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hansols-yoda-boxers · 4 years ago

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Camp North Star - June 9th

AFAB!Reader x Im Nayeon

Word Count: 2466

Contents: fingering, oral (both reader receiving)

You played with the flower that you’d picked between your fingers as dusk fell. It was a little cooler this evening and most of the other coaches were relaxing in their cabins or hanging out in the rec rooms. A week and a half had passed and soon the rest of the counsellors would be arriving. On top of that, there were still a number of things to do with Wonwoo; trying out all the canoes, mapping out the canoe trip routes, practicing rescues and teaching safety to the counselors. Lots of things should have been on your mind.

And yet, the only thing that was really coming back to you as you sat on your beach towel, staring out over the water of the lake as the last few rays of sunlight left the sky was the idea of a hoe summer. Of all the things you needed to do that was taking up your mental energy. It felt like too far out to really be a rebound or trying to fill some hole that he left, even if you weren’t 100% emotionally healed. But having some fun probably wouldn’t hurt. It could definitely boost your confidence after so much questioning yourself when he left.

There was still the matter of where or how to start. As much as everyone was joking about it you were pretty sure no one thought it was totally serious. If you asked would anyone actually say yes to messing around? What if you asked a bunch of people and they all said no? That might be a bit too big of a hit to your self esteem.

“Hey, there you are!”

You turned at the sound of Nayeon’s voice. She was strolling over the sand towards you, carrying her own big, fluffy beach towel. “I saw you out here earlier, I didn’t know if you would still be here.”

“Oh, yeah,” you said. “I’m just… thinking I guess.”

Nayeon laid out her towel and sat down next to you. “What’s on your mind?”

You turned to look back out over the water.

“Ah, it’s nothing serious.” You tore the last few petals from the flower.

“You sure about that?” She asked softly.

You thought for a moment. “I’m… thinking about what you said.”

“Oh? About the hoe summer?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, that.”

“You know you don’t have to do anything like that, right? It was j-”

“No I-” You stopped as a grin tugged at her lips. “Don’t give me that look.”

She leaned in closer,” You do wanna do it.”

“I just think it might be fun, that’s all,” you muttered.

“Aww my cute little slut,” she squealed, pinching your cheek.

“You can’t call me that and act like it’s cute!” You cried, trying to bat her hand away. Nayeon giggled and cooed at you, grabbing at your cheeks as you started to laugh, trying to squirm out of her grasp before falling back onto the towel. She caught herself, a hand on either side of you before crashing down on top of you as your giggles started to subside.

A smile tugged at Nayeon’s lips again as she gazed down at you, not showing any sign of sitting up. “Did you figure out how you’re going to kick it off?”

“I- I wasn’t sure if anyone was taking the idea seriously,” you said, trying to read her expression.

“I think a few of them are. And you have time to get into that too,” she hummed. “You really just need to figure out where to start.” Her smile was curling into a smirk as you brain caught up to her proposition. You turned the idea over in your mind, liking it more and more by the second, not that she hadn’t already planted the seed.

“It was your idea,” You hummed, gaze shifting to her lips.

“It was my idea,” she leaned a little closer.

“Not that you get to call dibs.”

“Of course not,” her voice dropped to a quiet murmur as her lips came closer before she shifted. Her lips landed on your jaw instead and she started to kiss slowly along your neck. You let out a quiet sigh as your eyes fluttered shut and you enjoyed the feeling, your fingers threading into her hair. “But my offer stands.”

“I think I’ll take it,” your voice came out with a slight whine as she sucked at a sensitive spot on the base of your neck.

After a few moments her lips pulled away from your neck and she moved her face over yours, meeting your gaze as you opened your eyes. “I thought you might,” she hummed before her lips met yours.

Her kisses were slow and deep, tongue pressing into your mouth easily. One on her hands started to slip down your side, tracing the line of your body. Your hand in her hair kept her close against you as she kissed you. Slowly she shifted her body over you, her legs finding a place between yours.

“Can I play with you right here?” She purred against your lips as her fingertips drew along the waist of your shorts. “There’s no one else outside.”

You threw a glance up towards the camp buildings. An inky blackness had settled around you once the sun had slipped past the horizon. Only a sliver of moon in the sky above, in some moments blocked out by clouds, gave any light to the beach where the two of you were laying. Your eyes met hers again in the dark and you gave her a smile mixed with excitement and nerves that she returned sweetly before leaning in for another kiss.

Her hand slipped past the waist of your shorts, moving slowly. She trailed her fingers over your panties first, feeling the way you pressed your hips up to her touch. You let out little sighs against her lips at the light sensation, pulling her ever so slightly closer by her hair and letting your legs fall just a bit further open.

Her fingertips played with the edge of your panties before slipping into them and your breath hitched. Nayeon pulled back enough to gaze down at you as her fingers drew soothing circles into your skin.

“Are you alright?” She hummed.

“Of course,” you said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re tense,” she said.

A nervous grin tugged at your lips as you tried to relax a little. “Ah, I haven’t done anything at all since… Well it’s just been a while.”

Nayeon leaned in until her lips were grazing over yours. “Then let me handle everything tonight.”

Her lips met yours in another kiss. She kept the movements of her fingers slow, letting you get used to the feeling of someone else touching you again. Little by little you let yourself relax, feeling her fingers slip lower and lower slowly. Your fingers curled more tightly into Nayeon’s hair, kissing her more deeply.

Your breath hitched as her fingers found your clit. She held them still for a moment, focusing on kissing you before moving them in slow circles. Light sighs left your lips, no louder than the sounds of bullfrogs and crickets around you, but Nayeon still seemed to hear.

You felt the smile tug at her lips as her fingers found a slow rhythm. Tendrils of pleasure started to curl through you, sparking from her slow ministrations on your sensitive bud. You pressed your hips up subtly into her hand, wanting more as you relaxed into her touch and gave yourself over to the pleasure.

“Does that feel good?” Her voice was already laced with surety.

“Of course,” you hummed.

Her lips fell away from yours, finding your neck instead. She started to leave messy kisses along your skin as her hand trailed lower. Your hips pressed into her hand, growing eager for more and she smiled against your skin as she pressed one finger inside you slowly.

A quiet moan fell from your lips as you let your eyes flutter open. Still heavily lidded but you could take in the stars twinkling above you in the inky sky. A cool breeze blew across your skin, finding its way under your back as you arched away from the towel. Nayeon’s fingers curled and thrust into you at a steady pace that quickly had the pleasure building in your core.

“You’re good at this,” you breathed quietly.

Her lips trailed closer to your ear. “You say that like it’s a surprise.”

A laugh bubbled off your lips, morphing itself into a moan as she picked up her pace just a bit.

“It shouldn’t be,” you moaned. “But fuck, this feels good.”

“I’m setting the standard high.” She hummed, slowly pressing a second finger into your core and drawing a moan from your lips. “I have to feel bad for whoever comes next.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her words, enjoying yourself far too much to think about who the next would even be. The pleasure was building steadily inside you as she moved her fingers faster, but easily finding just the spot that made you clench around her fingers and had your back arching subtly off the towel.

Her lips left kisses and light love bites on the sensitive parts of your neck and along your collarbone. Not enough pressure to mark but enough to draw quiet moans from your lips. You let her hand slip down her shoulder, scratching slightly at her skin as your gaze drifted between her and the twinkling sky above.

“Whoever’s next, you should give them some pointers,” you breathed, neediness evident in your voice as your body crept closer to it’s edge. Your hips were following the movement of her fingers, trying to draw more sensation from them as she teased the skin on your collarbone with her lips.

“Maybe,” she hummed. “But why don’t I set the bar even higher?”

You met her gaze, your own hazy as you processed what she was saying. The loss of her fingers inside you interrupted that thought and a whine came from your lips as she pulled her hand from your panties. You opened your mouth to protest but she shoved her wet fingers inside before you could.

“Good,” she hummed, a smirk pulled at her lips as you ran your tongue over her fingers. “Get them nice and clean. I have a different idea for how to finish this.”

You quirked an eyebrow at her as you sucked at her fingers. “It’s dark out here,” she said. “And everyone is inside. So why don’t we get just a little more risque?”

“What are you thinking?” you asked as she pulled her fingers from your mouth. She didn’t give you an immediate answer, instead her lips came to your neck, kissing as low as your shirt would allow before she shifted down the towel and curled her fingers into the waist of your shorts.

“Oh!” you exclaimed before slapping a hand over your mouth and searching behind you, looking through the darkness to the camp buildings. Even Nayeon’s fingers froze in place, both of you watching. But when no movement happened and no one came towards the beach you both relaxed.

Her fingers tugged at your shorts and after another quick glance at the camp you refocused your attention on her, lifting your hips and allowing her to pull off your shorts and panties. She discarded them on the towel before sliding her hands up your legs to your thighs and gently pressing them open.

“Now just sit back and enjoy,” she purred, settling between your legs. “And comes to terms with the fact that no one else is going to make you feel quite as good all summer.”

“I’ll try an-” your response fell off into a moan as she ran her tongue over your clit. Your hand slid into her hair again as she moved her tongue, trying different motions over your clit and watching each of your reactions.

Her skilled movements built the tension in your core much faster than her fingers could, the feeling heavenly. Your gaze drifted down to meet hers and you caught the smirk, evident in her gaze alone. Her fingertips curled into your thighs as she started to repeat the movements that drew the strongest reaction from you.

“Oh fuck,” your voice had climbed higher and far more breathy as the coil in your core curled tighter and tighter from the ministrations of her tongue. You bit down hard on your lower lip to keep your moans from growing too loud but the more you succumbed to pleasure the less you cared.

Nayeon pressed in closer, scratching her nails down your outer thighs lightly and adding to the sensation. Your back arched off the towel again as your hips ground against her face as much as she would allow.

The moans falling off your lips were growing a bit louder with each passing moment but the pleasure wound tightly inside of you was the only thing on your mind as you curled your fingers tightly into Nayeon’s hair while she wrapped her lips around your clit, moaning against you while sucking it roughly.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Do that again. Fuck that feels good.”

Nayeon hummed, her tongue lapping over your clit in quick movements, pressing closer between your legs as they started to press in around her head. Your eyes drifted up to the stars above, a cool breeze tickling the hot skin of your face as you moaned.

Her lips wrapped around your clit again and she sucked harshly. Your eyes rolled back, blackness taking the place of the stars as you came, back arching off the ground and holding Nayeon’s head between your thighs. The sensation crashed over you in a wave that stole your breath and left you panting as the rush of pleasure washed through your body, leaving you trembling in its wake.

Nayeon pulled away from your core as you caught your breath, only for you to grab at her and pull her in for a kiss. She accepted, grinning against your lips but sounds of laughter in the distance interrupted you.

You both looked over at the rec hall, lights shutting off as a group of coaches left the building.

“It’s getting late,” Nayeon hummed, sitting up. She handed you your panties and shorts and you took them, frowning at her.

“Wait, but I didn’t- you-”

“I guess,” she hummed, grabbing her towel and getting to her feet. You scrambled after her. “You owe me one.” She threw you a smirk you could just make out in the dark. “You can return the favour later.”

A smile cracked across your face. “I’m looking forward to it.”

#camp north star au #cns au #twice imagines #twice smut #nayeon imagines #nayeon smut #im nayeon imagines #im nayeon smut #let the hoe summer begin hehe

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kyidyl · 4 years ago

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Kyidyl Does Archaeology - Part 2

Ok, part 1 can be found in my KyidylCL tag.

Prep Work!

Digging up something as large as an entire settlement involves a lot of prep work. You can’t just like....start digging. Archaeologists view prep work the same way that doctors view tests - do as many as you think are necessary and gather as much data as you can *before* you make the first cut so that you inflict as little harm and destruction as possible. Archs only have one shot at getting it right because after we dig it’s destroyed. That’s it, it’ll never be in the ground the same way ever again. Archaeology is also time intensive, painstaking work so you want to get the most you can out of your digging. There are tons of ways to do prep work for a site - test pits, ground penetrating radar, resistivity tests (run a current through the ground and if it hits something different than dirt it tells you that.), metal detectors, drone mapping, satellite images, historical research, etc. You have to determine where to dig and what method you’ll use, because the size of things you’ll dig up ranges from easily visible artefacts to near microscopic seeds and - in the case of biological remains - sometimes actual microscopic and chemical analysis of the soil itself.

Further, if you’re the first people to formally dig a site you are going to need to establish the stratigraphy. This is the order of layers, how old they are, and what’s in them. That way it can serve as a guide to anyone who comes and digs the site after you. This is the biggest reason why we record things like a Munsell (soil color.). This is why we argue over the color of dirt because if the color of the dirt changes then you’re either in a feature (YAY!!) aka something a human did, or you’re in a new layer and that means a new time period. This is how we keep track of where stuff is located and how old it is. IE, finding plastic like 2ft down (~.75m for my non-American followers.) is a *problem*. This is also why a lot of archs have some side knowledge and training in geology and soil deposition. It’s really important for determining the order of events.

Back to my site specifically. We don’t have any money so all the fancy ground penetrating stuff was out, and we went with shovel tests. So step 1 was making a grid, and we do this with GPS coords. Basically you start somewhere you know the coords for and then you draw lines every however many yards. In our case it’s 50 feet on the X-axis and 25 ft on the Y axis. Where these lines meet, we dig small holes. This happened at this site in June 2018, while I was still in the UK and not there to help with it (TBH, lucky me. Digging test pits in June isn’t exactly my idea of fun.). When I got back to the states I joined up with them and one of the first things I did was sort, catalogue, and record all of the finds. The arch society has basically zero digitization so I started doing that with these test pit finds.

Normally, the numbers of artefacts isn’t *as* important because it doesn’t include features, or tell you what kinds of artefacts, or any of that. But in this case it actually was important because the site is so disturbed. We’re not going to find as many features (like post holes, fire pits, etc. I’ll explain those more when I do the post about the pits.), so we won’t be able to tell the layout of the settlement as well. But because farming doesn’t move the artefacts far away from where they were buried - it just uncovers them and brings them to the surface - if we superimpose the artefacts onto a map we can visualize where things might have been. Basically, farming moves things out of place in *time* but not in *space*.

So I set about doing this. I basically just inserted myself into this planning process and took it over. I *was* going to use GPS, but I didn’t have enough coords nor did I know at the time how far apart the grid lines were. Instead, I superimposed the grid over a newer sattelite image of the site from google. Then I imported it into Procreate and I started adding colors. Each artefact type is a different color, and so I wrote the number of each artefact in its color. And that looks like this:

Which for me was still difficult to visualize, so I used the same colors but removed the grid and used darker dots depending on how many of each thing we found. That was a lot more digestible and looks like this:

NOW you can see where things are. I made some recommendations for pit locations based on this work and the site director used that, in combination with the recommendations of the people who’d dug the test pits, to decide where to dig. This is a map of my informal guesses for how the settlement might have been laid out:

Fun fact, and I didn’t know this at the time I made the maps, but you see where I’ve written “main thoroughfare?” there on the right? Yeah, that’s almost exactly where the civil war era trench was based on my later research. So while here I’ve kind of marked the intense bit off to the left of that as the main occupation, it’s likely that the civil war trench cut right through the main occupation and ruined the archaeology there. Weirdly, honestly, because D900 is right in the middle of that and it’s been our most interesting pit so far.

But you’ll have to wait for the next post to find out about that.

#archaeology #kyidylCL

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novelconcepts · 4 years ago

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Greetings Novel. I was wondering, would you ever consider writing a vampire and/or werewolf Damie version? There’s already such a strong emotional connection whenever those stories are told, and I think you would just enhance that because you have such a knack for relaying Dani and Jamie’s thoughts and feelings. Anyway, just an idea because I love those tales and you’re absolutely one of my favorite authors. 😊

It’s the quiet she likes best, she thinks. The quiet, the dark, the simplicity. No one asks anything of her anymore. No one makes demands. She belongs to no one at all these days, for the first time since she can remember.

Except the Lady. She’ll always belong to her.

But there’s a give to these things as well as a take, and Dani Clayton sometimes thinks it’s worth it. Worth it, not to have to sit at dinner parties and elegant balls. Worth it, not to have to titter and engage in small talk. Worth it, not to have to wear the ring.

Worth it, to leave him behind.

And if it’s all shadow, all lonely, all deep-rooted ache she can never seem to soothe, that’s fine enough. She belongs to no one. No one except the Lady, and the Lady asks so little of her. Only to carry the curse--the disease--the hunger. Only to feed the shade coiled around the remnants of her old self. Only to wake. To walk. To drink.

It’s dramatic, she thinks, but a little theater never hurt anyone. She makes sure of that much. It’s sustainable, so long as she keeps walking, walking, walking in the quiet. The dark. The simplicity.

It’s sustainable, until she reaches the village.

***

The pub is nearly empty. Too late, or too cold, or too poor an economic situation for carousing to be the game--Dani doesn’t much care which is the real reason. She likes the emptiness of the tables, chairs pushed patiently into place, every surface as clean as it is old. She likes the warm lighting, the oak bar, the smooth wooden floorboards under her boots.

The mirror, she does not care for, turning her head swiftly away so as not to see the void where a young woman ought to stand. This part, she has never grown used to. This part, even after carrying the Lady--the Lady’s curse, more like, to hunger and need and wallow in lonely anger--for decades. She barely remembers, now, what that woman looks like. Blonde hair. Pale skin. Paler now than it had been in life, but only by so much--her mother had held such strong opinions as to what women should do with their time, and lounging in the sun had never been part of the pageant. Polite society, Danielle, has no use for a lady like that.

Like what? she’d always wondered, never quite daring to ask. Adventurous? Athletic? Interesting?

No matter. The past is long, long dead--deader even than she could imagine back then, dreaming of being someone else. Someone free. All of them are gone now: her mother, with her antiquated ideas; her mother’s friends, who peered down their noses at Dani and smiled without heart; even Edmund. Even him.

Long dead, now. Old age, or unrepentant illness, or freak accident--she doesn’t know. She wasn't there.

The woman she was is dead, too, Danielle Clayton buried in a grave she’d only hauled herself back out of the next night. The Lady had whispered in her ear, granted unexpected strength, unexpected fury. Danielle went in. Dani came back out again. No one ever needs to remember.

And no one ever has. She’s been walking for--fifty years, now? More, maybe. The date on the newspaper crumpled on one table reads June 24, 1987. More than fifty years gone in a blink, and Dani is still here. Washed clean, maybe, of all the bits that had once made up a patient, kind, hopeful young teacher. But here all the same.

She settles at the table, drawing a book from her bag. The night is still young, the hunger not yet pricking at her patience. It’s good to start smooth, start simple, to remind the Lady that the curse might have its needs, but it is Dani who is still in control. Dani, who, despite making a decision unwary of its consequences so long ago, has managed to hang on this long.

Still here. Still walking. Still--

“Get you something?”

Her head snaps up, her body primed to run. An old instinct. As if anyone could touch her without consent now.

The woman watching her looks curious, but only faintly so, as if by old habit. Her hair is tied off her face with a bandana, her sleeves cuffed at the elbows. There is a loveliness about her Dani has always fostered a weakness for--a loveliness that matches, in a less primal way, that of the Lady who had come to her in that dream so long ago. Walk with me. Walk with me, and you’ll never be alone again.

She shakes her head, smiles. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Right,” says the woman slowly. “Only, this isn’t a library. Don’t order something, Tom’ll have me throw you out.”

She speaks like she doesn’t much care one way or another, but Dani has been around long enough to read between the lines of a person. The words are callous, but the inflection is specific--the emphasis placed not on throw you out as a threat, but Tom’ll have me. An apology before an offense. The woman glances toward the window, aware of the wind battering the glass, her expression calmly letting Dani know I’d rather not have to.

“I’ll have whatever’s your favorite,” Dani says. Eyebrows raise, the woman’s head tilting.

“Mine?”

“Sure.” Dani smiles, reaches across, touches the woman’s hand lightly where it rests on the table. It’s easier, influencing human minds through touch. She doesn’t like doing it at all, if she can help it--there’s a film over the idea, a nasty oily sense of wrong--but sometimes it can’t be helped. People who look at her the way this woman is looking tend to become a problem.

People who smile at her the way this woman is beginning to smile, lips quirking up at the corners like she doesn’t quite mean to, tend to become a danger to themselves and others.

Mostly themselves.

The woman disappears briefly behind the bar; Dani, aware of the mirror, doesn’t watch her go. Her eyes remain on her book, her fingers tracing mindless sigils into the table until a glass is set gently down before her. A thin amber ale of some kind--Dani feels no curiosity, no interest at all. She smiles.

“Thank you.”

“Sure,” the woman says. Hesitates, as though wanting to say more. Shakes her head. The fog--the sense of forget Dani brings in her wake--is already sinking its claws into this woman, already wiping Dani away. Good. It’s best when they don’t see her, don’t take an interest, don’t remember when she’s gone.

Especially women who smile like this one.

She leaves the drink untouched, putting away two chapters in easy silence. Money, she drops on the table. No one looks up as she strides back out into the dark.

Tonight’s meal will be found elsewhere.

***

The story should end here, she knows--a person like Dani is only still here because she’s long-since learned the art of keep moving. The Lady commands it. The Lady is impatient to walk.

The hunger, pushing in along her ribs, pulsing under her wrists, is impatient for more.

She ought to leave the little village be. There’s not much here to begin with, and it’s dangerous to feed in places where one single thread can be followed to each house in turn. Dani’s careful not to hurt where she doesn’t have to, not to kill ever--a little time, a little tender care, is all it takes to prevent it. She hasn’t left a body behind in almost thirty years. There’s really no excuse for making a kill where one could simply leave a vacant few minutes of memory, she thinks.

Not that humans recognize the kindness for what it is. Not that she can blame them for their fear. She was afraid once, too--waiting, always, for the Lady to become Beast, for her to rise up over Dani’s good sense and turn her into something hateful. Dying, for Dani, hadn’t been the hard part. The idea of becoming something she isn’t...

But it’s been years and years, and she is still here. Still Dani. Lonely, and quiet, and living the simplest life she can manage, given the circumstances.

And back at this same pub again.

Shouldn’t, she thinks--knows, though she’s pushing the door open and striding back to that same table again. Out comes the book. Her eyes remain resolutely clear of the bar, of the mirror, of any patrons who might give her trouble.

“Back again?”

The woman, this time in a t-shirt, her curls loose around her face. Same woman. Same smile. Same problem.

Dani really knows better.

“Noticed you didn’t touch the ale,” the woman points out, leaning her hip against the table. There’s a quiet confidence to the way she holds herself, a constrained line of motion that says she’s in no hurry. Dani watches her, smiling a little, and thinks, Shouldn’t be here.

“No, I,” she begins to reply. Her smile fades to a frown. “Wait. Noticed.”

“Yeah,” the woman says. “And you overpaid. Drinks much pricier in America, then?”

Dani wouldn’t know. Dani hasn’t set foot in America since the sixties.

“I guess,” she says, still puzzled. This woman shouldn’t be speaking of last night as though it was--well. Only last night. This woman shouldn’t remember Dani at all. The Lady’s influence generally makes certain of that.

All these years, it’s never failed her.

That is the idea.

“Something darker tonight, maybe?” the woman goes on, watching Dani with shrewd eyes. “A stout?”

“Okay,” Dani agrees, knowing full well she won’t touch it when the drink comes, and finding herself quite unable to say no. Quite unable to do what she should, which is to slip out before the woman can return to this table and smile at her again.

Try harder, she tells herself, when the glass is standing proudly beside her book, laid face-down on the table. Try harder to do it. Because, the thing is, if this woman remembers her--if this woman keeps remembering her--she’s bound to find herself on the other side of a beheading. A torch. A particularly sharp slat of wood.

Her hand brushes the woman’s again, her fingers tingling. The skin is soft, the nails short; when she turns the woman’s hand over in her own, she finds callouses on the pads of her fingers.

“Bold,” the woman says, amused--but there’s a flare of something more in her eyes, matching her smile too well. Dani swallows. Presses forward with her own mind, gently caressing the woman’s intentions. Forget me, she wills. I was never here.

“Enjoy,” the woman says, the clear focus in her eyes drifting to hazy confusion.

Dani watches her go, her chest tight with an unfamiliar sensation--something like hunger, and yet...

No one, she thinks, has ever remembered her when she’d wanted them to forget. No one since the Lady’s curse. Even Edmund, who had dreamed of a big wedding, a big house, a big family since they were children, had forgotten her, in the end. Easily. She’d willed it, and walked away, and he had forgotten she’d ever climbed out of that grave.

This woman, whose name is not Dani’s to know, whose life is not Dani’s to touch, remembered.

Even as she’s leaving, even as she’s slipping out into the dark to find someone to dull the Lady’s hunger, Dani knows she’ll be back again. A terrible idea. A terrible test of the universe’s machinations. And yet.

She can’t erase the curiosity, bent behind a shop with a young woman’s wrist pulsing warm against her lips. She can’t erase the way the woman had smiled at her with knowing amusement, as her teeth sharpen and the Lady takes what she needs. She can’t forget, as copper runs sweet across her tongue, and the girl sitting on the pavement heaves a languid sigh beneath her.

It’s an awful idea. Truly, the worst.

She has to know.

***

“Starting to think you don’t actually drink.”

The woman actually sits this time, sprawling into the chair across from Dani as though belonging there all along. Dani bites down on a smile.

“Why else would I come to a place like this?”

“The company?” the woman suggests, and though her tone is idle, her smile scorches. Dani shakes her head, laughing.

She can’t remember the last time she laughed.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” she confides. The woman raises her eyebrows.

“Where are you supposed to be?”

Alone, Dani thinks. Forgotten, Dani thinks. That was the deal, Dani thinks, the price of a young woman’s freedom. Wake. Walk. Feed. There has never needed to be anything else.

“Not here,” she settles on saying--a truth without teeth. The woman nods slowly, leaning across the table, her hand sliding over pocked wood to brush Dani’s wrist.

“Doesn’t seem to be stopping you. Twice is an accident. Three is a habit.”

She isn’t wrong. Two people in this village bear Dani’s mark now, the inner slope of their wrists stained with new scars they won’t be able to explain. She’ll have to drink from a third tonight, and the odds of getting out unscathed--even with the fog clearing her from their minds the minute she walks away--shrink yet again. This isn’t a good idea.

But this woman, impossibly, illogically, remembers her. Forgot, maybe, briefly--in the time it took Dani to pay and leave--and then the memory just...sprang back into place. Dani has made mistakes with women before, has let their smiles grace her heart in ways she was never meant to allow, but it’s never resulted in this.

“I’m Jamie,” the woman says, and Dani almost recoils--almost says, Don’t tell me that, don’t put that on me, you’re not supposed to remember--but I won’t be able to forget.

“Dani,” she says instead, and feels the Lady pulse deep in the place she’s always imagined her soul to rest. The Lady, a curse--a gift--a structure around which she’s built her second chance at life. The Lady, who looks upon Jamie now and sends a powerful swell of hunger up through Dani’s bones.

Take her. Take her. She wants it, look at her.

Jamie does, Dani senses, want something. Something that has no need for Dani’s influence, no requirement for Dani pulling the strings. Jamie wants something from her--something honest, something human--and the very idea of it spikes fresh terror like she hasn’t felt in decades.

“This is a bad idea,” she says in a low voice. “It’s dangerous.”

Jamie, fingers tracing Dani’s palm, searching out her lifeline, shrugs. “Always is. Doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it.”

***

There’s a place upstairs, a little flat. Jamie leads the way as though she’s done this a hundred times, taking Dani’s hand with an almost nonchalant gesture.

“If you let me in,” Dani says, “this gets so much more complicated.”

“I’ll take the chance,” Jamie says. She should be laughing as she says it, a flirtatious bit of banter designed to delight, but she isn’t. She’s looking at Dani, her free hand turning the key, like she already understands.

“I’m not,” Dani says. Stops. Sighs. “I’m not what you’re--what you think I--”

“Start here,” Jamie says, and pushes open the door. An invitation without words, one Dani can’t resist leaning into. She hasn’t let herself accept an invitation like this in so long.

Take her, the Lady breathes. Take her, bring her to me. Dani squeezes her hands into fists, the familiar rage of hunger grinding against this new, too-human variant. Jamie is closing the door, kicking off her shoes, smiling.

The smile is what really breaks her. The smile, which is a little teasing, a little tempting, but mostly just real.

She’s kissing Jamie before she can stop herself, and even as she’s doing it, there is something too warm about it. Something too good about the way Jamie catches her, hands digging into Dani’s hair, lips parting when Dani brushes against her with the tip of her tongue. For all the skin she’s tasted, all the times she’s kissed and licked and bitten, this is different. This is--

This has no path. No road to follow to the end. No lie baked into the heart of it. Every woman she’s ever led into the dark, every time she’s ever drank deep and pulled back before the Lady can win back control, seems to fall away in comparison to how desperately she’s kissing Jamie. This person she barely knows. This woman who slips a hand around her hip like an anchor. This woman whose kiss is confident, who is smiling into her, who leans back breathlessly and says, “You’re sure about this?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Dani breathes, kissing her again. Jamie makes a soft groaning sound, tilting her head away.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Dani says, unable to stop herself from kissing around every word, “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Shouldn’t, or don’t want to be?” Jamie is backing her against the wall, and Dani can hear her heartbeat, can’t seem to erase the dizzy scent of life pouring off of her in waves. Blood, yes, thrumming beneath her skin, but also breath, and desire, and something giddy and nameless that can only be joy.

Such a human thing, joy. Why, then, does Dani feel it pressing in on her, too?

“Hey.” Jamie has stopped kissing her, is simply holding her face gently between her hands. Her thumbs have found Dani’s cheekbones, are pressing so lightly, Dani closes her eyes to keep from crumbling.

“Hey.”

“If you really don’t feel good about this, we don’t have to. We can, I dunno. Talk. Or not. Whatever you want.”

Dani breathes slowly, all the little measures of human in a body that is not. She likes breathing, she’s found. Likes willing her heart to beat. Likes feeling warm, likes feeling as though any sunrise might be welcome, someday. Someday, when all of this fades.

Like it ever can. Like the Lady would ever allow it. That wasn’t the deal.

“There are things,” she says hollowly, “you don’t know.”

“All the things,” Jamie agrees comfortably. “Everything except your name and what you don’t like to drink.”

Despite herself, Dani laughs again. She leans forward until her forehead presses Jamie’s, until Jamie’s breath coasting lightly across her lips is the only thing she can feel.

The only thing outside of the beating, raging, desperate hunger.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” she says. “I--sometimes even I think I’m crazy.” And, really, might she be? Might this all be some delusion, some shattering of sense that has led her to believe there will be no woman waiting for her in the mirror? Or, worse, a delusion leading her to believe she is here--that she is still Dani, despite it all?

“Tell me anyway,” Jamie says, and Dani kisses her again. Kisses the edges of her lips, the curve of her jaw, the length of her neck. Kisses the place where the pulse beats like fists against a casket lid, her lips parting, her tongue flat against the salt of Jamie’s skin. She hears Jamie draw a sharp breath, one hand tight in her hair, hears Jamie say, “Yes” in a tone Dani has to fight to deny.

She doesn’t mean it. She can’t mean it. She doesn’t know.

And Dani, though the Lady roars with that unrelenting need, can’t take. Not like this. Not here. This woman remembers her. This woman will remember tomorrow, even if Dani slips out of her bed, even if Dani never shows her face again. She’ll remember. It will, somehow, unfairly, haunt the rest of her life.

“It’s a long story,” she says, face still buried in Jamie’s neck. Her hips are twitching against Jamie’s thigh, her hands sliding under Jamie’s shirt. “A long, crazy story.”

“I have time,” Jamie says. Dani lifts her head. Smiles.

It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s meant to be quiet. Dark. Simple.

Lonely.

That was the deal.

“The teacher,” she says quietly, closing her eyes as she scrounges for the beginning for the first time in over fifty years, “was, by choice, a solitary young woman...”

Jamie listens.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #damie #been curious to see what a vampire take would look like for a while #vampires being so rooted in possession and lack of consent. this was an interesting experiment #thank you for the prompt!

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tsuki-chibi · 4 years ago

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Ladynoir July Day 6 - Clown

This story is part 5 of a series: a sequel to my Marinette March, Adrinette April, Marichat May, and Ladrien June stories; I highly recommend reading those first.

You can also read this story on AO3: Hurricane

---

Adrien was tired, but this time sleep didn’t come easily to him when he laid down in the guest room bed. He laid down in the bed but found he couldn’t get comfortable. After he had rolled over for about the tenth time, Trixx let out an exasperated sigh. The kwami had been curled up on Adrien’s pillow, but now flew up into the air so that he could hover over Adrien’s face.

“What’s going on?” Trixx asked simply.

“I don’t know,” Adrien said. “Every time I close my eyes, my head starts spinning about everything that we have to do. And when I think about my parents…” He trailed off, his stomach churning.

Life with Gabriel hadn’t been great, but it hadn’t been too terrible either – or at least, it hadn’t been if you ignored the whole Hawkmoth side of things. What would life be like with Émilie Agreste? At one point, Adrien would’ve said that it was going to be wonderful. He’d have said that life with his mother would be way better than with his father.

But now?

He just didn’t know anymore. It felt like he had been looking at his mother with rose-colored glasses this whole time. Now that those glasses had been pulled off, Adrien didn’t know if he liked what he was seeing. Émilie wasn’t the innocent victim that he’d always assumed she was… she had been that way because she had played around with magic beyond her understanding.

How had he not noticed? He didn’t know if Gabriel had been using the Butterfly miraculous at that time, but Émilie must have been using the Peacock miraculous heavily for her to have suffered its effects – Nathalie had been using the Peacock miraculous sporadically for several months now and she was okay. How could he have missed that?

Just like he had missed out on his father being Hawkmoth for so long…

He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling even sicker than before. Did Émilie approve of what Hawkmoth had done? Surely by now, Nathalie would have filled her in on everything. Adrien was kind of scared to know what the answer to that question would be. Scared that the answer might be yes.

Were his parents the kind of people who didn’t care about anyone else as long as they got what they wanted?

Adrien couldn’t fathom being that way. Being Chat Noir was exhausting but helping out and protecting the people of Paris also brought him so much joy. He couldn’t imagine using the Black Cat miraculous to hurt people – and Hawkmoth was hurting people. Just as he’d said to Tortue and Coccinelle, the psychological damage of what Hawkmoth did didn’t disappear with Ladybug’s magic.

Trixx was still hovering in front of him, watching him quietly. Waiting for Adrien to figure everything out in his own heard. Adrien liked that about him. Plagg could be so impatient, but Trixx was just the opposite. Then again, he supposed that made sense: being mischievous often required a sense of patience.

“I feel like a clown. I feel stupid,” Adrien said finally. “I feel… like an ostrich that stuck its head in the sand for a long time. I didn’t mean to, but I feel like I should have been paying closer attention.”

“You’re just a kid, Adrien,” Trixx said, very gently. “You shouldn’t be blamed for thinking that your parents are decent people.”

“But that’s just it. I’m not a kid anymore. I have a miraculous now, and it’s my responsibility to be paying attention to everything,” Adrien said. He hadn’t felt like a kid for a very long time now.

Trixx sighed. “Still, Plagg lived in that same house with you and he didn’t notice either, right? You don’t blame him.”

“Well, no. Plagg’s primary concern has always been cheese,” Adrien said with a tiny smile. “But also, Plagg didn’t know either of my parents before this happened. He’s only ever known my dad while Hawkmoth was around.”

“There was still potential for him to notice something,” Trixx pointed out. “Your father hid it from you, just like you hid your miraculous from him.”

“I guess that’s true.” Adrien frowned. “Though he did figure it out in the end.”

“We’ll chalk that up to years of experience,” said Trixx. “The point is you were also preoccupied with hiding your own secrets. Besides, would you criticize Ladybug if her father had turned out to be Hawkmoth? Would you say that she should’ve noticed earlier?”

“No, of course not,” Adrien said.

Trixx looked at him triumphantly. “There you go, then. If you wouldn’t blame her, you can’t blame yourself.”

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #trixx #emilie agreste #ladynoirjuly2021 #poor adrien #hurricane #storm verse

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ffangirlingsince2001 · 5 years ago

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End of the Tunnel: I

Description: It’s almost been a year since Freed Weasley was lost to the Battle of Hogwarts, and for George Weasley it might as well be an eternity. He is lost in the dark, no color to be found. Until suddenly there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: (future as well as present) suicidal thoughts, smut, angst, fluff, depression, attempted SUICIDE, self harm, torture, mentions of torture

A/N: So, this is pretty dark, just FYI. There will be happy moments but a lot of the time it will get pretty dark. Trigger warning applies now, just be forewarned. Please enjoy though if you are willing to suffer through the tragedy to get to the light at the end of the tunnel.

MASTERLIST

***

The world ended on May 2, 1998.

At least it did for George Weasley.

He was not dead, of course. His mother and father still loved him. Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron, and Ginny all still hugged him. His business was doing splendid, far better than it ever had before the war, Ron was even helping him run it. And yet, the world felt as if it no longer turned because Fred was gone and that was all that really mattered.

May 2 had been awful, but the funeral was even worse. Friends, family, and strangers wanting nothing more than to hug him or shake his hand when all he wanted to do was destroy everything that touched him. He hadn’t shed any tears that day. He figured he was all out, but now that he considered it, he was sure he had just grown numb.

He had never had a problem smiling before, and even in the winter he was constantly warm, denying every coat his mother sent his way. And now, he was sure he had forgotten how to smile and even in the hottest part of July he wore a sweater, fighting off the chills that ran along his spine.

His mother had pleaded with him to go to therapy, to talk to someone about the tragedy but he had refused. There was nothing a therapist could tell him that he didn’t already know.

He knew he was depressed; he knew Fred was never coming back, and he knew he needed to move forward. He had no interest in reliving the moments when he had witnessed the cold lifeless body of his twin lying on the floor of the school they had once attended. All he wanted to do was the lock the door to his new flat and never come out. He had considered returning to his home above the shop but every time he thought of the memories he had built there his stomach churned and before he knew it he was emptying the contents of his stomach into the nearest sink. So, he gave it to Ron and Hermione and bought himself a smaller one.

He was laying in the bed that occupied most of the studio flat, thinking about the day he moved in as he struggled to get up. The walls were grey, and the bedsheets were white. He hadn’t bothered to buy curtains, so the dingy light of the cloudy morning was highlighting the dust he had let build up over the months. No pictures hung on the walls; no Knick knacks sat on the shelves. Dishes were piling up from the last spout of motivation, not that he ate a whole lot these days. Most importantly, there were no mirrors. He had ripped the bathroom one from the wall and shattered it in the street the moment he moved in, completely satisfied with giving up his security deposit for a little bit of sanity. His world was completely colorless. His skin was pale and the warmth that had generally resided in his face had seeped away like water from a washcloth. In fact, the only color one could find in the small room was his hair, shining just as brightly as it had the day the world ended.

He had dyed it once. A dark brown, the most boring color he could think of, but the moment his mother had seen it she burst into tears and begrudgingly changed it back, if only to avoid the dirty looks that Ginny shot him through the very uncomfortable family dinner.

Today was the first of March, and George could feel the anniversary of Fred’s death drawing nearer with every movement of his body. His muscles ached and his bones creaked like an old rocking chair no one had touched in a century.

As he laid there he considered never getting up, but eventually with great effort he pulled himself from the cold sheets and pulled on the dullest clothing he owned. A grey tailcoat covered a white button up and black slacks, severely pressed hung a bit short over his ankles. The shoes were so old they no longer shined. He didn’t bother brushing his hair, sure that the howling wind would mess it up anyway.

He left the door without eating breakfast and turned down the street in the opposite direction of the store. He couldn’t bare to go to work today, and Ron could handle it.

Ron had gotten a lot better at handling it.

He was right about the wind, it battled against him like it was trying to force him to go to work, but he pushed on, determined to spend his day in miserable loneliness. Somedays he imagined Fred was screaming at him from the clouds, telling him to stop being a git and move on with his life, but he had never been good at taking orders. So, without any regard for the signs of the universe he continued to push on, wrapping his arms around himself as he tried to keep warm.

In honor of his mood, it began to pour and before he knew it, he was drenched to the bone, the neat he clothes he had donned pressing tightly against this skin. By now he was in a muggle town he had never been to. The streets were completely empty, no one wanting to get caught in the torrential downpour.

He was going to turn around, go home if not to work, when he heard a voice shouting through a roll of thunder. He glanced around, searching for the source, and was met with the sight of a woman hailing him towards her store. He looked behind him, checking for someone else, when he heard a sharp laugh.

“I’m talking to you, silly. Now, come in before you catch a cold,” she called, stepping into the rain to usher him closer. He walked quickly, ducking through the doorway as he followed her inside. He watched as she shoved the door closed against the atrocious wind, the bell jingling ferociously overhead. When she had succeeded, deadbolting it for good measure she turned to face him. She wrung out her blonde hair as she studied him with bright eyes (they reminded him an awful lot of what his used to look like). “What on earth are you doing out in this weather?” she laughed, and he shrugged, unsure of how to approach the situation. He had not been met with such glee in an exceptionally long time. When he didn’t respond he smile faded and concern rested heavy on her shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t think so,” he muttered, and she nodded.

“Then I think you need a drink.” She ushered him to barstool and disappeared behind the counter. “Butterbeer or tap?” His eyes snapped to her when she mentioned the magical drink. “Butterbeer then.”

“You’re a witch?” he blurted, and she laughed, shaking her head.

“Oh no, but I know my customers, and you are clearly a wizard.”

“How can you tell?”

“The wand in your tailcoat.” He glanced down and sure enough, a faint outline of his wand was visible against the fabric. “No need to obliviate me though, I’m no snitch. I’ve had all types in this little pub of mine, vampires, werewolves after a particularly bad night, wizards, what you call muggles, I’ve even had a couple goblins gamble in my back room, no bias here.” He didn’t say anything as she twittered on, setting the mug in front of him and leaning on her elbows as she took him in with earnest curiosity. A few minutes of silence before she spoke again. “Do you want to talk about it, that’s what bartenders are for to hear all your tragedies while you drown them in the best liquor we have?”

“Who are you?”

“Hannah Gladdis. And you are?”

“George Weasley.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen, twenty in June. You?”

“Twenty-one in April. How’d you come to own a magical bar at nineteen?”

“It was a tragic thing really, last year the owner died in a war with your sort. I was a waitress then, but he left it to me in his will, so now it’s all mine. Honestly, I’m surprised I survived long enough to own it, luck I guess.”

“What happened?”

“These men in masks came and tore the place apart looking for the owner, shouting something about blood traitors, but he wasn’t in. It was just me, hiding right behind this counter praying that they wouldn’t find me.”

“Did they?”

“Yes,” she whispered, fear creeping into her eyes as she thought about the night she was describing to him. “They used two spells. One made me feel like I was on fire and the other made me bleed, I can barely remember it. The whole thing was awful, by the time they were sure I didn’t know I could barely move. They set the place on fire and left me to die, still hunting for him, I guess since he’s dead now. Somehow someone saved me, I don’t even remember them but they must have performed a counter curse because I got out with only a few scars, but you would know all about those,” she said noting his missing ear. “Were you in the war?”

“Right in the center of it. Do you have any firewhiskey?” She nodded and dropped beneath the counter and pulled out the familiar bottle.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“How do you know I lost anyone?” he growled, and she offered him a sad smile.

“I lost friends and I’m not even a witch, I figured a hero right in the center of it wouldn’t come out unscathed. Also you’re missing an ear.” He grunted and threw back the shot of liquor she had poured. “You won though?”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way,” he mumbled, and she nodded, taking one of his hands into hers. He watched her hands cradle his as if he were the fragile one, but he could see the scars that were etched into her fingers. He ran is thumb along one of the more prominent ones. When he glanced up, she was biting her lip, eyes focused on the thumb that was stroking the harsh scar. He whispered her name, but she didn’t move. He said it again and this time her eyes met his. He wanted to say they were blue, but that didn’t seem quite right. Her dark eyelashes were hanging heavily over them, casting shadows into the two small pools of ocean that stared back at him. He was going to say something more, let the light buzz from the liquor take control and pull her against him, but she moved away before he could. With an awkward laugh she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and pulled herself a shot, downing it just as quickly.

“It’s not even noon,” she laughed to herself and he shrugged.

“I’ve been drunk before noon before, nothing to ashamed of.”

“Isn’t that a sign of alcoholism?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard of before.” He flashed her a tight, unpracticed smile that made his heart cringe against his ribs but it seemed to work. Pink washed over her cheeks and she was quick to busy herself among the empty glasses, searching for one to clean.

“So, what’s someone like you wandering the streets during a downpour?”

“Escaping.”

“By catching a cold?”

“Or something like that.” She laughed awkwardly, running a damp washrag over the top of the bar, avoiding eye contact at all costs, and it was killing him. He wanted to look into her eyes all day. He had to think of something, do something, say something that would draw her back.

“Why didn’t the Ministry take your memories?” he asked, and then silently cursed himself. Out of all the topics he could have chosen, he chose the one that terrified her. He hadn’t spoken to a stranger so domestically in such a long time it seemed he was out of practice.

“They don’t know, as far as I know they don’t even know I exist. And I would like to keep it that way if you don’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to forget?”

“To forget what?”

“All that pain and fear.”

“I considered it at first, but then I decided it was better to know what was coming then feel broken all over again.”

“No one is going to hurt you like that again,” he growled, far more aggressively than he had intended and she laugh, taking his hand and finally allowing their eyes to meet once more. She didn’t seem scared when she looked at him, it was if she almost wanted to believe him. She really seemed to believe the idea he could chase away her nightmares. He knew he would disappoint; he could barely chase away his own.

“You sound so sure, George, but alas, you won’t always be sitting in my little bar to protect me.”

“Then come home with me.”

She was shocked to say the least, at least that’s what her eyes said.

“I barely know you.”

“Then get to know me.”

“I’m working.”

“You said it yourself, no one is out in this rainstorm.” He sauntered towards the window and flipped the sign around and locked the door. “And anyways, it seems you’re closed.” She studied him closely, and he was acutely aware that she was still holding his hand. Finally, she nodded and for the first time in ten months his heart jolted with joy. He spun her around the bar and caught her in his arms. “Ready?”

“For what?” she began to ask but they were already gone, whipping through the air as he apparated them to the small flat.

She was laughing when they landed, clutching her stomach as she tried to catch her breath.

“My god, that was exhilarating,” she gasped. She was still holding his hand, tighter than ever. He watched her as she looked around and cursed himself for not keeping the place cleaner. “I like your place.” He was sure she was lying; it was so dull and lifeless it was almost a prison cell. The counters were dirty, and the trashcan was overflowing. “It could use a little color, but maybe that’s the beauty of it. I can never decide how to decorate so I’m constantly having to remodel, this way I can just close my eyes and imagine the walls orange.”

“Orange?”

“Or maybe a soft teal, I don’t know, it depends on my mood.” He caught him smiling again for the second time on the day he woke up feeling like death. She was like a ball of sunshine and she was standing in the little place he called home. For the first time since he had been born, he found himself wishing his home was bigger. Even when he was a kid he had never cared, but now that there was someone he was dying to impress he wished he owned the minster’s mansion.

“It’s not much…”

“It’s lovely.” Color tinged his cheeks and now it was his turn to busy himself in the kitchen.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, yes, why thank you,” she said as she glanced out the window, “What part of town are we in?”

“Just on the edge of Diagon Alley.”

“Oh really! I’ve always wanted to come; I’ve heard it’s absolutely beautiful. Wow, a real wizard town. Is it true what they say about Hogsmeade?”

“It depends on what they say,” he chuckled, bathing in her excitement. It was a welcome tone, something he had not felt since months before the end of the world.

“That it’s absolutely picturesque. Someone showed me a post card once, and I called her a liar, told her nothing but a painting could be that beautiful, but she assured me it was all true.”

“She wasn’t lying, if you want, I’ll take you sometime.”

“Wow, not even a first date and you’re already promising to whisk me off to some beautiful village in the countryside.” He blushed when he realized what he had said, abashed that this woman had gotten into his head so quickly. He had never been so infatuated with anything. He turned quickly, spilling hot tea over the side of his hand, but he barely even noticed. Her eyes were big and blue as she stared at him, cheeks pink and lips parted. “George…” she began but the teacups hadn’t even hit the ground when he was taking her into his arms and kissing her as softly as his feelings would allow.

She tasted like Christmas. Cinnamon from the firewhiskey and butterscotch from the beer tainted her lips like frosting on cake he had only eaten in a distant memory. He wanted to throw her to his bed and devour her, experience every inch she would allow him, but her tentative fingers stopped him. He was stranger who had apparated her to his flat in a place she did not know, and now he was doing everything in his power to ravish her like the goddess she appeared to be.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling away as far as he dared. He was not sure he would ever be able to be far from her again, not when he knew how wonderful she was. She stepped forward, still hesitant, and cupped his cheek in her hand.

“No, don’t be. That was brilliant.”

“Then would you mind if I did it again?” She laughed and leapt into his arms, pressing her lips against his. He had never understood people comparing others to home, but as he wrapped his arms around her and he felt her fingers unbuttoning his shirt as fast as she could manage. His hands dropped to the hem of her shirt, prepared to pull it off and admire her entirety but she jerked back. He stopped immediately, pulling away as he searched her face for what he had done wrong. She wasn’t looking at him again, eyes crossed over her chest as she shuffled her feet.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled and he shook his head, taking her cheek in his hand.

“Don’t be. Tell me what you want. If it’s nothing then we’ll do nothing,” he whispered and with tentative fingers she brushed the place where is ear had once been. He wanted to pull away, but he didn’t dare, not when she looked like she was going to break.

“Very few survived your war without scars, even us muggles.” She pulled her hand away and took a deep breath before pulling her shirt over her head. He watched it hit the ground before trailing his gaze over her skin. She hadn’t lied. Scars were etched across skin that had once been soft. They were harsh and angry, still red after what he had assumed was months of healing. Silence crept into the room as he stared, anger coursing through his veins as he imagined the kind of pain that had caused these scars. “Say something,” she whispered, words catching in her throat.

“If I ever find who did this to you, I will not hesitate to kill them,” he growled and she let out a short laugh. “I’m not kidding.” She leaned up and kissed him softly, gratitude laced in every touch. He pulled her closer, fingers trailing the scars that plagued her. They tipped into his bed with unexpected grace, laughing between kisses. Quick fingers undid his pants and he followed suit, exposing soft skin raked with more scars. She didn’t pull away anymore, in fact he was sure she was trying to get closer than possible. Her legs pressed against his hips as her fingers explored every inch of skin. He flipped them over, admiring her against the bedsheets, blonde hair spread out like a halo. He leaned down and kissed her softly as she giggled against his lips.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered before he could stop himself and with all seriousness she nodded.

“Not in a thousand years.”

#george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley #george weasley smut #george weasley fluff #george weasley angst #george weasley x reader smut #george weasley x reader angst #george weasley x reader fluff #george weasley fanfic #george weasley x reader fanfiction #end of the tunnel

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val-aquenta · 4 years ago

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It’s on time today!! I’m not super happy with this, but here. Take this offering for Jedi June’s prompt: Duty

Here on ao3

It was interesting that changing into Rako Hardeen’s skin hurt less than it did to return to his own. Like the previous… conversion was the best term, Masters Windu and Yoda stood by him. Obi-Wan writhed as his skin became his own, and his bones returned to normal. When the transformation finally finished, Obi-Wan lay gasping painfully, curled slightly over his stomach. He groaned, head falling backwards in the medical bed.

“There, Master Kenobi. You’re done.” Master Che finished, looking down at her datapad until she seemed satisfied. She smiled grimly and, to some kind of surprise, laid a comforting hand against his shoulder. “The pain should go away soon. However, the experimental nature of this treatment means we’re unsure how long it will last.”

Obi-Wan blinked, shivering as a jolt of pain lanced up his arm. “I… I see.” He managed to breathe out, lifting his hands to stare at them. He flinched again, feeling the disturbing lack of hair on his face. “Oh. This will take a long time to grow out.”

Master Che grinned wryly, “Indeed. You look… 25 still? Force, you haven’t aged a day under there.” Obi-Wan chuckled weakly. A notification pinged on her pager which she picked up and sighed. “Well, I’ll leave you three for now. Duty calls. May the Force be with you three.” The three echoed it back, bowing as the healer left.

Obi-Wan breathed in deeply, trying to control the rather large mass of throbbing pain that seemed to emanate from his bones. Mace moved closer to the bed, “How are you?”

“Fine…” Mace lifted a disbelieving brow, his hand smoothing the blanket at his feet. Even though they were of equal rank, that particular stare still managed to make Obi-Wan blush in embarrassment as he was caught lying. “Tired, I suppose. It does hurt, but it’s… manageable.” Mace sighed, rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose. He unfolded the blanket, offering it to Obi-Wan who nodded, feeling strangely comforted as the older Master laid the blanket on him.

Yoda grumbled and leapt up, sitting by Obi-Wan’s elbow in a light meditation. As the small green troll meditated, his clawed hands brushed against Obi-Wan’s arm. Obi-Wan himself found it strangely comforting. “How feel, do you? In the Force, hurt you are.” Yoda turned and blinked at him, ears tilting up and down.

Obi-wan sighed, gaze turning up to the ceiling to avoid the deep stares from the other Jedi. “I suppose I wonder if it was the right choice, the one we made.” He began tentatively. He’d harboured doubts in the beginning, but there had seemed to be little alternative. “I feel… well it feels like what I did had no result. Nothing came of it.”

Mace sat at the chair by his bed, smoothing the blanket idly between fingers. There was quite a pause while the man thought, “I had doubts, but I saw no other alternative.” his eyes lifted from his fingers to focus on Obi-Wan, “Perhaps it was not the right path, but it was the only one.” Yoda hummed in agreement, closing his eyes.

Obi-Wan didn’t seem appeased, looking up at the ceiling with a dull gaze, “It did nothing though. I hurt those around me and nothing came from it.” His mind thought back to Naboo and Anakin and the accusation that the younger man had hurled at him. He knew that they would be upset, hurt of course, but the anger he had felt was so vast. Paired with the knowledge that it was him the anger was aimed at was painful. “I just wished there was another choice, a different path we could have taken.”

Mace’s lips twisted into a grim smile, “Don’t we all?” The older man sighed and leaned back, bruises evident around his eyes, a result of sleepless nights, stress, and difficult visions. “Sometimes we must make the hardest choices to do our duty, no?” Obi-Wan knew, and yet he still wished.

“Forces sacrifice, our duty to the Republic does. Demands much, it does,” Yoda said. “A life not suited for everyone, it is. No shame there is in that. Know this well, you do.” Obi-Wan did. He had walked away once, almost twice. Life outside of the Order had felt purposeless to him, lacklustre and empty. The Jedi were an order, yes, but they were more than that. They were a family and to abandon them was unthinkable.

“Yes. I suppose I do.” Obi-Wan’s gaze drifted from the ceiling to settle on Yoda, his thoughts turning to his more recent issue. “I think he hates me,” He admitted softly. “If not hate, he at least despises me for my choice.” Obi-Wan closed his eyes, pulling an arm over them. “I thought that he might understand at least, or… never mind.” He trailed off with a sigh, feeling the familiar fatigue of both his muscles and his heart.

Mace smiled sympathetically, invisible to Obi-Wan’s closed eyes. He settled a hand against Obi-Wan’s other arm. “You are very important to him. He feels very strongly about… anything really, but you especially.” There was no reproach in his tone, just observation. Anakin was one of their most powerful Jedi, but he struggled much in the other aspects of Jedi life. “He might not understand your choice, but I do not doubt your bond. I’m sure you will reconcile at some point.”

Obi-Wan jolted a bit as his arm twinged painfully. “Force…” He frowned, gently clenching and unclenching his arm. “I knew, to a degree, what would happen when we decided on this path. I still hoped… ah well, what’s done is done.”

****

Master Che had released him from her tender care a day after his transformation into himself with strict instruction to have a break for at least five days and to ‘please spend at least two weeks healthy, Obi-Wan, for my sake as well.’ Taking her advice, Obi-Wan had spent a day in his quarters before it felt too small and he had wandered to the gardens to read some datapads from the Council. It was there where he found Ahsoka watching over some younglings as they played in the fountains. He was glad she was getting some time away from the front while also feeling the familiar anger at the Separatists and the Republic for prolonging the war with stupid laws and regulations.

“Master Obi-Wan!” She waved him over before turning back to the fountain, “Hey! No diving into the fountain, even you Ret.” The nautolan in question blushed a deeper purple before sliding into the fountain slowly. “Hey, Master!” Even with her happy face, there was that undercurrent of hurt awkwardness underneath. “Ugh… your face. Don’t ever shave again,” she remarked after a while.

That was the third time this day alone and he shrugged it off with a heatless glare. “Hello, Ahsoka.” He settled down beside her, arranging his robes to be more comfortable. “Ah… how have you been?” He opened after the pause went on just too long.

She looked to her hands before leaning back, her arms spread behind her, “Alright. I mean, it was a shock of course, with you dying and… coming back, but… I’m happy you’re back.” Her honesty had always been refreshing after years of Anakin’s careful suspicion when the boy had grown older. “Anakin is… ah I’m sure he’s happy, but…” She trailed off, unable to truly explain her Master’s hurt anger.

“No worries, I understand,” Obi-Wan said, watching as a tholothian youngling swam laps around the fountain against a mon calamari, seemingly unaware that the other had lapped him at least twice. “I am sorry that you had to experience my death. I didn’t want to hurt you, any of you, but there seemed to be no other path.” The datapad shuffled awkwardly in his arms. “We contemplated telling you, but it was too dangerous already. Even now it didn’t work.” Obi-Wan sighs, seeming smaller than he was. “It’s not that I don’t trust you and Anakin, or anything like that. It was just… too dangerous.” Obi-Wan turned to Ahsoka, meeting her eyes. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I just wanted to… explain, I guess.”

“I appreciate it,” Ahsoka began cautiously, thinking carefully on what to say. “I’m not mad, not really. I think I’m still just shocked and hurt.” She leaned back up, folding her arms on her knees, “And… I don’t think Anakin will be mad for long.” She seemed to want to say more, but she had no idea how to explain it.

Obi-Wan smiled wryly, “I hope not.” Obi-Wan shared a look with her before he took out his datapad and began to work once more, a quiet peacefulness enveloping their little section of the gardens.

#star wars fanfic #fanfic #duna writes #obi wan kenobi #obi wan #Obi-Wan Kenobi #ahsoka tano #macewindu #yoda #jedi june 2021

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 5 years ago

Text

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 16.1)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8) (GUESS WHAT? IT AIN’T SATURDAY TODAY! LMAO)

CHAPTER 16

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: The best part has finally come to an end, life aren’t all smiles and rainbows. Now, here comes the negativity that will surely eat you whole with the life you have with the witcher.

Warnings: Fluff! Kinda’ Dad! Geralt? Slight. Cirilla being such a sweetheart? Jaskier being Jaskier. Mention of blood. Insecure and overthinking reader. Mention of Yennefer and Renfri.

Words: 8k+

A/N: This should’ve been posted last saturday. But, life happened so here it is. I should’ve been taking a break but I think I’ll have my break next saturday instead. Think of this as if I just gotten late to post this chapter for you, bb’s! Though, there will be no update on June 27 instead!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW. It was the day where Geralt was back on his wild hunt. He'd procrastinated more than he can ever plead for; taking him days with his family was better than having none as the lone witcher would leave with nothing but his horse and sword like the good ol' days.

Other times, he'd have Jaskier in his trips when the bard was too restless to stay and guard Cirilla---it has been two years for doing so---and he would complain about how tedious Geralt would tell his stories about slaughtering such a specific beast. The toubadour wanted to experience and see everything happen before his eyes regardless of his fear for such.

Which leaves Cuthbert and his family for taking care of the princess. Besides, Geralt thought it would be better that people wouldn't see Cirilla living in their home from time to time, as it can also complicate how she would be found because she didn't need to be.

But, with you around; there has to be somebody that was needed to guard and take care of his child of surprise; leading the preferable options down to you because you knew how a girl works and how their mind moves rather than with Jaskier who always welcomes him home with arguments about nonsense things together with his child of surprise. Complaining how she'd intentionally stomped on his foot because of how she was confined in their home all the darn times till how his cooking was abnormally awful rather than Geralt's.

No matter how uneasy Geralt was with leaving everyone alone, he needed to sacrifice the worries away for his family and choose the safety for the people. Even if it would take him days to bask in his solitude with Roach whom he would have as his silent companion.

The witcher was getting ready for his hunt today. He was checking on stuffs that were utterly important not to forget. Elixirs. Herbs. Equipment. Weapons. Geralt continued to place his things inside his bag before a soft piece of parchment has brushed off his fingertips, making him stop from rummaging inside his bag to snatch it out.

It was the drawing he retrieved from the gallants he'd fought. The broken sketch of you and him together, taken from being scoured by the royal guards because he was needed for a favor that could help the kingdom and its heir.

Fucking people who kept on needing him all the damn time. He silently spewed blasphemy over and over inside his head for making his life more complex than it ever was with Destiny laughing on his side.

Especially that he was finally accepting what it brings to him. You.

He'd taken one last look on the paper before tucking it inside his bag; in a safe place where it wouldn't be destroyed before he'd heard familiar stealthy footsteps padding closer to where he stood beside his horse.

"Geralt,"

Jaskier has taken what the witcher has fetched him to, showing the contents of what laid on his palms before his brooding friend has taken it with a begrudging look that says he woke up on the bad side of the bed today.

Though, the bard was sure he did because of the perception that he needed to leave you alone in his chambers.

Geralt has given him a sharp look which has taken aback Jaskier who seemed to be surprised in such the break of dawn, ceasing his yawn when he'd received such surprising antagonism. He saw the blank stare he'd given him, thoroughly stupefied from whatever sauciness he was trying to give.

Jaskier could even notice how he was more quiet and grumpier than usual first thing in the morning. An unusual state of the witcher when you came along because he was finally talking more after getting some sleep.

"What’s going on, Geralt? Did something happened? I thought friends trust each other! You know you can trust me on this---anything! Is Roach dying? do you need another horse?"

The monster-slayer raised a sassy brow at his friend, looking away as he went on to obtain the items that laid on Jaskier's hands. His hands abnormally heavy as their hands grazed each other; letting the bard know that there was something more to it other than the idea that you would be away from him.

"Should I ask you the same thing?" he deeply grumbled, sounding like a snarl that has caught Jaskier off guard.

His talkative friend appeared to be wounded from his silent grudges that he held out for him. Jaskier couldn't help but scrunch his face in utmost perplexity, feeling aggravated for what attitude Geralt has been giving him when all he had been doing was help him in such a crazy, early hour of the morning.

He won't be taking his attitude when he was still heavy-eyed from trying to get his sleep last night. Reasons why he couldn't was because his room was beside yours and the insatiable witcher. Technically, his suggestions that have been approved sometimes hit him in the head like a boomerang; he didn't think it through that his advice can bring him results where he would suffer.

Geralt and his shitty, overly developed libido.

"But, I don’t have a horse! Why are you---Oh! Ohohoho. You were being sarcastic! I know you---know the differences of those monotones of your verbose timbres. Everybody should applaud me for it," Jaskier scornfully laughed, annoyed by how the witcher has been acting. He held onto his hips, shoulders rolled as his head fell back while he sarcastically laughed, feeling the swift breeze of the morning fog giving him a whiplash as Geralt walked pass him to fix Roach's reigns. The toubadour has turned on his heels to see the subtle swerving of topic by staying silent and minding his own business.

"---I'm utterly not in the mood for your grouchy attitude, Witcher! You sound like you are accusing me of something I shouldn’t have done!"

Roach gave a nicker as she heard two friends share their squabbles; being immature over not sharing what one has a problem over the other.

"You sound guilt-ridden." Geralt bluntly stated, ignoring the bard who has sauntered in front of him with an offended face. His friend seem to be lost at words from where ever his hostility is coming from.

Jaskier tried thinking it through, cocking his head to the side as he stood before the brooding witcher. He hadn't been too intrusive the past few days nor did he try and get his patience boiling. In all honesty, the bard has set a good amount of space around Geralt when you came in their lives. Reaching to the point that Geralt spends his time with you and Cirilla a lot more than him.

Though, there were the times where Jaskier gets to spend more time with you than Geralt when he was being the complicated mutant he is, sharing banters with you that ends up in a wrestling match because of how he kept on spitting jests that rattles the kindness you ought to have.

The witcher knew Jaskier blushed when he’d accidentally tackled you to the ground from choking him with all your might as you used your arms. The bard’s weight bringing you down when he tried battling with your physical blitz of ripostes. Geralt couldn’t help but purse his lips at that as he watched you wrestle with his annoying bard who had a palpitating heart from being flustered over you.

Jaskier likes you and he was sure about that.

"W-What---Oh! what a fuckin’ crass you are! What do you even mean?!" he bellowed and stammered, sounding and looking utterly lost. Pretty ocean blue eyes demanding for answers over what grudges he was holding; dramatically raising a hand for thespian gestures.

"Does she look like Booker? No. I suppose not. The cavalier you were fond with was horrible," Geralt sounded too straightforward, never known to sprinkle his words with flowery vernacular that would consider him kind and nice. He gave out a loud, audible sigh; giving him a nonplussed look.

No matter how rude he sounded, his eyes had a look of defiance and understanding. The witcher wasn't mad at the fact that Jaskier has taken a liking towards his midget. No. Geralt knew better than to be enraged over feelings he couldn't control; much so to himself despite of hating the strong feelings he was having over you.

Besides that, Jaskier was his friend. He respected you and Geralt because he knew what was coming forth between the both of you. Like a masochist, even to the point of helping you and the white wolf build the relationship that was bound to happen sooner or later.

Julian Alfred Pankratz just knew you were both endgame from the moment Geralt of Rivia have saved you from those scoundrels. What stated his facts correct was the subtle glimpses that the witcher has been giving you whenever you were around or near their presence; staring when you least expect him to and caring when you needed to be fostered.

Your existence had Geralt thoroughly interested for what and who you were and his friend could visibly see that.

Hence, right at this moment; it was his time to look obvious towards the ivory haired witcher over his one-sided attraction he had for you.

"I should've known, Jaskier. Your gestures aren't exactly subtle."

Geralt shook his head when he lately realized that, clasping a hand over Jaskier's shoulder to give a firm pat; respecting whatever he felt for you. If he wanted to continue those unrequited feelings, it was fine. But, the gesture from him was a silent discussion that he won't be backing down nor stepping away to give the him the opportunity to become what Geralt is already to you.

"I beg your pardon---? Shouldn't you be attacking me with your little tricks already?---I mean, right! Yeah." Jaskier started and stammered at the same time, but was cut off by a terse statement.

"Never leave her side as much as I would."

Geralt gave another light pat to his shoulder before he walked around him, treading over the front door to retrieve two flasks of water and your special Ale that he somehow needed to bring because it reminded of you. The bard trailed behind him, following his footsteps till he was hunched over to get them.

"Geralt, if I may ask---but I hope you wouldn't punch me in the gut after this. The Djinn, obviously was a snake in the lake. What will happen to her now?"

Jaskier just couldn't help but shut his mouth now, does he? he thought at the back of his mind, silently cursing for even bringing it up for him to remember.

The witcher stood up with a long drag of his breath; sounding surfeited by how his mind worked. He was in deep ponder over knowing that his friend had taken the hots for you too, yet he appeared to sound like he was pushing you away soon that he knew Geralt was thoroughly enamored.

"Now, you want her to go." he deadpanned, nettled by what he was suggesting. His eyebrows tightly crossed together from how cretinous it sounded, "---I've been told by a daft of a bard to keep the rat when I was finding a shitty Djinn,"

Geralt couldn't accept what he was hearing. He didn't need to hear this question especially when he was leaving for a hunt. The latter was finally trying to accept what destiny holds out for him, testing what would happen with you around; thinking if it was even a smart decision for him to not challenge fate for the second time around.

It was probably for the better before any sacrifices can happen. Though, why was he even being questioned when he's finally having momentous moments with you?

Geralt gravelly hummed in displeasure, walking away from his friend as he said out loud with a brooding demeanor, moon over by what questioned he received when he'd only done what everybody wanted from him.

"You smell of heartache, rejection and bewilderment, bard."

Jaskier looked utterly wounded from receiving such spiteful words.

"O-Oh! You just didn't quote me that, witcher! You are beyond frank and hilarious when you are being verbally challenged!"

He heavily marched towards Geralt, stopping in front of him with his arms dramatically wide open; indignant of how petty he sounded for being asked over a question that was bound to be inquired soon enough because you were a person who came from another dimension that truly exists.

"I was simply asking what you would do when the rat finally needs to come home from where she rightfully belongs! What will happen to her?!----especially, to you, huh?!"

Geralt's eyes were heavy as it landed on him. Brooding. Crestfallen. Enough to say that the concept of it made him even more dejected and disgruntled. The witcher kept his mouth tightly shut, snapping his eyes away to mule over what he said.

You were already a part of his home besides his original family and Geralt didn't know what to do when one person leaves. Again. He was already done with leaving people and it wasn't surprising when karma hits him back as it'll use you as a pawn.

But, he does not opt for it to happen.

Jaskier brought his arms down to his sides. Baby blue eyes narrowed and his eyebrows pushed together to elicit his worry for his friend despite of the real deal that he also had with you.

"----Because apparently, you are in the risk of heartache when the time comes for her to leave. Isn't that right, Geralt?"

The break of dawn is nigh; dark and light colliding to meet the sun as they were finally reaching daybreak from all the fusses that was happening. He should've left before you even woke up, knowing you would be slightly upset as you weren't used to what life he had nor did you exactly have the vivid idea of everything.

You knew nothing at all and soon enough, Geralt was sure it'll kick him in the butt for not saying anything more about their world and for what it holds.

"You aren't just fond of her anymore. It's beginning to grow more than that," Jaskier honestly convinced his theories and observations, pausing to look at Geralt who has given him a tiny quirk of his brow for what he wanted to say, "---Before you tell me that it's because of something the Djinn has cast upon you both, it must be wrong."

Geralt went completely silent; letting Jaskier share his opinions laid out for him to understand, "You risked to appear in front of that wandering vampire that the queen has kept around---" pause. "---risked everything we had, trying to lay low from everyone because our lives are at stake here,"

Jaskier's weight fell on one foot to the other, raising a hand to point at himself as he continued to conclude, "You can fool anyone but me, Geralt. I can see who she is for you,"

"What do you want me to say, Bard?"

He brought a finger up to the witcher, ceasing his temper from bursting out of nowhere, "All I'm saying is that you shouldn't let her go." pause. "---Keep her, because I know you'll think of the greater good and try to fix everything according to your treacherous and foolish plans. Don't let her leave you---don't make her leave us,"

Geralt cocked his head to the side, forehead creased in confusion for the sudden contrast of his advice. His friend was technically not sounding forthright after asking him what his decision was with the involvement of you.

The latter started again, "Choose---" Brusque and impatient. His harsh, clipped tones cut him off. Geralt stated as a matter of fact, "---the lesser evil. So, I've been told."

He rounded up and dragged his feet away from the bard, walking the path back to his horse with a vexed Jaskier who angrily marched to where he was.

"No, you fool!" he ungraciously exclaimed, standing beside Geralt who took Roach's reigns, tugging at it as he motioned for her that it was time for her to gait, taking heavy steps away from their home while Jaskier followed close.

"---choose the greater good; even if the decision makes you selfish, Geralt."

The witcher looked up at the sky, seeing the beautiful sunny color paving its way to greet them a good morning. It wasn't a good morning to him based on how irritating the start of his day began. He stopped his mosey with an evident sigh, letting Jaskier continue to talk.

"---Stop challenging fate before it's too late---you deserve to be happy---surprising isn't it? From a bard who keeps on blabbing horse shite all the bloody time---well, I'm tired of being with a brooding witcher! If it means to be with a rat forever just for you to stop being cantankerous then I'm accepting the sacrifice!"

The bard's voice echoed across the meadow, combining along with the chirping of birds and the strong breeze of the morning wind. Roach was sniffing Geralt when he'd heard that soft padded footsteps jumping down their stairs in a hurried manner. He'd given Jaskier a disappointed look of his golden peepers; his plan now ruined that he would leave without bidding goodbye because of one bard that could always get under his skin for no reason.

"You were saying, bard?"

You were out of the threshold in no time. Hair in a tangled mess from your previous nightly adventures; along with your painted skin that had witcher bites, looking gauche from wearing Geralt's large tunic that ended on your knees with nothing under and a pout drawn to your face as you ran barefoot along the meadow, wildly screaming his name.

"Geralt-of-fucking-Rivia!" you panted and whined, never believing that he was leaving without any form of goodbyes, "---Don’t you dare step a foot! I swear to God, I will cut your majestic white hair when you walk away and I’ll never make you my special ale anymore!"

The threat was loud enough for him to cease his footsteps; plans of irritating you further would never be a good idea especially that he was leaving for a hunt.

Palms upon your knee, you stood in front of the frowning witcher wearing his black, leather full gear armor; heaving deep pathetic breaths as your hauled over yourself, raising a hand to stop him from leaving.

When you've finally caught your breath, you promptly straightened your back; letting him see your swollen eyes due to sleeping late with probably morning dew slipping a few off the ends of your eyes. He affectionately caught sight of your upset ones; displeased from his sudden flee.

"How dare you leave when you know I don't wake up early like this?---and leaving without a hug!? Seriously, Geralt?!" you declared, obviously unsettled from being fucked the night after without waking you up to say that he was about to leave you for days in a world you hardly know about?

"---What if I don't get to see you again?"

Questions after questions, you demanded answers from Geralt in which it shall never be received based on how he simply watched you raved, feeling the discomfort and worry of leaving his family alone, "What if you never come back?" it sounded like you were thoroughly agonizing over the idea. You started to fret, toes feeling the moist pasture land over the soles of your feet; bringing you more concern.

"---What if I've been kidnapped or something?!"

Geraly shook his head, mouth in a tight thin line as he interrupted, "You're never leaving the house, midget. You need to take care of Cirilla," he let go of Roach's reigns to place his arms on either side of him, his tone more passive than yours, the words he told held more meaning as if he was giving a lot more trust than he can ever do by letting you handle the responsibility for his child of surprise even just for days.

The point simply tells you that he wasn't treating like you were his possession after admitting his feelings. Geralt was acting like a father and a husband for making you feel that way over supporting what he does for a living.

Just the act itself made you reach out for Geralt's hand, tightly clutching it in both of yours like you didn't want him to leave because you were feeling a little agitated for no reason. Overthinking always does take a toll on you. But often times, these female intuitions you have were correct for whatever bad feelings you were having.

Geralt closed his fist to subtly caress the back of your hand as Jaskier tried to convince and pour ice to your anxiety filled head, "Small rat, those are only predictions. He won't die yet. You're talking to a 100 year old witcher and you're frightened that he wouldn't come back alive?"

You face suddenly morphed into confusion, giving Jaskier a look of puzzlement. 100 years old? Geralt never looked that old to you, maybe his face was pretty much mature than yours but his features tells that he was around 30'ish and above, a lot more older than you nevertheless.

Geralt was still quiet as he continued to brush his thumb over the back of your hand. No objection was received and so, you believed Jaskier's words were true. Yet, his age never made you uneasy nor made you want to run for the hills. He was still Geralt. Your mean looking, soft-hearted witcher. More human than any other man can ever be.

He was yours. Only yours; and you needed to bite your tongue from saying words that would taser your heart from being unanswered.

"Wait---what--- you're a 100 years old?!?!----anyway, Geralt---!!" Geralt only hummed in dissatisfaction for Jaskier's existence in their world.

You peered up at the witcher with a fretful beam, your nose scrunching from feeling too worried for him when he goes out to hunt for his monsters; remembering what stories he told and the scars you've seen on his body. It was making your heart feel heavy, and Geralt wasn't a simpleton to not know nor feel how concerned you were for him.

It's been a long time since he's ever had someone making him feel all sorts of things and the doubled up emotions was making it more uncontrollable for the feelings he had for you.

"In our world, when a person leaves, they always bid their goodbyes!" Geralt drowsily blinked back at you, an utter soft flicker in his eyes that made your heart turn to mush.

Your eyes were hopeful as you asked, "---now, where's mine?"

You've let go of his hand, timidly standing before him with your frail arms on either side; wiggling your bare toes on the grass as you shyly waited for his reaction. Was it too much to ask even just a kiss before he goes?

"Goodbye, midget." the white wolf gravelly rasped, insincerity dripping in his tone because he didn't like bidding goodbyes to people he would still get to see again. The words seemed to be bitter for his taste, his farewell totally feigned because he was never going to leave for good. You've seen a tiny slip of his fangs as he talked and tried to regret what he said.

"---though, I doubt I meant that because I am not leaving for good,"

His reaction made you want to jump in a hole and just talk to yourself instead. Your face fell at that and Jaskier was found silently wincing from what the witcher has interpreted. He would rather bask in his own laughter and silence by himself than be punched by Geralt. So, he did; snorting a chuckle as he continued to eavesdrop and watched you both in a conversation.

Though, the bard's laughter was momentarily ceased when Geralt sent him a scowl.

"Why am I---why are witchers idiots? why are you an idiot sometimes?!"

Jaskier was known to be brave for even deciding to be Geralt's travel companion before; having the freedom to annoy him and never gotten the chance to end up beheaded or served as a meal for monsters. He was the only person who Geralt could handle no matter how he brings problems and for how annoying he can become.

However, at some point; they've gotten into a huge fight and it was intense. Luckily, they were on good terms right now after being separated.

"I second the notion, small rat!" the toubadour jested with a grin; Geralt's lack of knowledge about romantic gestures entertaining him.

You palmed your face in fluster and from the frustration; seeming more difficult to say what you truly wanted because Jaskier was close enough to hear what you could ask. A frown etched your face, grouching before the witcher like a kid that has never been given a big swirling rainbow lollipop.

"I didn't meant that! I meant---I meant---!"

You were stammering as you stood rooted on the ground, glancing up at Geralt while subtly pointing to your pouted lips. He calmly breathed out his frustrations from not understanding you prior before. But, the way his golden eyes lit up, sparkling beneath the sun's rays made you see that he knew what you meant.

His eyes were like diamonds twinkling under the sun and it always leaves you bewitched.

He has given Jaskier another grimace before humming back at you in comprehension, "A buss." His mouth curled in a small smile before you've seen him give you a gesture with his hand; urging you to come closer.

"Come ere'. You should've been more specific, midget."

Geralt slung an arm around your hips, his armor hitting your skin with soft clungs; pulling you closer to him as he leaned down to your height, catching your ajar lips in between his as he puckered to give you the most tender kiss you've received, taking you breath away like how he always does.

He'd kissed the tips of your vermillion, feeling like the other piece of your heart has been put together; making you feel complete. Satisfied. With the sudden life that was given to you when you woke up in the middle of the forest, having no idea how you've been transported.

But, experiencing no obstacles in their world from the time being was making you feel jittery because you knew life didn't work that way. It always leads you into an ocean, making you drown in impediments that can assuredly take the happiness away from you in just a flash.

You knew something was about to happen because fate always leads you in that position. It was like it wanted you to taste what contentment in life would be before snatching it out of your hands.

What would your fate bring you in their world?

Geralt has pulled away in the slightest amount. The tips of your vermillion brushing against his as your heart felt heavier to feel his warmth around you; not liking the concept of your witcher away because of certain reasons you couldn't explain. Faint voices has woken you up from your slumber, forewarning about him leaving you; urging for Geralt not to go which took you to run out of the door in your disheveled state.

He lightly gave you a kiss on the tips of your nose; your mouth frowned at that no matter how your heart slightly fluttered from the soft gesture. Geralt straightened his back as he has given Jaskier a knowing look. Jaskier unconsciously has given him a subtle roll of his eyes, feeling that he was being cocky for showing that he had the freedom to kiss you like that. It was how Geralt could define his repartee and Jaskier swore that he got one point of having the upper hand from the surprising physical display of affection.

"Difficult...to be lovers with a 100 year old witcher, won't you say?" he sent the message to you and sounded like he wanted to sulk but he covered the tone with a feigned cough.

Light hurried footfall came falling behind. The Ashen haired child announced her appearance with a look of nausea; her nose twisted in distaste for what she saw because she had already been watching you three in a distance.

"Ugh, gross." she joked, quickly replacing her abhorrence with a genuine smile, "---Is this how disgusting it is to see a child's parents kiss?"

Everybody turned to look at her, the arm that has snaked around you was now gone as you also looked at the princess with a bewildered expression for what she'd said. Nobody dared to object nor concur to what they've heard, only reticence.

But, not for Jaskier. He'd called Cirilla out for saying those words unexpectedly.

"So, you're calling them your parents now? Mother? Father?---and me?"

The lion cub of Cintra raised a sardonic brow as she tightly crossed her arms over her chest, tone all jest and playful as she commented, "---Which leads to you, bard." she abruptly paused to make it sound more intriguing as she spat, "---a dust mite in the household."

Cirilla took several steps closer to Geralt, making you fall back to give them time together. You've given them both a loving smile to indicate that you loved seeing them interact all the time because of how compassionate he was over his child, such a fatherly thing he appeared to be like, with the princess finding comfort and protection in his arms as she stepped closer to give the witcher a big, bear hug that he certainly didn't think twice to accept.

"Take care, Geralt. More than ever--please do come back,”

You eyed Geralt who was hugging Cirilla, your smile turning wider than ever as you lively jested among the affectionate scene you were seeing from a father and daughter.

"Is this the part where we should give you a group hug?---Okay! Okay! I'm joining!" Cirilla wholly accepted the idea of that and pulled your arm to surround beside her and Geralt; his hand immediately falling on your side, grabbing you closer once you were pulled by the pretty child.

The giggles that he heard from you both has lifted a smile on his brooding, sharp features. He lowly hummed in content before lifting his eyes off his girls in his arms to glance at Jaskier who seemed to suddenly be out of humor.

"Bard." he gruffly called out, amused from how the troubadour was despondent from the whole thing happening. Geralt gave an audible huff, alarming Jaskier because he knew what he was thinking. The witcher was thinking how pathetic he was looking to be so withdrawn over the abrupt embraces under the newly emerging morning sun.

"A dust mite mustn't interfere with a family group hug---oof! This is harassment!"

Jaskier was strongly pulled by Geralt who took no complaints over the embosom he was in, puffing out a frustrated breath as he tried to pull back from the embrace but had no choice when the witcher was using his strength, his hand behind the poet. His slight struggle painless for him. He gave the bard a strong pat on the back that made him cough out on how his lungs hurt from the sudden attack.

His grapples were cut short when you've placed your palm just below Geralt's; giving Jaskier a hug as well. Your touch felt unexpected as the white wolf heard his sudden heart palpitations over the subtle brush of your fingers on his friend.

Geralt knew, but not you.

Jaskier will be fine. If this was the only affectionate gesture that he could get you in, so be it. His unrequited affection will go away slowly, he hoped.

The white wolf's departure haven't lasted for a day till you were low spirited enough to stare out onto the windows, sitting on the stoned sill of the windows. Your viewpoint giving such reverence over how immeasurable their world could offer. From trees to the core of their land certainly looked earthy to you. A facsimile of what your world has been. Do they have oceans too? Noodles? Oh, you definitely wanted noodles for thinking about it.

Kaedwen. It was what their kingdom is called. You've also heard about Nilfgaard. Novigrad. But, you have no idea as to what it looks like rather than the kingdom of Kaedwen that looks no good like how you imagined Switzerland to be if you were talking about how the government treats their people.

Humans were treated poorly and even to the point of selling themselves as slaves; remembering what you have heard and saw while walking around the marketplace back then. They were living in dirt and striving to live with the ones who were abundant, seeing like they could never surpass to be cared for like they were humans.

Their government are treating them like garbage. The medieval movies you've watched were real because you also remember how you were close to being sold by a nobleman because no one knew who you were; having no name or a bloodline that could save you from being abjected.

Except for Geralt who needed to create a bloodbath just for you to live. The act alone has probably given him a violation against their law because of how he'd killed knights or people. Or was it legal for it happen?

You were staring far too long out in the open; waiting for your witcher to come back. What if he was away to probably find the sorceress that could bring you back home? Or better yet, what if he did find Yennefer and comes back choosing her instead because you're too dependent over him. His tiny mortal who always needed saving?

What if he gets tired of you? will he throw you away just like how people treat their lovers in earth when they're bored of each other?

What if you've just existed in their dimension because you were needed to fill the empty gap of Geralt's heart until he finds the sorceress?

You've asked Jaskier about it the past few days ago which has left your heart in a disgruntled mess when you've had answers over his relationships he never tells about.

"So, Yennefer, huh?" you've followed Jaskier out of the house. Nightfall was about to come by soon and Geralt wasn't around as he left with no words. The bard jogged through the end of the meadow till he'd reach the edge of the vast forest, twigs and branches breaking apart from every step when you've trailed behind him with a bothered heart.

"What?---Oh! You're asking me who she is?" Jaskier crouched to pick up blocks of wood that will cover up the whole night full of brisk as darkness was bound to visit soon. You hugged yourself to calm down the goosebumps that rose your skin when the cold hits you,"---Would you want a simplified explanation or a detailed one?"

You thought for a moment before feeling your heart beat ringing in your ears. It was that loud for the anticipation running in your veins for how curious you were about Geralt and a vision of his past, "The simplified one,"

Jaskier continued his rummaging, picking up woods after woods as he nonchalantly tittle-tattled, "She's a strong, fierce sorceress. Nice too because she's helped me out of a curse but also kind of rude to me---I am not biased just because of the whole crow’s feet ordeal---they've shared quests and I've been there to witness how they connect with each other. However, their relationship has lots of ups and downs. They've somehow find each other no matter what happens back in the decades except for now."

Your throat felt like there was some phantom hands trying to choke you; constantly bickering back to tell how strong and powerful she was that they've shared tales and adventures. It was downing over your head about how much of a burden you have been to Geralt, the constant feeling of your relationship with him being the cause of the responsibility he had for taking you because he had no other choice that he was the first person you've encountered.

You were definitely the most useless amongst his prior lovers.

He shrieked when a large bug has flew over his face, flicking them away with his hands as he threw his arms around; trying to hit the bug with a block of wood as he continued to talk, "---Move away, you shite of a bug!---Geralt stopped finding her due to reasons I have no clue about and because he needed to avoid people at all costs---but---oh, gods. It’s quite difficult to explain,"

Jaskier has gathered all the wood he needed. You've reach out to help him carry the blocks but before you could even touch them, he'd stepped away and walked around you as he continue to speak, "Oh, and about Renfri; don't bother nor think about it."

He heard your footfalls following him back to the meadow and even heard you exclaim, "Why?"

"She's reached her demise. Explains why Geralt has a moniker named the 'butcher of Blaviken'. Ended up killing her to save an ignoble child named Masha---Martha---Marilka?! Oh, whatever! He chose that to save the innocent lives of people instead. He never told you that?"

Your felt the needles poking through your chest because of how naive it felt to know nothing about it, also feeling sad about her early demise. You've remembered how Geralt ceased his stories when he'd reach the part where he went to a town named Blaviken; not even bothering to tell you that he has met a woman named Renfri and somehow had such hapless fate between them both.

You felt foolish. Ignorant over a story that was never told. Hence, it was enough to turn that smile upside down as you quietly muttered, "No."

Jaskier stopped walking, waiting for you to catch up as you stood beside him with a frown. He'd given you the twinkle of his pretty baby blue eyes with a sympathetic smile as he uttered, "That's never new, though. It's understandable. I've experienced it too, don't worry. Geralt has always been Geralt. He rarely becomes loquacious,"

You've crossed your arms behind your back, your fingers fidgeting; nails scratching your palm from how you were feeling the tiny prickle of your nerves telling that you weren't in the best part of your brain. The dragging feeling on your chest adding more weight from the start that Jaskier has opened his mouth to chat.

"He does that for anyone, huh? Saving people, I mean."

Jaskier was oblivious about how you've turned your head away to anxiously nibble on your lower lip. He was incognizant over your disappointed mental breakdown of your own self because he went on to simply tell, "No matter how he says that he doesn't want to be involved nor desires for anyone needing him. He still saves them because---"

You immediately cut him off, swallowing the tight knot in your throat, looking at him in the eye with a disheartened gaze, "He doesn't want people needing him?"

"Geralt never liked it. But, guess what brought you here! You! Even had the chance of needing Geralt because you were lost and vulnerable. Was it out of pity? I---I---No. No. Definitely not out...of...pity?"

When the moment he'd seen your eyes, Jaskier was quick to know that he made the wrong choice of words and even the topic to tell. He gave an awkward grin, instantly regretting what he said when you've shifted those eyes to look away.

"Why did they never see each other again?"

The bard has cursed himself repeatedly inside his mind, praying to the gods that you won't be mad at Geralt when he comes home because him and Cirilla didn't need another chance of being surrounded by the silence eating them up when you both are having misunderstandings or issues about each other.

"The witcher has made mistakes. He let her slip away. They've parted after a pretty intense fight."

He'd pretty much simplified everything, sounding like he told it to you in bullet form and left you alone in the middle of the field as he ran back inside. Though, it was too late. You've heard what is needed to know and the discomfort that dropped inside your stomach felt like these feelings you had for Geralt was already serious.

It was definitely too late because you've lately realized that liking him wasn't the correct term. Love felt better and deeper.

Soft knocking has pulled you off your reverie which has made you blink as you swiftly turned your head to see a child whom you also have a soft heart for. This child that has no idea why she was being persecuted---or maybe you were the person who had no thought again as to what reason and purpose does Nilfgaard want from her because honestly, all you could see from her was a child who had nobody left behind for her to console. If it wasn't for Geralt, she probably would have been taken by the people who want her.

You narrowed your gaze and gave her a bit of your scrutiny, angling your head in a way that tells the child you were trying to look through her. Did she have some sort of magic too? Was she a mutant too?

"Mum'?---will it be alright for me to call you that? I--I---I don't want to call you rat or midget," she tried to call you for the third time. Her bright cobalt eyes buoyant as she wend one's way, ceasing before you with a tight-lipped smile.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?" you softly pardoned with a sweet smile.

The princess couldn't help but bashfully give a beam, conscious if you've said that because you didn't want to be called that way. But, she gave no second doubts and repeated her questions again; anxiously and hopeful to undertake.

"Can I call you Mum'? Everybody has a nickname for you and also considering how you've started taking care of me---with---with Geralt now deeming as your beloved..." she trailed off in the middle of her sentence and you waited for her to continue but it was intentionally left to be dithered.

Heat traveled towards your cheeks. The princess wanted to call you 'Mum'? you silently questioned yourself. Your heart beat was racing from being accepted by his child of surprise, sounding like she wanted you to be her mother and seeing her fret before you made you think that she would gladly be your daughter as long as you were comfortable.

"Beloved? Right! Right! You can call me anything you want, Ciri."

The affirmation made her give you a toothy grin. Cirilla didn't think twice and merrily cajoled with a small hop of her feet that were close against each other, "Great, Mum'! Can you teach me how to bake?---maybe a cake---oh! Or a very scrumptious bread!?"

Your sullen features have been promptly lifted on the spot. You've grasped onto what she wanted, a distraction from how apprehensive she seemed to be like from the way her heels tap on the stone floor and to the way her forehead was slightly creased like she was on pins and needles. The princess was even worried because Geralt wasn't around to guard anyone in the household.

Her wrist was quickly snatched by you, pulling her out of your chambers and running through the hallway, towards down the stairs with heavy, excited thumps.

"Of course! would you like me to teach you how I'd baked blueberry muffins from the other night?"

The lion cub of Cintra hummed in mirth, nodding behind despite of knowing you couldn't see her as you pulled her around. Your eyes scanned the first floor of the house to see Kolby snuffling the front door with Jaskier no where to be seen.

You passed by the newly fixed table; knowing that Geralt ended up fastening back what was ruined. Trying to whisk your head away, you did you best not to feel the warmth spread over your face. Toes were lifted up to the highest as you reached for the door of the cupboards to see the bowls all gone when the last time you remembered; the white wolf has changed the position of plates in a much lower level for your sake.

Jaskier was just intentionally doing it right now and it made your blood boil for his constant teasing.

"I'm going to strangle that bard. I swear to Thor; I hope he hits Jaskier with a lightning---where did he even place all the bowls again?!" you complained more so to yourself as Cirilla was left standing on your side, waiting for your next command.

You've gestured with your hand, making her stay inside the kitchen while you walked away. The Hirikka suddenly howling out of the blue when you jogged towards the front door, stepping out of the threshold as Kolby followed suit.

"Jaskier?!" a loud yell echoed as you called at the top of your voice; seeing no bard anywhere.

Kolby unexpectedly sprinted, running off your side as he turned along the path around the house where the back door lead to.

You groaned out loud, strolling to where the Hirikka went, "Jaskier! Will you please tell me where---Jaskier!"

An ear-piercing shriek left your lips. Heart stopped from beating, your blood running cold as you were filled with panic and fear from seeing Jaskier hunkered down in the middle of chevaliers circling him like he was being tyrannized.

Armored gallants sat on their horses, their helmets taken off their faces which has given you images of what they looked like. A mixture of different ethnicity that you were well aware of back in earth. But, they've shared gazes in their eyes that placed you in a horrified position that tells everything was about to go down and it wasn't just Jaskier hunched on the ground.

When he heard your footsteps, he was pleading that you wouldn't actually visit the back part of the house but seeing Kolby safeguarding as he stood in front of you; thoroughly feral and livid for visitors that weren't invited at all, Jaskier knew all hell was about to break lose.

"A liar, bard." you've heard that voice back in the marketplace, a timbre you didn't wish to hear ever again as it haunts you with memories that he was a mystical being and the person who has stabbed you to bleed.

"The witcher didn't bring his little woman all along," Tybalt's breath fanned your ears, making you hastily step away from the vampire with your eyes all wide from the spine-chilling memory that gets you shunning away. Kolby was rapid enough to slip in between the uncomfortable space that Tybalt has locked you in, all predatory and wild as the movement made you stumble down beside Jaskier.

You've coughed out from being accidentally pushed to the ground, the knights of Kaedwen stepping back to include you in the tyranny of hopeless pleading. The bard's lip was wounded. Broken. Bleeding. Claret colored liquid painting his teeth which tells that they've been bashing him for quite some painful minutes. His doublet untidy and disordered from their constant forceful pulling.

"Rat," he weakly groused, holding onto his battered stomach. Jaskier tightly blinked the dirt out of his eyes as he spitefully spat the blood, wiping the blood off his busted lip with the back of his hand. His golden dagger tightly on his palm as he ceaselessly jested. The words coming out of his lips sounding familiar as you remembered you've said it to him before in the middle of being taken.

"---You had one job."

NO UPDATE FOR THIS UPCOMING JUNE 27, BB’S! I’mma take a break! (Or not because I always end up opening my drafts and try to write lmao) I’ll probably write the future chapters for everyone and so, I won’t get stuck on procrastinating before school starts in about after 2 months. LMAO. I get anxious when I think about this fic being unfinished due to random reasons because I don’t want that. FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! (Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you)

Taglist for WOTN: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @winter-moons @cheesecakeisapie @silverkitten547 @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a--1--1--3, @gutfucks, @raynosaurus-rex

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza

General taglist: @agniavateira, @iloveyouyen, @rahdaleigh,

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

Text

Down with the Recipe, Bake from the Heart, 1/10 (Multi) - Juno

Summary: This year’s Great British Bake Off will see some baking for sure, but also a few surprises. Tayce goes into the Bake Off tent determined to bring the winning cake stand to Wales, along with a few Star Baker badges, but her attention may not be on baking for too long as she gets to know fellow baker Aurora, on the same row as her. And judging by the other contestants, Tayce might not be the only one focusing on something other than baking this season.

A/N: This is a DRUK2 group based on GBBO - there are a few ships! It’s also on AO3 with 12 chapters but I will post here with 10 for ease as the first two and last two will are being done together. No CWs for this chapter! I hope you enjoy.

PROLOGUE - October 2021

It had been Cheryl who had suggested a live react to the grand finale of this season of Bake Off, so the twelve finalists could all gather together, watch the finale, and then the winner’s reaction could be captured on film and put on the internet for the whole world to see. Cheryl hadn’t even been in the cast - she’d been on the previous season - but she said she’d become invested in the season and the bakers so much so that she hadn’t wanted to let them go yet.

And judging by the public’s reaction to her tweet about it, she wasn’t alone.

Pip had mentioned in their group chat that her sister had a big town house in the Wirral, and she’d offered to let them all use it as a base for their live watch. Channel 4 didn’t have anything purpose-built for them, and the filming location wasn’t available, so they’d all jumped at the chance. Plus, Liverpool served as a good mid-point for them all - it saved Joe having to go all the way to Dundee or Ellie having to go to Brighton.

Aurora had marvelled at the amount of space there was once they’d all arrived the previous day. The living room and dining area were one, with a dining table probably big enough to fit a couple of football teams at it; and the kitchen led into the room with an arched doorway. The kitchen itself was enormous too, in highly polished white surfaces that Aurora was terrified to touch with her probably-impure fingers

“Bit posh, isn’t it!” She’d muttered to Tayce.

Pip’s sister and her husband were staying away, and they had the place all to themselves - the twelve of them reunited, with just Blu and Cheryl for company, operating a handheld camera with the intention of sending the finale footage for Channel 4.

As three endings had been recorded back in June, with each of the finalists winning one of the takes, the actual winner’s reveal would be a surprise to all of them, including the three finalists, and ensure no slip ups from the production team.

That didn’t stop all twelve of them worrying. None of them had slept a wink, all of them keeping an eye on Prue’s twitter to make sure she hadn’t accidentally tweeted the winner again. But mostly they’d been together, reminiscing on some of the moments from the season that had made them laugh. All the funny moments, all the tense moments, and one or two viral moments loaded with innuendo.

Not to mention everything else that had blossomed in tandem with nature that springtime.

It had been quite a season. They’d started out as strangers, and now they were so tightly-knit that they hadn’t even entertained the thought that they would possibly be watching the finale without all of them in the same space.

Aurora swilled the glass of champagne that Joe had insisted on pouring for everyone, and watched all of the people she’d grown close to on the season, a peaceful atmosphere in the room as they waited for the finale to start.

Well, not all of them were peaceful. Lawrence and Ellie were being their usual loud selves, jousting with wooden spoons and shrieking as loudly as they ever did - but Bimini was utterly still for the first time since Aurora had met them, laid against Asttina’s chest as they both reclined on one of the sofas, while Asttina raked her fingers through their mullet; and Bimini’s eyes were closed, their lips in a sleepy smile.

Aurora felt familiar hands creep around her waist, a familiar chin rest on her shoulder from behind, and familiar lips at her cheek.

“I can’t believe it’s coming to an end now,” Aurora murmured, her thoughts escaping her unfiltered, as they sometimes did with Tayce at this close range.

“Well, it was never gonna be forever,” Tayce said into her ear. “But we’re all gonna be friends after this, aren’t we! The wonders of technology! Come into the twenty-first century, Rory. We have this thing called the internet, and group chats, and phones -”

“We’re not all just gonna be friends, though, are we?” Aurora replied.

“We’re all just besties, nothing more than that. Rory, I’m joking!” Tayce laughed at Aurora’s horrified expression. “All I’m saying is that this isn’t the end - just the beginning.”

“That’s so cheesy.”

“Yeah, but I’m right, you can’t deny that!”

Aurora let her eyes drift around everyone else in the room.

Tia and Veronica who had barely left their corner of the sofa, hands and legs wound tightly together, both with hearts in their eyes and bigger smiles than anyone else in the room as they chatted quietly, simply enjoying each others’ company.

Lawrence and Ellie, wooden spoons still in hand, making the most noise in the room in delighted laughter as they jousted with each other, almost knocking Pip over as she carried in another tray of snacks to lay on the dining table.

Bimini resting against Asttina’s chest as they reclined on the other sofa, Asttina still running her fingers through Bimini’s freshly-dyed mullet, both of them letting out a contented sigh in tandem.

“Yeah,” Aurora murmured, as Tayce held her tighter, “I guess so.”

——

WEEK 1: BISCUIT WEEK

April 2021

Tayce grinned at the cameras as they panned around everyone. She’d given the interviewer her spiel about how much she’d always dreamt of being in the gingham tent and how excited she was to bring the winning cake stand to Wales for the first time in Bake Off history; and a surprising calm settled in her chest, nerves dissipating, at the genuine warm aura from everyone and everything in the room.

At least Tayce wasn’t in full view of the judges right at the front. That privilege was reserved for two people from London, both of whom looked right at home in front of the cameras, although their names were a mystery for now.

It was all very familiar from seeing it on the telly the last eleven years. Immaculate worktops with varnish that shone like glass; the tent walls decorated with bunting and flowers, and the pastel shelves and adorned with china cups; the multi-coloured KitchenAids ready to whisk, fold and anything else - Tayce’s was pure white, while the woman from Nottingham on the bench opposite her had a turquoise one.

Tayce chanced another glance at her; the tight-lipped smile showed a single dimple, and her long blonde hair was tied off her face, but her fingers drummed nervously on the workbench, and she evidently wasn’t as poised as the veneer she displayed for the cameras.

Tayce smiled to herself. It’ll be fun winning this thing.

——

Signature: 24 Iced Biscuits

The best bit of the show when it was on the telly was the banter between Matt and Noel. Seeing them in person, even from a distance away, made Tayce’s stomach bubble with excitement, and she had to cling to the workbench a little tighter to stay upright.

“Well, bakers, welcome to the gingham tent! Back for another season of Prue-Paul’s Baking Race!”

Prue’s sweet smile was complemented by her brightly-coloured glasses and sharp, matching blazer, while Paul’s cool stare lingered on everyone in the room a split second longer than they all would have liked.

“For the signature today,” Matt said, “the judges would like you to make twenty-four iced biscuits. The biscuits can be any flavour -“

“ - but should tell the judges a little bit about yourselves or where you’re from.”

“Where are you from, Noel?”

“Oh, you know, the moon.”

Everyone was laughing, even Tayce; although it wasn’t that funny - but the whole room was dancing with nerves by now, starting to become contagious from the people around her.

“On your marks -“

“Get set -“

“BAKE!”

Once Matt Lucas and Noel Fielding had declared the immortal lines to the room, everyone was scrambling for ingredients from their bags and the fridges.

Tayce was still cringing a bit at the dragon-shaped cookie-cutter her mum had found in some gift shop near the castle in Cardiff. She didn’t understand why tourists would be making dragon-shaped biscuits inspired by their trip to Wales, but for once she was thankful for tourists. Her friend Cara had customised it a little when she’d seen her a couple of weeks ago, by melting the tail with her lighter, elongating it a little, and extending the jaw and ears to make it look a little more ferocious.

“Can’t have people thinking you’re not breathing fire,” she’d said, passing the cigarette back to Tayce, “otherwise they won’t think you’re competition.”

And Tayce had nodded, holding smoke in her lungs half a beat longer than usual, wondering if she cared whether anyone thought of her as competition. After all, it was Bake Off. The last sabotage attempt there had been a national scandal the following day.

The most unproblematic, drama-free show on the telly.

Nothing was going to happen here.

——

“The judges are coming for you next,” one of the cameramen nudged Tayce out of her thoughts, just as she was measuring out her flour, causing it to fly upwards in a cloud “Just a heads up. Oh, sorry love.”

“Right, right.” Tayce nodded, brushing flour from her face. “What do I say to them again?”

“Just … talk. It’s the first episode. Show them your personality.”

“Personality,” Tayce repeated, nodding. “I’ve got oodles of that.”

“Great stuff. And don’t forget to be doing something bake-ey while they’re coming over.”

The cameraman dodged out of the way to make room for the medical team, running to help the woman in front of Nottingham, who had managed to slice her finger on something already.

“Here they are,” Tayce muttered to herself, taking a deep breath and straightening as the judges, along with Matt and Noel, came over to her.

“Morning, Tayce!”

Paul Hollywood was shorter than he appeared to be, and Prue Leith was taller, but nothing prepared Tayce for meeting either of them. Tayce held her breath for a split second, smiling somewhat mechanically to try to mask the sudden heat in her face.

“Bore da, folks! I’ve brought the weather with me!” Tayce beamed, indicating the heaving downpour of rain that was falling outside the tent; and they all laughed politely.

Tayce momentarily stopped concentrating on the judges and noticed the woman opposite her, turning to watch Tayce interact with the judges. And every time she was describing the perfect quality that her dragon-shaped shortbread biscuits would turn out, she seemed to slow her actions, looking up over at them.

The conversation was light, but Tayce could feel the calm authority of both judges before her, making words freeze on her tongue. It only went on for a minute or two, but Tayce was left feeling as if she should have prepared more.

Oh well. What’s done is done.

The ingredients for her biscuits were mixing slowly in the KitchenAid, the gentle whirr of the blades almost lulling Tayce to sleep as she sipped her cup of tea, before she took out the ball of shortbread dough and rolled it out to cut into biscuits.

“Your accent is so nice.”

Tayce looked up from her biscuits, to see the woman from Nottingham had come over, tucking her hair behind her ear, leaving her hand resting at the back of her neck to play absently with the strings of her apron. Up close, the dimple in her cheek was emphasised as a shy smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

“Thank you!” Tayce stood to her full height. “This place doesn’t look like Barry Island yet but give it some time!” She leaned against the workbench, tossing her hair away from her shoulders.

“My accent is … well, it’s just … northern,” she continued with a giggle. “I’m Aurora, by the way. I’m so bad at names, I’m sorry, you’ve probably already said yours!”

“Don’t worry, I am too. I’m Tayce. And if I forget your name, well - yeah, same.”

Aurora’s gaze lingered half a second too long as she tested the name on her tongue.

“Tayce.” Her smile widened. “Nice to meet you.”

——

Tayce was terrible at names. She had no idea how she was going to remember who all eleven of these other people were, especially as one of them would be going every week - the pool of people getting smaller and smaller until Tayce would be remaining with whoever else was any good out of these lot.

As the day went on, she started to pick them up.

She had to learn Asttina’s for one, because Asttina seemed to know everyone’s name from the word go. Asttina was one of the two Londoners at the front, and was the only one of the group who had made a deliberate effort to come round to all their workbenches to formally introduce herself during the bake itself, her demeanour confident but her handshake gentle and light as air.

“Nice to meet you, Tayce,” she’d said, with a cool smile that reminded Tayce of a Miss World competition. “Looking forward to tasting all your bakes!”

She knew Pip’s name too, on the bench just behind Asttina, as she’d turned up in the tent wearing elf ears, claiming they were for luck. Everyone had been staring at her workbench, where she’d positioned a tiny blue handbag with a red circle in the middle, saying she took it with her wherever she went.

“I had a sesh with a psychic,” Pip explained to them all as a group of them crowded round her. “She’s a bit of a local celeb in Liverpool, Psychic Sally they call her, but - anyway, she told me to look for a sign in blue and red, said it was from me great-grandpa - and the same day I walked past one of those handbag shops on Paradise Street and there it was, in the window, 70% off!”

“Definitely couldn’t have been a coincidence, Pippa,” Tayce grinned, and Pip shook her head in agreement, but she had a mischievous glint in her eye and Tayce wasn’t entirely sure how serious she was about the whole affair.

Ellie’s name too had become familiar, because of the amount of times the show’s medics would groan it when she managed to hurt herself on something that episode. Ellie herself had been quiet most of the day, seemingly a little shy and evidently the youngest in the room; but she’d bounced on the balls of her feet at meeting Matt Lucas, garbling something about her and her brother doing all the impersonations as kids.

The soft-spoken woman in front of Tayce was called Cherry, and Tayce had found that out because she’d pointed it out to everyone when she put cherry flavouring in her biscuits.

“Does that actually, y’know, work as a flavour?” Tia had asked her when she was explaining it to them.

Tia was another name that Tayce knew, mainly because the woman was so tall and striking. She looked like she’d come straight off a catwalk and wandered into the Bake Off tent by complete accident on her way to London Fashion Week, happening to become covered in flour in the process.

Cherry had huffed. “I don’t know, but you eat cherry-flavoured things all the time! What could go wrong with putting it in biscuits?”

Tia grimaced. “Wait. Have you … never put cherry flavouring in biscuits before? Didn’t you practise at home?”

Tayce couldn’t help but feel a twinge of mirth as she watched Cherry chew her tongue, her cheeks flushing, but her jaw set obstinately. “I know what I’m doing. I can do this.”

“You haven’t even practised this bake? Okay. So how late do the trains run from here to Newcastle?” Tayce had asked Cherry, and Aurora had doubled over in wheezing laughter as Cherry had folded her arms.

“Darlington. Darlington, not Newcastle. And there’s been trains there for nearly two hundred years, love.”

That had just made Aurora laugh harder, clutching her stomach and shaking in silent giggles, leaning on Tayce as Tayce had led her back to her workbench and let her wipe the tears from her eyes before continuing with her biscuit dough.

That was the most important thing Tayce had learned so far in the tent. The woman from Nottingham opposite her was Aurora, and Aurora lit up the whole bench.

When the judges had stood with her earlier, she’d cooed about how much she adored baking everything for all her family - making fairy cakes for charity bakes for work, birthday cakes for her family, tipsy cakes for her best friends for their birthdays, or anniversaries, or whenever they were just feeling crap.

From the smile that she couldn’t hold back, Tayce knew that Aurora was the only person in the room who meant it when she said that she loved baking.

——

“One hour break, folks, and then filming starts for Technical, okay?”

The first bake was over, and Tayce’s shortbread biscuits shaped like dragons had gone down pretty well with the judges. She wasn’t sure if she’d had the best feedback, her nerves kicking in and blocking out most of the other contestants’ comments; but she thought she’d done enough for this round at least.

One of the producers herded them like sheep - or maybe cats, judging by how Ginny had gone chasing after a squirrel they’d seen - back into Norton Hall where they were all staying for the weekends while filming was happening. It was a huge, Georgian manor mouse with ceilings touching the clouds, far more halls than were necessary, and so many excessive bedrooms that each contestant had a room each.

Tayce had half-expected four-poster regal luxury as she’d opened the door to her own, twice the size of her room in her flat; but no such luck - it was furnished sparingly, and all the beds were normal. A small double, she noted. Not that she was likely to get lucky with these master bakers, but a woman could dream.

The floorboards creaked as she crossed the room and flopped backwards onto the bed, gazing at the ceiling, the elation sending a shiver through her skin as she realised again that she had made it to Bake Off.

The Bake Off!

They weren’t meant to change clothes between takes unless they’d made a huge mess with the food, so Tayce just retouched her eyeliner and went back down to the communal room, where most of them had gathered back in the group, polite conversations carrying on amongst relative strangers as they sampled each others’ biscuits.

What a surreal scene.

A group of almost strangers, half of their names unfamiliar, and she was meant to discuss baking with them all.

“Alright, babs?” She heard someone pushing a plate in front of her. “My name’s Ginny, Ginny Lemon, and if you don’t like lemon, well - just skip my biccies, alright love?”

“No, lemon is great,” Tayce forced a smile, taking one of Ginny’s biscuits. “Thanks hun.”

“You’re welcome! Which ones did you make - wait, I remember, the Welsh dragons?”

“Now how did you guess that one?” Tayce raised an eyebrow at them. “My mum’s idea, she was like, do it for the Welsh! So of course she found a dragon-shaped cookie cutter from somewhere. One of the tourist shops in Cardiff. Tourists love dragon biscuits apparently.”

“Oh I know love, I know - speaking of weird biscuits, have you ever tried a Worcester sauce biscuit? I don’t recommend it if you haven’t, but have you?” Ginny shook their head, tutting. “Tastes like shit! Waste of biscuit. Waste of Worcester sauce too, though. Anyway, Pip’s looking lonely without me. Nice to see you!”

And Ginny fled from Tayce’s arm, scurrying back over to Pip. Tayce tasted the biscuit, bracing herself for Worcester sauce, blinking with surprise to find it was actually pretty good, the lemon flavour really tasty, and finding she wanted another.

Most of the rest of the biscuits were arranged on a bench at the back. Tayce picked up another of her own and went down the line, eager to see which had depleted the most.

Gravestone biscuits were the biggest shocker for her - two different sets of biscuits were there, iced to resemble gravestones, mostly untouched - but Tayce politely picked up the better-looking of the two and found a lovely chilli kick to it when she tasted. But gravestones weren’t the only common theme - two different rose patterns were there, one set iced in different shades of pink, and the other with a deep red icing. The pink roses were almost all gone, and Tayce took the second-to-last one, enjoying the raspberry flavour, and grabbing one of the other roses to go.

Tayce peered around the room at the other contestants from her vantage point at the table. Most of them had dropped into twos and threes - with twelve people it was bound to happen - chatting amongst themselves, quietly and politely for the most part, although the two Scottish women in one corner were laughing as if they’d known each other for years.

Eventually, she joined Aurora, who was talking to someone whose white-blonde hair and pencil-thin eyebrows looked very familiar …

“Joe Black,” she said, extending a heavily-tattooed hand to Tayce, whose stomach flipped upon hearing the name.

“You’re - on Instagram, that woman -“

“My internet infamy precedes me, but in that case I hope so too do my bakes, and of course my sense of fun.” Joe’s voice was theatrical, her gestures affected; but her smile was warm, and Cherry looked as enamoured with her as Tayce was feeling.

“And who wins the biscuit version of the wars of the roses?” Joe continued, pointing down at the two rose-shaped iced biscuits on Tayce’s plate. “Lawrence, or Veronica? I must say, the amount that Veronica worried about her own bake, that time probably could have been spent thinking up a better biscuit flavour than rosewater, don’t you agree?”

Tayce glanced at Veronica’s biscuit, then up at Aurora. “Does it taste that bad?”

But before Aurora could answer, they were interrupted by “Alright, babes! How’s it hanging?”

The woman joining them had rich violet hair scraped off her face into a bun at the crown of her head, and an intense green stare. Tayce took the hand that was extended to her, finding a firmer handshake than Asttina’s, trying to follow the stream of words from this woman’s mouth.

“I’m Lauren, but you might as well call me Lawrence, that’s all Ellie’s been calling me all day, thinks she’s fucking hilarious, and I’ve not really met any of you yet because, you know,” Lawrence paused for breath, waving her hands, “baking contest, ooh I’m not here to make friends, et cetera, but now that we’re all here and we’re not baking right now, I thought I’d better find out who everyone is! Are you the one who made the dragon biccies?”

“That’s me, baby!” Tayce grinned. “Bore da, bitches!”

“See, I knew you were Welsh, and there Ellie was trying to convince me the dragon biccies were by someone who just really liked Puff the Magic Dragon, she owes me a tenner now - and you’re - oh wait, I know you!” Lawrence wagged her finger at Joe, whose expression didn’t change apart from the slow blink. “That Instagram video!”

Joe fixed Lawrence with a stare. “Yes, that Instagram video; I know that precedes me, but I hope by the end of this competition that can be eclipsed by my culinary skills.” Her voice still kept the throaty drawl, but Tayce was starting to sense her irritation at the association.

Cherry had already offered her hand to shake, and Lawrence took it. “Alright, I remember your name, because you put it in your biccies as flavouring! Where’re you from, do they grow cherries there?”

“No - I’m from Darlington.”

Lawrence blinked, frowning. “Darlington, near Sweetie-shire is that?”

“No, it’s near -“

“I’m joking babes, I’m joking! I know it’s - hey, hey Ellie!” Lawrence stopped to shout to Ellie, who had evidently reappeared. “Els! It’s not Puff the Magic Dragon! Where’s my tenner? Hey!” And she was gone in an instant, Tayce turning to watch her chase Ellie as she scurried out.

“Anyway,” Joe continued, motioning to Tayce’s plate and one of the gravestone biscuits, “I’m so glad you’re enjoying mine! I know my sense of humour is a little … ah, morbid, but I didn’t count on being one of two people with this bake, let me tell you that!”

Joe glanced over to the left out the sides of her eyes; Tayce followed her gaze to Pip, oblivious, making herself a cup of tea.

“She didn’t - like, you don’t think she -“

“Oh, no, not in a month of Sundays! But it’s a strange little coincidence, isn’t it? The viewers will love the drama!”

Joe opened her mouth wide to let out a violent cackle, a sound that might have made a shiver glide down Tayce’s spine if she hadn’t been mid-biscuit.

——

Technical: 8 Wagon Wheels

The Technical challenge was the first time Tayce felt her nerves return in a rush.

Everyone had identical ingredients and an identical recipe, but nothing prepared any of them for whipping the gingham cloth from them all and flipping the instructions over. Tayce ran her pencil down them, her head spinning.

On the first read, she recalled nothing.

Focus.

She took one steadying breath, letting go of as many nerves as she could, and then ran her pencil back down the list, jotting down timings and a couple of notes. They only had an hour and a half; precision was key.

On her right, Aurora was fidgeting with her apron, twisting her hair around her finger, before grabbing as many bowls as she could from the drawers and setting them all down ready.

It almost felt like more pressure, rather than less, having no judges in the room - just Matt and Noel, and they couldn’t really interact with the bakers at this point, mostly just talking amongst each other and having to film occasional silly quips for the television interludes.

You’re not gonna get this finished if you keep looking at Matt and Noel!

So Tayce mentally blocked out everything and anything around her, not taking her eyes off her workbench. Instructions, ingredients, whisk, repeat. Oven, timers, filling, cooling, done.

She barely remembered anything else that happened in the room.

As she put the last wagon wheel on the tray to take to the front, she wiped her brow, took a swig of tea, and then heard the immortal lines.

“Bakers! You have one minute to go!”

Tayce looked around the room. Tia, three desks ahead, was looking flustered, covered in flour from head to toe - a difficult feat when you were six feet tall - and Veronica, just behind her, was rounding the corner to help her move the biscuits over to the tray one by one as she spread on the jam and marshmallow fluff. Bimini, who Tayce was sure had finished about ten minutes earlier than everyone else, was doing the same thing for Asttina, leaning over her workbench and talking soothingly to her as they both moved biscuits around.

On the other side, Ginny was rubbing Pip’s back, trying to help her load wagon wheels onto the tray but only succeeding in knocking the handbag to the ground. Ellie broke two of her wagon wheels by dropping a palette knife on them, her squeak causing Lawrence to turn from her bench and put her hands on her hips.

But Tayce felt an unexpected wave of relief when she saw Aurora finishing her own biscuits right on schedule, stepping back with a sigh, rolling her head and her eyes to the ceiling.

They had to bring the biscuits to the front table, and put them behind their respective photographs for blind judging. Looking at the other biscuits on the bench, Tayce nodded to herself in satisfaction. She definitely wasn’t the worst. The photos were all a blur, but there was definitely one disaster, chocolate and marshmallow oozing; Ellie’s broken biscuits; and another tray with a biscuit missing.

It was easy to breathe a sigh of relief for herself.

“Just get into any order,” the producer said, pointing to the stools that had been set in front of the table, “but don’t sit directly behind your photo. Otherwise it just looks obvious.”

Tayce’s biscuits were second from the right, so she bunched towards the left, and found herself between Aurora and Joe. Joe had pretended to trip over her feet while carrying her own biscuits up, cackling gleefully at Veronica’s pained expression as she watched. Veronica, mercifully, had sat as far from Joe as she could.

Aurora was breathing rapidly next to her, and Tayce gave her a nudge with her knee.

“Chill girl! Relax! It will be fine!”

Aurora nodded, but said nothing, focusing on trying to breathe at a normal rate once again. Tayce could practically hear her heart hammering. She nudged her again playfully, and Aurora nudged her back, taking a deep breath out and seeming to calm from then.

Once Prue and Paul were back, Tayce grew a little sleepy. The judging went on for much longer than on telly, and tent was hot from all the baking and warm bodies, plus Aurora’s knee jogging rhythmically was enough to make her feel a little drowsy. Her biscuits were second to last, and Tayce wasn’t really focusing on any of the other critiques as they went down the line, not even those of the two women on either side of her.

She hated tents. They reminded her of camping. This one wasn’t like any of the camping tents, propped by firm wooden walls and decorations but it still reminded her of trips to the Gower when she was at primary school. And thinking of the Gower made her think of day-tripping to Tenby, where the air was hazy with salt and fresh fish, and the sea was far too cold as they skimmed stones, watching them bounce once, twice, three times …

A nudge at her side from Aurora brought her down from her reverie; blinking, Tayce saw the judges had reached the biscuits behind her photo, looking up expectantly to see who would claim them.

Oh, yeah. It’s the Technical, and I’m here to be judged.

She raised her hand, realising that she’d been in a dream so long that she didn’t even know what place the judges had called her for.

“Tayce - good flavour, biscuits had a good crunch, and the chocolate has set well; it just wasn’t quite filled enough.”

Nodding and smiling, she waited for them to move on to the next person before she leaned over towards Aurora, muttering from the corner of her mouth “Where did they put me again?”

But before Aurora could answer, Paul spoke up. “And in second place, we have -“

“You came third, you bitch!” Aurora whispered, her mouth open in awe, and she looped her hand into Tayce’s and squeezed. “How do you do it? You always look so put-together! Not like - Miss Second-Place down there.”

Tayce glanced at Veronica, right at the end of the line of bakers on their stools, whose hand was raised to claim second place. She was nodding earnestly at the praise, but she still wasn’t smiling, her lips tight and her other hand still quivering a little in her lap.

“That means that first place goes to - Asttina!”

But Aurora hadn’t let go of Tayce’s hand, and Tayce was suddenly more aware of that contact than whoever the winner was, even as she slowly drew her hand away for the polite applause that followed.

“Where did you come?” Tayce asked her in a whisper.

“Seventh. Not great. I over-baked them a little bit,” Aurora shrugged. “I’m never gonna be good at technical.”

——

“Congrats on coming top of Technical!” Tia clapped Asttina on the back as they came back into Norton Hall, and Asttina responded with her winning smile.

“Thanks, babe. I thought you all deserved a taste of what I can do!”

There was a collective amused murmur around the other bakers at Asttina’s slightly smug tone. Tayce grinned, staying silent for now, wondering what the others would have to say to that.

“Oh, there’s more to come, is there?” Tia continued.

“I should hope so.” Asttina licked her lips. “From all of you lot as well.”

“There’s no need to be cocky,” Veronica said, the first time any of them had really heard her speak. Veronica was tiny, with blonde hair and a nasal voice that was louder than any of them had expected; most likely feeling the sting of coming second.

Asttina shook her hair back. “I’m not cocky, Veronica, I just know what I can do. Read the CV, it’s all there! If you want to win stuff, you need to know yourself. Do you want to win?”

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?” Veronica retorted.

It was Tia’s snort of laughter that started them all off, diffusing the vague tension creeping into the room. Asttina’s laugh was only drowned out by Veronica’s as she realised what she’d said.

“Is the Pope a Catholic, does a bear shit in the woods … I know, I know. I mean, yeah, I definitely do want to win.”

Asttina shrugged. “Then there’s no point being modest about what you can do. Let your bakes do the talking!”

One of the producers came in at that moment, motioning for them all to come round, and they all bunched together.

“Alright folks, the day’s filming is done, we’ll begin tomorrow at nine sharp for the Showstopper challenges. Until then you’re free to relax and have a nice time - please don’t go into any areas marked as Private, and no excessive drinking, but otherwise, have a good night!”

“Thank you!” They chorused, clapping for some unknown reason, as some of the staff rounded up the leftover biscuits and cleared them away.

“The filming crew get them,” Veronica explained to Tia, “I asked earlier what happened to them all because I knew we wouldn’t be able to eat them all.”

“You know what this means?” Cherry said, addressing them all from on top of one of the sofas. “This is the last evening we’ll all be together. Let’s all cheers to the cast of GBBO!”

She pulled a bottle of something from her bag, and the rest of them grabbed a mug each, sharing out the gin Cherry had brought, and bringing all their drinks together in cheers.

——

Showstopper: A gingerbread sculpture of a place that makes you nostalgic.

The Showstopper was about as broad as you could get. Everyone seemed to have something different in mind. Bimini and Asttina, on the two front benches, looked as poised and confident as they had all the previous day; and Asttina, buoyed by her Technical challenge win, puffed her chest in pride.

Tayce had practised her gingerbread over and over, but nothing prepared any of them for being in the tent, where the pastel colours and the novelty of the bright, friendly conversations started to switch to a competitive edge.

Especially after the Technical, where they had all been ranked. Having a number against your name now, combined with a vague grade against the Signature challenge, meant the Showstopper was the be-all and end-all for some of them.

That was it Tayce thought to herself, as she watched Aurora’s grim determination pass her face every second.

And she wasn’t the only one.

Cherry, on the workbench in front of her, had come sixth; but she’d been much quieter all morning, concentrating on reading and re-reading her instructions, tapping her pencil against her chin and growling frustratedly every now and then.

Ellie, wearing a pair or Pip’s elf ears, was doing even worse. Being ranked eleventh had done very little to ease the nerves she had displayed the day before, and her morning had already started with another blue plaster on yet another finger.

But Aurora was the only person Tayce was concentrating on. Something about the way she’d held her hand … and Tayce was far too quick to let her mind run away without her, thinking it meant anything, when obviously it probably didn’t.

“What are you doing?” Tayce called to Aurora over the chatter of everyone else around the room; but Aurora didn’t reply, her tongue running over her lips as she surveyed the mess that was the butter and sugar mix before her.

“Aurora?” She asked, making her way to stand by her behind the bench.

Aurora was still silent, but the noise from the bowls and KitchenAid she was using spoke volumes for her without her needing to say a word.

“D’you want a cup of tea?” Tayce asked her eventually, waiting for the curt nod from Aurora before sprinting to the tea station, in a tent outside.

When she got back, Aurora had moved up to Ellie’s workbench, and even though her back was to Tayce, she could see her shoulders shaking and Ellie’s hand rubbing her back, before offering her a can of the Monster she always had to have, the label covered in masking tape to escape product placement.

Tayce approached them both to comfort Aurora too, but as she did, cameras zoomed in on all three of them. Aurora pushed them both away and walked out of the tent, covering her face.

Ellie looked from the camera to Tayce and then back again, confused more than anything, and Lawrence, turning from her bench, looked back at them all with a frown.

“What’s going on here? Is she alright?” Lawrence pointed to Aurora, who was busy wiping her tears away in the far corner, with Matt Lucas at her side and a camera in her face.

“No,” Tayce muttered, “and she won’t be while there’s a lens on her.”

After that, Tayce kept half an eye on Aurora as she baked. She mostly ignored the cameramen as they hurried around the tent, taking stock footage of them cutting gingerbread shapes, using their ovens, and decorating, but Tayce purposely kept her mouth tightly closed, and her expression firmly neutral.

As Noel called for ten minutes remaining, Tayce was finishing the detailing of the roof of the stadium. The band were meant to be playing biscuit instruments and there was meant to be a crowd, but Tayce had settled for calling it a backstage pass moment, where VIPs could meet them, and just made models of herself and her friends.

“Time is up! Bakers, step away from your bakes!”

Noel called time, and Tayce took a step back to properly admire her finished product - and really, she was blown away by her own bake. The gingerbread houses she’d made in practise had gone alright, but this one, even in the pressure cooker environment of the tent, had gone almost perfectly, down to the timing of the bakes.

“Wow,” Tayce whispered to herself, “week one is done!”

She took a few seconds to admire everyone else’s in the tent. Some were much better than others. Joe’s looked a little strange - she’d meant to do a wedding scene with the gingerbread church, but the roof was crooked, and the gravestones falling over, not supported by the sticky sugar mixture they’d all used as adhesive. Cherry’s ambitious building was incomplete, and Tayce didn’t even know what it was meant to be.

But Asttina’s was incredible - a beautiful beach scene with a model of a beach hut and even a Ferris wheel. Ellie’s technical slip up was definitely repaired by the pub she’d built, adding fondant banners inside and making the dull gingerbread colours come alive with her imaginative take on the icing outside; while Lawrence had made a theatre, melting jelly babies to create beautiful stained glass in the windows, something Tayce kicked herself for not thinking of.

They all had a chance to leave the tent for a break, to sit outside in the shelter, and to have a breather before the actual judging of the bakes was done.

“I don’t envy the judges,” Joe said, her drawling voice awed, as she took in all of the gingerbread houses from their vantage point outside the tent. “They definitely have their work cut out for them, don’t they?”

“Everyone did amazing,” Aurora nodded, “it’s just a case of who did less amazing. D’you reckon they’ll just take this into account, or the whole weekend?”

Tayce didn’t know why she was worrying. Aurora had come middle of the pack in technical, but had been praised for her Signature, and her gingerbread house - modelled on her Nan’s, she had said - was so prim and dainty that Tayce knew the judges were going to eat it up, and not only literally.

“It won’t be you, chillax!” Tayce reached to rub her hand.

“Who d’you reckon it will be then?”

“Well, they tend to take into account the numbers assigned at the Technical challenge, and the Signature comments, to make the first analysis, at least,” Joe chuckled, “that’s what we see on the television. Who were the bottom three for Technical? I was tenth, Ellie was eleventh, who was twelfth again?”

“It’s - erm,” Aurora pointed, but the name escaped her for a second. “Tia. Tia was twelfth.”

“It’s probably between the three of us, then,” Joe said brightly, “unless something goes … horribly wrong to one of the Showstoppers. And how likely is that?”

As they looked through the panels of the tent, one of the gingerbread houses collapsed into pieces onto the tray it was set on.

Tayce glanced around the other eleven bakers to see whose it was.

One of the bakers had her head in her hands, shoulders tensed, while the two people on either side of her hugged her tightly.

——

“Seriously, Joe, how did you make that happen?” Aurora’s voice was hushed, tense, after the award for Star Baker and the first elimination had taken place.

Joe’s eyes widened as she shook her head. “I don’t quite know - maybe it was just something, spoken into the universe, made to happen.”

“Or maybe it was just gravity and shitty caramelised sugar sticking it all together,” Tayce added.

“Yes,” Joe replied, “or that too.”

Joe, Ellie and Tia had all survived their stint in the bottom at Technical - but Pip, who had come ninth in Technical, and whose Signature had received mediocre feedback, had laughed behind gritted teeth at presenting her collapsed gingerbread house - “More of an Ikea house,” Paul had commented cheerily - which had ultimately turned out to be too hard to bite into and had sealed her fate. Not even the lucky elf ears saved her from the first elimination.

“I was so sure I was going home this week,” Aurora sighed later that night, back at Norton Hall, where everyone had eaten so much of each others’ gingerbread houses that they all felt ill.

“You wouldn’t have, yours was good!” Tayce rubbed her arm. “Relax! It’s done now. Just focus on next week instead.”

“And I can’t believe Prue said she’d like to try a bit of carpet when they were looking at Ellie’s pub,” Aurora said, shaking her head. “Did anyone else catch that?”

“Yeah, I did!” Tayce sniggered. “They’re so innocent! This is just gonna be a load of innuendos all season, isn’t it? Imagine what they’re gonna say for next week too.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s cake week, isn’t it?” Aurora seemed to perk up. “That’s a bit more my comfort zone.”

Suddenly the door opened, and Asttina was led back inside the area by the cameraman and a producer. Everyone broke into applause - this time genuine, not the muted, polite sound that had echoed round the tent in the technical. Asttina had just given her winner’s interview and called her family, and now wore the Star Baker badge proudly on the lapel of her jacket, her grin wider than the Cheshire Cat’s.

“How did your mum react when you said you were Star Baker this week?” Bimini asked her.

Asttina smiled the warmest smile any of them had seen all weekend from her at the mention of her family. “They screamed so loud that you probably all heard it in here. My mum was falling off the sofa, my dad was waving a wooden spoon, my brother was banging on the floor with his feet - oh, it was great.”

“Well-deserved, babes,” Bimini nodded, and Asttina pulled them in for a hug.

Everyone else was clamouring around Asttina, congratulating her on her Star Baker win this week and admiring the badge she’d won - biscuit-shaped, or at least cookie-shaped - but Tayce hung back, exchanging a glance with Aurora, a glint in her eye; and both of them knew what the other was thinking.

Let’s not cross Joe Black. She might make our Showstoppers crumble.

——

ELEVEN BAKERS REMAIN

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busterkeatonfanfic · 4 years ago

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Chapter 26

The sun had set long ago and they were all crowded around a card table in Louise Brooks apartment, the radio playing “Side by Side” by the Paul Whiteman Orchestra. Sipping a glass of bourbon, Louise was humming merrily along, but Nelly’s lips were set in concentration. She wasn’t a good bridge player by any measure, but the important thing was that she was getting better. They were in no danger of hitting a grand slam, but Buster thought they might be able to get a small slam out of the game. Keeping his eyes on their cards, he tilted his whiskey glass to his lips, emptying it.

“Top you off?” said Louise.

Buster looked at Nelly, who raised an eyebrow. “Not tonight,” he said, and saw Nelly’s shoulders relax. He kissed her behind the ear and saw her cheeks redden in the lamplight.

George laid down a seven of clubs, Buster threw in a five of clubs, Louise put in a four of diamonds, and Nelly swept the trick for them with a six of diamonds. George had a good poker face. Louise’s was skilled simply by virtue of the fact that she was usually in a good humor whether her hand was bad or good. Nelly needed to work on hers. She straightened her expression as if hearing his thoughts.

He’d been living a double life for years now, but with Nelly in the picture, it had lately become a triple life. Buster One was the gay host always ready for sport, drink, and good company. The quiet man left in the gay fellow’s wake was Buster Two, who never forgot that Lady Luck would decide someday to be done with him, and maybe soon. Buster Three was content to spend afternoons and evenings with his girl in her small apartment where she watched him work out gags for Snap Shots and sat patiently as he gave her bridge lessons. She found him pleasing in bed, and never complained that the only dance floor he led her across was her living-room carpet and their only orchestra the tabletop phonograph he’d bought her. As February gave way to March, his routine of visiting her apartment two or three days a week for a couple hours at a time seldom changed. Twice he’d taken her for a drive into the Valley, although that was always risky in case someone recognized his car as he left town and got to wondering about the girl in the passenger seat. Last weekend they’d had their first bridge game with George and Louise, the first time anyone else had seen them together. Nelly had had the time of her life.

Buster Three couldn’t help wanting more, though. He longed to take her to a picture or have her on his arm during a premiere or benefit, dressed to the nines. He imagined her warming his bed at night, swimming laps in his pool in the morning, and playing bridge games in the billiards room on weekday afternoons. He was finding out that a mistress was a funny thing that way. The more you got of her, the more you wanted.

He stroked her back as she looked over at his hand, deciding which card to play next. They could take at least five more tricks by his count, which would put them at eight. Whether Nelly would spot them was the question. They were playing for a nickel a point. He’d wanted to do quarters, but Nelly had complained about how bad she was and insisted on a lower bet, so he let her have her way.

It was now getting close to ten o’clock. He knew they’d have to wrap the game up in the next half hour if he wanted to be home by midnight. It was the first time he’d stayed out so late with Nelly and not told Natalie where he was going.

“Just Molly and me,” Louise sang in a soft, idle voice, examining her cards. “And baby makes three. We’re happy in my blue heaven.”

Nelly yawned and he rubbed her back. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you home soon, sweetheart,” he said in her ear.

Nelly responded with a smile and he was gratified to watch her discard a three of diamonds in the next moment. He was pretty sure he could take the trick with a Jack of diamonds if neither George nor Louise played the Queen.

They left the apartment at a quarter to eleven, many nickels richer. Louise kissed Nelly goodbye on both cheeks. It made Buster happy to see the girls get along so well.

“How’d I do tonight?” said Nelly, as they walked through the darkness toward his Lincoln town car, holding hands.

“You’ll be able to play pro soon at the rate you’re going.”

She squeezed his hand. “Don’t tease.”

“Well okay, but we can start playing for quarters any day now.”

“Maybe dimes,” she said, laughing. “Maybe.” Another big yawn hit her.

“Don't fall asleep yet, you hear? I have things in mind for you.”

“What kind of things?” she said. From her flirtatious tone, he had a pretty good idea that she already knew.

“Let me take you home and I’ll show you.”

Though she was falling asleep on her feet by the time he parked on Genesee Avenue, she allowed him to walk her inside, persuade her onto the couch, and lift up her skirts. That gave her a second wind and she joined in the excursion with enthusiasm. When they were done and he’d buttoned his trousers back up, he watched her wander around the apartment in nothing but her garter belt and stockings, getting ready for bed. Apart from the nudie show, which he enjoyed tremendously, he found he’d missed watching her take down her hair and return from the washroom wearing it in braids, her cheeks shining from scrubbing her face. Tonight the routine was the same except that she was in the buff. He grinned, looking forward to having something to think about on Monday morning when the tedious conversations about Snap Shots resumed with the M-G-M brass and his surplus writers.

After Nelly had brushed her teeth, he followed her into her bedroom and watched her get into underthings and a pink sleeveless nightgown with ivory lace at the bodice.

“Sticking around to tell me a bedtime story?” she said, giving him an impudent smile.

He swatted her derrière in rebuke as she climbed into bed and drew the covers over her. “Sure. What’ll it be?” He sat on the side of the bed.

“I don’t care. Surprise me.”

“Once upon a time Charles Lindbergh flew over the Atlantic to find the prettiest girl in the world.”

Nelly giggled. “Oh, is that what his flights are about?”

“He gets to England. Nothing worth seeing. Same story in France and Italy and Indonesia.”

“Indonesia’s not in Europe.” Nelly was laughing, but her eyes had also closed.

“Who’s telling this story?” he said, tapping her shoulder. “So he gets back in the airplane, flies all the way across the Atlantic again. Gets to New York. All the dames he sees look like dogs practically. Well, he gets back into the airplane again and he commences to visit every state he can, Pennsylvania, Florida, Mississippi, Tennessee. You name it, he visits it. It’s no good. He never saw such ugly girls. Any how, he’s running low on fuel for his airplane and he decides to make a stop in Chicago.”

“Mmm,” said Nelly. Her lids were beginning to twitch.

“While he’s there he goes and sees the sights. He takes an elevator up to the very top of the Tribune Tower. Guess who he meets on the top, top floor?”

Nelly sighed.

“Miss Nelly Foster, that’s who. That’s how he found the prettiest girl in the world.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. She gave a vague smile at the caress, but otherwise was out like a light. “G’night, sweetheart.”

He collected his jacket and locked her front door with the key she’d given him, which was in his pocket more often than not these days. It was half past midnight by the time he made it home. He half-expected Nate to be waiting in the sitting room or at the foot of the stone staircase demanding to know where he’d been, but the house was silent and dimly lit; he stubbed his toe on his way to the kitchen to see what Caruthers had left in the refrigerator.

Standing in the kitchen eating cold roast and cold cooked carrots from a priceless bone china plate a few minutes later, he was back to being Buster Two, bewildered that this could be his life. Buster wasn’t half bad at Shakespeare. The problem was that Nelly could barely recite her lines without laughing over his sober-faced version of Olivia, who spoke in a high, breathy voice. “Stay,” he would say, “I prithee, tell me what thou thinkest of me,” and clutch his hands in front of his heart so earnestly she would be in stitches.

“That you do think you are not what you are,” she’d answer, giggling.

She had a feeling he was trying to cut her up on purpose, but the straight face never faltered. After a half hour of practicing, Nelly called it a day. She would just have to learn the lines on her own. Buster seemed content to set aside the little green Arden Shakespeare edition of Twelfth Night. He drew his legs onto the sofa and put his head in her lap. She ran her hand through his thick dark hair as he closed his eyes. “You’re burning the candle again, Olivia.”

“Hmmph,” he said.

“Auditions are next Monday night. If I get the part, you’ll have plenty of time to help me rehearse my lines, I guess. The play doesn’t open ‘til the second week of June.”

Buster opened his eyes. “About that.” His brows were pinched.

“What?” she said.

“I’m leaving for New York on the seventh,” he said with a grim expression.

“Oh.” She’d known in an abstract way that Snap Shots took place in New York, but somehow she’d failed to imagine that Buster might shoot on location. Knowing now how he had traveled in order to film Our Hospitality, The General, and Steamboat, it was a conclusion she should have come to. “How long will you be gone?”

Buster sighed. “July. If I’m lucky.”

“How long have you known?” she said, wondering why he had waited to bring it up to her.

“Awhile. Before we started going together. Guess I just thought the day’d never get here.”

“I’ll miss you,” she said frankly, as she combed her fingers through his hair.

“I know,” said Buster. “I’ve been thinking about how to get around it. Maybe I’ll send for you at the halfway point or something. You ever been to New York?”

“Not once,” she said. She briefly considered the practicalities of traveling all the way across the country while trying to keep her job at United Artists and, if her tryout with the Los Angeles Players Company was successful, star in a play at the same time. She was also thinking of his wife, who would doubtless accompany him. Buster, always so honest and hopeful when he built castles in the air, plainly had not thought of this.

“Well, I got some good news, anyway. That was the bad news. Wanna hear it?” He looked up at her so earnestly that she couldn’t resist bending her head to kiss his mouth.

“Of course.

“I just rented a place just outside the M-G-M lot. A bungalow. Figured it’d save me some time going home every day. Plus you could stay the night. I got it all worked out.”

“Oh?” It sounded risky, but her stomach fluttered at the idea.

“Sure. I’ll pick you up and take you there after dark. We get up before the sun comes up and no one’s the wiser. I can get you over to United Artists in the morning.”

The scheme was more than a little hairbrained, but to Buster’s credit it worked. For two weeks before he left for New York, Nelly spent Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday evenings at the bungalow. It was actually a double bungalow with separate entrances, the other half belonging to Edward Sedgwick, Buster’s new director, who used it as an office during business hours. Sedgwick’s half was always dark by the time Buster ushered Nelly through the door after nightfall, though. Buster’s side of the bungalow was a combination dressing room and gymnasium. The dressing room occupied the first room and contained a stove, refrigerator, and worktop so Caruthers could whip up meals. Like Sedgwick, he too was always gone by early evening, but left a hot dinner for two ready, never asking (or so Buster said) why he was cooking for two. The second room held weight equipment, a rowing machine, a punching bag, and other exercise equipment. Nelly had learned a few weeks back that Buster’s splendid physique was not the result of pratfalls, but of dedicated training. Off the gymnasium there was a small washroom, and at the back of the house a little bedroom with a double bed, a nightstand, and a chair. It was here that Nelly would fall asleep next to Buster, waking up more often than not in his arms.

The alarm clock would ring at a rude five a.m. and Buster would reach over her to silence it. Sometimes they would make love. Other times, Buster would fall back asleep and Nelly would watch him, letting him seize a few extra minutes before reluctantly shaking him awake again. Although he had every outward appearance of boundless energy when he was around her, she could tell in the droop of his eyes and the redness that occasionally invaded them that he was always tired. It was no wonder. There were bridge games with Louise and George Marshall, often stretching until midnight, and when there weren’t bridge games, he was practicing songs on the ukulele while she studied her lines, having recently gotten the part of Maria in Twelfth Night. In spare minutes, he’d tell her about baseball games, meetings with the M-G-M bigwigs, and lunches with other stars. He didn’t seem to have a second of his day that wasn’t filled.

One subject he didn’t discuss was his wife and children. It was as if that part of his life didn’t exist, though Nelly knew that he must spend time with them. At first, she hadn’t wanted to know about Natalie because it would have curdled her with guilt to think that she was monopolizing another woman’s husband. Now she didn’t want to know because her feelings for Buster had strengthened. She could almost convince herself that if she didn’t acknowledge that other part of his life, the fairytale that was their time together could stay in place forever.

And it was like a fairytale, even the ordinary parts, like Buster stumbling out of bed so he could go into the front room and make coffee. She loved his sleep-mussed hair and bare feet, the bleary way he groped for his pack of cigarettes and lit the first one of the day, how he would shrug on a dressing gown over his underthings—if he was even wearing underthings, which was never a guarantee when they were sharing a bed. While he was thus occupied, she would get dressed for the day and throw on a dab of lipstick and a quick brush of mascara. As the coffee percolated and Buster dressed, she’d make breakfast, either wheat cakes with eggs or steak and eggs. They always kept the curtains drawn, and if any early-morning peddler knocked on the door to attempt to sell Buster vegetables, soap, and any other number of commodities, she would creep to the back door and leave Buster to turn them down.

Despite their precautions, spending the night at the bungalow still felt dangerous. Nelly knew it would take only one pair of unfriendly eyes to spot them and the jig would be up. Buster, she thought, was much too casual on this point and she always made him double-check that none of his neighbors were peeping out of their homes as she hurried into his car between six and six-fifteen-a.m., depending on how long she’d let him sleep or whether carnal matters had preoccupied them for an extra ten minutes. Even so, it was hard to stay nervous with his cheery attitude. He had only to throw her one of his beautiful smiles, upper teeth straight and gleaming, and she would be set at her ease again.

Notes: Is this chapter too sentimental? Be honest.

I should warn you that because life is hectic right now for me, I’ll probably go down to an every-other-week update. I was away this weekend and got to working on Chapter 26 when I returned, only to discover I needed to add just two sentences to it. -_- Sorry for the delay. There are some anachronisms here and there will be in the future. Louise Brooks wasn’t in the States at this time. I think I did get the timing on the bungalow right, though. The opening part of the second part of this chapter takes place around March 24th.

#Buster Keaton #Fan fiction #RPF #Actor RPF #Silent film #Golden Age Hollywood

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the-end-of-art · 5 years ago

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So why are we getting bullied into opening?

“I’m sorry, but it’s a fantasy” by Jeff Gregorich, Arizona school superintendent at The Washington Post

This is my choice, but I’m starting to wish that it wasn’t. I don’t feel qualified. I’ve been a superintendent for 20 years, so I guess I should be used to making decisions, but I keep getting lost in my head. I’ll be in my office looking at a blank computer screen, and then all of the sudden I realize a whole hour’s gone by. I’m worried. I’m worried about everything. Each possibility I come up with is a bad one.

The governor has told us we have to open our schools to students on August 17th, or else we miss out on five percent of our funding. I run a high-needs district in middle-of-nowhere Arizona. We’re 90 percent Hispanic and more than 90 percent free-and-reduced lunch. These kids need every dollar we can get. But covid is spreading all over this area and hitting my staff, and now it feels like there’s a gun to my head. I already lost one teacher to this virus. Do I risk opening back up even if it’s going to cost us more lives? Or do we run school remotely and end up depriving these kids?

This is your classic one-horse town. Picture John Wayne riding through cactuses and all that. I’m superintendent, high school principal and sometimes the basketball referee during recess. This is a skeleton staff, and we pay an average salary of about 40,000 a year. I’ve got nothing to cut. We’re buying new programs for virtual learning and trying to get hotspots and iPads for all our kids. Five percent of our budget is hundreds of thousands of dollars. Where’s that going to come from? I might lose teaching positions or basic curriculum unless we somehow get up and running.

I’ve been in the building every day, sanitizing doors and measuring out space in classrooms. We still haven’t received our order of Plexiglas barriers, so we’re cutting up shower curtains and trying to make do with that. It’s one obstacle after the next. Just last week I found out we had another staff member who tested positive, so I went through the guidance from OSHA and the CDC and tried to figure out the protocols. I’m not an expert at any of this, but I did my best with the contact tracing. I called 10 people on staff and told them they’d had a possible exposure. I arranged separate cars and got us all to the testing site. Some of my staff members were crying. They’ve seen what can happen, and they’re coming to me with questions I can’t always answer. “Does my whole family need to get tested?” “How long do I have to quarantine?” “What if this virus hits me like it did Mrs. Byrd?”

We got back two of those tests already — both positive. We’re still waiting on eight more. That makes 11 percent of my staff that’s gotten covid, and we haven’t had a single student in our buildings since March. Part of our facility is closed down for decontamination, but we don’t have anyone left to decontaminate it unless I want to put on my hazmat suit and go in there. We’ve seen the impacts of this virus on our maintenance department, on transportation, on food service, on faculty. It’s like this district is shutting down case by case. I don’t understand how anyone could expect us to reopen the building this month in a way that feels safe. It’s like they’re telling us: “Okay. Summer’s over. It’s been long enough. Time to get back to normal.” But since when has this virus operated on our schedule?

I dream about going back to normal. I’d love to be open. These kids are hurting right now. I don’t need a politician to tell me that. We only have 300 students in this district, and they’re like family. My wife is a teacher here, and we had four kids go through these schools. I know whose parents are laid off from the copper mine and who doesn’t have enough to eat. We delivered breakfast and lunches this summer, and we gave out more meals each day than we have students. I get phone calls from families dealing with poverty issues, depression, loneliness, boredom. Some of these kids are out in the wilderness right now, and school is the best place for them. We all agree on that. But every time I start to play out what that looks like on August 17th, I get sick to my stomach. More than a quarter of our students live with grandparents. These kids could very easily catch this virus, spread it and bring it back home. It’s not safe. There’s no way it can be safe.

If you think anything else, I’m sorry, but it’s a fantasy. Kids will get sick, or worse. Family members will die. Teachers will die.

Jeff Gregorich, superintendent of schools at Hayden Winkelman Unified School District in Arizona, shows results of a district survey. (Photos by Caitlin O’Hara for The Washington Post)

Mrs. Byrd did everything right. She followed all the protocols. If there’s such a thing as a safe, controlled environment inside a classroom during a pandemic, that was it. We had three teachers sharing a room so they could teach a virtual summer school. They were so careful. This was back in June, when cases here were starting to spike. The kids were at home, but the teachers wanted to be together in the classroom so they could team up on the new technology. I thought that was a good idea. It’s a big room. They could watch and learn from each other. Mrs. Byrd was a master teacher. She’d been here since 1982, and she was always coming up with creative ideas. They delivered care packages to the elementary students so they could sprout beans for something hands-on at home, and then the teachers all took turns in front of the camera. All three of them wore masks. They checked their temperatures. They taught on their own devices and didn’t share anything, not even a pencil.

At first she thought it was a sinus infection. That’s what the doctor told her, but it kept getting worse. I got a call that she’d been rushed to the hospital. Her oxygen was low, and they put her on a ventilator pretty much right away. The other two teachers started feeling sick the same weekend, so they went to get tested. They both had it bad for the next month. Mrs. Byrd’s husband got it and was hospitalized. Her brother got it and passed away. Mrs. Byrd fought for a few weeks until she couldn’t anymore.

I’ve gone over it in my head a thousand times. What precautions did we miss? What more could I have done? I don’t have an answer. These were three responsible adults in an otherwise empty classroom, and they worked hard to protect each other. We still couldn’t control it. That’s what scares me.

We got the whole staff together for grief counseling. We did it virtually, over Zoom. There’s sadness, and it’s also so much fear. My wife is one of our teachers in the primary grade, and she has asthma. She was explaining to me how every kid who sees her automatically gives her a hug. They arrive in the morning — hug. Leave for recess — hug. Lunch — hug. Locker — hug. That’s all day. Even if we do everything perfectly, germs are going to spread inside a school. We share the same space. We share the same air.

A bunch of our teachers have told me they will put in for retirement if we open up this month. They’re saying: “Please don’t make us go back. This is crazy. We’re putting the whole community at risk.”

They’re right. I agree with them 100 percent. Teachers don’t feel safe. Most parents said in a survey that they’re “very concerned” about sending their kids back to school. So why are we getting bullied into opening? This district isn’t ready to open. I can’t have more people getting sick. Why are they threatening our funding? I keep waiting for someone higher up to take this decision out of my hands and come to their senses. I’m waiting for real leadership, but maybe it’s not going to happen.

It’s me. It’s the biggest decision of my career, and the one part I’m certain about is it’s going to hurt either way.

(https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2020/08/01/schools-reopening-coronavirus-arizona-superintendent/?arc404=true&campaign_id=9&emc=edit_nn_20200803&instance_id=20930&nl=the-morning®i_id=72340436&segment_id=35086&te=1&user_id=e60ae3c4dd2d7adddb2ce123ccc9fad4)

#Jeff Gregorich #school #education #covid #covid-19 #coronavirus #teaching

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ladyxxdaydream · 4 years ago

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a year-in-review meme - for writers!

I thought up this writing meme for fic writers who might have been staring at the artists having their lovely and well-deserved collages of their work through the year - and wanted to join in the fun! also this works as a great reminder for those of you (and me) who’ve been thinking that they haven’t been writing as much as they want to, and allows you to go back to enjoy your old fic ;D

Rules: pick your favourite sentence from a work you posted / wrote during a month of 2020! if you didn’t write anything in any particular month, don’t worry! tell us what you were doing or use it as free space for runner-up sentences. after that, tag 8 people or more to do the meme!

That being said, here’s mine:

Tagged by: @rikacain !!

I’m tagging -- @flailinginlove @aviss @kiitsvne @stupidbadgers and @tea-blitz who doesn’t use tumblr anymore but WHATEVER. and anyone else who wants to do it! <3

~~~

JAN: (from Heavy Weight)

“Iruka felt Kakashi’s eye on him. Most people feared the Sharingan, and for good reason, but Iruka feared his real eye, his own eye. It had a way of seeing straight past Iruka’s defenses, no dōjutsu required, and deep into his soul.“

FEB: (from Old Pine)

“Do you want children?” Iruka asked, feeling like the timing was right.

Kakashi was quiet for a few moments. Iruka had learned to read Kakashi’s silences for what they were. It wasn’t hesitation like he had initially thought. Kakashi simply liked to think things through before answering immediately. Iruka liked that about him.

“I think we have four already,” Kakashi said, eyeing Sasuke, Naruto, Ino, and Sakura through the glass door.

Iruka laughed, but refrained from clarifying. He knew Kakashi understood what he meant and would answer him shortly. Iruka had also learned that Kakashi had a tendency to be indirect, before he got around to what he actually wanted to say.

MARCH: (from Mouthful)

“So, Kakashi.” Iruka said, unable to stand still any longer. “We both like what we see. Now what?”

He wasn’t usually this forward, but he was feeling it tonight. All of this playful banter was riling him up—it was his favorite way to flirt.

“I like a man whose direct,” Kakashi said, shifting his stance to lean an elbow on the table. “But hmm,” he hummed. “I don’t know.”

He gave Iruka a seemingly bored look, as if the obvious invitation to leave together was lost on him.

“Well, I like a man whose decisive, so I guess that rules you out.”

Kakashi let out a hard, surprised laugh. He downed the rest of his beer, and took Iruka by the hand, pulling him out of the bar without a word.

APRIL: (from A New Chapter)

“I don’t know how to put this,” Sakumo started, “but… what the hell is that?”

Kakashi looked at where his Father was pointing.

“Uh… a diaper…?” Kakashi guessed, not sure where this was going. They had about a million others, in every color and pattern you could imagine, folded and stacked in the closet. Iruka wanted to go the re-usable route, and several of his students mother’s were eager to gift them. Kakashi had been less than thrilled by the extra laundry.

“Yes. It’s a diaper, Kakashi. Very good. Tell me, did you have both eyes closed when you put it on?”

MAY: (From Cake Substitution No Jutsu)

“What’s this?” Iruka asked as Kakashi entered the kitchen, a fully dressed Tomo whizzing past them both.

“Ah, it’s a backpack,” Kakashi said, crossing over to Iruka excitedly. “I saw it on display in a shop window while doing Gai’s scavenger hunt. Its arms and legs are the straps, so when you wear it, it looks like it’s riding on your back.”

Iruka smiled, turning it around in his hands, noticing the zipper and a few pockets.

“That’s actually pretty ador—”

Iruka stopped speaking. The tail was tightly curled up inside plastic casing still.

“Kakashi,” Iruka said, feeling his eyebrow twitch. “Is this… is this a leash?”

“No. It’s a Puppy Pal… with an exceptionally long tail.”

“It’s a leash,” Iruka deadpanned. “A leash for a child.”

“You put Tomo inside a barrier the other day as a playpen,” Kakashi said, a matter of factly. “Why can’t I have some help controlling her?”

“That’s… that’s different!” Iruka exclaimed, feeling his cheeks heat in contradiction. “Would you like it if I put you on a leash, Kakashi?”

Iruka regretted it the second it came out of his mouth. He could practically see the wolfish grin forming beneath Kakashi’s mask.

JUNE: (from Use Your Imagination)

They laid in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the night through the cracked window—distant cars on the street, a lone dog barking, upbeat music wafting from a floor below them.

Kakashi never wished for time to stop. In fact, he tried to keep himself as busy as possible—he chose a career that ate up most of his life for a reason. But right now? He wished time didn’t exist, hyperaware of how quickly it would pass before Iruka was back on a plane tomorrow.

He traced circles into Iruka’s lower back, watching as the brown skin pressed against his broke out in a wave of goosebumps. Iruka shivered, and then shifted, and Kakashi wondered if he was falling asleep.

He selfishly continued his adorations, wanting to keep Iruka in this realm with him for a little while longer. He expanded his rake, sliding his fingers up Iruka’s spine, skirting around his scar, and back down again.

Kakashi wasn’t one to believe in divine intervention, or soulmates. He’d acted in enough corny films to almost make him hate the notion entirely. But the fact that a man as perfect as Iruka had come into his life so serendipitously—and just as scarred as he was—was something he couldn’t overlook.

It made Kakashi’s heart ache with want, before that ache traveled down, and curled into his gut.

JULY: (from Love Me As You Are)

“And then you demeaned their lives by calling them your soldiers—”

“—is that not what they are?!” Kakashi cut across him, getting upset. “You’re as much a part of this system as I am, sensei! We both know the truth of it, whether we like it or not. I just called it by it’s name.”

“But they’re people too, Kakashi! Kids. They’re so much more than soldiers…”

“That’s not how I was treated,” Kakashi said before he could catch himself.

Iruka’s mouth fell open with a punched sound.

“Kakashi…”

His tone was soft and free of the anger it held a moment ago.

“Forget I said that,” Kakashi said, turning away, his cheeks heating up—the last thing he wanted was Iruka’s pity. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No,” Iruka said, shaking his head as he took a step towards him. “I’m not going to forget you said that. It does matter because you matter. You deserved to have somebody stand up for you too, Kakashi. I’m so sorry Konoha failed you.”

Kakashi’s eyes burned with tears—he bit his tongue, refusing to let them fall. Those words pierced him straight through the heart. It was everything he never knew he needed to hear.

AUG:

um I didn’t write anything this month because my wife and I separated annnd my whole life was uprooted as I moved to a different country ksjdhgkdsj

SEPT: (from I’ll Fall, If You Do)

Their relationship was going really well. There were days where Kakashi still turned him away, usually corresponding with the mornings he had therapy. It was frustrating, because Iruka just wanted to be there for him, for Kakashi to open up to him completely, but he didn’t push. He knew that would only make it worse. They didn’t fight anymore, but Iruka regularly had to correct the language Kakashi used towards himself, and sometimes it was irritating for the both of them.

But mostly… it was amazing. Their chemistry was incredible. Electric. And not just in the bedroom—they were never far from each other, drawn in like magnets, grounded by a simple touch or brush of hands. Kakashi hadn’t even left the room twenty minutes ago, and already Iruka felt the pull.

He jumped up from his seat and went to go find him.

OCT: (From Language Gap)

Iruka glanced out the bus window, his body instinctively knowing where they were about to pass. The building was still empty twenty years later, the brick still scorched, and Iruka’s nightmares were still plagued by the fire despite not being there when it broke out. He’d been sent on a delivery on foot — one steaming container of karē udon — two blocks away. He delivered to the same old lady everyday, and she always kept him longer than necessary, pressing sweets into his palm. When he had come back, the noodle shop was aflame. In his shocked state, he distantly heard something about a grease fire, before he was whisked away by the hand by his childhood friend Asuma, living with him and his father from that day on.

Iruka sighed and stood up, making his way towards the door since his stop was next. He really wished the city would do something about the building. Every time he saw it, it made him feel oddly exposed and vulnerable, like his past was staring straight at him.

He shook his head a little and stepped off the bus.

NOV: (From Brand New Sound)

Kakashi watched in stunned silence for a moment, trying to get his heartbeat under control as color effortlessly flowed from the artist’s hand onto the brick. Whoever this was, they had sort of become one of Kakashi’s heroes. People always said meeting your heroes was never a good idea—bound to be disappointing—because it brought them down to a human level.

But that was precisely what attracted Kakashi to this artist in the first place—the sheer, raw, humanness. The way they tackled hard emotions and vulnerability, baring everything through their work for others to see. It was honest and transformative, and Kakashi spent more nights than he could ever count wandering the streets when he couldn’t sleep, hoping to catch a mural he’d never seen before it was painted over. Sometimes he did, and sometimes he’d sit in front of ones he already knew and found new meaning in them.

DEC: (from Perks of Promotion)

“But why now?” Iruka insisted. “Why ask me out now? Right after I’ve made tokubetsu jounin? When we’ve known each other for years?”

Oh.

Kakashi paused, the realization dawning on him. He didn’t blame Iruka for being suspicious of his intentions; he’d heard the way people said ‘the chuunin sensei’ or ‘the chuunin desk worker’ like it was some kind of insult. It always pissed him off.

Kakashi stared at his feet for a moment before lifting his head again, leveling Iruka with a serious stare. “Because I didn't think I’d live past 21. Because it took me an obscenely long time to become a barely functioning adult. Because I never had the guts before… I-I still don’t, not really, if you can’t tell by how much I’m fumbling around here,” he said with a nervous laugh.

#kakairu #my fic #hatake kakashi/umino iruka #this is VERY long #i dont expect ppl to read it lmao #but it was really fun #*sweats* yeah i picked one sentence.....#also WOW #i published something every month (sometimes twice!!)#except for august #which is... understandable #this was a really cool idea #thanks for tagging me rika :D #writer meme

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songsoomin · 5 years ago

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Confidence (S)

Word count: 4,728

Mingi x female reader; you’re in a bar, Mingi hits on you, you’re unsure at first because your self-confidence is really low but you go back to your hotel and good things happen.

This is the first story I’ve ever written so I don’t know if it’s any good. Let me know.

Warnings: Smut, slight Dom!Mingi, slightly degrading names but not said in a nasty way. You are cheating on your husband but he’s an arsehole who treats you badly and you live separate lives.

Posted: 8th June 2020

You were sitting on a stool at one end of the bar, quietly sipping your drink and thinking about how you ended up here alone. It wasn't too noisy, just the hum of groups enjoying drinks on a Friday night but you enjoyed the lighting that was a lower than the obnoxiously bright spotlights of the loud clubs that all the kids went to, as well as the more laid-back atmosphere.

You were just over thirty now and had always thought that your life would be settled and happy by now...but here you were - holidaying alone, your husband back home probably not even giving you a second thought. He didn't care that you wanted to go away alone but then he hadn't cared much about anything you did for some time now. It wasn't always like this, you'd never had much self-confidence, always doubting if people really liked you - you always felt like the outsider even in your friend group - but when you met him he made you feel beautiful and special and your confidence soared but he'd spent the last 8 years slowly stripping away every last shred of it.

You had met as teenagers, fell in love, got married and for a while it was great...but then things went downhill; there was always something wrong with you and he didn't hesitate to let you know that. You didn't wear make up often enough; you didn't wear nice enough clothes; your weight had gone up slightly - everyday there was something he found to put you down about. Affection was only given by him if he thought you'd made enough effort to look nice and if he didn't like what you wore, he would virtually ignore you. It had been going on for years and by now you'd realised it was a type of emotional abuse and you felt utterly worthless. Friends asked why you didn't leave him but you made excuses for him and told them that you loved him but part of you suspected that you were just scared of being alone after all these years - after all, who would want you now? Maybe being with him was better than being all alone.

You'd ended up here because you had just wanted to get away from your life for just a bit, take some time just for you. You'd always wanted to visit Korea and now you could do whatever you wanted and not have to think about anyone else. Your mind, however, was drifting back to your problems now that you were at the bar watching couples and groups of friends having fun. You'd never been a social butterfly but it did feel a little awkward sitting alone and you wondered what people might think of you. Clearly a couple of men had thought you were looking to be picked up because they'd approached you offering a drink but you politely declined - that wasn't what you were after, although they may have thought otherwise as you'd made the effort to look good.

You had on a black dress which wasn't too short but showed off a nice amount of cleavage, high heels, pretty make up - you'd always loved getting dressed up because even if you never truly thought of yourself as good-looking, you knew you looked nice when dressed-up and it gave you back a little bit of the confidence you'd lost. Unfortunately it was usually just the older, slightly creepy guys that came on to you now and that didn't do anything to make you feel any more special. In your experience men always liked women younger than them which was why you thought nothing of it at first when a younger man approached the bar and sat on the stool next to you.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

You looked to where the deep voice came from and saw, possibly, the most beautiful man you'd ever seen. It seemed more appropriate to call a man 'handsome' but this man was something else entirely. 'Handsome' just didn't do him justice. He must've been about 6ft tall, his skin was smooth with dark eyes and plump lips that looked so soft you wanted to touch them. His hair was a deep red colour and was parted to the side, beautifully framing his perfect features. You realised you'd been staring and that he was waiting for an answer.

"Oh...um, no I'm fine, thank you." You smiled politely, trying not to stare too much.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"No. I'm here alone, actually." You mentally cursed yourself for telling him this, you didn't want to look like a loser.

"Oh, me too. I'm Mingi, by the way." He flashed such a warm smile at you that you immediately felt more comfortable.

"Y/N." You said, relaxing a little more.

The two of you continued drinking and talking for a while, nothing too deep, just about life and things in general. He asked how you were liking Korea and you let on that you weren't just alone in the bar but alone on holiday, as well. He was surprised, after all, it's not that usual for people to holiday alone and he asked you why it was. You really didn't want to give him your life story and seem as pathetic as you felt but he made you feel so comfortable you settled on a shortened version.

"Aahh, well, it's a long story. My husband and I pretty much live separate lives now."

A sympathetic look crossed his face, "Is it okay if I ask why?" He was quick to add "I understand if you don't want to talk about it." after he saw the uncertain look you had.

"It's okay, I guess. Hmmm, well I suppose it's really because we met too young, we turned into different people over time. I'm just not what he wants now. He hasn't wanted me for years to be honest, I'm not attractive enough anymore." you laughed sadly, looking at your hands out of embarrassment.

"That's ridiculous - you're beautiful!"

You looked up at him surprised and quickly looked away, his intense look making you a little self-conscious. "Thanks.." you mumbled "That's kind of you to say."

"I mean it. You are." Mingi gently touched your hand and you felt your heartbeat quicken at the contact. That didn't mean you believed him, though, people tend to say nice things to try and make others feel better if they're sad. The silence that followed felt a little uncomfortable and you were grateful when he changed the conversation to lighten the mood again.

You were talking about foods you both liked and, as he was laughing and asking how on earth you were managing to eat here when you had such a low tolerance for spicy food, you realised you were staring again. He had such a bright smile, it lit up his whole face and you wondered at the duality he had - he seemed to be able to switch from intense and slightly intimidating to looking like a cute, loveable boy within seconds. He was so charming and you were sure he knew that - or, at least, he must've known you thought that by the way you couldn't stop staring like some kind of silly, lovesick teenager. It must've given him the confidence to move further as he carefully moved his hand to rest on your outer thigh and stroked his thumb over the soft skin there. You felt a thrill go through you but tried to tell yourself it was nothing but the fact you'd had no physical attention for so long and you should get a hold of yourself...after all, he was so friendly he was probably touchy with everyone. Your self-confidence was so low after years of being told you weren't good enough that your brain automatically looked for reasons why this touch meant anything other than he liked you.

Mingi's dark eyes looked deep into yours as he slowly trailed his hand a little further up, watching for your reaction, whether it was okay for him to continue. His intense gaze seemed to hold you in place and honestly you really weren't sure how to react to this; it felt so good but your mind was still having trouble grasping the situation. You didn't stop him so he moved further up and under the hem of your dress.

"What are you doing?" You asked, wide-eyed. His dark eyes held yours and he had a small smile on his face. "Don't you like it?"

"I...I do...but...why are you doing it to me?" He seemed somewhat confused at your question so you elaborated, "You can't be interested in me. There are tons of younger, prettier girls around and you're stunning...you could probably have your pick."

"You really don't see yourself clearly, do you? You're beautiful. Your husband really is a piece of crap to have made you feel anything less." His apparent sincerity was making you blush and also feel a strange warmth in your chest that you hadn't felt in a long time. There were other issues though, he was clearly in his early twenties - about 21 you thought - and maybe he didn't realise how much of an age difference there was.

"I've got to be around 10 years older than you!"

"And?"

"Well....I...we can't...", you really didn't know how to finish that sentence while he was looking at you so intensely. You couldn't remember why it was you thought it was a problem.

Mingi leaned in close to your ear and the proximity made you hold your breath; you could feel his warm breath on your ear as he whispered, "I like older women better. They have more experience."

You blinked in surprise - men usually liked younger women.

"How do you know I do? I've only ever been with my husband and it's been so long I can't even remember when the last time was." For the second time you mentally cursed yourself; you couldn't believe you'd just come out with something so private.

"Well, even if you don't, I'll still count myself lucky to be with someone as beautiful as you." You blushed at the slightly corny line.

"It seems like you're the one who knows what he's doing with pick-up lines like that." Mingi smiled cutely, "Is it working then?"

You were wavering, you really wanted this but weren't sure if it was okay. You'd never found yourself in this kind of situation before. When it occasionally happened you'd politely decline men's advances but you'd never had this kind of attention from a man this hot before and, if you were honest, you really did want to say yes.

Mingi could see you wavering and saw his opportunity, he leant in and softly placed his lips on yours. It was just for a second but you could feel his lips were as soft as you had imagined and just before he pulled away you felt Mingi's tongue lightly swipe over your bottom lip.

He knew he had you then seeing as you'd virtually melted into his arms, "What hotel are you staying at?" He had you a bit flustered and you'd forgotten the name so you simply said, "It's just a couple of streets from here." Mingi smiled and took your hand, "Let's go then."

It didn't take long to get to your hotel but instead of going in straight away you paused, "Mingi...maybe you should come up a few minutes after me. The staff might not like me taking a random guy up to my room", you laughed, although a little awkwardly. "Okay," he said in his deep voice that was giving you butterflies "...what's your room number?" You gave him the number and quickly made your way to your room. You were grateful you'd have a few minutes to brush your teeth again and make sure you looked alright - you were feeling nervous and thought some ordinary tasks like that might calm you a little. Once you were done you waited on the edge of the king-sized bed; you hadn't really needed one that big as it was just you but you wanted a little luxury.

The minutes felt like ages and you started to worry he had changed his mind - despite the signals he'd been giving you all night, you just couldn't get the self-doubt out of your mind... Why would he want you? A knock on the door took you from those thought and replaced them with another wave of butterflies in your stomach - you'd never slept with anyone just after meeting them and you really didn't know how to act.

"Hi-" Your words were stopped by him pushing you back in to the room and immediately kissing you. It wasn't as soft as at the bar but full of desire as he took your bottom lip between his and sucked it. A small moan escaped you at the sensation and you felt him smile. He swiped his tongue over your bottom lip and you opened your mouth for him to enter but just as your tongues met he suddenly pulled back. In an instant you were wondering what you had done wrong but he didn't look unhappy, "You have your tongue pierced?" he asked and you realised he must not have noticed it as you were talking earlier. "Oh, um, yeah. You don't mind it do you?" He suddenly smiled, looking very excited "Mind it? I can't wait to see how that feels on my dick. I've never been with anyone with a tongue piercing before." You smiled teasingly, having become a little more confident, "Well, if you're lucky I might let you."

Mingi growled lowly and pulled your head back in towards him, connecting your lips in a more urgent manner. Although he was younger he was dominating the kiss and you were happy to let him, you'd always been the submissive type and the feeling of him dominating you had you heating up. One of his hands was on your back and the other on the back of your head, his fingers in your hair and you wished you could feel them holding you down on the bed instead. He moved his lips down to your neck, leaving wet kisses as he went and when he started licking and sucking on the skin there you melted in to him. Mingi started biting then and it turned you on to feel like he was marking you as his for the night.

The hand on your back moved up and started to pull down the zip of your dress but he paused when he felt you tense. "What's wrong? You do want this, right?" He may have been dominating but he still wanted that reassurance.

"Yeah, so so much but...I'm just a little self-conscious."

Mingi smiled gently, "Y/N, you really are beautiful. Please....let me see you."

He seemed so sincere you felt a bit stupid to let your doubts get in the way of enjoying this moment so you relaxed and nodded to let him know he could go ahead. He pulled your zip down slowly, trying to make you feel more comfortable as he started to expose your body. Once your dress was pooled at your feet Mingi stepped back a little taking in the sight of you with a look of appreciation on his face and you were glad you had worn your lacy black underwear as you always felt it looked the best on you. His warm hands moved up over your soft skin and stopped on your breasts; they'd always been on the generous side and he hummed appreciatively as they were the perfect size for his large hands. Mingi leaned his head down and kissed one of your breast before gently sucking on the skin there. Your nipples were getting hard already and his thumbs stroked them through the thin lace. Another moan escaped you as the sensation went straight down to your core.

Mingi laughed lightly, "I'm going to have fun tonight if you react this well to my touch."

You flushed a little but he was making you feel so good you didn't mind. "I told you, it's been a long time." you giggled and decided to even things up as you moved your hand down and palmed his erection which was now very evident. A thrill of excitement shot through you as you felt his size through his jeans and heard the low, deep groan come from his throat.

Mingi slid one of your bra straps off and kissed your shoulder before moving his hands round the back and unclasping your bra entirely. It seemed he enjoyed taking his time undressing you and the anticipation only added to the excitement for you, although by now you had become so worked up you just wanted him to fuck you already. Once he'd exposed your breasts completely he trailed wet kisses down your chest so agonisingly slowly that you whispered "Please, Mingi". You saw him smile slightly, obviously enjoying how much of a whimpering mess you'd already become for him - he didn't give you what you wanted straight away, though. He pressed his lips to your ear and said in a low voice, "I like hearing you beg for my touch." He licked your earlobe and bit it lightly, making you moan again and start begging more. "Please, Mingi...touch me. I need you."

"Good girl." His voice seemed to get deeper as he was enjoying your begging and just hearing it was making you wetter.

Mingi gently pushed you towards the bed and laid you down. He took off his shirt and you could see the toned muscles of his upper body. He moved to hover over you with his strong arms caging you in and you stroked over the smooth skin of his chest and abs. His body was like a work of art - even his scent was amazing - and you couldn't believe this man was yours tonight. As you kissed his chest your hands found their way to the waistband of his jeans and undid the button. You slid your hand inside and stroked his erection through the thin fabric of his boxers, Mingi groaned and took one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking hard.

"Oh God! Harder.." you pleaded and let out a small yelp as he took your nipple between his teeth and bit. You felt the sensation in your core and jerked involuntarily. Mingi chuckled and pinched the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger just as hard, loving the reactions he was getting out of you.

"You like it rough, do you?" His deep voice, almost whispered in your ear almost made you think you could come with just the sound of it. He almost growled as he moved back up to force his tongue back in to your mouth. You gave in to the kiss and he took that as a green light to be a little more rough with you.

Without warning Mingi's strong hands pushed your thighs apart and palmed your pussy, feeling the wetness that had soaked through your lace underwear. "Mmmmm, so wet for me already, dirty girl." He slipped your panties to the side and slid two fingers into your hole.

"Aaahhhh." You moaned at the feeling of his long fingers thrusting in to you over and over but you wanted more.. you wanted him to wreck you to make up for what you'd been missing for so long. You were like a starved woman, "More. Please, Mingi, I need more." Mingi groaned and entered a third, pumping them and pressing on your g-spot until you were close to coming undone but he stopped before letting you get that release and attacked your clit with his mouth instead.

"Oh my god, please don't stop. It feels so - aaaahh!" You screamed as Mingi took your clit between his teeth and bit down. Alternating between biting and sucking it didn't take long before you were at the edge again but this time he didn't stop, slipping one of his long fingers in to your back entrance he threw you straight over the edge. As you came hard he withdrew his finger giving you more pleasure than you'd ever felt before. Your legs were trembling as you came down from your high and he kissed your clit again, causing you to jerk. "I knew my dirty girl would like that." Mingi smiled and kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "You taste amazing, by the way."

"Maybe I can get a taste of you now," you said, feeling more confident now. Looking up at him through your lashes you started to remove his pants. Once free you could see how impressive he was as his hard cock stood against his lower stomach, "Wow..." you breathed, "...you're so...big." Mingi smirked at you, "Are you gonna take it all like a good girl?" You got down on your knees in response, loving the way he was talking down to you, dominating you.

You felt like teasing him a little so you took his thick cock into your hand and licked at the precum dripping from the tip. It was salty but tasted amazing and you closed your eyes, enjoying it. Mingi groaned as you looked lost in pleasure while licking the precum off his dick. You looked straight into his dark eyes as you put your mouth around his tip and you could see how lust-filled they were, wanting more than just teasing so you pulled back and licked all the way up the underside, flicking your tongue when you reached the sensitive spot just under the rim. "Fuuuck," he growled in his deep voice "that tongue piercing feels so fucking good." You smiled and went back to sucking the tip then slowly going down further until he was filling you, his tip against the back of your throat - you had a pretty good gag reflex but that wasn't the problem - he was just too big so you used your hand to pump what wouldn't fit in. You carried on sucking his dick, letting him hit the back of your throat and his moans just kept coming. His hand was in your hair and as his pleasure intensified he got rougher, pulling your hair tighter. Needing to catch your breath back from having your mouth stuffed so full, you pulled back and alternated between running the ball of your tongue piercing up the shaft and flicking your tongue over the most sensitive spot, making his hand tremble slightly as it pulled your hair.

Without warning Mingi took your head in both hands and pushed you down on to his dick again "Fuck, Y/N, you're so fucking good at sucking cock. I bet my dirty girl loves having my cock rammed down her throat." You moaned at his degrading words and Mingi hips stuttered as he felt the vibration around him. The degradation and cock-sucking had you so wet now you could feel your juices dripping onto your thighs. Mingi started getting rougher with you as he basically fucked your mouth, groaning each time you had to pull back slightly and gasp for air. "I'm so close... I bet you'd take all my cum in that pretty mouth of yours but I wanna save that for your pussy." Mingi pulled out and you were finally able to breathe easily.

With a dark look on his face he pushed you on to the king-sized bed and leant over you, kissing you hungrily. He trailed sloppy kisses down your neck to your chest as he lined his huge cock up with your soaking wet hole. You felt Mingi's tip lightly stroke against your wet entrance and he seemed to want to tease you because instead of entering he moved up and stroked it against your now-oversensitive clit instead. You shuddered at the intense feeling jolt through you, "Mingi, please...I need you in me so bad."

"Mmm, I love you whining desperately for my cock like a little slut." Mingi said in such a deep voice as he smirked down at you - the combination made you think you could just explode, you'd never wanted anything more than to have him ram his dick right into you.

Mingi made you wait a little longer as he stroked himself slowly against your wet hole again, while you got more whiney and desperate. Suddenly he thrust in to you hard, bottoming out straight away and you cried out, in an equal amount of pleasure and pain as he stretched your walls further than they ever had been. "I'm sorry," he said, looking slightly worried, "Fuck, I didn't expect you to be so tight."

You smiled at him, trying to get used to his size, "I told you it's been a long time." You giggled and he kissed you as he started thrusting a little more gently. The feeling was so intense it replaced the discomfort you had felt being stretched so much and soon his slow thrusts just weren't enough. "Mingi, I need more....fuck me harder...please." Mingi groaned at your pleading and it sounded so dirty you clenched around his dick, making him moan even louder, "Oh fuck, you feel amazing."

Unexpectedly he pulled out leaving you feeling empty but he flipped you over and putting his mouth to your ear he ordered you in a low voice, "Get on your hands and knees, dirty girl." The order sent a thrill of arousal straight through you and you did as you were told, lifting your arse up to allow him better access - you were aching to have him back inside you.

"Fuck, Y/N, your tight cunt feels so good around my dick." Mingi said as he pushed his big cock back inside you. He was hitting all the right places inside you as he thrust deep and hard and his hands were gripping your hips so tightly you were sure his fingers would leave bruises. Being fucked by Mingi was better than anything you'd ever felt and your walls were clenching around him, the sensation so intense you couldn't feel anything other than him. You were close to cumming again but you needed more so you moved one of your hands to your clit and started rubbing, wanting your high to come faster. "God, that's so hot...touching yourself while I wreck your pussy. I'm gonna stuff you so full with my cum it's going to be pouring out of you." Those words in his low, deep voice were all you needed for the intensity of your second release to come crashing down on you, causing your legs to tremble. Mingi held you in place while he continued to pound into you, pulling almost all the way out and forcing his dick back in roughly. He didn't need long, though, the feeling of your walls clenching so tight around him was enough to have his hips stuttering and his creamy, white cum filling you up while he let out a loud, deep moan. After a moment of you both trying to catch your breath he pulled out and you laid half-reclined on the bed underneath him; you could feel his thick cum dripping down on to your inner thighs. You looked straight into Mingi's beautiful, dark eyes as you slid your fingers between your folds and scooped up some of his cum then slowly licked it off, making a mess and leaving some glistening on your lips. Mingi's eyes widened and he had a huge smile on his face, "Oh my fucking god... you are so dirty!"

For a few minutes you both laid down getting your breath back; you weren't quite sure what to expect now - it was just a one-night thing, after all (was he just going to clean up and leave?) but he shifted a bit closer to you and held you, rubbing your soft skin with his fingertips.

"How many more days are you here for?" he asked suddenly.

"Umm...I have 4 days left before I have to leave." you answered, not sure why he was asking.

"Same time tomorrow night? You looked so beautiful with my cum on your lips just now...I want it all over your face next time."

#mingi smut #song mingi smut #ateez smut #song mingi #ateez mingi #mingi #ateez x reader #mingi x reader #ateez mingi smut

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2seokfan · 5 years ago

Text

Scarlet & Hazel | Ch. 1

pairings: hoseok x reader x yoongi

genre: fluff, very light angst, smut (future)

word count: 3.6k

chapters: ch.1, ch.2, ch.3, ch.4

summary:

Just cause you’re living paycheck to paycheck in a tiny apartment even after graduating college doesn’t mean you’re not happy. So what if your best friend is working her dream job making close to six figures every year? So what if she’s in a loving, committed relationship with her perfect boyfriend that you’re 99% sure is going to propose to her sometime next year? It doesn’t matter that your idea of a perfect relationship is a $9.99 bottle of wine on Friday nights while you binge watch Netflix specials.

Ok so maybe you’re a teensy bit miserable. Maybe you have no idea what you’re doing with your life. Maybe all you need to do is accidentally cross paths with two hybrids who will drastically change that.

Meet “Scarlet” and “Hazel”, two of the most gorgeous hybrid men you have ever laid eyes on. With their help, you learn that life is an adventure, a rollercoaster with ups and downs, and you were too preoccupied with yourself to climb out of your own predicament. And hey, you’re not much of a romantic, but with these two, you just might change your mind.

note: Hi! This is my first fic ever! I don’t even know if anyone’s gonna read this but I’ve had this idea in my head for awhile so fuck it.

You kicked off your shoes and threw your purse on the couch.

“God my back hurts!”

Honestly with the amount of random bodily aches you experience on a daily business you could pass for being 70 years old. But this time you knew where the pain stemmed from. You just had to fall asleep awkwardly after a night on your phone. And of course today was a work day and you slept past all THREE of your alarms. But you know that feeling when you sleep for a suspiciously long amount of time and something doesn’t feel right? That’s the sixth sense that saved your ass this morning because your internal body clock was like sweetie I think you’re late.

You only had time to slap on some makeup, hoping it looked semi decent, and throw your greasy hair into a messy, but passable bun because no one wants to see an ugly receptionist. You had to skip your morning Starbucks drive-through routine because you’re about to be LATE, late so you grab your keys and start your car, booking it to work.

You work at a private hybrid clinic which pays a little better than most but that means you also have to deal with a lot of attitude from rich “owners” (you hate that word). And you sat weirdly at work today so that did nOThing to help your back pain. Also how come everybody decided to book an appointment today?? It’s Friday for god's sake why does everyone and their mothers decide it’s time to call the clinic and book a checkup. They get so mad at you when you say this whole month is filled. You can’t change the schedule though?? The calendar’s filled lady either get over it and settle for next month or fuck off (of course you don’t say that out loud cause you’ll get fired). Also someone yelled at you today because they didn’t like the magazine choices in the waiting room.

Anyways your day sucked and you couldn’t be happier being back in your tiny apartment to binge watch netflix stand-up comedies until you collapse. Well you say it’s your apartment but you actually have a roommate. She’s nothing like you though, she’s the epitome of responsibility. You agreed to live with her even though you met her through Craigslist because once you met her in person you deemed her genuine enough, and also found out she’s hardly ever at the apartment but she still pays rent on time?! You really hit the jackpot with her honestly. Cause you can be a little bit messy sometimes but even when she is home she never complains. The only negative side of having her as a roommate is that you never really had time to bond with her cause she’s so busy and over your league that even after a year you two still aren’t anything more than friendly acquaintances.

Alright time to get out of your work clothes and into nothing but your favorite oversized t-shirt with no pants on because that is what you deem home-appropriate attire. But before you turn on netflix your tummy is making “feed me” noises so it’s time to check the fridge. Damn no leftovers. Time to crack open one of those Trader Joe’s frozen meals you have stacked in the freezer. You blindly pick a box. Guess you’re having vegan tikka masala tonight. Not gonna lie though those frozen meals are actually not half bad. Or maybe you’ve been away from good home cooking for so long you’ve become desensitized? Who cares, you’re hungry. Also it’s Friday, so no harm in cracking open a bottle of wine right?

When you’re all settled on the couch with your favorite plush blanket on your legs, a random comedian on tv, and a full tummy, your mind drifts away. It’s Saturday tomorrow and you have the weekends off. Maybe you should do something fun for yourself to make up for the crap you had to deal with today. You text your best friend Karli. You know she’s awake since it’s only 10pm.

You: Hey girl wanna go to the beach or smth tmrw?? <3

Karli: Yaaas ok I don’t work!! What time?

You: and we can walk around all the fancy stores and get coffee from that place we love.

You: hmmm how bout meet there @11??

Karli: Sounds good sweetie want me to pick you up?

You: no its ok ill meet u there i need to buy groceries after

Karli: Kk love ya see you then!!!

You: love ya! night bby

Karli knows that when you say “go to the beach” you really mean walk along the beach and the nearby stores because it’s early June and prime tourist season. That means the sand is packed with people and their kids and the water’s probably filled with pee so you’re not really down for that. Also the expensive shops near the beach are so cute and you love walking around window shopping, pretending like you can actually afford any of the items on display.

The wine is now getting to you cause before you know it you find your eyelids getting heavy. You muster up your last ounce of strength to turn off the tv and force yourself out of the couch cause your poor back doesn’t need another excuse to keep hurting. As much as you don’t want to wash your face and brush your teeth, you have to because you don’t want makeup on your pillowcase tonight. And when you finally crawl into bed you knock out instantly.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Oh fuck…”

You forgot that drunk you last night set an alarm today for 9am. Thank you drunk Y/N.

Why 9am? Because you need to shower and get ready, plus the beach you’re going to is near the north part of the city, which is also the expensive part of the city, meaning it’s a LONG ways from where you live. But the stores are aesthetically pleasing and it contains both you and Karli’s favorite coffee shop so you’re willing to make the 25 minute drive. Karli doesn’t have to worry though because she lives a lot closer than you do. Girl has got her shit together. Honestly you’re just glad she decided to move back after graduate school cause the long distance friend thing sucks balls.

You hop in the shower and rinse yourself awake. The weather is perfect, warm but not too hot. Unlike many people who prefer to dress up for a nice outing, you’re just the opposite. You’ve been forced to dress in nice business attire with a full face of makeup all week. Hell no are you dressing up on your days off too. It’s a sweatpants and tank top kinda day so that’s exactly what you wear. Ever since college you’ve spoiled yourself into only wearing comfy clothes whenever you have the chance and it’s become a minor problem in your life. You have some perfectly nice jeans in the closet but you haven’t worn them in forever. And you’re not gonna wear them today either. And makeup? Who needs makeup? You’ll just go barefaced since you have no one to impress. Actually just kidding maybe a little concealer just to cover up a few rough spots but that’s IT. You’re still a little self conscious and you know you have to work on that but not today.

It’s now 10:15. You grab your purse from the couch, slip on your favorite pair of slides and head to your car. You’re the kind of person who absolutely needs music when you drive so you quickly start blasting your favorite playlist. Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the beach area. Parking is hard to find on the weekend but your lucky ass managed to squeeze into a street parking spot right as someone pulls out. You lock your car and make the trek to Cozy Coffeehouse, your favorite coffee shop hands down.

Karli is already here and she’s hopping up and down, waving at you. She looks super cute today in her little black dress and fishnets. She’s had the same taste since high school and you’re glad that even a Master’s degree hasn’t stopped her from dressing all punk on her days off. You jog over and give her a quick hug.

“Hey girl look at you!! You’re so cute!” You take in her makeup and you swear if she didn’t go the corporate route she definitely should have been a makeup artist. Her eyeshadow is amazing and you’ll never ever have the blending talent that she has, nor could you ever get your eyeliner to look that sharp.

“Aw thanks! You look comfy though I’m kinda jealous now maybe I should’ve dressed down.”

“No I love your outfits! Besides, someone has to look nice in this relationship.”

You link arms and march into the cafe. It’s located near the fancy designer stores on a large hill overlooking the beach. When you step inside the whole atmosphere screams ‘cozy’, fitting its name perfectly. The interior is littered with mismatched sofas and armchairs but it somehow still looks aesthetically pleasing. Soft piano jazz is playing through speakers and when you step inside the delicious scent of freshly ground coffee beans immediately invades your nostrils.

You glance at their pastry display first. Today must be your lucky day because they have tiramisu and you absolutely love tiramisu but it’s usually sold out. No way in hell are you letting this chance slide, fuck breakfast norms you’re definitely getting a bite of that. Unfortunately you’re not a fan of sugary treats on top of sugary drinks so to balance things out you choose to order their house brew.

After you two order, you find a spot in one of the plush armchairs near the window and sit. You really are lucky today since window seats are usually taken. But not this time! You guys get to enjoy the gorgeous scenery displayed before you. The sun is bright, people are laying on the beach tanning, and kids are splashing each other with water. For the first time in awhile, you feel content with life, if only for a bit.

Before long your orders are called out and you stand up to retrieve them. Once you’re settled, you break into conversation with Karli, eager to catch up on everything that happened since you two last spoke face-to-face. You talk about work, Karli’s boyfriend Sunny, that new pizza place that opened up near your apartment that actually has really shitty pizza.

“Like seriously how do you fuck up pizza that badly?” you exclaim in between generous bites of tiramisu.

“No I get you,” Karli responds, slurping her iced mocha frappuchino, “everybody knows what pizza is supposed to taste like, I mean it’s gotta take talent to actually fuck it up to the level you’re describing girl.”

“Exactly!!” You wave your arms in the air, wanting to physically demonstrate your frustration at the situation and your passion for good pizza.

“Anyways…” Karli gently sets her drink down and takes on a more serious tone. “How are you though, honestly.”

“Hmm, me?” You swallow your last bite of tiramisu, “I’m doing good. Works ok, life’s ok. You know. Everything’s… ok.”

“I get that everything’s ‘ok’ but you know I want you to be more than ok. I want you to be happy”

You see the genuine concern in her eyes. Bless this girl for being so soft-hearted.

She continues, “And when was the last time you dated? Like, what, 2 years ago??”

Of course she has to mention dating. Karli has always been a romantic. You? Not so much. Your brain tended to err on the logical, practical side, which is not always a good idea since it keeps you away from many potential relationships.

“I date!” You scoff, but you’re not convincing anybody, least of all yourself.

“Oh really?” Her eyes widen in mock surprise, “Tinder one night stands don’t count babe. You know what I mean.”

“Well you didn’t specify…” You mumble, trying to come up with any excuse to defend your pride. You know she’s just being a good friend and that she’s asking because she cares about you, so you don’t let her questions irritate you.

“Sweetie I’m not trying to make you feel bad and I’m sorry if it comes across that way. It’s just… you mean a lot to me and you’re my bestie and I just want to see you be happy.” She takes your hand from across the table and looks you in the eyes. “We don’t get to see each other as much as we used to, so when I do I want to check in on how you’re doing.”

Then she averts her eyes, which you find highly suspicious. “Also I may or may not have found someone who I KNOW will be a perfect match for you.”

“AHA I KNEW you were leading up to something!”

“Wait but hear me out. He’s an accountant and at first I was like hmmm is he too boring for Y/N? But then I realized I was judging him by his job and that’s not cool so I talked to him and he’s, like, actually super cute and super sweet and I think you two will get along so well!” She’s speaking very fast at this point, trying to squeeze out as much information as possible before you can interject. Then she finishes with one of her signature Karli smiles, big and wide and all teeth and she knows you can’t say no to that face.

“Dammit. Fine.” You lost this round. “Alright if he wants to meet up I won’t say no. How bout that?”

“Gee that’s so thoughtful of you Y/N.” Her tone is sarcastic but she’s still smiling so you know she means no harm.

After another half hour of conversation, locked in a heated debate about food again (this time she’s defending her stance that pineapple belongs on pizza), Karli’s phone rings. The sound scares the poor girl half to death, and watching her jump a mile from her couch had you snorting into your coffee mid drink.

She looks at the caller ID, muttering under her breath, “It’s Saturday what do they want?” then glances up with a sad little pout, “Sorry Y/N it’s work gimme a sec…”

From what you can hear on her side of the conversation, something has come up and she has to head to the office right away.

“Ok I’ll be there in fifteen,” she hangs up and gives an exaggerated “Ughhhhh”. She takes one large gulp, finishing the last of her ultra sweet, ultra whipped frappuccino. “It’s like they can’t do anything when I’m not there.” She looks especially apologetic when her eyes land back on you, “I’m so sorry I have to cut this short…”

“Hey it’s ok! Duty calls ya know,” you give her a reassuring grin, hoping it passes for a smile instead of a grimace. You were really hoping to hang out today.

“No it’s not ok. We didn’t even get to walk around today! And I know how much you like to do that.” She stands up, slipping her purse onto her shoulder, “so next time I’ll plan a day where I guarantee I won’t get interrupted. It’s the least I can do.”

“Mk sounds good babe,” you give her a big hug, “Go get ‘em tiger!”

After she exits the cafe you finish the last bit of your coffee and glance out the window, staring at the people on the beach. Wow it’s really crowded down there today. You zone in on two kids attempting to build a sandcastle, but it’s too close to the water so the waves flatten it in two seconds. But it seems they didn’t learn their lesson because they keep rebuilding the castle in the same spot. Just move it further up little dudes.

You find yourself lost in thought again. Just because Karli’s suddenly busy doesn’t mean you don’t still have a whole day to yourself. You can walk around on your own. Also why not treat yourself to another drink? A fun one this time from their specials menu.

Ten minutes later you find yourself wandering around the various shops, hot hazelnut latte in hand, gazing at display after display of designer clothes and bags. Look, you may not be a huge fashion person, or have any expendable cash, but a girl can still appreciate art, especially when it’s laid out so nicely in front of you.

Speaking of art, there’s an art gallery coming up that you absolutely love. You’ve always been too afraid to go inside because you’re the type of person who feels obligated to buy something if you enter a local store and you DEFinitely can’t afford anything there. So you opt to loiter outside, like some creep, looking a little too long at the featured art through the window. This time it’s an Impressionist style painting of a ship on hazy waters with a sunset in the background. You’re no artist but you can appreciate good quality work when you see it. The piece is mesmerizing and serene, transfixing you to the spot. Before you know it, you’ve been staring for 15 whole minutes.

While admiring the artist’s use of color on the display piece, you overhear a lady raising her voice not too far away, snapping you out of your trance. It sounds like drama, so being the nosy bitch that you are, you’re definitely gonna check it out, if only to satisfy your curiosity.

“What do you mean ‘no’?! You’ll be perfect for each other!! Where’s your owner I bet he’ll listen!” At this point the lady’s voice is sounding downright aggressive.

As you shuffle closer to the scene of the noise, you spot a middle-aged, blonde lady pointing her finger at two hybrid men, almost jabbing one of them in the chest with her sharp, ruby nails. Behind her stands a gorgeous female arctic fox hybrid who clearly belongs to her as she pats her owner’s shoulders, trying to calm her down.

“I’m sorry miss but we just aren’t interested.” The taller of the two hybrids with orange hair speaks up, gently pushing the lady’s hands away. “Please leave us alone.” He’s being surprisingly calm, even after getting yelled at in public.

“Yeah lady get out of our faces,” the other white and grey haired hybrid is definitely more agitated, crossing his arms as he huffs in annoyance. You don’t blame him since the blonde lady is being ridiculously rude.

You can’t really make out the two males’ faces, since they’re turned away from you, but they are obviously hybrids. Both having incredibly bushy, soft-looking tails and tall, pointy ears sticking out of their heads.

Even if you can’t see their expressions, you can tell they’re uncomfortable with the harassment. Since you’re still somewhat unaware of the context, you stay out of the argument but decide to keep an eye on the situation in case the lady steps out of line. You’re just slightly around the corner, able to stay a safe distance away so that no one, especially the lady, can catch you eavesdropping. Pretending to admire the Gucci purses displayed in front of the shop you’re now standing at, and almost choking at the price, you cautiously side-eye blondie as she refuses to back down from the hybrid boys.

“Listen here you rude little pets, I’m not leaving you alone until I see your owner. My Sylvia here,” she gestures to the fox hybrid behind her, “would make a perfect partner for you.” She pokes the orange haired hybrid again, “I’ve been searching so long for her to find a mate and I’m not giving you up! Now where the hell is your owner!”

What the fuck?! How dare this lady talk to them like that? And in public no less! You now know exactly why she’s yelling at them. Working at a private hybrid clinic has opened your eyes to the harsh world of hybrids, and their selfish, rich owners. It’s not uncommon for owners to negotiate with each other and breed their hybrids. If two pretty hybrids mate, their children can be sold for loads of money. It's cruel and disgusting, with many of the children sold off before they can even get to know their parents. You’re all too familiar with this tradition, often catching owners in the waiting room of your clinic discussing in whispers about buying and selling hybrid children as if they’re livestock.

“Hey what the fuck did you call us?!” The white and grey hybrid is now also raising his voice. “Listen you wrinkly bi…!” He is quickly silenced by the orange hybrid, who abruptly clamps his hand over his buddy’s mouth.

Orange hair clears his throat. “What he means is, we don’t appreciate the tone you’re using with us. Please leave us alone ma’am. We’ll be on our way. Goodbye.” They attempt to brush past her.

“Hey hold on a minute! I’m not done with you!!” This lady even has the balls to grab onto orange hair’s arm. “I demand to speak to your owner!” Then some sort of realization dawns upon her because her eyes go wide, then quickly narrow. “And where are your collars? Aren’t owned hybrids supposed to have collars on? You know I just might have to call Hybrid Services.”

You can see the boys visibly tense at her words as she sports a satisfied smirk. Poor Sylvia is now gently tugging on her shirt. “Please calm down, miss…” she says desperately trying to remedy the situation.

Before you know it, and without any plan of action, you round the corner and march up to the boys, standing defensively in front of them.

“Um…” You gulp, then clear your throat, speaking in what you hope is a more confident tone. “Sorry I took so long guys! You wouldn’t believe the line at the coffee shop!”

#bts fic #bts hybrid au #hoseok fanfic #yoongi fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfction #hybrid hoseok #hybrid yoongi #bts hybrid fic

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