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harryspet · 5 years ago

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secret service | bucky barnes

[Warnings] secret service!bucky x reader, reader is vp’s daughter, bodyguard!bucky, agegap, noncon/dubcon sex, brat tamer bucky, dominant x submissive, rough sex (wear protection kids!!)

A/N: this is for @nsfwsebbie ‘s dream fic challenge. Happy b-day sab! this is @mypoisonedvine ‘s dream fic and the prompt was “I would love anything dark bucky, especially if he starts out all nice and stuff but then he's all manipulative and it gets worse and worse until we're in heavy dub con/non con territory”. hope you enjoy bb!

In which a political trip to London allows you to be reunited with your favorite secret service member, Bucky Barnes.

taglist: @peterztinglez @lovelynerdytraveler @buckybarney @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @lovemassivelybeautifulbouquet @what-is-your-wish @marvelslut-musicalnerd @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mandiiblanche @cherienymphe

word count: 3.9k

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“You’ll need to be on your best behavior this weekend. We can’t have an incident like last year.”

You didn’t meet your mother’s eyes as you looked out the window of the private plane. Surprising to most, this time you spent watching her read her millions of paperwork was the most time you spent with her. Your mother cared for you but she was not warm. You didn’t believe a warm person could make it so high in the government. Being the daughter of the Vice President, you saw the kinds of dirty, manipulative politics that went on behind the scene.

You wanted little part of it but, here you were, about to land in London for an important public event.

“Y/N? Are you listening?” She continued to talk despite your lack of an answer, “That means you tell your agents when you’re going somewhere. I don’t care if you’re only walking down the hall to the ice machine, you tell them. You’ve known this since you were a little girl, I don’t know why you always give me a hard time.”

“I’m already here alone, Mom. Must you torture me further by suffocating me?”

“I know you must think it’s fun to rendezvous with some foreign prince but I must ask you to keep your legs closed for this trip and listen to your security.”

Your mouth parted. She thought of you as some whore but the truth was that you were far from the persona she forced upon you, “You don’t know me at all. And Alden isn’t a prince, his father is a prince. He’s just a duke,” You faked a smile and she scowled at you.

You weren’t expecting her next words, “I have a surprise for you when we land.”

You paused for a moment, trying to read her face. She was perfect at disguising her true emotions and, as her daughter, the thought that you didn’t really know your mother was saddening, “A surprise? I thought you were lecturing me.”

“You won’t listen unless I bribe you, Y/N,” Just as the words left her mouth, the pilot spoke on the intercom. The plane was beginning its descent and in a moment you’d be landing. One of your mother's assistants had to approve all your outfits for this trip. After some discourse, you decided on a light pink dress for your arrival look. It hugged your curves the way you liked but it reached down to your knees modestly as your mother preferred.

When you were finally stepping down the stairs to the plane, watching your mother wave to the press, and the diplomats ready to greet her, you realized what your surprise was. Two sleek, black cars waited at the end of the red carpet and the sight of the man standing in front of the second one made your heart race.

It took everything in you not to run to him. His dark hair was styled neatly, his arms folded over his nicely pressed black suit and a soft look of happiness was displayed on his strong face. He was just like you remembered him, the earpiece in his ear and the gold pin on his lapel reminded you of his position.

“This is my surprise?” Your mother turned to you with a grin.

“I know how much you like Agent Barnes, maybe you’ll actually listen to him. You’re going straight to your hotel room, I will see you later tonight.”

“Of course, my beloved mother. Like all teenagers, I love sitting in my hotel room and doing nothing while I’m on a trip.”

You watched your mother walk away from you, going to the first car while you approached the second car. Your speed picked up as you neared him. He opened the door for you, winking, “Girl Scout is in the Stage Coach. I repeat, Girl Scout is in the Stage Coach.”

Everyone the secret service protected had a codename. You’d been a proud girl scout for most of elementary school and then middle school when your mother went from Senator to Vice President. The name stuck and you thought it was annoying now that you’d grown out of that phase but you liked the name on his lips.

As you carefully slipped inside the car, you were beaming and, as Bucky slipped in beside you, you had to wait to pounce. You attacked him with a hug as soon as the doors closed and none of the crowd could see you through the tinted windows. You felt his hand against your back, hugging you tightly and it was then that you realized how touch starved you had been.

Everyone you came in contact had to go through your guards and that was often an intimidating process for most guys. Even though you had started college, you decided to avoid boys altogether because of this.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Your eyes were wide even as you pulled away from him, “How?”

Bucky gave you a soft smile, “Well I can’t tell you all the details since they’re top secret but, let’s say, my mission didn’t take as long as predicted.”

Your eyes narrowed at him in curiosity, “So you killed the bad guys and they let you come back to play babysitter?”

Bucky shook his head, giving you an amused look, “So crass. I see nothing has changed,” He leaned over and, for the briefest second, you thought his face was leaning into yours. Instead, he had reached over to grab your seatbelt as he safely secured it around your waist. Your cheeks heated up and you found yourself looking into the rearview mirror where you could see the two agents sitting in the front seat, “I apologize for being gone so long.”

“You didn’t miss much,” You said to console him, “Just senior year which was nothing special.”

Seeing him now made you think about meeting him those six years ago. He was so young then, just having served in the Army, but somehow aging had made him look even better. You had a feeling he was just as king and loyal as before. You were just a middle schooler at the time, hormonal, and constantly fighting with your parents about your lack of freedom. Maybe you hadn’t changed much either.

You watched him fasten his own seatbelt as the car began to take off, “Nothing special, hmm?” He cocked his eyebrow, “What about prom? Graduation?”

“Oh, it was effectively ruined by my arch-nemesis. He stole my spot as Salutatorian, my prom date wouldn’t stop talking to him about nanotech for the entire evening, and guess who got into Stanford for early admission just like yours truly?”

“Little Peter Parker?” Bucky chuckled.

“He’s not so little anymore,” You crossed your arms, pouting, “He’s only jealous that my mother was chosen as Vice President and his uncle was chosen for the lousy Secretary of Labor position.”

“Seems he must like you a lot to follow you to Stanford. To move all the way across the country,” You gave him an incredulous look, “C’mon, princess, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Of course I’ve noticed,” You rushed out your words, trying to ignore that feeling you got when he called you princess. If anyone else had said that, you’d probably feel disgusted but … you couldn’t help but think that term of endearment had changed its meaning. The truth was that you never thought Peter liked you and now you were worrying that your lack of social awareness had caused you to ignore the warning signs, “The last person I want to talk about is Peter Parker, Bucky.”

“Fine,” He folded his hands in front of him, sighing.

“Besides,” You side-eyed him mischievously, “I have someone far more important who feigns for my attention.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky leaned in.

“A duke,” You finished.

Bucky’s face seemed to fall, “I can’t imagine you as a duchess,” You couldn’t imagine yourself as one either but you liked the excitement that Alden brought you, “And your mother informed me of what happened last year. I’ll probably lose my job if something like that occurs again.”

“You’d tattle on me? I thought we were friends, Bucky.”

“That was when you were a harmless little girl. Now, you’re …” His eyes seemed to roam over your face then they fell to your neck but they moved back to your eyes before they could travel any lower, “You’re going to make this hard on me, aren’t you?”

You reached out to tap his cheek playfully and smirked, “I missed you.”

You weren’t sure exactly what holier-than-thou charity that these rich people had gathered in ball gowns to donate to. It was probably a minuscule fraction of their wealth and they most likely were only here to keep up appearances. Still, you enjoyed a chance to dress up.

You moved through the historical museum in a red ball gown, admiring all the expensive artifacts, as Bucky escorted you. You expected your mother to be with you during the event she’d forced you to attend but it seemed that she was once again too busy. You would’ve felt lonely if Bucky hadn’t been there. The other agents kept their distance, wearing tuxedos to blend into the rest of the crowd as they watched you from a distance.

Every now and then your conversation with Bucky would be interrupted by a message coming through his squiggly earpiece.

He looked quite handsome tonight and by the outline of his biceps against the fabric of his tuxedo jacket, you could tell he had bulked up over the last year.

“Madam Vice President had a run-in with the Prime Minister's wife. Turns out they’ve been dying to talk. She’ll meet you once the auction begins.”

“Oh, an auction, is that what this is? What endangered species are we saving tonight?”

“Funny,” Bucky added sarcastically, “... I don’t see your prince around. Perhaps he found another famous daughter to entertain for the night.”

You gave him a venomous look, “That cannot be possible when I look like this,” You emphasized your glamorous look that had taken nearly five hours to get on, “Now, would you please escort me to my table? I’m sure he’ll come and find me once you’re not standing beside me like a big tree.”

The truth was that you had no idea if Alden even remembered you from last year. He did make out with you but who knows how many famous daughters he had tried to entertain before. You hated how right Bucky seemed.

Bucky didn’t add anything to your harsh words as he escorted you into a large ballroom. It was so elegantly decorated that the room smelled like money. Blue stripes of light wavered through the room making it feel like you were in the middle of the ocean. You couldn’t help that the feeling of drowning that she experienced was a bad touch on the organizer's part.

Of course, your mother’s table was right near the front of the room. As Bucky pulled back the white chair, you took a seat, not meeting his eyes, “You’re dismissed, Mr. Barnes,” You spoke over your shoulder.

To your surprise, he leaned down to whisper into your ear, “You cause any problems tonight, princess, and you deal with me.”

Your mouth pinched into a thin line as you were left speechless. When you looked back, he was already walking away, taking his position by the far wall. You looked away quickly, mentally cursing. So much for having the upper-hand. You slouched in your seat, looking around the hall which was now flooding with people.

A few people you vaguely remembered having a conversation with approached you to talk. Hollywood celebrities, European politicians, and even famous designers hoping to get you to wear some of their designs. Lately, the paparazzi loved to follow you as you walked to class and gossip sites loved to talk about what you wore.

Everyone was so busy trying to get your attention that you hadn’t noticed someone slip in the seat beside you, “You look like you need something to drink,” You were a bit startled but you immediately recognized his voice. It seemed a year had made him more handsome as well. With one hand he grabbed yours and kissed it and with the other he handed you a glass of champagne.

“Your grace,” You greeted him, accepting the glass. You had almost forgotten that you could legally drink here. Despite that, you knew it would be improper to your mother. That’s why you took a sip, “Thank you so much-” You winced at the bitter taste but continued to sip.

The young duke was tall and red-headed, his face peppered with adorable freckles. His royal get-up was even more attractive.

You looked back at Bucky who was staring intently, “Is a night of fun in the cards for us?” You turned back to the Prince.

“I’m not supposed to rendezvous with royalty anymore. My Mom was not happy with me.”

He leaned back casually in his chair, his leisurely nature was surprising to you, “Is she usually happy with you?”

“Touche,” You took another painful sip, “Still, I’m not supposed to leave this table and I’m supposed to go straight back to my hotel room. No funny business.”

“No shenanigans whatsoever?” He frowned and you wondered why the British accent was so heavenly, “You must, at the very least, keep me entertained through whatever ceremony this is-”

“An auction, your grace.”

“What endangered species are we trying to save this time? It won’t be enough money anyways since they decorated this place with literal diamonds,” You smiled as you saw him reach into his jacket pocket and pulled out a flask, “Something stronger, perhaps?”

Bucky tapped his foot, starting to tune out the voice in his ear.

The room was now full of socialites, Madam Vice President had been escorted to her seat, and now the auction was beginning. The Vice President hadn’t so much as hugged her daughter so Bucky doubted she had noticed you were drinking yet. The young Duke would refill your glass with a clear liquid every time it ran low.

You were now giggling and laughing with him as a serious speech was given. You had to be at least six shots in. You played with his hand in your lap, leaning over to whisper in his ear, as you had the time of your life.

Bucky didn’t panic, only made a quick decision, “Girl Scout is in need of some rescuing. Clear the exit.”

Bucky scanned the room and his men began to follow his orders, as he approached your table. Before you could take another sip of your drink, his hand was on your shoulder. Your mother flashed him a concerned look but Bucky gave her a look to tell her not to worry. Luckily, she hadn’t noticed yet that you were about to go off the rails.

“Want some?” You smiled lazily as you lifted your glass. Bucky took it from you, setting back on the table.

“I think you need to use the bathroom, Miss Y/L/N,” You gave him a confused look. You wondered why he was being so stern with you.

“Nooo, I think you have the wrong woman, officer,” Bucky grabbed onto your hand, urging you up from your seat, “Let me deal with this rude man, your grace, I’ll be back soon.”

It seemed the Duke was in a similar, drunk state and simply replied with, “Return soon, my darling. I shall wait for your return-” You couldn’t respond because Bucky was trying to pull you away. Luckily, Bucky hadn’t managed to cause a scene but he knew you’d end up getting blackout drunk and embarrassing your mother if you continued.

Agents flocked around the two of you as you were guided out of the room. You almost tripped on the long skirt of your dress though Bucky easily caught you. You held onto him, giggling, “You couldn’t make it one night, could you?” You walked through a long hallway, staff carrying large plates of food passed and stared.

He brought you to the bathroom which was ginormous in itself, chandeliers hanging across the length of it, and completely empty, “I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here, officer.”

He leaned against the wall, “Walk around. Splash water on your face. Sober up.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the sink counter, as you stared at your makeup. As if you would ruin your makeup to “sober up”.

You pouted, staring at him through the mirror, “I didn’t mean to make you mad, Bucky. Only my mother.”

“Your mother is my boss. When you upset her, she’s upset with me,” Bucky was terse, and you wondered where that soft side was starting to disappear to, “You shouldn’t be drinking anyway.”

You huffed, hating that this conversation was starting to ruin your buzz, “I’m not a child. Don’t tell me you never had a sip of alcohol before you were twenty-one.”

“You think you’re more mature than you actually are,” You couldn’t help the scowl that formed on your face, “You’re not drinking for fun. You’re drinking to spite your mother.”

He moved closer, his hands behind his back as he sunk his words into you like a knife. You turned to him, taking a challenging step toward him. He towered over you but you clung to that anger and turned it to what you thought was confidence.

You grinned up at him, reaching out to play with the buttons of his jacket, “I thought you knew me better, Bucky,” You looked up at him with longing eyes, “I’m not a little girl anymore and you know that. You look at me differently. Your eyes linger on places you shouldn’t even be watching.”

Bucky grabbed your wrist tightly, suddenly, “Stop,” You knew you had touched a nerve.

“See, I know these things now,” You teased, “You like it when you can swoop me up and save me.”

“It’s my job, Y/N,” He spoke sternly. He was still holding you despite his words.

“What is it that you really want from me?” You pressed yourself closer to him, “A kiss maybe? Or something more forbidden?”

His eyes were dark with lust and you watched them linger on your lips at the mention of a kiss. What exactly did you want from him and what hole had you just dug for yourself? The alcohol was giving you courage but you weren’t actually sure how to finish what you started.

Bucky decided for you. He turned your body quickly, pressing your back into him, as a hand tightened around your throat. He faced you toward the mirror and the two of you were illuminated with bright lights. Your eyes widened as you watched him lean into your ear, “You’re such a brat ….”

Maybe part of him wanted you to mess up. Maybe he wanted a reason to get you alone with him and away from the royal douche that you were talking to. Maybe he let you get to this point ...

“Bucky, what are you-” His hand tightened around your throat and you felt your knees go weak.

He shushed you, “You asked what I really wanted. I want to punish you, princess,” Shivers went through your body as his warm breath tickled your ear, “I want to fuck you speechless so you can’t talk back with that smart little mouth of yours anymore.”

You started to struggle against you but you felt his fingers tighten around the sides of your throat. His hands were so big that they wrapped perfectly around your neck, “Hands on the counter,” He loosened his grip but only so he could push you forward. Like instinct, your hands held the sink counter. You turned your head to look back at him but he grabbed your hair, forcing your face forward, “Look forward, I want you to be able to see your pretty face while I fuck you.”

“Bucky, I’m sorry,” You forced out shakily as you felt the back of your dress being slowly unzipped. Through the mirror, you watched as he carefully took in the view of your body, “Please don’t hurt me-”

“Have I ever hurt you before?” He interrupted you, his hands traveling over your bareback, “I’ll always protect you, princess. I just think, if I’m going to keep doing my job, we need some new rules.”

The straps of your dress fell down your shoulder, exposing your breast. Again, as you tried to look away, he forced your face towards the mirror again, “Don’t be shy now,” He pulled down your panties, slapping your now exposed bottom, sending a stinging pain through your skin.

There was aching between your legs and part of you feared what he’d discover when he took a closer look. As you watched him undo his belt, a dark look in his eyes, you knew that he was going to push you all the way. He slapped your ass again, watching your body convulse as you tried to run from the pain. Surprisingly, his intimate touch only made that aching grow.

Upon closer examination, Bucky did discover the wetness between your legs. You bit down on your lip as his fingers roamed over your sweet spot, rubbing your sensitive bulb. You bent over further, allowing him more access which caused Bucky to smirk.

Something switched in him once again because suddenly he was pouncing again, positioning himself behind you as he pushed you further against the counter. He wanted you to see his face as he entered you, roughly grabbing your hair as he teased you entrance with his hard, throbbing cock.

“Please…”

“Please what? You want me to fuck you?” You closed your eyes, unwilling to answer, only to receive another smack to your bottom, “Don’t worry about what you want, princess, I’m making the decisions here.”

He stretched you as he slowly entered you and you tightly wrapped around his member, “Fuck, Y/N,” He cursed, moving deeper inside of you. At that moment, he was all that could feel, and all that consumed your thoughts. He moved torturously slow in and out of you and you gasped every time he sunk his entire length within you.

“Bucky!” You cried out, your mouth wide as you gripped the counter for dear life, “Ah, t-t-too big … p-please. Ah!”

He moved faster now, reaching around to grab ahold of your breast as he thrust inside of you. You called his name again and that only made him speed up his pace. He was torturing with his ferocity and now you wished he’d go back to taking it easy on you. You watched in the mirror as he split you apart, taking whatever innocence you had left within you, “Good girl, princess,” He praised you, “Taking my cock. So. Good.”

He was moving too fast now. With each thrust, he was hitting the right spot and sending pleasure in cascading waves through your body. You couldn’t take it, already tightening around his cock as you orgasm. You tried to run from it, trying to pull your body forward but he grabbed your arms, forcing you back onto his cock. Tears stung your eyes as he went even deeper.

When he finally came, he grunted hard, his moaning deep and heavy. You were defeated, conquered, though you didn’t understand why being violated could feel so good.

You leaned against the counter as you tried to catch your breath. Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily, before pulling up his pants and tightening his belt again. He adjusted his earpiece before looking at you over again. Shaking, you were pulling up the straps of your dress.

“Sober now?” He asked, a wicked smile on his face. “Let’s try yes sir and no sir from now on. Understand?”

“Yes… Sir.”

i love the whole secret service concept so i hope you enjoyed it too!

#dark fic #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x y/n #bucky barnes smut #dark!bucky smut #marvel #marvel smut #writing challenge #bucky barnes angst #secret service!bucky #president au #politician au

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drarrymybeloved · 4 years ago

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a gift for @isamijoo as part of the Wheel of Drarry Mini Exchange🥰💞thank you to @curlyy-hair-dont-care for the beta!

wc: 1.7k | rating: G

Not All Heroes Wear Capes, But Mine Sure Does

Draco Malfoy, Editor in Chief of Witch Weekly Magazine, eyes his watch and then the stack of paperwork on his desk. He knows he should stay and get through at least half the pile before lunch, but there is also a photoshoot going on in Studio B right this very second that he wouldn’t mind overseeing. Only because the photoshoot is such an important project for the magazine. Not because of the presence of a certain someone at said photoshoot, not at all.

I’m the Editor in Chief of the damn magazine and I can go wherever I like, he decides. He nods his head as if confirming his own thoughts and exits his office to head towards the studio.

Draco had begun working at the offices of Witch Weekly soon after he finished his community service sentence. Starting as a lowly clerk, his ability to charm and enamour as needed, had him slowly but surely climbing the ranks.

Now, at twenty-five, Draco is the youngest Editor in Chief in the history of Witch Weekly. Soon after his promotion, he had recruited Pansy as a columnist and Blaise as a photographer, both of whom are involved in today’s shoot.

And what a shoot it is, Draco thinks with more than a little satisfaction. Featuring the Golden Trio, the rest of the Weasley clan minus Percy who was “just too busy to make it”, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, the Patil twins, and Lavender Brown, it’s going to be printed as a special edition with all proceeds going to the War Orphan’s Trust. Incidentally, it’s also one of the most— if not the most— star-studded spread in the magazine’s history. Blaise will photograph all the volunteers in various costumes and get-ups, while Pansy will interview them on the side.

When the idea was first proposed, Draco had been sceptical. While the others were less recalcitrant, Potter was well-known for his dislike of modelling of any kind. He hated being in front of a camera, and everybody in the press corps knew it. Without Potter, the venture wouldn’t necessarily fail, but it would definitely not generate as much profit. Draco had meant to ask formally, perhaps through an official letter bearing the magazine’s seal. Instead, he found himself asking Potter at the weekly inter-house pub night, a tradition started in eighth year that— inexplicably— continued well past Hogwarts. Surprisingly, Potter had agreed with minimal fuss. He wasn’t happy about it, but he had agreed nonetheless.

Reaching the studio door, Draco takes a moment to brush non-existent dirt off his suit jacket and straighten his already straight tie, before pushing open the door. There are a fair amount of people milling around, talking and laughing. He can see Weasley, Finnegan and Thomas near the refreshments table. Charlie Weasley is talking animatedly with Luna while Longbottom listens with a bemused expression. Ginerva and George are slowly turning singular strands of Hermione’s hair purple as she talks passionately with Lavender. The Patil twins are having their makeup done, and Bill Weasley is being interviewed by Pansy.

Draco takes all this in with a cursory glance, his attention instantly drawn towards the man currently posing for the camera, like a compass finding true north.

Harry Potter stands in front of the camera, wearing a gladiator’s skirt cinched with a belt adorned with a golden lion, a red cape adorning his broad shoulders. A sheathed sword hangs at his waist. On his feet are black leather sandals, the straps of which rope around his muscular calves. Without his trademark glasses, his eyes look impossibly brighter. His bronze skin practically gleams under the lights. Presumably, someone had applied oil on him at some point. Draco hastily pushes away all thoughts of hands and oil and Potter out of his mind. Potter’s hair looks artfully tousled instead of its usual mess— a near-miraculous feat if you ask Draco. He makes a mental note to jot down the name of the hair stylist for future photoshoots. The thought is there and then gone because just then, Potter draws the sword hanging at his waist, and Merlin and Morgana, Draco was not prepared to see Harry bloody Potter looking like a hero out of a Greek legend.

Draco lets out an involuntary whimper.

“Hello, Draco.”

Draco quickly snaps his gaze away from Potter to find Hermione looking at him with an amused expression. The purple streaks are gone from her hair— she’d probably known what Ginerva and George were up to the whole time. Meanwhile, Draco had been so busy ogling Potter, he hadn’t even seen Hermione approach him. He flushes faintly and attempts to sound like the Editor in Chief of a major publication rather than what he actually feels like— a schoolboy with a pash. “Hello, Hermione. I hope everything is going smoothly?”

Hermione grins. “Yes, it’s all been rather fun actually. Reminds me a bit of Sunday lunch at the Burrow, what with so many people around.”

“Good, that’s good to hear,” Draco says distractedly, attention already straying back to Potter.

“Harry’s looking rather good, isn’t he?” Hermione asks nonchalantly, following Draco’s gaze.

“What? Oh, yes, yes of course. Now that you mention it, he is. That is, I mean, the stylists did a brilliant job. Especially with his hair, it usually looks like a bird's nest,” Draco lets out a strained chuckle, his cheeks burning. He never should have come down here. Merlin.

Hermione presses her lips together, her eyes bright with amusement. “You should tell him that yourself, he’ll like it,” she gestures behind Draco.

Draco turns, and sure enough, Potter’s coming off the set towards them. He doesn’t even stop to change into regular clothes, for fucks sake. How is one supposed to hold a conversation with him looking like that?

“I’ll leave you two to it then, got some catching up to do with Parvati,” Hermione says, grinning wickedly. Before Draco can say another word, she’s already gone.

Cursing internally, he turns to face Potter, determined to keep his attention on Potter’s face and his face only. Not that that’s not distracting enough. Pushing the unhelpful thought away, Draco opens his mouth to greet Potter. What comes out is, “That’s quite a get-up you’ve got going on.”

Oh joy, already off to an excellent start. Draco cringes internally but forces himself to smile in what he hopes is a pleasant manner.

Potter laughs sheepishly. “Yeah, I do feel pretty ridiculous in all this. They’ve even strapped a bloody sword on me. I barely know how to handle it.”

“Looked like you were doing alright, actually,” Draco says before his mind can catch up with his mouth.

“Oh, er, thanks Draco,” Potter smiles bashfully, bringing his hand up to ruffle his hair. Draco’s eyes helplessly follow the flex of his bicep.

Snapping back to attention, he grasps for something other than Potter’s sword-wielding skills to talk about.

"I have to say though, I was quite surprised when you agreed to this. It's no secret you dislike photoshoots immensely," is what he lands on. It’s something he’s been wondering about and he wouldn’t mind knowing what made Potter agree to do this.

“Yeah, I don’t much like being treated as if I’m some celebrity and I’ve never been good in front of a camera. I would have said no but well…” he trails off, looking at Draco intently. “You’re the one who asked, so,” Potter shrugs as if that clears everything up.

Draco blinks. In a dazzling display of eloquence, he says, "What?"

Potter flushes, but he looks determined. "I agreed to do this because I know this photoshoot is important to you. Not just this shoot, the magazine as a whole. I know that you’ve worked hard to make it into something much more than just another gossip rag. So, um, you know, I did it for you,” he rubs the back of his neck, his face flushed crimson. “It also helps that it’s for charity,” he adds, chuckling awkwardly.

Draco gapes. “But...why?” he manages, bewildered.

“Draco,” Potter huffs. “Because I care about you. As in, I have feelings for you. I thought you would have guessed by now, it’s not like I’m great at subtlety. Pretty much everyone else knows,” he smiles nervously.

Oh. Oh.

“You have feelings for— wait, everyone knows?” Draco demands. “And no one thought to tell me?” He hates his friends, really truly despises them all.

Potter’s eyes crinkle with the force of his smile. “Wait so, what are you saying?”

Draco rolls his eyes, attempting to sound cool and collected even though he feels practically giddy. “I’m saying, Potter, that I have had “feelings for you” as you put it, for an embarrassingly long time. And everyone knows,” he says, cheeks pinking. “Well, everyone except you, apparently,” he amends.

Potter laughs delightedly. “To be fair, you didn’t catch on to my feelings for you either.”

“We’re rather ridiculous, aren’t we?” Draco says, laughing ruefully.

“Well, we’re both in the know now, so how about we go for a celebratory dinner?” Potter asks, eyes bright.

“Good idea,” Draco says, attempting— and failing— to keep a straight face.

“Potter!” Pansy’s voice cuts across the room.

“Time for your interview it seems,” Draco says.

“Yeah, although I do have some questions for her myself,” Potter says, squinting at Pansy.

“Oh, I will absolutely be having words with her. And Hermione,” Draco huffs.

Potter smiles at him, and it’s such a wide, unrestrained thing, Draco’s heart misses a beat. “I’ll see you after, then?” he asks.

Draco nods, smile softening. “Pick me up at seven, you already know the address.”

Potter flashes him one last smile before walking towards Pansy’s corner.

Draco watches him go with what is most definitely a besotted smile on his face before turning around to leave. His steps falter when he sees all of their friends staring at him, expressions torn between unbridled glee and despair. He frowns— until he catches sight of Ron glumly handing over a handful of Galleons to a triumphant George.

“You absolute pillocks, did you place bets on Harry and me?” he asks in disbelief.

“It’s a lucrative business,” George winks.

“Sorry Draco,” Lavender says, not looking sorry at all as she pockets the coins Padma grudgingly hands her.

“I hate you all,” Draco informs them cheerfully as he heads towards the hallway, professionalism be damned. He hears them laughing as he steps into the hallway, but he’s too elated to be properly pissed off at their machinations. He’ll get back at all of them soon enough, but for now he has a stack of paperwork to finish— he can’t be late for his date after all.

read on ao3

#am i posting this solely bc i got excited about making a banner?#yes. yes i am #drarry #drarry fic #wheel of drarry mini exchange #fluff and humor #ty to the microfic discord for enabling me😌

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sylvie-writes · 4 years ago

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Summer Heat

Summary: in which the reader and her husband Andy go for a nice bike ride amidst the summer heat.

I’m making this a headcanon (My 1st at that) bc I have zero inspo atm

yeah, there is a shameful self-promotion in here if you see it.

kinda unedited, so plz pardon any mistakes

Labor Day was right around the corner, signaling the ending of summer. Soon you’d be going back to work and now was the only time you could spend with your husband.

The weather was an enjoyable 70 degrees, perfect for a bike ride. One that Andy had suggested last night over dinner.

“And tomorrow’s high will be 73 degrees, ideal weather folks!” The meteorologist then tuned off for a commercial break as you turned your attention from the tv to Andy. You could see the gears sharply turning in his head, pensive, as he mindlessly picked at the chicken.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about babe?” Reaching across the table you lightly tapped Andy’s resting hand, his head popping up from his daydream.

“Huh? Oh!” Your words replayed in his head as he hadn’t heard them in the first place. “We should go for a bike ride tomorrow. Ya know before work starts, just you and me.”

Andy looked up to you and held your hand that was once gently laying on his. A winsome smile stretched across his face.

“Sounds like a plan, bestie.” Happy with your answer, Andy resumed his dinner, you getting up for some salad.

For the bike ride, you wore some light denim shorts and a simple cantaloupe colored t-shirt, Andy wearing a red short-sleeve button down and grey shorts.

While Andy removed the bikes from the racks in the garage, you situated two water bottles and both of your wallets and cell phones.

Upon entering the garage, you stopped dead in your tracks to see Andy lifting your cruiser bicycle off of the rack, his shirt practically hermetically sealed around his arms, the buttons struggling to hold on. Once your bike was down, he went to grab his own, watching you out of the corner of his eye, making sure his movements were slow.

The two of you always goofed around, whether that be making jokes or just teasing each other.

“Muscle, baby, muscle.” Walking by, you dropped Andy’s water bottle into the holder, then tapping on his biceps as he laughed deep within his gut. Before you could walk away, his arms caught your waist, spun you around and pressed a short yet sweet kiss to your lips.

Once the two of you had your things together, Andy closed the garage while you pulled out your phone, playing a Spotify playlist that you shared with your husband, a hodgepodge of many songs.

Starting out on the street in your neighborhood, you realized there wasn't a plan for the day.

“Hey ‘Drew, where are we going exactly?”

The two of you rode side by side, making it much easier to communicate and keep track of the other.

“Into town! I was thinking, ice cream!” A devious grin grew onto his face. Andy knew you wouldn’t say no and that’s exactly what happened.

Turning out of your neighborhood and onto the sidewalk, your phone suddenly switching from “Don’t Stop Believing” to “Wannabe.”

Visibly you cringed and shook your head, about to change the song suddenly noticing Andy... attempting to dance while biking, singing along to the words.

“C’mon babe! Sing along!” You laughed at your husband’s puerility.

Ever the ham, Andy was doing this to embarrass you, to which your giggles would most definitely erupt. Your nervous habit.

The man really didn’t care if any of yours or his friends drove by, you were his wife, someone he could be a total goober around.

Finally you caved in and joined him.

“If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give.”

Eventually after a couple of nostalgic songs, you both made it into town and at the ice cream parlor.

A bike rack was cemented out front of the shop, convenient for you and Andy to lock the bikes up there.

Walking into the ice cream parlor, you both were met with a rush of cold air, or maybe it was just cold because you had been biking for quite some time now.

“Hello.. Oh! Hi! Mr. & Mrs. Barber what can I get you?” The young girl’s personality lit up once she saw your faces. Everyone in the town of Newton pretty much knew who your husband was, also making you just as known.

Returning a friendly smile to the girl, you ordered three scoops of mint chip, your’s and Andy’s favorite ever since college. (As mentioned here hehe)

Taking two spoons, you sat at the table where Andy happily eyed the stack of ice cream sitting in the bowl in front of him. Handing him the spoon, you giggled as he immediately dug into the mint chip, looking at you utterly confused.

Mouthful of ice cream your man-child answered…

“Wut?”

Some ice cream dripped down his bearded chin and you quickly reached for the napkin, dabbing his chin and dramatically sighing.

“Why have a child when I have to take care of you?”

Removing your hand from his face, Andy just shrugged his shoulders going back to mining through the ice cream scoops.

Exiting the parlor, stomachs full, your arm was wrapped in Andy’s as you strolled to the bikes. Just as Andy was about to unlatch the bikes, you stopped him.

Looking across the street you pointed to the little dress shop, the displays in the window shining from the afternoon sun.

“I need a dress for that charity dinner, that may I remind you, is the one you are dragging me to!”

Andy’s work was hosting a gala for an extension on one of the buildings.

You didn’t want to go, but your husband had to be there. Of course he didn’t want to show up either, yet he’d rather suffer with you and your jocular complaining, there to entertain him.

Compliant with your request, you both crossed the street and entered the boutique, many rows of handmade dresses lining the aisles.

Andy picked out two dresses while you already had two of your own in hand. Gladly, you took his picks and headed straight for the dressing room, a bench in front of it so you could showcase.

The first dress was a dusty rose, A-Line, asymmetrical chiffon evening dress. It’s three-quarter sleeves, stopped directly at the elbow, perfect for the upcoming fall weather.

The party was the first week of October but you wanted to get this shopping over with now.

The second dress, Andy had picked out. A burgundy floor length gown, tank sleeves and a v-neck that was stunning. Along the left leg, a slit that ran up to your knee, presenting your legs and your future choice of heels.

When showing that dress to Andy he looked up from his phone, absolutely stunned. You were always able to take away his breath, as cheesy as it sounds.

The third dress, a navy blue maxi dress. Long lace sleeves that were surprisingly comfortable.

And finally, the fourth dress. A grey cold shoulder midi dress, with some lace on the chest.

All of the dresses Andy loved, which really didn’t help. You specifically brought him along for his opinion.

So maybe you were a little indecisive on your own…

After a few minutes of debating, you received an answer.

“I love the burgundy one.”

And you agreed with him.

At the counter, Andy fought you to buy the dress to which you stubbornly replied that you’d buy it yourself.

It was a running game in your marriage. The two of you would always “fight” over who would pay.

“Just save us from the knock-down drag-out and let me pay!”

You both were really too good for each other, but in the best way possible.

The lady at the shop had politely offered to hold the dress so you could come back and get it tailored tomorrow. Very helpful since you only had bicycles as the chosen mode of transportation.

By the time you had finished dress shopping, it was already time for dinner, the ice cream dissipating and no longer able to quench your hunger.

The bicycles were still latched to the rack as you and Andy sat on the bench beside it.

“You hungry?” You nodded and Andy pulled out his phone looking for places to eat, you doing the same.

Ten minutes later, Andy had found a pizza parlor about 3 miles away, an easy bike ride for you both.

The pizza parlor chosen was your typical family-run restaurant, simple yet delicious food.

After being seated, the two of you were starving, so hungry that when the waiter came for drink orders, you also put in the pizza order.

For the twenty minutes that ensued, you and Andy shared a basket of bread, making conversation about work and such.

When the pizza showed up on the table, it was like a saint had arrived. Your empty stomachs figuratively thanked you both at the first bite of pizza.

Like ravenous animals, you both scarfed down at least two slices in a matter of minutes. Pausing, Andy looked at you and you did the same.

Setting the pizza down, the two of you just started laughing at your messy guzzling, pizza sauce on both of your faces.

The people around you were probably confused at your sudden outbursts. Then again who cares?

Once again, you wiped Andy’s face, him doing the same to you. As you wiped the sauce from his beard, Andy caught your hand and kissed your wedding ring.

“You truly are my best friend, (y/n). I don’t deserve you.”

Andy was most certainly your best friend and you his.

Eeekkk im literally screaming. I looove andy. Sorry for the crappy writing, yet thanks for sticking through it.

#andy barber #chris evans #andy barber x reader #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber x you #andy barber imagine #chris evans x reader

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jeranasblog · 4 years ago

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Starker Kink Advent Calendar - Day 23

Summary: Peter marries Tony because he wants to keep working. Tony marries Peter because he doesn’t want the boy’s brilliance to go to waste. Neither one of them expects an overwhelming attraction to unfold between them. Feelings, insecurities, and doubts tangle together until they find themselves inextricably linked. And what happens when a surprise turns everything upside down?

24 days, 24 chapters, 24 kinks

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark

Rating: E

Notes: Hey guys. I’ve decided to write a “Starker Kink Advent Calendar” this year, so 24 chapters with 24 different kinks. Enjoy <3

Warnings: Check all the sex tags on Ao3

Read on Ao3

~⭐~

Day 23 - Sex Toys

Tony didn’t want to leave Peter alone, but when the head of the charity event’s security approached Bucky and him, he knew it was serious. They were led to a small room next to the ballroom, and Tony couldn’t stop worrying about leaving his Omega alone.

“Calm down, Tony.” Bucky placed a hand on Tony’s biceps. “He’s fine. Steve is with him.”

Tony took a deep breath and nodded slightly. Bucky was right. Peter was in a room full of people, and Tony couldn’t dote on him 24/7. He knew his Omega was rolling his eyes at him sometimes, especially when Tony tried to stop him from carrying heavy things, but the Alpha couldn’t stop himself. His urge to protect Peter had always been strong and the pregnancy only made it worse.

Trying to focus on something else, Tony shifted his attention towards the head of security. “So, what's wrong, Mr. White?”

The man gestured at a young woman sitting in front of the computer before he looked at Bucky and Tony again.

“These are your cars, I suppose?”

On the wall was a huge screen that displayed security footage of the parking garage. The woman rewound the video and Tony could watch in detail how three figures dressed in black broke into Bucky’s and his car. They left with a previously empty backpack.

“What did they take?”

Mr. White looked at him apologetically. “I’m sorry we haven’t seen them soon enough to stop them. They took your steering wheel, both of your radios, and a laptop that was in Mr. Barnes’ trunk.”

Tony knew he should have been angry, but he was too relieved that it was nothing worse. He could easily replace the stolen things and since Bucky was a partner of the successful law firm Lehmans & Barnes, it wouldn’t be a big financial problem for him either.

“We’ve already called the police. They’re going to be here soon.”

Bucky nodded and gave Mr. White a thankful smile. “Do they need our statements? I think Tony and I want to go back to our Omegas now, don’t we? Tony?”

But Tony couldn’t say a damn thing. Just when Bucky had asked if they had to wait for the police, Tony felt the distress of his mate so deeply that he didn’t care about his car in the least. The bond was screaming at Tony to protect his mate. He had to get back to Peter.

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony didn’t care anymore what the man wanted to say while he ran towards the door. He didn’t even turn around, yelling the words over his shoulder. “Call my lawyer. He’ll handle it. I have to go to Peter.”

Mate. Distress. Help.

His instincts were driving him insane and Tony needed to find his Omega now. He could feel through the bond where Peter was while he made his way through the crowd in the ballroom, almost running towards the restrooms. Sensing emotions through a bond only happened when one of the mates was in serious danger.

“Peter?”

The restroom was almost empty, but Tony saw that one stall was locked and he could smell the distressed scent of his mate coming from there.

“Baby, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Tony.” Peter didn’t sound fine.

“I know you’re not fine. I can feel your distress through the mating bond.”

“The bond? But I’m not in danger- Oh, the baby.” Tony didn’t understand. Why was the bond screaming ‘danger’ at him if Peter wasn’t harmed?

“Peter? Baby, what’s going on? Please, let me in. I’m worried.”

As soon as Tony heard the click of the turning lock, he opened the door to get to his Omega. Peter was sitting on the closed toilet lid, his face wet from tears, and Tony pulled him into his arms immediately. Taking a seat on the lid himself, Tony pulled Peter onto his lap.

“What happened? Are you okay? Did someone hurt you? Threaten you? Is something wrong with the baby?” Tony couldn’t stop himself from freaking out so he took a whiff of Pete’s scent to calm down. He had to be strong for the Omega now.

“Nothing’s wrong with me or the baby, Alpha. No one tried to physically hurt me.”

“But why is the bond screaming that you’re in danger?” Tony asked, confused.

Peter lowered his gaze to the floor, guilt taking over his expression. “I’m sorry, I almost panicked. It can be dangerous for the baby, but I’m back in control again.”

Peter had panicked? Was it because Tony left him alone? He shouldn’t have left Peter alone with Steve in the first place.

“You panicked? Peter, what happened?”

“It’s stupid.” Peter took a deep breath before he continued. “There was this woman, said she knew you for years. She asked me what I did to you, how I bewitched you. She said you only love me because my pregnancy hormones mess with your alpha instincts.”

Tony felt rage boiling inside him, but he swallowed it before Peter could pick it up in his scent. He had to stay calm now or he would only increase Peter’s distress.

“Peter, baby, don’t listen to her.”

“I-Is that p-possible? The hormone stuff?” The Omega looked at him so heart-broken that Tony felt the sudden urge to murder the woman. He didn’t even know who Peter was talking about.

“Well, technically it is but not for us. Do you remember when I knocked you up?”

“During my heat?”

“I already felt something for you before. Hell, I already felt something for you before we even married. I didn’t know it was love back then, but it was already almost as intense as it is now.”

“Really?” The hint of hope in Peter’s voice made Tony smile.

“Really, baby. I love you. Please don’t doubt this.”

He would always love Peter, pregnant or not, pup or not. The woman had probably just been jealous, but Tony wouldn’t tolerate Peter doubting himself. He knew their relationship came with a lot of baggage, especially because they hadn’t married primarily out of love, but Tony would fight for Peter.

“Show me, Alpha?” Peter’s face was still wet with tears, but there was something else in his eyes, a dark sparkle.

“Of course, baby. Tell me what to do. I can go out there and tell everyone how much I love you. I can take you on a special date every week or shower you with jewels. Tell me what you want Peter.”

Tony’s heart clenched when Peter leaned forward so he could press his chest closer to Tony’s. The Omega hid his face against Tony’s neck, searching for the warmth of his Alpha.

“Fuck me here, Alpha. Plug me up with your seed. I want them to smell you on me.”

One day, the Omega would be Tony’s death. Peter had been sobbing a few minutes ago and only a moment later, Peter was already asking for Tony’s cock. This Omega was a god damn tease, made to tempt Tony.

Without climbing from Tony’s lap, Peter reached for the lock of the stall behind his back and shut the door with a click. No one would see them now, but they could still hear Peter’s moans, could still hear how good Tony was fucking his Omega. The thought was driving the Alpha feral and he ripped Peter’s suit pants and panties down until he had access to Peter’s dripping core.

“Without the plug, I would be dripping, Alpha,” Peter whispered into his ear and Tony couldn’t stop a growl that was escaping his lips. “Fuck me as soon as you pull out. I’m stretched enough. We don’t want to ruin your pants.”

And who was Tony to decline such a sweet request? Fumbling for his zipper turned out to be different while Peter rubbed himself against Tony’s chest like he did during his heat. When the zipper slipped from Tony’s fingers for the third time, he became impatient and immobilized Peter with a tight grip on his neck. The Omega moaned obscenely but sat still, giving Tony enough room to finally pull out his cock.

A second later, Peter already sunk down. Tony couldn’t move. He should be used to fucking Peter by now, but every time he got a taste of Peter’s wet heat, he was once again overwhelmed by how good his Omega felt. Tony took a deep breath and gathered the last bits of his control so he wouldn’t shoot after a minute like a teenager.

“You’re the sluttiest Omega I’ve ever met, sweet thing. One could think you would calm down a little as soon as you got pregnant but no, it only got worse. Couldn’t live a single day without my knot, could you?”

“Ngh, no, Alpha. Need you. Always.”

Peter already looked wrecked. His eyes were black and glossy, his hair disheveled and Tony knew a few more precise thrusts would be enough to catapult Peter to the sweet space, a space that made the Omega stupid with pleasure. Tony shifted his hips, just a little to the right, finding the perfect angle to hit Peter’s sweet spot. Peter lost it.

Nothing could hold the Omega back anymore. There was the sound of the opening door, someone was clearly entering the restroom, and Tony stilled his hips to keep quiet. But Peter, too far gone to think about anything but the thick cock in his dripping hole, couldn’t stop screaming.

“Alpha.”

Shit! Tony knew the stranger could hear him, hell, everyone in the ballroom had probably been able to hear Peter’s scream, but instead of being ashamed, Tony felt white-hot lust boiling inside of him. Everyone would know the Omega was his. Everyone would know that this fertile, knocked up Omega belonged to Tony Stark.

“Sing for me, Peter,” Tony teased while his hips picked up a rhythm again. “Come on my cock and cry out my name.”

Peter was close, Tony could feel it in the way his hips stuttered and his hole clenched. Without giving Peter a break, Tony assaulted his sweet spot, coaxing out his Omega’s orgasm before the man would leave. Just a little bit more, just a second, just one thrust against Peter’s sweet spot…

The Omega came louder than ever before, clenching so tightly around Tony’s cock that he pulled Tony over the edge as well. Every little shudder, every wave coaxed more and more of Tony’s seed out of his twitching cock, and the Alpha had to bite Peter’s shoulder to stop himself from pressing the knot into the tight heat. They couldn’t sit here tied together for an hour.

Peter came down slowly, taking his time to regain awareness of his surroundings again. He was still far gone when Tony slipped out to replace his cock with the plug. Tony held him close the entire time.

When Peter was finally there again, Tony expected an ashamed blush on his Omega’s face, but there was nothing but a sated smile. A small voice whispered at the Alpha that Peter had done it on purpose, that he wanted everyone to hear, and the thought filled Tony with warmth. As outspoken possessive as Tony was, Peter wanted to claim him as well.

Fifteen minutes later, Peter walked over to a woman that looked familiar to Tony, but the Alpha couldn’t remember when he had seen her before. The Omega pulled Tony along until they were standing directly in front of her, close enough that she could smell Tony’s claim on Peter. Peter leaned forward, bringing his lips close enough to her ear that no one but Tony and the woman could hear him.

“Tony loves me. He had loved me even before he had knocked me up, regardless of what you told me. Tony is mine. I have his mark on my neck, I have his child in my belly, and I am plugged with his seed. Go and look for another Alpha. Good night.”

When Peter turned around, leaving with his head held high, not only the woman was dumbfounded. Tony was speechless as well.

#starker #advent calendar

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 5 years ago

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The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 32

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle. It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes. With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3 | Masterlist

—

Saturday morning

The trilling coming from the nightstand woke her, and with an annoyed whine Rose stretched out her arm, searching blindly for the offending mobile. Finding it she brought it to her face, prying one eye open to read the display – it wasn’t quite half seven, and it was an incoming call from Clara.

“Who’s it?” her husband mumbled against the back of her neck, wrapped tightly around her, and she pressed back against him.

“Clara.”

His panicked “Rose, no,” came too late- she’d already swiped to answer the call, Clara’s face filling the screen for a FaceTime call instead of the voice-only Rose had expected.

The small box in the corner showing what Clara was seeing told Rose that her best friend would be able to see (and unable to deny) that Rose and Malcolm were in bed together. Oops. “Erm, hi, Clar,” Rose offered half-heartedly, wriggling the fingers of her free hand in a wave. “What’s up?”

“Please tell me you’re not in the middle of having sex,” the brunette said faintly, and to Rose’s further embarrassment Danny’s face immediately popped up behind Clara, his eyes widening for just a moment before he disappeared off screen again.

“We were sleeping,” Malcolm rolled his eyes, his arm wrapping tighter around Rose’s waist. “Did you need something?”

Clara still appeared stunned, eyes wide and unblinking, mouth slightly open. “We usually talk at this time,” she managed. “It’s Saturday. I assumed you’d be up- awake! I thought you’d be awake.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Rose bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder at Malcolm, who nodded encouragingly. “We… we’re together. We talked it out and- we’re together.”

“Properly together or fuck-buddies together?”

“Clara!” Malcolm protested. “Really.”

Rose elbowed him, smiling nervously. “Properly together. In all the gooey, mushy, lovestruck glory of a forever kind of love together.”

She waited for Clara’s response, anxious – though throughout everything Clara had seemed on board with the idea, had encouraged them both, at the moment of reckoning Rose worried she wouldn’t take it well.

“But you are shagging?”

“Clar.”

A wide smile spread over Clara’s face, and she began to squeal. “Oh, really? Really really really?” She clapped in delight, turning to yell over her shoulder, “They’re in love!”

Danny’s off-camera reply of “No shit” just made them all laugh.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you,” Clara gushed, leaning forward towards her mobile as if that would bring her closer to them. “Last we talked you weren’t sure how he felt – what happened? Tell me everything.”

He found her in the kitchen of all places, perched on a barstool at the island next to Jack rifling through a familiar box, most of its contents spread on the countertop while across from them, Ianto worked diligently on building a veritable tower of sandwiches for them to take with them.

“Having fun jewelry shopping?” Malcolm asked, sidling up beside her, but judging by the way she jumped and looked up guiltily, his teasing tone hadn’t come through.

“I wanted to bring Clara something, after the way she found out. If that’s okay,” she fumbled, peering up at him, and he smiled back in response.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He brushed a tendril of hair from her face. “This is all yours as much as it is mine – I was only teasing. Have what you like, and if you want to give it to Clara, that’s perfectly fine and a wonderful idea. Have you picked anything yet?” Tearing his gaze from her he surveyed the countertop, covered in rings and necklaces mostly, gems sparkling in the industrial lighting Jack had installed as they were technically in the basement.

Relaxing back against him she showed him the few pieces she was considering, and when he pointed to one he thought his daughter might rather like, confessed it was her top contender as well.

“What about me, don’t I deserve something pretty?” Jack wanted to know, making Malcolm roll his eyes as Rose carefully returned the other jewelry pieces to the box, selection made.

“You’re the custodian of this place- how would I know what you do with it when I’m not here?” he shot back, arching an eyebrow at his cousin. “In fact, I’d prefer not to know what you get up to, knowing you.” His eyes cut to Ianto, who was doing a poor job of hiding a smirk, though he didn’t look up.

Shaking his head, he slipped an arm around Rose’s waist so she had to lean back and tilt her head up to see him. “Ready to hit the road, sweetheart?”

She nodded, before scrunching up her face. “Maybe one last walk through the house and gardens first, yeah?”

“I would love nothing more.”

They strolled hand in hand, and Rose did her best to soak up everything before they left, only realizing now how little of the house she’d seen. “I am a little sorry to be leaving so soon,” she confessed, as they stepped out into the garden. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled about our little tour, but I feel I didn’t get enough time here.”

“Well, we can return anytime you wish,” he shrugged. “It’s not that expensive to come up. Or we could even drive once, stay over on our way up. Sightsee in England as well.”

“I love that idea. Maybe I watch too much American telly, but the idea of a road trip always seemed so romantic.” She leaned her head against his bicep. “Have I mentioned lately how happy I am, with you?”

He let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her tighter against him. “No happier than I am to have you. I’ve been dreaming of this, of being with you, for… a few years now. I never thought it would happen, could happen, but I’m so happy it has.”

“I’ve loved you for so long,” she murmured in reply, slipping her hand around his back beneath his jacket. “It still feels unreal to be able to tell you that.”

“Can you believe it’s only been a week?” His hand slid down from her waist to her hip, dangerously close to being a (very welcome) grope. “Last Saturday at this time we were getting ready for the Gala, and I thought the night would be perfect if I could hold you for several dances. I had no idea what was to come, but I’m so happy it did.”

Rose smiled, thinking back to that night – how nervous she’d been, how she’d worried that he might reject her. If only she’d known… “I did.”

“What?” He looked down at her, startled, and she laughed.

“It didn’t just happen. I spent all week wrestling with myself, but I decided to shoot my shot as the cool kids say. I deliberately seduced you.” It was fun, watching the emotions play across his face as he digested that, and she was quietly relieved when he settled on stunned delight.

“Really?”

She nodded. “Yep. And, you’ll love this – it was Clara’s idea. She encouraged me. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to- wanted you- but she convinced me I wouldn’t be making a fool of myself.”

“Clara? My Clara?” He looked adorably indignant, spluttering slightly. “I don’t know if I should be grateful or annoyed at her interference.” Then his brow furrowed. “How, exactly, did you seduce me?”

“I’m sorry, did you see me in that dress?”

“And out of it.” He smirked. “You were stunning.”

“Damn right. That was the point – I wanted your hands on my skin. And I knew it was going to happen the moment you saw me and did your best impression of a fish. And then you said fuck me.” She smiled at the memory. “So I did.”

He stopped walking then, turning to her, and then his mouth was on hers, tongue easing past parted lips, and she sagged into him, savoring the freedom to adore him, to let her heart sing with love.

“Thank you,” he whispered against her lips, when they finally pulled back for air. Her brain was foggy, everything forgotten but for the taste of him. Her befuddlement must have shown on her face because he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “For being brave enough,” he elaborated. “I’m not sure I would have ever gotten up the courage to try my luck with you- I was too afraid of losing you. I’d convinced myself I’d be happier in the long run pining for you with the possibility hanging over my head than if I asked and you turned me down.”

Rose smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning closer, glancing around the estate – they were alone in the garden, with a wonderful view of the back of the house, and she thought wistfully of the previous owner. “I think we have Wallace to thank, really,” she murmured. “He saw the truth, apparently, and got tired of watching us stand off to the side, too afraid to jump – so he pushed us.”

He dipped his head to kiss her, a small miracle that grew more familiar with every press of lips, though the familiarity did not lessen the impact he had on her – quickened heartbeat, shallow breaths, and an overwhelming desire to find the nearest flat surface. Not that the last bit was anything particularly new, he had often unknowingly elicited such a response in her, but now, now, she knew he would be in enthusiastic favor of such a diversion.

The future was ripe with possibilities.

“We’ll have to keep in touch,” Rose enthused, hugging Sarah Jane goodbye. It was finally time to go, and the woman had been kind enough to come see them off. “I have your email, and I’ll write you once we’re home.”

“And call,” the older woman ordered, squeezing her tightly. “I want to hear all about your tour. Well, most of it. No, all of it.”

They shared a smirk that made Malcolm’s ears go red and Jack cough in a poor attempt to hide a laugh.

“We’ve a lot of driving to do today…” her husband tried to hurry them along, trying to shift Rose using his hands around her waist. “Time to go.”

Rose resisted, though, going in for one more hug. “Next time we come we’ll bring Clara,” she promised on the fly. “So you can meet properly. She’d love to hear your stories about your days in uni- especially if they involve her.”

“There’s plenty of those,” Sarah Jane laughed in response. “Not all of them are ones she’ll want to hear, though.”

“In that case, I have to hear them.”

Then it was time to say goodbye to Jack, and overcome by an unexpected wave of emotion, Rose buried her face in the man’s broad shoulder. “I’m going to miss you,” she mumbled. “I’m so glad we got a chance to get to know one another.”

“So am I,” he said kindly as they pulled away, before glancing over her shoulder at Malcolm. “Don’t be strangers – we’re family.”

“We’ll be back,” Rose repeated, wiping at her eyes. “Thank you for everything.”

“Jack,” Malcolm said somewhat stiffly, as Rose leaned into his side, holding out his hand to his cousin.

“My Lord,” the younger man said in reply, before breaking into a smile. “C’mere.” The two men hugged, Rose watching on with a watery smile. “So, where’s the first stop?”

Having played a large part in planning their itinerary, it was an obvious ploy to keep them there a little longer. Malcolm knew it as well, but indulged the delay. “Walk through the Old Town in Inverness, stop for lunch. Rose wants to see Culloden, then we’ll drive along the coast down to Aberdeen, stopping along the way as she likes.”

Jack nodded, lips pressed together tightly, a hint of moisture in his eyes. “A fine plan,” he managed. “Travel safe.”

With one more hug it was time to go, Malcolm helping Rose up into the canary-yellow roadster before jogging around to the driver’s side. She waved as they drove off until they were out of sight, before settling back in her seat and resting her head on her husband’s shoulder.

“We’ll be back soon enough,” he promised, taking one hand off the wheel to pat at her knee. “There’s lots more to Scotland to explore.”

She nodded, watching the town of Bonnar Bridge fly past, before sitting bolt upright, eyes widening. “Hey!”

“What?”

“How come we’ve been in Scotland for a week and I have yet to see you in a kilt?”

He laughed, the sound bright and cheerful, before shaking his head. “I’ve one in my bag, I can try it on for you later if you like,” he offered, grinning.

“Good. I want to find out for myself if it’s true.”

“If what’s true?”

Her smile widened, hand landing on his knee before sliding upwards. “What you do- or don’t- wear under that thing.”

“Rose Tyler!”

#bbatcfic #ficandchips #Doctor Who #doctorroseprompts #Human!12xRose #Human!Twelfth Doctor #Rose Tyler #Human AU #AU #The Nuptial Necessity

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skyprincesscommander · 5 years ago

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Super Shirts

Fluff/Humour. Inspired by 5x04 - Kara gets upset when she finds out what Lena has been doing behind her back, but Lena thinks it’s for the greater good.

“How could you betray me like this?!”

Kara stood in Lena’s lab, her chest heaving and eyes wide open in panic. Lena knew this moment was coming, and there was no way she would give Kara the satisfaction of apologising. Everything Lena had done was calculated. Planned. And most importantly, it had worked. She wasn’t going to let Kara make her feel guilty about it.

“What are you talking about?” Lena asked, feigning ignorance.

Kara gave her a righteous don’t fuck with me glare. “I walked past a clothes store on my lunch break, and this was on one of the mannequins.” Kara’s right hand rose in front of her face, presenting a T-Shirt to Lena like it was an academy award. The cut was plain and simple, just like most pop culture tops. On the front in large print read ‘Superfriends’, accompanied by the image of Supergirl, Guardian, Dreamer, and Martian Manhunter.

“I think the mannequin had good taste.”

Kara’s death glare only grew darker. “L-Corp is on the label.”

“Which is why it is good taste.”

“What I said about the shirts was meant to be an inside joke.”

Lena smiled wryly, resting her cheek in her hand. “No one but the superfriends are going to get it.” She could see Kara’s ears turn red in response to her teasing tone.

“And this one?” Her arms swapped positions like a see-saw, a different shirt on display. On the front was a silhouette of Supergirl with the caption ‘I flew here’. Kara then spun the shirt around revealing the words ‘on a bus’ just underneath an appropriate vehicle illustration. Lena couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her and had to cover her mouth just so Kara wouldn’t get any more worked up.

“That one is my favourite.”

Kara’s arm dropped to her side with a slap, the shirts falling to the ground unceremoniously. Lena imagined that it took everything in Kara’s being to not stomp all over them.

The blonde crossed her arms, her biceps practically pulsing with rage. “You’re making fun of me.”

Lena gave Kara the best shit-eating grin she could muster. “No one else is going to know that either.”

“But they might start asking why Lena Luthor is suddenly selling merchandise of Supergirl.”

Kara marched up to the bench to stand directly across from Lena, her arms spread wide as she leaned against it. Lena could have sworn that miniature cracks were appearing where Kara was gripping the edge.

“Kara...I had a statue built for you. Any questions people have about my relationship with Supergirl were asked years ago.” Kara wanted to interrupt, but Lena put up a hand to stop her. “Besides, I ran a media empire, remember? Supergirl isn’t exactly off limits to merchandising. I’d say she’s kind of public property. Need I remind you why you have a secret identity?”

Kara huffed, fingers now drumming on the benchtop. “How many other shirts have you made?”

“One or...six.” Kara pressed a hand to her temple, but Lena ignored her. “Brainy already bought the one that just says ‘pants’, with like, five exclamation points after it.”

“That traitor.”

Lena stood from her stool and walked around the bench. She placed her hand over Kara’s, trying to open that palm and soothe those tense little muscles with her fingertips. As angry as Kara seemed, there was a certain side of Lena that enjoyed seeing her girlfriend so riled up, especially when Kara was at a loss for words. She had a habit of becoming so flustered that the Kryptonian would make facial expressions that Lena considered impossible for a human (if only for the level of adorableness).

Sometimes Kara would have a fire in her eyes which made Lena think she was about to use her heat vision to burn the room down. That, combined with the way all her muscles tensed at once, made an angry Kara pretty damn sexy.

Lena sighed. “Look, darling. These shirts are making a ridiculous amount of revenue already. Think of all the people we can help with that money. If you’d like I can send a percentage to a charity of Supergirl’s choice, and the rest I promise to use to help you and the DEO.”

For good measure, Kara released a few more huffs and groans. Lena gave her a minute to consider her words. The crinkle did not vanish from Kara’s forehead, but Lena could see from her darting gaze that she did not have a rebuttal.

“Fine.” Kara snapped. “But you can forget about learning the handshake.” Having given the last word, the superhero disappeared.

Jess called not five minutes later, obviously concerned about the state of their relationship.

“Shall I send some flowers, Miss Luthor??”

“No, Jess. Don’t worry. I’ve always got a plan.”

When Kara came home that night, Lena was waiting for her wearing a single shirt. And nothing else.

Kara’s eyebrows almost flew up, up, and away.

“Super-girlfriend?”

Leaning against the bedroom door frame, Lena smirked at her girlfriend. “I promise, there is only one of these shirts. And the buyer paid an extremely generous amount for it.”

Suffice to say...Kara forgave her.

Thoroughly.

/Hope you enjoyed it! I love my angst but I know this fandom wants fluff right now. I will be trying to write a Supercorp one-shot every week inspired by each episode. So far so good.

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #my fanfic #supercorp fanfic #supergirl fanfic #legit could not think of a title #posting some humour while I work on some angst

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hannahmcne · 5 years ago

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Evie’s Baby Girl

Mal saw Evie less and less as she and Doug got ready for the baby to arrive. The nursery was decorated, toys and diapers bought, and Evie had an entire cupboard in her kitchen devoted to bottles of various types and sizes, children’s plates and sippy-cups, baby foods and refillable applesauce bags, and other children’s products.

Finally, the big day came. On May sixteenth, only an hour before lunch, Mal was stuck in her office arranging for a painter to come in to do restoration work on the ancient paintings in the palace when Doug sent the text: Evie is in labor.

Unfortunately, Mal wasn’t allowed to go down to the hospital to be with her friend the moment she heard. She had three meetings with different officials around the country, one scheduled call, and a request for audience with a women’s charity event that wanted her support.

The workday ended at six o’clock, after which Mal went to grab her old Isle jacket from her room before she headed down to the palace grounds. Her customary two guards followed her all the way to the garage, where she was surprised to find Ben waiting for her, twirling the keys of one of the palace cars on his fingertip.

“What are you doing here?” Mal laughed, walking up for a hug. He obliged her, wrapping his heavy arms around her frame for a few seconds while he laughed.

“I knew you’d be coming.” He replied. “Doug texted me a few minutes ago – she hasn’t had the baby yet, but it should be soon. If we leave now, we may be able to get there before the kid turns a year old.”

Mal sighed. “Sounds accurate.” She grumbled. “Some Godparents we are.”

Ben laughed and started the car. The guards – only two of them, got into the backseat. Ben pulled out of the garage and began heading up into the fresh May air. “I should try and get my license again.” Mal contemplated as they all pulled out sunglasses as Ben pulled over to the palace guard checkpoint. Ever since the night Ben had proposed to her, Mal had been very careful to keep all of her cards in order, in a little card holder that helped her easily find everything. They displayed their passes, and Ben had to flash his license and official ID, before they continued on down the road.

“So, tell me, why is it that you have the higher restrictions whenever we leave the palace?” Mal asked, taking his hand in the glovebox as he drove. “Not that I’m complaining, but shouldn’t it be the same now?”

“It should.” Ben nodded. “I argued on your behalf, so a lot of your protocols are less severe than mine. If you want, I can have them go back.”

“Psh, no thanks.” Mal laughed. “But why can’t you do that with you?”

“Court regulations.” Ben shook his head. “You forget, I’m still the heir apparent to Auradon. I’m kind of irreplaceable until we have kids. It’s my DNA that matters.”

“Lovely.” Mal rolled her eyes. “What was I thinking when I married into the royal family?” She asked.

“Were you thinking?” Ben snorted, squeezing her palm before he had to put his hand back on the wheel.

“I don’t know.” Mal shrugged. “There was this unbelievably hot prince, and he kissed me so much I could barely even think straight. Maybe I was brain dead and no one even realized.”

Ben burst into laughter, nodding along with her words. They turned into the hospital parking lot and Mal hummed as a car turned out onto the road beside them. “What’s the chance we can sneak in without anyone realizing we’re here?” She asked.

Ben let out a guffaw. “You’re hilarious.” He rolled his eyes as a car slammed on their brakes in the opposite lane and rolled down their windows to stare. Mal carefully looked away as Ben navigated them to the general parking sector.

Ben came around the help her out, ignoring the guards, and then the two linked arms as they hurried towards the entrance, entourage in pursuit. They slipped inside and hurried towards the receptionist’s desk. One young mother looked up and gaped a little, but everyone else remained stone-faced, staring at their magazines.

Ben cleared his throat before the receptionist could look up from her computer. “Excuse me,” he began, and twenty other people’s heads snapped up at his familiar voice. People started tugging on their neighbor’s sleeves. “We’re here to see Evie Gibson?”

“What kind of a patient is she?” The receptionist asked, typing the name into her computer.

“She’s… having a baby? Just had one? We haven’t received word on it yet.” Ben turned to Mal, shrugging a little.

“Maternity ward is through that door right – oh my goodness.” The receptionist had finally looked up and discovered the kingdom’s leaders at her desk. Ben looked to where she’d begun to gesture and nodded.

“Thank you very much, ma’am.” He smiled at her, making her sink even lower into her chair. He and Mal walked away as people rubbed their eyes, moments before the chaos began.

A different stunned receptionist managed to stand up long enough to escort them to a back area where Jane, Jay, Carlos and Lonnie were all waiting, along with Doug’s parents and a couple of cousins.

“The fun has arrived.” Carlos announced when he saw them approaching.

“Really? Where?” Mal asked, looking back and forth along the corridor.

“Did we make it in time?” Ben asked, letting Mal’s arm go and clapping Carlos on the shoulder. Jay shook his head, rolled his eyes, and set an arm around Ben’s shoulders.

“You missed everything by approximately five minutes.” He informed them, flashing his watch face at Ben. “Doug just barely went back in. They’re cleaning the little one off and letting Evie breathe for a few minutes.”

“Girl?” Mal asked, peering into the door they were standing outside of. There was a tiny peephole in the center of the door, at about her forehead level. If she stood on her tiptoes, she could see dark figures rushing back and forth in front of a window.

“Yeah.” Lonnie nodded. “Seven pounds, three ounces, and about eighteen inches long.”

“Well, that’s all fine and dandy, but does she have blue hair or not?” Mal frowned, squinting into the room. She thought she recognized Doug’s frame, but couldn’t tell for sure.

“Doug didn’t say.” Jane laughed. “We might not be able to tell for a week. She might not have hair.”

Ben pulled Mal underneath his arm. “You can’t look in there. They’ll get mad at you.”

Mal pushed him away with a sneer. “I’m the queen of Auradon. I can do whatever I want.”

Everyone oohed at Ben as she slipped back out. He caught her hand, preventing her from turning at all since she couldn’t exactly move her spine much without, well, collapsing, and pulled her back, looking like he was about to give her a lecture. “No, no!” He laughed. “No, it doesn’t work like that.” He set his hands on her biceps as she rolled her head around on her neck.

“Ugh!” She groaned. “What do you think they would do if we just walked in?”

“You may not just walk in.” Ben rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious; it’s not like they can throw us out. We literally own the hospital.” Mal frowned.

“She’s right.” Jane laughed. “The hospital is on government pay – just like Auradon Prep.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Ben began with a heavy sigh, holding up a finger by her cheek. “If you walk in there before they tell you that you can, I will walk you back out to the parking lot and take you back to the castle, and you’ll have to wait until Evie gets out to meet your Goddaughter.”

All of her friends snorted and scoffed, shifting their weight and folding their arms as they waited for her reaction. “If you can catch me.” Mal grumbled, folding her arms and turning her frame away from him. She could feel Ben roll his eyes at her from behind her.

“You can’t run.” Ben pointed out. “And we have two guards with us. And you’d have to come back to one of us eventually. It’s not like you could take the baby and never come back.”

“You know, strictly speaking, one of our goals would be accomplished and the other wouldn’t get to see the baby.” Mal pointed out, reaching towards the door handle jokingly.

“And I won’t bring you to see anyone else’s.” Ben added flatly.

Mal’s shoulders slumped. “You can’t barricade me inside the palace. I’m in charge of the grounds anyways.”

“Yes, but I’m in charge of the guards who patrol the borders.” Ben pointed out. “So, behave, or – you know what! Behave, or I’ll make you go through the same regulations I have to go through.” He crossed his arms and smirked at Mal as her mouth fell open.

“You wouldn’t!” Mal declared, crossing her arms and mimicking Ben’s stance without the slouch into his hip.

Ben leaned forward, dropping an arm around her shoulders, and kissed her brow. “Try me, sweetheart.” He challenged.

The door opened and a nurse appeared. “Alright, we’re ready for you all.” She announced. Jay and Lonnie immediately slipped inside, pushing each other playfully as they elbowed their way in. Jane followed them, and Carlos presented the walkway to Ben and Mal, letting them go ahead of him. As they passed in front of the nurse, her mouth dropped open and she gasped. “Holy Heavens of Aura-“

“Yes, yes, we know.” Carlos laughed, rushing Ben in a little faster before stepping over the threshold. “You can close the door and go freak out now.”

The nurse looked like she might faint as she shut the door and disappeared. Ben, Mal, and Carlos all crowded into the room. Doug was standing beside Evie with an arm around her. Evie herself looking about as messy as Mal had ever seen her. Her hair was in a bun with tiny little flyway’s surrounding her head like a fuzzy halo. She had eyeshadow and mascara on, but it was smeared a little around the corners of her eyes. Sweat still covered her forehead, and she was still breathing hard as she smiled at her friends.

“Hi.” She whispered.

“You look like you just crawled off the Isle.” Jay told her.

“You kidding? She never looked this bad on the Isle.” Mal rolled her eyes. She walked over to her friend and gave her a one-armed hug. “It’s great to see you skinny again.” She mumbled, wrinkling her nose at the smell of sweat.

“Ha, ha.” Evie rolled her eyes.

Mal looked around the room. The doctors had cleared out all of their mechanical tools and cracked the window open to let in a breeze. A little hospital bassinette was waiting on Evie’s right side, but Mal couldn’t see any mini-Evie lying around. “So… where did they put her?” She asked, craning her neck to look behind Jay and Lonnie, as if the baby might, for some reason, be behind them.

“You have no tact.” Carlos rolled his eyes.

“They took her away to clean her off.” Doug explained softly. “And take her footprints and stuff.”

“Have you named her yet?” Mal asked.

“She’s been alive for, like, a half hour at most.” Evie sighed. “And I’ve held her for five minutes. We probably won’t decide on a name until later tonight.”

Mal hummed and hugged Evie again. “Well, great job.” She mumbled. Being in the room was giving her anxiety. “You’re a lot stronger than I am.”

Jay made a disbelieving sound in the back of his throat. Evie shook her head. “That’s not true.” She scoffed.

“Ben, how many emotional breakdowns did I have in the two months I was pregnant?” Mal asked, returning to her husband’s side to allow everyone else to approach the table.

A dark shadow passed over Ben’s face, and a downcast expression appeared. He shrugged as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I didn’t try and keep track.”

Mal stuck a thumb out towards him. “See?” She told her friends. “That means a lot, by the way.”

The door swung open before anyone could say anything else and the same nurse wandered back in, pushing a little cart where a tiny person wrapped in pink lay. Everyone moved out of the way as the nurse moved into the room, keeping her eyes firmly on the ground, and then on Evie. Evie straightened up when she saw the cart coming and a broad smile spread across her face. “Hello, princess!” She whispered, holding her hands out.

The nurse picked up the baby carefully and placed it in Evie’s arms. “Now remember, balance her head and don’t let it fall too far back.” She warned.

Evie nodded with a deep breath. “I know, I know.” She whispered as the blankets dropped into her arms. She cradled the little girl to her chest with a smile. Mal tilted her head to the side as Ben dropped an arm around her shoulder. The nurse nodded and withdrew a few steps. She bumped into Ben’s side, turned, and almost leapt fifteen feet. With a yelp and several hurried apologies, she took off running out of the room.

Evie pulled the covers down to expose her little one’s chin. Her breath hitched, and everyone leaned in, even Doug, who’d already seen the baby. Evie let out a ragged breath. “Hello, little one.” She whispered, then paused. “I have waited my entire life for this moment.” She announced to the room.

Mal was reminded of her wedding, standing in the bathroom of the pub, staring at herself minutes before she made the best decision of her life. She didn’t quite understand why Evie felt like this moment – she was sweaty, lying in a hospital bed, and not looking nearly as perfect as usual – would be the culmination of her life’s work, but she could definitely relate to the feeling.

Ben leaned forward to watch the newborn. He still looked downcast. Mal bumped her hip into his, and he straightened up and wiped his expression clean as if he’d never looked nostalgic in the first place.

Jay examined her. “I don’t see any resemblance at all.” He announced.

“Look, Jay.” Lonnie sighed and pointed to the little girl’s nose. “She’s got Evie’s chin and nose.”

“Evie and Doug’s noses look exactly the same.” Jay deadpanned. “A nose is a nose.”

“Doug has a wider nose, and Evie’s is longer.” Lonnie explained. “And really, can you look between Jane and I and think our noses look exactly the same?”

Jay looked between Jane and Lonnie. His lips pinched together, and he said nothing. Lonnie tilted her head back and sighed. Jay held up his hands in silent defense of a statement he hadn’t even expressed, and then squinted back at the baby. “She looks like a very red potato.” He proclaimed.

Evie huffed and stared at him like he was a bug she wanted squashed. Jay backed away with his hands above his head. “Just sayin’,” He mumbled. Mal leaned forward and agreed with Jay in her head. The child’s skin was mottled and covered with red speckles.

“How long is she going to have those marks on her skin?” Mal asked, folding her arms. Ben began tracing little circles on her arm as he watched Evie cradle her newborn.

“Only an hour or two.” Doug shrugged, cracking a smile. “To be honest E, I see where Jay’s coming from. She doesn’t exactly look picturesque yet.”

Evie huffed and swatted at her husband irritably. “She’s perfect.” She announced. “I can’t wait till you’re old enough to like dresses and makeup and-“

“Mud.” Mal interrupted hurriedly. “And dirt, and magic, and climbing things, and running.”

“And boys.” Jay added, popping all of his knuckles all at once with an evil gleam in his eye. “Oh, we’re going to have so much fun with that!”

Evie pouted. “No.” She disagreed. “I changed my mind. I just want you to stay little.”

“Give it a week.” Mal suggested. “And when you’re up all night for the fifth time in a row, you can decide if you want them to stay little or not.” The room burst into laughter as Evie glared at Mal out of the corner of her eyes.

Jane wiped her hands on her skirt. “Can I hold her?” She asked. Evie immediately nodded and shifted so her hands were supporting the small girl’s frame. She handed the baby to Jane, who cradled her against her chest and cooed softly. Mal felt Ben’s arms leaving her frame and watched him take a few steps closer to Jane. He cupped his hand and rested it on the little girl’s head with a bright smile. Mal felt distinctly uncomfortable, so she took a seat on the edge of Evie’s bed.

“So, I know you had your list of names, but I forgot one I wanted to suggest.” Mal announced. Evie tilted her head and raised her eyebrow. “I think you should name her Bertha.”

“No.” Evie replied, almost immediately while Ben, Carlos, Jay, Jane, and Lonnie snorted and chuckled behind her.

“Why not?” Mal complained. “It’s good boy repellant. And having a name like that builds character. Plus, she’s going to be spoiled for the rest of her life – we have to do something to keep her head on the ground!”

“Boy repellant?” Ben snorted, letting his hand drop off Evie’s daughter. “Yeah, look how well that worked for you.” He gave her a hug from behind, pressing a kiss onto her hair. Mal’s mouth dropped indignantly.

“Yeah, but it’s my middle name.” Mal protested. “If you make it her first name, then there’s no way anyone won’t know.”

“Forget it, Mal.” Evie shook her head. “You can name your first child Bertha, but I’m going to name mine something perfectly respectable.” She turned to Doug. “Like Isabelle or Emily.”

“I still like Grace.” He shrugged.

“Emily Grace.” Ben suggested. “I mean, I know I’m throwing out the name I suggested, but…”

“You suggested Isabelle?” Evie asked with a laugh. “Wow. I should have known. I honestly thought Mal managed to come up with a decent name all by herself.” Mal wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at Ben, who rolled his eyes.

“Are you trying to steal my thunder?” He asked, elbowing her a little.

“Which one doesn’t involve the kingdom, the lightning or the thunder?” Mal asked.

“Emily Grace.” Doug reminded Evie, who nodded thoughtfully.

“I like it.” She agreed. “We’ll have to see if it fits. For now, though, let’s all take a moment to thank the lords that Mal has Ben in her life so that her first child doesn’t end up Maleficent the Magnificent or anything like that.”

Mal almost fell off the bed as she began to laugh. “Maleficent the Magnificent!” She blurted out, holding her side as her damaged nerves sent SOS waves to her frazzled brain. “Ben, can we-“

“No.” Ben cut her off firmly. He held out a hand and gently covered her face. “Perish the thought.”

“I’m so sorry.” Evie apologized, covering her forehead as she watched Mal calm down, holding her side.

“Mal, you should hold your goddaughter.” Jane blurted out, changing the way she was holding the baby and preparing to hand her off. Mal took several deep breaths and straightened up. Her side was killing her still, but she calmed down and held her arms out.

Ben took a step behind her and Evie and Doug straightened up. The entire room, really, held its breath.

Jane put the little girl in Mal’s arms and, with a little help, the child settled into her elbow. Mal looked down at the little girl. She didn’t look any different than she had from Evie’s arms. She glanced around at all her friends. It was clear they were waiting for some magical, happy moment, but Mal wasn’t quite convinced.

“Cool.” She shrugged. “She’s really light. Ben, want her now?”

Ben let out a little sigh as Mal moved the girl to his arms. She brushed her hands off and discreetly got up to go grab some hand sanitizer as Ben examined the newborn. Everyone watched as a little smile spread across his face. Mal bit her lip as she rubbed the alcohol-scented substance into her skin. The baby, she realized, kind of smelled gross.

Ben tried not to look too awed, but the differences between she and he hadn’t ever been this clear. He thought this was awesome. She thought it was disgusting, though she was glad to see Evie happy.

Just think: only an hour ago that child had been covered in blood and fluid and – ew. Mal got another dose of hand sanitizer. No one else seemed to share her opinion. Jane got a bit of hand sanitizer before she took the baby back from Ben to hold her a little longer, which kind of defeated the purpose, Mal thought. Everyone lined up to hold the baby girl as Mal hung out by the hall, watching Evie and Doug whisper with bright smiles.

“You’re going to go with the Emily, aren’t you?” Mal called. Everyone glanced at her, and she took a few steps towards the group so it didn’t see as though she was backing away from them.

“We like Emily.” Evie agreed. “But we’re debating between Grace and Isabelle, actually.”

“Isabelle is cute, but I still think Emily Grace flows better and fits her more.” Ben advised them. “You could also call her Maddie.”

“I have a cousin named Maddie.” Doug shook his head. “I like Grace. All in favor of Grace?”

“This is not a democracy!” Evie sputtered as everyone in the room raised their hands nonchalantly. “This is our baby’s name!”

“And it looks like your baby’s name is Emily Grace.” Mal announced. “That was a unanimous vote, E.”

Evie sighed and sank back into her pillows. “Well, at least it’s a cute name.” She grumbled. Doug crossed his arms in success and smiled.

Two simultaneous beeps came from Ben and Mal’s cell phones, and both let out a sigh as they pulled out their screens, just as two more came through. Mal squinted at her phone, and then glanced up worriedly at Ben.

“What is it?” Carlos asked, looking over Ben’s shoulder.

“Palace alert.” Ben frowned. “We’re being traced, and we’re forbidden to leave the area. I wonder what’s going on?” The three standard messages from the palace guards were residing on their cell phones: You are being traced. You may not move. Your phone controls have been seized.

The doors to the hospital room opened and the guards stepped inside, clicking the safety on on their weapons. Ben put his phone away quietly, using Mal’s frame to hide the fact it was even out. Mal slipped hers up her sleeve as she turned to stare at them. “Is there a problem?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We haven’t received word yet.” One guard answered. “But the palace alerts have been activated. Additional guards are on their way to escort you home.”

Mal sighed and turned to look at Ben. Ben had deflated a little, and his face was pinched with worry. He bit his lip and consider the guards. “Please, page my parents.” He mumbled and turned back towards Evie and Doug. “I think that’s a great choice but let me know if you decide to change it. I think… we’ll probably be leaving soon.”

Ben and Mal’s phones buzzed again. Ben sighed and moved towards the guards. He opened his phone and skimmed the message under their careful eye. His breath hitched.

“Ben?” Mal asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

Ben turned and swallowed. “Dad just had another heart attack. He’s fine, and his heart didn’t stop this time, but we’re still being escorted home. They have his doctor up at the palace already, and he’s already stabilized.”

“That fast?” Carlos asked with a furrowed brow.

“It probably happened a few minutes ago and we were locked out when Mom sent for the doctor. It usually takes them like, two minutes to block our phones and notify us. He doesn’t live too far from the palace though, so everything should be fine.” Ben explained. He put his phone away and stepped back towards the group.

“I’m sorry you have to go.” Evie frowned. “And about your dad, Ben. Good luck. I hope everything works out.”

“It will.” Ben mumbled. “Thank you, Evie.”

The guards remained at attention at the doors. “You will remain in this room until reinforcements show up.” One commanded.

Mal sighed. “Please, don’t make a scene. We had enough people staring at us just walking into the hospital. We don’t need a fanfare.” She put her head in her hands.

“You’ll have to get used to security one day, Queen Mal.” The elder of the two guards grumbled.

“Eh, she doesn’t have to.” Ben shrugged. “I’ve been living under palace security my entire life, and under Kingdom guard the last eight years, and I still think it’s annoying.” He put an arm around her shoulder. “But, technically, you agreed to it. I didn’t get a choice.”

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re terrible at it.” Mal scoffed. She stepped towards Lonnie, who was still holding the baby. “Well, let me see my goddaughter before I go.” She sighed, leaning over Carlos’s shoulder to look at the baby again.

Lonnie passed the baby to Mal immediately. Mal jumped a little before she took the child. She’d meant the literal form of look, not the ‘give-me-the-baby’ kind of look. She fumbled the little girl’s head and glanced cautiously at Evie, who had gone rigid. Her mouth suddenly felt a little dry. “I – um – Emily Grace, I’m totally going to call you Bertha as you grow up.” She declared, and then turned to pass the baby to Ben. She examined the little girl with a nod and turned to Evie. “She’s cute. Good job, E.” She smiled and gave her friend a hug. Evie’s smile still seemed a little tight, but she hugged Mal.

The guards cleared their throats from the door as Ben continued holding Evie’s daughter. “More guards are arriving.” The elder announced. “We have orders to move you now.”

Ben sighed and handed Evie’s baby back to her. A bright, happy smile settled onto her mouth. Mal hummed as he linked their arms together and held her hand under the hand sanitizer dispenser as the guards opened the door to escort them out.

Their eighteen other guards were standing outside the entrance in a long line leading directly to a waiting car. Ben sighed as he pulled the keys to the car they’d driven out of his pocket and palmed them to one of the guards who’d driven with them. People came to gape as the guards took them up to the car, opened the door, and helped them in. Four guards from Ben’s squadron and four from Mal’s joined them in the car. Mal didn’t exactly see the point of having all eighteen drive down to escort them. They could have just as easily had them escort she and Ben to their room after they’d arrived back at the castle.

“Let’s say, one hundred years from now, an entire extended family lives in the palace.” Mal sighed, leaning into Ben’s shoulder as they started to drive away from the hospital. “Cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings-in-law-once-removed. Is everyone going to be shut down every single time something happens?”

“Well, no, because you may have noticed that things get less intense the further in line for succession you are.” Ben shrugged. “You’re second, as my wife, and immensely important because you’re the reigning queen, and then my parents are third and fourth, and so as time goes by and we get fifteenths and elevenths and so on, they won’t need to have as much security and can mostly chill.”

Ben wrapped his fingers through Mal’s and dipped his chin to whisper in her ear, so softly she almost couldn’t hear. “Do you need some anxiety medicine?” He asked.

Mal shook her head. “I grabbed some before we left.” She replied. “God, it smelled really bad in there. It was all over the baby too.”

“Evie will get her cleaned up.” Ben rolled his eyes. “Did you… not like her?”

Mal blinked. “No, Emily is great. I’m happy for Evie. She’s already a fantastic mom.”

‘And you’re already a fantastic dad,’ she thought sourly. ‘Even though the only kids we have are our annoying country of seventy-five million who hate our guts three quarters of the time.’ She felt guilty, even though she really didn’t need to be feeling guilty. He knew what he was getting into with her, and she knew what she was getting into with him, and eventually didn’t have to mean tomorrow, or next week, or next month, or even next year. By god, she was allowed to enjoy being married before she had to worry about a kid, right?

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early-sxnsets · 6 years ago

Text

Like A Rom-Com

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16917009

Word Count: 9363

Summary: Baz Pitch doesn't think he'll ever get to love Simon Snow the way he wants to. A trope-filled weekend proves otherwise.

Carry On Countdown Day 14: Cliché

Of all places I thought I'd ever find myself, sitting on a train beside Simon Snow on a Thursday night is not exactly at the top of my list

There's plenty of more seemingly plausible situations I could be in. For example, a ditch, or in the middle of Mumbai without my mobile and only one shoe. Or, better yet, the goddamn moon. But, no, I’m in a seat beside him, our three-days worth of overnight bags tucked up into the slots above us as we sit in complete and utter silence.

I didn't even get the window seat. He took it first, and despite my protests, he told me to “Suck it”, then sat there.

I'm starting to wonder why I got myself into this. Why I asked Simon Snow of all people to do this. We aren't even fond of each other’s presence (well, on the surface; dare I admit further). Yet, with all our past squabbling aside, here we are. About to spend a whole convention under a façade of a relationship purely as a ploy for money. Theoretically, I should feel disgusted over my actions, but instead I’m a tad proud of how easy it was to get Snow to cave and help me. All it took was telling him the event would include a free banquet, then suddenly he was all there for it.

“I don't see why you wanted me to come, though,” he'd brought up on the platform, wearing his dark green bomber jacket. “I mean, of all other student leaders, you really thought of me?”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes and turning my head towards the wind. “Don't flatter your capabilities, Snow. You're simply a pretty face to look at, andyou're incredibly sociable.”

“Sociable, am I?” he grinned, nudging me with his elbow, making my head snap towards him and throwing him a somewhat convincing look of disgust.

“To those who don't find you undyingly insufferable, sadly, yes.”

I'm surprised at how hard it is to really insult him. Sure, we’re at each other's throats all the time during charity events and whatnot. Supposed to promote positivity and show up as the student leaders of the school, but I may have once tripped him and sent him flying into a plate of cocktail shrimp (give it to him to somehow make that charming, though). Once, he took the piss to ask me how I got to my positions of power by just buying everyone else off the council.

I'll give it to him, people like him. That's why I've got him sitting beside me on this rattling train instead of anyone else on campus, but he seems to dismiss any mere hint of hard work. It must sound foreign to him, to have to work towards a place of respect.

People fear me. They always have. But I don't get here out of fear, I get here out of work built from furthering that fear into respect. Goddamn full time job.

“So,” he pipes up, yanking his earbud out as his head swivels to face me. “What do I have to do exactly ?”

“Look pretty. Smile and nod, make people care about us. At least, during the banquet and the aftermath. Feel free to be as aloof as you usually are for the rest of the conference--sleep in the hotel room, for all I care.”

He twists the cords to the earbuds, eyes casting downwards before rising back up to me. “What conference is it, again?”

I can't help but roll my eyes at him. It isn't like I explained twice already. “Social Awareness and Activism.”

He nods, letting it process before his face contorts into a frown. “Hey, wait! Why wasn't I invited, then?”

“Because” I begin, not even giving him the satisfaction of my gaze as I stare ahead. “You're student council. I lead the Gender and Sexualities Association and lest you forget, I run the Diversities office.”

He lets that one slide, because he knows he definitely doesn't have me beat in this one. Student Council pricks usually have such an air of superiority over us. Arseholes.

“That's why you asked me to be your fake date…” he says, absolutely more to himself, but still making me scoff as loudly as I physically can.

“Dear god, please tell me you did not just now figure out I'm gay,” I mumble, my head falling into my hand as my fingers pinch my bridge. My head turns to a completely oblivious Snow shrugging at me. “What, a closet full of florals and the rainbow pin on my satchel never gave it away?”

“I… I don't like to assume…” he shrugs, looking back out the window before turning back to me quickly. “It's all fine, by the way!”

“Wow, I'm absolutely delighted that you give me your blessing to be queer,” I monotone, staring at him. It does matter, though. Just a bit, but it does.

That properly shuts him up.

The rest of the ride starts off awkward, but eventually he falls asleep, arms crossed over his chest as his mouth gapes open. He breathes with his mouth, like some dog.

In all honesty, I wish I wasn't in love with him. It's so ridiculously unfortunate that it came to this mess being the one I long after. Granted, he's ridiculously handsome in that nearly crossline between rugged and ‘Perfect Man’ way. He obviously forgets to shave regularly, but his stubble comes out a soft blonde (like right now). He's got knick scars over his hands, injury marks from years of use, and lasting muscles to prove it. His hair always seems a mess, but in the most innocent of ways. It always seems so soft, so thick.

He's one of those straight guys you hate to love. The kind that you had a class or two with, but never spoke to; the kind you see on campus with his girlfriend at his arm. Or, used to. Heard that's history.

I steal a long look at him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. I hope it's history.

Maybe this will be like one of those cliché rom-coms where he warms up to me over a weekend of exposure and suddenly, he figures out he's loved me too this entire time, he just wasn't ready to come to terms with it.

With a groan, his head turns in his sleep and faces towards the window. With that, his neck shows on full display, revealing that little mole, right below his ear, that I've had on mind since I noticed it. I map it out with my eyes, cheeks flushing in the slightest as my mind runs over what I'd do if I just had the opportunity…

The train screeches to a stop, pulling into the last station from ours.

Brilliant.

My hand rests against Snow's forearm, resisting the urge to curl around his bicep as I give him a jostle. “Snow,” I start gently before clearing my throat and saying “Snow” clearly. He jerks aware, eyes flying open and glancing around before landing on my face. I feel him relax underneath me. I'm still holding his arm.

“Nearly there?” he groans groggily, eyes drooping closed again.

“Sort of,” I say without my usual bite, stretching my arms. “maybe 10 minutes more, 15.”

He just gives me a nod, eyes running over the cabin as he yawns. “Do we have anything to do tonight?”

I shake my head as I pack away my (untouched) book. “No.” I punctuate it with the snap of my satchel pocket. “We check into the hotel, and I have to check in with the coordinator. I have a half an hour introduction, then I'm free.”

“I could go to the introduction with you,” he offers, no hints of hesitation in his voice. Throws me off a bit.

“You don't need to.” I don't tell him no. I don't have to. I don't want to.

“I want to,” he says bluntly, throwing me for a fucking curveball. I gape at him shamelessly for a second before he finishes it (with a little delay), “I mean, it'll make our couple play a lot more believable, right?”

Sure. That. “You're not wrong,” I relent, standing as the wheels squeal against the harsh metal. I steady myself against a seat as the train pulls into the station, reaching for the bags and settling them down wordlessly. Simon takes his cue and grabs his own, following me as I wheel it off towards the exit.

“We'll need to get a cab,” I say, awkwardly patting for my phone as we follow the exit signs within the station. “Hotel's not far, it's just that I'm not too keen on a half an hour walk right now.”

Leave it to Snow to flag a cab in less than three minutes. All it takes is for him to flash his gorgeous smile and one comes to a halt right in front of us.

After tossing our bags in the boot, I glance up to see Snow, holding the door with gentlemanly grace and an unmistakably friendly grin. “Come on, then,” he urges, trying to wave me inside.

Leave it to Snow to make my heart skip a beat.

The ride there is awfully brief, but I tip the driver generously, sliding out and hurriedly drawing our belongings out before taking a silent second to myself. This is fine. Everything will be fine.

Everything would be fine if Snow stopped staring at me as if I were bonkers.

“What?” I snap, crinkling my nose in his direction.

“I… it’s just…” he stutters back, eyes shooting wide as he searches for an answer. “you look… like you're thinking about something. That's all.”

I tame my expression back, inhaling sharply before pushing past with my suitcase dragging behind me. “Piss off.” That's all I really manage, a halfhearted ‘piss off’.

For the first time today, I feel like this truly might’ve been a mistake.

The inside lobby’s quite nice; reminds me a little too much of my dining room at home, with the chandelier and all, but it's welcoming.

“Double room under Pitch,” I tell the concierge, fingers drumming rhythmically against the marble countertop. My eyes drift, looking up and around but never forward. Not until the typing stops and I’m greeted with a friendly grin as the room key cards slide across towards me.

“You're room 1124, continental breakfast runs from 6-10, and your checkout time is Sunday at noon. Any questions?”

“No,” I say quickly, pocketing the cards and nodding my head as I thank her before making a b-line towards the elevators. Luckily, Snow seems to know when to shut up.

Unluckily, maybe I should've spoken up earlier.

“A double bed,” I breathe, staring at the single queen sized bed against the wall. “Not… a double room…”

I feel Snow’s eyes turn towards me from over my shoulder as I flush a deep red, groaning and running a hand through my hair to push it back (despite the fact that I slick it).

“I… can sleep on the couch?”

“For three nights? Nonsense; you’ll kill your back, then I’ll have to listen to you complain the whole trip back.”

“Then what do you suppose we do?”

Shit. Maybe I am getting my terrible rom-com. “The beds large enough to share…”

I watch as he steps into the room, his bag dropping beside the dresser as his hand smooths against the sheet. “Suppose I'm fine with that, so long as you are too?”

Fine? With sharing the bed with most likely the most attractive man I’ve ever met? “It's bearable.”

With a nod, he stands back up and stretches. “I take the left side,” he calls out, strolling in front of me and into the bathroom, closing himself inside and leaving me motionless at the doorway. This cannot be happening. I refuse to believe that this, this very event is occurring. If it wasn’t strange enough to be going on a trip and acting in a fake relationship with Snow, it’s even worse that I’m sharing a bed with him.

I feel like it’s only a second between when he closes the door before stepping back out. As he comes back into view, he’s wiping his hands on a hand towel and looking at me like I grew a second head. “What’re you still doing there?” he asks, frowning a tad. I want to wipe the look clean off his face.

“I’m… nothing. Thinking.”

He grins at me with all his teeth, like a fucking sunbeam. “Well, stop that. Don’t you have an introductory session to get to?”

I snap out of my daze, blinking rapidly before settling my belongings inside. “Are you sure you want to come?” I ask, fixing my hair in the mirror as I send side-eyed glances at him. “You don’t have to…”

“I think it’d be best if I do.” He stretches in the middle of the room, cracking his back before jumping (why do straight men do that?)

I can’t help but roll my eyes and grab my key card, thumb running over the back as I send bored glances at him. “Can we leave yet?”

He nods, bounding out the door in front of me and bouncing down the hall.

As we exit the elevator, I feel something press against my lower back. At a glance, I realize that it’s Snow’s hand, settling against my shirt and giving off the clear implication that there is something definitely between us. Clever, but heartstopping.

He keeps it there as I sign in, following me to the conference room and settling in the seat beside me with his arm resting delicately around my shoulders. It’s nearly too overwhelming; the proximity, the publicness. I’d assumed, when I invited him, that it’d simply be a one-night show we’d put on. Go through dinner, act cordial enough to seem like we’re a plausible couple, then remain in a state of disdain and turbulence until we both graduate and proceed to never see each other again.

I had not considered, though, that he’d go above and beyond in this ‘fake relationship’ business. Especially not to the point where he is now with a hand settled against the back of my head, threading in between strands of my hair. I send him a look, eyebrows knit together as I try to read whatever’s on his face.

It’s like his handwriting; unreadable.

Another thing I had not considered, though, was the possibility that Penelope Bunce would be at this event too.

I don’t think Simon thought so either, because the moment we both spot her, his hand yanks out of my hair and he sits bolt upright. As if he was caught with his tongue down my throat (I’m allowed to have fantasies).

She’s rushing over, face riddled with confusion and a tad amount of amusement. Her mouth opens to say something as she stops, hands on her hips, but Simon’s already cutting her off.

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” he calls innocently, eyes wide and puppy-like, almost like Bunce is his mother or something.

“Of course I’m here; I told you I was going to a conference this weekend, Simon.” Her eyes flick between us before she laughs. “Holy fuck, how did Inot see this? Si, you could’ve just told me you two--”

“What? N--” he stops himself, flinching in his spot before shooting up to stand. “Let’s, uh, find somewhere else to talk.”

The expressions coming from Bunce’s face are priceless, especially the way she gapes as she’s pulled away, head turned towards me as I wave goodbye.

Snow looks like he’s had the shit beaten out of him when he gets back.

Not physically, but he definitely looks shaken while Bunce just looks a bit pleased with herself. In all honesty, she could easily take over the world and destroy it in under a week, if she wanted to. Instead, she’s off getting her English degree with a minor in Women’s Studies. Fascinating.

She sits herself on the other side of me, leaving Simon to settle against my arm after she laid it out on him. “So, Basilton,” she hums, “clever idea, really.” She curls a hand around the cuff of my sleeve and yanks, pulling me down so only I’m in earshot as she glares daggers at me. “But if you so much as hurt Simon, I will make sure that you’ll never find your precious styling products anywhere in this town again.”

I truly hate to admit that I actually gasp at that. As in an audible, full on gasp. Like some pathetic fucking twink that I refuse to be labelled purely as. “I’ll buy it online then, Bunce.” She’s still downright terrifying, though.

She just grins and turns her head forward, mumbling something about it being an interesting weekend as the speaker comes on. Slowly, I feel Snow's arm snake back around my shoulders, simply resting on my neck this time. Over time, his thumb starts absentmindedly stroking the skin it's resting on, but it doesn't go further from there. Although undeniably comforting, the looks he’s getting from Bunce are, mildly put, unsettling.

Thank fuck it's over before I know it. There's a cheesy joke about travel exhaustion before the round of applause fills the crowd. My head slowly turns to face Snow’s, heart racing as his fingertips trail my hairline. “Let's head back to the room? I think there's room service…” And Bunce is nerving me out.

Retracting his hand, he stretches and nods. “Sounds good.” He practically leaps to his feet, throwing a smile at Bunce and cheerful giving a goodnight hug as I stand at my leisure.

As we make our get-away, I can feel her eyeing us up from behind. It feels like I’m a guilty party; like I've got some ulterior motives. Honestly, Iwish I was suave enough to have them. If I could just plan a weekend away with Snow in the expectation of him falling in love with me, then I'd just retire my education and turn to a life of magic, because I'd have to have him under a spell to make that work.

On the way to the elevator, though, Snow makes a tug at my sleeve, stopping me in my tracks. Raising my brows, my mouth starts to form a “What?”, but gets cut off before it even starts.

“I'm not too tired, if you want to go sit down…?”

I look sideways at him, blinking and letting myself process it. “Get dinner. You want to get dinner?”

“Well… yeah? We're here, and there's a place in the hotel.”

From a moment's glance, there’s nobody in sight (nor earshot, for that matter) here to witness it, so I’m not really sure why he's asking me to get dinner with him rather than stuffing away in the room where we can avoid each other on our phones. In fact, it'd be significantly easier for him to tell me to fuck off and go eat dinner by himself. But, no. He's asking me to sit down with him.

“Fine, but let's not take forever.”

A drink or two (or three) later, I don't care about time anymore. There's only two things I care about; Simon Snow's foot touching my leg, and Simon Snow himself.

He polishes off his drink (I can't remember, 2nd or 3rd), wetting his lips as he runs a hand through his curls. “What’d you think about soulmates?”

It's an innocent enough question. After all, what do I think about about soulmates? The question’s easy enough to answer, and the way his face has been pink and smile grows even looser makes me wonder which response I wanna give him. Reasonable-brained Baz would probably say something protective and flat enough to drive away any admissions of feelings..

I'm not quite Reasonable-Baz right now, though. “I think it's a thing,” I mumble into my glass, sipping slowly and meeting his eye as it settles back onto the table. It’s the cosmopolitan speaking through me. “Not like… something stupid, like everyone’s off to be destined to love someone because they're star-matched or whatever the fuck. No red string of fate. It’s just… people matching. And they always match. Not perfect, but complements to each other.”

He's staring at me like I've said something profound, but I’m not entirely sure what came out as coherent and what else came out as an intoxicated slur.

“So…” My elbows rest against the table in terrible etiquette, chin settling on my palms. “Your go.”

“I… I was… well… that string thing. I'd heard it, and I think it’s somethin’ like that, yeah?” His knee bumps back into mine, shooting tingling down my leg. “Like you've got a pull to your soulmate.”

“A pull?”

He nods as he waves for another drink, eating off the last of my chips. I think he’s bound to polish them off.

“Like it’s in your gut. It yanks you forward, more and more, until you get that meeting it wants.”

Is it a joke? Who knows if it's a joke, but shit, I laugh at it anyway. “W'don't live in a fantasy world, Snow. Wish we did, but it's not Harry Potter.”

Snow pouts in somewhat an endearing way, studying my face as he shoves another few chips into his mouth. The server drops off another drink, to which Simon draws his attention to as if it's the most lovely thing he's ever seen in his life. I wish he'd look at me like that.

His face lazily lifts, smile keeping as he stares across at me. “I… think you're a Hufflepuff.”

“Dear God, Snow, you're smashed. Stop talking.”

“Noooo!” he complains, hand reaching out and resting over mine. “You're friendly under all that mean boy bullshit!”

Someone at a nearby table throws a glare at us, and suddenly I remember we're not quite alone.

Without much thought, I turn my hand over and slowly drag my fingers down Snow's palm. He shivers against me. “I'm a Ravenclaw. The test said so,” I murmur, my voice dropping to the privacy of just him and I.

I choose to believe his blush is in my imagination.

He takes a long drink, fingers dragging back before threading forward and interlocking between mine. “‘M Gryffindor.”

“No shit,” I laugh, suddenly becoming aware of how we're sitting. Leaned forward, heads much closer than they were before. The scent of hard cider and fried chips waft off him. I hate to admit that it makes my heart race faster.

After minutes of what's most likely just an odd closeness, I find myself stopping whatever this is. With a wave to the waiter, they stop by and run our room key through.

Snow's hand keeps against mine, his eyes locked on me and starting to sag with drunken tiredness.

He stays like that, all the way up to our floor.

The chime of the elevator makes me bump his shoulder, urging him out into the hall. “Come on, Simon.”

He jerks himself upright, blinking back to somewhat coherence before following me to the room. I swipe us in, letting him dislodge from my side as he throws himself onto the bed fully dressed.

After a run to the bathroom, changing into my flannel bottoms and a tee, it hits me that Snow's probably planning to pass out like this.

“Hey,” I whisper, practically pushed up to his side. He lifts his head, squinting at me curiously. It takes a second to realize his eyes pinpointed to my lips. “Don't you need to change?”

Sleepily, he closes his eyes again and shrugs, head falling towards mine. His forehead brushes against me.

“M’ fine,” he whispers, “‘m sleepy…”

In this moment, it'd be so easy to just reach out and touch his hair. I can feel it now, tickling against my hairline as he curls up into himself.

“Can… you get my shoes?” he slurs, feet wiggling.

I think I really love him.

I love him so much that I'm unlacing his Converse, sat up at the end of the bed and settling them aside. My hand steals a brush against his calf, mind not completely working as I tug it a little.

He gasps somewhat under his breath. “Y'can take off my clothes, if you want…”

I more than fucking want to.

I'm respectful, of course, but fucking hell, I want this man to rip me to shreds.

I don't let on, though. Respectfully, my eyes advert as I take my time to help him undress, ignoring the frankly obnoxious amount that I’m blushing.

“Thanks,” Snow mumbles as he yanks up the sweats I'd handed to him. “M a bit trashed.”

“A bit?”

He giggles. He sounds like sunshine feels. “Maybe a bit more than a bit.” An arm lazily throws across the bed and pats. “Lay down. Sleep.”

Somewhere in him, he must be a fucking genie, because I'm following his commands.

One of my hands moves down and drags the blankets on top of us, the hand resting in the middle of our empty space.

It's so odd to hear him breathe. To witness him live so openly and so close.

I want all of it.

I want this forever.

My body, though, doesn't. I don't remember falling asleep, but waking up feels like a bitch.

The room's loud. Why is the room so loud?

Oh, fuck, that's my alarm.

I slide it off, tiredly rubbing my eyes and dragging myself upright. Beside me, Snow's groaning and covering his face with an elbow. “‘S too bright,” he complains, turning away from the light.

It's sort of endearing to watch him like this. Although, honestly, it'd be more endearing if my head wasn't thumping.

After rifling through my bag for far too long, I grab out some pain relievers and swallow them with a cupped handful of tap water. Not ideal, granted, but helpful.

After painfully getting through my morning routine, I stand at the end of the bed in a full day's outfit with crossed arms and a pointed glare. With a clearing of my throat, Snow jolts awake and lowers his arm to look at me. “The fuck you want?”

“I'd much like to actually get breakfast, and if you'd wish to join me for some seminars, I'd recommend getting up now.”

“Y'had me at breakfast.” Scrubbing his face, his legs swing over the side of the bed and kick a little. “Do I have to dress like a tit?”

“And wearing a hoodie with jeans every day of your life doesn't make you a tit?”

He just huffs in response.

It isn't hard to get him to breakfast, but it's a bit difficult to get him out of it. Eventually, though, he relents (while stuffing three napkin-wrapped muffins into his hoodie).

The seminars aren't exactly enthralling; everything discussed is relatively baseline. I have a tendency to educate myself without an outside source, but there is one major benefit to attending them. Snow's hand has not left my hair in the past hour and a half. Well, that’s when he’s not eating the food he’s snuck in. I want to call him a pig, but at the same time, he offers me half the muffin and I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.

I'm relatively sure that I've been purring when he rubs the back of my head. I don't know this for sure, but fucking hell, it feels like I most likely have been.

Even when we do move, he settles his hand on my lower back, sending my nerve ablaze. It's a tad self-indulgent, but I feel myself drift closer to him as we walk, subtly placing my hand onto his shoulder and rubbing back and forth slowly. Every movement makes my heart race a bit more than I think I’ll ever admit.

They provide lunch, and Snow ends up eating half of mine as we discuss what we just listened to.

“So people don’t just know not to be dicks to each other?” he says through a mouthful of sandwich, not bothering to swallow before he goes off.

“Some people don’t know, no.”

“Well that’s bullshit and I don’t like it.”

My cheeks tease a smile, warming to a mild blush. “Well, I feel like I’m obligated to agree on the premise.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, taking a few more bites before managing to chew thoughtfully and swallow before speaking again. “Was your mum as outspoken about this stuff?”

It throws me a bit off guard, making me nearly drop the apple in my hand. “How do you know about my mother?”

“I… well... um…”

“Spit it out, Snow.”

“I went to your speech last year.” The words tumble out of him, nearly jumbling in the process. “The one where you talked about inclusivity on campus and all that shit--not shit! Just, you know, stuff. And well, you’d mentioned your mum was the first non-white president of the uni and I was just wondering if she was as vocal as you are. That’s all.”

While he’s talking, my heart starts swelling. For starters, he actually went to my speech (which just saying he did doesn’t fully make sense as to why he went), but he was also listening to it. It just sounds unbelievable.

My weight shifts. “Yes, she was,” I begin, dropping in volume and sounding softer than the typical voice I use with him. “She was always honest and so, so bold. She’d give speeches fairly regularly, too. It’s a shame I never really got to see her in action, thought.”

As I speak, I nervously fiddle with the empty sugar packet from my coffee and wait for him to do something, anything to make this easier.

That something, apparently, is his hand reaching out to grab mine (which doesn’t really make it easier on me, since it makes my heart explode into a swarm to fluttering butterflies).

“I’m sorry you never got that chance,” he says ever-so-softly, sweeping my hand over and resting ours together, palm-to-palm. I’m afraid he can read my pulse. “If it makes you feel any better, I never met my mum. Or my da, for that matter.”

“Oh.” Orphaned. That... sort of makes sense.

He just nods to that, shrugging his neverendingly complicated I’m-Doing-This-Instead-Of-Talking shrug. It makes me want to sneer.

I don’t, though. I hold myself back, pulling my lips back into my mouth and biting to keep them shut.

I don’t suffer in silence too long, as everyone else around us starts wrapping up and heading off to the next seminar. We both catch a gaze at Bunce as she converses with a table of students, seeming enthralled with her discussion. It’s easy to tell that Snow’s a bit disappointed, but I squeeze his hand in subtle reassurance that he’s not a backup (I don’t mention that she saw us holding hands while coming in, therefore avoided us).

The rest of the day is just as much as a bore as the start, and we don’t bother with a big dinner like the night before, either. Instead, we both silently retire back to the room and I phone for some takeout while we put on the telly. Flipping through channels provide a true bore of a time, though, so ultimately we just end up talking again.

And talking. And talking.

And break for dinner, and talking, and talking.

A few days ago, I wouldn’t image we’d have so much to talk about, but now he’s laughing at a story I’ve got about a teacher we both happened to have, just for separate classes. He’s got such a brilliant laugh; it’s one of those kinds that tosses his head back and fills the room with a deep, mirthful wave. It amazes me how much he’s relaxed, sprawled back in a tee and his jeans, which are now without his belt. Makes my heart race just watching him be happy and makes my head spin even more with just knowing that it’s in my presence alone. I wish I could bottle it and it keep it in my pocket for harder days.

Before we know it, it’s half past one and we can barely keep our eyes open. But, nonetheless, we sleepily mumbling back and forths with heavily blinking eyes and soft smiles. Thank god he changed himself into pajamas tonight, and I did so while he was taking a brief shower a few hours ago. Now we’re simply laying here, albeit incredibly closer than we were the last night. I can nearly touch him; if only I extended a hand out, I could brush it against his ankle, since he’s got his legs pulled in.

We speak between yawns, not really having much in particular to talk about in depth without

In the pale moonlight shining through the drawn curtains, I can see the outline of Simon’s head slowly lifting from his pillow, propping up at his elbow. “You know,” he says, “I don’t know if I’m straight or not.” He’s stretching back out now, feet brushing mine as they extend downwards on the bed.

I smile mostly because I know he can’t really see me in the shadow of his own head. “Why do you say that, Snow?”

“Well, I’ve never snogged a bloke.”

“You think that’s the qualifying factor to make you queer?”

“Not make me queer, but I wonder if snogging a bloke would make me realize something in one way or another.”

I shouldn’t be answering. “Well, why don’t you try?” It comes out as a whisper, eyes searching his nearly unreadable shadowed face.

His shoulders shift, the fabric of his tee straining at his side. “I dunno,” he says hushedly back, sounding closer than before. Even through the weight of my tired eyes, I can tell he’s getting closer now. “Why don’t I?”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, I freeze. My limbs go all tingly and numb as my mind races to various ends. Is he trying to say he wants to snog me? It’s probably some sick joke to make me flustered and maybe a little turned on (which thankfully he probably doesn’t know, since I’m on my side/stomach and my legs are laying a bit oddly to press my hips to the bed). Or, maybe, he’s just losing his mind.

As he draws closer, I can barely feel myself breathe. It’s his breath that’s clear as day. “Can I kiss you, Baz?” he utters, eyes lowering to my lips. I want to catch his with mine.

I want something that's been offered, and I’ll take it even if it’s a joke.

So, despite all reservations, I nod anyway.

He takes a full moment’s pause, head looming closer before brushing his lips against mine.

Heart pounding out of my chest and mind reeling, I kiss him back completely on impulse (or, rather, poor impulse). Every part of my body feels like it’s simultaneously in an ice bath and set on fire, but he’s snogging me back and doing this nice thing with his chin that I really want him to do again and fucking hell, is it hot in here? Or freezing? Perhaps both?

He draws back after a minute or so, face barely moving inches away from mine as his body shifts closer. The sheets between us gather, pinching like my gut as his knee raises up and brushed against my outer thigh. There’s seconds of silence within the movements between us, his hand slowly raising up and brushing some hair off my check before settling there. I reach out unsurely, hand resting on his chest as his head lies closer and lifts to look up at me. His heart’s racing out of control, a horse loose off it’s track.

This time, he doesn’t ask. His nose brushes against mine, causing my breath to hitch in a way it’s never gone before, and he takes that as the proper sign to kiss me again.

Thank fuck he does.

We kiss for what feels like hours, his hand eventually running back to my hair and holding the spot he’d had it in earlier today. Mine travels down a bit, pushing away his shirt and resting against his side.

We kiss our lips chapped and tire ourselves out, and even then some. Even as I struggle to stay awake and he’s let back to yawn a few times, we still keep chasing back for exhaustedly excited presses of lips and teases of tongue.

Eventually, though, he’s smiling so tiredly against me that his head falls back and eyes stay shut as he breathes out an “‘M passing out.”

I can’t manage a word right now. I don’t quite know anything about words anymore, except for the very real fact that they’re slipping my tongue.

So, instead, I nod my head and study his face. Just enough of it’s lit, showing the grin on his cheeks as he falls asleep without saying another word.

He keeps pressed to me, though. His hand’s still in my hair, and the leg that was previously thrown over mine is now where it was when we ended; between my thighs.

That’s how we wake up, too.

Except, this time, when my alarm goes off, he’s the one to answer it.

I watch as he swipes it off, looking down at me with a flushed, guilty face as I squint up to him.

It doesn’t last, though, because he seems to answer it with a shove of his lips against mine.

We snog for maybe ten minutes before he pulls himself back with a panicked face. At first, I think he’s about to go absolutely bonkers on me and say some ridiculous shit to break my heart, but instead says the most Simon Snow thing I think anyone could ever say. “Shit, when’s breakfast ending?”

I gawk at him, squinting before saying “10” with a gravely, sleep-filled voice. I don’t even bother to clear it away. “My alarm sets for eight, there’s time.”

He looks absolutely disgusted at that notion. “I can’t eat breakfast in an hour; that’s practically stuffing and running.”

Honest to god, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone get up as fast as he is now.

To cover my probably clear disappointment (and, well, semi I’ve got going), I scoff and roll my eyes as him as he shuffles his body into jeans. “You’re like a bloody Hobbit, Snow. Can’t stop eating.”

He grins at me, grabbing a pair of my trousers from my suitcase and throwing them at my head. “Come on, slowpoke.”

And just like that, it’s not spoken of.

Not through breakfast. Not through the time in between the morning seminars. Not through lunch, either.

He does the same things as the day before; his hand plays with my hair and we hold onto each other while shifting places, but it feels so different today. Every time he touches me, my mind goes completely blank as my heart beats out of control. As if it weren’t bad enough when he did it before, it’s even worse now that we’ve done that .

Whatever that was, anyway.

Fucking hell, what was that? We snogged until we get too tired to even keep awake, and then some.

If I had half a mind, I’d say we woke up in an alternate timeline where we actually are boyfriends, since he’s doing everything he would be doing if he truly was mine. Except, right now, I have no clue as to why this is all happening. He isn’t treating the situation as odd either, which is what throws me off entirely. He’s still chatting about anything and everything else; he’s laughing with my jokes and he’s frowning when I say something sharp, but there’s a new twinkle in his eye whenever I make a biting commentary. It’s the sort of look you give a cat when they’re being an arsehole.

When we finish the afternoon seminars and get dismissed to prepare for the banquet, I find myself jolting at the sudden wrap of his arm around my middle. He starts to draw back at first, but I quickly press my hand to his and keep it against my hip, not daring to look him in the eyes as I press the going up button for the elevator firmly.

The ride’s unnervingly silent, especially with the fiddling of Snow’s hand against my belt loops. He makes my heart pound without much, driving me absolutely mad at each of his subtle movements.

Back in the room, he lets the door slowly swing shut as I go to grab our suits from where they’re hanging in the dresser. The moment it’s clicked shut, though, I find the everliving chaotic energy of his presence right behind me and closing in.

Gently, a kiss falls to my shoulder blade. I shiver unintentionally.

“How long have we got?”

For once, I’m the one choked for words. “W-well, we should be down there by six, and it’s nearly three right now. I was planning on showering before it starts, and probably doing my hair properly, and--”

He’s turning me around as I ramble, hands settling on my hips before shutting me up with a kiss.

He’s good at that. Not just the kissing thing, but the making me stop thinking thing, too.

I give in completely, legs basically turning to jelly as I duck down. I feel him lower back to his feet (as he was originally on his tiptoes to plant the kiss to me), hands keeping tightly to my hips.

I let him untuck my shirt and press to the skin, rounding his hands around my back and tugging me closer towards him.

At this rate, I’d say fuck the dinner. Fuck anything else about everything. I don’t care that we haven’t talked about this, I don’t care about the veryreal possibility that Snow’s using me to experiment his sexuality on in full disregard to my feelings, I don’t care that this could all be a ploy to make me seem weak. I want this to never stop.

It has to, though. I know it has to.

I firmly plant my hands to his shoulders, keeping him still as I pull away. “I really do need to shower.”

For a split second, I’m half convinced he’s going to ask to join (to which I wouldn’t say no, obviously), but I’m fairly sure he decides that’s a poor idea, too.

So, instead, he relents with a nod of his head and a searing peck of his lips to my cheek. It makes me blush like mad.

I spend my entire shower rushing to get out, scrubbing my hair and losing myself in the thought of what’s to happen after this ends. I’m fairly certain that this isn’t going to leave this hotel, but it’s nice to even fantasize the thought of him in my bed, stripped down to his boxers and laughing like he did last night.

Not fucking me, although that’d be a nice follow-up, but just laughing. Sharing a good moment, just him and I, and not letting ourselves fall back into our old habits.

It’s such a weird wet dream to have; to want him to be happy. Most people think about getting plowed in the back of their car or snogging somone senseless against a wall, but with Simon, I just want to see him smile. (Disclaimer, I’ve gone through the motions of wanting him to take me in every situation and position possible, but I was a different man. That was pre-snog Baz).

I go through a routine of blow drying and styling my hair, brushing my teeth again and making myself as aesthetically proper as I can be before stepping out of the room and immediately getting the wind knocked from my lungs.

Snow’s standing in the middle of the room, looking himself up and down in the body mirror dressed up in the suit I’d bought for him.

It’s not perfectly tailored; it’s slightly too tight in the middle, and his shoulders are a bit too unexpectedly broad, but it looks really fucking good on him.

I’ve got to bite my lip from gasping.

“Looks proper,” I let myself say, heart skipping a beat as his head snaps up towards me and grows to a quick grin. As I pass by to grab my own suit, I’m floored by a quick peck on my cheek and a cheeky smile.

He’s going to be the death of me.

I grab my clothes and change in the bathroom, dropping the towel and carefully pulling on layer after layer.

I tie my shoes outside of the room, trying to forget that of course, Snow’s ‘fancy shoes’ are decades old Docs that look like they could very easily be Fi’s.

“Ready?” I ask, making sure I’ve got my cell and room key in my pockets.

He nods, arm looping around mine wordlessly before he drags us out.

Dinner’s… dinner. The food’s pretty good, and Snow and I make easy conversation with the people at the table (as in, Snow starts it with something friendly, then shuts up for most of it as I say intellectual shit and he just rubs my thigh under the table for some unknown, mind boggling reason). We drink a good amount of wine, we laugh, and talk some more.

Then continue to talk around once it ends, mingling within the crowd.

Snow works like a bloody charm. He strikes up cheerful conversations with them, then we all talk for a bit before they hand me a business card with a happy shake of my hand or a clasp on my shoulder.

Soon enough, there’s plenty of people wanting to sponsor events and fundraisers, ranging from donating to involvement. On top of that, there’s countless people coming up to us and ending our conversations with “You make such a cute couple.”

Each time, Snow ends it with an “I know”, arm tugging me closer.

I’m a bit tipsy, so I just lean into him and grin my face off (it feels weird to smile so openly).

After an hour or so, it starts to die down. The attendees are ignored by the workers cleaning the tables, so I slip away from Snow for a second as he chats with an enthusiastic woman, telling him I’m off to the loo. In reality, I’m just sneaking a couple bottles of wine and holding them as subtly as possible in my suit jacket (which is, for note, not subtle at all).

Snow’s alone when I’m done, so I just grab his hand, stuff a bottle into it, and whisper “Run”.

We both break it to make our getaway, nodding to people as we start to quickly head off to our room. Nobody notices us, or more realistically, cares to stop two sort-of drunk early 20s blokes running off with somewhat okay bottles of wine.

In the elevator, we exchange wide eyed grins before bursting into laughter that quickly draws tears from our eyes and makes our stomachs ache from strain. We’re laughing the whole way back to the room, too, and leaning on each other for support as I search for the door key.

It buzzes us through, letting us stumble inside and set the stolen bottles on the coffee table.

After resting mine after his, I feel his hand sweep under my suit jacket and yank me close that way. We’re still laughing, my face planting into his hair and savoring my sweet moment’s luxury.

“Pop them open,” I whisper into him, pressed up close. “I wanna make a toast.”

He giggles and nods compliantly, letting go of me and pouting at the corked tops before rooting around in his backpack for a minute.

As he’s doing whatever it is that he is, I’m untying my shoes and half-throwing them across the room towards my bag, untying my tie and letting it hang around my neck as my jacket finds itself on the floor, too.

I hear a pop as my eyes shut, and soon enough Snow’s looming over me with two opened bottles of white wine.

I take one, scooting to the side and turing my knees onto the bed as I grin at him. He tries to raise his brows in a mock and mimic of me, but it instead looks like he’s shocked (I want to kiss the look off his face).

“A toast,” I begin, giggling before fully raising it to him. “To successfully finessing a room full of rich arses to give the gays some money.”

He smile widely to that, cheeks creasing as he raises his bottle and gently knocks it into mine. “To taking money.��

We both down about half the bottle before I end up in his lap, having him play with my hair as I recite as much of Hamlet as I can remember (given I was in a production when I was 16). He’s silent, this big grin stretched across his face as I glaze over chunks of scenes with “And fuck Claudius” or “and Hamlet, who was fucking hot in the movie”. I break between scenes and take a gulp of my wine, as compares to Snow who sips his throughout.

Easy to say, by the end of the play, we’re both completely plastered.

Our mostly empty bottles end up on our nightstands as I dive my face into his stomach and nuzzle shamelessly. Any ounce of dignity that I’d once held is absolutely gone now, filled instead with unequivocal adoration.

He clearly doesn’t mind, though, because I can feel the chuckle as I grin into him, and the tug of his hand in my hair sends me to sit upright as the room spins around me. I laugh, because I can’t stop myself.

Even as I’m wrinkling my nose to snort, Snow’s leaning closer and quickly steal a kiss from my lips.

Everything stops. My heart’s soaring, and I’m opening my eyes. “We’re drunk,” I remind, mostly slurring as I lurch forward.

I know that doesn’t fully apply.

“Do you want me to stop?” he breath’s hot on my face, smelling entirely of alcohol and the chocolate cake he’d had for dessert.

I should say no, I should say no.

“Just don’t go below the belt,” I whisper, because I’m the weakest man on Earth, and I’m the one leading the kiss this time.

It’s a little strange, since every time we’ve kissed so far, it’s been with his initiative.

Frankly, I was worried that he’d think I was taking advantage of him as a gay guy. But, now with all the alcohol in my bloodstream and how soft he looks bathed in the glowing yellow lamp-light of the room, I push away all inhibitions for the sake of one last night of having him hold me like that.

I lead fully this time, feeling his hand take hold of the ends of my tie, yanking me closer as I kiss him with everything I’ve got in me.

With every bit I give him, he gives me double that.

His hands find themselves at my shirt buttons, slowly pushing each one out of the hole as I’m finding out what kind of sounds I can elicit from biting his lip.

Eventually, we find ourselves laying back on the bed, the light now off and shirts both pushed off of our shoulders. I’m still in my suit trousers, and he’s just in his boxers and dress socks, still snogging the life from me. I think we’re sobering up, but frankly, I’m too scared to figure that out. The truth would make it too real.

For the first time, I dare to take my lips away from his mouth and leaving him whining beside me before I test the waters of neck kisses, scattering them around.

A tug of my hair tells me it’s more than okay.

It’s so tempting to go further. With each pull of my hair and groan rumbling from his chest, I’m struggling to stop myself from peeking under that waistband.

I don’t, though.

I force myself back up, back to his lips, and stay there. Stay in this moment that makes me believe that it’ll last.

“Baz,” he mumbles into my mouth. It feels so distant that, at first, it feels like I’m imagining it.

Then he says it again.

“Baz.” It’s more firm this time, sending me back and staring at him with wide, nervous eyes. He laughs, though, and reaches out to rub his hand against my cheek. “I just gotta take a piss, fucking hell.”

I melt into it, closing my eyes and nodding slightly as I exhale.

He presses a last kiss to my face, this time, to my forehead, before stretching and heading off to pee.

And that’s the last thing I remember before waking up, wearing the trousers I was last night and basically the same position he’d left me in bed in, but now he’s back and laying right across from me. We’re not fully pressed together, like last night, but his hands are holding mine, and his face is close enough to lean my neck out and kiss.

I’d say, by the way the light’s shining, it’s about half an hour before my morning alarm is set to go off.

I’m not quite sure where this leaves us. By sometime later this afternoon, we don’t really have to interact again for a while. We can, realistically, avoid each other as we usually do. Therefore, I’m drinking him in as much as I can in this moment. The way his hair falls against the pillow, the way his lip hangs open, the way his chest rises and falls. I take in as much as I can, knowing that I could very well not get it again.

With the eventual clamor of my morning alarm, Snow’s eyes scrunch as he groans. I leave our space together, hitting it off before joining him again and meeting his eyes. I don’t care about my headache now, I just want to hold him one last time.

As I latch myself to him, though, he cuddles up to me properly and kisses my hair, whispering something I would’ve never thought in a million years that I’d actually hear. “Good morning, darling.”

I shoot back, frowning for once. I can’t live like this. We can’t leave like this.

“What are we doing?” I insist, setting my jaw and studying his seemingly innocent face.

“I… what do you…”

“You’ve been snogging me for days, and you wake up and call me darling as if it’s one of my obscure fucking fantasies, and it’s not fair. I can’t live on uncertainties, and I’m scared to fucking death that you’re just going to pull some sick joke when we get back to campus and say ‘Great afternoon, goodbye’, and you’ll be gone.” Snow reaches out to me, but I flinch instead. He pulls away. “Tell me what game you’re playing at.”

“There’s no game!” he snaps at first, then realizes the bite to his voice before lowering it and mumbling. “There’s… there’s no game, Baz. I like you.”

That wasn’t really an outcome I’d fully prepared for. “You what?”

“I… I fancy you, Baz. I have for some time now. Fuck all, I’ve been talking to you all weekend, and I hate talking. I thought you were smart. I thought you’d noticed beyond all the snogging.”

He’s got me stunned.

“Hadn’t thought about that.”

“Of course you haven’t,” he mumbles, pouting at me.

This time, I do kiss his expression away.

He leans into it, hand finding mine again and tracing my palm slowly. I love it when he does that.

As he lets back to catch a breath, I eye him up curiously. “What does this mean for us?” I whisper. “Are we something now?”

“We can be. I want us to be.”

“Will… you say what that ‘us’ would be? Say it properly, for me.”

“Why?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Even without looking at him, there’s a smile in his voice. “Baz Pitch, will you be my boyfriend?”

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carmenlire · 6 years ago

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White Blank Page Ch. 3

Edit courtesy of the lovely @kindaresilient!!

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Magnus smiles as the door above him chimes cheerfully. The display is mostly the same, though he’s intrigued as he sees a sign advertising a midnight story hour at the bookstore in a few days, in celebration of Halloween.

It seems like the year’s gone by much too fast, Magnus reflects. Before he knows it, the snow will be falling and he’ll be trying to fit in his Christmas shopping into his bursting schedule.

This time around, there are several people milling about Lightwood Books, though no one spares him a second glance. Magnus doesn’t immediately see Alec but now that he knows to look for it, he can detect Lightwood’s background in the casual elegance and quality of the decor.

Magnus had met Maryse and Robert a few years ago before their divorce at a charity gala at the Four Seasons in Midtown. They’d only spoke for a few minutes but it had been like pulling teeth, Magnus overwhelmingly aware of what the couple thought of him.

New money, he’d hard Robert sneer to Maryse as they’d turned and walked to catch up with other friends.

That had been enough for Magnus. He’d poured his blood, sweat, and countless tears into his company and he didn’t need bigoted assholes condescending to him.

When he’d heard a few weeks later that the Lightwoods gave money to anti-LGBT groups among other equally conservative causes that caused him to gnash his teeth, Magnus had scoffed as he’d edited the story, unsurprised. They seemed like people who’d look down on anyone who didn’t fit their arbitrary, far-too-narrow mold.

It doesn’t look like their eldest son took after them though. Thank God, Magnus thinks.

Alec had been nothing but warm and welcoming the last time Magnus was here and he hopes to see the man again. Though really, he doesn’t know Alec’s schedule in the least and he might just be wasting his time on a fool's errrand.

Wandering through the aisles, Magnus picks up a book on botany for Ragnor as he makes his way upstairs. Looking down at his watch, Magnus makes a note that he has around an hour to kill before he needs to go back to his apartment and change for dinner with Camille.

Looking down, he doesn’t see the person he runs into until it’s too late. He’d clipped them on the shoulder and as he lifts his head to apologize, Magnus can’t help the instant grin that comes over his face.

“Alexander,” he greets warmly. “Fancy running into you here.”

He has a brief moment to worry that perhaps Alec didn’t remember him. It had been a few weeks, after all, and Alec was sure to see countless customers in his shop.

Before he can worry too much, however, Alec is smiling down at him, continuing down a few steps until they’re the same height.

“Hey, Magnus. I do work here so not so unusual, I’m afraid.”

Alec’s voice is dry but Magnus is deeply interested in the flush that starts to crawl into his cheeks.

“And how are you this fine autumnal afternoon?”

Laughing a little, Alec readjusts the box in his arms, settling it on his hip. His biceps might bulge a little but Magnus does not stare.

“I was just restocking and straightening up the children’s area. We had a busy morning so the place was a bit of a disaster.”

“And now,” Magnus asks, shifting a little closer.

Alec raises a brow, considering. “Well now I suppose I could take a break. If that was what you were hinting at?”

Laughing, Magnus shakes his head a little, unrepentant. “You can’t blame me if I want to spend a few minutes with the proprietor of this lovely bookstore. Maybe I want to pick your brain for the next bestseller.”

“Well, then if it’s alright with you, let’s head upstairs to the cafe and we can talk recommendations.”

Alec turns to go back up and Magnus isn’t complaining. No, he’s absolutely thrilled to follow Alec. Not only will he get to spend some time flirting with his favorite bookworm but he’s treated to a delectable view of Alec’s ass.

It’s a win-win as far as he’s concerned.

Settling them down at a table in front of a window, Magnus takes a few seconds to look outside as Alec sets his box down on the table. The busy Manhattan street is positively teeming with people. It’s a little after three and there’s the usual mix of tourists, businessmen, and teens that always seem to be in a hurry. Magnus feels removed from everyone else and it's not an unwelcome feeling even if it does rarely happen.

“Are you in the mood for anything or do you want me to surprise you?”

Magnus looks up at that. Alec is standing behind his chair, not yet having taken a seat. He thinks for a minute before shaking his head.

“Surprise me, though I’d prefer anything you have be made with soy milk or some other alternative.”

Alec nods once before smiling and turning toward the barista working the coffee counter.

Magnus watches as Alec approaches the counter and orders. The barista grins at him and the two seem to engage in a round of playful bickering before the blonde turns to the espresso machine. He looks more suited to playing beer pong in a dilapidated frat house than making cappuccino foam art but Magnus just finds that it adds to the charm of the shop.

Taking out his phone, Magnus ignores the speculative look he sees the barista throw his way and instead focuses on the dozen emails that have accumulated since he arrived, taking a minute to look through them. When he sees Alec walking toward him, two mugs in hand, he resolutely shuts his phone off and shoves it in his coat pocket.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got you a triple white chocolate mocha. Don’t worry, it’s all dairy-free.”

Magnus smiles and just knows that it’s too open and happy for such a simple thing.

Accepting the drink, Magnus blows over the top before taking a sip, humming at the subtle sweetness that doesn’t take over the bitter coffee. “Thank you, Alexander. This is really quite good.”

Settling down across from him, Alec wraps his hand around his giant white mug. He looks relieved that Magnus likes the drink and distantly Magnus knows that he’d have lied and said that it was the best damned thing he’d ever had if Alec would continue looking at him like that.

“I know people usually have very definite opinions on coffee. Some want it to taste like they’re drinking straight from the espresso machine and others need at least a cup of milk and twice as much sugar to make it palatable. I’m glad I guessed right.”

Alec sounds pleased and his words are calm. There’s an undercurrent of that damned warmth that Magnus wants to reach out and touch.

It feels like time slows when he’s in this shop, when he’s with Alec. This is only the second time that he’s been here, but Magnus thinks that it’s his new favorite place. He can almost, almost feel his stress slipping through his fingers and as the tension eases from his shoulders, he takes another drink and studies Alec with a content expression.

It’s quiet for a few minutes and Magnus is surprised that it’s not uneasy or expectant. Instead, it feels natural and Magnus can’t remember the last time he was content to just sit still and enjoy someone’s company, to enjoy his own.

He’s always running around like a dervish. From the time he wakes until he collapses into bed, Magnus is working. He’s always being pulled in a dozen different directions but he wonders what it would be like if he just gave it all up, right this moment. Stopped everything and stayed here, watching as the fall sunshine paints Alec in gold and as the air smells like toasted marshmallow and coffee and ink.

Magnus almost hates to ruin the silence but he can’t help himself from asking, “So, Mr. Bookstore Owner. Tell me about the next big book.”

Alec chuckles as he takes a lingering sip of his own coffee. From what Magnus can see, it looks like Alec likes his light and sweet.

“It depends on what you’re into. I try to only give recommendations that I think my customers will really enjoy. So, what do you like to read?”

Humming as he thinks, Magnus narrows his eyes at Alec. Alec waits patiently with a raised brow and Magnus can’t resist the challenge.

“I like romance,” he says slowly. “My work deals with the news and when I stop and slow down enough to read for pleasure, I want to lose myself in something light that ends happy. I don’t like a lot of angst and I’d be perfectly fine if the story had no conflict whatsoever.”

A lot of people can’t believe that Magnus Bane likes romance. He loves it in all its forms and many subgenres and while he also likes other genres as well-- he can’t deny the appeal of YA or a good thriller-- Magnus has enjoyed romances since he was in high school and looking for something to do at home.

He’d ended up finding one of his mother’s romances and hadn’t looked back since.

Alec stares into nothing for a minute, thinking, before his gaze snaps back to Magnus. “Would you mind if it wasn’t straight?”

Intrigued, Magnus raises a brow. He definitely would not have thought Alec would ask something like that, not given who his parents were.

Not to mention, Magnus loves LGBT fiction. Unfortunately, he bites back a sigh as he figures that he’s probably read whatever romance Alec is about to suggest. In Magnus’s opinion, there weren't very many authors who wrote LGBT romance well and he’d read most of their books several times already if they did.

“Considering I’m bi, I’d hope to hell I don’t have a problem with that. Lead the way, darling.”

Magnus throws out his response and he can’t help the angle of his chin. It’s not defensive but combative. He just gave Alec an opening and in Magnus’s opinion, homophobic people can never stop their instinctive distaste for those who aren’t straight.

Plus, Magnus doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body and if he’s feeling Alec out-- letting him know that there’s one less potential barrier should he feel something-- then it’s two birds with one stone.

Magnus has always prided himself on being efficient.

Alec just laughs and shakes his head a little. Magnus prays to God that he’s not imagining the interest in Alec’s eyes and the way his gaze drops down to his mouth for a fleeting second.

“In that case,” Alec says, “I want to recommend Higher than the Big Trees. It’s a m/m romance that takes place in the city. There’s no angst whatsoever and it’s a classic romance between a professor and a celebrity.”

“That sounds perfect and I haven’t read it yet. Do you have it in stock?”

Magnus settles back in his seat, crossing his legs as he reaches for his coffee. He’s glad when Alec nods.

“Of course I do,” he says dryly. “Not only are they my favorite author but I can barely keep it on the shelf.”

“How haven’t I heard of this book if it’s so popular?”

Shrugging, Alec just says, “I’ve been suggesting it to everyone who likes romance. It’s mostly word of mouth sales, really. They’re a new author and that’s their first book. I have high hopes for their next one, though. I hear there’s a journalist involved.”

Magnus smiles at Alec’s enthusiasm and can’t deny that he’s looking forward to this book and potentially discovering another writer.

Not to mention, he thinks dryly, that if they were going to write about journalism than he had to read it-- if only to catalog the many mistakes they were undoubtedly going to make about his career.

The two of them talk for awhile longer and when the blonde barista comes around to collect their now empty mugs, Magnus grins a little as he sees the silent conversation he has with Alec.

They must be close, maybe best friends, Magnus wonders and laughs a little as he sees Alec send the barista a deadpan look that could rival Raphael’s when he feels particularly put upon.

The blonde leaves and Alec turns to look at Magnus only to see that he’s already being studied.

“Sorry about that,” Alec offers sheepishly. “Jace is my brother and still hasn’t learned how to behave in public.”

Magnus waves that away. “Don’t worry about it, darling. I’m well familiar with family that doesn’t know when to stop. Now, I believe that we were just talking about favorite children’s books and the perfection that is Percy Jackson--”

Whatever Magnus was going to say stops as he feels his phone start vibrating. Not many people have access to his personal cell number and he grimaces in apology as he catches Alec’s confused look.

When he takes the phone out, Alec’s face relaxes in understanding and he waves Magnus on.

Seeing that it’s Simon, Magnus rolls his eyes a little as he answers.

“My dear little assistant, the building must be falling down or someone had better have just lost a limb. Which is it?”

“Magnus, where are you? You have dinner at Chartreuse BonBon in thirty minutes and your driver just called the office to say you’re not answering. Where are you,” Simo repeats and Magnus’s eyes widen as he wrenches his sleeve up to look at his watch.

“Shit,” he hisses. “I’m out, Simon. What does the traffic look like?”

Simon doesn’t answer for a moment and Magnus hears muttering going on in the background. Finally, he replies, “For a Thursday evening, it looks like there’s just the standard after work traffic. Why?”

Furiously thinking, Magnus immediately decides that he’ll just have to go straight to the restaurant from the bookstore. He doesn’t have time to go home or even to the office and change into something a little more formal, a little more crisp.

Appearances might be everything to Camille but Magnus still looks fresh, no matter that he’s been on the go twelve hours. Luckily, he’d chosen one of his more austere suits this morning and the burgundy shade was a perfect power play.

“Okay, I’m going to head there straight from where I’m at. Tell Elias that I’ll just need picked up from the restaurant at the end of the evening and I’ll get an Uber there. Thankfully, I’m still in Manhattan so I should get there right on time. Thanks for the call, dear.”

Magnus hangs up and looks at Alec who’s staring at him with something that seems like wistfulness in his eyes. “I take it you’re running late for something?”

Moving his chair back, Magnus shoves his phone in his pocket and stands, Alec following.

“Unfortunately, I lost track of time and I have a dinner meeting that I can’t be late for. I’m sorry, Alexander but I’m afraid that I’ll need a rain check for our YA debate.”

“No problem,” Alec says easily as he looks over his shoulder. “I understand how important meetings can be. I didn’t know you were such a big shot, though,” he teases as they start heading down the stairs, Magnus calling his ride. Unfortunately, he’s so focused on the phone that he can’t just stare at Alec’s ass again.

Magnus laughs a little. “I do okay,” he mutters, trying desperately not to tell Alec just who he is. It’s nice to have someone who treats him like a regular person, like Magnus instead of turning into a fawning mess when they realize they’re talking to Magnus Bane, the CEO of Bane Enterprises and the most famous man in the news industry.

“Just okay,” Alec repeats skeptically. “Whatever you say.”

Magnus looks up at that and as they start walking to the front door, he can’t help but feel like Alec’s just humoring him.

Deciding not to think about that, though, and the potential consequences, Magnus turns to face Alec as he takes a step back. “I’m sorry to run out, darling, but I really do need to leave.”

“It’s fine, Magnus,” Alec says softly. “Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”

Studying Alec for a minute, Magnus takes another step back, reaching a hand out behind him to the door knob.

“Something tells me it’ll be sooner than sometime before I come back.” He throws one last smile Alec’s way before he’s turning and opening the door, rushing out into the fall chill just as his car pulls up.

He’s halfway to the restaurant when he remembers that he never did get that book Alec recommended.

As he watches New York fly by thanks to a particularly scrappy driver, Magnus wonders what it is about Alec that seems to pull him in.

Stepping out of the Uber just a few minutes later, Magnus sees that he has five minutes before Camille is set to arrive.

As he smooths down his suit and shoots his cuffs, Magnus walks toward the doorman who opens the door smoothly and unobtrusively as he approaches.

He’s escorted to his table and immediately given a wine list, which he peruses absently as the waiter fills his water glass.

Murmuring his thanks, Magnus isn’t paying attention to what he’s reading as his thoughts seem left in the bookstore.

With a sigh, he shakes his head a little and reaches for the water to clear his throat and his head. He’ll need his wits about him if he’s about to go a few rounds with Camille and as he starts to review everything he knows about Bellecourt and its struggling, he smiles.

Anyone who knows him knows that it’s the look of a shark circling its prey and Magnus fully expects to come out the winner of their little tête-à-tête by the end of the night.

He stands as he sees Camille’s lithe figure striding toward him on her signature Louboutin pumps and as they lean in for a European greeting that has Magnus rolling his eyes, he can’t help but think that he’d prefer vastly different company for dinner.

Company that looks an awful lot like Alexander.

#white blank page #my writing #malec fic

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porkchop-ao3 · 7 years ago

Text

RickCon’18: Part 2/3

Part one, Part three

I didn't know what else to do, so I followed the crowd. I allowed myself to get swept up in the sea of bodies, treading on toes and getting mine trodden on too. This area definitely seemed clothing-oriented, as I passed stalls selling t-shirts, accessories, and what seemed to be cosplay outfits. I managed to break off from the current to stop at one of the stalls. I browsed through a display of buttons, each one adorned with Rick or Morty based designs, some simply had their faces, some had little quotes or jokes, most of which flew right over my head. I supposed you had to be a Rick… I picked one up with Rick's face on with the words “wubba lubba dub dub”, whatever the hell that meant, and paid the Morty running the stall for it before attaching it to my t-shirt. I figured I should at least be wearing one piece of merchandise, considering I was at RickCon.

I continued on through the convention center, being stopped once or twice by different Ricks asking if I'd like to exchange dimension codes. It took me until the third time to realise that this was a form of flirting, not just a polite question. I quickly stopped giving out the number on my wristband willy-nilly and prayed that nothing would come of it later. I figured I'd make the most of the strange day and snapped a few pictures with some of the more unique looking Ricks and Mortys; by the time I'd made it to the food area, my camera was filled with pictures. I had photos with a Rick that appeared to be half lizard, a Rick with two heads (and he'd kindly informed me that it wasn't all he had two of), a Morty holding a bunch of cats and a teenage Rick with an elderly Morty.

I decided to grab myself a cup of tea and take a moment to sit down. I (literally) bumped into a Rick with a bowl cut and bucked teeth on my way over to the seating area. He apologised profusely, even though it was my fault. After making sure he was okay I asked if I could take a picture with him, to which he bashfully agreed, before I let him get on with his day. He was the first mild mannered Rick I'd met all day, and I wanted a photo for proof of his existence so next time Tailor Rick told me it was just in his nature to be rude, I could rub it in his face.

Sitting alone at a table with my cup of tea gave me plenty of time to people watch. I still hadn't quite wrapped my head around the place, considering I'd only learned about this crazy multidimensional stuff a mere few days ago. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I even fully believed it, I was just going with the flow and ignoring the urge to pinch myself at every new Rick I set eyes on. One was coming right for me, with bulging muscles and a tank top.

“Wh-what’s up, hot stuff? Saw you at that your lit- your little fashion show.” He said as he approached, taking a seat opposite me and giving me a charming smile.

“Oh? I thought I recognised you.” I lied, though only out of politeness and because I didn't know what else to say.

“Couldn't buy anything, of course. None of it'd fit me, you know? Too- too swole.” He said casually, leaning his elbows on the table in a way that accentuated his biceps. I stared for a while, keeping my expression neutral. “I keep telling the guys that run the con; get uh, get some stuff that runs in men's sizes.” He grinned. I laughed, again, mostly out of politeness.

“So, you come every year?” I asked, and he nodded.

“Yeah. I actually run a panel most years. Health related, obviously. This year's is on protein shakes, I came up with a new formula, i-i-it's vodka flavoured so I figured it'd be more popular this year.” He explained, and I raised my brows. So, alcohol abuse really wasn't just a Tailor Rick thing. “You should come along, there's gonna be free samples, special offers, and for you, I'll throw in a couple demonstrations.” He winked.

“Demonstrations?” I questioned.

“Exercise. I'll uh, I'll be doing pushups and shit, I gotta show that my shakes actually work. Plus, they'll be edu-educational. There'll be plenty of tips.”

“Oh…” I chuckled and shook my head. “Do I look like I'm into exercise?” I joked, and Rick looked my body up and down, from what he could see with the table in the way.

“You look like you've got potential.” He concluded thoughtfully, and I didn't quite know what to make of that.

“Is this guy bothering you?” A hand came down on the table between us, I trailed my eyes up the sleeve of the lab coat the person was wearing (which I'd quickly realised was a staple piece of most Ricks’ wardrobes) to find a lady looking down at me, raising her brow.

“Oh, no, it's-” I started.

“Erica, baby, I didn't think you were coming this year.” Buff Rick exclaimed, gaining an eye roll from this Erica person.

“I told you I wasn't, I-I-I was hoping I wouldn't bump into you. But uh… here we are.” She sighed.

“Jesus, you get more and more hostile as you get older.”

“And you get dumber and dumber, move. Gimme that seat. I need a sit down, my knees are fucked.” She grumbled, and to my surprise she got her way. “All those steroids must really be messing with you, you can barely call yourself a Rick these days.”

“Steroids? Th-that's bullshit, Erica. I got these babies from hard work, discipline, and All Rick's Protein Juice.” He bragged, flexing his arms.

“Sure. I'm getting a headache; don't you have a panel to prepare for?” Erica asked dryly. Rick opened his mouth, looking ready to deny it, but paused for a second.

“Actually, yeah. I-I should probably get on that, huh? Can I count on you to be there?”

“I don't know, I saw a thing about Mortys writing fanfiction that seemed right up my alley.” Erica replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I'll keep my eye out for you, Erica.” He said regardless, pointing at her as he walked backwards away from the table. He gave me a wink before turning around and disappearing into the crowds.

“Jesus. I-I-I've met a lot of Ricks in my day, and that guy?” She shook her head. “Total idiot.”

I studied the woman in front of me for a while, trying to figure out who exactly she was. Was she a Rick's sister? Someone cosplaying as a Rick? I wasn't quite sure, and even less sure about how to ask. Luckily, she must've read my confusion in my expression.

“Smile, sweet cheeks. I-I-I don't like the way you're looking at me.” She teased, pulling something out of her inside pocket. It was a flask. “Yes, I'm a Rick… of sorts. Total sausage fest in here, huh? Nice to see more of the fairer sex showing their faces here.”

“Oh! Right, yeah, I've passed maybe two or three women since I've been here.” I agreed, once again looking out over the sea of Ricks and Mortys as I had a sip of tea. Erica had a sip of her own drink; by the smell of it, some kind of hard liquor.

“Most Ricks only bring th-their fuck buddies. Which one are you banging?” She asked. “That bodybuilder guy?” She added, raising her brow.

“Oh, no! Not him… not any of them.” I admitted, and she laughed.

“Right, damn it. Thought I might have someone to talk about h-how bad he was.”

“I'm sorry?”

“That guy. Muscles. Total fucking Neanderthal in the sack, he-he's like a sex machine and not in a good way. It's like he only knows one rhythm and speed… h-honestly I'm surprised, Ricks are usually better-” she rambled, glancing off past my head as she got absorbed in her descriptions.

“Alright, I get it.” I interrupted, chuckling.

“Anyway, h-he's been clingy as hell ever since. I'd stay away, i-if I were you.” She advised, and I shook my head in amusement.

“Noted.”

“So, you're not boning any Ricks? That's tough. If you ever wanna taste of what we've got to offer, and uh, forget about what I just said; we don't all suck… I'm happy to pop your Sanchez cherry.” She smirked at me, and I chuckled again, a little embarrassed this time.

“No, that's okay… Thank you. I'm perfectly happy just, ah, remaining firmly in the acquaintance zone with Ricks.” I said apologetically, offering her a little smile. “I don't know how long I'd be able to keep my sanity, you know? All of this is very overwhelming.” I gestured to the space around us, and she glanced around looking incredulous.

“Uhh… if you don't mind me asking; you're clearly new to all this. How the fuck did you end up at RickCon if you don't really know any Ricks?” She questioned, leaning forwards on the table interestedly.

“The Rick from my dimension needed my help with something. He runs a charity auction, selling clothes. I modelled for him.” I explained, and she nodded.

“Oh right, yeah, the fashion show thing I kept hearing wh-whispers about. I heard Ice Cream Rick got shafted in there by the whole damn room.” She laughed, shaking her head. I frowned, and so she explained. “Ice Cream Rick? Guy in the pink shirt. Uhhh… ponytail, stupid little beard?” She gestured to her chin, and it suddenly clicked.

“Ohh! I felt so guilty about that! He was saying something to me when it happened… how awkward.” I said, shaking my head and feeling my cheeks warm up.

“I'm not surprised. Too- too many Rick's think with their dicks. That's golden.” She grinned, then took a peek at her wrist watch. “Anyway, I gotta head off. S-supposed to be meeting Morticia soon, she wants me to go to the humanoid robotics panel, she wants me to build her an anatomically correct android friend.” She said, using air quotes for that last word whilst rolling her eyes. I didn't question her further.

“It was nice speaking to you, Erica. Uhh, would you mind if we got a photo together?” I asked, holding up my carera with a little smile on my face. She grinned again.

“Of course not, doll. Bring it in.” She said, holding her arm out towards me. I stood up and she wrapped her arm around my waist as I took our photo.

“Thank you!” I said, and she waved her hand dismissively.

“Hey uh, what's your name?” She asked, and I answered without skipping a beat. I found it funny how names just weren't exchanged naturally here, since almost everyone had the same name anyway. “Alright, nice to meet you, (y/n). Maybe we'll bump into each other again?” She said, though looking around at the amount of people here, I doubted we would.

“Maybe. Enjoy the con!” I replied.

“You too, sweetie.” She nodded before heading off.

After she'd gone I realised my tea had almost fallen to an unpleasant temperature, so I quickly drank up the last of it and disposed of my cup in the bin nearby. Again, I found myself with the daunting feeling of not quite knowing what to do with myself. Someone had left a booklet on a table close to me, which I recognised to be the day's itinerary along with a map of the convention center, so I picked it up and had a look through. I wasn't surprised when lot of it went completely over my head;

Plumbus 101: How to get the best out of yours!

The Flesh Curtains: Live Performance and Q and A.

Is Jerry All That Bad? A Debate.

Lost the Spark? An introduction to sexual cybernetic enhancements. (18+)

Pocket Morty Battles. Bring your best! (RickCon ‘18 cannot be held liable for loss or damages resulting from Morty battles.)

And that wasn't even all of them, the list filled up the whole page. I stuffed the booklet in my back pocket and decided I'd simply walk through the convention until I found something interesting.

Tbc.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez x reader #rickcon #fanfiction #Erica Sanchez #rick sanchez #reuploaded coz tumblr is a dick and doesnt want to format my fics correctly

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alainawriteswwe · 8 years ago

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Pride and Prejudice and Wrestling

Pride and Prejudice and Wrestling – Part 1

Characters: Seth Rollins x Reader, Sasha Banks, Bayley

Summary: When a superstar Hollywood actress (The Reader), interacts with WWE Superstar Seth Rollins at Monday Night Raw, sparks fly. Can Rollins overcome his pride and convince the reader to take a chance on him when she’s still recovering from a nasty scandal caused by her cheating fiancé?

Warnings: Lots of flirting, angsty longing and maybe some bad words.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a wrestler, in possession of good talent, must be in want of a Championship.

Chapter 1: First Impressions

He was just as egotistical as he seemed on tv.

It was impossible not to think that when he stood there lording it over all the other superstars backstage at the arena as if he owned the place. Seth Freakin’ Rollins. Even the name screamed that he was full of himself. Six foot one inches and 217 pounds of pure ego. Didn’t Ambrose call him that once? It made sense. Over confidence my name is Seth. It seemed to ooze from every pore of him. It was just too bad that in addition to the ego, he was also insanely hot.

That was impossible to ignore as I pretended not to look at him. But dear lord the man had presence. There was a aura and a sex appeal that seemed to radiate from him oh so easily. Not an easy feat when there were fit, handsome men all around.

Looking at him my brain reminded me that men like him; cocky, arrogant, sexy in the extreme, were dangerous. I had first hand experience of it. What did it get me? A shameful breakup on the front page of the tabloids and an embarrassing sex scandal I could not live down.

Yet, even though my brain was working overtime with dire warnings, my loins were ignoring them. They focused on other things like sending heat to my core to create that tell-tale tingle that signaled excitement and arousal.

Even in his street clothes he looked sexy. The simple tight-fitting Black Craft t-shirt that showed off his biceps. The messily perfect man bun slung low on the back of his dark head, the deep chocolatey brown eyes that could flash ego but also great warmth seemed terribly inviting.

And how could I not focus on the pair of black skinny jeans that curved to every inch of those spectacular legs of his. I have to admit, legs were always my weakness on a man. Long, muscular, strong. The kind of legs that were strong enough to support some really interesting standing sexual positions. My mind wandered naughtily, picturing me enjoying those particular positions with Seth. It was too much really to take in.

I wanted to look away from him but I couldn’t. So I watched him surreptitiously as he interacted with some VIP fans as they got their photo with him and the other superstars.

But that quick, sweet tilting of the lips he displayed with the fans grew decidedly into a smirk when he caught me looking at him. Oh God. It was written all over my face wasn’t it? Desire in all its torturous forms. I turned away quickly and focused all my attention to the script I had been given for tonight’s episode of Raw. I could feel my heart race from the embarrassment of the situation. And now he was walking towards me. All that brash cockiness fully focused on me.

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the current Princess of Hollywood. I heard you were here tonight to host Raw and promote your new movie.” He held out his hand, “Hi, I’m Seth Rollins.” The cocky swagger in his normally annoying nasally voice should have been a turn off but damn if it wasn’t borderline seductive.

“I know who you are,” I said in what I hoped sounded like a normaI, disaffected voice. I didn’t take his hand in greeting. Way too dangerous to touch him. “We met once at a charity function WWE was hosting last year. Stephanie introduced us.”

He didn’t remember meeting me! Of course he didn’t. Ouch! I tried not to look disappointed by that. Not in a “don’t you know who I am” way a lot of Hollywood actors adopted but in a “of course he would never look at me or remember me kind of way.”

I immediately looked back down at my script, memorizing the brief lines I had been given. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.

Seth was about to say something. His face indicating he was about to lay on the charm when a savior suddenly appeared.

“Lay off, Rollins,” Sasha said as she handed me an ice cold water. Perfect to help me cool off in presence of The Kingslayer. “You don’t need to crowd our guest host.”

Seth rolled his eyes. “I am just being polite, Sasha. As the uh, face of the company it is my role to greet our guests.”

Sasha’s eyes crinkled with mischief at Seth, the way a little sister would find a way to torture her older brothers. “Face of the company? Then I should get Roman or maybe Cena. Brock of course is not around.”

Seth put a hand to his chest as if he had been actually wounded by her barbed words. “You just gonna knock me down like that Sash. Come on, man. And in front of our distinguished guest.”

He waved a hand at me and flashed a sexy grin that made me wonder what his kisses would be like. Would they be filled with a devouring, all consuming passion? I wanted to find out even though I was trying desperately not to show it.I tried not to smile at either of them.

Sasha sat down next to me and looked at my script. “Who are you working with tonight? I’m betting it’s The Miz considering the whole Hollywood angle.”

Seth cleared his throat, stroking his beard in a theatrical way.

“Oh it’s you,” Sasha noted at her friend, looking a little shocked.

Seth gave a little bow. “Yes. She is working with me,” he answered smugly. “Ambrose and I crash the Miz TV segment with her.”

“A-ha.” Sasha poked him in the chest. “Ultimately I am right.”

I chuckled at their banter. Life on the road had obviously made them good friends. Friendship was something I was sorely lacking after the scandal broke. Friendship was always fickle in Hollywood but it was non existent during a scandal, unless there was more money to be made off the story.

“Well, face of the company or not I accept your warm welcome,” I answered to Seth. “It is really interesting to see all this backstage life we don’t see on camera.”

Damn. I let that slip. I didn’t mean to let folks know I was a total fan. On set while I waited for scenes to be set up or during long mornings in the makeup trailer, I whiled away hours watching old eps of Raw and Smackdown. But I was also fluent about what was going on today. I knew all the storylines and I had my very particular thoughts on how to improve the bookings.

So it was fascinating to see how the superstars interacted with each other, killed time and prepared for the show. It was way better than eating a fancy fruit platter in isolation in the green room of a late night talk show.

Seth looked triumphant. “Ahh, so you’re a fan huh. Who is your favorite superstar?” That smug grin went all the way to his dark inviting eyes this time. Too damn sexy for sure! “From the current roster. Male, if you please.” He had thrust his hands in his pants as he made his demands and that caused me to check out his jeans, so tight fitting and distracting.

I gave him the dreamiest stare I could. “Roman Reigns. Strong. All those muscles and with eyes that pierce you. That hair. He’s a god. The kind you want to throw you over his shoulder and carry you away. He is so commanding in the ring and those spears look painful. But then you know all about that seeing as you faced him in the ring as his ‘little brother’. You remember that don’t you, Seth?”

Sasha snorted with laughter. For a moment I thought she was gonna do a spit take with her bottle of water.

The cocky grin on Seth’s face slipped just a little bit. I scored a hit. “Second favorite.”

“Mmm,” I pretended to think a moment. “Cesaro. Ahh yes. The Swiss Superman. Strips out of his clothes. Unstoppable with Sheamus. He also seems adorable on Twitter with his love of coffee.”

Sasha just guffawed again, covering her exquisite abs with her hands as she tried to not bend over with laughter. “Do you dare ask her for her third favorite Seth or will you continue to bruise your ego?”

Now challenged, Seth refused to back down. He leaned in close to me, placing both his hands on the arms of my chair. I tried not to greedily inhale his scent which was clean with hints of musk. Definitely a cologne I knew even if the name escaped me.

How could I think when he was looking at me with those deep, hooded eyes of his. Bedroom eyes. They gave me their full power and intensity, daring me to say something other than his name as my answer. It made me think what it would be like to look up into those eyes while I called out his name in another setting.

Mistake! My body was switched on between his proximity, those damn eyes of his, and his scent. There was an arrow of electricity arcing to my core as he looked at me so intently. I wanted desperately to cross my legs or leave this scene and escape to a private place where I could touch myself and think of him. He hadn’t touched me and yet I felt marked by him. Branded. His.

He stayed leaned in, refusing to increase the space between us. The tension amped up. His beakish nose seemed arrogantly tilted as he noticed my nipples hardening against the designer fabric of my top. He silently dared me to answer.

I couldn’t resist letting a smaller smile slip. “Braun Strowman.”

“Touché,” he said. His words a warm caress against my skin. And then he straightened up. Away from me. No! I felt stripped by him and now he was pulling away and taking that intense sexual aura with him

“I could keep going,” I said, determined to strike fully at his ego. “Mmm, AJ, Baron, ooh Kevin Owens. Now he’s a fantastic heel. The Usos. Oh definitely Neville is high up on a top ten list. That whole dominant king gimmick is great.” It was my turn for a smug smile to light up my face.

Hands on his hips, Seth perfected an annoyed pout as he nodded his head with my still growing list.

Sasha was still laughing. “Stop it please. I’m laughing so hard my cheeks hurt.”

She looked up at Seth. He had gone from a pouting look to a sad puppy look. It was a ruse of course but there was some truth visible that his exclusion from my list hurt.

“So no Seth Freakin’ Rollins on her list at all. Poor Sethie,” Sasha said. She got up and gave him a hug.

Jealousy coursed through me as her arms innocently curled around that neck of his and I turned away before the bastard caught the frustration on my face.

“You can stop calling me Sethie. The punishment for losing that bet ended a month ago Miss Banks.”

“And as for you Miss Hollywood Princess, you will find that Seth Freakin’ Rollins is ‘The Man’ in WWE, even if he isn’t on your list.”

He looked me over. “Unless there is another list you want to put me at the top of,” he said with a wink.

“Egomaniacs anonymous?,” I answered blandly, not resisting the witty repartee between us. In the movies this would be a “meet cute” but there was nothing cute about it. Certainly you could have a “meet lust” right?

“Our meetings wouldn’t be anonymous. We are egomaniacs. We want people to know what we do. We crave attention. Being desired. And anyway, we meet on Wednesday evenings if you want to come by. As a Hollywood A-lister I bet there is quite a lot of ego in you too. You can bring The Miz with you.”

I laughed at that. Okay, so we had better stop our jousting game of tit for tat.

“At least you didn’t mention Bálor on your list.” Seth looked at me a moment, all humor and smuggness gone from his face, his eyes serious and hard. “I’m serious. Stay away from him.”

There was a chill to his tone that I was not going to submit to. “You don’t own me, Kingslayer.”

Seth was about to answer when Bayley bounced over, all smiles. She slid a arm around Seth’s waist in a friendly pseudo hug. “What’s going on? I can hear Sasha laughing all the way in Catering.

I decided to fill her in. “I was just telling Seth Freakin’ Rollins here that he has no right to tell me to stay away from Finn Bálor. He doesn’t own me.”

A nervous chuckle escaped Bayley’s lips at the mention of Finn. She didn’t comment. Only tugged on Seth’s arm to leave. “It’s our turn on the ping pong table. We should go.”

Seth gave Bayley a smile that was protective. He hugged her closer and turned to walk away but of course he had to get in the last word. He turned his head to call out to me, “Next time we hang out I want you to ask me to name all my favorite Hollywood actresses. You may be surprised by my answers.”

Then he was gone. Those sexy thighs of his carrying him off to play ping pong and not torture me with his presence. I suddenly felt adrift.

“That was priceless,” Sasha said as she sank down into her chair again and flipped her vibrantly hued hair over her shoulder. She looked over at me. “Don’t worry about Seth. He’s just messing with you. It’s part of his charm.”

“Humph, I don’t know about charm but he definitely makes an interesting first impression.”

Sasha leaned in and looked at me conspiratorially. “Oh come on, I would have to be as blind as a ref to not see the sparks between you two.”

I dropped my gaze, unable to meet her inquisitive stare. “Oh, I am not in the market for a boyfriend right now. Things were pretty bad with my recent breakup.”

Sasha put her hand over mine. We had only met earlier in the day but she already felt like a confidant. “I know. It must be hard having the world know your business. Making assumptions.”

“It is. But its also hard to know who to trust, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. Being a woman in the company is hard. People make up all sorts of reasons for why you advanced up the ranks. None of it comforting.”

I nodded my head. I had been there too although in a different setting.

“Well you still need to shake off the ‘ring rust’ relationship wise and you are interested in my boy, Rollins.” The way Sasha said it, the words were more statement than question.

I bowed my head. Damn. It was that obvious. “I don’t know.”

Sasha however was not going to be denied. “Look, after the show we are all gonna go to a bar and relax, do some karaoke. Come with us and hang out. Seth will be there.”

I furrowed my brow. “I’m not looking for some long term relationship.”

“I’m not saying till death do you part girl. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun, even if its only for one night.” She did a little dance in her chair, excited by her matchmaking attempts.

Even though I didn’t know Sasha long, I felt like she was an old friend. The kind where you might not see them for years but when you do get together you fall immediately back into a comfortable rhythm. The kind that wanted to see you happy with no ulterior motive. “I feel its best that I’m just off men right now.”

“Okay. There are some hot girls on the roster who might be just the ticket.”

“I blushed. I didn’t mean like that.”

“Look, breakups are hard. Your ex was a ass for what he did to you and to be so public about it. But don’t give up on the human race because of it.”

She paused a beat. “Is it true you are taking a hiatus from acting for awhile?”

“Yeah. This is my last bit of contracted promotion and honestly I needed to get out of Hollywood for a bit.” Especially from the pitying glances of folks I met there.

Also, the possibility of running into my ex and having it filmed by some gossip rag terrified me. It wasn’t so much a hiatus as much as it was a self imposed exile.

Sasha was going to press though. Not out of nosiness but a desire to help and empathize. It was best to change the subject.

“So what’s the damage between Seth and Finn?”

Sasha sighed. “I don’t know all of it. They are both insanely talented and competitive. All I know is that their kayfabe feud became real.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It happens. WWE is a company but it’s also a family. You have to be family to allow someone to take control of your body in the ring. You have to have trust. When that is gone, well things get dangerous.”

“Have they ever physically fought like backstage, not in the ring?”

Sasha shook her head. The cascade of colorful waves settling around her shoulders perfectly. “Oh no. That’s a first class ticket to being fired around here. You can’t put your hands on someone. That would be throwing away your career.” She paused. “But enough about that. What does a girl have to do to get you to come out and sing karaoke?”

“Easy. Allow me to take down Seth Freakin’ Rollins in song form for calling me a Hollywood Princess.”

Sasha laughed. “Done.”

#seth rollins #seth rollins fanfic #seth rollins fan fiction #seth rollins imagine #wwe #wwe raw

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nomorelonelydays · 8 years ago

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Anonymous Frat AU thank you fic!!

I can guarantee you that as a tour guide, Sid knows everything their school’s history including all the obscure facts and always brings them up at random times.

“So if you’ll follow me right in here, this is our very own art gallery. We display both student and faculty works, with exhibits changing every two or so months. You’re free to look around or use the restrooms, and we’ll meet back in this spot in ten minutes.

Sid breathes a sigh once his tour group disperses. Working as a tour guide was great. He got to show off his school and attract potential students, and the paycheck he got every two weeks wasn’t bad at all. Still, it’s a little exhausting when he’s got morning practice, class, work, more class, then homework, plus making time to spend with his friends and Geno.

He picked up this shift to cover for a friend, and he already regrets it. This is just the first stop though, and Sid has another hour before he’s done for the day.

Sooner than later, the group reconvenes and they’re off. He stops by the Recreation Center, listing the different sports and activities students could participate in, all the while waving and giving polite hellos to friends that walk by.

After some particularly enthusiastic waving from some rookies on the soccer team, Sid herds his group towards another building, hopefully to find an empty classroom so Sid can explain the graduation requirements. Fortunately or unfortunately, there are no open classrooms so Sid guides his group outside to a small amphitheater just outside of the building.

“You can take a seat anywhere you’d like,” Sid gestures to the sloping stone benches as he positions himself at the bottom, “modeled after ancient amphitheaters, the acoustics make this a perfect place for small music performances, poetry readings, or in our case, this tour!”

A few parents chuckle at that, and Sid smiles brilliantly. The best part about tours with parents is that they always laugh at his jokes no matter how lame.

“To start off with the basics, each class is four credits, and students graduate with a minimum of 128 credits…” Sid goes through the basics of the academic requirements of the school, keeping an eye out for any questions from the group.

As he answers a question from a concerned parent, he realizes the growing noise level. It seems like some classes have let out. Sid happens to know that a few Rho Epsilon brothers are have Business Ethics at 1:00 and…

“Whoo! Yeah!” Olli cheers and waves his arms, as if Sid couldn’t hear him.

“Go Sid!” Horny pumps his first and hollers a few more times.

Sid rolls his eyes and waves up at his friends. “Thanks guys, I’ll see you later.”

Tanger laughs and herds the other two business majors away, “Best tour guide on campus!” he yells back.

“Well, I think it’s time to take a quick walk through the cafeteria, don’t you?” Again, he gathers the group into a manageable clump of people and begins the trek to across campus to the caf. He gets more than just a few pats on the back and enthusiastic waves.

“Mister popular, eh?” It’s one of the parents.

Sid smiles appreciatively at his friends, he’d say that they’re just playing it up because of the tour group, but they’re really not. Even alone, he could expect a few of the brothers to greet him. He really loves his friends. “Haha, I just know a few people around campus.”

As they approach the cafeteria entrance, he sees Nicklas leaving with a group of his own looking frazzled. “Good luck,” he murmurs with a friendly punch to Sidney’s bicep.

Sidney is confused as they approach the cafeteria, but realizes his mistake the second he steps inside.

He usually spends lunch on Tuesdays with Geno because it’s… Chicken Tender Tuesday.

Fuck. That means…

“Hey handsome!”

“Lookin’ good in that polo!”

Sid wills himself to ignore the table full of Rho Epsilon brothers, pointing out the various food options to his group as they parade through the crowded hall.

They’re almost in the clear when-

“Sid baby!” Geno just finished paying for a plate full of chicken tenders and is heading right for the tour group.

Sidney loves his boyfriend. He really does. Geno is so sweet and loving and a great pillow. But he just wants to get this tour done as quickly as possible, and that means no distractions. “Hey G,” he greets with a smile and starts to step past Geno, but the look on his boyfriend’s face at being brushed off is so heartbreaking that he can’t.

So he stops the group. Right in the middle of the cafeteria. The people behind him are confused at the sudden detour, but Geno beams in delight when Sid tilts his head up for their customary greeting. Geno places a wet kiss on his cheek before waving to the group. “Hi everyone, I’m Geno! Sid is best tour guide for best school.”

Sid groans internally. Now he remembers why he doesn’t give tours during Geno’s free periods.

“Lots of learning opportunity here and we also help charity around city, teach kids skating and hockey. You all should come here and join Rho Epsilon Nu!”

Sid flushes and pushes Geno out of the way, marching determinedly past him as the group trails like baby birds after their mama. Once outside, Sid turns back to the group, “I am not a part of any Greek organization nor do I endorse any specific fraternity or sorority here on campus. Now please follow me outside and our last stop will be one of the dorms.”

#anon fic #sidgeno #frat au #CUTE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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viralhottopics · 8 years ago

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The Bishop Eddie Long I knew

Atlanta (CNN)I was hanging out with Bishop Eddie Long one day when he decided to surprise me.

He invited me to watch him work out. Wearing Air Jordans and a black Yankees cap turned backward, he walked into a gym and grabbed two 50-pound barbells. As he curled them, he watched himself in a full-length mirror.

“It helps in the board meetings,” he said playfully, nodding at his bulging biceps. “In the old days the deacons ran everything, so the pastor had to come into the board meeting pretty buffed.”

I placed that scene at the start of my profile of Long for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. It was a story about a preacher on the cusp of greatness. It was 1999; Long’s New Birth Missionary Baptist Church would soon swell to 25,000 members, and he would become an internationally known televangelist who would meet with presidents and foreign leaders. This was a decade before his ministry was derailed by accusations that he pressured young men into sexual relationships.

But there was an odd encounter in the gym that I didn’t include in the story because it was too risqu.

“We’re not just a church, we’re an international corporation,” he said. “We’re not just a bumbling bunch of preachers who can’t talk and all we’re doing is baptizing babies. I deal with the White House. … You’ve got to put me on a different scale than the little black preacher sitting over there that’s supposed to be just getting by because the people are suffering.”

After the story appeared, everyone seemed to talk about that quote and the Bentley. Yet when I interviewed New Birth members for the story, it was clear no one knew about the charity or how Long had used the church’s money — nor did they care.

This is what I realized:

It’s easy to talk about unscrupulous pastors who get rich off of unsuspecting congregations and have absolute power. But we don’t talk enough about how some megachurches may be accomplices in that process. Members often don’t have a clue how their money is handled or how decisions are made.

I discovered this pattern at New Birth and plenty of other megachurches during 20 years of writing about religion. I marveled at how bright, educated people parked their brains — and their cars — in the church lot every Sunday morning. They wanted to be herded like sheep.

Long exploited that. He was a savvy operator when it came to amassing church power. His father, the Rev. Floyd Long, was known as the “cussing preacher,” a pugnacious man who built churches and left after clashing with the deacons — those members who traditionally ran Baptist churches.

Long wasn’t going anywhere when he arrived at New Birth in 1987. He conditioned people to not question his authority. Then he got rid of the church’s deacon board. He told the church he had received a revelation from God telling him a deacon board was an “ungodly governmental structure.”

Unquestioning submission to authority became a recurrent theme in his preaching and books. In “Gladiator,” Long warned parishioners not to get overly familiar with a pastor who is “God’s anointed” because “their insurrection kills their blessing.”

“A disrespectful or adversarial attitude causes otherwise good people to look for mistakes, weakness and flaws in their human leaders,” he wrote.

Why do people accept such autocratic leadership in a church? Part of it is fear, a woman whose church imploded after a scandal once told me.

“There is a suspension of common sense, a refusal to put two and two together,” said Sue Thompson, an author and professional speaker. “For a lot of people, [the pastor] is the man who gave them the keys to a whole new way of living. They can’t separate the good they received from the man himself, so they feel it would be a betrayal to turn on him now.”

But I think there’s something else going on besides fear, particularly when this type of autocratic leader emerges in the black church.

When I grew up in a black Baptist church in Baltimore, my congregation was poor but the pastor drove a Rolls Royce with a water fountain inside. I still remember how my aunt would talk with such pride about our pastor’s car.

In the black community, the pastor was often the only person who didn’t depend on white folks’ goodwill for their livelihood. He made his money through the support of his parishioners. Most parishioners felt poor and powerless, so they wanted to live vicariously through their pastor. They wanted that pastor to live large, have a huge ego, occupy the biggest house. I still remember “Rev. Ike,” a flamboyant black pastor who used to rule the pages of Jet magazine. He thrilled many poor blacks with his ostentatious lifestyle and declarations like “My garage runneth over.”

Yet a leader can exploit that type of need. Even when that leader is tarnished by one revelation after another, if he remains defiant in public and displays a little “I’m not perfect” humility, a congregation will stick with him to the bitter end. And nobody will be able to persuade them to leave that church.

I remember talking to a woman at New Birth who claimed there was nothing to the lawsuits by the four young men who claimed Long pressured them into sex. Maybe she was right. I then asked her if she would be willing to let her teenage son go on a field trip with Long.

She looked at me in horror.

Last I heard, she’s still a member of New Birth.

He was God’s scarred leader

Which brings us back to the encounter I had in the gym with Long years ago.

Whenever someone learns that I’ve written about Long, they ask me about his sexual orientation. Many assure me they already have an opinion. That’s what I encountered years ago when I went to the gym with Long. The woman who approached me wanted to share her conclusions on Long’s sexual proclivities.

I don’t know if Long was gay or how he died. Those kinds of questions, though, ignore another important point about Long and sex: The way he talked about homosexuality was destructive, whether or not he was closeted.

Lots of pastors preach homosexuality is a sin. Yet they and their churches still find a way to treat with respect those struggling with their sexual orientation. Like many churches, New Birth once offered ministries to “deliver” gay and lesbian people from their “sin.”

The Southern Poverty Law Center, which tracks hate groups, called Long “one of the most virulently homophobic black leaders in the religiously based anti-gay movement.” The center said Long’s message was: “Hate the sin and the sinner.”

The center quoted from an early sermon Long gave entitled “Back to the Future.”

“It’s the most unattractive thing I have ever seen, when I see women wearing uniforms that men would wear, and women fighting to get in the military,” Long shouted to his congregation. “The woman gets perverted to turn towards woman … and everybody knows it’s dangerous to enter an exit. …

“God says you deserve death!”

According to the center, Long said gays and lesbians who don’t change will go to hell — and that those who say they were born that way are calling God a liar.

“Homosexuality and lesbianism are spiritual abortions,” Long says. “Homosexuality is a manifestation of the fallen man.”

In his book, “I Don’t Want Delilah, I Need You,” Long blamed some women for turning men into homosexuals.

“In a society where little boys are exposed to grubby, cursing, dirty, cigarette-smoking, road-construction-worker women, is it any wonder they stop chasing women and start chasing men?”

In the same book, he wrote that “men can look attractive when they’re dirty.”

“We see sweating, dirty, hardworking men on television all the time and we say to one another, ‘There’s a macho guy.’ But women were not made from the earth. God made women to be lovely, gentle, clean and beautiful on the inside and outside. They are to be strong in character.”

He did more than use harmful words against gays and lesbians. He invoked the legacy of black America’s most revered leader to deny their equality.

One of the most notorious controversies Long faced came in 2004, when he led a march in Atlanta calling for a constitutional ban against gay marriage. He carried a torch lit at the gravesite of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. while accompanied by the civil rights leader’s daughter, the Rev. Bernice King.

The march was widely denounced by those who knew King, like Rep. John Lewis and the Rev. Joseph Lowery. They pointed out that one of King’s closest aides was Bayard Rustin, an openly gay organizer who King refused to abandon when people pressured him to do so.

Consider how many people Long could have helped had he moderated the language he used against gays, says Shayne Lee, a sociologist at the University of Houston and author of “Holy Mavericks: Evangelical Innovators and the Spiritual Marketplace.”

“Think of all the people who were suffering, who wanted to serve God, who wanted to tap into that spiritual power but were wrestling with their sexuality,” Lee told me after Long’s death. “Their angst is deepened by the very leaders they respect.”

Long was not always insensitive in the pulpit. He could be tender toward outsiders and achingly vulnerable. I remember watching him tell his congregation he thought about taking his life after he had experienced so much public condemnation. He once told me he thought of himself as “God’s scarred leader,” a man who knew rejection by his father and had been through divorce and career failure.

Yet it would be another failure on our part if we ignored the scars that Long inflicted on others. He wasn’t unique, and neither was New Birth. The religious landscape in America is filled with megachurches, prosperity theology and pastors who continually remind their cowed congregations to “touch not God’s anointed.”

What do I see when I look at the rise and fall of Bishop Eddie Long?

I see something that will happen again.