They made out for a while, Thomas smirking into the kiss every once in a while from when he grabs Clay’s ass making him gasp a bit. Normally Clay was very pliant when kissing, very submissive and soft, today he was fighting Thomas for dominance over the kiss and it was incredible.

Thomas felt Clay’s hand slowly fall from his shoulder down to his waistband, unbuttoning his pants with one hand and unzipping them. Thomas rarely ever wore jeans but he felt it was appropriate for meeting parents. Clay ran his finger up and down the bit of Thomas’ underwear that was just behind where the zipper was, teasing him. Feeling his breath hitch Clay smirks, pulling away from the kiss.

“You gonna fuck me or do I have to do it myself?” Clay barley finished the sentence before Thomas somehow maneuvered him so he was on his knees on the tractor seat, resting his chest over the backrest making an ‘oof’ when his diaphragm hit the rest. “Hand me my phone.”

“Think you are gonna get bored?” Thomas raises a questioning eyebrow but hands Clay his phone from the cup holder.

“No… just thought Noelle would Like a video of us.” He smiles looking back at Thomas with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Thomas is stunned for a moment, suddenly whipping out his own phone and pulling up snapchat.

“You’re so smart.” Clay’s smile goes from mischievous to soft in a second, just before Thomas yanks down his pants. “Wait… We don’t have any lube.”

“Check my front pocket, I’ve been carrying it around all day.” Clay is poking around on his phone looking rather uninterested but below the surface he was the most excited he has been in a long time, his dream was to have someone love him, fuck him, and want him in Secret. It’s finally happening.

Thomas reaches into Clay's front pocket, placing a couple small kisses on his back as he does, pulling out a packet of lube he is a bit worried. “Is this gonna be enough to prep you and fuck you?” Clay doesn't answer, just whistling as he kicks his feet a bit, then Thomas sees it, a glint in the moonlight. He looks down and notices… Clay was wearing a plug. He loudly groaned and pressed his forehead to Clay's back. “You’re gonna kill me!” Clay laughs a bit.

“I actually would rather keep you alive for now.”

“For now!?” Clay laughs again.

“As long as I’m alive at least.” Thomas smiles and shakes his head, slowly pulling the plug from Clay. He watches the screen of his lover's phone how his face looks tense but relaxed at the same time. Thomas pulls his own pants down his thighs and tears open the packet of lube with his teeth and pours it onto his cock. Clay zooms in on him.

After spreading the lube on himself he wipes the extra off on Clay’s shirt who is about to protest but gasps as Thomas pushes into him in one smooth glide, not moving just waiting for Clay to adjust. Holding his shirt between his teeth Thomas opens his phone and starts recording with the flash as he starts moving in and out of Clay, slow but deep. Clay’s own recording is on his front facing camera on his face with flash, he actually forgets he is holding his phone for a moment and closes his eyes just enjoying the jolts of pleasure through his body. His phone dips a bit so it isn’t on his face anymore and Thomas stops moving altogether.

“Phone Clayton.” Clay swallows because Thomas never calls him by his full name unless he is in trouble, he fixes the angle without complaining and is rewarded with the deepest thrust yet. Moaning loudly he pushes back onto Thomas a bit and feels him start to speed up. Punching sounds out of him as his diaphragm hits the seat and Thomas’ cock knocks the wind out of him. He is making sure to put on a show as he starts sending the videos to the groupchat of him, Thomas and Noelle.

Thomas’ video also start sending, he is making sure the angle in the video is right to see him fucking clay, sometimes pulling out slow and fucking in fast. Sometimes pulling out fast and pushing in slow. He was taking Clay apart in ways he didn’t know possible.

Clay was getting close, after his third video to Noelle he starts getting shaky, he eyes are rolling back and his mouth is constantly slack. He is used to Thomas tossing out degrading shit when they fuck, and he loves it, but tonight Thomas was completely silent and it made Clay realize just how loud he is. Thomas drives a good three more hard thrusts right into Clay's prostate and then on the fourth he says pressing on it and grinds into it causing tears to fall from Clay’s eyes for the second time today. It sends Clay over the edge, cumming harder than he has in a while and that says a lot because he usually cums hard when he is with his partners.

Clay clenches around Thomas as he starts cumming and it sends him over the edge as well, sending the last video he leans forward and grips Clay's hips tightly as his body tenses. Once he is finished he slowly pulls out, neither of them being a fan of over stimulation, they both wince a bit.

“We don’t have anything to clean up with.” Thomas is thinking about using his shirt but that might be obvious to the parents.

“You could.. Put the plug back in, then use the dirty rag in the bottom of the cup holder for the seat.” Clay isn’t looking at Thomas, he probably thinks it's weird that Clay wants the plug back in. “Just… Just til we get back home.” Clay's face is burning with how embarrassed he is. Thomas thinks for a moment feeling his own face heat up, Clay wants everything he just put in him to stay in him… it was extremely hot but he didn’t know if that's how Clay saw it, taking the plug from his hand that was holding his phone, he help it between his ring and middle finger to make sure they didn’t lose it. He gulps down all his excitement that is threatening to make him hard again and watches closely as he uses his free hand to pull Clay open again. He slowly inserts the plug back into his boyfriend and lets out a shaky breath. How is he supposed to talk to Judy if he knows Clay is walking around with his baby juice still in him.

Oh god.

Clay slowly sits up and rolls his shoulders out, they are a bit stiff. Thomas wraps his arms around Clay's middle after they both pull up their pants and wipe off the seat, Clay’s head falls back on his shoulder, smiling sleepily.

“Hey,” Thomas pokes Clay’s cheek with his nose in a way of telling him he wants a kiss, turning his head Clay gives him a sweet chaste kiss smiling when they rub their noses for a moment. “I love you.” Clay turns around in the seat clumsily, just about falling off but thankful Thomas catches him by his belt loops and pulls him back onto the seat both laughing wildly. Smashing their lips together they are still laughing playfully biting each other's lips and noses.

“I love you too.”

Noelle woke up from her nap in one of her bigger fluffier bean bag chairs, it held her and probably would hold Thomas as well. Her phone was going nuts, sixteen snapchat notifications from Clay and Thomas. She sighs happily, still having an hour until dinner she was excited to talk to her boys, opening her app she clicks on that little purple square and it's a video of Clay's face, but then it zooms in on Thomas… lubing himself up. Sitting up a bit too fast and making herself dizzy, thanks anemia, she starts watching closer. Watching all the videos in full she is incredibly hot and uncomfortable, she curses as she tries to take a screenshot of Clay’s face and accidently closes her phone.

She watches closely at all of the videos, Thomas’ of his cock fucking Clay and Clay’s reaction to this on his own videos. She scrambles to her bag to pull out the gift Clay had gotten her from a fucking tiktok video. It was a rose toy, the first time she used it she came in a minute and a half, crying from how good it was at the same time. She decided to take a video of herself getting off to them… they would appreciate that.

Stripping out of everything except for the hoodie Thomas gave her over a year ago she gets to work. Setting the phone up on the fancy footboard of her bed she gets a bit camera shy, sitting there for a moment thinking about how bad she wishes she was with them. She also was nervous to use the rose on her own because it was really powerful and she didn’t know if she could actually keep it on herself long enough to actually finish.

Then she starts thinking about how Clay and Thomas will react to the video, definitely would get them going again and she would love to hear or maybe even see what they did. She is starting to think she is a bit of a voyeur… She take a deep breath and starts the video, She awkwardly waves at the camera, noticing how her hair is poking out of her hood over her head and she laughs, taking a deep breath she holds down the button on the rose for three seconds and she feels it turn on, buzzing in her hand. She spreads her legs and places the rose onto herself, instantly she knocks her head back on her headboard. Putting her free hand over her mouth to keep her from making noise she scrunches her brows and squeezes her eyes shut. Pressing harder she feels her legs start to shake and her abs clenching. Her toes start to curl and her eyes roll back as she already starts to fall off the edge, already being so turned on and the power of the rose being too much she cums taking the rose off her and curling forward as she shakes, shivering violently. She is breathing hard and feels around for her phone. Stopping the video she sends it to them with a little heart emoji. She looks at the time and smiles as she still has twenty minutes till dinner, she cleans up and gets dressed in something a bit nicer. Her face is still red and glowy but she doesn’t mind. She gets a notification and it's from Thomas in the chat, three drooling emojis and

‘I love you’.

Later on in the night after Judy and Garland have gone to bed and Thomas was on his phone just scrolling on tiktok, Clay got him addicted, the man himself walks into the room with arms full of snacks, placing them on the table in his room. His room was the size of the living room in the apartment, it had two red walls and two white. It seems like Clay has never been one for monogamy in any sense of the word. It had a large king size bed, on a fancy mahogany bed frame with fancy sheets and bedspread that don’t match in the slightest. A walk in closet that was full of clothes and trophies along with a gaming system and boxes with names on them full of little trinkets that Clay has found. Leo and Eloise's boxes are the only boxes left in there because Thomas, Noelle and Reg have all taken their boxes with them. Judy and Garland have a room full of things Clay has collected for them over his whole life.

“Did you get cleaned out? I want to make sure we pack the plug for home, I think we could have some good fun with that.” Thomas moves to the edge of the bed to sit with his feet touching the ground, about to get up to get some pretzel sticks. Clay had gone quiet, he was just chatting about how he was upset that his favorite heifer was sold and his parents forgot to tell him.

“Ummm… yeah.” Thomas senses something is off and motions for Clay to come over to him with his finger, Clay shuffles over to him between his legs, Thomas rests his hands on Clay hips and looks up at him. Clay is looking anywhere but him.

“Clay, what's wrong?” Clay sighs and looks down, Thomas ducks his head a bit to look Clay in the eyes, he looks worried. This made Thomas worry as well.

“I just- it's embarrassing.”

“What's embarrassing?” Clay starts to fidget, pressing the tips of his fingers in between his other fingers. Thomas takes his hands and gives them a squeeze.

“I still have the plug in… because I want you in me. Always.” Clay feels his cheeks heat up and he is waiting for Thomas to get grossed out but instead Thomas smiles at him.

“I don’t think that’s embarrassing, I think that's actually pretty hot.” Clay looks deep into Thomas eyes before moving onto the rest of his face just to see if he is lying, he realizes he is being truthful and tackles him back onto the bed. They eventually stop rolling with Clay on top of Thomas, they are both only in their boxers so there wasn’t much between them. Clay grinds down on Thomas as he feels him getting hard. Thomas goes to put his hands on Clay's hips but is stopped short, Clay pins his hands above his head smirking down at him.

“I’m in charge tonight, keep your hands here. I’m gonna undress us.” Clay shimmies down the shocked Thomas’ body, yanking his boxers off and tossing them over his shoulder, doing the same with his own. He lays down and slowly takes the plug out of himself after scurrying over to get the lube causing Thomas to laugh.

“You’re so cute.” Thomas lays there buzzing with excitement, He jumps a bit when the cold lube hits his way to hard cock and makes a sound of offense when Clay snickers at him. Swinging his leg over Thomas and not even pausing as he sinks down on him. Humming happily. Thomas can’t help it when he goes to move his hands again but Clay pins them back to the bed.

“You should learn to- listen” Clay is moving his hips not even stopping to take a breath. Thomas was groaning under him. Clay has not ridden him yet and it is so different, Thomas was definitely not in control and Clay was so hot being so bossy. Noelle is teaching him things. He was the one gasping and begging for more and Clay was the one giving yet receiving at the same time. He was in his own state, yeah Thomas could put him into a submissive mood with just a simple gesture but he was enjoying this. Clay eventually lets go of his hands but Thomas keeps them there as he watches Clay just focus on fucking himself. His arms stretched over his head, one coming down to glide down his chest and to tug his own neglected cock every once in a while but he was dragging this out because he was in control.

Eventually Clay takes one of Thomas' hands and moves it to his dick, Thomas starts to jerk him off causing his rhythm to stutter. He was moaning and his head was falling back, Thomas started meeting his thrusts and he groaned. He was getting close, he was about to tell Thomas this when he suddenly felt a heat filling him up, his eyes snapped open and he saw Thomas’ mouth open and his head tipped back.

He just came… before Clay did! That never happens!

The feeling of Thomas cumming in him, and the thought that Clay made him come first for the first time ever. He spurts onto Thomas’ stomach, flopping forward and putting all his weight onto Thomas.

“We” Clay was still catching his breath as Thomas kissed all over his face, sweaty and breathing hard he smiled. “We can clean up, but I want you in me when we fall asleep.” Thomas’ heart soared at the thought, this new kink of Clay’s was quite nice, not gonna lie. They clean up and snuggle into bed in a spoon position, Thomas hard and in Clay as he falls asleep, driving him mad!

After Thomas is positive Clay is asleep and he has gone soft he pulls out and rolls over so his back to Clay and calls Noelle. A couple of rings and she answers sounding groggy.

“Noelle! So much just happened! Clay has a fucking warming kink! A WARMING KINK!” He whispers yells as she snorts at him but tells him to go on. “He just pinned me to the bed after having a plug in after we fucked on the tractor! He fucked himself on me! I Came BEFORE him!”

“And I missed all this just to see my dad kick Leo out of the house! That’s dumb! You guys better do it again when I’m home because I was to see that! Anyways I need to rest because tomorrow will be long and boring and tense. Goodnight I love you.”

“Good luck and Goodnight Sugar Tits.” Noelle laughs at him.

“I love you too.”

#leo knut #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #james potter #thomas walker #Clayton Bruss #o'knutzy #o’knutzy #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast

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eleven-times-lively · 5 years ago

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Cheeky Niffler

Hello👋 I have a request for Newt Scamander where the reader is an archeologists and they met when the niffler tried to steal something that the reader had found

I love this gif for many reasons. I was thirsty while writing this and ummm... it’s obvious💕

Summary: One of Newt’s nifflers caused a disruption in your work, forcing you and Newt together. Word Count: 2000 Note: I love this idea and story! I was in kind of a writing slump the past week and couldn’t seem to write (I even abandoned a story), so I’m glad to finally get something out! slightttt smut?

You sniffled lightly, carefully dusting off the glinting object in your hand. It had only been a few years since you graduated, but you were now a leading archaeologist with the ministry. Your job took you to many interesting places, and you met many interesting people. Little did you know that today would be no different. You turned the object over in your hands, some ancient looking piece of jewelry. Perhaps a bracelet that had succumbed to the efforts of time. Several small gems peaked out amongst the gold strands, catching the light perfectly. You placed the object down for a moment so you could write your notes on the tiny notepad you carried, but when you turned back the bracelet was gone. You searched the ground around you, but to no avail. You then heard a light shouting, growing increasingly loud.

“Get back here you cheeky- ooohh running away again I see!”

You stood up and looked around, bewildered and concerned. That was when you saw him. A kind looking man dressed in a dapper blue coat with a yellow vest underneath, tied together with a neat black bow. He didn’t look wrong, just out of place. You were in the middle of a vast, dry forest, and he looked like he belonged in the city. You had just realised that he was charging directly at you. You stared on in surprise, eyes wide, and you braced for impact. He stopped short just a foot away from you, crouching down to the ground. You were so frightened and perplexed that you stayed frozen in your spot, even as the man stood and was speaking to you.

“Miss?”, he repeated for the umpteenth time.

Finally snapping out of your daze you met his gaze, “Huh?”, was all you could manage. You were already enthralled by the very sight of him. His eyes held such depth and emotion you could practically see the countless stories they held. The deep, complex blue stared back at you, narrowing slightly.

“Umm,” he muttered, “Terribly sorry but I believe I have something of yours.” He held up the bracelet, inviting you to take it back. You once again snapped out of your daze, lightly grabbing the bracelet and placing it in your bag, never breaking eye contact. You had never seen someone so… beautiful. He wasn’t extraordinarily striking, he certainly wasn’t some sought after bachelor, but there was something so fascinating about him. The innocent smile, the rounded cheekbones, and the peppering of freckles all came together to create the stunning man that was mere inches from you. What felt like an eternity went by before he spoke again, realising you wouldn’t. “One of my nifflers snatched your…”

“Bracelet!” You interjected, a little too excited.

“Right,” he smiled, “They’re terribly attracted to shiny objects I’m afraid.” He chuckled, fiddling with the creature in his hands awkwardly.

“No bother,” you smiled at him, reaching forward to pet the niffler, “I think he’s adorable.” You could have sworn you saw the man blush.

“Oh how rude of me!”, he exclaimed, meeting your gaze one again. “Newt Scamander,” he said, letting the niffler climb up his arm so he could extend a hand to you.

“Charmed,” you smiled, shaking his hand. “Y/n.” There was an awkward lull of silence, neither of you knowing how to proceed.

“So you’re here for work?” He cocked an eyebrow at you, his kind expression almost overwhelming.

“Yes!” You loved any opportunity to talk about your job. “I’m with the Department of International Magical Cooperation,” you smiled proudly at him. “ The International Magical Trading Standards Body to be specific,” you added, blushing and turning away slightly.

You didn’t notice Newt’s eyes narrowed as he looked at you up and down. A lightbulb went off in his head and he nearly jumped up and down in excitement. “Pardon, but are you Y/n Y/l/n, as in the head of the Trading Standards Body?”

You turned back, a shy smile creeping across your face. “I am. Youngest ever to be appointed, actually. I started as an archaeologist with Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, but I suppose my knowledge was more useful elsewhere. I was brought in to settle disputes on the origins of objects, and a few projects later… I was appointed,” you chuckled awkwardly, hoping you didn’t sound boastful.

“Outstanding!”, he mused. “I heard about you and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed. And don’t sell yourself short! Merlin, I’ve read both of your books, and Miss you are extremely brilliant. I’m afraid my position may be less impressive to you,” he slowly trailed off, yet his gaze never left yours. “Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, beast division.” He smiled proudly, quite pleased with himself.

“Brilliant!”, you exclaimed. “Magical creatures have always fascinated me. If I wasn’t devoted to archaeology I probably would have pursued something in your field, Mr. Scamander.” You flashed a warm smile, but could sense him growing nervous.

“I apologise, Miss,” he quickly said. “I feel I may have sounded a bit crass or perhaps out of place. Do forgive me.” His face blushed a cherry red as his eyes cast downward. The niffler on his shoulder cocked an eye at you.

“Pardon?”, you question as it quickly pieced together in your head. Surely you were right around the same age as him, but you must terrify him. The amount of power you hold, and what you can do with it, must be at least a little intimidating. “Oh! Merlin, it’s quite alright. Please, don’t treat me any different.”

Newt felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders as he let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “Well, pleasure to meet you Miss y/l/n. Here’s to the hope that we shall cross paths again.” He nodded his head at you and turned to return to wherever he came from.

“Wait!,” you called after him, “Mr. Scamander!”

He turned back, lifting an eyebrow as his head tilted to the side. He slowly walked back over to you. His lips pursed slightly as he stood before you, waiting expectantly.

“If you aren’t busy, would you like to join me for tea? I’m just about finished here.” You smiled at him, hiding your nerves well. You took in his expression: poorly masked excitement. You quickly added, “And not for a business meeting, Newt” You flashed a cheeky grin up at him.

“Oh… oh.” That would be lovely, Miss. I know a fantastic cafe just around a ways away in the town. He was blushing, returning your smile.

“Brilliant. We can meet there in…” you glanced at your watch, “thirty minutes?” He nodded and smiled at you, taking a mental note. “Oh and Newt,” you replied, “Call me y/n.”

***

The short time later you were seated in the quaint cafe, gazing out the large front window. You spotted Newt coming up the long road, looking absolutely giddy. You smiled to yourself, perking your head up at him when he entered. He took a seat, looking as if he had dashed here in a hurry. He placed his case down, finally stopping his movements for a moment to get a good look at you.

You gingerly picked up your teacup, motioning towards him. “It’s a rare blend, Newt. Imported from France.”

He hummed in interest, picking up his own cup and taking a sip. Once again humming in satisfaction, he placed the cup down and looked at you. “So, y/n, if I may ask, what is this if not a business meeting?”

“I think you know Newt.” You lightly chuckled as he returned the smile. “So, tell me, what brings you here? So far from London.”

“Oh, well,” he responded, immediately perking up, “I’m studying the land in an attempt to find a rather elusive type of pixie. They’re known to be picky about climate, so I’ve been sent all across the country to determine where they might be.”

“Fascinating,” you replied.

“And yourself?”

“Yes, well, the sight was the known location of a civilization ages ago, but our neighbors to the north have laid claim to any objects found at the sight. My team and I are trying to find as many objects as possible to hopefully connect a story as to their true origin. Or at least work out a deal with the wizards in Scotland. Normally I wouldn’t join in on the excavations, but this one seemed particularly interesting.”

“Well it worked out fantastically for you didn’t it?” He winked over the brim of his cup, taking another sip.

“I suppose it did.” You winked back at him, laughing playfully.

The two of you spent the next hours or so chatting like old friends. Everything from Hogwarts and climbing the ministry ladder to the changing economy and where Newt purchased his exquisite outfit.

You both stood, heading out the door and stopping at the street. “I hate to sound overzealous, but it’s getting late. Newt, care to return to my hotel with me.”

Newt was about to pass out as his jaw practically hit the ground. “Absolutely.” He smiled, lacing his fingers with your own as the two of you walked.

You reached the nice hotel a few blocks later. The two of you ventured up to your room, where you fumbled with the key. Once the door was shut, you swiftly locked it and pulled Newt into a kiss.

He tensed in surprise at first, but quickly reciprocated. The kiss quickly deepend, and your tongue was about to meet his when he pulled away. “Y/n,” he breathed out, cupping your face in his hands, “Are you sure about this?” You nodded, fumbling with the buttons of his vest. He chuckled, placing a hand over yours on his chest. “I want to hear you, love.”

“Yes, Newt,” you practically moaned out. Satisfied, he leaned back down to press hips lips to your own.

The kiss quickly returned to the same passion, the two of you stumbling over to the bed. You both quickly flung your clothes off, never stopping your actions.

***

The next morning you woke up to a sleeping Newt beside you. You ran a hand along his bare chest, causing him to stir.

“Morning, love,” he groaned, voice laden with sleep.

“Morning, Newtie.” You both shared a blush and a smile before reluctantly leaving the bed.

You both dressed when he came over to you, wrapping his arms around your waste. “This was all wonderful, dear. What a pleasure it was to have met you.”

You chuckled, leaning up to give him a kiss. You both so obviously didn’t want to return to work. “It’s a shame I’ll be heading back to London tomorrow. When will I see you at the Ministry offices again?”

He glanced downward, not wanting to respond. “I’m afraid I don’t know. I have all of England to explore, and I’m only just over halfway there.”

“Oh,” you whispered. “How long have you been out so far?”

“Four months.” A heady air washed over the room, the two of you each taking a step back.

“I can maybe move some things around…” you offered, “have your assignment changed.”

“That’s not necessary.” He noticed your crestfallen expression and took a step forward, taking your hand in his own. “Y/n, my darling, I am more than confident we will meet again soon. I shall be so pleased to even hope. My work is important, as is yours. The universe and ways will align properly, and we will encounter each other again when appropriate.”

You gave a shy smile, barely nodding. “Until we meet again, Newt. Fifth floor, you know where to find me.”

All he could do was smile and nod. He gave you one last kiss before slipping out of the door.

You sighed deeply, already counting down the moments to when you’d see one and other once again.

Do we want a part 2??

Newt Taglist: @whenpugzfly @luckygirl144 @hockeyzegras @hess016 @hariosborn @it-was-three-am

#HP #newt scamander #newt scamander x reader #newt scamander fluff #newt scamander oneshot #newt scamander fanfiction #newt scamander smut #niffler #nifflers #fantastic beats and where to find them

534 notes · View notes

nosferatvpussy · 4 years ago

Text

distorted lullabies [chapter XII]

Word count: 9,092 (heh)

Warnings: vulgar language, and uh, a teeny tiny bit smutty

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

Edit: AO3 link

A/N: Late again. I’ll stop apologising now because it’s getting a little out of hand. Ignore the caption in the gif and focus on his face (and the outfit...). I couldn’t find another gif.

And, oh, the reader remains nameless.

______________________________________________________

“Just pick one, Mal,” I complained. “They all look the same, anyway.”

Mallory fixed her green eyes on me with a sour face through the boutique’s mirror, where she had been modeling pairs of shoes for the last hour. This was the sixteenth pair, by my count, and she had reserved 4 other pairs to pick from, which she “absolutely adored and would look fantastic with other outfits”. The shop assistant was waiting by the pairs of shoes, a tiny smile frozen on her lips in pretend amity or perhaps thinking about how fat of a commission she’d earn on account of Mal’s shopaholic tendencies.

Two years had gone without much talk between Mal and I, and I found that a few things hadn’t changed: her proclivity for spending incredible amounts of money in clothes and her forgetfulness. The last of which landed me in a Gloucester boutique with her because she’d forgotten to pack high-heels for the wedding. She’d called me earlier and invited me to have lunch with her and then go shopping. Upon finding a store that appealed to her taste, though, she forced me into the store with sweet promises of delicious food later. My stomach grumbled like it was angry at me for having agreed to it.

“I’d forgotten how much of a pain in the arse you become when you’re hungry,” Mallory said as she flopped next to me on the canape where I sat. I shot her an annoyed look and she giggled as she started undoing straps around her ankles. “I’ll pay for your desert!” Instantly, I opened a large grin. And she chuckled. “Glad to see your sweet tooth remained intact.”

My grin widened to a more genuine one. Mallory and I still had a lot to catch up when it came to our friendship but it wouldn’t be too much work, not when an easy sense of familiarity permeated our banter.

My complaint was enough to make Mallory decide and pay. It wasn’t much of a decision because she still paid for three pairs of shoes. Earlier, when she’d tried on the tenth pair I pointed out that she only needed one pair of shoes for the wedding but she shrugged it off, so I knew it was pointless to tell her again. How she would fit those new additions into her suitcase, and her closet back in London, was her problem.

Once we were out of the boutique, Mallory still looking forlornly at a pair on the display that was too expensive even for her, the bright sun of midday hit our eyes, making both of us blink in surprise. Clearly the hour we spent cooped inside a store was enough for England’s weather to shift out of sorts.

Considering the unlikely sun and the pleasant temperature, we chose a restaurant that had tables on the outside where we could bask in the sunlight and watch the influx of people walking towards Gloucester Cathedral. From where I sat, I could only see part of it but towers peaked a couple of roads over, providing a glimpse of how big the structure sprawled. It looked like an entirely different place during the day. Not at all spooky and mysterious as it had appeared the past night. Watching a group of nuns filing past me towards the cathedral, I smiled, wondering how horrified they would be if the priest shared with them about the encounter he’d had. I’m sure there would be tales about the two creatures dancing and then vanishing in the blink of an eye, and how it would be ascribed to either devils or angels making their presence known. Oddly, I wished for the first.

“What are you smirking about?” Mallory asked in her best teasing tone.

“Nothing,” I said, archly.

“Uh-huh.”

She didn’t have any more time to tease me because a waiter came to our table with menus. To the surprise of nobody, after a show of reading the entire menu, Mallory chose fish and chips and a glass of white wine. It was a trustworthy dish in any part of England, she always said, but it was also her favourite. I, for once, was more adventurous and chose baked lamb with garlic accompanied by sautéed potatoes, onions and aubergines. I saved myself from alcohol. I would need it later, for courage, I told myself. And also for the tinge of regret casting pinpricks on my heart.

“So,” Mallory began, swirling the white wine on her glass as we waited for our food. “Do you have a date for tonight?”

“Yes,” I replied simply, taking a few gulps of my water.

“And…?” She prodded.

“You tell me yours first,” I said. If I could bargain with her and she mentioned someone I knew, perhaps I would have a chance to get back at the teasing that was sure to come.

“Sean Larkin. The lean blond from the adjoining finance firm?” She sighed. “He wanted me to have lunch with him today but I waved him off. I’m saving myself for the wedding.” She wiggled her eyebrows conspiratorially. As if Mallory would save anything for marriage.

“Isn’t he too young by your standards?”

“He’s older than me by a couple of years,” she retorted. “And look who’s talking about age standards! Didn’t you hook up with Ethan Prescott, our ethics professor, inside his office?”

“That was you, Mal.” I snickered at the blank look on her face. “Have you checked for Alzheimers with a doctor?”

“Oh, quit it.” She laughed into her glass, fogging it with her breath, before taking a sip. “My memory is completely fine. My body count is the problem. Now it’s your turn.”

“Maybe you don’t remember him but you know when last week you and I were supposed to go to Camden–”

“Oh my god, it’s the BMW guy!” She squealed. Her wine swung dangerously to the cup’s edges and she set the glass on the table. “Y/N, he’s your client.”

“Is not,” I countered, smiling impishly. It felt like college all over again when we would talk endlessly about boys during the early morning hours in our room. “He’s Renfield’s client. I’m just filling in for him while he’s away.”

“I bet you’re the one being filled–”

“Jesus, Mal!”

“What!” She threw her hands up in defense. “It’s just obvious you two are, you know, doing the deed.”

Clearly, Mallory also managed to preserve her crass manners when it came to guy-talk but still kept a strict rule over swearing. Figures.

“We’re not.”

She stared at me, open-mouthed.

“But but… You said he was yours. What– why not?”

“Because he’s not exactly the ideal person in mind to have as a romantic interest,” I said with a shrug.

“Well, is he nice?”

I considered it, chewing on my cheeks.

“Sometimes. Most of the time,” I corrected, wondering if my response could be linked to a case of Stockholm’s Syndrome. Perhaps I should suggest it be renamed Wallachia’s Syndrome. “But he’s in a tireless pursuit to, well, seduce me, for a lack of a better word, so of course he’s nice to me. But is he a nice person? No.”

“In what sense?”

In the sense of murdering people because he was bored, in the sense of enslaving my mentor and giving me no choice whether I want to be like him or not.

“He’s just not a nice person, Mal,” I explained poorly. “Believe me.”

“Okay. But do you like him despite that?”

I drew a big breath, shutting my eyes against the harsh sunlight. A veil of red coated my vision behind my eyelids and I thought of the red in Count Dracula’s eyes. A slight prickling on my neck reminded me of his mouth brushing the skin there before closing over it. The bond liked him, I knew that but I couldn’t explain it to Mallory.

“You know when you drink wine with an empty stomach?” I asked when I opened my eyes. She lifted her glass in a mock toast. “No, white wine is too light. Red wine, specifically. It’s like that being around him.” Mallory didn’t seem to understand, and neither was I making a lot of sense to myself, so I continued. “Everything feels a little numb and a little too hot, like I’m feverish. My lips, the tips of my fingers, my legs. And there’s a queasy feeling on my stomach, that’s not all bad, you know. It’s thrilling and also frightening,” I scoffed. “And I have the most outlandish thoughts when I’m around him. I can see myself doing things I would never do, and have done quite a few of them, actually. It’s bizarre. Like I’m drunk but not really.”

And much like wine, the bond made me do and feel things that weren’t real. Although one could argue that alcohol brought our truest selves to the surface. I shuddered at the thought.

“So you like him?” Mallory questioned, looking uncertain.

“I like how he makes me feel. And I guess I do like him, to an extent. But he scares me, Mal, he really does. And I shouldn’t like him if he scares me.”

“Has he hurt you?” She asked slowly, trying to sound gentle, I guessed, but it came out more like a snarl.

“Not really, no. Not physically. Emotionally, though, a little bit.” Seeing the somber expression on Mal’s face, I waved a hand. “Nothing to worry about, I can take care of myself. That’s beside the point. He frightens me, is all.”

“Maybe it’s not fear of him, Y/N. Maybe that queasy feeling is just fear of letting go. You were always a bit of a control freak when it came to your emotions.”

“I guess that hasn’t changed,” I muttered. “Can I have a sip of that?” I held a hand towards her wine glass.

She pushed it across the table for me. Cold, soothing liquid washed through my tongue and I swallowed it down eagerly. When I returned the glass to Mallory, less than half of it remained.

“Some sip,” she remarked.

“I needed it.”

She bobbed her head in agreement and a strand of baby blond hair escaped from her braid, coming to rest over one of her eyes. She blew it away and it fluttered behind her ear.

Our food arrived and I was glad to have something to concentrate on instead of what I felt or did not feel.

Mallory was kind enough to change the subject as we ate, so we spoke mostly of Sean, her date. They had been seeing each other for only two weeks and she was still determined into finding anything fun about him but so far she was unsuccessful. While Mal was too benign to say it, I knew Sean would be fated into following her around like a puppy until she found someone else to amuse her. Next, we spoke of Evelyn and to my surprise, and secret enjoyment, Mal didn’t seem to favour her anymore that I thought the woman deserved.

“I thought you were friends,” I said as I stole another sip of her wine.

“I thought so, too, but she’s become such a hag lately. I think it’s because she found out I have a higher score of winnings in court than her but that shouldn’t get in the way. I mean, you’ve got us all beat and you don’t see me hassling you. She just can’t admit she’s not the best at everything she does. And she didn’t invite me to be a bridesmaid, can you believe that?!”

“Bitch,” I said as a form of agreement.

“Cheers to that.”

After we finished with our lunch, I ordered a piece of blueberry pie, which I ate with Mallory’s help since I’d been sipping on her wine all throughout our meal.

We said our goodbyes not long after that. Mallory had to rush back to Berkeley, where she was staying with Chelsea and Sarah, because she hoped to be the first one to shower. According to Mal, Chelsea spent an eternity in the bathroom and wouldn’t let up even if she and Sarah almost broke the door down with all their knocking.

I watched as Mallory drove away in her car, almost hoping that we could remain stuck in that afternoon for longer, only so I wouldn’t have to think about the incoming night and the certainty that my heart would break, bond or no bond.

At least now I would have Mal to help me pick up the pieces and mend them back together.

__________________________________________________

Soft, orange clouds streaked the purplish sky in long and haphazard puffs as I waded down the slope leading to Berkeley Castle. It looked more like a fortress than a castle with how it circumvented a courtyard. Small windows decorated the austere exterior built from grey and maroon bricks. The roofs squatted low in true medieval style, with only a few chimneys disrupting the straight lines. Beyond the castle, the sky was already a deep shade of blue, casting a blanket of stars over the property. From where I stood I could see Gloucester Cathedral peaking in the distance, nothing more than a severe silhouette against the remains of daylight.

Count Dracula should be waking up now, or making himself ready for the wedding.

If by some miracle, the Sun didn’t set, he would never leave his hotel, and I wouldn’t have to carry out the plan. Dracula and I could have a little more time; just enough for him to tell me tales of times past and for him to find another impossible place to break into.

Zoe would be terminally mad at me if I skipped the plan on a mere and futile whim. And terminally dead, as well. Sparing myself from guilt shouldn’t be more important than Zoe’s chance at living. And I wasn’t about to throw away the very thing I strove for since I set that deal simply because I was having doubts.

My clutch bag, tiny as it was inside my hand, cast a heavy weight on my shoulder from the pill and the pen filled with Zoe’s blood.

“It’s the right thing to do,” I muttered quietly as I carried down the slope, hitching my dress up my ankles so I wouldn’t trip. “Because I’ve paid such care to what’s right over the past years.”

“Y/N!”

I turned my upper body to look behind me, too afraid of losing balance on my heels to fully pivot.

Mallory waved at me from the top of the hill. Even from afar I could tell she looked stunning, all long limbs showcased by a champagne coloured strapless dress. Her blond hair was slicked back tightly to her scalp, a precious stone necklace winked back at me when she motioned for me to wait for her. A shawl from the same colour of her dress was wrapped around her shoulders, twined about her forearms.

Chelsea and Sarah spilled out from a taxi behind Mallory. Chelsea had on a light blue flowy dress that complimented her golden skin nicely and Sarah wore a midnight green gown with a neckline so plunging it was a surprise I couldn’t see her bellybutton. Both of them wore their hair up in chignons. The three of them interlaced their arms for balance as they started down the slope.

We’d met the same fate of descending a slope in high heels, apparently. The line of cars intercepting the road to the castle’s gate was so ridiculously long from all the guests on the way, that I’d thought it would be faster if I abandoned my taxi and went the last couple of metres on foot. Now that sweat slicked my forehead and threatened to smear my makeup, I was regretting that choice.

My high heels dug uncomfortably on the soles of my feet but I endured the pain as I waited for them to reach me. Concentrating on not falling was an easy way to keep my mind off of what was about to come.

“Oh!” Said Chelsea, staring at me with wide eyes, when they were close enough. “From up there your dress looked black.”

“Evie will arrange your murder today, you know that, right?” Sarah told me, her eyes sweeping down on me appraisingly.

“What they mean is that you look amazing,” Mallory said, glaring to her left at both women. They made sounds of agreement.

My dress was constructed in a deep plum from silk taffeta, a lustrous fabric that made it look like it had more than a single shade, so I could understand Chelsea’s assumption. It criss-crossed over my chest and back in twisted straps that appeared black, purple and, in certain lights, violet. The dress’ bodice clung to my torso but fabric cascaded freely from the waist down. When I walked it embraced every curve of my legs as it bounced around me like it was liquid.

True to Diana’s wishes, who wanted me to make Count Dracula faint upon laying eyes on me, I would bet that was something I could probably do without the aid of Zoe’s blood. However, the prospect of knocking him to his knees didn’t seem so appealing when I knew I would never have the opportunity of doing it again.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to sound pleasant and failing miserably if I was to take their expressions as truth. “So does everybody.”

Mallory pulled me to her side and laced my arm with hers.

“Are you okay?” She whispered to me as all of us continued our journey downhill.

“Yes,” I told her.

She narrowed her eyes at me but I shook my head as a silent request for her not to pry. There were moments that Mallory’s keen perception of my mood was a blessing; this wasn’t one of them.

Locking arms with three other women proved to be a challenge, an extremely fun one, especially when Chelsea lost balance, nearly tumbling down and dragging Mallory with her. Sarah and I were left to hold them up which rendered a few belly-aching laughs from all of us. When we finally got them up on their feet, it was my turn to shift my heel at an odd angle and hold on to Mallory’s shawl for dear life, nearly strangling her. Mallory held onto Chelsea and nearly knocked Sarah off her feet. Although we were all cackling madly at our distress, a few men in tuxedos, more guests, were kind enough to provide us with an arm to balance ourselves until we reached Berkeley Castle’s main gate.

My laughter faded into nothing as I set eyes at the woman standing at the gate. Even in heels she was tiny, her head barely reaching some of the guests shoulders as she waved them in after checking each of their names on a list. Her pixie red hair was spiky at the ends and, as if I needed any more confirmation other than her height and hair, the small crystal piercing on her nostril identified her as Sylvia, the woman tasked to switch on the UV lights down on the garden later. If she knew my face, she made no movement to acknowledge me.

As Chelsea gave her our names, I peeked down the ledge and, sure enough, down a steep fall stood a garden and a rectangular artificial pond, its surface dotted with water lillies and white rose petals. My eyes traveled around, searching between bushes and trees for spotlights suggesting the possibility of UV lights but found none except tiny floor sconces, casting wavy reflections on the water.

“That staircase leads down there,” Sylvia said in a conversational tone; a clever way of letting me know everything was set up as it should. “You can reach it through that path if you want to have a stroll through the property later.”

I looked at the direction where she pointed, taking note of it, and nodded.

“Thank you. I will.”

I followed the girls through the arching gate, too absorbed in trying to level my heartbeat to pay any attention to the somber beauty of the courtyard. However, the Great Hall managed to shake me out of my stoic resignation and I gazed around me with utter admiration.

The room wasn’t particularly large but it was formidable in decor where size lacked. The ceiling hunched high above in curved wood beams, casting the illusion that we were beneath an old ship’s underbelly. Tapestries hung on the farthest wall bordering a fireplace large enough to fit 5 people standing up. Windows receded in alcoves inside the stone walls. A variety of ivory flowers, inky purples and rosés the colour of bitten lips flanked the entire room. Rows of white chairs on each side of the aisle were intertwined with purple ribbons. More flowers spiraled up into some sort of wooden gallery, engraved with several coats of arms in murky colours.

Mallory tugged on my elbow so I would sit next to her and Sean, her date, who looked absolutely smitten by her – the fool – that he barely paid any attention to my cheery hello.

“Where’s– what’s his name again?” she asked me while I smoothed my dress after sitting down.

“Dracula.” I blew out a breath. “He’ll be here for the reception.”

If I was in a better state of mind I would’ve waved the fact that he was royalty just to see Mallory squeal in joy but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

She was about to ask me something else but music suddenly sparked to life, silencing every person and as one, we all stood up. The music came from above so I turned around briefly, trying to gauge where it came from, and found that a quintet played at the top of that podium.

Evelyn’s soon-to-be husband was not at all what I expected from a woman of her calibre, gorgeous as she was, so I assumed that he had to be extremely wealthy to make up for his mousey face. One would think a bride would be more focused on walking down the aisle and gazing at her beloved but not Evelyn – she found a breach to stab daggers at my dress with her hazel eyes and, finding myself bitter, I flashed her my most goading smile. Her pace vacillated for a moment and I looked around us to see if anyone had noticed but she carried on not a second later, staring ahead of her with vicious determination. The ceremony proceeded after we were all sat and I listened to their vows absentmindedly. I knew what was coming: for poorer or richer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish, and at last, till death do us part. Although Evelyn and Rupert – not ashamed to say I only discovered the groom’s name when the minister mentioned it – were doing a lengthy and embellished version of it.

Till death do us part.

“Mal,” I whispered to her as Rupert was declaring his eternal love to Evelyn. Mallory bent her head closer. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

“I was always the one with the weird questions so I’d say you’ve got credit to spend,” she whispered back.

“Would you live forever if you could?”

She evaluated me for a long moment.

“What are the conditions?”

The corners of my lips tugged up. Ever the lawyers, the pair of us.

“You would have to leave everything behind. Start another life as a new person but you’ll look the same forever.”

An undead person, I meant to say.

“Yeah, I would,” she said but she answered too quickly for my liking.

“Would you kill for it?” I continued.

She gaped. Careful consideration passed through her green eyes.

“Lots of people would.”

“But would you?”

“I’m terrified of dying, Y/N,” she confided. “Of growing old and forgetting things, forgetting my own name or what something’s called. And if I’m being shallow, I’m terrified of becoming an ugly old lady. I wouldn’t really be myself if it came to that, would I? I like me as I am, now. So yeah, hypothetically speaking, I would kill someone for it. Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know. I mean… I’m not sure. Growing old doesn’t bother me. I just can’t think of abandoning everything that I once was and becoming someone else just so I can live forever.”

“We do it all the time.” She grinned sheepishly. “Remember what the Mad Hatter tells Alice?”

I rolled my eyes.

“You’re the one obsessed with that damn book and you know I don’t remember.”

“I’ve got a sucky memory but it’s something to the effect of Alice not being the same Alice as before and that she’s lost her muchness. Anyway, we’re constantly changing, little by little, it’s up to us if we become more than before, or less.”

“I don’t think that’s what Lewis Carroll meant by that.”

“Well, that’s how I choose to look at it. So, really, how much more can I become if I live forever? There’s lots and lots of possibilities for little old me and I don't want to die before I meet all of them.”

“So you’d kill someone for that?”

“In a heartbeat.” She nodded. “Do you plan to tell me why you’ve asked me this?”

“Maybe one day if I somehow become immortal?”

“Which is never. Got it. I’ll shut up now.”

Mallory turned and sat up straight, oblivious to the veritable chance of immortality.

Possibilities.

That was one way to look at it. An extremely optimistic and selfish way to look at it but I never claimed to be selfless. Optimistic, however, I was far from. But just as Mallory had said, we were always changing.

How far was I willing to go for change? I liked myself just as I was now and I couldn’t picture myself literally sucking the life out of people so I could have a chance at more.

Which version of me was I talking about? Me, who I’ve always been; safe, calculated, blunt. Or the one who enjoyed playing with fire as much as she did reading books?

The promise of excitement; that’s what Count Dracula said he’d found in my blood. Imagining my life for the next five years evoked no happy feelings. Where would I be? Married with kids, doing the same thing until my body shriveled and I died? A regular husband who carried groceries and did the dishes, and sometimes, when he remembered it, took me somewhere nice. How awfully… pedestrian.

A life clad in dusk, traveling places to see more than an average person could perceive and waltzing inside churches as I laughed in the face of god… That certainly sounded more appealing. And lonely.

Could I live forever with Count Dracula? Would he be all I would have for the rest of time? No Mallory, no Diana, no Renfield. No mum and dad. Just us.

A roar of applause and whooping rescued me from dwelling on that any further. Evelyn and Rupert must have sealed the deal with a kiss to cause all that commotion. I joined the raucous by sticking two fingers on the side of my mouth and whistling loudly enough to make Mallory and her date wince and laugh.

Not long afterwards, the guests were led to another chamber inside the castle, the Long Drawing Room according to the plaque, while the Great Hall was organised for the reception. When we returned, various tables were set elegantly in shades of cream and more flower arrangements in light pink and purple decorated each of them.

Locating the partner table was easy; all I had to do was look for the middle-aged white men with the most disdainful poise. Of all twelve people sitting at their table, only five were women and those were some of the partners’ wives. I made sure to make eye-contact with Evelyn as I dragged Mallory and Sean along with me and flopped down next to Talbot – Evelyn’s mentor. Mallory appeared to be on cloud-nine to be sitting there. As for me, I could barely summon pleasure at the look of utter disbelief and rage in Evelyn’s face.

Hours passed in the company of red wine, champagne and food, while I occasionally cast looks at the archway under the gallery, hoping to see Count Dracula making his entrance. I showered Mallory with compliments when I could so she could get the attention from the big bosses and deviated the subject to her whenever a partner made remarks about my work. At one point, I spotted Raoul, the “waiter” who was in on the plan, and he nodded at me solemnly. Photographers came and blinded us with their camera flash. I was certain that I would be staring in the direction of the archway in all of the photos but at least Renfield would get to see Evelyn’s sullen expression to be in the same picture with me.

A hand pressed my shoulder from behind, fingers squeezing. Swiveling my head, I saw Mallory, eyes wide.

“Hell’s bloody bells.”

That was the closest to a curse Mallory would ever get and I immediately turned my head in the direction she was looking at.

“Fuck,” I sighed. A sigh because my throat wasn’t prepared to produce a sound.

Count Dracula stood under the archway, head tilted back as he took in the surroundings, eyes ever watchful. He donned a longer coat than was usually called for in an average tuxedo, overtop of a white waistcoat and white dress shirt. Wound tightly around his neck, beneath a white bow tie, was a heavy pendant in a thick cord of silk. A wine coloured silk, which went perfectly with my dress.

The outfit did justice to his royal title flawlessly.

I stared for a long moment, willing him silently to look at me and, at the same time, wishing that he didn’t catch sight of me, turned back and left.

“He’s looking for you,” Mallory told me over my shoulder. I simply nodded. “Well, go, silly.”

She took my glass from me and shoo-ed me out of my seat.

Though my knees wobbled as if I was some lady fanning herself over him, my feet were capable enough of moving on their own and I started weaving through tables to reach him. My ears caught Sarah and Chelsea gushing over him from a couple of tables over and I picked up my pace when Sarah suggested to Chelsea that one of them went to greet him. For a moment I was distracted apologising to a waiter for nearly knocking his tray to the floor and when I looked back at Count Dracula, my breath hitched in my chest.

Dark eyes surveyed me from head to toe in what I would’ve called a leer if he were anyone else. My strides grew smaller as my cheeks burnt hot. I was blushing – actually blushing to the colour of a tomato no doubt, as if I was sixteen years old again. I hoped he would meet me halfway and spare my legs from giving out at any moment but he stood there, hands laced behind his back as he waited, openly lusting after me in front of a hundred people. The plan of making him faint was backfiring horribly and my mouth curled into a reluctant smile when I realised that I didn’t give a damn.

When I finally reached him, my hands rose voluntarily, eager to feel the texture of his attire, to measure the expanse of his chest as if my eyes weren’t enough, but, realising what I was about to do, I started lowering them. Dracula caught my hands and placed them on his chest.

“Touch,” he said, a suggestive gleam in his eyes.

And I did.

My hands ran up his shoulders, noting that his lapels were also silk and that the suit fit him impeccably, like he had it tailored. The buttons on his shirt were rubies encrusted in silver, or perhaps white gold. Either way, each of those buttons probably cost a fortune. The pendant vaguely resembled a crusader cross except it flared at the edges. I took it between my fingers to examine the design adorning its center. A dragon stood there, tail coiling and wings unfurling around its body. It looked like the dragon on his ring I’d seen a week ago and, once again, I found an inscription in latin.

“Societas Draconistarum,” I read, poorly. “ Draco – dragon, isn’t it?” Memory jogging, I glanced up at him. A small smile tugged at his mouth, an odd expression of pride on his face. “Is this the emblem of the Order of the Dragon?”

“You did your research well,” he remarked.

“Had to. How often does someone meet a historical figure?” I adjusted the pendant so it laid squarely over his collarbones. “I’m surprised I still remember the name of your secret society, it seems like it was forever ago since I read about it.”

Calling it a secret society was far from the truth; I meant to needle him so he would elaborate on it but when he didn’t, I sent my eyes away from the pendant to focus on his face. I caught him looking down at me over his nose, lips slightly parted to reveal the tip of his tongue tracing his bottom lip. I dared to believe that he hadn’t heard a word of what I’d said, too busy fantasizing about something.

His hands landed on my waist, forcing me closer. They skimmed down, exploring the curves of my hips and squeezing them briefly before moving up again.

“Everyone is watching us,” I told him, grabbing each of his wrists. I couldn’t look past him but I could feel their stares.

“Don’t care,” he said curtly, ignoring my grip. “You touched. It’s only fair I do the same. You are a vision, my darling.”

A lustful fire blazed behind his eyes and I shuddered. I dropped my hands, not minding that people were quite literally gawking at us, and allowed him to continue his investigation.

A hand slid to my back, fingers kneading my flesh gently as he examined the dress, like he was making sure this ‘vision’ of his was real. His other hand drifted up to follow the contours of the bodice, a finger tracing the seam that led up to dress’ cleavage and then its straps crossing over my chest. I gasped as warm fingers brushed my collarbones and led a path up my neck and finally stopped to caress my cheek. His touch became tender as he reached my face, stroking my skin lightly and making me lean towards his hand, like a sunflower seeks the sun.

“I’m tempted to shower you with silk and taffeta gowns so you can wear them for me every night,” he said softly. “And so I’ll have the pleasure of tearing them off.”

“There’ll be no tearing off anything.” My voice trembled. “This is an extremely expensive dress.”

“Ah, I’ll get you how many dresses you want. Don’t worry about this one. And I can be careful, if you wish. Although I want nothing more than to ravish you.” My skin crawled and he smirked as he caressed down the lengths of my arms, making me shiver. “I see. No need to be careful, then.”

“What I meant is–” I cleared my throat “–this dress isn’t coming off for you. In any shape or form.”

“You can keep it on, just as well. It’ll be no trouble.”

If he looked at me for any moment longer, I would do something drastic, such as grabbing him by the hand and taking him somewhere inside the castle where he could make good on all those fantasies.

I swallowed dryly.

“How do you like the castle?” I asked.

Dracula snorted, apparently amused by my attempt to deviate the subject, but he kept his hands on my arms, trailing up and down.

“Nervous again? Pity.” He looked around and I started breathing properly. “I prefer my own castle.”

“You still have a castle?”

“If it has remained untouched in the last century, yes.” Then he frowned. “It’s very likely it has been burnt to the ground now.”

“Why would that be?”

He grinned.

“The locals weren’t very partial to my presence in Wallachia. I imagine they burnt it as soon as they realised I wasn’t coming back.” He shrugged. “Unfortunate, if that’s the case. My library could have rivaled Captain Nemo’s.”

“Oh!” I grinned. It seemed forever ago since I had eyed Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas in my collection and giggled upon taking it from its shelf and shoving it inside my purse. “Did you finish reading it?”

“Just yesterday, actually. Fantastic how Jules Verne predicted most things we have today, and how some of them are already obsolete. I would’ve liked to meet him.”

“So you could’ve drank him?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “Thank you for the book, I found it very enjoyable. I’ll read it again in French if I come across an edition, I think various things were lost in translation. Captain Nemo is an interesting character, although a little too morose for me. I suppose he’s your favourite.”

“He is everyone’s favourite. Jules Verne wrote more books on him because of it.”

“I would like to read them. Do you have them in your library?”

“No but Mallory does. She lent me hers when we were in college.”

If he was to spend the next years – or the rest of his existence – caged, then perhaps I could see to it that he got a few books to entertain him. I would have to make a list.

“Ah, yes, the blond coming towards us, isn’t that she?” Count Dracula nodded, eyes fixed behind me.

I pivoted to see Mallory, dragging Sean behind her. I kept my gaze focused on hers to avoid making eye contact with one of the dozens of people staring at me and Count Dracula. We had put on quite a show to have that many sets of eyes on us.

“Y/N,” she began when she reached me. “The bride and groom will have their first dance now. You must’ve missed the announcement.” Her eyebrows jerked up trying to convey something along ‘ you rascal ’ before she looked past me, her doe eyes focusing on Count Dracula. “I’ve heard loads about you. Dracula, isn’t it?”

“Mal…” I complained.

“Did you now?” Count Dracula said, tone all honey as he placed his hands on my shoulders and squeezed. He rounded me, stopping at my side, and letting one hand drop. “I would say I’m surprised but that would be a lie.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mallory. Y/N speaks greatly of you.”

Until a minute ago, I had never spoken about her to him so I knew he was being courteous, although my blood probably did speak great things of her.

Dracula accepted Mallory’s extended hand and, instead of shaking it, he turned it so he could plant a kiss on top of it. He’d done the same to me when I first met him. Her mouth fell open and Sean’s ears turned red as he pulled Mallory back by her arm. She swatted Sean away.

“He’s not British,” I said, trying to assuage them. “Eastern Europe is quite old-fashioned in some ways.”

“Forgive me,” said Dracula, looking like he wasn’t sorry at all with that smug smile plastered to his face. “I’m afraid I’m still adapting and haven’t managed to shrug off the education in which I was raised.”

“Which education was that?” Sean asked between gritted teeth.

“An aristocrat’s one.” Dracula smiled.

Mallory’s eyes widened until they were about ready to pop out of their sockets.

“Show-off,” I muttered, elbowing the Count lightly.

A group of people were converging around the dance floor and I laced my arm with Count Dracula’s.

“We’ll miss the first dance,” I said, and nudged Mallory with my hip so she would stop gawking. She nodded weakly and went ahead with Sean. “She’ll never shut up about you now,” I muttered to Count Dracula as we followed them.

“Good. From what I gather, Mallory has always been very encouraging of your endeavors. Perhaps she will give you the final push.”

“Towards you?”

“Yes, and I’ll gladly receive you.”

“With open arms and fangs,” I grumbled.

“How tragic,” he shot back, chuckling.

A waltz started as we reached the bundle of people and I saw Evelyn and Rupert entering the dancefloor just before they started swaying to it. The smile on her lips seemed genuine so I supposed that although her husband wasn’t exactly attractive, she did have feelings for him. The bitch had a heart, after all.

The guests clapped furiously when their waltz stopped. Another waltz followed, less upbeat than the previous and what sounded like more strings attacking the melody, and couples looked at each other, waiting to see who would be the first ones to join the bride and groom.

Count Dracula untangled my arm from his and took my hand inside his not a moment later. With all my training from last night, I let him lead me to the dance floor, forgetting all about Evelyn’s scathing stare, and smiling up at him as I set a hand on his shoulder. We started slowly, following the melody as more couples joined us, but when the tune’s pace picked up and Dracula moved to accompany it, I nearly twisted my ankle.

“Did you forget everything I taught you last night?” He provoked.

“No.” I furrowed my brows, offended. “I was wearing boots yesterday. High heels aren’t exactly waltz friendly for a beginner.”

Dracula’s hand on my back moved to fully encircle my body and, in one move, he lifted me and smashed my chest to his. When he set me down, my face was closer to his, closer than I ever was to him when it came to height, and my feet kept moving, although I wasn’t making an effort to. The softness under my heels proved to me that I wasn’t touching the ground and I laughed, realising me that he had set me over his own feet and had continued to dance like my weight was nothing. Guests around us snickered, prompting me to laugh more.

My nose brushed his as my laughter died down and my eyes strained to focus on something in the close proximity. I could feel every inch of his body shaped to mine and that queasy feeling I’d told Mallory about settled in my belly. A mere movement of his feet could sway me forward and brush our mouths together.

My heart threatened to burst out of my chest. It beat madly against my ribs like it was a caged animal. Could Count Dracula feel its thud inside his chest due to our nearness? As if it was his own heart, beating lively for the first time in the last five centuries?

I sighed, pressing my cheek to his. Count Dracula nuzzled closer until I felt his lips grazing my earlobe and sending a wave of arousal down my body.

“Aren’t you worried about ruining your shoes?” I said into his ear.

His chest heaved under mine and I wondered if that was him taking a deep breath of my scent.

“Not at all,” he responded. “They are disposable but I shall keep them, if only to admire the dents your high heels will leave on the leather.”

A grin took my mouth, making my cheeks hurt from opening so wide.

“Does your castle look anything like this one?” I asked him, attempting to focus less on how his body felt against mine.

“Mine has more towers and it sits far up on a mountain peak. It’s bigger than this one. Hence it was difficult to keep it to pristine condition, especially because I had no servants after I became what I am today. I frighten people, can you imagine that?” His chuckle tickled my ear. “This one was designed to be pleasing to the eye, I imagine, while serving the purpose of a fortress all the same. My home is nothing but a fortress to keep people out but, most of the time, in . It isn’t pretty.”

I pretended to not hear the part about keeping people in.

“Do you miss it?”

“No. Though, I realised today I was far more attached to that library than I remembered. There are manuscripts there, signed ones, and countless others invaluable books. Forbidden ones by the church, as well. When Renfield recovers, I’ll have him find out if my castle is still standing, and if it is I’ll have my books sent to me.”

“Maybe Captain Nemo would be jealous of your collection. I know I am,” I said. As we spun, Mallory, dancing with Sean, caught my eyes over the Count’s shoulder and grinned like an excited child as she gave me a thumbs up. I winked back at her. “I’ve seen pictures of Romania when I researched you. It’s beautiful. And the weather seems more agreeable than England’s. Why would you move here?”

“The Industrial Revolution,” he answered, shrugging as he continued our dance. His dance, to be fair. I was simply taking a ride. “England was far ahead than any other place in the world and Romania with all its superstition fell behind, always more of the same in centuries. And I wanted to see new things developing instead of just hearing about them. So I came, and missed most of them because of Agatha.” He sighed. “Unfortunate in some ways but for the best in others.” He dug his fingers on my waist to let me know what he meant.

Dracula danced with me in silence from then on. We danced until everyone was on the dance floor with us and the waltzes had been substituted by song ballads. I had my forehead resting in the crook of his neck as I breathed evenly, though my heart still seemed somewhat reluctant to beat at a normal pace.

“Y/N,” he called and I hummed in response. “Tell me what you were going to recite last night.”

I opened my mouth to recite it, and then snapped it shut. I started sliding my hand from his, freeing myself of his hold, but he clasped it and fully laced his arm around my back like he was a snake coiling around its prey.

“I can’t,” I mumbled. I remained still, head tucked on his neck as I stared at the dragon pendant.

“Why?”

“Because it’s true, and it’s one of my secrets. You don’t need to know it.”

“But I want to know it. Your every secret, your truth, I want everything. And yesterday you told me you’d tell me.”

“I lied.” I rose my head to look at him. His black eyes, unwavering in its intensity, lured me in like a raging sea. I could have drowned in them. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“No, I couldn’t.” He furrowed his brows for a second and then smiled. “I don’t know whether to be proud that you’ve learned how to lie to me or be annoyed about it. Deciphering you will be an even greater challenge from now on.”

“Good.”

Baudelaire’s words revolved in my head repeatedly. Like a song lyric, one without rhythm but all of its meaning.

‘What can an eternity of damnation matter to someone who has felt, if only for a second, the infinity of delight?’

I needed that second. As a reminder of what I was throwing away.

I glanced at Dracula’s lips and tilted my head closer. He blinked, comprehension passing his eyes as my mouth neared his. He stopped dancing and became very still, as if he was afraid to scare me away by a brusque movement. My nose bumped into his. My eyes were wide, half scared about what I was doing, half scared of missing the look on his eyes. I stood on my tiptoes, further ruining his shoes, and captured his lips with mine.

I stopped breathing and finally closed my eyes, too caught up in the feel of him to have them open. And then he freed my hand which he had been holding captive to trap me with both of his arms as he parted his mouth. In the past, his lips had been always cold when we kissed, and now, the feel of his warm tongue on mine, demanding and hungry, was what made me shudder. Unrestrained need to feel more of him, anything, just more and more, made me deepen the kiss and delve my fingers into his hair. He established a slow pace but I still struggled to gasp for air in between our short, nearly nonexistent pauses.

I heard a faint chattering that sounded suspiciously of admonishment but I didn’t care. I was doing something stupid but for the life of me, I couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop, whether it was for my sake or for the sake of someone else’s reprisals. And I wanted to give Count Dracula this, the one thing he shouldn’t have before he went away.

When he tried to pull away to give me room to breathe, I simply grabbed his face and crushed my lips to his again. He moaned low on his throat and an ache started between my legs, rising up towards my breasts and I suddenly felt like my dress was restraining me. His hands roved my back, seeking to touch more of me as I did with him, but it wasn’t enough and I soon found myself cursing the fact that there were people watching us.

I don’t think I would’ve stopped if it wasn’t for Count Dracula grabbing the nape of my neck and tearing me away from him.

“No–” I started to protest but caught hold of myself when he, very slowly, started dancing again. And when he did, I felt a distinct stiffness pressing against my stomach. My mouth fell open for a brief second and the look on his eyes was enough to make me hide my face on the curve of his neck. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh. ” He chuckled in my ear, and I shuddered as the throbbing between my legs intensified.

“You should’ve stopped me earlier,” I muttered.

“And miss your face when you realised what you did?”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said, trying to conceal a snicker. “Not on purpose.”

He just laughed.

I shut my eyes, doing my best to memorise the sound.

When Count Dracula stopped dancing at the end of the song, and nothing else stood between us, I slowly disentangled myself from him. The front of my body felt oddly cold and bare now that I stood apart from him and I had to swipe a hand down my dress to make sure it was still there. I glanced at him and snorted upon noticing that his lips were swollen.

“You have lipstick all over,” I said, smiling like an idiot. He bent his head closer as I cleaned the corners of his mouth with my thumb. Grabbing my jaw gently, he did the same with me, his fingers brushing my numb lips and leaving a tingly sensation where he touched. “Better?” I asked, dropping my hand when I was done.

He nodded and started leaning his head forward. Feeling suddenly modest as if I hadn’t just rubbed myself against him as two hundred people watched, I turned my head to the side and his lips touched my cheek .

“Y/N, look at me.” I did and I almost wished I didn’t. Tenderness was a peculiar thing to find in the eyes of a murderer but I found it. “Was that a yes?”

“Yes.” I nodded lightly. “Sort of.”

I could say it because it wouldn’t last long.

The crease between Dracula’s eyebrows told me he was considering my answer but if he wanted to question me about what ‘sort of’ meant, he saved it for later.

I slid from his grasp until I clasped his hand.

“I need to visit the ladies’ room. I’ll only take a minute. Why don’t I introduce you to some people so you’ll have company until I come back?”

He acquiesced.

Ignoring every judgmental look I received, I weaved my way between tables until I caught sight of Mallory’s blond head sitting at the partner’s table. If anyone at that table had witnessed us at the dance floor, nobody let it show on their faces as Count Dracula shook hands with them. I doubted anyone would have said anything either, since he towered over the entire group with a slight curl of his lips that simply dared anyone to ask. It was like a wolf making nice with the deer right before it ate it.

“Mal,” I leaned close to her so only she could hear me. “Come with me to the ladies?”

“Sure.” She set down her glass of champagne on the table and picked up our purses.

My purse felt very heavy on my hands and I was already dreading opening it. I slanted a look at Count Dracula to see that he was already sitting down and in deep conversation with Talbot about life in England.

As if I needed another reminder, Raoul came by at that moment, his white suit clinging to every muscle on his arm and making me wonder what was his true occupation. With swollen muscles like that, I doubted he was a doctor like Zoe.

“Miss, would you like a drink? If you’re not satisfied with your wine, I can prepare a cocktail, if you wish.”

I almost said ‘Manhattan’ right there but my mouth wouldn’t form the words.

“Maybe later,” I told him, and he left.

Turning to Count Dracula, I bent so I could level my mouth with his ear, and as I did so his nostrils flared, the oddest look crossing his face.

“Try not to bite anyone in the meanwhile.” I whispered, forcing myself to sound normal instead of rueful. “I’ll be right back.”

When I drew back, his face was impassive and he merely nodded at me before flashing a beguiling smile at Talbot as they resumed their conversation.

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years ago

Note

Hey Steph! I know that I for one would love for you to post that hospital fic list! No pressure tho!

(referencing this post)

Hey Nonny!!

YAY!! Ask and ye shall receive!! <3 I have wanted to post it for awhile; I try to hold off as long as possible since every week I do get enough asks to keep me going; and when I want to post a list, I put out a *winkwinknudgenudge* and people like you indulge me hahah! <3

ANYWAY, check it out! Thank you for asking!! <3

HOSPITALS Pt. 2

See Also:

Hospital Fics

Rehab/Mental Hospital AU (Community Recs)

A Room of One's Own by whitchry9 (K+, 2,174 w., 5 Ch. || S2 Timeline, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Coma, John Whump, Worried Sherlock, POV John, Angst, Friendship/Bromance, Hospital) – When a severe head injury lands John in a coma, somehow he ends up in Sherlock's mind palace. It's actually pretty nice there, and John is entertaining the notion of staying there, rather than returning to his broken body. But Sherlock isn't taking it as well, and John can feel him breaking around him.

Reversed by whitchry9 (K+, 3,072 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Medical Anomolies, John Gets Shot) – The man pointed his gun at John's chest, right at his heart, and shot.' Wherein John is shot, and Sherlock is the one panicking.

As You Wish by PipMer (K, 3,311 w., 1 Ch. || Bromance/Pre-Slash/Epic Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, John Whump, Hospitals) – When John woke from his coma, he wasn't at all surprised to see the wrong Holmes brother sitting at his bedside. Disappointed, but not surprised.

What Did I Do Wrong? by Starlight05 (T, 7,880 w., 5 Ch. || Hurt Comfort, Angst, John Whump, Hospitalization, Worried Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil, Nightmares, Sherlock Being Dumb) - After John almost dies on a case, Sherlock disappears. So John is left to figure out what he can do to get his best friend back. Meanwhile Sherlock, guilt-ridden and willingly alone, is doing everything he can to stay away.

A Study in Linguistics by rizandace (T, 12,425 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Canon Compliant/S2 Divergence, Friendship, Slices of Life, Communication, Cranky Sherlock, Hospitals, Sherlock Whump, Pet Cat, Jealous John, Sherlock’s Violin, Anxious Sherlock, John Whump) – Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had their own language. It was a language of few words and minute facial expressions, and John had learned that it was nearly the only way to have an honest conversation with his eccentric flat mate.

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller, Switchlock, Rimming, Emotional Lovemaking, Lots of Sex, HJ/BJ’s) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #hospital fics #Anonymous

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dented-nado · 4 years ago

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So a little bird told me you were taking Sebwill prompts. I thought I should take advantage of that! May I request something along the lines of SebWill superheroes/villains? Maybe they are mortal enemies by day, and lovers by night?

This is such a perfect combination of my interests, I am so damn here for it. I hope you enjoy it!

This ended up a little long, oops! Lol! I also absolutely kind of made a soup of DC hero/villain origins and mixed them together for this lol. Bonus points to anyone who can spot every one that I made a reference to! :D

==================================

Years ago, William had hid in his room after a horrible day. He was only about 15, wishing he could just fly away and leave.

Then… suddenly he found himself lying on his ceiling. It had taken him several long moments of panicking to realize he wasn’t dreaming, longer to realize he could move around as he wished.

And so… he opened his bedroom window, and left home, never to look back.

Anyone who knew him now would be shocked to find that at one point, William T. Spears who stood so straightly and kept every bit of him tidy and proper… had once been a scruffy, scrawny little teenage meta-human wandering the streets of London, getting into trouble and being chased by the authorities trying to take him into and orphanage or foster care… or worse, back home.

William had learned to live off the streets. At a certain point he had even gotten a little cocky, he was so fast that no one would even see him as he stole whatever he needed or wanted. He’d lead cops on a wild goose chase into alleyways that he knew like the back of his hand, only to float away to the rooftops out of sight.

He didn’t really make friends either. He mostly just had a small pack of birds that he split some of the spoils from his day out with when they came to the cracked window of the abandoned flat he had hid in.

He had always heard of heroes… saving the earth from threats both domestic and extra-terrestrial. Hell, he had seen one of them blast through London. On one hand he was curious, if maybe he and that super-being came from similar origins. But on another hand… he couldn’t help but resent the whole idea of heroes.

They certainly never protected kids like him.

That was the first time William had a sort of haunting thought. He had escaped because… he just happened to have these abilities that he still didn’t know the origin of… how many kids out there weren’t so lucky that weren’t being saved??

Well… maybe he could save them but, well when he looked around himself this was a fine nest for himself, but more than one person? Potentially kids even younger than him? How would he even look after them? He was 17 now… maybe he could pass as 18 if he cleaned up a bit, then maybe if he had enough money by then he could buy a better place and own it himself. How much did houses cost? It couldn’t be that much if lots of adults had them right?

He’d start stealing things to sell, he decided. He could get away with it, surely.

Well, his plan had fallen short, when he had been caught, stealing the tires off a rather fancy car since he was sure he could sell them for quite a bit.

The presumed owner of said car seemed oddly amused and calm at a scraggly un-kempt seventeen-year old stealing the tires of her car.

It was then another person came around the corner rambling on her phone, she seemed almost the same age as William, though maybe a little younger. She stared at William and who William now supposed was this young lady’s mother.

William decided now was the time to up up and away out of there, only suddenly, in a red blur, the young girl had jumped up and pulled him back down, she was fast… almost as fast as him.

“Excuse you! You can’t just steal our tires and go!” She scolded.

William had tried to escape, he’d found it easy to lift incredibly heavy objects including cars above his head, but now he couldn’t seem to pull her arms off him.

“Let me go!” He demanded.

“Now young man…” The girl’s mother said patiently. “How about you land yourself right back down on the ground and we can see about helping you out so you aren’t out here on the streets stealing tires.”

William glowered distrustfully, still thrashing in frustration as the young redheaded girl pulled him back down to the ground.

“If you haven’t noticed… we’re like you. We can help you… if you replace the tires and calm down.”

William had bit his lip. He didn’t trust this strange red-headed mother and daughter pair but then again… maybe… it would be nice to meet other people like him.

Begrudgingly he had put the tires back on quickly, and hesitantly sat in the back seat of the vehicle beside said girl who had been grinning at him since she had pulled him down to the ground.

“I’m Grell, what’s your name boy?”

William stared at her like she had grown horns for a moment before finally answering, realizing he hadn’t said his own name in a while.

“William.”

“William… you’d be rather handsome if you cleaned up a bit.” She teased with a small giggle.

It was that decision that led him to where he was now. It turned out he had been picked up and adopted by a very, very wealthy family that practically owned half the city. He learned he was a meta-human, and certain supernatural genetics had caused his abilities to develop. While he had flight and a decent amount of strength down, he eventually found his most key ability was telekinesis, allowing him to move around almost anything with solid mass with his mind.

Grell seemed to have both flight and strength as he did, but she also was far faster than him and caused fire to ignite out of thin air. It suited her red hair and personality perfectly in his mind.

Grell and him also saw rather eye to eye on using their meta-human abilities to give more attention to the people trapped in bad homes that needed saving and she became a pseudo-sister to him. He found out her mother had taken Grell when she was only 9 years old and run away with her in the middle of the night. Running far away from the father who had treated them both poorly. Then, Grell’s mother had been lucky enough to find love, not even knowing she was going to be marrying into a vast amount of money, but that had certainly been a nice bonus.

Outwardly of course, they were both celebrities of sorts, especially when they turned 18, they became public figures. Grell flourished happily in the spotlight. William on the other hand… could handle being polite and interacting with others at important events, but he really did hate all the attention – he was relieved when… at night, him and Grell would dawn garments to hide their well known identities, and would do the vigilante style work of trying to find and save kids from bad situations, feed those who needed it, and punch a few robbers and other criminals on the way if it served them.

William did sort of understand the superhero dilemma more now. It seemed as if something was always happening that would distract from the “smaller” work. He had been more than frustrated when a man… no…a demon it seemed that controlled and moved through the shadows decided to make William his arch nemesis. There was no clue to who this man causing chaos could be. His entire face was covered, not only making it seem as if he had no facial features, but it also made William wonder if there was a man under there how he saw or breathed with that thing on. It was also clear when this villain spoke he had some sort of voice filter on that scrambled the tone of his voice, causing it to sound garbled and off-putting.

His only solace between the stress of his daytime persona, and his ‘night job’ – was the boyfriend he had managed to be with despite at all. Sebastian Michaelis. They had met at a gala, and despite himself, after one dance, William could already feel himself being swept off his feet by the raven-haired man with a mischievous glint in his eyes. And so… after that, he had made a point to see him. Grell had teased him that he was absolutely head over heels for the gothic man that stuck out like a sore thumb against the light colors most of the people at gatherings tend to wear. Sebastian was dashing in his own right… and well, William had been called “Goth lite” by Grell as well as their mutual friend Ronald Knox. So they had something in common.

It wasn’t long before William had to admit he was head over heels for Sebastian, and they had begun their romantic outings. Of course their relationship eventually got media attention, they couldn’t go on dates for long without someone recognizing them. Somehow though, while it seemed Sebastian was also someone who reveled in the spotlight much more than William, the way Sebastian would hold him or rub his back soothingly made him feel more confident in handling such attention.

After about a year and a half of dates and nights spent together, William officially asked Sebastian to stay with him in his apartment. It was more of a condo than an apartment, but William didn’t like that word much. It was one of the properties that had been gifted to him that hadn’t been turned into a high-quality rescue shelter for children.

William… hadn’t told him about his night life yet, and Sebastian always seemed to take his word for it. It wasn’t he didn’t trust Sebastian, in fact he was beginning to feel as if he’d do just about everything for this man. Yet… well, vigilante-ing was dangerous business, even if you could fly and move things with your mind. He swore he’d tell Sebastian about his night life well before they got married.

But for now… he enjoyed moments like this, laying on top of him while they slept, ear pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat for comfort. Sebastian would often run his hand through William’s hair, effectively petting him until the stern man slept. He didn’t want these quiet, comforting moments to ever end….

…and he’d be damned if he let any sort of super-villain or threat come between them.

#sebawill #sebwill #au #hero au #villain au #hero x villain au #prompt fill #writing prompt fill #sebastian x william #black butler #kuroshitsuji #sebastian michaelis #william t spears #tw #tw for past abuse mention #no detailed descriptions or flashbacks though.

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santonosoy · 4 years ago

Text

❝ CIERRO LOS OJOS Y EL ALMA PARA NO SER VULNERABLE ❞

huh, who’s ALEJANDRO SPEITZER? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually SANTOS DEJESÚS. he is a TWENTY TWO year old HALFBLOOD wizard who is a BARTENDER / WADA STUDENT. he is a GRYFFINDOR alum and the child of OSCAR DANE AND MARISOL DEJESÚS. he is known for being CHOLERIC, SELF-DESTRUCTIVE, RESENTFUL, FOOLHARDY, and RECALCITRANT but also ARTISTIC, HARD WORKING, ALLURING, DAUNTLESS, and CLEVER, so that must be why he always reminds me of the song VULNERABLE BY JUANES and PAINT STAINED DENIM AND FRAYING BRUSHES, BEAT UP CONVERSE SNEAKERS, REHEARSAL SCHEDULES AND UNFINISHED SONGS CRAMMED INTO SKETCHBOOKS, BRUISED KNUCKLES AND BUSTED LIPS HIDDEN BY STAGE MAKEUP, ASH TRAY OVERFLOWING WITH CIGARETTE BUTTS, BAR COASTERS AND EMPTY BEER BOTTLES SCATTERED ON THE FLOOR, SCOWLS AND TOUGH TALK ALL TO HIDE YOUR BROKEN HEART, UNWRITTEN LETTERS ADDRESSED HOME WEIGHING HEAVY ON YOUR MIND, WANTING DESPERATELY TO BELONG SOMEWHERE / TO SOMEONE, BLOODY NOSES AND SKINNED KNEES PEAKING OUT THROUGH RIPPED JEANS. i hear he is aligned with THE DEATH EATERS, so be sure to keep an eye on him.

GENERAL

FULL NAME: Lorenzo Santos Dane DeJesús NICKNAME(S): He goes exclusively by Santos (second given name, not a middle name) AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 22, 08/09/2007 OCCUPATION: Bartender (alternating nights at the Armati’s London Hotel and Leaky Cauldron), WADA student GENDER: Cis Man PRONOUNS: He/Him/His HOMETOWN: Ciudad de México, México CURRENT RESIDENCE: London, England ALMA MATTER: Hogwarts, Gryffindor BLOOD STATUS: Halfblood

BIOGRAPHY

DEATH TW. CHILD NEGLECT TW. DEPRESSION TW. ABANDONMENT TW. idk please be aware that this sad boy has some messed up dynamics in his life which are detailed. if i miss anything, please just send me a message and i’ll try to tag accordingly.

London was supposed to be just a quick stop. A single blip on a map of a poorly planned European tour during a break from university. Marisol did not have intentions to be there for more than two evenings, but sometimes plans changed. A staunch believer in destiny having a heavy hand in things, she supposed it was necessary to end up in London for a full week. If she’d had it her way, the detour would have been longer, but no matter its length it has resulted in perhaps the only precious thing she’d ever have in her short and tragic life.

Santos doesn’t know a lot of details of that week in England. Unfortunately the woman who lived it wasn’t around to give him much, and his abuelita was even less forth giving with details. He would have asked Oscar when given a moment with him, but it hadn’t taken long for him to harden himself to the man that, in simplistic terms, was his father. The only thing he knows are from scattered notes in a journal. Marisol DeJesús and a group of fellow graduates from El Internado Mágico en CDMX had saved up every last penny to go backpacking across Europe. It was supposed to be a couple weeks visiting various countries, exploring diverse cities, and meeting up with pen pals from international magical schools. None of them had connections to London, or the English academy in the Scottish Highlands, but they figured it would be a good starting point before they headed eastward. A rest stop. Not even all the girls had gone to the pub that night, most complaining of exhaustion from the trip. But Marisol wanted a fun night. A few drinks in and she ended up in the arms of a stranger. Oscar. Her journal didn’t detail much more about him, aside from a otherworldly charm and his first name. A week long tumultuous romance and then she was meeting her disgruntled friends in Spain, unaware of the repercussions of her little sabbatical. It wouldn’t be until she was home in México a couple weeks later that she would get any idea of the mistake that was made.

Among the trinkets and colorful souvenirs from her European getaway, Marisol had not expected one to end up being a child.

Lorenzo Santos Dane DeJesús was born on an excruciatingly hot early August day. His muggle grandmother, Milagros, would never forget the moment she heard the first shrill of a baby’s cry. It signaled more than just the birth of her first grandchild. Like the cursed wail of a banshee, Santos’s first cries heralded a grim tragedy. As he swallowed his first breath of life, Marisol exhaled her final. It’s something she would always hold against him. It hadn’t mattered that it wasn’t his fault; Marisol was always a bit weak and frail, and complications had arisen throughout her pregnancy that meant a choice: either him or her. It was no question for her; the most important impact she could leave behind would be a son that she hoped could become something great and do something good for the world. She’d lived life, she couldn’t stop him from living his own. Milagros wouldn’t agree, and she would hold her pain and turmoil agains the boy for the few years she would house him.

Milagros didn’t like brujerias. When she’d met Lorenzo DeJesús Álvarez, she was none the wiser to the magic that coursed in his blood. He was just a charismatic young man from Sinaloa who would sweep her off her feet over the course of three weeks. It appeared to be an ailment that passed down from DeJesús woman to DeJesús woman -- The ability to be so easily swooned by deceitful men. Lorenzo would not reveal his magical parentage until they had three children -- a toddler Marisol and her infant brothers -- and one began to display abilities inherited from his line. Instantly growing cold to her cursed spawns, she would only love them out of a necessity and crave the day they would be taken away from her and into the secret magical world which Lorenzo eventually abandoned the family for. She hadn’t planned on falling in love with Marisol and her quick wits and charm, but despite herself she loved her impish children, even with their maleficio. She hated the boarding schools which took them away from her for the majority of their youth, and she would come to hate the other parts of it that would take them away permanently. Like dueling accidents that ended her youngest son’s life, or the wholly magical family that her other son would marry into that just couldn’t accept he grew up without a magical parent. But more than anything, she could not accept the wailing magical infant she had been left with in the wake of Marisol’s untimely death.

For six years Santos was looked after by Milagros, in the most simplistic of terms. She clothed him and she fed him, but she had not loved him, and she made her disapproval of him apparent. Growing up craving affection that was withheld from him, he was prone to bouts of depression and wildly aggressive tantrums. As his emotions grew more unstable, so did the magic he possessed. Catastrophic damage caused by a single wail, or even bodily harm resulting in the stomping of a foot, and Milagros was reaching her wit’s end. She could not love the creature that stole away her daughter’s life, and she could no longer tolerate the danger it posed. At six years old Santos was becoming a ticking bomb and there was only one way to solve the issue. Send him away, to the father who was unaware of him and his destructive existence.

Going off the limited information that Marisol’s friends and her letters home from that fateful holiday had given her, Milagros used the last bit of funds she had saved to send the heathen across the Atlantic to the city that sealed his mother’s fate, and into the hands of the Ministry. It wasn’t long before the Oscar from the journals was located and brought in to take the boy. The memory of their first meeting is hazy, but Santos remembers scattered fragments. He remembers the atrium of the ministry, the dark stone of the floor. He remembers the tall man who he hoped resembled him but was a complete stranger. He remembers hugging his leg, seeking some kind of comfort, but he doesn’t remember receiving anything back. Soon enough he was being taken to a place that was supposed to be “home” but he would come to think of it as anything but. A home no, but a prison maybe.

The transition was hard. Santos hated London -- the gray skies, the rain and fog. He missed the warmth of Mexico, running in the street with the local boys. He even missed the cold stare of Milagros. Sure she wasn’t that maternal towards him, but she had at least taken care of him like families do. The family he’d meet in London wasn’t much of a family at all. He had a handful of older half-siblings but none of them seemed to care much about his existence. Or maybe that’s what he thought. They would converse with him just fine, but then they would land on English and he would feel completely out of sorts. The most exciting moment was in realizing that one of his elder brothers was some sort of child star -- a talented musician brimming with charisma. He wanted to cleave into Manny, to be accepted by his far more interesting older brother. It was one thing he always wished he had; a sibling who could serve as a confidant, friend and role model. His hopes were quickly dashed. Where Milagros looked down on Santos for being half magical, his family in London had looked down on him for being half something else. Non magical. Muggle. Sangre sucia. He wasn’t a muggleborn but he might as well have been. His magical relatives in México had abandoned him before he was even born, and he was raised in a household that abhorred that part of him. What he had hoped would be a change of pace, a chance to be part of an actual family filled with love and adoration for each other, was quickly torn down. He wasn’t one of them, and no matter how hard he tried he could never be one of them. And the dream older brother he hoped Manny would be would remain just that, a fleeting dream.

To add to his family woes, Santos had another giant hurdle to pass: He didn’t speak English. For a while he thought that maybe if he hadn’t attempted to learn any of the language then he would be sent back to México. If not back to Milagros, then maybe he could end up in some orphanage up until El Internado accepted him. He would have rather just been on his own, but things didn’t go as planned. The longer he was there, the more apparent it would be that London was his new home and if he wanted to find a place to fit in then he needed to make some changes. So he adapted. He learned the language, though not fast enough to attend Hogwarts at age eleven. He didn’t want to -- he still held onto some silly hope he could go anywhere but Hogwarts School, where Manny was a star and he would be the bastard half-brother coasting in his opaque shadow. Despite his protestations, he did end up at Hogwarts when he was twelve years old, a year behind. Refusing to take on his father’s name, Santos DeJesús ended up in Gryffindor and thought for a moment he would be able to get by without anyone knowing he was Manny Luna’s little brother. Of course that wouldn’t be.

The wizarding world of London was small, smaller than those few blocks in Ciudad de México he had called home. People talked, word spread, and soon enough he was being compared to the media darling that came before him. Only Santos was nothing like Manny. He was ill-tempered, melancholic, easily pushed, and aggressive. By third year he’d gained a reputation for causing fights. There was hardly a skirmish that he wasn’t the center of. And he’d never smiled, a permanent scowl etched over his face. He wore bruises and scrapes like badges of honor. He fell behind in school work, trailing behind his peers academically. He didn’t care. He thought the more of a fuss he could make, the better. Maybe it was a cry for help, he doesn’t know. That’s how some professors saw it. In a desperate attempt to help keep the wild Gryffindor under control, they tried to push him in directions that would allow him to use his rage in a healthy way. He was a natural choice for Quidditch Beater, but he caused far more issues on the pitch than anything and sooner or later the team opted to drop him -- for everyone’s safety. Dueling club seemed a smart choice, but then nobody wanted to face the erratic boy even in practice duels. Sure he fumbled with his wand, but he was an ace with his fists.

He was becoming more and more of a hopeless case, until one professor saw a better solution. Clearly the boy was crying out for attention -- maybe he needed a platform where he could be seen and heard. Drama seemed an odd choice, but something about it eventually clicked with Santos. A soliloquy from Hamlet was enough to capture the youth’s frantic mind. He had a weird knack for it, for reciting and acting. And he was a ball of emotions and rage that he didn’t know how to portray, but when monologues came to him with even an ounce of the turmoil rolling within him, he’d felt free and seen. When he’d been told about WADA, about the opportunities he could find studying there, he’d had a full one eighty. He studied hard, he pushed himself to do better in class, and soon enough he was graduating Hogwarts with the marks to gain entry to WADA and start working towards a future in theater. Much like his brother, he had a bit of musical talent but he wanted to be a revered thespian. He wanted to be something different than Manny. He wanted to be something better than Manny.

Free from the stuffy dorms of Hogwarts, Santos decided to break away from the Danes as well. He left the second he could, took up a job busting tables at the Leaky Cauldron and was even given a room there since he’d had nowhere else to go and couldn’t yet afford anything on his own. He remains there, living in a single room with a bed, a dresser, and a beat up guitar he bought at a muggle pawn shop. The only piece of furniture he takes care of is an easel he keeps in a corner, a new unfinished landscape painting adorning it every week, the previous one piled up in a corner forgotten. He spends his days at WADA, studying and practicing and auditioning for every lead role he thinks he’s suitable for. His nights he alternates between bar tending at the Leaky Cauldron, another bar gig at a new swanky magical hotel, and courting someone new. Ever desperate for some kind of attention and affection, Santos seeks it in beautiful strangers he can charm into his bed. He’s noncommittal, but not because commitment scares him exactly. He realizes it’s easier to sleep around than find someone willing to stay. He’s still aggressive, prone to outbursts, and he feels so damaged and abandoned that he doubts anyone could love a reckless mess like him. Not for more than one night, anyway. It’s easy to pick up people when you’re a handsome bartender with a dark charm to you, and he wears the reputation proudly.

It’s somewhat of a surprise that he had chosen to join the ranks of the Death Eaters. His pureblood relatives had looked down on him for being “less than them” of course. Why would he want to join a cause which exalted them and abhorred the part of him that wasn’t “magical enough”? In truth, it has nothing to do with what the Death Eaters stand for. Santos is so desperate to have a place to fit in, to be loved by his family -- by someone -- he was willing to support a cause that he doesn’t believe in. He’s more impressionable or easily manipulated than he wants to believe, and it was easy for him to be seduced by the power that being a Death Eater promised. As time as gone by, it does feel like the better choice. They’re the winning side right now, and he figures if he continues to help them succeed then it’s more than guaranteed he will be appreciated for his hard work. But as time goes by, and the murders pile up and the crimes go unpunished, Santos can feel a small part of him wanting out. He knows it isn’t the right path, but he’s not brave enough to walk away from it. Not when he’s already in their ranks, when he figures it will get harder and harder to turn away. For now he continues to do his part for the Death Eaters, carefully tiptoeing the line between loyalist and betrayer. If the opportunity presents itself, he hopes he’ll go running the other way, but he doubts he’s not sure if he’ll be able to walk away.

TL;DR - santos is the halfblood son of oscar dane / manny’s half-brother who grew up in a muggle household in mexico with a muggle grandmother who hated him so much she eventually sent him away because she couldn’t handle his violent outbursts of magic or the fact he was the one that caused DEATH TW her daugther’s death END OF TW. he’s always struggled to find a place or a family to belong to and this is a chip on his shoulder he carries through his adulthood. a former gryffindor who just caused a lot of issues until he was introduced to theater. he know works as a bartender while attending WADA with dreams to become a renown thespian. Is in the DE but mostly because he just wants to belong somewhere and was convinced into believing that was the right path to go (more on that below in the wanted connections section!). desperate for some attention and affection, whether it is genuine or not. Is literally a big ol’ heaux due to it. will flirt with anyone out of some hope they’ll give him some temporary attention in return. Idk he’s just a sad complicated aggressive boy ahfeapfhe OH is an artist. paints and draws and all that jam. is also a bit musical, but doesn’t flaunt it bc he’s already got a musical relative he doesn’t wanna be compared to. is maybe a bit of a self insert in that respect ahfieahfpea don’t @ me.

MISC

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic LANGUAGES: Spanish (primary), English (fluent) FAMILY: Oscar Dane (father), Marisol DeJesús (mother), Manny Luna (half-brother) PETS: None FACE CLAIM: Alejandro Speitzer ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Leo MBTI: TBD PINTEREST: ( x ) HOGWARTS YEARS: 2019-2025 (started a year late due to not being confidently fluent in english by eleven)

WANTED CONNECTIONS

ONE NIGHT STANDS / PAST HOOKUPS - as detailed above, santos is just kind of lacking in the affection department and so he seeks it wherever he can. since he’s like a hottie or whatever, he knows he can easily get physical stuff and he kinda just... exploits that because he just wants some gd attention ok. since his final few years at hogwarts up to now he was definitely a massive manwhore so have at it. this is not a limited connection so hmu however many times you want lol STATUS: always open

UNCLE IROH TO HIS PRINCE ZUKO - ok so maybe my hopes is to pull off some prince zuko level redemption arc for this boy. it’s a tough climb, but one thing that every good prince zuko redemption arc needs is an uncle iroh. this is someone who believes in santos, genuinely cares about him, and wants to guide him to a path that would bring him peace and help him make healthy decisions. it doesn’t exactly have to mean joining the order, but it certainly means walking away from the DE and the toxic family dynamics he’s involved in. someone who can see that he is a good person beneath it all and who just wants to help him out of a sticky and bad situation. can be a peer or an older character, doesn’t need to be related to him. (could be combined with professor connection below) STATUS: taken by neville longbottom

PROFESSOR WHO HELPED HIM FIND HIS WAY - this is obviously limited to hogwarts professors / people who were hogwarts professors during the years listed above. this is the professor who saw santos’s destructive behavior and tried to work with him to channel it in a healthy way. they were the person who eventually introduced him to shakespeare (who i am convinced is a wix ok) and theater. they may have supported him becoming a better student so he could get into WADA and perhaps are still someone that supports his growth. perhaps the first person in their corner. (can be combined with the uncle iron connection above). STATUS: taken by neville longbottom

THE BAD INFLUENCE - MANIPULATION TW / TOXIC DYNAMIC TW (just to be on the safer side; this is a toxic connection for sure) in contrast to the previous connections, this is the person who has helped lead santos down the wrong path. they should be DE affiliated, and they should be someone who sees that part of santos that begs for attention and is desperate to belong somewhere and would have manipulated that very fragile part of him in order to get him to join the rankings of DE. he’s not a pureblood, and therefore perhaps not the most ideal person to be in the ranks, but they see the potential he has for exploitation. he could be a dispensable soldier for them, someone they genuinely don’t give a shit about but they can use him. this can be a peer or older DE member, and they can be family. END OF TW. STATUS: open

FOUND FAMILY - i guess this would be something we work up towards, but this boy is kind of desperate for people who genuinely care about him and needs a healthy family dynamic. so if you wanna be part of the found family that can take him in, awesome :^) STATUS: open, may become limited

as always, feel free to message me if you have any inspiration for wanted connections ^^

#potterintro #Death tw #child neglect tw #abandonment tw #manipulation tw #i've had artist block so no cool drawin #for now

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nialledfromfics · 5 years ago

Text

The Dating Game | Chapter Eight

Joey awoke later that morning with a splitting headache and the wet tongue of a tiny dog licking at her face. Her eyes could hardly open; puffy from her crying and unable to adjust to the brightness of the sun streaming in through her bedroom window. Rolling onto her other side in a quiet yawn, Joey wasn’t surprised to see that she was alone, she half expected Niall to leave before she woke up considering she had done the same to him weeks back. But it still caused an ache in her chest as the thoughts of being in his arms, feeling his body against hers and the calming steady beat of his heart, came rushing to her head.

She let out a sigh as Sadie started to whine, nudging at Joey’s cheek with her cold little nose. “I guess I should get my pathetic ass up now, huh?” she said to Sadie, pulling the pup into a hug and kissing her on top of her head. “How about we go for a walk? I could use some coffee and a big fat glazed donut.”

The dog started to jump around on the mattress at the mere mention of one of her favorite words, and Joey giggled as she sat herself up, combing her fingers through the mess of her red hair to tame it back. Slugging her body out of her comfy bed, Joey hopped into a quick shower and got herself dressed before she headed out of her apartment with Sadie. The little dog happily trotted along as the two walked through their neighborhood and down the street to the quaint bakery and coffee shop that Joey loved to frequent. She knew the head barista well, and as soon as Joey would walk in, the polite young lady would have her order already in the making. They also allowed small dogs on the premises, so that was another plus for Joey.

Paying for her medium mocha latte and her oversized glazed donut, Joey took a prancing Sadie back outside the shop to sit at one of their patio tables along the sidewalk. Sadie sat at Joey’s feet, watching pedestrians walk by as Joey picked off pieces of her breakfast and quietly ate. Her mind was still reeling; going over what had happened with Ross, how she had been so blind and so stupid to fall, yet again, for a man’s charade. Peering down at her half eaten confectionery, Joey cradled her forehead in her hand. She almost couldn’t describe how foolish she felt, even more so knowing that Niall had seen her in the state that she was in that night. She was nothing but a joke.

Why was finding someone so hard? Why was dating built to be this medivel structure of constant torture, where you find yourself trapped and falling for things that you shouldn’t, only to be disspointed over and over? Relying on friends or family to constantly lift you back up and get you going again. Joey not only felt like an utter fool for how she had been roped into Ross’ scheme, but also a burden to the people she cared about most. She had to get out of it. She had to figure out how to just be happy alone, because that was all she was ever going to have.

Herself and Sadie.

Peeking down at the little dog, she tucked some hair behind her ear and ripped off a piece of her donut. “Should we head to the dog park?” she asked her sidekick, feeding her the treat. Joey gathered up her things as she stood up, making sure to have a good hold on Sadie’s leash before they started to walk a few more blocks down towards the neighborhood dog park.

The young woman mindlessly scrolled through her phone as she let Sadie play with her buddies for about 20 minutes, until the last bit of her coffee was cold and she felt that it was time to head back towards their apartment. The wind had begun to pick up, billowy clouds shifting overhead to cover the sun and they had only made it halfway back when Joey felt a vibration in her back pocket. She yanked her phone from her jeans and glanced at the screen as it rang.

Niall.

Joey’s brows wrinkled. Niall rarely called her. Only a handful of times since they had known each other, their correspondence typically was done through texting or even the odd facetime. Pulling in a deep breath, Joey answered the call and put the phone up to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, Jo.”

She tipped her head down, her stare watching Sadie’s little legs go a mile a minute as the dog walked next to her. “Hey.”

There was a slight pause on his end of the phone and Joey peered back up as she stopped to cross a street. “I just wanted to call ya to see how you were doin’...”

Niall’s voice was low as he spoke, almost teetering on a whisper and with the wind picking up around her, Joey could barely hear him. “I’m, uh,...I’m okay,” she replied, “just out taking Sadie for a walk.”

“Oh..oh, that’s good.”

“Thank you...for last night, for...being there and everything,” Joey then added. “It meant a lot to me.”

“Of course, petal,” he said, “but uh, so, there’s other reason that I’m callin’,” Niall paused, clearing his throat, “I wanted to let ya know that...I’m gonna be headin’ to London tonight–”

“What?” Joey said loud into the phone, not sure she had heard him correctly. “Sorry, the wind is blowing like crazy out here.”

Niall chuckled. “I’m gonna be goin’ to London tonight for a few weeks. Gotta, um, get some work done on me album.”

“Oh,” Joey breathed out, her shoes halting on the sidewalk.

“So...I’ll give a ring when I get back into town, yeah?”

Chewing at her bottom lip, Joey peeked down at Sadie who was staring up at her in confusion. She nodded her head, as if Niall could even see her and started to walk again. “Yeah, of course.”

“Cool,” he mumbled, “I’ll talk to ya later, Jo.”

“Bye, Niall. Be safe.”

Hanging up her phone, Joey’s mind went crazy, thoughts whirling around like a cyclone in her head. Why was he going to London all of a sudden? Why hadn’t he told her before that he was going? Was it really just for work? Was it her? Was it something she did, said, didn’t say?

A billion different thoughts and emotions crashed through her all at once, she couldn’t even grasp onto one single decent one if she tried. It was like a handful of sand, the grains slipping through her fingers and she had no idea how to stop it or what was really going on. But one thing she knew for sure, it looked like she was going to have to get used to being by herself, and the next few weeks were going to be as best as time as any to do it.

•

Joey coasted through those next couple weeks like she was on some kind of autopilot. And not the good kind of coasting where everything was easy and flowed without a hitch, oh no, it was the disastrous kind of coasting like the world was whizzing past her at high speed and her reflexes couldn't keep up, as if her brake lines had been severed and she had no ability to stop. She just went through the motions; day in and day out, not thinking, not hearing, not talking, not feeling much of anything.

She went to work and pretended like everything was fine, smiling through Alexis’ boring rambling before classes started, and barely replying to Carter’s few texts that he had sent her. It just didn’t seem to matter to her. Joey had thought that it was going to be easy, she had been single before and other than a lonely night here and there, it never phased her. But this was a far cry from just a lonely night, she felt entirely, all-consumingly...alone.

And mostly because she hadn’t heard from Niall at all.

Not a text, not a call, not an email or facetime. He also wasn’t using his social media as regularly either, so creeping on him wasn’t helpful or even a solace. She had no lifeline, no tether or connection to him and she wondered if maybe that was on purpose. Maybe he was just busy with work, or maybe...he had grown tired of their friendship, of her. Joey knew she could very well be acting overly dramatic about the entire situation, two and a half weeks of no communication wasn’t that big of deal, but something inside her just felt strange. It was all so peculiar and she really didn’t know what to make of it.

Joey had barely left the apartment outside of work, camping out in her living room with Sadie and a folder of papers to go over. Catching up on whatever new crime documentaries had popped up on Netflix, stuffing her face with any carbs and sugary treats she could get her hands on, while dwelling on her less than ideal situation. Not only had she been treated poorly and been royally fucked over by a guy that she had hoped was different, but she was also forgotten by one that she knew was different. And that made everything that she was feeling, just that much worse.

Nearing the three week mark that Niall had left LA and went to London, Joey woke up every morning hoping to see a text from him that he had landed back in town. Of course she was bitterly disappointed each time her eyes blinked open to see a blank screen. Alexis, on the other hand, wouldn’t stop texting her. Every night she’d send Joey something, a stupid joke or just to check up on her, and every time Joey would leave her on read.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her, it was more that Joey didn’t want to talk to anyone. She was still sulking in her misery about how bad she had been played by Ross, how the ordeal had dredged up feelings from her past and with Niall up and leaving unexpectedly, she just couldn’t get over how lost she felt. And that in turn made her feel like a complete idiot. Something she very much did not want to admit to Alexis.

That following Saturday was like any other Saturday for Joey. She took Sadie to the dog park late morning, grabbed herself some lunch on the way back home and as she wrestled with the little dogs’ leash that had gotten wrapped around her back leg while stepping up to her front door, she was surprised to see a fairly large box sitting on her door mat in the hallway. Joey wrinkled her brows, peeking over her shoulder as if she was going to catch the culprit who had left the box before she picked it up with a shrug and headed into her apartment.

“What could this be, Sadie?” Joey mumbled as she slid the box up onto the countertop in her kitchen. Taking a moment to unhook the bouncy little pup from her leash, the young woman hung it up next to the door and took off her light jacket before stepping back over to where the box was waiting for her. It was long and sort of thin, but upon checking the label, Joey wasn’t sure who or where it had come from. The only thing it had printed on it was her name and address.

That in itself should have been suspicious, but she was curious and grabbing a pair of scissors from her junk drawer, Joey carefully started to open the box. Her heart flipped in her chest as she peeled away at the cream colored tissue paper. Inside was the most gorgeous bouquet of flowers she had ever seen.

Blush pink and white roses surrounded by colorful wildflowers.

Lifting the flowers from the box, Joey held them up to her nose and inhaled deeply, immersing herself in the fragrance of the mixed bouquet before she noticed a small card attached to the inside lid of the box. She gently laid the flowers back down and plucked the card from the cardboard and opened it.

“Just thinking of you,

Love Niall”

Joey’s lips fell to a part before she swallowed hard, her eyes becoming hazy as she lifted her stare from the blurry print of the tiny card in her hand to the flowers laying on her countertop. Wildflowers. She should have known. A smile tugged over her lips, the first genuine smile that had graced them in the last three weeks and for a split second, she felt good. Like really good.

Finding an old vase hidden in the back of a corner cabinet, Joey slipped the flowers down inside with some water and arranged them slightly before setting them right in the middle of her small dining table. It was the perfect spot for it, she could see it from whatever room she was in and it gave her place an instant brightness, a light that she really needed. She was still perplexed as to why she hadn’t heard from him at all, but the flowers, the thought behind them provided her with a smidge of comfort.

•

Later that evening, after Joey had settled into her pajamas and consumed nearly a whole pot of spaghetti, she was just about to curl up on her couch with Sadie when there was a knock at her door. The small dog jumped up from her place on the sofa barking as she ran towards the sound. “Shh, Sadie,” Joey scolded her, following her over to the door. “That’s enough.”

Easing the door open, the redhead was brushed to the side as Alexis barged into her apartment. Joey pushed out a breathy chuckle and slowly closed the door. “Hey,” Alexis blurted out, turning to Joey and hooking her hands on her hips. The young woman let out a soft sigh and scraped her teeth across her lips. She knew by the slight scowl on Alexis' face and the tension in her shoulders, that the avoidance of her best friend might have caused a bit of an issue for the blonde girl.

Rubbing over her arm with her hand, Joey peeked down at her bare feet, not really sure what to say. “Hey,” was all she could get out in a low voice.

Alexis pushed out a groan and Joey glanced up at her, watching her shoulders slump forward in a defeated eye roll. She had already given up, never one to hold a grudge towards Joey for too long and the blonde spun around on her heels and started to walk over to the dining table. “Oooh flowers,” she mentioned as she got closer to where the bouquet was set up, “these are gorgeous. From Ross?”

Joey winced upon hearing his name out loud and she crossed her arms over her chest in a quiet huff. “No, Niall,” she told her with a shake of her head.

“Niall,” Alexis mimicked with a wrinkle of her brow. She bent over slightly to sniff them. “Interesting…”

Tipping her chin up slightly, Joey’s eyes stayed glued to her friend as the blonde turned back around to face her. “So, what’s up, Lex?”

“Really? You’re gonna ask me that like you don’t know why I’m here? I wanna know what the hell has been going on with you lately!” Alexis started, pushing out a sigh as she held out her hands towards her friend. “You’ve been so distant and weird, even at work. We’ve barely talked or hung out, you’re ignoring all my texts...is there a reason you’re avoiding me?”

Joey swallowed hard at her friends’ obviously frustrated words and she dropped her stare. “I dunno,” she muttered towards the floor, faintly shrugging her shoulders, “I’ve just been feeling off the last couple weeks. Just needed to be by myself, I guess.”

“Are you okay?”

Rolling her eyes in a low huff, Joey shuffled over to where her friend was standing by her kitchen table and pulled out a chair, plopping herself down. Her gaze remained focused at her lap, but she could see the shadow of Alexis situating herself into the chair next to her. Joey took a moment to gather her breath before she spoke up again. “I slept with Ross.”

“You did?” Alexis replied, her brows pulling in by the tone in which Joey was emitting, “That’s...good, right?”

Joey shook her head, peering up at her best friend. “It was horrible, Lex, one of the worst experiences of my life and afterwards he told me that he had a girlfriend, a girlfriend! And that he pretty much just sleeps around with a bunch of different girls whenever she’s out of town. He was just using me.”

“Oh God, Joey. I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s not your fault.”

Alexis pulled her face in. “I set you up with him,” she scoffed, “I am somewhat to blame, but I honestly didn’t see him as being that big of a douchebag.”

“I don’t blame you at all,” Joey said, tucking some hair behind her ear, “I didn’t see it coming either. He was so...nice and charming and smart, like, there were really no red flags, that I noticed anyway. But...I dunno, I guess it just...fucked me up a little bit. Kinda...pulled me back to being with Jake.”

“Oh shit,” Alexis whispered with a sympathetic slump of her shoulders.

Joey shook her head slightly. “I mean, I know it's nothing compared to what Jake put me through, but the feelings that I felt, it just-...it shot me right back to-..to him, to being with him.” Alexis reached out and rubbed her hand down the slope of Joey’s upper arm, the red head peering down into her lap. “Thank God Niall came over that night and took care of me, ‘cause I don’t want to even think about what could’ve happened if he hadn’t been there.”

“Wait,” Alexis paused, narrowing her eyes at her friend, “Niall came over? That night after you slept with Ross?”

Joey nodded. “Yeah, he came over and I was a total mess, crying like an idiot, trying to drown myself in a bottle of gin but he was just...really sweet and listened to me and just held me all night and, I dunno, it was nice to have that.”

“Well, I’m glad he was there for you,” Alexis stated.

“Me too.” Glancing up at Alexis, Joey noticed the slight smirk adorning her lips. “What?”

The blonde raised a brow. “Joey, sweetie…why didn’t you call me?”

Joey’s mouth parted. “I...dunno, I-...,” her eyes shifted away from her friend as her answer jumbled off her dry tongue. “it was late and Niall, he…he was the first person to pop into my head, I guess.”

Alexis’ head fell to the side. “And he was able to make you feel better?”

“For the night, yeah,” Joey said, catching the girl’s stare again. “But these last few weeks, I haven’t been able to shake these overwhelming feelings I have about what happened. I just feel so…stupid.”

The blonde rolled her eyes in a low sigh. “You are not stupid,” she told Joey, raising her brows, “just like I told you with Jake, Ross is complete trash. Joey, he doesn’t matter at all. And he never deserved you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Joey chuckled.

“And hey,” Alexis went on, reaching over to rub the petal of one of the white roses, “you got these beautiful flowers from Niall to cheer you up. How’s that for romantic?”

“There is no romance behind those flowers,” Joey snorted.

Alexis pushed out a groan, throwing her head back to her shoulders. “For the love of God, woman, are you blind?”

“No.”

“Than what it is gonna take for you to see that this guy is fucking in love with you?” she said,

Joey shook her head, peering over at the bouquet sitting in the middle of her table. “He’s not in love with me.”

“Yes he is,” Alexis insisted, “I haven’t even met the guy yet and I know he has feelings for you.”

“Were just friends,” Joey replied in a soft voice, looking back over at Alexis, “besides, I haven’t even talked to him in weeks. He’s been in London, doing...whatever it is that he’s doing, I’m sure I’m the last thing on his mind.”

“These flowers beg to differ,” the blonde scoffed, slapping her palm down on the table top, “listen to me, I can tell just by the way that you talk about him, by the way your face lights up any time his name is mentioned or when you see his text come through your phone. I have never in my five years of knowing you, seen you this way with anyone.”

A sigh left Alexis’ lips and she leaned closer to Joey. “I can tell by the look in your eyes as we sit here talking about him right now that you have serious feelings for this guy, Joey, and if you don’t put your fucking big girl panties on and tell this man how you feel...well...I just won’t be your friend anymore.”

Joey pushed out a giggle. “Oh that’s mature, Lex.”

The blonde gave her a shrug and Joey sighed lightly, plopping her elbow up on the table to cradle her cheek in her hand. “I just feel...I feel like I’m done, Lex. Done with dating, done with men, done with dealing with their bullshit and I dunno, maybe I just need to be alone, ya know?”

Alexis sat back in her chair, her stare falling over her best friend. She could feel the hurt in her heart, see the pain behind her eyes and the only breath of relief she noticed within Joey was the moment Niall’s name got brought up. That told her all she needed to know. “Maybe you’re right, Joey,” she began, catching her friends' sullen stare, “maybe you do need to be alone, but I just want you know, that friends...they don’t cuddle each other all night long in bed. Friends don’t send friends flowers for nothing. And when I look at you? I can see that you have more feelings there than just being his friend. You should tell him how you feel.”

Joey lowered her gaze to her lap, Alexis’ words resonating through her and causing a knot to tangle in her tummy. “Just think about it, okay?” Alexis went on, “You might be surprised…”

•

Four more days passed before Joey got the text that she had been impatiently waiting on for the past three weeks and a half weeks. She had just gotten back from the grocery store, bags still sitting unpacked on her countertop when she heard the tone go off in her purse. Grabbing her phone from the pocket of her bag, Joey sunk her teeth into her bottom lip as her eyes glazed over the single text Niall had sent her.

N: hey love , I’m back in LA . Hope you’re doin okay

Joey felt her heartbeat start to pick up in her chest. And it wasn’t until that second, that Alexis’ words really started to churn in her head. She had attempted to shut Niall out of her thoughts, to forget about the flowers he had sent her, to how he had made her feel that night, to stop worrying so much about if he was ever going to contact her again. But the moment his name popped up on her phone screen, it was like everything else disappeared.

She felt an inkling of warmth swell through her bones like a bleeding fire. She felt a sliver of happiness expand from the tips of her toes to the apples of her cheeks. She felt like the past nearly four weeks hadn’t even happened, that it was but a faint memory and everything was slowly going back to normal again. The way he would look at her, his blue eyes swimming over hers, the way he would touch her, the heat of his skin wrapping around her body as if it was the only thing that could keep her warm. The way he made her laugh, the way he made her feel alive and real and good. She felt complete when she was with him. Whole and absolute. And just like a strike of lightning, she felt this wave of unconditional longing for Niall, a hunger, yearning and consuming her body and her soul. Her entire ethereal being wanting to be filled with him. Just him and only him.

And all of that, it made her stop and really think. Maybe Alexis was right, maybe she had a point. Maybe through all of the waiting, the searching, the wondering...maybe she really just needed to open her eyes and admit what was going on deep down inside her: she had full on, mind altering, body crippling, devastatingly real feelings for Niall.

She was in love with him. And she didn’t know what to do with that.

Joey sat on her heavy hearted revelation for another five days. Five long, excruciatingly frustrating days. She hadn’t heard from Niall apart from his first text to her when he had gotten back in town, and that bit confused her as she was certain he would have wanted to hang out or get some dinner or something along those lines, but that invite from him never came. Joey could have invited him herself, but the nerves coursing through her body every time she went to shoot him a text were unbearable and she knew that to be able to move forward with Niall, she would definitely have to tell him her feelings first.

And the only way to do that was in person.

•

It was a rainy Sunday evening, the sun had just begun to set and Joey had spent the entire day pacing around her small apartment, weaving between her furniture and over her dog who kept getting underfoot, gearing herself up for what she was about to do. Niall had no idea she was planning on stopping by his house, but Joey had seen just an hour earlier from an Instagram post of his, that he was indeed home and was watching golf on TV. It was the perfect time. He was most likely alone, Chris usually up at the bar on weekend nights and he wasn’t in the midst of writing music or anything that she could distract him from.

But trying to calm her nerves was the least of her worries.

The entire car ride to his house, Joey went over in her head at least a million times what she was going to say to him. Her best plan? To just spit it out. Tell him point blank that she had feelings for him and that she wanted to be with him and she really hoped he felt the same. It seemed easy enough, but it was probably the most daunting thing Joey had ever done. She had never felt for anyone the way she felt for Niall, and to just...air all her thoughts and feelings out there for him to see, to rebuff, it left her panicky and sweaty and just a downright mess.

But the red haired girl pushed past the lump that was settling in her throat as she pulled up in front of his house. Parking out by the side of the privacy fence, Joey got out of her car and pranced through the drizzle of rain to his gate, entering in the keycode. Making her way to his front door, Joey stood on his stoop, finally out of the rain, and attempted to fix her waves of long hair that had stuck slightly to the side of her face. She inhaled deep, hoping the jitters of her fingers would stop as she tucked them into her palms and hung them idle at her sides.

Swallowing hard, Joey eased her eyes closed, replaying the words she had prepared over in her head one last time before she slowly reached up to ring the doorbell. Her heart was beating in the back of her ears as she waited for him to answer the door, it seemed like hours, and after only a handful of seconds, the door swung open.

His light blue eyes locked instantly with hers and it felt like there was no more air to breathe. Like all of the oxygen had been sucked from the atmosphere, replaced by rose dust and fairy floss and glittery night stars. Her chest stopped, her lungs purging and her heart swelling, a heat stinging across her skin at the sight of him and that gorgeous smirk that was spreading over his mouth.

Holy fuck, she was so in love with him.

“Joey?” he greeted, his brows raising in surprise as he dragged his stare down the length of her body. “Hey!”

Joey bit the growing smile off her lips. “Hi, Niall,” she replied, forcing herself to take in a breath, “Can I come in?”

Niall reached up to rough his hand through his hair as he peeked over his shoulder. Joey’s eyes fluttered as she kept her gaze glued to him, a dreamy haze enveloping her. She cleared her throat as he looked back over at her. “Uh, yeah, sure,” he said, stepping back and widening the doorway to let her into the foyer. “It’s good to see ya.”

Joey pulled her hair over her one shoulder as she stepped closer to Niall. “It’s good to see you too,” she told him, her voice soft as she forced herself to dive quickly into the reason she was there, “actually I’ve been kinda thinking about things.”

“Oh yeah?” Niall said, his head tipping to the side slightly as he planted his hands on his hips. He drifted his eyes over hers, seeing the slight apprehension and a tinge of concern came over his face. “You doin’ okay?”

Nodding her head, Joey peeked down at the floor and carefully pulled in a sharp breath. “Um, so…” she paused, scraping her teeth across her bottom lip as she caught his stare once more. “There’s something that I needed to tell you–”

“Babe!”

A high pitched, bubbly voice came bounding into the room, attached to a beautiful skinny blonde who walked right up to Niall and wrapped her arm around his waist. “Oh…hi,” she said to Joey.

But the redhead was left wordless, motionless, breathless. Her heart seized to beat in her chest, dropping like a rock to the pit of her stomach as that lump in the back of her throat felt like it had burst, a trillion little shrapnels of glass slicing down her esophagus and filling her entire midsection in blood. Glancing from Niall to the pretty blonde hanging off of him, Joey fought to keep her chin from trembling.

Niall could see the change in Joey’s face, see the color drain from her cheeks as her pouty lips fell to a drooping part. Her hazelnut eyes were wide as saucers, stuck on the girl next to him and Niall swallowed hard before bowing his head to nervously run his fingers up through his dark hair. “Uh...Joey, this is Lila,” he mumbled, peering back up at Joey. Her eyes were on him now, darting anxiously across his face as he spoke. “Lila this is...my friend, Joey.”

“Hi, Joey,” Lila chirpily greeted in her British accent, “it's always nice to meet Niall’s friends.”

She had a soul stealing, brightly white smile and the face of a goddamn model and Joey wanted nothing more than to burst into tears at the sight of her. Swallowing hard, Joey held back her urge to cry, forcing a less than mediocre grin on her face. “Yeah, n-nice to meet you too.”

Lila shifted her attention over to Niall. “Hun, we better get going if we are gonna make those dinner reservations.”

Joey watched as Niall nodded his head. “Yep, yep, um...I’ll be right there.”

“Okay.” Lila grabbed around Niall’s chin and turned his face to hers, pushing a kiss to his lips before walking off back into the kitchen.

Moving her stare away, Joey folded her arms over her chest and choked back the tears that were readily filling the brims of her eyes. Niall stood there, hands stuffed down into his pockets just staring at her, not knowing what to say or what to do. His heart was thumping in his chest, a sweat breaking out over his forehead and he dipped his tongue out to run across his dry lips. After a minute of excruciating silence, Joey finally brought her eyes back up to his.

It nearly knocked the breath from him.

“I should...I should probably go,” she whispered.

“W-wait…” Niall stuttered, “um, I thought ya needed to tell me somethin’?”

Pressing her eyes closed, Joey faintly shook her head and forced a smile. “You know what...it’s not important.”

“Joey…”

She spun around, stepping towards the front door. “Have fun,” she mumbled, not even looking back at him.

“...Joey…”

Opening his front door, she remained quiet, needing to be out of that house as quickly as she could before she collapsed on his floor right in front of him. Just as she stepped through the threshold with the door inching closed behind her, she heard his soft voice whisper out one last little plea.

“Jo…”

And that was all it took for her knees to buckle and the tears to roll down her cheeks.

#niall #niall horan #niall fanfic #niall fan fic #niall smut #niall ou #slowburn #tdg #chap 8 #yoooooo THIS ONE YALL #im not gonna say anymore #just read it hahah #please share and let me know what you think!!!#:))))

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