#and i wanna ride fast across a plain somewhere SO BAD...

[skinks]

The English (2022) dir. Hugo Blick + wide shots + horses

[penny4yourthot]

Bad Things

Summary: (inspired by the song by MGK +Camilla Cobello) Happy X reader. The reader is an innocent girl who hooks up with Happy knowing she probably shouldn’t. Basically a bunch of smut. This went a completely different route then I was originally planning. thanks to @ithoughtofthisusername for editing.

Warnings: SMUT

You had been working the night shift at the gas station in Charming for about a year. Since the town was so small, and this was the only gas station around, you got to know almost everyone who resided here.

It was almost midnight. You were silently counting down the minutes until you get to close up the shop for the night, and you hoped nobody would walk through those doors. When you heard the all too familiar ding from the bell on the door signaling someone was coming in, you sighed, a little louder then you meant to.

“Damn didn’t know I bothered you that much,” you heard a low gravelly voice walk up to the counter. You turned around to see your favorite member of SAMCRO walk in.

“Hey Happy, need cigarettes?” you asked him with a small smile. You had a huge crush on this man and you have for more than 6 months. You were too shy to say anything about it to him.

“Nah, actually came in to see you,” he started, staring at your eyes intently, noting the deep blush that ran up your cheeks. “Know you close up soon, was going to see if you wanted  to come to the party at the clubhouse.”

“Ohh, I would love too, but as you probably know, my car is over at the shop. Had to get a ride here from my dad tonight,” you laughed nervously, “he is going to pick me up in a few,” you added.

“Call him and tell him nevermind, I'll give you that ride,” he said, a small chuckle came out his throat as he saw the shock in your face. He loved how innocent you were. Almost looking like a deer in headlights when he offered you a ride.

“Um, okay” you replied, nervously grabbing your phone out of your back pocket dialing your dad's number. You explained to your dad over the phone that your best friend was coming to pick you up so you didn't need a ride anymore. He was more than happy and pretty much fell asleep while still talking on the phone with you. You hung up after quickly saying goodnight.

You looked at your phone and it said 12:01. The smile on your face quickly grew, you started turning off all the lights and Happy held the door open for you.

“Thanks,” you nervously murmured as you walked out of the shop, making sure to lock the doors. You followed Happy to his bike, he handed you his helmet and you put it on. Then climbed on the back of his bike.

Happy loved the way you looked sitting on the back of his bike with his helmet on. Thinking it was cute that you looked so nervous.

“You ever ride before?” he asked as he climbed on the bike to sit in front of you.

“No,” you said instantly, unsure of where to hold onto. He reached behind himself and grabbed your arms wrapping them tightly around his waist. You took in a deep shaky breath as he turned the bike on. He started to pull away and you leaned forward looking over his shoulder.

“You want to go home or come to the party?” he asked, turning his head to the side so you could hear what he was saying. You were feeling a little more outgoing than usual tonight so you told him to take you to the party. Living in such a small town had its benefits; like the fact that it only took three minutes to get to the clubhouse.

He pulled up to his regular parking spot and backed in, allowing you to get off first. He then kicked out the kickstand and got off the bike. He unsnapped the helmet from your head causing you to blush again. Hanging the helmet on the handlebar of the bike and grabbing your hand leading you to the clubhouse.

The music was so loud and you felt instantly out of place as you looked around seeing most of the women there in skimpy clothes. You looked down at yourself still wearing what you wore to work, a plain black t-shirt with a jacket and a pair of tight jeans with your usual converse.

Happy led you over to the bar and pulled out a stool for you to sit on. He then sat next to you.

“What can I get you?” a woman behind the bar wearing a cutoff top and short shorts asked.

“Just a beer please, any kind is fine,” you said. She nodded and grabbed two beers popping the tops off and handing them to you and Happy.

“Thanks,” you mumbled as you took a sip of the cold beer. Happy studied your face as you looked around taking in the sight of all the people. He let out a low laugh as you tensed up and almost jumped out of your seat when he put his hand on your thigh.

“Didn't mean to scare ya, little girl,” He said with an amused grin as he downed some of his beer.

“S’ok,” you said as you took another sip of your beer. The bartender came over to you guys and asked if you needed anything, explaining she would be going out for a cigarette in a minute.

“Can I get a shot of Rum?” you politely asked. Needing something to help calm your nerves.

“Make that two. In fact just leave the bottle here,” Happy rasped out in a low voice with a laugh.

You watched as the bartender grabbed the bottle of Captain Morgan's spiced rum, and two glasses, setting them in front of the two of you. Happy quickly opened the bottle and poured you both a shot. He handed one of the glasses to you and you clinked the glasses before downing the shot. The burning sensation of the alcohol making its way down your throat sent a shiver through your spine.

Happy quietly chuckled as he saw you grab for your beer to take a quick swig of it to chase the shot. You two sat there in comfortable silence for a moment before Happy poured another shot for both of you.

“Thanks,” You murmured as you gladly downed the next shot. You needed the liquid courage, you were so anxious to be sitting next to the man who you have had a crush on for so long.

“So how’s work?” you asked him not knowing what else to talk about.

“Been busy,” he said taking a sip of his beer, “how about you?” he asked, his hand still on your thigh close to your knee. He began to gently run his hand up your thigh. He looked you in the eyes and a grin spread across his face as he saw you blush.

“Umm, work’s is fine, I guess,” you said almost too fast for him to understand. You had a tendency to talk really fast when you were nervous. This time it was you who grabbed the bottle of rum and poured you both another shot. You drank the shot like it was water. You felt the familiar warmth run through your body, signaling the alcohol was going to be taking effect soon.

You sat there staring at his hand as he rubbed up and down your thigh. You were still a nervous wreck but the alcohol was quickly making your anxiety fade away. You frowned when Happy's hand left your thigh but quickly smiled as he put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him. He started to kiss your neck which sent a nervous shiver through your body. You grabbed the bottle of rum, pouring one more shot and downing it while Happy continued to kiss your neck.

He slowly made his way up to your mouth. You kissed him softly, you could hear a low moan escape his throat. Happy wasn't used to a girl being so gentle, he was used to those Crow eaters practically throwing themselves at him. This was a nice change of pace for him. He ran his tongue across your bottom lip asking for access to your mouth. You were eager to oblige and he ran his tongue in your mouth. He tasted like a perfect mix of rum and beer.

It took you a second to realize what was going on. You slowly pulled away looking around to see if anyone was watching you. You have never done anything like this in public. Happy gently put his hand on your cheek and turned your head to face him.

“Wanna go somewhere more private?” he asked with that signature gravelly voice that you couldn't resist.

“Sure,” you say as you hopped off your bar stool. He grabbed the glasses and the rum and you grabbed both of your beers and followed him to the back hallway to the dorms.  He opened the door to his room and you followed him in. He closed the door behind you.

You stood in the middle of the room, taking in the sight of all the Harley posters that littered the walls. Happy placed the glasses and rum on the nightstand next to the bed then walked over to you. He took his beer from you when you handed it to him and drank the rest of the beer quickly, throwing the bottle in the trash. He walked back up to you and stood behind you wrapping his strong arms around your waist pulling you back towards him. He started placing feather light kisses on your neck.

You took the last swig of your beer and he grabbed the bottle throwing it over into the trash can. He unwrapped his other arm around your waist and grabbed your hand pulling you over to the bed, you willingly followed him. You sat on the bed and he took a seat next to you. He grabbed your neck gently and pulled you to him to resume the kiss from earlier. He grasped the sleeves of the jacket you were wearing and made quick work of getting it off of you and he tossed it on the end of the bed.

You quickly broke the kiss to kick your shoes off, he did the same. He lifted you up and put you down in the middle of the bed. He climbed over you and started kissing you again, reaching for the hem of your t-shirt to pull it over your head. He pulled back from the kiss as your shirt came off and looked down at you with a burning desire in his eyes. The dark blue bra with black lace trim looked amazing on you. You pulled his shirt off and threw it on the floor. He leaned back down and kissed your neck again, gently nipping the skin at the nape of your neck. He reached his arms around your back and unclasped your bra, quickly throwing it behind him.

“You are beautiful little girl,” he rasped out and gently took one of your nipples in his mouth while his hand was caressing the other one. You let out a small moan, which drove Happy crazy. He wanted to hear you moan out his name, and he was damn sure going to make that happen.

He started to trail kisses down your stomach dipping his tongue in your belly button which caused you to squirm. He let out a low laugh and continued to kiss down your stomach till he reached the top of your jeans. He started to undo the button on your pants but your hand instinctively covered his to stop him. He looked up at you to see a look of fear in your eyes.

“S-sorry, I’ve never…,” you started, too embarrassed to even finish the sentence. You sat up and poured yourself another shot downing it quickly.

“You've never done this?” Happy asked.

“No. Now you probably think I'm a freak. Who’s still a virgin at 25?” you said avoiding eye contact with him. He gently cupped his hands around your face and turned your head to look at him.

“I don't think you're a freak, You just haven't found the right person,” he said slowly running his thumbs over your cheeks.

“We don't have to do this, I don't want you to be uncomfortable,” he quietly said an understanding tone in his voice.

“No I want to, like really bad,” you started, “I'm just kind of scared.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked one more time. He didn't want you to feel pressured.  You nodded yes.

“Okay, then we will take it slow. If you are uncomfortable tell me and we will stop,” he said as he grabbed the bottle of rum and took a swig from it.  You laid back down and Happy leaned back over you gently kissing your lips. His calloused hands ran across your breasts, the contrast between his rough skin and your smooth skin sent shivers down your spine.

He pulled away from the kiss and started kissing down your stomach again until he got back to the waistband of your jeans. He looked up at you and you nodded at him, signaling for him to continue. He unbuttoned your jeans and slowly undid the zipper. You lifted your hips so he was able to pull them down your legs.

He groaned when he saw you were wearing panties that matched your bra, dark blue with black lace trim.

He got your jeans off and threw them behind him, you could hear the soft thud of them hitting the floor. Happy put his hand over your panties and started to gently rub you through the thin material. You lifted your hips so he could get the panties off of your body.

He got off the bed and stood down at the end kneeling on the floor. He grabbed your ankles and gently pulled you down the bed so your legs were on his shoulders. His mouth only inches from where you needed it most.

He gently slid one finger into you, a low moan escaping his lips once he felt how tight and wet you were. He slowly slid his finger in and out of you, wrapping his lips around your clit and began swiping his tongue over the sensitive bud. Your hips involuntary bucked at the sensation, sending Happy’s finger deeper inside you. An involuntary groan slipped from your slightly parted lips as you felt him add a second finger into you, his fingers pumping faster than before while still licking and sucking on your clit. You felt a feeling you have never felt before, a tightness wound up deep in your stomach and your toes curling slightly with the sensation slowing building up inside of you. “Let go, little girl, cum for me,” he muttered between licks, your legs starting to tremble at the feeling. You had no idea what was going on with your body, but all you knew is that you were instantly becoming addicted to the overwhelming pleasure washing over you. A smile spread across Happy's face as he heard you moan out his name.

You lay sprawled out on your back, completely and utterly shocked at the events that had just unfolded. You felt him move your legs off his shoulder, the bed shift slightly as he crawled up next to you. Wrapping his arms around your body and moving you back to the middle of the bed, he leaned down and captured your lips in a heated kiss that was much rougher than before. He pulled back and got off the bed, making quick work of undoing the button on his jeans before slowly pulled them down his legs, leaving him in just his boxers. He gave you a questioning look, wanting to make sure this was still what you wanted. You nodded yes eagerly and he discarded his boxers by kicking them to the floor. He crawled back onto the bed and hovered over you. The feel of his hard member pressing against your thigh made you gasp slightly. You couldn't believe how big he was.

He lined himself up with you and gently pushed the tip of his cock slowly inside of you. He was trying to read your face for any signs of pain. When he didn't see any, he pushed his length into you a little more. He stilled his hips as you shut your eyes tightly, giving you a moment to adjust to the size of him. You opened your eyes and smiled at him signaling to him that you were ready. He slowly pulled out a little and pushed back in further than before filling you up completely.

“Damn little girl, you are so tight,” he breathed out as he held himself there for a second before repeating his previous actions, setting a slow but steady pace.

You moaned loudly as you felt his hand travel down to your clit, his expert hands rubbing it with the perfect amount of pressure and speed. Happy leaned down and pressed a wet kiss to your lips before kissing down your neck. His mouth quickly made its way down to your left nipple, taking it in his mouth and gently biting it and flicking his tongue around it. The pain that you felt earlier quickly fading as you felt that deep wind in your stomach again. Happy could tell you were close by the way your walls started to clench around his cock.

“Are you going to come for me again little girl?” Happy growled out as he continued thrusting into you picking up the pace. You couldn't answer his question as you were overcome by waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Oh fuccckkk, Happy, God yes,” you purred as the feeling of euphoria took over your being.

“That's my good little girl, cumming on my cock,” he grunted as he continued to pound into you. His hands moved to your hips holding them down tightly. He felt your hips buck against his trying to match his pace.

“God, that feels so good,” you moaned. That’s all he needed to hear to send him over the edge.

He quickly pulled out and spilled his seed onto your stomach, the warm liquid slowly dripping down towards your wetness below.

He grabbed some tissue off the nightstand and gently wiped his cum off of your stomach. He threw the tissues away and laid next to you. He put his arm out and you scooted up so your head was on his chest.

“That was fucking amazing,” you said looking up at him.

“You don't have any idea the bad things I wanna do to you,” He said his dark eyes consumed with passion as he looked down at you.

“I’d sure like to find out,” you giggled as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

[arthurmorgan-s-heart]

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader: After Years and Years (Part 2)

Warning: Smut, Spoilers

You’re not sure exactly what makes you decide to bring Arthur back to your home, but you’re already well on your way there by the time you start questioning your decision - much too late to change your mind, though you’re not certain that you want to. The night is dark and crisp, and critters scatter as you ride by, back to the shadows between the trees that border the road.

Anyone would call your cabin modest, nestled as it is in a clearing at the edge of a forest near town, but it is more than enough for you - Lord knows you had had much less for most of your life. The small house was almost a palace compared to the tents and dilapidated buildings you had spent years living - surviving - in.

You leave Arthur outside to lead the horses into the small barn at the back of your cabin - at his insistence - while you make your way inside. The cabin is cold and dark, but the fire you get going in the hearth quickly makes the place more welcoming, both with its heat and its warm glow.

Arthur opens the door just as you’re pouring out two glasses of whiskey, taking off his hat and gloves before doing the same with his jacket, placing them down on a chair next to the door. He turns to you, and you motion him closer, waiting for him to take a seat at the table before lowering yourself in your own chair. You had barely spoken since leaving town, him seemingly gathering his thoughts and you simply too nervous to say much of anything. He reaches for his glass, tipping it toward you in thanks before taking a sip. The silence stretches on, only broken by the crackling of the fire.

Finally, he sighs, looking at you from the other side of the table. He seems so tired now, so utterly exhausted, that you wonder how long it’s been since he’s had a good night’s sleep - for all you know, it might have been years.

“You really wanna know what happened, uh?” he asks quietly, and you nod, even though you know he already knows the answer. He swirls the whiskey in his glass, letting another few seconds of silence crawl by before he turns his gaze to the fire. “Bad, all of it.”

“Please,” you whisper, and you’re loathe to bring back those painful weeks to mind, but you need to know. You hear him take a deep breath, steeling himself.

“Went back to camp after you left with Abigail and Sadie. I think that was the moment Dutch finally lost it for good,” he starts, almost in a whisper. “I knew he was gone already, I knew it - but I still tried. Had to. Thought I might be able to get through to him.” He swallows thickly, the words catching in his throat. “In the end, he… Dutch and Bill and Javier… Micah got ‘em all. Got ‘em all to believe him. Twenty years I gave him, and he just - ”

His hand clenches into a fist as he cuts himself off with a swig of whiskey. There is rage still lurking in his voice, even after all those years - and grief, a grief so great that you don’t know if it’ll ever truly leave him.

“Camp was attacked. Pinkertons,” he continues. “Me and John fought ‘em off - “

“John’s alive?” you blurt out. You hadn’t meant to interrupt him, but you needed to be sure you had heard him right. All this time, you had thought that John had died on that cursed train.

Arthur nods, pressing his lips into a thin, hard line.

“Dutch’d left him for dead, but yeah, he’s alive - dragged himself back to camp. Somewhere up North now, I think, with his family.”

That brings you some comfort - it was good to know that, despite everything, the Marston family hadn’t been torn apart, after all.

“Fought the Pinkertons with John while the rest of ‘em ran away,” he starts again. His eyes are still on the fireplace, the flames sending stark shadows dancing along the harsh lines of his face. “We got away too, eventually.”

He brings his glass up to his lips again, draining the last of his whiskey. You refill it without him asking.

“Got John to leave. Woulda been dead for good if he hadn’t,” he says. “Wanted to draw the Pinkertons off him. I was ready to die on that mountain - I really was.” He’s silent again for a long while, lost in his memories, and you can’t help but wonder how everything could have gone so wrong. “Then Micah… he came outta nowhere, started beatin’ on me. Shoulda shot me right then, but I guess he wanted to prove a point, had some things to say that needed sayin’. Always did like to hear himself talk.” There is a sour smile on his lips, bitter and angry. “Worst part is, I’d be dead if it wasn’t for Dutch - came and kept Micah off me long enough to keep him from beatin’ me to death. Pretty sure he thought Micah’d already killed me - sure must have looked like it. But I think he saw, in the end. Dutch - he saw. Everything. Much too late, though.”

Another long swig of whiskey. Another sigh.

“They left me there, and I thought that was it - Pinkertons was gonna arrest me and hang me, no doubt about it. But I… I don’t know. Hid from the Pinkertons - don’t even remember how. Don’t know how long I spent on that damn mountain, either. Days, probably. It was Charles found me; said he thought I was dead and he’d come to bury me.” He chuckles dryly. “Nice thought, I guess. Brought me back with him to Wapiti. Took weeks to recover. Looked for the others when I finally left - but it’d been too long. They were all gone.”

Finally, he looks at you, anger and loss still plain in his gaze, though there is something there that you think akin to longing, as well.

“Looked for you,” he adds in a whisper. “Gone.”

It’s only when he finally falls silent that you realise that your cheeks are wet with tears. Before you can wipe them away, he reaches across the table, brushing your cheeks dry with calloused hands. Your breath catches in your throat, his touch bringing back flashes of what you had denied yourself all those years ago - and how you had found yourself mourning something that never had been, once everything was over. You let your eyes flutter shut and allow yourself to lean into his touch. You reach up to grasp his hand when you feel him start to pull away, opening your eyes to meet his.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, though he makes no effort to free himself from your grip.

“What for?” you whisper, clasping his hand in both of yours and lowering it back to the table, holding tight. He doesn’t answer, looking down at his hand cradled in yours. You’re both silent for a long while, the cabin suddenly seeming even smaller as your world narrows down to the man sitting across from you.

“Looked for you, too,” you say eventually, drawing his gaze back to your face. “For a long time.”

“Why?” he asks. There is something raw in his voice, painful, as if torn between hope and despair.

“Guess I had some regrets,” you say simply, and you see in his eyes that he understands - you both remember that warm night on the shore of Flat Iron Lake, all those years ago, the night you should have said yes. He looks at you for a moment, weighing his words, the air between you heavy with things left unsaid.

“Was there ever a time you would have had me?” he asks quietly.

You let go of his hand as you rise from your seat, making your way to his side of the table so that you can stand in front of him. Your courage had failed you then, years ago - if he would still have you, you wouldn’t let it fail you now.

“I would’ve had you,” you breathe as he stands up as well, so close to you that you have but to angle your head up to meet his lips. You had been too afraid back then, too wrapped up in the shadows of your own mind; but you had grown and changed, and so had he. “Wanted to. More than anything.”

“Then why - “

“I don’t know,” you cut him off. “But I regretted it for a long time. And I don’t wanna live on regrets no more.”

His hand is flat on the table, and you see it inch forward toward your hip, though he still doesn’t dare to touch. His eyes drop down to your lips before meeting yours again.

“Think I’d like to kiss you now,” he whispers, and his hand finally leaves the table to brush against the small of your back, his fingers leaving a burning trail of hot coals on your touch-starved skin even through the fabric of your clothes.

“Think I’d like that,” you answer, and he slowly leans down to kiss you, pressing his lips to yours lightly, almost hesitantly. You lay a hand flat on his chest as you return his kiss, just as softly, feeling his heart beating loud and fast beneath your palm, mirroring the rhythm of your own. That seems to embolden him. His hands find your hips, drawing you tight against him; there is something almost desperate to his touch, almost as if tonight is his last night on Earth, or as if he’s just found a missing piece of himself he’d lost years ago.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a long time,” he whispers between kisses. You lean away slightly, cradling his cheek.

“I know,” you answer. “Shoulda let you do it long ago.”

He lets out a rumbling laugh - he sounds more like himself now, the quiet but genuine laugh that you remembered from years ago tugging at your heart. You kiss him again as you grab his belt and pull his hips flush against yours, turning his laughter into a low groan - there’s heat gathering at your core, the culmination of years of longing and hoping and dreaming. He rocks against you almost involuntarily, slight movements that are enough to send sparks coursing through your veins - God, it’s been years since you’ve felt this way.

But he steps back suddenly, his hands shifting from your hips to your shoulders, holding you at arm’s length. He’s breathing heavily, looking at you with darkened eyes, but there is real concern in his voice when he speaks.

“Don’t have to do that,” he breathes. “If you don’t want to.”

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything half as much as you want this - and you have but to look at him to know that he does, too. So you step forward back into his embrace, trailing kisses from his lips to his ear, his breath hot against your neck as you whisper:

“I know what I want, Arthur.”

The last word has barely left your mouth that his lips are on yours again, hungry and eager. His hands return to your hips before slipping lower, drawing a surprised gasp from you when he squeezes slightly, chuckling low against your lips at your reaction. You laugh in return when you wrench a quiet moan from him as you grind your hips into his, his grip tightening as he tries to bring you impossibly closer.

“Come on,” you breathe as you part from him, taking his hand in yours as you lead him further into the house. Your bedroom isn’t far, but it still takes the both of you much longer than it should to get there, barely able to keep your hands off each other. He allows you to open the door and lead him inside your small bedroom before his lips are on yours again, pushing you further in until you know you’re right next to your bed. You push away from him then, and he gives you a quizzical look, ready to reach for you again, but your hear him take in a sharp breath when you reach for the buttons of your blouse. He watches you for a moment, frozen, before he starts working on his own clothes, hurriedly pulling off his neckerchief as he starts unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers falter and stop when you take off your top, his eyes raking over you as you move on to your skirt. He’s just finally taken his shirt off when you let your skirt fall to the floor, followed closely by your undergarments. You wonder if you should feel vulnerable, standing there before him without so much as a stitch of clothing, but you’ve never felt so safe, so warm, so wanted. You see in his eyes how badly he wants to touch you, though he stays rooted in place, as if afraid his hands on your bare skin would hurt you. You step forward and take his hand, bringing it up to your cheek, holding it there for a moment before letting your hand fall away, and he slowly lets his touch sink to the curve of your neck, then your shoulder, feather-light, almost shy, down, down, until, finally, he reaches your hip, and his other hand comes up to pull you against him, the rough fabric of his pants scratching at your thighs. He bends over you, his lips following the same path his fingers had just moments before, trailing from your mouth to your jaw and down the side of your neck, lingering at the curve of your shoulder before he moves to brush kisses along the length of your collarbone.

“Ain’t never seen anything half as beautiful as you,” he whispers against your skin, and somehow you believe him. “Never.”

He kisses the swell of your breasts, quickly replacing his mouth with his hands as he moves lower. There is reverence in every kiss he presses to your skin, as if awed by your mere existence. You feel as if he’s learning you - every curve, every angle, every scar carefully discovered and explored with fingers and lips. He puts one knee to the ground as he kisses a path down your stomach, stopping just below your navel, his hands leaving your breasts to smooth down to your waist before settling at your hips once more as he looks up at you, silently asking for permission. A flame flares to life in your stomach when you realise what he wants; you simply nod, and take a few steps back, sitting on the edge of your bed. He follows closely, waiting for you to lay down on your back before kneeling before you again. You feel his hand grip your thighs, prying your legs wider apart to accommodate his broad shoulders, and you can’t help but shiver in anticipation as you watch him take his place. He kisses the inside of your knee first, lingering there for a moment before moving higher. His beard tickles you slightly, though you’re far more preoccupied with the feeling of his lips on you as he peppers light kisses to your inner thighs - so preoccupied, in fact, that you don’t notice his hands until they hook beneath your thighs, bringing your legs over his shoulders before he rests one hand flat on your stomach while the other finds your hip, fingers gripping tight as his lips ghost over your center, tantalizingly close but not quite touching. You try to pull away reflexively, but his hands keep you anchored against him. The mere feeling of his warm breath fanning over you is enough to draw a quiet, needy moan from you, and you almost feel embarrassed; but as he meets your eyes one last time, making sure you haven’t changed your mind, you nod, and it’s all he needs to begin.

He starts by pressing light kisses against you, gently, almost reverently, sending teasing tremors running from your toes to your stomach, before he parts you with his tongue in one, long stroke. Just that is enough to make you gasp; it had been years since you’d been with anyone, and his touch awakens forgotten parts of you that you had thought gone forever. Your hands fist into the sheets beneath you at the foreign sensation of his mouth on you, his tongue in you - you were not inexperienced, but you cannot recall a single moment where it had felt quite like this, quite so warm and good and right.

He’s relentless, exacting moan after moan from you, faster and faster, louder and louder, until there is nothing left in the world but him and the tight ball of heat gathering low in your stomach, about to burst. He moans against you when you bring your hand to his head, threading your fingers through his hair as you press him closer to you, the low sound resonating against you in just the right way to finally bring you over the edge.

Your free hand shoots to the one he keeps on your hip, gripping tight as he unravels you, seemingly effortlessly, whispering adoring praise against your skin as you shudder and shake, pressing fervent kisses to whatever skin he can reach until, finally, the last of your trembling subsides. You take a moment to steady your breathing before you sit up slowly, drawing him in for a kiss and tasting yourself on his tongue. He parts from you as he stands up, and your hands are at his belt buckle before he can even reach for it, quick and eager.

“I think it’s time you got outta these,” you whisper with a sly smile, and he can only growl his approval as you shove his pants halfway down his thighs before letting him take over as you lay back down on the bed, properly this time. He makes quick work of his remaining clothes, and he stands at your bedside for a moment, looking you over slowly as if he’s trying to etch every single detail of you into his memory. You almost blush under his intense gaze - a foolish thing, considering your current situation.

“Not gonna tell you how many times I’ve thought of this,” he whispers, and you can’t help a quiet laugh as he finally joins you. Your hands find his shoulders as he comes to hold himself over you, one moving up to cradle the back of his head when he bends down to kiss his way from your collarbone to your lips, while the other slides down to press against his chest, feeling the wiry hair and the raised skin of old scars. He’s hard and hot against your thigh, and you move to take him in your hand, ripping a long groan from his throat as you stroke him slowly.

“Been a while,” he rasps, low and strained as his own hand reaches down to still yours. You meet his eyes and see them boiling with want. “Keep doin’ that and it’ll be over before it starts.”

“Waited for you too long to let that happen,” you whisper teasingly, spreading your legs wider in silent invitation as both of your hands return to his shoulders. You feel his palm smooth over your thigh as he kisses you again; his touch feels more familiar than it should, though you can’t tell exactly why - you’re not sure you care. All that matters is that he’s alive, and safe, and he’s with you.

He pushes inside you slowly, carefully - you’re grateful for that; it’s been a while for you, too. He stays still for a moment while you get used to feeling each other in a way that you had both longed to for what seemed to be an eternity, burying his face in the crook of your neck and exhaling shakily. You run a soothing hand through his hair, lightly kissing his temple until the first roll of his hips into yours wrenches a soft groan from your throat, the hand you held in his hair balling into a fist and pulling slightly. He sets a slow rhythm, torturously so, as if reveling in your warmth, the feeling of you against him and around him. Your hands smooth down his back - you feel more scars there, more stories; there’d be time for that later, you hoped - before settling at his hips, wordlessly urging him on.

“Hasn’t been a single day in all those years where I didn’t think of you,” he whispers as he starts to thrust harder - but not faster, still taking his time, dragging long, pleading moans from deep within you. “Wonderin’ where you were. Who you were with. Wonderin’ if you still thought about me.”

He brings one hand up to cradle your cheek as he meets your eye. You don’t think he’s truly asking, don’t think he’s really expecting an answer, yet you still find yourself breathing out half-mumbled words that you’re not even sure he can understand.

“Told myself I shouldn’t.” You arch your back off the bed when his hand snakes down to your core, stoking the fire of your pleasure once more, pressing your chest against his. He groans at that, his hips stuttering against yours for a moment before he starts again, faster this time. You grind down against his fingers, his hips, hands gripping tight, and you shiver apart - not as strongly as before, but your next words still come as half-stifled moans. “But I did - I did.”

He says nothing, simply pressing his lips to yours as you feel his rhythm grow more and more erratic as you whisper quiet encouragements against his ear until he shudders and gasps, pulling himself from you just in time to spill himself on your thighs, your hand reaching down between you to stroke him to the last of his pleasure as you place light kisses against his jaw. Your hands move up his sides as he stills, letting him catch his breath before you draw him in for a kiss and allow him to move off you. He lays down next to you, rough fingertips lingering on your stomach, tracing aimless patterns as he meets your eyes - for the first time this evening, they seem clear, unobscured, as if a veil had been lifted from them - from him. You can’t help a smile at the sight, and you reach out a hand to brush a trail from his brow, along his jaw, and to his mouth; he turns his head slightly to kiss your fingers, warm and soft. You leave him there to go clean yourself up, feeling his eyes on you as you stand up and stretch. When you come back into the room, you find him lying on his back, one arm folded with his hand under his head, and the other at his side. You climb back onto the bed, his free hand touching your upper arm to beckon you closer, and you lay down next to him, nestled against his side, his arm around your shoulders and his hand on your back, warm and comforting. You feel yourself start to doze off.

“Shame,” he whispers after what seems like an eternity, snapping you out of your daze. “All them years we lost.”

You stay silent for a moment, remembering how many time you had wished for things to be different. You could let him go now, of course - but you know that, if you do, you’ll feel incomplete for the rest of your days. So you snake a hand over his chest, curling your fingers at the side of his neck when he turns his head to look at you.

“We still got time to make up for them,” you breathe. “If you want.”

He can’t quite hide his surprise at your words - widening eyes and tightening grip just enough to betray his incredulity - and he looks at you for a long time, as if trying to decide if he’s heard you right, until you draw him down to your lips. Stay.

“If you’ll have me,” he whispers against your mouth. He’s smiling.

“Always,” you reply, and suddenly the years hardly seem to matter - neither of you had truly ever left the other's thoughts, and if time itself couldn’t keep you apart, then nothing would ever be able to.

Imma be honest with y’all: this could probably use more editing, but I’ve been working on it so long that I’m kinda starting to hate it, so if I don’t post it now I might never post it. I hope you’ll enjoy anyway!

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

The Black Swan

Chapter 9

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 7268

Chapter: 9/17 (All chapters)

Summary: Baz and Simon deal with the aftermath of the festival. And Simon makes a shocking discovery.

Read on AO3

AN: This chapter is a bit weird but bare with me, alright? Hope you guys like it!

———————————————

Simon tried to write it down himself, to pay attention, but his mind wandered as always. He despised his governance studies, and the private lessons with David were particularly tortuous. So his quill kept drifting to the margins of his parchment. His doodles started off as random lines, but quickly they formed the vague shape of a mouth. A thin mouth, with shiny teeth and a secret smile, who’s possible taste Simon was still thinking about days later.

“Simon!” David barked, making the prince jolt so hard his knees banged sourly against the desk. “Pay attention! This is your future we’re learning about.”

Simon sunk into his chair, fidgeting with his feathered quill. “I know, Father.”

“How do you expect to be a king if you won’t even learn diplomacy?”

I never asked to be king, Simon wanted to yell. But he knew yelling at his adoptive father got him nowhere. So he simply shrugged. David shook his head.

“Look,” the king sighed, “I know diplomacy isn’t as exciting as magic or sword fighting. But it’s necessary for when you take the throne. You need to know how to rule strongly, so you can handle Watford when I’m gone.”

“But you’re not going anywhere anytime soon. I don’t have to worry, right?”

David shook his head even more. He walked up and put his hands on Simon’s desk, looming over his heir like a very perturbed statue. “Don’t be naive, Simon. There are enemies everywhere for a king. I could be killed after I walk out of this room! You have to be ready for my death at all times, or you will be caught off guard and Watford will be left without a strong ruler, as well as someone to carry on my legacy. You’ll have to tell the same to your’s and Lady Wellbelove’s children. Every king has to.”

“Great pep talk, Davy,” Simon murmured.

“What was that?” David glared even harder.

Simon sank further into his chair. “Nothing, Father. I’ll pay attention now.”

“You should have been paying attention from the start, but very well.” He went back to the board. He tapped his wand under “STRENGTH” once more “This is the most important trait when negotiating. Strength is what everyone respects universally, no matter what you say.”

Simon underlined “strength” three times on the parchment. He listened and listened, and tried to figure out how much of it he actually believed. David was a good king. He must know what he was talking about. But it didn’t sit well with Simon, not all of it. Being strong, a wall, listening to no one and barreling through. It had worked for him. Simon thought it was better to be cautious and ask others, but David didn’t. But...

“Don’t try to be like David, Si. Be like you.”

Simon didn’t know what he wanted to be like. All he knew was that he really didn’t want to be here right now. He wanted to be back at the festival, eating sweets, dancing his heart out, kissing a strange boy before the sun came up.

“Now, you better start packing, we’ll be off first tomorrow morning.”

Simon’s head bolted up. “Wait what? Are we going somewhere?”

David sighed and shook his head. “Yes, Simon. We’re going to the west. There have rumblings of rebellion from the region, but an appearance by the king and crown prince will put those to rest. I already told you about this.”

“N-No you didn’t!”

“Yes,” he growled. “I did. You probably just weren’t paying attention.”

Simon curled in on himself, picking at his nails. “I-I guess. How long are we going to be there?”

“As long as we have to be. What, do you have somewhere else you need to be?”

The way David asked the question suggested there was only one answer, no matter what the truth was. Simon let his head fall, staring at his lap and shaking hands. “No, Father.”

David made an approving sound. “Good. Make sure you’re well packed and ready to ride. You’re dismissed for today.”

Simon stood up and nodded. “Thank you, Father.”

He walked out of the room with his head still down. He kept walking through the halls, trying to keep his composure. And the second he was in his room, Simon grabbed his sword and started battling the air. Simon channeled all his fury into every slash and stab into nothing. He did that until his arm was sore, then let it fall. The tip of his sword made the tiniest clink on the stone floor. It was loud in the room, save for Simon’s harsh breathing.

Simon didn’t want to go to the west. He didn’t want to not see Baz for ages. Just the thought of it made his heart ache. But he was going to have to go. And he’d have to tell Baz. That made the ache even worse.

———————————————

“Hey.”

Simon turned around. Baz was already standing there, hands behind his back, small smile tugging at his lips. Those lips that Simon hadn’t stopped thinking about for days. His stomach fluttered. He couldn’t help but smile himself.

“Hey,” he said. “How are you?”

“Better.” He tapped his bruise, which had faded to a much smaller purple stain. “This thing is almost gone, thankfully.”

“That’s good. Glad to hear it.”

Baz nodded then quickly looked at the ground, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. Simon gulped, because he was very sure Baz’s cheeks were red. It was still hard to see the colour on him, sure, but it was almost certainly there. Simon didn’t know what to do. Grab his hand? Tell him about his trip? Kiss him to make up for what they missed out on? But it wasn’t that night anymore. The high was gone. Simon was nervous beyond belief. He had no idea what to do. And from the look on Baz’s face, neither did he.

Maybe the only thing to do was to do what was normal.

He dropped his bag and quickly scooped up a long stick. “Wanna duel? I’m feeling confident about winning tonight.”

Baz’s brow furrowed for a moment. But when Simon poked Baz’s chest, the other boy sighed, picked up his own stick, and crossed their swords. “Very well. As long as you’re prepared to lose.”

Simon grinned, and made the first jab. Baz parried him with practiced ease. They fell into their usual rhythm. Slashing, blocking, giving ground then snatching it back. But right now, the steps reminded Simon far too much of their dancing. His mind kept going back to the last time they moved liked this, spinning and flying across the ground like it was as natural as breathing. When Baz’s arm was tight around his waist, when they had been so close and so happy. Simon wanted all that again, not sparring. So his slashes were weak, he barely blocked, and he gave far more ground than usual.

It took him a few minutes, but Simon realised Baz wasn’t trying that hard either. The other’s boys sword work was just as lackluster. Neither of them wanted this. So Simon lowered his sword, and Baz quickly followed. They stared at each other. It was clear both were unsure what to do.

“So,” Baz said slowly. “Want to talk?”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

They both tossed their sticks to the side. Instead of walking to the lake, Baz walked to his cottage. Simon followed behind. They sat down with backs against the wall. And Simon couldn’t help but notice how closer they were. One wrong (or right) move, and he’d be holding Baz’s hand again. He wouldn’t mind though. He wouldn’t mind one bit.

“How are you?” Simon asked. It was a simple question on the surface, but so much bubbled under the surface. They hadn’t talked since the festival. Simon had no idea how Baz felt after what happened after they dashed through the woods, after their almost kiss.

Baz seemed to know the meaning. He took in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “I’m alright. It was a bit scary, I won’t lie. But I’m okay now.”

Simon wasn’t fully convinced. He shuffled a minuscule amount closer, cautiously brushing his fingers over the back of Baz’s hand. Baz barley reacted, except with maybe some more colour in his cheeks. “Are you sure? You can tell me.”

Baz sighed again. “I really am, Simon, don’t worry. Even if it had a rough end, I had a really fun night. Thank you for it.”

Simon’s pulse fluttered. He felt so proud and so unsure how to cope with it. He wasn’t used to being thanked. “Y-You’re welcome then, I guess. I’m glad you had fun, I did too.”

“We should, um,” Baz looked away, obviously embarrassed, “maybe...do something like that again soon. I think you’re right, I do need to get out of here more. Maybe we can go explore without the excuse of the festival.”

Simon’s eyes went wide. His mind was racing, thinking of all the things him and Baz could do together outside of this lake. Go town late at night, climb a hill, just run as fast as their feet could take them. It was exhilarating. But...there was David....

“Y-yeah,” he replied. “That’d be great. But...” Baz’s face fell. Simon’s heart broke instantly. He put his other hand over Baz’s squeezing firmly. “No, no no, I’m not saying no. I want to go and do that, most definitely. But it just might not be for a bit.” Baz’s brow furrowed. “My guardian, he’s taking me on a trip out west. So I’m going to be gone for awhile.”

Baz’s face fell again, but in a different way. Not heartbroken, just plain old sad. He was sad that Simon wouldn’t be around. It made something both soar and shatter in Simon all at once. He didn’t want Baz to feel anything bad, but a small part of him was strangely happy that Baz could be sad over him. Baz looked down at their hands, then flipped his over, fingers curling around one of Simon’s.

“When do you leave?” he asked softly.

Simon swallowed, staring at their hands. “Tomorrow morning.”

Baz’s shoulders slumped. “And how long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. My guardian won’t say. At least a week, probably longer.”

“I see.”

Baz’s voice was even, but his hand was so tight. He couldn’t hide his feelings from Simon at this point. And it made Simon feel horrible. So he reached behind himself and grabbed his bag. He rummaged around for a moment, then pulled out what he had brought from his room before he snuck out.

“Here,” he said. “to keep you company while I’m gone.”

It was a large book with a red leather cover. It was an analysis of the interaction between societal norms and economic policies by Natasha Grimm-Pitch. Simon wanted to doze off every time he looked at it. But he knew Baz would love it. And he was right, considering how Baz’s mouth fell open and his eyes went very wide. He balanced the book on his knees, tracing the gold letters.

“This is incredible,” Baz whispered. “Where did you find this?”

“My friend gave it to me awhile ago. I hate reading stuff like it, but I thought you’d appreciate it more than me.”

Baz chuckled, the sound low and amused. “You assumed correctly. I’ll enjoy it greatly.” He looked at Simon again, smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, cheeks certainly red. “Thank you, Simon.”

Simon grinned back. His heart fluttered again. By all the Gods, he wanted to kiss that beautiful smile on Baz’s face. He could feel his face heating up at just the thought of it. But he was leaving. He didn’t want to kiss Baz then leave him alone for possibly weeks. Baz deserved better than that.

“You’re welcome, Baz,” he said. He was the one who shifted their hands this time, weaving their fingers together. Baz clutched him tight. “You won’t have to read it for long though. I’ll be back. I promise, Baz, I’ll come back.”

Baz didn’t stop smiling, but his eyes were more than just happy. They were kind, understanding. There was so much contained in the deep sea galaxy of his gaze. And Simon never wanted to look away.

“I’m not worried,” he said quietly. “I know you’ll come back, Simon.”

Simon’s mouth became dry. His heartbeat was thundering in his ears. He tried to memorised the gorgeous look on Baz’s face. That image in his mind would be the only thing to help him get him through the upcoming tortuous journey.

“And I always will,” he replied.

That was a promise he didn’t plan on breaking.

———————————————

The trip itself wasn’t too bad. It only took a day and a half with a stay at lower lord’s house overnight. Simon rode in his own carriage and slept most of the way. It was nice to not have David nagging him the entire time. He’d almost call it peaceful, if his dreams weren’t filled with his recurring nightmares and the occasional flash of Baz’s face.

But once they reached the edge of Canterbury, the capital of the western province, everything got so much worse. David made Simon ride next to him on horse. Simon hated horseback riding. Saddles were uncomfortable, horses didn’t listen to him, and it was all made so much worse by his itchy prince clothes.

“Why do I have to wear this?” Simon asked, voice dangerously close to a whine. “They’re not good for riding.”

“Because we need to make an impression, Simon,” David said with his nose in the air. “We need to remind them that we are their sovereign rulers, and disobedience won’t be tolerated.”

Something about made Simon flinch. He remembered the matron’s words. Listen to me, Simon, she would yell, and do what I say. Simon thought those kind of strict orders went away when you grew up. But maybe the orders just started to come from someone higher up and further away. That was kind of what a king was supposed to do. Simon didn’t want to do that. He didn’t even want to be a hero right now. He just wanted to see Baz again. Yet here he was, wearing his embroidered green tunic and golden circlet, and absolutely loathing every minute of it.

The royal procession walked through the main thoroughfare. Simon had to work very hard to keep his horse in line. He did his best to wave politely to the crowd anyway, while David did the same and kept his stern composure. The streets were reasonably filled with people, but there was no cheering. They merely clapped politely. And when Simon looked at their gaunt faces, none of them were smiling. Most of them were blank, void of any emotion, and a few even looked angry. What disturbed Simon the most was that some of their expressions reminded him of Baz. So many had a distant sadness sitting in their eyes. Simon’s heart felt tight.

They arrived at the manor, where they were greeted by Lord and Lady Stainton and their daughter Philippa. Philippa went to school with Simon and roomed with Agatha. They weren’t super close but they spoke a few times. Simon always suspected she had affection for him. He was nervous to see her again. But when he dismounted and stood in front of her, Philippa was nothing but courteous. She followed her parents, curtsying and bowing her head low.

“Welcome to Canterbury, your majesty and your highness,” Lord Stainton said. “We are honoured to have you in our home.”

“As you should,” David replied curtly.

Lord Stainton seemed a bit thrown off by that response. He cleared his throat and straightened even more. “Of course. We’ll have the servants bring your bags to your quarters. Would you like to see the most recent reports?”

“Of course. Simon, come along.”

Simon followed a distance behind the actual adults. Philippa was beside him, hands linked in front of her skirt politely. He leaned a closer to her.

“It’s good to see you too, Lady Stainton,” he whispered. “How are you?”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, your highness,” she replied. “I’m well. Thank you for asking.”

Simon wanted to ask more, ask her what she’s been doing since school. But they entered the conference room, and David gave Simon a look that said, “come here now.” Simon scurried forward to stand at his father’s side. They took the head seats that were supposed to be for the Lord and Lady. But the King always got the best seat no matter where he was. Lord Stainton took a moment to look down at Simon sitting in his seat, then spread out a large map on the oak conference table. It showed the western province with a few red marks.

“There have been problems here, here, and here,” Lord Stainton said. He kept speaking of uprisings, of who the leaders were, how they were handling it. Simon listened as best as he could. The biggest thing he noticed was that Lord Stainton never mentioned the reason for these uprisings.

“I see,” David said thoughtfully, stroking his mustache. “We’ll go to these towns and you’ll voice your support for me. I’ll speak well enough to quash these rebellions. Prince Simon will stay here to keep a presence in the capital. Understood?”

“Understood, your majesty,” Lord and Lady Stainton said simultaneously. Simon had to hold back a groan. So they came all this way so Simon could sit around in a different annoyingly large building, one far enough away that he couldn’t sneak out to see Baz or Penny. If there was a Hell, Simon was sure he was living in it.

“Good. The Crown Prince and I shall rest before dinner.”

“Of course,” Lord Stainton said. “Rest well, your majesty.”

“We will.” He stood up and beckoned with his hand. “Come, Simon.”

Simon nodded and stood. “T-Thank you for the rooms, Lord and Lady Stainton,” he said as confidently as he could.

The three nobles smiled kind and bowed their heads. “You’re welcome, your highness” Lady Stainton said weirdly cautiously.

Simon smiled back. But as they walked away to their quarters, Simon felt David’s hand grab the back of his jacket. Simon yelped and choked slightly. He looked up at David. The king glared at him with unmasked fury.

“Do not speak out of turn,” he growled. "Understood?"

Simon gulped. His palms were suddenly sweaty. He nodded. “Y-Y-Yes, sir.”

David let go. His mask returned. “Good. Go to your quarters.”

“Yes, Father.”

Simon took the smaller room while David entered the larger one. Simon breathed a sigh of relief the second the door was closed. David didn’t hit him, sure, but he never had to. He was intimidating enough without leaving a mark.

Simon’s brass trunk sat in the middle of the room with his rucksack on top. He wished he knew which servants brought it up. The trunk was very heavy, he wanted to at least thank them, maybe even give them a few coins. He’d try to find them later. First of all, he opened up his travel bag, and pulled out his leather bound sketch book. Simon flopped down on the large page as he flipped through the pages, and he soon landed on his destination. He stared at his latest sketch of Baz for far too long. He hovered over the drawing, tracing the drawing’s features with a hovering finger. His dark wavy hair, his pretty eyes, his barely there smile. Simon missed Baz like he would miss the sun if it went out. And he’d definitely be counting the days until he saw him again.

———————————————

The Canterbury Manor wasn’t that bad, really. It wasn’t as big as Watford Castle, but it was still sizable, and everyone was nice. Lady Stainton was a good host. She made pleasant conversation with Simon at meals, despite her obvious discomfort with him. Simon was used to it. She didn’t look down on him with contempt like her husband, but obviously didn’t know exactly how to act around the common born prince, especially when David wasn’t around. Philippa was nice too, but she had private tutoring that took most of her time as well. He tried to talk to servants, but they were all too intimidated by his presence to hold any sort of conversation.

So Simon spent his days mostly alone, switching between wandering, sketching, and practicing his sword work at the training ground. He tried to work on some new things to show Baz when he got back. But his heart wasn’t in it. His heart felt far away, left behind in Watford, in that hidden lake. It was a foreign feeling for Simon, and no matter how much it hurt, he didn’t want it to go away. He wanted anything that reminded him of Baz.

He was practicing a new blocking technique when the door opened and he stopped. His eyes met Philippa’s, and she jolted back.

“Oh, hello, your highness,” she said nervously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here. I’ll go-”

“No!” Simon called out. Philippa turned back around, looking very shocked. “Uh, you don’t have to go. It’s your grounds, and you’re here to practice, right?”

It was a fair assumption. Philippa was wearing a loose tunic and trousers, something uncommon for women in Watford, unfortunately. (Penny was constantly railing against that.) Philippa looked down, hands clasped in front of her. “Yes, but you may have the ground, your highness.”

Simon sighed. He sheathed his sword and stepped towards her, though still a respectable distance away. “Philippa, look up,” he said. She raised her eyes but not her head. “You don’t have to do that. King David isn’t here, no one is. You won’t get in trouble. We’ve known each other for years. You were Agatha’s bloody roommate. We didn’t talk a lot, sure, but I saw you all the time. You don’t have to treat me like I’m someone super important.”

“But,” she said with genuine confusion, “you’re the crown prince.”

Simon shrugged, rubbing his upper arm. “I prefer just Simon, honestly.”

Philippa finally raised her head. She looked incredibly nervous. Simon grinned as brightly as he could, and Philippa’s body visibly relaxed as she smiled back. And Simon felt a lot better.

“So what do you practice with?” Simon asked.

“Uh, longsword mostly,” she replied. “I started back at Mage’s School and I enjoyed it.”

Simon’s brow furrowed. ��I thought girls weren’t supposed to learn swords at School.” (Another thing Penny railed against a lot.)

“We’re not, but I started learning from some of my male friends in secret in sixth year. I’ve tried to keep up the work ever since.”

“That’s pretty awesome.”

Philippa smiled more. “Thanks.” She shuffled her feet, rubbing a hand on her neck. “Y’know I...I heard you were really good at swords. An arrogant part of me always wanted to, um, see how good you were.”

Simon shrugged. “Well, I don’t think I’m that good. But we can duel, if you want.”

Philippa’s eyes went very wide. Her mouth fell open. “Really?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m always looking for new competition.”

Philippa chuckled. “I don’t know about that, but if you’re offering I’ll go for it.” She walked over to the armory rack and snatched two wooden practice swords. “Let’s use wood though. I don’t want to accidentally stab the heir to the throne.”

Simon laughed as he tossed his sheath off. “Yeah, that’s probably smart.”

He held out his hand. Philippa hesitated for a second, then tossed the sword to him like an old sparring partner. He caught it and walked to the centre of the ring. Philippa followed, swinging her sword back and forth with all the confidence of a pro. They faced each other equidistant apart. Simon got into his fighting stance, both hands on his hilt, feet lining up with his rolled back shoulders. Philippa did something similar.

“I hope you don’t go easy on me,” she said. “I like a challenge.”

Simon smirked, like how Baz did before their matches. “Don’t worry. So do I.”

They nodded once, and then they began.

Simon striked first, a downward slash, which Philippa blocked easily. He tried again, she blocked again. But she didn’t give ground. She held firm and Simon couldn’t move her. Philippa finally struck. She swung to the side. It wasn’t that strong, and Simon blocked, but the odd angle she used forced him to step back, foot digging into the sawdust. Philippa took the advantage, pushing forward. Simon was impressed. He quickly noticed her fighting style. What she lacked in strength she made up for in speed and technique. She was quick, precise, technical. She was a lot like Baz even though she wasn’t as as strong. And Simon knew how to fight Baz.

He pushed back at Philippa with a sizable amount of force, making her stumble. Simon didn’t give her a chance to think. He kept striking, throwing her off the rhythm, pushing forward until she had to give ground. Her strikes became frantic, technique abandoned. One of her swings faltered badly, and Simon took the opportunity. He stuck his sword underneath her’s, spun around, and sent her wooden blade flying out of the ring like the world’s strangest bird. Simon didn’t point his sword at her. It felt too bragging. Philippa was out of breath, but looked strangely pleased.

“Well,” she chuckled, “I can see now why people said you were good.”

Simon chuckled as well, planting the sword in the ground. “Thanks. You’re amazing too.”

She smiled brightly, a bit of flush on her cheeks. Simon inhaled sharply. She reminded him of Baz the night before he left. He liked seeing that on Baz, but not on Philippa. He got nervous seeing it on Philippa.

“So, uh, do you just like swords or do you plan to fight a war?” Simon said jokingly, trying to alleviate the mood. But Philippa’s suddenly became very serious, her body and mouth a thin straight line. She walked out of the ring to pick up her sword. Simon followed behind her. Philippa put away the sword almost angrily, rattling all the other weapons.

“Um,” Simon said slowly, “did I say something bad? I’m sorry. I’m still bad at speaking.”

Philippa sighed. “Your hi- Simon, how much do you know about King David’s policies?”

Simon shuffled his feet. “N-Not as much as I probably should.”

“Anything about the west?”

“Not that I can remember.”

Philippa nodded thoughtfully. She turned around, arms crossed, eyes downcast. “Ever since King David took power, the taxes have gone up. It was fine at first. My family could pay them, we had enough. Eventually though, he stopped wanting money and started asking for some of our grain, which was also fine at first. But then he kept wanting more and more. And now our people have barely anything to eat. My father keeps asking him to lower the amount at the council meetings he attends, but the king keeps insisting we have enough to give away. That it's time for the lords to pay their dues, no matter how much my father tries to dispute him.” She took a deep breath and lifted her head. Her eyes were filled with determination. “So...I suppose I want to know sword fighting to protect my people when I’m Lady of Canterbury. Like I’m supposed to.”

It was Simon’s turn to be surprised. He remembered Philippa just as Agatha’s sweet, shy roommate. But either he hadn’t been paying enough attention at school or she’d changed a lot in the last year. He was thoroughly impressed by her. And thoroughly disgusted by what David was doing.

“That’s horrible,” he growled. “I-I had no idea! I thought he was just going after the really rich lords, not the common people! Gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault, Simon,” Philippa sighed.

“Yeah, it kinda is.” He sat down in the middle of the ring, a cloud of sawdust bursting up around him. “I should know more about Watford policy. But I don’t, because I don’t like it. And look where that’s got you and all of the West. So, I’m sorry. I’m a shit prince and I’ll be an even shittier king. You and your people deserve better.”

Philippa didn’t say anything. Simon stared at his own feet. He heard rather than saw Philippa sit next to him, sawdust blowing up in a little “puff” noise. “Would you do something like what he’s doing here?”

“Never,” Simon said automatically. “Never, absolutely not.”

“Then you’re already a better king than David.”

Simon lifted his head. Philippa was looking at him kindly. He smiled back, but still shrugged. “Thanks. The problem is I’m not sure I’d know how to do something different though. Fuck not sure I even want to be king.”

“Well, guess you don’t have much choice in that matter.”

“Guess so.” He flopped backwards on the itchy training ground floor. “Kinghood is a long way away though. I can sword fight until then.”

Philippa snorted. “Then I’ll have to challenge you again sometime.”

“I’d certainly like that.”

She flopped with him. Together stay stared at the high vaulted ceiling with its intricate lattices of stone. Philippa’s head lolled to the side. “So what else do you like to do instead of the prince stuff?”

Meet up with a snarky cursed boy who I have the inexplicable urge to snog, he wanted to say, but obviously couldn’t. Baz was his beautiful secret. Luckily there were other, smaller things in his life. “Well, sword work obviously, good food, and drawing.” He turned to look at her. “What do you like?”

Philippa made a contemplative noise. “Hm, sword work too, dresses, and, well, you’re going to think this is childish, but I love storybooks.”

Simon bolted up, a big grin across his face. “Really? Me too! I love old storybooks!”

Philippa gasped and grinned like a child with candy, sitting up as well. “Oh, amazing! Finally, someone to appreciate the collection with!”

“Collection? What collection?”

Philippa looked incredibly pleased. She jumped to her feet with impressive ease then offered her hand. Simon took it, and she hoisted him to his feet too with only a little struggle. “Just you wait, Prince Simon, your britches are going to be blown off.”

Simon had little time to question that statement before she was dragging him down the grand hall. They raced across the floors, sharply turning corners and narrowly avoiding running into things and servants alike, until they reached a set of giant double doors. Philippa let go of his hand, and pushed them wide open.

“Welcome,” she announced grandly, “to the Canterbury Library.”

Simon thought the royal library was impressive, but this was something else. The shelves were at least three times as high, nearly reaching the ceiling. Each as filled to the brim with books and scrolls of every kind. If Penny or Baz came in here, neither would go outside ever again, Simon thought. Even he could appreciate the majesty of it.

“Wow,” he whispered.

“Impressive right?” Philippa said. “Ever since the first royal palace burned down, this has been the biggest collection of books in all of Watford. My father says that’s one of the reasons King David wants to make sure we won't have rebellions. We’ve got some of the older historical and magical texts here that were lost in the fire that he occasionally needs, for negotiations and spells and such. But those are boring. Let me show you the good stuff.”

Philippa started walking to to her left. Simon trailed behind like a lost puppy. Which he certainly felt like in here. Philippa turned a corner, took another five steps, then stopped. Simon nearly ran into her, barely stopping in his tracks.

“This,” Philippa announced, “is the best part.” These shelves are lined with slimmer volumes with many coloured covers. Philippa pulled a red one off and held it out to Simon. He took it, tracing over the letters. “The Dragon Prince.”  It was one he was familiar with, one he read back in the orphanage. But unlike the orphanage, this copy was pristine. There wasn’t a single scratch or tear, the letters were shining silver, and a Canterbury Cross was indented on the corner. A sign that this book belonged in this incredible place.

“It’s beautiful,” Simon said. “All of these are fairy tales?”

“These five shelves, yeah. I’ve read them all a lot.”

“Lucky. I would be here all the time.”

Philippa traced over the spines with genuine affection. “Well, you can look at as many as you while you’re here.”

Simon grinned all the way to his ears. “Thank you. I’ll definitely take you up on it.”

“Go wild. I’m happy to have someone else who can appreciate this.”

Simon took that to heart. He scanned over, pulling any title that looked interesting. Ones he knew, ones he’d never seen before. “The Red and White Queen”, “Mermaids of the Crystal Cave”, “A Beauty and Her Monster”-

Simon stopped. He stopped moving, thinking, breathing, anything. Time had frozen in place as his fingers touched the spine of a blue bound book. He read the the silver words on it over and over.

The book read, “Swan Lake.”

Simon cautiously took it. The cover had the title again, along with a silhouette of a swan floating on water. Simon took a deep but shaky breath. What was this? Could it be...?

“Simon?” Philippa asked. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” he replied, shaking the haze from his head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just, uh, really amazed by your books. Um, I-I’m going to go start them right now, actually. Thank you!”

“Um, you’re welcome!” Philippa called after him as he ran away.

Simon ran and didn’t stop until he got to his room, slamming the door shut immediately. He felt like he had some sort of dastardly secret. Did he? Was this even important or just some scary coincidence? It didn’t hurt to look.

Simon placed the stack of books on his bedside table and held onto Swan Lake. He stared at it for far too long, caught in excitement and nerves. Slowly, he opened to the first page.

———————————————

Once upon time in a faraway land, there lived a prince named Siegfried.

Siegfried lived a loud and carefree life. He went to parties and drank far too much ale, never caring for anyone. But on his 18th birthday, his mother told him he must choose a bride at the ball the next evening. Siegfried was forlorn over the loss of his freedom, so his friend suggested they go hunting to lift his spirits.

They went deep, deep, deep into the woods with their crossbows. Siegfried looked up to the sky, and saw a flock of swans overhead. The pair followed the swans into the darker parts of the forest. Siegfried quickly lost his friend among the trees as he followed the flock.

Soon, he came upon a crystal clear lake. The swans landed upon the water. Just as the sun set on the horizon, every bird turned into a beautiful woman dressed in white. One also wore a golden crown upon her golden hair. Siegfried was instantly enchanted by her. He emerged from his hiding spot. They were all initially scared, but Siegfried assured them that he meant no harm.

The crowned one told Siegfried that her name was Odette. She and her companions were all cursed by an evil wizard named Rothbart. They were forced to be swans during the day and only became human at night when they were landed upon the lake.

Siegfried was heartbroken at her woe. He asked if there was anyway to end this horrific curse. The only way to break the curse was more tragic than the curse itself. Someone who had never loved before had to declare their love for Odette to the world.

Siegfried almost asked to know more, but suddenly a man with yellow eyes like an owl stepped out from the shadows. It was Rothbart! Siegfried raised his bow to strike the evil wizard through his heart, but Odette stopped him. She told him that if he killed Rothbart before the curse was broken, it would be permanent. Siegfried lowered his bow and could only watch as Rothbart went by.

Odette returned to her ladies. They danced together in a circle around the water. Siegfried was dazzled beyond reason. He tried to approach them, but all the ladies were scared of his weapon. He snapped the crossbow in half, then approached Odette. He offered his hand and waited for Odette to take it. She was shy and scared at first, but Siegfried offered all of himself, and she decided to trust him. They danced the entire night together. Their feet spun and flew over the ground. Their eyes never left each other. And in the course of that night, Siegfried and Odette fell in love. But soon the sun was rising once more. Odette and her ladies became swans once more. Siegfried called to the swan in the golden crown that there would be a ball at his palace tomorrow, then he left with his broken bow in tow.

That night at the ball, Siegfried patiently waited for Odette. Other princesses tried to entice him with their wiles but he had no eyes for them. Soon, Odette walked through the doorway with an escort, dressed all in black. Siegfried’s heart soared. He asked her to dance like they did the night before. She accepted. They flew across the floor for the second time. It was enchanting and perfect. Once their dance was done, Siegfried called for the guest’s attention. He announced to them all that he loved this woman undyingly, and he would marry her. They cheered for the newly betrothed.

But when Siegfried turned to his love, he suddenly realised that she wasn’t Odette at all. Her appearance had completely changed. A loud laugh rattled out from the crowd. Odette’s escort transformed. It was Rothbart again! He told Siegfried that he had just announced that he intended to marry not Odette, but Rothbart’s daughter Odiele, magically enchanted to look like Odette. To make it worse, Rothbart showed him a vision. Odette had been watching through the window, begging for Siegfried’s attention. But he hadn’t seen her. She was now crying and running away. Siegfried was shocked and furious. He left the ball and ran to the lake.

Odette arrived at the lake. Her maidens tried to comfort her but she was heartbroken beyond repair. Siegfried arrived soon. He apologised and begged for his love’s forgiveness. Odette forgave him, but he had already declared his love for another. He could no longer break her curse. Odette decided she’d rather die than live as a swan. Siegfried didn’t want to live without her, so he decided to go with her. Hand in hand, they both fell into the lake, and they stayed until the water filled their lungs.

Little did Siegfried and Odette know, their sacrifice ended the curse on the maidens. The newly freed and grateful women watched as the lovers’ souls ascended to the heavens, together forever more.

The end.

———————————————

Simon slowly closed the book. He took a deep, shaky breath, eyes squeezed shut. The story was poorly plotted and depressing as all fuck, but that was wildly unimportant. A swan during the day, human at night, only able to turn back while on a lake. All were far too familiar to be a coincidence. Did the cloaked man take the curse from the story? Simon didn’t know if that was even possible. All he knew was that this was near identical to Baz’s story.

Except, this version had something else, something he’d been trying to find for months; a way to break the curse, a way for Baz to finally be free. But was his curse the exact same as Odette’s? Could Simon break it the way Siegfried was supposed to? Simon blushed at the very idea of it. Was that what Simon felt? He had no clue what “undying love” was supposed to feel like. But he knew he’d do anything for Baz, there was no question about that.

No matter what though, the second he got home, Simon was going to show this book to Baz.

———————————————

Simon was strangely sad to leave Canterbury a week later. He shook hands with Philippa in public, but took a private moment to hug her. He thanked her for the company and the books she was graciously letting him borrow, and promised to write when he got home. She promised to write back. Simon wanted to thank her for Swan Lake in particular, but she might ask why. Simon couldn’t explain that in the short time they had. Maybe he would tell her when this was all over, when Baz was free.

The trip back was the same length, but it somehow felt ages longer. Simon was jittery beyond belief. He couldn’t sit still for more than two minutes. He read and reread Swan Lake twenty times, so that he could recite it to Baz off by heart. Baz would find that impressive. But eventually that became too much as well. He read other books, napped a bit, and before he knew it, they were back on the edges of Watford Town. Simon breathed a sigh of relief. Tonight, he’d finally be able to see Baz again.

But then the carriage stopped.

Simon lurched forward then back, knocking his head on the seat. He rubbed the sore spot with a pout. Why did he keep getting head injuries? His brains were going to rattle loose and dribble out of his ears soon.

“Ow,” he groaned.

The door was violently ripped open, making Simon jolt. David stood with a stern expression.

“Get up, Simon,” he said. “We’re doing a procession, like when we arrived in Canterbury.”

Simon sat ramrod straight. “W-What? Why?”

David narrowed his eyes. “Because the capital should receive their ruler and heir with appropriate fanfare. So we will make sure it happens.”

Simon took a deep breath in place of a groan or shouting at David’s stupid face. “Yes, Father,” he gritted out.

“Good. Put on your crown.”

Simon snorted and grabbed his circlet. They walked to their horses, and Simon reluctantly got on. He was going to hate this even more than Canterbury and he knew it.

Watford Town as a bit more excited than Canterbury as they rode through. People looked generally pleased and happy. Or at least they were better at hiding their displeasure than Canterbury. They clapped and cheered and grinned. Simon waved politely, trying to ignore his desperate desire to run away into the Forbidden Lands. His eyes just swept over the crowd with passive disinterest. He scanned for Penny’s hair or one of his other old classmates. He noted the house, the fruit stands, the pond.

Simon’s breath stopped. His hand froze in the air. Sitting on the pond was a black swan, wearing a silver chain. And one of it’s deep sea grey eye met Simon’s dead on.

———————————————

AN: Well, Simon knows a way to break the curse, but whoops, Baz knows the truth. I won't spoil, but next chapter is where the angst really comes in. Also tbh I didn't plan on Philippa being this much of a character, but I needed a character with a last name and Philippa came up. She doesn't have a lot of personality beyond crushing on Simon in the book so she's almost an OC lol. I enjoyed writing this. Baz and Simon are so crushing and so awkward haha. It was hard to balance between the two but I liked doing it.

Next chapter will be next Monday baring any complications. And I'm posting the last request fic in the next few weeks. I'm really excited to post it and containing my excitement is really hard lol. I'll just say is that it's connected to one of my previous popular fics :) See you guys soon!

[imawhoreforkpop]

Keep me warm

Jackson (got7) x reader

Genre: Fluff, slight angst

AU: friends to lovers

Word count: 1.5 K

Summary: when a snowstorm hits unexpectedly over the city, two friends become closer. 

A/N: This my first fanfic being posted on here so forgive me if it's bad, I’m still getting used to typing in this and figuring out how everything works. (1-7-19 re-edited)

Seems like had been months since I’ve last  seen him. It was nerve-racking when he had call me to met him up, the diner he had picked was bursting with warm colors giving the small area a friendly feeling. Tugging on my f/c sweater sleeve to cover the exposing skin on my right arm as my eyes scan over the dinning area in hopes that I'll spot the brown haired boy.

E/c eyes lighting up as my feet rush over to the back of the room, plopping down into the pale orange booth where he sat. He looked perfect in every way, the light reflecting off his hair giving it a soft look, his brown eyes full of life and happiness never once showing sadness when we were with one another. His outfit was simple, an plain white shirt with some jeans seemed like no matter what he wears, he looked like a model on the walkway.

A voice snaps me out of my daydreaming, laughing out in embarrassment when Jackson looked at me. “huh, sorry I was spacing out” My voice cracks a bit as I look over where the napkins were sitting. “I was just saying what do you wanna eat” he repeated what he said earlier. “oh! Some chicken noodle soup would be good” I answer him, “okay, I'll get an waitress over here then” he flashes me a quick smile. My heartbeat quickens over the small interaction he gave me.

A small bleached blonde haired woman comes over to us, her brown eyes burning holes in Jackson face as if she was mapping out his features into her mind. I knew better than to get jealous over a friend but my emotions overpowered me. “yeah, so I'll  have the chicken soup along with some water. Oh and can you bring me some crackers please?” I loudly speak out while handing her my menu. “yeah, sure.” she pops her gum while jotting down my order, “how about you, handsome?” she asks Jackson making sure to bat her eyelashes. “I would like the chicken salad please and a root beer” he smiles at her while passing her the menu he was just reading from. “I’ll get that out to you as soon as I can.” The waitress winks at him before heading off somewhere.

“She was hitting on you, you know that right?” my voice laced in slightly annoyance as I push my hair back behind my ear as I pretend like I'm interested in the sugar packets by the napkin holder. “No she wasn't” Jackson laughs, “yea, sure whatever you say” I push out my words trying to keep calm. We didn't speak much after that, little bits here and there as we waited for our food. The young waitress popped up with our orders, after handing us our food she lingered around trying to catch Jackson's attention. My patience was running low with her, out of nowhere my brain came up with a great idea.

“Jackson, scoot over a bit.” I tell him as i push my food over to other side before getting up to sit next to him. Pushing my body close to his as i possibly could, smiling at the waitress who was watching us from afar. Her eye glaring at me but it was only fueling up my ego that i could have something she couldn't. We finished up our meals and paid before taking our leave.

I watch Jackson push open the glass door making sure to hold it open for me to walk through. Large clouds had moved over the city casting a shadow over our surroundings, “hey, is it supposed to snow today?” I look up to the sky as I ask Jackson, “No, the forecast said it's supposed to be cloudy” He tells me, I feel his large hand softly grasp my wrist and tug me towards his car. “hey, it is okay if we go to your house for a bit?” Jackson gives me puppy eyes, I nod a yes to him.

The car ride was oddly peaceful, music softly dance around us as the heater kept us warm on the way to my place. Stepping out of the small vehicle, I begin pulling my keys out from my purse to unlock the oak door to my apartment, shoving the door open to let the impatient boy into my living room. I watch him automatically go straight for the couch pulling the red blanket that once was covering the sofa over himself. Laughing softly at the boy i had fallen in love with. We had met through some friends at a birthday party a few years ago. Our friendship blossomed into what it is today, over a story i told him about me climbing an apple tree in my backyard and getting my pant struck on a branch. That story helped us become best friends, we were always doing stupid stuff together like seeing how long we could hold our breath until one of us passes out or trying to burp the Abc's without throwing up. I was there through every break up he went through giving him an shoulder to cry on and help him piece himself back together.

The day I realized My heart had fallen for the brown eyed boy, He had came to my house with teary eyes and a broken heart about this girl named Jenna, he had poured his soul out to, he told me they had been dating for a few months now and that he had confessed his love to her and that she didn't feel the same and ended their relationship that same very night. I envy the woman who stole my best friend’s heart. I knew it was wrong to feel this way about him but i wanted to prove to him that i could treat him better than anyone in this whole world if he would give me the chance.

Snapping myself out of my trance to the real world around me, “hey, you wanna watch a movie?” I plop down next to him, flipping pass shows on Netflix. “sure” he smiles, “we should watch Nemo again” he tells me while getting cozy next to me. I click the movie before i glance over the window to see the earth was whited out with snow. “geez, that snow came in fast” I tell Jackson while standing up to check the crazy weather happening outside. “oh dang, I don’t  think i could drive tonight with this weather” he informs me, “That's okay, you can crash here for the night” I pat his back before heading back to the couch as he follows behind me.

I feel his arms wraps around my torso pulling me towards his warm body. “You should keep me warm, Y/n” he pulls me down onto the sofa with him in a cuddling position. My face flashes red for a second as I process what happening. I laid there for a moment battling whether or not i should tell him about my feelings.

Fear pacing self around my mind, what if i lose him over this crush i developed and it destroy our friendship or what if he feels the same about me but I chickened out and lost my chance with him I think to myself. I huff out a breath, “i'm going for it, I've already waited a year might as while tell him before it's too late” i tell myself. I look up at him taking in every facial structure and imperfection he has before taking his hand into mine.

“Hey, I need to tell you something” my voice slightly shakes as I continue on with my sentence, “I'm in love with you” I puff out, feeling the weight off my chest be lifted. His eyes search my face for a moment, his fingertips run across my cheeks before finding themselves under my jaw. He pulls my face closer to his, his minty breath grazing upon me as he opens his mouth only to close it again trying to figure out what to say. “You..what?” he barely whispers, “I love you” I repeated myself fear choking me. “How long?” his brown eyes place themselves onto mine. “About a year now” I squeak out trying to break the eye contact. “I love you too” he breathes out as if he's been holding it in. “Really?” I placed my hands on his arms, “Yes, I always believed in love at first sight and when I saw you..” he puts his forehead on mine softly, “I knew that I had to have you.” he finishes his sentence waiting for me to respond to what he just dropped on me. “well why didn't you make a move then?” I lifted up my eyebrow. “you were beautiful, with the world bowing down at your feet.” his thumb brushes my bottom lip, “Funny to think, she loved me this whole time when I did nothing but  ran away from my feelings” he sighs, his brown eyes filling up with sadness. “Jackson Wang, Kiss me” I whisper to him pulling his face to me, catching his lips with mine. Our emotions pouring out into the kiss, pulling away for a moment. “Please be mine.” his voice calls out to me, “Yes” I smile at the boy I've gave my heart. “Thank you” He smiles.