#i feel like this one isn't done yet so I might go back & edit it but I got Obsessed with it so it had to get posted | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stormysunday9 · 2 months ago

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I've been editing this for too long now and I just need to put it out into the world. The ending doesn't feel quite right...but maybe that's because this story just isn't done yet!

Featuring: happy Joe, some 18+ stuff, and a bit of cheese.

The Missing Piece

I was now five blocks from work and the man who had stepped out behind me after I locked the door was still following closely behind me.

I started to panic, I was at least another ten blocks from home. It was starting to get dark. I was 5'5 and all I had to protect me was my lunch bag and the yogurt I didn't eat. My heart was pounding. I didn't need to turn around to see him, I could sense him there.

This was a pretty affluent neighbourhood, maybe I could just pretend I lived here. I walked past a couple more homes, then started the journey up one of the long driveways, not daring to look behind me. When I reached the front door, I pretended to unlock it, hoping I'd sold my story to my creepy shadow. When I twisted the knob, the door opened easily, and since I was no longer thinking clearly I just stepped inside.

After a moment of relief from being off the street and into safety, I looked up to see a very tall man standing in front of me with a look of both shock and concern fleeting over his icy blue eyes.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so so sorry! There was a man, I don't know, he's been following me since I left work! I still have so far to go, I was getting scared, I didn't know what to do, your door was unlocked, I didn't mean to come in...." I was still tripping over my words as the man placed his hands on my shoulders and tried to meet my wild eyes .

"Hey, hey." He said firmly but calmly. "It's ok, you're ok. I know, I saw him on the camera, he was following you up the drive. Do you want me to call the police?"

"No, I don't think so. I don't know. I didn't even get a good look at him." I replied. "Do you mind if I sit down?" I asked embarrassingly, the adrenaline was fading and I felt like I might fall over.

"Yes of course", he ushered me to the couch, "and my security camera, I have a clear shot of him on there."

"Oh smart. Ya I can get an image from there then, I'll file a report tomorrow. I'm so sorry for all this." My head was finally starting to stop spinning and my heart slowing down, allowing me to take in my surroundings a bit more clearly. This was a very nice house. Very clean. No clutter. I looked over my shoulder to see him coming back from the kitchen.

He carefully sat down near me on the couch, being sure to leave a full cushion's worth of space between us. He handed me a glass of water and said, "I'm Joe, by the way."

"Hi Joe", I responded, and took a quick drink of water before adding, "you should really lock your doors."

He let out a chuckle and a grin spread across his face. "Well, in this particular instance, I'm kind of glad I didn't. My manager was supposed to be stopping by, so I left it open."

"Oh my gosh, let me get out of your hair then. I don't want to get you in trouble with work! I just need to call an Uber." I started searching my bag for my phone.

"I would like to drive you home if that's ok. Not sure how many more strange men you should add to this day." He raised an eyebrow at me, presumably waiting to see if I was going to laugh or start crying.

I laughed. "That's very kind, but what about your manager?"

"Don't worry about that, my job is pretty secure," he smiled, "let me grab my keys and my shoes."

I noticed he was wearing slippers currently, slippers which I could only describe as old man slippers. He did seem to have an old soul aura about him. I followed Joe out to his garage, that housed multiple vehicles - a very flashy sports car, a futuristic looking truck, and a Mercedes G Wagon. And it looked like we were taking the latter. He must be some kind of tech mogul, I thought to myself, but what's a tech mogul doing in the middle of Ohio?

When we reached my house, which was about an eighth the size of his, I turned to look at him. I couldn't help but think how warm those cold blue eyes looked.

"Thank you so much, seriously." I said. "You're a real hero."

He chuckled. "Would I be able to give you my number?" He asked.

My wide eyed expression must have given away what I was trying to keep my mouth from saying because Joe immediately spoke up.

"Not like that!" He backtracked shaking his head, "just in case you need more security footage, or a witness statement of something. Or anything at all really. I'm usually around. Except Sundays. I work Sundays."

I handed him my phone and he quickly typed his number in and handed it back to me.

"I'm Casey, by the way" I said as I stepped out of his truck.

"Hi Casey," he smiled.

"Lock your door, Joe!" I yelled over my shoulder as I walked to my front door.

I saw him give me a hand to forehead salute through the passenger window. I walked inside, locked my own door, and peeked out the window, just in time to see him pull away.

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The next couple days were less eventful. I had security cameras installed at the shop. I filed my police report at the station. And I ordered some bear spray from Amazon. I was glad when the weekend finally rolled around, and on Sunday headed over to my friend Jess' house for our weekend supper tradition. Jess and her husband always hosted, and our other friend Kate and her boyfriend joined, and then me, the obligatory fifth wheel. The boys usually watched football and us girls caught up on gossip and played board games.

The girls and I were playing a very distracted round of Uno while the boys yelled at the game on the TV. I casually glanced over at the TV after being served multiple miss a turns in a row, and what I saw put my heart in my stomach.

Unforgettable icy blue eyes.

"Ummm, who is that, Trevor?" I anxiously asked Jess' husband.

"Joe Burrow.", Trevor replied.

"I can read the screen, Trev, I mean who IS he?"

"The quarterback for the Cincinnati Bengals. And you're a disappointment to the whole state of Ohio for not knowing that."

"Harsh, but ok...and like, he's pretty good? Or what?"

Trevor rolled his eyes and turned to look at me, "ya he's like top three in the league, easy. Why, Case? You finally gonna become a football fan?"

I excused myself from the Uno game that I was never going to win anyway and grabbed my phone from my bag. I searched my contacts. J...O...E...

Joe with the Unlocked Doors.

There he was. And with a sense of humor at that. I opened the contact and began to type.

Wow. Your overconfident sense of job security makes so much sense now!

Presumably he wouldn't be texting back anytime soon. Based on the tv screen he appeared to be rather busy at the moment.

Later that evening I was laying on the couch, working on a bracelet I was making and watching Netflix when my phone lit up.

Shocked Pikachu gif. (Classic choice.) So you're not a football fan then?

I just don't know anything about it. But today I learned Joe Burrow is the quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengals. And that sometimes he leaves his doors unlocked. 🤷‍♀️

Ha! Both of those are true. I'm glad you texted.

It was a shock response.

I'm glad anyway. So now you know what I do, what do you do? Aside from walk into strangers houses, of course.

Cold.

I'm actually a dog groomer. I make pups pretty for a living. I have a little shop on Hudson, which is where I was walking from when I broke into your home.

That's unexpected, and so cool. Love that you've got your own grind.

Well my grind doesn't garner me multiple vehicles in my garage, but I do love it. It only affords me my old Bronco that starts half the time, and not at all in the winter.

Is that why you walk?

Sometimes. But I do like being outside. And "that day" I chose to walk. Looking back, evidently a poor choice.

Maybe not all bad since you met me?

Haha, I dunno, I got to meet the quarterback of an NFL team and didn't even ask for an autograph! 🫤

Funny. Maybe don't think of me as that, just think of me as Joe.

...with the unlocked doors!

Exactly. 😉

We continued to message back and forth, joking and laughing while also learning a bit about one another, when I looked at the time on my phone and couldn't believe how late it had gotten.

I think I better get some shut eye. Early start tomorrow. Nice chatting with you. Goodnight, Joe!

Goodnight, Casey. Sweet dreams.

It took me a while to fall asleep that night. What is happening? He's so nice. And absolutely gorgeous. Now that I could think about him a little more clearly and not in a fear filled state of adrenaline...wow. He had to be a full foot taller than me, with what appeared to be the strength of a Greek god, and the fluffiest, wavy hair that was just being begged to have hands run through it. And a little curl that kept falling onto his forehead no matter how many times he pushed it back. And those eyes...oh my gosh those eyes.

Pull yourself together, Casey! I scolded myself. I was being ridiculous. And I needed some sleep, it was back to my not so lucrative grind tomorrow.

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Monday morning I was back in my element. The Bronco started, my first dogs of the day were settled on the floor around me, my coffee was just right. Maybe it would be a good week. With my headphones on, and high velocity dryer blasting, I almost didn't hear someone walk through the door. I looked up, startled so see a man with a hoodie pulled over his head and wrap around sunglasses on his face. He must have seen the fear in my eyes as he immediately reached up to push the hood off his head and replace it with his sunglasses.

Joe.

I felt my face flush. I turned off the dryer and put my headphones around my neck.

"What on earth..." Was all I could get out.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just figured that you saw what I do, so I wanted to see what you do...I hope that's ok." I could see a worried look in his eyes.

"How did you find me?" I probably should have reassured those baby blues, but I was still so confused.

"Well you told me your shop was on Hudson. And there was a dog groomer on Hudson called Casey's Place.....so I guess I'm a detective?" He was still feeling out if he'd made a mistake.

I laughed. "That's fair I guess. You googled me?!"

He let out a chuckle. Those seemed difficult to evoke from him, but I felt like I could make it my full time job just to hear the sound and watch the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"You haven't googled me?" He asked with mock accusation.

"Actually, no," I admitted, "I think I'd prefer to learn about you from you."

He smiled, "well I guess we've determined who's the better person then!"

He suddenly sat on the floor cross legged, and the three dogs already on the floor immediately ran to him and began climbing and licking him maniacally.

Jealous, I thought. But only said, "well that's a good sign."

"What is?," he asked while trying to avoid getting dog tongue directly in his mouth.

"Never trust someone your dog doesn't trust! And they seem to love you."

This time he blushed.

I lifted the dog on the table down to the floor so he could join the fun.

Joe tried to untangle himself from the dog pile and stand back up. "I was wondering if I could take you to lunch?" he asked, barely making eye contact.

Wow, is he...nervous? I wanted to say yes so bad, but I was the only one in the shop today, and I couldn't leave the dogs unattended.

"Could I take a rain check?" I asked, hoping my eyes didn't look as desperate as I felt.

"Of course," he replied, "I knew you were working, I'm sorry."

I gave him a little pout, and the corners of his mouth turned up.

"I'll talk to you soon!" He said and quickly turned and walked out the door.

My heart sank. Did I just turn down Joe Burrow on a date? But my job, I've worked so hard for this shop, and surely he gets that. I hoisted the dog back onto the table and got back to work, while my heart continued to chastise my brain for being too responsible. Then my phone chimed. I looked at my watch to see a message from Joe. I pulled out my phone to open it.

Do you like onions?

Well...I guess he still wants to get to know me? First what I do for a living, now my produce preferences?

I typed back, Yes with a question mark.

Message read, no response.

This man is an enigma.

And then 10 minutes later my door dinged and in walked Joe with two greasy paper bags, a tray loaded down with drinks, and a smile that could light up the dark.

"You still have to eat, right?" He said with a shrug of his big, broad shoulders and began to spread out a selection of burgers and fries across the grooming table that wasn't currently in use.

"I got you a soda, a milkshake and a coffee because I don't know what you like yet." He explained

Yet. Oh my gosh he was adorable. I melted, perhaps obviously.

I pulled up two stools, suddenly a little unsure if one would even support Joe's enormous size. He sat down and it looked almost comical.

"I'm so sorry," I apologized, unable to choke back my laughter, "I don't normally cater to football stars".

He brushed it off, quickly. "All good, a lot of furniture is too small for me. Or I'm too big for it. Whichever."

He took a big bite of a burger while I grabbed a couple fries, unable to take my eyes off him, trying to understand what these last several days were coming to. My overthinking brain couldn't take it anymore, and I just spit out "Why me?"

Joe turned to me, looking straight into my eyes, with surprise. "What do you mean?", he seemed genuinely confused.

I took a deep breath. "Well, like, you're you. You're obviously super attractive, you're a famous athlete, you're talented, smart, focused, funny, kind, charming... I'm sure you could have your pick of anyone in Ohio - no, in America. Maybe even Canada too. And then, I'm just me."

"You think I'm attractive?" He said, eyebrows raising, blue eyes mischievous.

I rolled my eyes.

"But seriously, Casey," he continued, "I'm intrigued by you. I love that you know who you are, and what you're about. You're beautiful, you're smart, you're focused. And honestly, I kind of liked that you didn't know who I was."

I could feel the flush of red flowing up my face, I've never been good at accepting compliments. Especially from this remarkable specimen of a man sitting so very close to me right now.

"I really don't think you're giving yourself enough credit", he continued, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since the day I laid eyes on you. I wasn't going to push it, but when you texted me yesterday, I knew I didn't want to let you get away."

He placed his large hand on my thigh, I think to comfort me because he could tell I was overwhelmed, but it had the opposite effect and made my heart beat 10 times faster.

"I like you too, Joe. I just don't know what this would look like. Dog groomer dates NFL superstar? I'm an introvert. Sometimes I get anxious if the grocery store is really busy."

Joe burst out laughing. "Maybe just don't overthink it, and we can see what happens?" He smiled, his eyes pleading with mine, feeling like they were reaching in and pulling directly on my heart. A smile started creeping across my face, despite my best efforts to convince myself there was just no way this was happening, and then Joe leaned in and planted his full, beautiful lips on mine, leaving absolutely no doubt that it really was.

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The rest of the week was bliss. Late nights facetiming until we fell asleep, Joe stopping in with coffee for me at work (now that he knew that was my drink of choice). I was living for getting to know and understand him. I'd never known someone so focused, so loyal. He was incredibly intelligent, loved his family, he was thoughtful, awkward enough to allow me to believe he really was human, and so adorable when he tried to flirt. And probably most surprising, he was quite introverted too, preferring to keep a small circle, and still navigating the fame that he had now achieved.

I also learned that the day before game day, as far as anyone in the world is concerned, Joe Burrow does not exist. He takes the day to focus, watch tape, and avoid distraction and chatter at all costs. He definitely takes his job seriously, but I get it, he loves what he does.

So Friday night he picked me up to go to his place for supper. He wanted to avoid a public outing, to avoid the media storm that was sure to follow. I thought that sounded like a great idea. He pulled up in his white G-Wagon around 7pm.

I climbed up into the passenger side.

"Did you lock your door?" He joked.

"Hilarious.", I replied, "why do you always drive this thing? Don't get me wrong, you look hot as hell behind the wheel, but I know you have a garage full of choices."

He blushed and tried to hide his smile. "Those were all phases I thought I was going through I guess. This thing is my favourite. And the least conspicuous".

He put the vehicle in gear and reached across the console to hold my hand. It was a short drive to his house, despite us living in very different neighbourhoods. We walked into his house that already smelled like food as his cook was busy preparing game day prep-appropriate nutrition. We sat down on his oversized couch (he seemed to have purchased furniture more suited so his size), and he turned to look at me. He grabbed both my hands in his, making them all but disappear.

"I have a question for you," he started.

Uh oh. Serious Joe was also unreadable Joe.

"Oooook," I said nervously.

He squeezed my hands.

"It's nothing bad, I was just wondering if you wanted to come to my game on Sunday. You don't have to sit in the suite, I can get you tickets for the stands. You can bring friends if you want. Whatever you want."

Oh boy. There is nothing I wanted more than to be there to support him, cheer him on, watch him do his thing, see him in those tight pants in person... But I wasn't sure I was ready for that kind of debut yet.

"Joe...."

He could sense my reservations immediately.

"It's ok," he reassured me, "I wanted you to have the invitation, I totally get it if we're...not there yet." He seemed genuine, but also a little sad. Damn those puppy dog eyes.

"It's not that, I just haven't really told anyone about us yet, I wasn't even sure there was anything to tell, and I barely understand the game, and if at any point you'd be there with me I'd be all for it, but I know that's not how game day works. I will be there, and soon....I think I just need a little more time." My eyes were pleading with him to understand.

And of course he did. He wrapped me in a big hug. "I'm looking forward to that day, and it makes me unreasonably happy to hear you talk about the future, even if you're just talking three weeks from now." He was grinning like a fool. I was absolutely falling for this man.

"I have a proposition, perhaps a bit of a compromise. What if you come to my place after your game. I would really like to see you, especially if I have to be Joe-free tomorrow." I tried my best puppy dog eyes, and they seemed to work.

"I can do that," he agreed, "but if we don't win, I can't say how good of company I'll be".

"If we don't win?!" I mocked, "well that doesn't sound like Joe Burrow at all!"

He laughed. That was still my favourite. They didn't come easily, but I would spend my last day trying just to hear that beautiful sound.

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Sunday afternoon I plopped down on the couch with a coffee, a blanket, and my phone. I turned on the tv to the game. And suddenly felt very, very nervous. I wasn't sure what the superstitions were about talking to the players before the game, but I decided to send Joe a quick text. Knowing him, he doesn't even look at his phone prior to a game.

Have fun today. We're the lucky ones, getting paid to do what we love ❤️

He replied with the kissing face emoji: 😘

Swoon.

I spent most of the game googling - offside, the pocket, roughing the passer, why are they punting, what is a punt.....this was gonna be a steep learning curve. I also spent part of the game covering my eyes when Joe was about to get hit. This was so intense. It was a hard fought game, but three hours later the Bengals finished with a loss by two points. Now I was even more nervous. I was about to meet After a Loss Joe. Knowing how seriously he takes his job, I knew losses must hit him pretty hard.

45 minutes after the game ended, the G Wagon's headlights shone into my front window. Well, he still came over so that was a good sign.

I opened the door to him not standing as tall as he usually does, but he still wrapped me in a hug and gave me a kiss on the top of my head.

"Hi", I said softly, meeting his eyes. "I'm proud of you, that was amazing to watch".

He offered a small smile and walked across the room to collapse on the couch.

I walked to the kitchen and poured myself a cup of tea and him a glass of water, then joined him in the front room. I set the cups on the table, and sat down on his lap, running my hand through his freshly washed hair. He wrapped his long arms around my waist and rested his head against my shoulder. I didn't say anything, just listened to him breathe, while I breathed in his fresh shower scent, and enjoyed how small I felt on his expansive lap, with his strong arms enveloping me.

Eventually he swung his legs up onto the couch and scooted down so he was laying down, taking up the whole length of the couch. He moved me to the side so I was tucked in between his body and the back of the couch. I rested my head on his chest.

"I just hate letting the guys down," he finally spoke.

I didn't offer a response. I didn't think he was looking for one.

"I fumbled that snap, I don't even know how, but that was about to be a big play, and instead it was nothing."

I pushed myself up onto my elbow so I could see his face. He stared at me for a minute.

"Aren't you gonna say anything?" He asked.

"What could I possibly have to offer? I spent the whole game googling terminology and covering my eyes cuz I was scared you were gonna get hurt!" I admitted.

Unexpectedly, his face relaxed, and he laughed.

"If it helps, I thought you looked great, I found the game really exciting, for what I understood, and I kinda hoped you were gonna show up here in your uniform still because wow, apparently I love a man I uniform." I said with a knowing look.

"Is that so?" He asked, a smirk on his face

He sat back up, and scooped me back onto his lap, this time so I was straddling him and looking right into those beautiful eyes. He stared at me for what felt like forever before saying, "You're my missing piece."

"Sorry?" I replied, confused.

"It's just, I have everything I ever could have wanted from life, and I couldn't figure out why I still wasn't where I wanted to be. This is the first time I've ever held onto a little hope after a loss, because I still had something to look forward to. I was excited to come here. It's you, Case. I was missing you. And now here you are. And I'm sorry to tell you, but now that I have you, i'm never gonna let you go." His face was so soft, relaxed, certain.

I felt tears prick the corners of my eyes. His sincerity made me emotional. I didn't risk speaking, as I knew my voice would give away how much I was feeling for him in that moment. Instead, I leaned into him and kissed him deeply. His tongue forced it's way into my mouth, playing tag with mine. I ran my hands through his hair like I'd been dreaming of doing all week.

He slipped his hands under me and lifted us both off the couch in one swift movement. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, still kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his neck.

He gently laid me down on my bed, and I shimmied my body up to my pillow. He climbed onto the bed on his hands and knees, hovering over me like a real Bengal tiger about to devour his prey. He started at my forehead and began working his way down, kissing every inch of me. He pulled down the shoulder of my shirt and planted soft, yet hungry kisses on my bare skin. He then pushed my shirt up, exposing my belly, kissing me more. I pulled the shirt over my head, exposing my bra. More kisses between the exposed parts of my breasts. Down to my belly button, where he began to unbutton my jeans.

"You're so beautiful" be breathed out between kisses.

"Hold on," I begged, and pulled his shirt over his head. I almost gasped, taking in every inch of his expansive, muscular torso. A bruise on his bicep, a scar on his belly, and the most phenomenal abs I'd ever seen.

"You're ethereal." I panted.

"Your vocabulary is so sexy", he grinned, and continued planting kisses all over me. He pulled my jeans down and kissed his way back up my legs. When he made it to the warm, increasingly wet place between my legs, he sat up on his knees, taking in all of me. I should have felt self conscious, but instead I felt safe, even beautiful. I pulled him back into me and began sliding his track pants over his hips. He wasn't wearing underwear. His cock sprung out, erect and very large. I looked up at him, he was waiting for a response. I may have whimpered.

"Is this ok?" He asked.

"I can't think of anything I want more", I replied, perhaps a bit desperately.

He slid my panties down and let his fingers enter me. I couldn't have been any more wet, but the feel of his hard length rubbing against my thigh as he fingered me was making me feral.

I put my hands on his shoulders, drawing his attention back to my face. "I want you," I panted, "all of you."

His face was flushed, and he smiled. He positioned himself back on top of me, and slowly pushed his hard cock into me. It slid in easily with how wet I was, and filled absolutely every bit of me. When he finally bottomed out, I gasped

"Are you alright?" His face showed genuine concern.

"Never been better," I reassured him. I wrapped my legs around him, taking in every inch, while he kissed my neck and thrusted into me, slowly, steadily. I was digging my nails into his back. He felt so good. I never wanted him to stop. He continue to place soft kisses down my neck, on my breasts, letting his tongue linger on my nipples. Despite how strong this man was, he couldn't have been more gentle and attentive.

When his face was near mine again, I told him to roll over. Excitement flickered over his eyes, he smiled, and obeyed.

I straddled him and began grinding my hips against him. In this position, he went even deeper into me, I could feel him in my belly. I couldn't stop staring at him. The more I took in every perfect angle of his face and body, the quicker my body forced itself against him. My clit rubbing against his abdomen in my own slickness, I could feel myself reaching my climax.

"Are you close?" I breathed, holding onto him tightly.

"I'm ready when you are," he smiled.

I began rocking harder, faster, reaching around to cradle his heavy testicles, watching his face writhe in exquisite pleasure until I felt every nerve in me release while I pulled him in even deeper and tighter in the throes of orgasm. I felt him buck his hips into me while moaning in pleasure, savoring his own release. I collapsed onto his hard body, completely blissed out.

He wrapped his arms around me, and whispered "wow..." Between ragged breaths.

I rolled off of him and curled in beside him as tightly as possible. His arm around my back, mine draped over his perfect torso.

"After that, I won't be going anywhere either, just so you know." I told him while tracing small circles with my finger around his chest.

"Nothing would make me happier," he smiled, and turned to kiss my cheek.

I guess I better start figuring out how to be a little more comfortable in crowds....

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#joe burrow #joe burrow fic #fanfic #joe burrow imagine

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mysterious-moonstruck-musings · 4 months ago

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This is getting out of hand...

Y'all, I'm so fucking ridiculous. Seriously, why am I like this? So my intent for Week 5 of Closed Position was to do a Part 1 and Part 2. Well...I just checked the word count for Part 1 (which isn't completely done yet) and it's already at 25k words. Don't ask me what happened because I don't fucking know. It's a sickness. However, to be fair, Week 5 is sort of a big deal and a turning point for Dieter and Kat. There's a lot going on. So, I think we can let it slide. Maybe? 👀

Anyway, I think what I might do is break this down into even smaller parts to make editing a little more manageable because we need to do Week 5 some justice. I don't want to cut corners. It may end up being 3 or even 4 parts. I'm sure you guys won't be too upset by having more, right? It does delay the smutty goodness a bit, but I think the ridiculous amount of flirting and tension will hold you all over until it happens.

Hopefully y'all are cool with that? At least it will get you some content (very soon) if I take that route.

Until then, here is another small teaser to hold you over:

Kat and I gave him a polite smile as he approached. I assumed he wanted to chat about one of the scripts. However, the way he pulled me into a tight hug and lingered in my space told me otherwise. Dammit, please tell me I didn’t fuck around with this guy. He finally pulled away, eyeing me up and down appreciatively. Yep, we definitely fucked around. Fuck. “How ya been, Bravo? Haven’t heard from you since you were here last?” I gave him a tight smile, “Good, been busy.” I felt Kat’s hand rest on my back as she moved in a little closer to me. She could clearly sense the tension. Fuck. “Ahh, yeah. Well, you free after this? We could head back to my place and have some fun. I’ve got some good shit you need to try too.” He ran his fingers down the front of my chest in a suggestive way. I could feel Kat tensing beside me as she realized what was happening. Fuck.

💜Mysty

CP TAG LIST: @titlee78 @legendary-pink-dot @survivingandenduring @wannab-urs @harriedandharassed

@hisandsnakes @misstokyo7love @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @sin-djarin

@cakipy-blog @missladym1981 @guelyury @weho2kcmo @alokaerza

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dancing dieter #dieter bravo smut #closed position teaser

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nephilimcursed · 3 months ago

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Bella & The Boys Headcannons~ Laito Edition

TW: This has some triggering content.

"You've been locked in here forever and you just can't say goodbye~ Your lips, my lips, Apocalypse"

OKAY, Y'all know I love Kanato the best- BUT BELLA/LAITO IS JUST WOW-

They're so cute, I swear.

Bella wasn't clueless to all of his remarks, contrary to what y'all might think. She actually gets annoyed though.

She was hit on a lot during Shadowhunter training, by her own instructors. So being around Laito at first makes her cringe bad.

Yeah, she lowkey is done with him at first. Still drawn to him due to having a personality that was intended for him, but hella fed up.

But when she starts to fall- holy fucking shit.

When I write Bella/Laito scenes they don't feel like a stereotypical romance, like Bella/Kanato.

We all know the diaboys never really will change- so Bella was crafted as a mirror, to fit their interest.

So she starts falling for him and tries to get him to engage in deeper talks with her, like about all kinds of things, his interests and stuff.

He taught her piano and they play together.

Laito starts falling for Bella and he's wondering 'Um, what the actual fuck is this??'

He tries to kill her, because he's so scared of what's happening, but he can't bring himself to put the knife deeper in her chest. So she's just wounded.

And by this time, she has a stele again so she can just draw a rune on herself to heal.

So once she does draw that rune on, she's kinda pissed but at the same time quickly gets how scary this must be for him.

Then he tries to kill himself.

To which Bella has to try to calm him down and get him out of his panic attack, so we get a cute cuddle session.

I think seeing Laito in a more sweet tone is just, chef's kiss.

So once she tries to explain to him, he's also kinda '??????'

Doesn't accept it right away.

But then she asks if she has a different effect on him than most other girls.

You can see where I'm going with this.

So onto real headcannons- THEY ALSO ARE SUPER PHYSICAL WITH LOVE.

They're always touching each other in some way- I swear-

The other boys sometimes get jealous.

Laito will randomly sneak into her bed alot, like Ayato did in the anime with Yui.

This one is also super sweet. In Shadowhunter training, they only really teach you stuff to survive and stuff to fit in with higher class society if needed to blend in.

So Bella is clueless about her own body-

Her anatomy, I mean.

Laito is the one to teach her, because he got to talk with her before Reiji did.

He kinda did a good job explaining it?? He tried to do it in a more scientific manner but failed at times and made some jokes.

He also explained male anatomy. Was also a little bad at that-

She ended up getting the gist of it though.

Fucking god- this man is actually so sweet when he wants to be.

Okay, so as y'all know, Bella has an eating disorder because of what The Clave always forces her to do: Work without eating.

So she will go days without food.

Once Reiji and the others all get her to eat at least three meals a day, she starts getting to a healthy weight for her body type (curvy).

But she gets so insecure then.

She was so used to being stick thin, so she never thought her body would change in a way that made her thicker.

It gets to the point where she even tries to starve herself yet again.

Cue Laito to the rescue.

He would basically rave about her every attribute until her ears were sore. Touching, caring, just showing her why she shouldn't be insecure.

Feeds her personally, and expects to be fed back.

He definitely makes her feel pretty again.

Bella isn't vain, but she's just not used to such a thing changing.

Takes her out to candlelit dinners a lot.

Bella doesn't like his fedora by the way, she takes it off all the time.

Laito always laughs though and puts it on her head instead-

"Lai, stop trying to put it on me! I'm not a fucking idiot like you-"

"You love it~"

"Ew, gross-"

They're so silly like that whole exchange would have been teasing on both sides.

Their dates are all in intimate places, not a big crowd. Laito uses his dad's credit card to pay-

He spoilssssss her too. Expensive gifts like designer clothes and lingerie. (EVEN THOUGH SHE CRINGED AT THE LINGERIE-)

In return, she's always trying to do anything for him. In an SFW manner of course.

She slept with him first the day before her birthday, [Not going into detail, don't worry]

Bella was avoiding it though, because she didn't want Laito (or any of the triplets) to start thinking she was just like their mother.

But she gave up and into her craving for him when he convinced her, she still prays he won't see her as another version of that woman because she cares way too much to fuck him over in any way.

She dies the very next day, due to Karlheinz poisoning her tea.

Laito is fucking sobbing as hard as Kanato is and panicking as much as Reiji is when she's foaming at the mouth.

When she dies, he goes ballistic.

Once they kill Karlheinz he's even more upset somehow. Because the pain she felt from the poison was nothing like how they killed Karl.

Visits her grave a lot. A lot, lot.

He keeps what he bought for her as memories.

Laito was devastated.

#diabolik lovers #bella wayland #laito sakamaki #diabolik lovers ask blog #bella sakamaki #sakamaki laito #raito sakamaki #sakamaki raito #diabolik lovers laito #dialovers laito #laito x reader #dl oc #oc #diabolik lovers oc #ocs #my ocs #oc rp #original character

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thot-farm · 3 months ago

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Domestic yandere Todoroki family part two

So, last post you may have been thinking 'only one of them shows any yandere tendencies, where is the spice?' The 𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓮 isn't here either, you get to spend time with Rei and you are going to like it 😠🫵.

Small notes:

I am a character ai goon that cheated or skipped all creative writing assignments in school, so if this is dog shit, it is what it is. This might actually be the first post I actually post that features my writing in detail.

I accidentally wrote with she/her and didn't even realize it, but I'm just going to leave it because it's smoother to read than y/n every other word, so if you want me to edit this for he/him or they/them, comment and I will with a separate tag

♡

You wake up in the morning to a cold feeling on your forehead. As you slowly wake up, you are a bit uncomfortable by the cold feeling and open your eyes to see a blurry pale arm and whiffs of citrus, vanilla and amber, Mom's perfume, impossible for you not to recognize. You get a little scared by the change since she hasn't woken you up in ages, you got used to Fuyumi's gentle voice, or Shoto pulling you out of bed with zero struggle like you are made of stuffing. You wonder if you did something wrong yesterday.

"Sh, sh, darling." Mom shushes gently, her hands trail down to your plump cheeks and rest there, her thumbs gently caressing your face, trying to calm you and your worries.

You try to blink away the sleep and fuzziness in your sight. You go to rub your eyes but Mom gently but swiftly takes hold of your little hands and brings them back down by your tummy.

"Sweetheart, Shoto caught a pretty nasty cold, so he won't be able to go to school..." Mom says with her gentle voice as she holds your hands.

Mom smiles as she watches the gears turn in your sleepy little head as you wonder how Shoto got sick, she lets go of your hands, her hands dip out of your view. "It looks like you haven't been bit by the sickie bug yet... Oh no baby... I think I see a bug in your bed." Mom says, her soft voice laced with concern.

You feel a tingling tickling sensation scurrying up your leg, which causes you to shoot out of your bed, kicking away blankets. Mom scoops you right up into her lap. "Don't worry darling," She holds up her hand that's curled into a loose fist "Mama caught the sickie bug, now it can't bite you," Mom says softly.

A small burst of frost comes from Mom's hand, your eyes widen with amazement as Mom kills the totally real bug, saving you from a bad cold and getting revenge on the evil bug that bit Shoto, like she always does when a sibling is sick.

Mom opens her hand, all that is left of the bug is a pile of snow. "Now that there is nothing left of the bug, help Mama blow all the snow away and wish for Shoto to get better," Mom says softly.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath and blow, wishing for Shoto's cold to go away. Once you open your eyes, you see snow flurries and sparkles flying away, you watch with amazement, seeing the flurries Dad never lets you go out and see.

You see red out of the corner of your eye, you look over to your doorway seeing Dad approaching your door. You wonder why Shoto being sick has gotten either of your parents' attention, you would think it would get you less like usual. You fiddle your thumbs together as turquoise eyes look over you.

"Rei, get her ready for school," Dad says, his voice deep, almost unrecognizable to you from how little you hear it. But you smell the same cologne as always, the one that wafts around every morning.

"But-" Mom begins, quickly cut off by Dad speaking again.

"You made a good point about Shoto and y/n needing to be away from each other more. He has been asking about her all morning and is refusing to eat without her, and if her teachers aren't exaggerating about her refusal to speak, then something must be done." Dad says in a serious tone, his eyes narrowed, but not at you or Mom. He doesn't wait any longer and just walks away from your door.

Dad's words leave you wondering what they had been talking about. But hearing Dad acknowledge how overbearing Shoto is makes you feel a lot of things, glad it's not just in your head, upset at Dad for not understanding you, but also worried about how Dad will 'fix' the problem with Shoto's behavior.

Mom stands up and carries you over to your chair and plops you down, facing you away from the mirror. You can tell she doesn't seem to trust Dad that much, but you don't understand why, he said she was right and all, that usually makes people happy or at least calm. But Mom makes the same face Shoto does around the time Dad comes home and she is gripping the hairbrush unnecessarily tight.

Mom, despite her tight grip, gently brushes your long white hair from the ends to your roots to straighten out what sleeping had done to your soft curls. Every time you try to move your head to look at her, she gently rests her other hand on your hand until you stop moving.

"Have you been brushing your hair every day, honey?" Mom asks in a soft tone, looking down into your grey eyes.

You nod confidently. You smile at how Fuyumi always helps brush through and style your hair in the morning. And internally you roll your eyes at how Shoto always winds up touching your hair at bedtime when you and him brush teeth, so you always wind up brushing your hair at night to make sure his icky boy cooties don't knot up your hair.

Mom gives a small smile when she sees your nod and smile, but you can tell she seems a little sad or something. You look up at her with a serious look.

Mom's smile gets wider seeing your baby face get serious. She leans down and kisses your head. "Don't worry, darling. I just want to make sure you're being a good girl. Now go brush your teeth." Mom says in a sweet tone, smiling softly.

You stand up from your chair and walk out of your room, as you walk to the bathroom across the hall, you brush some hair off your nightgown, trying not to wonder too much into Mom's behavior

Part three

#my hero academia #yandere todoroki family #mha #enji todoroki #endeavor #rei todoroki #shoto todoroki #barberry and celandine thot-farm #yandere Todoroki family & fem reader

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groenendaelfic · 9 months ago

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Faroe Gone Final Chapter Sneak Peak

So there's still lots of editing I need to do before I can post the whole thing, but with tomorrow looming I thought I'd share something "happy" and "cheerful" to distract y'all.

Have fun reading the beginning of the final chapter and hope you enjoy! 😇

Simon doesn't know if it's the sudden fog, his tears, or the fact that all he wants to do is be a fool and turn back around again—the first one, definitely the first one—but he drives back to Tórshavn at almost a snail's pace.

It doesn't matter. He has well over a day until the ferry makes its return journey to Denmark and nothing else to do except go over his time with Wilhelm again and again, replaying the good times and the pleasurable times and wondering if he could have said or done anything to change the outcome of his journey—other than realizing that all of his feelings were mere nostalgic illusion and fantasy, which of course turned out to not be the case.

Quite the opposite. Real Wilhelm was so much more than what Simon made him out to be in his head. There's so much he's missed. So much he doesn't know yet and which he desperately wants to find out.

It hurts, and yet there's nothing else Simon can do, no other choice which wouldn't hurt more sooner or later.

No. Simon tried. He did the best he could and that is enough. It has to be enough.

Simon had to leave while he still could.

The road ahead of him is empty, no one else in sight. No people, no cars, no sheep. Nothing except the wet, cold fog swallowing up everything and a rushing noise in his ears which might be the wind or the ocean or Simon himself.

Simon blinks away another tear and keeps driving, turning up the heat and hoping it will help.

It doesn't.

On the next island he passes a camper van. It's parked, and Simon thinks he can make out a brave tourist trying to take a picture, but he isn't sure. It's not as if there's much to see except an endless wall of grayish white.

Maybe that's the fascination.

Wilhelm told him that there are thirty-seven words for fog in the Faroese language, and while Simon laughed and told him to stop kidding, he's sure he's already experienced half of them, and it's only been two days.

Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but contemplating the uselessness of taking pictures of fog is a lot more bearable than lingering on the fact that he'll never get to be with Wilhelm again, never feel that satisfied ache in his muscles, not like this, and really how long can a grown man cry before he's all out of tears?

Pretty long he guesses.

Simon once stopped Ayub's baby daughter from attempting a daring escape on all fours, and Simon swears she was crying forever. Not that he blames her.

Crying is cathartic if it's anything, but if she could produce that many tears because of nothing more than a foiled plan to explore the stairway, then how many will Simon be able to shed before he's all wrung out? He’s a lot taller than her after all and guaranteed to not forget the reason for his tears even after being presented with some candy.

Simon doesn't want to know.

Simon wants to keep driving through this fog forever, because all that's waiting for him at its end is the mundanity of his never-changing life and a scandal revealing the Crown Prince to have been the victim of underage revenge porn thanks to his second cousin and presumed successor, and that is guaranteed to make it worse, to drag Simon’s name back into public awareness.

He should probably call home and warn his mom, warn Sara, but facing them will be torture of an entirely different kind, and also the investigative journalist they chose is a good one, one bound to build a case and not blindly believe her sources before going public, so there is still time.

Not too much though, as there is an impending deadline if the Royal Court and the Prime Minister are to be believed, or at least Simon would really prefer news of August’s deeds to overshadow him being taken into the line of succession.

Not that he’s so naive as to think a mere article can do more than delay the proceedings at best—although one can always hope—and ideally the journalist and whoever else gets a say in choosing the right time will see it the same way, but all of that is still more than half a week away, so why burden his family before he absolutely has to?

No, he's not going to call home yet, but maybe he should reserve a room before he gets back to the capital.

He decides to do it the old fashioned way and pulls over at the next opportunity. A viewpoint, or so he presumes the sign a few meters away from him would tell him if only it was clear enough to see.

He wipes at his cheeks and opens his phone. There are plenty of options for him to stay at. Small, privately owned places, holiday homes with kitchens and living rooms, quaint little hotels doing their best to sell their Nordic, rustic charm to tourists wealthy enough to make it there, and of course a camping ground, because unlike Sweden, the Faroe Islands don't allow one to set up camp anywhere else.

Simon doesn't choose any of them. He wants a warm but bland room, boring and inoffensive and as likely to be in Tórshavn as on the other side of the world.

Something as far from Wilhelm's colorful and most definitely handmade and expensive wooden furniture as he can get, and so he books himself a room at the first—and only—international hotel chain he can find, something he'd never do otherwise, and pretends that he's looking forward to it. The hotel has a fitness center after all and well over a hundred rooms. Simon is almost going to feel like back home in Uppsala.

Not.

He sighs and makes sure he received a confirmation for his booking, before he throws his phone onto the passenger seat and sighs again.

Somehow, magically, or rather because he's on a windy archipelago in the middle of nowhere, the fog is starting to clear. He can see a few meters of grass now, and then a cliff, and below it the cold, dark ocean pretending at being calm.

Simon wants the fog back, but when has he ever gotten what he wanted, and by the time he's back on the road he swears he can see a tiny patch of blue sky up ahead.

The hotel is on the outskirts of town and exactly as impersonal as Simon hoped it would be. He isn't hungry, and so he goes straight to his room and falls face first into bed.

The sheets are white and the pillows are white and they smell bland and clean and inoffensive, nothing at all like Wilhelm, and why would they?

Simon hates them. Simon also hates the hotel, but it's not as if he's in the mood for sightseeing, and as he isn't willing to take a shower yet—what? He's alone, no one's going to smell him, and isn't that the entire problem?—all that's left to do is turn on the TV, because he's for sure not touching his phone again any time soon.

Not when that would mean having it confirmed with every passing minute that he was a fool to leave Wilhelm his number. Wilhelm isn't going to call, but Simon would rather live in denial for as long as he can.

The TV does not greet him with an info screen as Simon expected, but an English speaking news channel, the volume turned up way too loudly, and Simon turns it off again as fast as he can.

Wallowing in self pity it is then.

Unfortunately Simon's usual answer to bouts of self-pity—angrily jerking off to thoughts of Wilhelm—is not an option right now, because Wilhelm is the entire reason for his misery, and so he grudgingly reaches for his phone after all and starts up a game which would work much better on a computer screen.

He's just about to finish off the newest boss, when a text message pops up.

If I do it, it reads. Then can we

The sentence stops halfway through, and Simon almost has a heart attack.

The delay in his reaction is enough for him to be killed instead, but it's not as if Simon notices.

Wilhelm. It has to be Wilhelm.

He taps the message, and while that makes it larger, it doesn't change the words.

He almost calls Wilhelm back right away, because Wilhelm is swaying, is reconsidering, and Simon wants that, he wants it so bad, to have Wilhelm back in his arms and his life, but also Simon already told Wilhelm that he can't be the only reason Wilhelm returns, that this is a life changing decision if there was ever any, and that Wilhelm needs to make it for himself and not for a hope of them maybe working out, and so he doesn't.

Instead he waits an excruciating minute and then another, just in case Wilhelm wants to add something or pressed send too soon, but no further message follows.

Simon curses and swears and kicks up his feet, because now he has hope again and that is great, but also torture. He doesn't want Wilhelm to get the wrong impression, doesn't want him to think that Simon wouldn't be willing to pick right up where they left off if he could—in the bedroom that is, not when it comes to fighting—and maybe they could also go on a date which has been nineteen years in coming.

Simon wants that. Simon really wants that. How can he not, now that he's had a taste, has spent time with Wilhelm, just Wilhelm, has had breakfast with him and done chores with him and played with his dog. Simon wants Wilhelm back, now more so than ever.

Simon knows he's an idiot, thinking of romance and dating when he just left the love of his life behind, and even if he hadn't, a returning Wilhelm would have much different things on his mind. He'd have to. He'd have no other choice. Things like his dying mother and the throne and the public reacting to his return after ten years in exile.

Wilhelm wouldn't have time for Simon, no matter how much Wilhelm would want him. Not for weeks and not for months. Simon would have to sneak into an assortment of palaces with the eyes of the entire nation on nothing but them if he wanted any time with Wilhelm at all, and Simon wouldn't want that. Simon doesn't want secrecy and sneaking and lies. Not that'd even be an option, what with the press and curious bystanders everywhere.

There is another option of course. The only one Wilhelm would ever consider coming back for. The one which at first glance sounds perfect because it means being with Wilhelm and standing by his side. It would also mean giving up everything else in Simon's life though, but what has he really got to lose? Why stop being foolish now?

Wilhelm told Simon that he's it for him. Wilhelm loves him. Simon's already traveled across an ocean. What's one tiny text message compared to that? Why can't he be selfish just this once and fuck the risk and the idiocy and the fear of what will be in one year? In five? In ten?

It all might end in disaster, but it might also not, and why should he be miserable if there's even the slightest chance at some fleeting happiness. After all it's not as if the email Wilhelm sent isn't bound to upend Simon's life anyway, and it's not as if Wilhelm is actually going to come.

Simon wants to be happy.

Simon wants to be happy and now there's a chance for it and so why not take it? He's done stupider things before, like coming here in the first place, so he might as well go all the way.

He doesn't text Wilhelm a yes, doesn't make any promises. He texts one word and one word alone, followed by a number, the name of the hotel and his room number, and maybe that's the biggest promise of all.

He doesn't regret it. He couldn't stay, not without making his inevitable departure even worse, but now he's done his part and the ball is in Wilhelm's court, all the balls are, and Simon is here and waiting.

For a ferry. For Wilhelm. For the life they could have had.

Fuck.

#it was editing this #or throwing myself a pity party #because for the first time ever #I could attend all the Eurovision events live #with nothing stopping me except my own morals and conscious #so clearly I'm boycotting it all #and that's the easy choice #no pity party for me #hello editing #I'm not saying Simon is staying at the Hilton Garden Inn #but I'm also not not saying that #yes Faroe Gone will have a happy ending #faroe gone #young royals #young royals fic #fic snippet #wilmon #fic update

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missmaywemeetagain · 2 years ago

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Fireside - A Pink Scarf Universe Story 💗🧣💗

A/N: Apparently, I am not able to stay too far away from our darlin' Reader and Elvis, no matter how hard I try! I just love them too much. So, here is a sexy little blurb taking place in February 1970. I hope you enjoy, and maybe if this gets enough likes and traction, I'll release more and grow the "Pink Scarf Universe" lol, who knows?

If you haven't read Pink Scarf, read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist (though honestly you could probably read this without knowing their story it just won't be as fun for you without the background info 😂).

I will also say this isn't as heavily edited and revised as PS, but hopefully it's still readable...

TW: MINORS DNI 18+ SEXX. PS Daddy E is back! The usual filth with these two. Fluff. A tinge of angst at the beginning. 😏

Word Count: 4.4k

Fireside

Graceland, Late February 1970

Shivering as you make your way across the lawn, you pull your arms across your coat in tight, feeling a bit insolent and annoyed that you even have to trudge out here in the middle of the night. But Elvis had insisted, in that spontaneous way of his, that he must have a campfire tonight, of all nights, even though they all had just returned from his second engagement in Las Vegas and were all beat to hell with exhaustion. So, he and the guys had all tasked at building what you considered to be a too large and dangerous fire in out on the back lawn.

Perhaps you might be feeling more understanding if you hadn’t just spent two weeks away from him—the longest amount of time you’d been apart since August. You’d been sent home early after catching the monster flu that had been going around, which had turned quickly into a terrible bout of bronchitis. The desert air had done you no favors, and Elvis, along with the doctor, had sent you home to Memphis despite your protests. You were furious because Elvis, too, had caught the flu, but in that stubborn way of his had insisted on performing through it like an insane person.

“All these folks paid good money and flew in from all over to come see me, Satnin. I ain’t gonna disappoint them,” he’d said to you as you both coughed and raged with fever.

You were so mad he’d sent you home during your first engagement as one of his back-up singers that you were still stung by it. But you were also finding yourself increasingly needy for him along with your moodiness.

Which is why you find yourself out in the cold, sniffling, desperate for your fiancé to come inside and shower you with attention instead of living it up out in the cold with the guys he just spent a solid month with.

Your grumpiness is fueled as you approach the roaring flames and spot Elvis in his low Adirondack chair, laughing it up with the guys. You don’t like the feeling of jealousy that creeps over you at his attention being pulled away from you by these men. It’s silly, you know, just as you know it’s part of the package. Elvis’ light and charisma demands attention whether he means it to or not but having been away from him the past few weeks made you miss him in a way you haven’t felt before.

Part of you can’t escape how handsome he looks in the firelight, his smile wide and crinkling his lovely blue eyes. And that damn laugh of his is so contagious and musical that it almost—almost—pulls you out of your funk.

That tether between you has been pulled tight for too long and yanks you towards him out here in the cold. You stand over him sullenly for a moment until he raises those soulful eyes up to yours.

“Why ain’t you in bed, Satnin? You shouldn’t be out here. You’ll catch another chill,” Elvis says in what to him is a caring way yet to you feels almost dismissive. But he must see the needy look in your eyes and the tears brimming there because his voice softens and he adds, “Come ‘ere then,” and lifts the heavy blanket over his legs. A sense of deep relief falls over you as you slide sideways into his lap, throwing your legs across his, his warmth cocooning you. He pulls the heavy blanket up over you both and you snuggle into his chest.

Yes, this is what you need, you think, collapsing into him, his spicy familiar scent enveloping you, the heat of his body burning into yours. One arm circles around your back and his other hand rests on your thigh, pulling you ever closer. God, you missed this. You missed him. To think you spent so many years near him but without him… No wonder your brain concealed so much from you for so long—this yearning you feel is nearly unbearable and he is already yours.

You sigh into his neck, and he presses his chin down to look at you. “What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers in your ear, his hand slipping under your coat to rub comforting circles at your waist. His slender fingers are cold, but you don’t care in the least.

“Missed you,” is all you can eek out in your sensitive, tearful state, your hand clutching at the front of his coat.

“Aww, darlin’, I’m right here,” he says, kissing the top of your head, then pressing his fire-warmed cheek to your cool one.

You can’t help but pout, your mood worn from weeks of being sick and without him to comfort you. It’s not like you to act this way—for years you built a stoic shell around yourself to cope with Jack being gone all the time—but Elvis managed to break that shell into pieces last summer. Since then, you’ve found yourself feeling every little thing and unable to hide it from him. Perhaps it is because he is so finely tuned into you that he just knows when something is off, but you can’t seem to hide things from him even when you’ve tried.

“Mhm,” Elvis tuts in your ear, “you’re still sore that I sent you home, ain’tcha? I’m not gonna be sorry about that, honey. You were too sick and the doc was right—that Vegas air was doin’ you no good.” He shakes his head.

You huff stubbornly and bury your head into his long neck. Of course, logically, you know they were right to send you back, but you are still upset and not just about that. You can’t seem to voice exactly what you are mad about, only realizing that you are annoyed and sad and small and needy in a way you’ve never been before. And this overwhelm seems to steal your ability to express any of those emotions in words. You’re not sure what exactly you need, other than being as close as possible to the man you love.

“Oh, don’t you be obstinate, now,” Elvis warns quietly, the slightest edge of temper in his voice. Your only response is to cling to him harder, to nuzzle yourself further into the warmth that emanates off him.

He says nothing for a moment, staring into the fire, but you can sense the gears turning behind those pretty, worn eyes. Finally, he seems to come to some conclusion because his countenance shifts and he forces your chin out of his neck with his finger so he can look you in the eyes.

“Is all this because you need Daddy to take care of you?” he asks quietly, firmly. His voice is low and rumbles right down to your toes, the words setting every one of your nerves on fire along the way.

A whimper escapes your lips. You are suddenly grateful for the inky darkness of the winter’s night, at the heat of the fire, because they conceal the blush that suddenly blotches your cheeks as Elvis stares deeply into your eyes. The gaze has you squirming to get off his lap and you want to pull him into the house where you need him, but his large hands clamp down firm.

“Be still,” he commands sternly, but only loud enough for you to hear.

Your heart is galloping at the implication of those two little words.

“Now are ya gonna be a good, quiet little girl for me?” Elvis asks, his hand gripping your chin so you have to look at him. His face is the picture of controlled calm—it’s only the flames dancing in his darkening eyes that gives him away.

You hadn’t realized just how badly you needed him to take control until this very moment.

You manage to nod solemnly as all the blood in your body seems to rush into your core. You don’t know what he has in store for you, but the fact that he is not making any attempt to leave the company of the men surrounding you makes you nervous (and maybe a little intrigued).

Elvis releases your chin and pulls the heavy blanket up over your shoulders, encouraging you to snuggle back into him by tightening his hand around your waist. The warm wool now covers you both from head to toe, and it is only then that you start to glean why that might be important.

You rest your head on his collarbone, waiting with bated breath, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart begin to quicken under your hand as you slip it into his coat. You’re unable to help the impulse to place a fluttering kiss at the pulse point on his elegant long neck, and his lip curls up in response. Before long, he begins drawing small circles with his fingertips up the inside of your thigh, and when reaching the hem of your dress, he slips under without compunction. You stiffen as he continues, unhurried, up, up, up until he reaches your panty line.

Your eyes widen and you wonder if Elvis is really going to do this with all the guys around. It’s bold, even for him, even with the blanket tenting and concealing his movements. A snake of apprehension in your gut is overrun by the thrill of the risk. The conversation around the fire flows on without either of you, and the crackle of the flames conceals a lot, and for that you are grateful.

The light brush of his fingers over the cotton of your panties makes you jump despite yourself, and in response, Elvis grips your waist hard, stilling you.

“Be good,” he orders through clenched teeth, “or I’m gonna stop and leave you to fend for yourself. Or maybe I oughta pull this blanket off and let the guys enjoy the show.” His lip quivers up slyly at that.

The threat stills you either way.

Elvis chuckles darkly. His fingers resume their teasing, dancing over the cotton at your core delightfully as you attempt to stay as still and quiet as possible. He is maddeningly patient, doing this until you can feel the throb of your pulse blossoming between your thighs, and it has you oh-so-quietly panting into his neck. But it’s not until he feels the fabric dampen under his touch that he finally slides his naughty, slender finger underneath, grazing through your slick and up to your sensitive bud, forcing you to bite down to keep from keening loudly.

Fuck, you’ve missed him.

By now, he knows how to play you like an instrument, his instrument, knowing exactly how much pressure to use as he circles your clit again and again, enough to get you sufficiently worked up. His casualness suggests he has all the time in the world while you’re sitting in his lap beginning to shudder from the pleasure coiling low in your belly.

Occasionally, he’ll stop, just to listen to your desperate breathlessness, your carnal wanting of him quelled by trying to be a quiet, good girl like you promised. A hint of a smirk plays on his face, making you want to crush your mouth to his or slap him for his teasing. Instead, you settle for clawing at his shirt.

The wetness that gathers between your legs has your panties soaked and sticking to you now, which might be embarrassing except for the fact that you are so damn needy for him, you couldn’t care less about your ruined underwear. Elvis discovers this fact as he finally dips lower, running the length of his finger back and forth through your sopping, swollen folds, taking his sweet damn time.

You tense. You are nearly ready to come undone just from his teasing, but you know that’s not what he wants. That’s not the game he’s playing. You raise your head from his chest just long enough to give him a pleading look.

He's doing a decent job of keeping his handsome features neutral, looking to a casual observer as though he is following the conversation around the fire and not driving you to madness under the blanket. But knowing him as you do, you can see the tiny giveaways that he, too, is flustered: the way his nostrils flare with his increased breathing rate, how his brilliant blues gleam with arousal, the way his plump lips part when he finally presses his middle finger deep into you.

Your wetness devours him readily. To hide the gasp and roaring flush on your cheeks, you pull the blanket up even farther. You clutch at his chest and your nails scrape his skin. After a few agonizing minutes, there’s no helping the instinct to grind your hips against his hand, wanting him deeper, wanting to consume him.

But while he smirks and is pleased with your desperation, he also will not relinquish control. He stills completely, one hand gripping your waist hard as a reminder of who is in charge. Your warm, wet heat clenches around his finger.

“Be good and stop squirmin’, little one,” he whispers low in your ear, “and maybe Daddy will keep finger fuckin’ you ‘till ya come.”

You stop moving but whine in response to those dirty words coming from his perfect pouty mouth—you just can’t help it—but it’s so quiet he can barely hear you. Your reward is another finger sliding deep into your heat. He picks up the pace in an unforgiving way. Gasping, you bite your lip when he curves those fingers just so, hitting that spot deep inside that is only his.

The blanket barely moves, and you have no idea what magic he is using to keep things so incognito, especially considering he naturally has so much energy that his limbs are usually vibrating uncontrollably. You still feel completely on display, though, especially when the pad of his thumb begins massaging your bud in time with his expert fingers pumping in and out of you.

I’m going to come undone, right here, in front of all the guys, you think in horror. You have no clue how you are going to keep quiet and still and good if that happens. Panic begins to build behind your arousal because you just know that coil is going to burst and you’ll cry out in ecstasy any second now (but a dark part of you is even more aroused by the scandalous nature of it all).

Elvis must sense the change in you because he edges you right up to the point of no return but not over. He halts his ministrations. You clutch desperately at his expensive shirt, certain you are going to shred it to pieces by the time this little game of his is through. Your heart pounds hard and fast against your ribcage, in time with his, and you wait to see what he has in store for you next. Because even though a part of you is embarrassed by this game, you are drinking in every drop of attention, relishing his command over you, needy for every morsel he deems to give you.

He’s considering his next move, you think, by the way his eyes narrow slightly and his grip on you shifts. When he pulls his fingers out of you, you almost moan for the loss of them, but catch yourself at the last second. Brazenly, he wipes his sticky fingers down your inner thigh, his eyes dancing with amusement as he does so.

You gape at him. He can’t be finished, you think dismally. He can’t leave me like this.

No, you don’t think so, not with the way you can feel his hardened length pressing into your hamstring.

He kisses your temple sweetly. “Now listen carefully, little girl: Imma need you to shift onto one of Daddy’s legs for a second. Nice and slow now, don’t call attention to it. And hold those ruined panties of yours to the side. I wanna feel that pretty little kitty weepin’ for me,” he rumbles in your ear.

Oh my goddd... The urge to moan long and loud fills you but you just nod instead.

You follow his directions and move your weight so one of his lean, muscled thighs is between yours. The rough fabric of his pants scrapes your bare pussy as he bounces his leg a few times, sending a cascaded of shivers into your belly. His pants will need to be dry cleaned for the soaking spot you’re leaving there, and part of you feels a sense of pride to be marking him in such a way. Mine.

Holding the blanket up to your shoulders dutifully, you stare at the golden flames licking into the air in front of you. No one seems to notice or care that you have shifted.

That’s when you feel it. The slow, deliberate way he undoes his belt, the ticking of his zipper. You blush furiously, then feel the spring of his heavy cock being released. Before you can react, he unceremoniously and quickly lifts you fully onto his lap, lining you up then impaling you down upon his length.

You cover your surprise and choke with a cough—not unusual considering you’re still recovering from bronchitis. Thank god you are as wet as you are because, even so, it’s a damn tight fit with him having been away these past few weeks. You have to keep yourself from rolling your eyes into the back of your head because he’s finally filling you the way you need him to.

Yes, this is what you wanted. This is what you needed. You just didn’t expect it to be in front of all his (albeit unaware) friends.

By the way Elvis grips your waist and from the soft grunt that escapes him, you know he’s struggling to contain his own reaction to your heat, despite the air of control he’s been exuding. He adjusts you how he wants you: leaning your back over his chest, your legs draped over his, his chin resting on your shoulder. With the way the seat of the chair tips down to the ground and with blanket pulled all the way up, nothing looks amiss.

You close your eyes and sigh, relishing the feel of him stretching you, his cock buried deliciously deep inside you. He envelops you in his arms, one under your breasts, the other at your lower belly. His warmth burns into your back, but he does not let you move. Those wiry but strong arms have effectively pinned you to him. Almost frantic, you try for some semblance of friction, anything at all to ease the tension, but he just chuckles at your near-silent gasps, holding you fast against him.

Finally, once you relent and relax, Elvis swivels his hips, again and again, in a slow rhythm not unlike one monumentally famous performance on TV in the beginning of his career, the one that sent the church ladies off their rockers and the teenage girls fainting. Suddenly, you want to giggle at the fact that his damn hips resulted in both his skyrocketing career and in his censorship because those same hips have certainly become even more skilled in the many years between then and now, but for different, more scandalous reasons. Maybe those church ladies had a point, after all, you laugh quietly. And it causes you to clench around his cock.

Then you hear a low growl in your ear: “What a dirty little girl you are, letting Daddy take you like this in front of all these men. Bein’ so good for me. You like this, baby girl?” Each statement is accentuated with a shallow but pointed roll of his pelvis.

You bite your lip, nodding. His dirty talk has molten heat flooding down your limbs and directly into your cunt. With the warmth of the roaring fire coupled with the passioned heat at your back, your arousal grows with each small movement, each scandalous word, and has you feeling like you might combust before this is all said and done.

So desperately do you want to ride him within an inch of his life, but he won’t allow it. No, this is his show, and you give into him, fully resting back onto his chest. He rewards you by finding your clit again, massaging it in slow time with his barely moving cock. The result is both torturous and delectable, working you into such a state that you dig your nails so hard into his clothed thighs that he hisses.

“Fuck, little one, you feel so good,” Elvis breathes jaggedly into your ear. He presses a hand to your lower belly, then rolls his hips up. In this position, he’s big enough that you both can feel him there. “Takin’ my cock so well.”

You do your level best not to mewl, to stay quiet for him. Instead, your breathing pants through your nostrils and you try to keep your wits about you, trying to stay good as he fucks you so slowly within an inch of your life. Fucks you with all the guys around, who seem none the wiser.

He must feel you begin to flutter around him, your climax drawing ever closer. You feel like you’re about to burst because you need to scream, to moan out his name, do something that will let you release this pressure, but you tamp it all down as far as you can.

“Daddy’s gonna make you come now, sweetheart,” he purrs.

“N-not h-here,” you breathe out, panicked, knowing you can’t hold on much longer.

“Yes, here,” he chastises. “Right in front of ev’rybody. You’re gonna come so hard, baby, cuz Daddy treats you right, doesn’t he?”

You almost sob at that and nod, that coil poised to explode at any moment.

“But you’re gonna be good and so, so quiet cuz it’s just for me baby. You ain’t gonna cry out or move a muscle, okay?” he whispers and though he’s commanding, you know he’s close to losing control himself by how labored his breath is and how tightly he’s holding you.

You nod, and he flicks your clit with expert, rapid precision. “Now, lil’ one. Come now.”

That’s all you need. Quite suddenly, you are consumed by fire as hot as the one blazing in front of you. Your body tenses, then shudders violently in his lap and he holds you to him as you careen over the edge, lost to the dark night. It takes every ounce of self-control in you to not cry out, resulting instead in your huffed breaths. Long nails bite into his arms, clamoring for some outlet for your pleasure. Your eyes close, stars dancing behind them. Your walls clench and flutter around his length and you feel his slow rhythm begin to stutter.

“Fuck, baby, Jesus fuck, so good for m-me. Daddy’s gonna fill y-you up now. All mine. Aw, h-hell.” He pulses inside you, covering his own orgasm by biting deep into your shoulder, so hard you can feel it through the heavy winter coat you’re wearing. His thick, hot arousal throbs and coats your insides and you ride him through it with the tiniest rocking of your hips, feeling lighter than air but also grounded by him.

That’s what life with Elvis is like, you think. He grounds you to him, to his orbit, and sends you both shooting to the moon and the stars.

Completely blissed out and spent, you fall into him, and he slumps back in the chair. As you come back down to Earth, you feel your breathing sync with his. You close your eyes and revel in the wonderful way he’s made you feel, this man you are so wildly in love with.

You’re no longer upset.

You’re just glad to be back in his arms.

Elvis nudges you and you realize you may have dosed off, as he is now soft inside you and the fire has dimmed some.

“I think you made quite the mess, lil’ mama,” he whispers, nipping at your ear.

Indeed. You can feel the cool pooling of your collective arousal coating you and his lap.

“I made the mess, huh?” you whisper back with a roll of your eyes.

“Oh, most definitely.” You can feel his boyish grin as he kisses your neck.

“Sure. And how exactly are we supposed to get back in the house without everyone knowing we had sex in front of them?”

He pauses and then you can feel the vibration of his chest as he starts to chuckle, that way he gets just before he has a laughing fit.

“Oh, don’t you dare start, E,” you warn. It’s contagious, of course, and you feel your own laughter bubbling. “You didn’t think this all the way through, did you, love?” you shake your head.

“That’s what I have you for!” he laughs.

“Well, I guess we’re just gonna have to sit here and simmer in our juices until everyone decides to go to bed, now won’t we?” you try to whisper sternly, but giggles escape at the complete ridiculousness of the situation.

“Not in our juices!” he cries with laughter. He’s completely beside himself, pressing his forehead into your back in an effort to hide his amusement.

“What was that, EP? Thought you both fell asleep over there,” Lamar says.

“N-nothing!” Elvis hiccups. “Just go about your business! Y’all must be getting’ tired, right? Time to go inside! Time for bed!” He flails his arms in the general direction of the house.

You are both trying, quite unsuccessfully, to hold back your laughter, and the guys are looking at you two like you’ve grown horns.

“Um, sure, EP? I guess it is getting late,” Charlie throws out.

Quizzical, the guys grumble a bit and begin to mosey their way towards the house.

“You comin’?” Lamar shouts.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it! We’ll get there!” Elvis calls, shooing him away, then dissolves into another peal of breathless laughter.

“Okay, Crazy,” Lamar mumbles.

Elvis is sniffling and snorting by now. Your face is red and tears poke at the corners because the more he laughs, the more you laugh.

“I love you, Satnin,” he says, kissing your cheek gently once everyone is gone and your giggles have subsided.

“I love you, too, baby boy.” You press your forehead to his. “Now please tell me you have a handkerchief or something cuz otherwise you’re gonna need to wear this blanket around your waist to get inside.

“Anything for you, baby, anything for you,” Elvis says, holding back another peal of laughter.

And you know it’s true.

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bingebuddie · 7 months ago

Text

Here... We... Go...

Hi all,

Well, so far, 2024 has sucked for me... but anyway...

I've been feeling pretty out of sorts mentally, and depending on where my head is at, I've been bouncing back and forth between Fics and my Wes and Cole novel.

I am going on a writing retreat May 4-12th... so... expect some major movement...

I wanted to provide a few updates on where I am with my Fics and other works.

Sideways:

Published updates here have been slower than I wanted or anticipated. This has nothing to do with the story, as I have this outlined for Arcs 6-10... Yes, up to Arc 10.

My personal life has gotten in the way a lot over the last few months and has just eaten up my time to write.

Now, Arc 6 will lead right into Arc 7 and 7 into 8. You will want to throw some stuff at me for some of the wtf moments and having to wait between arcs... but it's all coming. Anyone new to the series has had the benefit of reading five fully finished-out arcs that took me about a year to write. Have some patience with me. It will be worth it.

Arc 6, Into The Unknown, has multiple chapters drafted. I just need to clean up some edits from my beta, and they will be posted. May is going to be a big month for this arc.

This is a pivotal point in the series. It spans Chapters 37-48, making it the longest arc so far. This installment will delve into the Seals' backstory, their connection with Buck and Eddie, and much more. It’s a substantial piece of the puzzle that you won't want to miss.

This one does have some heavy moments...

This does end with a cliffhanger... But I promise, it's not our boys directly you are left wondering about...

Arc 7—Strong—Eddie will need his friends and family like never before. This is a heavy Diaz family arc. The outline is eight Chapters.

This also ends in a cliffhanger and that promise I made above... does not apply here.... insert evil laugh...

Arc 8 Genesis—This is the big one. It all comes together here, and it is the part I am most excited to write. It is also the longest, with an outline of 16 chapters. You will find out more about Genesis in Arc 6.

This arc will change all of their lives and the status quo as we know it. Grab your seats and tissues. The previous title for this was Unleashed...

Arc 9 - Experience/Circles - Tentative Title - No tease, as it will spoil what's to come...

Arc 10 - My All - googles Mariah Carey ...

Sideways isn't going anywhere...

Shifted:

Volume 1: Nevermore

This was originally planned to be 30 chapters. I have 20 published right now. The rest of this is outlined, and chapters 21-25 are written and ready to be published. I haven't posted these because Chapter 25 ends on a massive cliffhanger, and I don't want to leave you all hanging. I will be finishing this... after Arc 6 of Sideways ...

I have a plan for the second arc... but that's all the way behind everything else on my docket...

Impossible:

If you have read this one, I have yet to post the last chapter...

This has an MCD, and while I was writing this, I lost a friend. It was hard to finish. I have finished the outline, and this will be completed soon.

Run:

This is on hold. I have too much else to focus on. Consider this on hiatus until I say otherwise. It might even be scrapped... will see...

Would You Mind:

This one was a lot of fun... The wrap-up/epilogue is done; it's with my beta...

Lap Dancing Eddie will return... in Sideways...

I Don't Want To Be Your Freind:

As of today, 7 of 11 chapters are posted. This is all outlined. I have drafts of chapters 8-11 done. Going to beta and will be posting soon...

I started this leading up to Season 7; it was my mind dealing with all the rumors and leaks... In my mind and my group chat, I was calling this my Anti Tommy and Marisol fic...

This got way out of hand and became a monster of a fic...

Now... on to what else I have brewing...

Future Shock - 3 Part Series - Magic/BAMF/Mayhem/Found Family/Soul Mates/Redux/Ryan Throw's The Timeline Into A Blender and Tada...

As It Is - 2030 and the 118 have been a fractured team since the lawsuit. When members of the team start to be picked off one by one, Hen, Chim, and Bobby, have no one to turn to until friends and family return in their most desperate hour.

As It Was - Details what led to the fracturing of the 118. A retelling of Season 2 and part of season 3...

As It Was Always Meant To Be - Now reunited, will the 118 be able to rally around each other, or will their painful past be too much to overcome.

This has a loose outline and it's very large ...

Depressed, Devasted, and Destroyed aka Something To Hold On To:

I keep calling this Triple D or DDD... This is a pure angst fest... major whump... like I'm mad at myself for the whump here ... seriously...

This has an outline...

Relationship Goals—In an effort to rebuild their friendship after their recent relationships crash and burn, Buck and Eddie join a local hockey team along with some of Buck's old seal friends. This was pure fan service to myself and a way to get Buck, Eddie, Wes, and Cole to play hockey and not have to do it on Sideways. This currently sits around 60 pages.

Stolen - A stolen kiss changes everything between Buck and Eddie... This angst fest is somehow incredibly soft... This is about 35 pages right now...

The Ties That Bind - Buck breakdown fic... This might get scrapped and merged into DDD from above...

All I Want for Christmas - Think Scrooged Vs. It's A Wonderful Life Vs 911... This won't be posted until holiday time...

The Wes and Cole novel is still moving along... it's my refuge when the show does something stupid...

I should probably get to writing... it's not like I have nothing to do....

#buck x eddie #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck and eddie #911 abc #buckley diaz family #evan buckely diaz #911 buddie #buddie fic #a03 fic #my fic #fic writing #911 fanfic #buddie fanfic

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 6 months ago

Note

I’m not the writing tips anon, but loved your tips!!! Any more detailed tips for outlining and editing? Generally I get stuck into both of this and can’t seem to know how to do it in a effective way. Have a good june and a nice day! :)

other then the few relevant ones from my previous ask, here are some that came to mind:

outlining:

firstly you'll need to brainstorm a bit, come up with the story. maybe you've scribbled down some notes over a period of time that you can now sit down and gather, perhaps fill in the holes and find strings to connect it all together. or maybe it is a true brainstorm and you haven't decided on any of the puzzles corner pieces yet.

my personal routine for when I need to figure out a story is to sit down at a time when things are calm and I can properly think, often it is by a window (there's just something about looking up at the clouds that gets my wheels turning), some days I put on some music (I prefer instrumental for this, often with the vibe I'm trying to capture in with the story) and then I kinda just meditate on it and write down any ideas that might strike me.

or if I feel stuck there and the ideas just won't come, then I go do something completely different. the lightbulb often gets turned on whenever I go take a shower or do the dishes or even go for a walk through a quiet place. or even the classic of watching a movie or tv show can grant me plenty of inspiration when I'm in lack of it. prompt lists can also be a great help (one of the reasons I have a whole side blog dedicated just to keeping them organised: @prompt-heaven)

and then when my list of messy notes is long enough, I put them in order and fill out the holes to make the story flow naturally from one moment to the next. I just play it all out in my head till it feels right.

depending on how long or complicated the story is, the process or outlining it can take various amounts of time. some stories come like a bolt of lightning while others you need to dig for. but I find it to be easiest when my mind and body is in a place where there is place for such a thing, when I'm not too stressed or tired or anything, those are the moments when I get stuck, and then I just have to take a step back and declare that that won't be the activity of the day and instead focus my energy on doing something that'll make me feel better so that I'll sooner get to a point where the ideas will come flooding in.

editing:

my biggest advice for this, I wrote in the previous ask (to never edit when tired and to always edit while reading out loud)

if gramma is something you struggle with, then I highly advise getting the free version of grammarly or other similar programs.

and if a part of your story isn't sitting well when you're editing it, then you can always rewrite it. you can make it something completely different or even just try to write the same premise though only rewrite it from your memory.

and try not to be too critical of yourself. sometimes, some stories, aren't ment to be made "perfect" but simply to be completed. for it to be done is enough.

#lea answers #writing advice #writing tips

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night-market-if · 1 year ago

Text

Dev Blog 7/1/23

Hello my reader!

I'm here with a mini development blog for you all. So far I have added to the base game something like 40k more words. This is not including coding. I have also cleaned up some code errors that wouldn't let you get past the Deep, and negated a conversation with Hazel in the last chapter.

All I have left now is a clean up of some minor name codes and the editing of all the NSFW scenes. Then I can have a few people beta it and I can redo the UI of the game.

I would also like to say that the asexual route within the game is going to change a bit. The more I have learned about asexuality, the more it has come to my attention that there are a vast amount of ways that this can be represented. So, I have decided to address this by allowing an option to have a conversation about this with your RO before any NSFW scene. It can be that the MC doesn't like sex at all to the MC not opposed to it when it feels right. I know this is going to not satisfy some people but this is kind of what I feel comfortable writing. I feel like, at this point in my writing career, I just don't know how to approach it in the variation that asexuality actually is. That might change as I continue writing but for now, that's how I would like to keep it.

That being said, the sexuality code in general has also changed. You no longer have a code saying you are attracted to just men or just women. You can flirt with whoever you want without consequence. You can also deny anyone you want without consequence. Instead, I will just be coding in when you choose which RO you wish to explore the Night Market with. Polys will of course come after all of that. I felt this was also a fair representation. If you are someone who does not want to flirt with a certain gender, then don't chose the flirt options for it. It will then not open any of the flirtation scenes. Or, you know, tell Milo and Bella to just back off. :)

Now onto some personal stuff.

I am stressed. I mean, like really stressed. I thought I would have everything done by today and I am not done. Mainly, I feel bad for my Kickstarter backers. I have so much I owe them and everything is only in about the 70% done area. I am so sorry guys. I have been beating myself up over this for a while now when it became clear that this was far more work than I thought. It's crazy to me. I'm absent from Tumblr and Discord at this point and yet I have been busier with work than I've ever been.

I'm also terrified I'm just not doing enough to the base game. Things that I thought would fit great, ended up not fitting at all. Things that I thought would be an easy addition turned out to be way out of the realm of my capability. It's just all been a learning experience where I've felt like I'm letting you guys down.

And at the end of the day? I really just want to write Book 2.

I know I owe no one an explanation. I've just had this weird feeling I've had to battle the last few months where I am feeling like I have to choose between my family life and my work life. And I hate it. My husband took two weeks off work just so I could work like crazy and I am still not done which is bothering me. Which means weekends are sometimes spent not with my kids but instead working away again. And, because we are a split family, it isn't always like I can make up for this time mid week.

I'm not really looking for advice on this. I'm just kind of trying to be transparent. The stress is for sure getting to me and believe me, I am looking forward to this going up on Steam more than anyone at this point. And then I'm sure I'll spiral because I'll be certain somehow barely anyone will buy it. LOL! But hey, at least I just got two more cats to add to my life. They can purr away my stress that night.

That's everything guys. Thank you for being who you are and I promise you, I am taking care o myself. I'm just a stressed person by nature, I think.

I hope everyone else is having a good summer and you all are getting some wonderful reading time in. If you celebrate the 4th, here's to hoping you have lots of good food that day!

With love,

Zinnia

#dev blog #writing #interactive fiction #personal life #the night market

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inchidentally · 10 months ago

Note

https://x.com/safeforlando/status/1750936311563723024?s=20

I don't need to add anything. The best driver duo on the grid without a doubt <3

you're so right to say there's nothing more to say, anon. and yet ! lol

(behind a cut so no one can think I'm literally reporting facts here or that I'm living and dying by my own weird and pointless takes I'm just enjoying over-analyzing for fun)

(I am fully switching off RPF/narrative here)

so temporarily switching off friendships or any kinds of ships and focusing solely on driver partnerships, I love how certain Lando's always been about what Oscar has done for his (Lando's) performance. I think this is where age and generation play some part bc Carlos and Daniel are both firmly in the same age group and separated from Lando to a certain degree bc of that. they both viewed Lando as a little brother type of teammate and their careers were never perceived by themselves as especially tied to McLaren or to Lando. they'd both kind of become the lone wolf type by then which is honestly how most drivers have to be. (even moreso in the Max/RB dominance era)

whereas Lando isn't just toeing the line by saying he's a big team player, he adores working in groups in absolutely every area of his professional life and even having hobbies that put him with a minimum of 3-4 people. he also needs to feel the safety of a support network to be at his best. he's the very opposite of a lone wolf. hell, he literally said 'it took an actual village to raise me'.

he very intentionally developed the shared interests with Carlos and Daniel to create those kinds of bonds and familiarity (that's The Lando Effect). and while it's too much of a leap to say for sure, I think it's likely - at least at the start - that Lando felt like they might each have been his teammate for longer than they were. either way, the shared hobbies and friendly bonding didn't really translate to his time time spent with them in team meetings, speaking to the engineers or in development back at the factory. Lando has said he and Carlos were on completely different planes of experience and ability and Carlos was one foot out the door after what, the first year? and well, we know the lack of synchronicity between Lando and Daniel as drivers that started to set in not long after that first season together.

so when it was announced Lando's next teammate would be a rookie and also younger than him, he didn't really hide that the swapped dynamic worried him - even if he was half-joking. and then Oscar being so quiet and independent a person definitely threw him. he even describes their pre-season interactions as friendly but only really having time to say a few words. Oscar had his own work cut out as a rookie (and as we found out, wanting to prove himself most to the engineers and folks at MTC) and Lando already had a full life running alongside his racing career.

and it sounds all projection-y and armchair psychology to say this but genuinely it's clear to state that unlike the usual PR push that a lot of new teammates partake in, Oscar's been notably disinterested in any of that - not even just overplaying a friendship or a bromance with Lando for the sake of the cameras. that's an especially unusual choice for someone who could really have used the Lando Effect boost to his own image after contractgate with Alpine and the hoards of Ricciardo fans/McLaren fans ready to hate someone they saw as a snake or a pretender (usually both). especially considering Oscar pre-F1 was extremely active on social media and had his own viral moments and a much more colorful, fun personality than what he's allowed F1 fans to see so far - it was a pretty deliberate choice to not carry that over right away to selling the partnership with Lando.

we might be able to glean through the murk of Netflix's highly questionable editing of this upcoming season of DTS how much was really going on behind the scenes between Lando and Oscar around this time. but it really seemed like Oscar was more focused on letting his loyalty to the team and his own driving do all the talking (and Mark Webber often said as much). when you compare a lot of those early Lando and Oscar videos and challenges to his Prema ones, he's so unusually quiet and reserved. so he had absolutely no interest in trying to sell himself as a persona or a character to F1 fans. he was perfectly sweet and polite! and boy, did Lando enjoy having someone with endless patience for him lol.

but it's very marked how, despite whatever was or wasn't developing between them as teammates, Lando has consistently always said the same as he has here about Oscar being so talented and giving Lando that "push" and how "you hate and you like it" bc it made him (Lando) take his own driving to the next level. that healthy competition and 'wow, this guy is bringing it' seemed to strike him immediately. Lando can't lie for shit so if he'd found Oscar to be a crappy teammate in any way there's no way he'd be able to choke out any praise for him even for the sake of the team alsgfljasgfa.

and I liked that here in I think March? he said how he planned to get Oscar into all his own hobbies and bring him out of his shell, but apart from one last minute invite to golf that never really happened. we know they spent a fair amount of down time together but it was always mentioned in passing rather than posting about it online or having anyone film it (that we know of yet). the reason I like it is because Lando went on to say how Oscar has reminded him by example to "keep calm and be yourself". and in this interview he'd said how he considers himself and Oscar to be pretty similar people in terms of their approach to their F1 careers. so instead of them bonding through hobbies and interests or both of them being chatterboxes, I think they bonded (if that's the word?) over not being stereotypical extroverted drivers in terms of their personalities and also that they've so adamantly never wanted to have driver in-fighting make life harder for their teams (and themselves). plenty of guys from F2 and F3 can attest to that for Oscar and of course there's The Lando Effect as far as Lando's concerned.

you could almost say they both needed to be teamed up with the other bc for all that Oscar projects Just a Guy, he also finds himself incredibly awkward when it comes to everything about his job outside of racing the car or talking about the car. Lando's just as much the same but he's learned to charm his way through it. he's still awkward as hell even in Quadrant promo videos and he's been doing those regularly for years now, and with all his friends there! they're both enough off-center that they either need an extroverted teammate to lean on or in their current situation, someone who can sympathize.

which I think considering how much loyalty to the team and a sense of 'home' and consistency are for Lando, it makes all kinds of sense that Oscar was the teammate to show up and really form that partnership that he considers to be 'the strongest' on the grid.

they're the same generation, have the same ethos when it comes to their racing careers and Oscar not only went through a court case to get to McLaren he then extended his contract to 2026 the second McLaren made the offer. Lando's got stability as well as a serious challenge from Oscar. he's more poised than ever for that win(s). and now I just hope he listens to Oscar in other ways like not self-flagellating in front of the cameras so much and focusing on where he has done well.

#inchreplies #inchidentallyanessay #NOT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY #JUST FOR FUN #I AM SELF-AWARELY STUPID TRUST ME #lando contract renewal

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nikethestatue · 9 months ago

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I know that sometimes the people in this fandom can come up with the worst takes in existence, but I think if you have a considerable number of people questioning if a mated pair who have already had their HEA are going to remain together or break their bond, then maybe the writer hasn't done such a great job with their romance. No one could ever doubt that Feysand and Rowaelin (and also Quinlar imo, but I know not everyone agrees) are going to stay happily together forever, but Nessian? They're not a side couple like Elorcan or even Daynight, they had a whole 800 pages to themselves and yet I'm less sold on their romance than I was in ACOWAR. Maybe it's just me, but a man in a romance book with split loyalties who isn't willing to swing for his girls 100% is unattractive to me. If I have to read about Az appreciating Mor's beauty I might just gauge my eyes out, if he doesn't stand up to Rhys at least ONCE the book is over for me.

So here is what I think happened--I feel like large chunks of info are missing, because of the re-write. I feel like like there is information that was there, whole scenes, which SJM took out. I also think that the 7 million bonuses that we got were originally in the book. I think they were part of the first draft.

There is absolutely, 100% something missing from Cassian/Nesta interactions, because I think they were cut. That line in the Ember and Randall bonus, where Nesta looked at Cassian and then thought that he was the one she was disappointing the most--that screams a missing scene.

I won't be surprised if we get something in the next book, which will say that Cassian KNEW that she was giving the Mask to Bryce, and that he implored that she didn't do it, but then agreed with her in the end, and hence, the scene between all of them yelling at each other reads so weirdly.

Or he warned her not to do it, and she did it anyway, and was now feeling guilty.

It sucks but I have to chuck some of it to the awful editing of this book, and the fact that it was rewritten, carved up, stitched back together and we got a Frankenstein monster now.

I dont think that the bonus scenes were simply a money grab--I think SJM wanted to include them and build a fuller picture for all of these couples and interactions.

Like if we think about the Azriel bonus in ACOSF, it reads like a bonus, because it's not from Nesta's POV, she isn't even present, it's from a completely different POV, kind of random, dealing with things which have nothing to do with Nesta as the MC.

However, the Az/Nesta/Bryce bonus, for example, definitely feels like it was part of the book, and not as a bonus. It was very organic and within the rest of the overall scene, also dealing with what SJM originally promised--the differences and advances in Midgard vs Prythian.

Basically, what i am trying to say is that I am not taking HOFAS as any indicator for the Nessian relationship. I think it's just a cut up mess, and I think initially Cassian played a bigger role, which was thrown away.

I mean. let's remember, people also hated Quinlar and thought that Bryce would end up with Az.

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smolwritingchick · 6 months ago

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Ah ok! Update and Three Smol Previews for Bangtan Gal :)

Okay, good news, I am hoping to post the wrestling chapters tomorrow or Tuesday at the latest. It's almost done. Gonna let that be for a bit after I post and continue focusing on Bangtan Gal. A few chapters are boring imo but the later chapters have more drama.

Also, good news with Bangtan Gal, the second chapter I plan to post, MAMA Awards 2016 is done. I just need to reread and edit.

It's 18,000+ words. I...went overboard. I am so sorry. I don't know how to stop. I guess pace yourself?? I had a lot of ideas and it kept flowing. It's MAMA Award heavy and I was writing about people's reactions.

I have to split the MAMA Awards chapter into Part 1 (A big moment happens) and Part 2 (Jennie's response to Hyuna) because I can't fit all my words in one Tumblr post. (It's THAT bad lmfao this never happened to me before. I have a problem)

So I will link both parts of that chapter in the author's note and masterlist when it's uploaded. You'll also see the links at the end of the chapter to continue reading or to go back to read part 1 of that chapter.

All I need to do is work on is the chapter before. Which is The 3rd Muster chapter. It shouldn't take too long. Once that's done and edited, expect those two and a half chapters to be released together. Thanks for your patience! I hope the writing isn't too crazy with what I have planned.

I truly liked the ideas I came up with :)

Here's another smol preview for the MAMA Award chapter. Three Smol Scenes.

------

The day of the MAMA Awards was finally here. The day Jennie anticipated the most. She had a good feeling about this show and was excited to show off her hard work with what she had planned. The morning of the show, she decided to tweet one simple word along with an eyebrow raising hashtag.

'Bet. #GonBeAnInteresting24Hours #Jen'

Jennie had been a trending topic on Naver and various K-Pop news outlets, which caused people to anticipate the MAMA Awards even more to see what might happen and if she may respond to Hyuna. Her silence on the matter had been a hot topic and now with her tweet going viral, fans stirred in a frenzy.

-------

With the show getting ready for the next segment, Jennie suddenly received a few packs of smarties from Jungkook.

"How'd you know I was about to ask?" she happily accepted them with surprise in her voice.

"I brought some with me just in case. I was paying attention to your facial expression. When you're about to ask for smarties or say that you wish you had them, you make this cute face. It's like you're pouting,"

"What? I was not pouting..." She turned away, feeling her face warm as he giggled.

"You just did it again,"

"Stop looking at me," she playfully pushed him away, making him laugh harder.

------

Suddenly, Hyuna had changed some of her lyrics, not looking Jennie's way as she danced.

Not a high and mighty girl scout in the club behind some fake bulletproof glass. How boring.

Some idols widened their eyes while others glanced over to where Jennie sat.

Yet another diss? This was getting out of control.

Bam Bam cringed and glanced at Jennie with worry, hoping she'd be all right. Hayoon frowned at the diss and shook her head slightly.

However, Jennie only smirked as she continued to watch, knowing that all eyes were on her to see how she'd react. Bangtan glanced at her and as she met their eyes, she gave them a nod. They nodded back and remained calm as they continued to watch the performance.

Suddenly a switch flipped in Jennie's demeanor as she rolled her neck and stared at Hyuna.

'This bitch got me fucked up...' she thought as she kept her cool.

Fans tweet:

'Not again!! Enough already!'

'Is she trying to provoke Jennie?'

'Don't be mad if Jennie catches her in an alley to stomp that ass!'

'The neck roll! I repeat! The neck roll! Jennie just did the neck roll! That is BAD! She got something planned! Get ready!'

'I don't like how she's acting. This is bullying at this point. Hyuna needs to chill,'

'Jen better than me because I would have ran on stage and popped her shit,'

'From the looks of it, Jennie is so bitter and jealous,'

'That smirk means business. I'm not ready,'

'I wish people would stop judging Jennie,'

'Jennie looks like she's plotting,'

'Why does she look so hot when she's upset?'

'Bangtan knows something that we don't because they don't look bothered at all,'

'Bangtan isn't even phased?! What is Jennie planning tonight?'

#smol update #smol preview

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drarry-is-totally-cannon · 3 months ago

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Drarry & The Goblet of Fire: 4th Year Rewrite

Chapter 7 ~ Something Exciting/Wicked This Way Comes

(A/N: Don't panic. YOU HAVE NOT MISSED THE PREVIOUS 6 CHAPTERS!!! I just started it at 7 because this is where my story diverges from JKR's original Plot. Also, I'm new to writing in 3rd person so we'll see. I'll try my best to imitate the original HP style but it might be a bit off. Ahhh! This took me way too long. I feel like it isn't perfect, so I may edit it later, but at least it's done. My very first Drarry fic!!!)

The Weaslys and their youngest son, Ron's best friends, Hermione Granger, and the famous Harry Potter have been up since before even the sun had made its first appearance in the sky and Harry feels as if he's been hit by Jelly-Legs Jinx. But now, arriving at the destination, the campgrounds for the finale of the Quidditch World Cup, his energy is completely restored. In fact, there's been a sort of buzzing in him since the group met up with Mr. Digory and his son, Cedric.

The moment is still fresh in Harry's mind, despite the slight disorientation from the Port-key.

The older boy had been perched in a tree when they reached the top of the hill. Harry hadn't noticed him at first, still too busy laughing at Ron's groaning complaints about the long walk. But when Cedric greeted everyone Harry's eyes went immediately to him.

His red hair caught the light like the suncatcher in Mrs. Weasly's kitchen making it almost appear to sparkle and the sun gave his skin the same glow. Harry thought he must be part faerie or nymph or something because no boy should be this attractive.

Cedric jumped down from the branch in one fluid movement and strode over to shake everyone's hand. Harry swore he smiled a bit brighter when he got to him, but maybe that was just his imagination. He recalls how Cedric's hands were warm and his grip was pleasantly strong, fitting of his build.

Harry blinks away the memory to look at the Hufflepuff seeker again. Somehow the boy, three years Harry's senior, is even more handsome in real life.

'I've never been jealous of a bloke like this before. And I've always thought I looked alright, but this is weird . . .'

"See you 'round Arthur. Ced and I have got to be off now. Got to meet the Missus before she gets all in a twist. And goodbye Harry. May the best team win."

Cedric looks away, clearing his throat lightly, embarrassed at his father yet again referencing Harry's terrible fall last year. "Well, it's been truly great meeting all of you. I guess we've got to go. Hopefully, we'll see you around. If we don't see each other before September, know that I'm looking forward to that re-match. I would like to beat you on fair terms." He winks at Harry, his competitive spirit clear in his eyes. Whatever skill he may or may not lack, his spirit certainly makes up for it.

Something about the gesture makes Harry feel warm, a slightly different feeling than the blissful buzz of Quidditch camaraderie. He looks down, then slowly back up to Cedric, not quite meeting the boy's eyes. "Y-yeah. Me too. It'll be . . . fair."

Harry has never been a master of words but even he thinks that was awkward. But he can say no more because with that the Diggorys are off. Thankfully for Harry, most everyone is too preoccupied with the majesty of the grounds to pay much attention to his fumbling. After all, they are something of a sight to behold. Tents in every shape and size imaginable stretch on as far as Harry can see (and probably farther accounting for his notoriously unreliable vision).

"Is this okay?" He asks, his breath taken away at the sheer expanse. He's never seen so many wizards in one place. People from all countries, children younger than Ginny, and adults with silver hair.

"What do you mean, Harry?" Mr. Weasly asks.

"What about the muggles, won't they get suspicious?"

"Nope, there are hundreds of charms around the campground. If any muggle comes within a mile they suddenly remember something urgent they have to do at home. It's quite the sight actually, the poor people, running off like that. And, of course, each family puts charms on their own tents. We wizards rarely get together like this so when we do, we can't resist showing off a bit." The man giggles with joy, sounding more like a Hogwarts student himself than a ministry employee of many years.

—

Harry's amazement only grows as they walk down the rows upon rows of enchanted temporary homes. Most tents look fairly ordinary, their owners making a somewhat decent effort to blend in, but they're still spectacular by their sheer number. Not to mention the few obviously magical tents that look more like small houses. He's not the only one impressed. Hermione gasps.

'These must all involve such advanced, precise charm work. Extension charms, cloaking charms . . . if only I could make something like this, even something small like a bag.'

Even Ron, despite his magical upbringing, has never seen this many international wizards before and gapes at the sheer decadence of some of the tents. He is not so silent about his thoughts, muttering "Must be the pureblood families, right rich snobs the lot of them."

Hermione is too lost in thought to hear and Harry ignores his best mate's grumbling in favour of scanning the crowd for a particular tent. He's not quite sure what he's looking for but is sure he'll know it when he sees it. He frowns when he fails to spot it and follows the Weasleys dejectedly.

After labouring for an hour and a half to set up the tent, everyone heads inside. The cloth enclosure, which from the outside looks hardly big enough for two people, much less 10, has a small loft with a window, invisible from the outside. It's through this window that Harry spots the largest tent he's seen so far. A black mass with turrets, balconies, and several peacocks tethered to the outside.

'That has to be it!'

Harry's suspicions are only confirmed when he sees a familiar head of white-blond hair parting the crowd to enter. At the sight, he jumps down from the loft, scaring an unsuspecting Ginny into dropping her copy of Witch Weekly: 100 Most Influential Women in Quidditch Edition.

She blushes at his sudden appearance in front of her, but he hardly notices. "Ah, Harry. What on earth?"

"Sorry, I've got to, er, get some water?"

"Water?"

"Yeah . . . I'm really thirsty, from the walk, you know."

"Okay. Well, the pump's a bit of a way away, would you like me to go with you, I can help. I'll tell Dad."

Harry sighs, wishing she'd let him go, but that's seemed impossible since he rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets in her first year. As much as Harry denies it, he's easy to read and Ginny is hardly stupid. He should've known she wouldn't accept his lie so easily.

"Ah, well I kind of wanted to explore on my own, meet up with some of the boys from my year, and do, you know, idiotic boy stuff." He lies easier than he thought he would, quoting Hermione.

Harry feels guilty when Ginny deflates, shoulder sagging with obvious disappointment, "Well, Dad won't want you just going off, this is a big place."

"I know. But I saw Dean and Seamus just outside. I won't be going far. And I'll do everyone the favour of bringing water back."

'Agh, drat! Well, hard to be subtle when you're Harry bloody potter I guess. Probably best though, Ginny's right. I still get lost around the castle sometimes and I've been there loads. And Mr. Weasley isn't the nosy type., I'm sure it'll be fine.'

The thought of being sent out to trek across the grounds for water in the summer heat makes the idea more infinitely palatable and reluctantly, she nods. "Alright, I'll tell Dad so he won't worry."

"Thank you, Ginny. You really are the best."

She lights up at that, and Harry wonders if it was the wrong thing to say, but not for long because his thoughts turn to another as soon as he's out of the tent flap.

Surprisingly, for all their talk, the Malfoy family tent isn't a far walk from the Weasley tent.

'Everyone must be inside. I'd bet Pansy and Blaise are there, probably Theo too. We didn't plan to meet, I wonder if he'll even want to see me.'

Taking a breath, Harry points his wand at the tent, sending a shower of harmless silver and green sparks, the colours of Slytherin house, inside. It's a spell he learnt from one of the tent's occupants. He snickers when he hears a girl scream.

'Sorry, Pansy.'

"Ah, what in Merlin was that?" he hears Blaise mutter.

"I told you the Irish are crazy, I don't even know why you're cheering for them, Draco. The Bulgarians have Viktor Krum, who's only the most famous seeker in all of history." Pansy scoffs dismissively.

"Famous, but not best. And we're cheering for the Irish because Malfoys always cheer for the winning team."

'You knotheads, those weren't Ireland's colours, they were ours.' Draco keeps the comment to himself, not feeling like risking Pansy's wrath just now.

"Famous but not best, eh? Like Potter."

Harry, who'd know the sound anywhere, notes the absence of Draco's laugh in the chorus of snickers.

There's a pause and all sound from the tent stops. "Ugh, bloody Potter. It's always something with him, isn't it? Stupid perfect Potter no one ever shuts about him. I swear if I hear another word about the Golden Boy, I'll puke."

'But you're the one who never shuts up about him, Draco.' Pansy keeps these thoughts to herself, giggling as she looks around at her friends, all thinking a similar version of the statement.

'He's such a good liar, if I didn't know I'd think he really meant that.' Harry shoves the insecurity down. His friendship with Draco has always been a rocky road, fragile due to the circumstances around them. For one thing the natural distrust between the two and then the animosity between the adults in their lives. What started as politeness neither is sure has blossomed yet into kindness. It's quite difficult to know where you stand with someone when you can't even talk in public.

Harry may not be the most observant but he now knows Draco well enough to see that ever since they met it's seemed as if some invisible barrier prevents Draco from getting close to Harry. Though Harry isn't sure if it's a natural defence mechanism or something more. He can't imagine what it could be since after the Third Year he's assured Draco that everything he does in public is for show. The teasing is all a part of the fun. He's not sure if he can say the same for Draco because sometimes his words feel so real. But what could possibly be the reason for that?

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come back quick though, I want to paint your nails in Bulgaria red."

"How about you don't, and I go find the imbecile who nearly set our tent on fire. Probably some poor drunk Irishman."

Harry can hear his friend's voice getting closer and steps out of his hiding place. The blond's grey eyes widen when he sees Harry, then narrow again, face falling into an easy smirk on his face.

'He's harmless like this.' Harry thinks, 'Still a snake, but not a venomous one.'

"My, my, so that was you, Potter. You've improved greatly over the summer. I didn't know you knew any spells besides Expleiarmus."

Harry punches his arm lightly "Git!"

The smirk shifts into something more genuine. "Hah. Sorry, I love my friends but I know they can be intense sometimes. But seriously, what are you doing here, Harry?"

"Oh, nothing much. I was just out for an afternoon stroll, that's a thing muggles do, you wouldn't know, and before I knew it, I was here. It's not far from Surrey really, only a couple hundred kilometres." Harry answers casually.

"Be serious, Harry." But Draco's own seriousness is lost behind the smile that he's trying to hide.

"I'm watching the finale of the Quidditch World Cup, don't be dense." Harry laughs

Draco nods, mostly to himself. "Oh, the Weaslys took you along with them, then."

"You knew the Weasleys were coming?"

Draco rolls his eyes, "Yes, of course I did. I heard my father mention that Mr. Weasly sold his house to get tickets so I assumed he used connections at the Ministry." Both boys wince. "Anyhow, that's very kind of them. I'm glad they did. I think you might love Quidich even more than Weasley."

Harry laughs, "Maybe, but his room is basically a Chudley Cannons shrine."

Draco frowns in mock disgust, "The Cannons? I've always been more of a Magpie fan myself."

"Magpie? Like those Australian birds that attack shiny things? I learnt about them in primary school a bit."

"Oh, right. Gosh, Potter, You got to tell Weasley to drag you to more Quidditch games. The Montrose Magpies. They're one of the best teams in the British-Irish league."

"Cool. Your friends are here?"

"Yeah, Pansy, Blaise and Theo. Crabbe and Goyle are probably off somewhere buying out the concessions. But, I'm sure they'll manage without me for a bit."

"Yeah." Harry agrees. There's something Harry finds satisfying about Draco ditching his friends for him. Like he's bringing him to the Gryffindor side, Harry guesses. But both boys know that Draco could never be a Gryffindor. Perhaps that's even why he and Harry are such good friends. After all, how could he not befriend the boy who risked his father's wrath to secretly help him learn about the history of Slytherin and Parselmouths and then gave them the clue that helped them solve the mystery of the chamber and made Harry realise he was not, in fact, going insane.

"We should probably go, you know, so they don't see us."

Draco doesn't respond for a second, staring off into space and right at Harry. Harry's found that Draco is almost always staring at him. At first, it was a bit uncomfortable, his gaze heavier than anyone else Harry has ever met, grey eyes looking down at him with the intensity of the sun when Dudley uses his big magnifying glass to fry ants. But now Harry is just used to it, used to those grey eyes boring into him. Sometimes he'd swear it's grown almost pleasant now. He never bothers to guess what Draco might be thinking about because he knows he couldn't anyway.

Despite his hefty stare, Draco's tone is light when he speaks. "Right, I know a place."

He looks around as if searching for something, then he points his wand and despite him saying nothing at all, a comically large green top hat with an even larger green shamrock and green jacket also adorned with shamrocks come whizzing into his hands. Harry stares at his use of non-verbal magic. Draco takes no notice of Harry's amazement, throwing the garments at Harry who lets them fall.

"What are you waiting for, get those on." Draco's face falls into comic offence, "Oh . . . oh, don't tell me you're cheering for Bulgaria?"

"I don't know who to cheer for, it's not like I get to follow Quidich much when I'm at home. Why?" Harry asks stupidly, then answers his own question. " . . . Right, yeah. Duh."

"Merlin, you forget you're famous, don't you." Draco sighs, ignoring the mention of Harry's unfortunate home life for the both of them.

Sheepishly, Harry picks up the garments, shrugging on the too-small-looking jacket which somehow (probably by magic) fits him perfectly, and the large hat which casts rough shadow over his face to cover his scar and the white section of his hair above it.

"Come on!" And then Draco is grabbing his hand and pulling him along.

They end up at the edge of the campground, just in the woods exactly where Mr. Weasley told Harry not to go. The forest looks thicker than it should and green light filters through the trees casting a greenish glow over them. It makes Draco's hair look mint green instead of blond. They both laugh, a little out of breath from the sudden run across the huge campground and relieved to be away from the eyes of their respective groups.

After he gathers himself Harry notices for the first time Draco's clothes. For Harry, being raised by the Durselys, dressing like a muggle was his first nature, robes feeling awkward and out of place, but, of course, this wouldn't be the case for someone like Draco Malfoy, a member of one of Great Britain's wealthier pure-blood families.

And yet . . . Harry finds that Draco wears muggle clothes well, even better than he does. This isn't the first time he's seen him without robes, but outside of school, it feels somehow different. He's dressed in all black, an all-black suit with a black shirt. It makes his hair almost seem to glow.

'I guess I can see why all the Slytherin girls fawn over him.' Harry thinks. It's an odd thought, but not objectively untrue. He ignores it when another question enters his head.

"Aren't you hot?"

"I'm a Malfoy, I am always hot, Potter."

Harry cocks his head, ignoring the twinge of annoyance that Draco still uses his surname sometimes, "What? That doesn't even . . . oh. Hey! That's not what I meant!"

Draco laughs. Harry ignores his embarrassment being mocked because it's a real laugh. Rare even when he's alone with Harry. "I know that. Mother put a cooling charm on all our clothes."

"That's nice."

Draco looks down, "Sorry."

"About what?" Then Harry gets it. He hadn't been thinking about his long-dead mother before, but Draco probably felt bad for bringing up his own, very alive, mother. "It's really fine. You don't have to walk on eggshells, I hate it when people do that. You never have before, so don't start now. Let's just talk. Okay? About anything else, something funny."

"Alright, well father," Draco says the word with heavy exasperation, "keeps hinting about a mysterious event taking place at school this year but refuses to give any details. And I know mother knows as well but she won't budge either. Cruel, the both of them, keeping me in suspense like this."

"Event? Well, I only hope it's not an exam."

"Scared, Potter." The quip is stupid, stupid, and familiar.

Harry gulps dramatically, "A bit yeah. If it is an exam, the homework is going to be enough to fill the entire lake."

"Merlin, yeah. Binns and McGonagall are the worst, sorry, I know you like her, but five essays in two months, really? The professors are aware we have other classes, right? I'm going to get Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, a muggle affliction of all things." He moans, throwing his head back in a typical display of theatrics, his blond hair ruffling with the sudden movement. When he recovers himself his hair falls perfectly back into place.

'It's quite nice, his hair', Harry notes. If only his own hair could look as nice instead of sticking up like he's taken a shock. 'Is it a spell?' he wonders.

Harry can't help but laugh. He's heard of the ailment from Aunt Petunia's awful friends when she used to host Thursday afternoon book clubs in the Dursley's parlour.

Harry groans, "I bet it's an exam, that'd be just my luck. If Voldemort can't get me, sleep-deprivation will."

Draco winces at the name, looking suddenly serious. Privately, he worries that the upcoming event may have something to do with the mysterious people that his father started inviting last year. Now he doesn't even invite them, they just show up, anytime, all the time. He's caught whispered words through walls, snippets of conversations not meant for him.

Voldemort.

Death Eater.

Is his father involved in that? Surely not? Narcissa Malfoy never talks to her son about the war, but that must be because she lost someone, collateral damage, or even had a cousin or something who was a traitor, right?

But before Harry can ask, he's smiling that Slytherin Prince smile of his again. "If you're really worried about it, I'd be happy to help you study . . ." The sentence trickles off, the sound dying on the breeze. Draco looks around, eyes landing on everything but Harry, seemingly surprised at his words.

'Shite! Why . . . why did I say something like that? Merlin, Draco, get yourself together. If you keep acting like this . . . I have to fix this, let him know I didn't mean . . .'

"If you'd like, or not, of course. You don't have to." Then he recovers himself, laughing (but in Harry's opinion it seems half-hearted) "But, Potter, I'm sure someone like you could use all the help you can get. I am second in the class after all. Second only to your bushy-haired menace of a friend. It's like she can make the days longer just to study. I bet if she ever found a way that's exactly what she'd do."

Draco laughs bitterly.

'What's he rambling about? Does he really resent Hermione's grades that much? Is he jealous? Of what though? He's got the brains to beat her. I bet if she didn't have the time-turner, he would. Is this about our friendship? Surely he knows I'd be happy to study with him. I know he's emotional, but this seems a bit much, even for him. Is something wrong?'

Taking a breath, Harry tries to clear his mind. He's not used to thinking so deeply about something like this. It's kind of tiring.

"I'd rather study with you, actually. You're about as bossy as Hermione, but at least you don't expect me to know everything, acting like it's all obvious." The words come out before he's entirely thought them through, but they're not untrue.

Draco thanks Merlin that the darkness of the thicket hides the pinkness of his cheeks.

"It is obvious, and I would expect you to know everything, if you paid attention in class, that is. But I know you don't, so I'm patient. It's as simple as that. Though it's nice to know I'm better than her at something." The words come out slightly sharper than he means for them too, like a snake coiling up, using insults to mask embarrassment.

"Hey! I do, I just daydream sometimes. And you're better than her at a lot of things."

"Oh?" Malfoy arches an elegant blond brown.

'It's like he was made for smirking and sarcasm, isn't it?'

"Well, flying for one. You're a brilliant flyer." Harry knows that Draco knows exactly how smart he is and that he shouldn't be fueling his ego but he can't help it.

'Maybe compliments are what it takes to get his walls down. Ah, I know better than that, he's not that shallow. But I've still got to try.'

Draco moves farther into the shade. 'Look at me floundering over some nice words just because they came from Potter. Pathetic.'

"Well, thank you, Potter. You're not so terrible yourself."

"Oh my god! Wow! That's like the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me!"

Both boys nearly fall over with laughter at Harry's impression of a high-voiced American schoolgirl.

"Your American accent is shite. You sound just like Sally."

"Who?"

"A Hufflepuff from Astronomy club last year, and I'm so sorry, I'm sure she and her family are very . . . nice people, but she's got a voice like she's inhaled helium."

"Oof. Speaking of Hufflepuff, I met Cedric Diggory and made such a fool of myself"

"What? Why? You're not still embarrassed about the broom thing are you, everyone knows that wasn't your fault, don't they?"

"Yeah, but I think I must've sounded like a right idiot."

Draco tilts his head, resembling a confused cat. "Well that's to be expected, but why in particular? I mean, it must have been severe if you picked up on it."

"Oh shut up! I- I just . . . I don't know but I was so embarrassed I couldn't speak. Not even about the fall, just like, I don't know . . . stuff."

"Stuff." Draco questions, trying not to get ahead of himself. 'It's fine. It's probably nothing, don't worry. Just totally straight Quidditch bruv stuff.'

"Oh well, he just good-looking, I guess, and-"

'WHAT?!'

"Oh, are you gay now as well, Potter? Welcome to the club. Would you like a pin" It comes out bitter, and hurtful because Draco is bitter and hurt.

'Does . . . does he like guys now too? If he likes guys why can't he . . . what's bloody Diggory got that I haven't?'

"Huh? What?" Harry blushes the colour of his quidditch robes, "N-No, it's not like that. I actually like . . . erm . . ." he says the first girl's name that pops into his head, "Cho Chang!"

"Cho Chang?" Draco raises an eyebrow, relieved, hiding embarrassment again, but not fully convinced.

". . . Yeah? What's wrong with Cho?"

"Oh, nothing." Draco's tone is sing-song, relaxed, his face calm as always. But Harry sees the glint of mischief in his eyes, the one that's usually there even as others accuse him of scowling.

The look on Harry's face is one of confusion, embarrassment, and terror all in one.

"I just think you're lying." Draco's expression turns sincere, "I mean, it's okay, mate. You know me of all people won't mind. You know you can talk to me . . . anytime, yeah." But by the end of the sentence, Darco's smiling, a laugh colouring the words.

Once again the two fill the silence with shared laughter.

'His laugh's not half bad, I wish he'd laugh this much in school.'

"Yeah, I don't think I will." Awkward silence. "Not that it's bad to be gay, obviously, love who you love, that's fine, it's just that . . . well, you know . . . I'm not."

"Potter, you dunce, it's fine. I was only joking."

'Because that's all this will ever be.' Draco hides the disappointment behind a practised smile.

"Yeah, right, of course." Harry is too relieved at not offending his friend to see through it.

"Enough of this." Draco waves a dismissive hand, "You know I love good gossip, Potter. Tell me exactly what happened with Diggory."

"You'd better not tell anyone!" Harry swats at him, but Darco shares his seeker reflexes and doges easily.

"I won't. Malfoy's honour." Draco places a hand over his heart and bows like a prince from times past.

'Not that that means much anymore . . .'

"Okay, fine, gosh!"

"'Gosh'?" Draco questions teasingly, "Just say Merlin for Merlin's sake!"

"Malfoy." Harry warns, teasing as well, "Do you want to know or not?"

(A/N: Harry will swear as a form of rebellion and because he learnt it from Dudley doing it behind Petunia's back, but the Durselys never took the lord's name in vain so it's not a habit he picked up.)

Draco puts his arms up in surrender.

'Being with him like this, alone together, talking, laughing . . . I wish we could do this all the time. At school, away from everyone maybe we could- Merlin, I'm turning into some dewy-eyed schoolgirl! But I'd skip around like an idiot if it was with Potter, I know I would. Merlin, am I really such a simp? Is this what he's done to me? Stupid knight!'

"Okay. So I have no idea why but I was just really jealous all of the sudden, well, not jealous exactly, but, I don't know, I just felt so . . . insecure." Harry still isn't quite sure that that's the correct word for the strange tingling feeling he experienced but nevertheless, he wants to hide as he says it.

Draco's brows furrow, considering this, readying advice.

'His advice is usually good. . . . Maybe not this time though. It isn't like the Slytherin prince has got much to be insecure about, then again, he did seem weird about being behind Hermione in year rank . . . I don't know. It's been two years and I still barely know him. Ugh.'

'Potter, insecure? What a bloody joke. Gyffindor's knight? Perfect, popular, seeker, saviour of the entire wizarding world Potter? Ah, well, we all have our down moments. I- . . . Pansy's the prettiest girl I know but sometimes I catch her staring in the mirror with that look in her eye . . . If a friend is all Potter and I will ever be then I should at least be a good one and help.'

"Well, don't be. You're a bloody brilliant flyer, and you've got a talent for Defence Against the Dark Arts. Diggory can turn watches to whistles? So what does Diggory know about a few charms? I could do that in my sleep, without a wand. What's that going to do if You-Know-Who comes knocking at his door?"

It was a joke, but neither of them laughed.

Anyone observing both boys would notice how they paled at the words.

Frames from Harry's dream flash behind his eyelids, the greenlight blinding him for a second. He would swear that he can hear the thump as the gardener's body hit the old wooden floor.

'No, no, I'm here. Here in the Quidditch World Cup. . . with Malfoy.' Harry reminds himself.

It was a joke. A poorly timed one, one echoing the words of the little voice in the back of Draco's head.

Draco opens his mouth but closes it without saying anything. Harry can tell he wants too, that the words are on the edge of his tongue, dying to spill out, but as always, held back by some invisible barrier.

'I know I've hardly earned the right to his thoughts, but I'd like to know all the same. I felt like I understood him better when we were enemies, but now I know that there's so much more I don't know. That seems like a running theme in my life. Heh. Maybe Professor Binns should just let me write my essay on that. How there always seems to be something that someone isn't telling me, a memoir by myself, Harry James Potter. I've never wanted to know so much about magic before, about the families who carry it, that's Hermione thing. Will Malfoy ever tell me what he really thinks? Not just the brutal honesty about trivial things, but, like . . . real stuff? Hermione says bottling things up isn't healthy.'

"Yeah."

"What?" Draco almost forgot his original comment amongst his worries.

"Yeah, charms won't be much help. They weren't for my parents."

Draco nods, looking a step behind for once. "Right."

Neither boy knows how to broach the subject of what's going on in their heads. But they both know they don't want to leave the presence of the one person who seems to understand.

"Let's meet up later." Harry blurts out, "as friends, of course." he adds using the old gay joke to cover the awkwardness, it sort of works.

"Of course, I could never date an idiot of your magnitude, Potter."

"Right, right, how am I going to"

"I'll find you," Draco assures.

The words reassure Harry more than is really necessary. The warmth of having a good friend, of course. It is reassuring to have a confidant . . . maybe. If Harry didn't know better, he'd say there was something else in the blond boy's tone, but Harry has never been good at reading people so he must be wrong.

'What? What, why did I- Merlin that was like something out of a cheesy film! I need to stop this. Potter is only so daft. He'll realise eventually. . . . Or maybe he won't. And that might just hurt more. I'm a Malfoy, we're not supposed to be so invisible.'

Suddenly: footsteps!

"Quick, Potter!" Draco whispers, the words a near-silent shout.

"What!"

"Hide."

But there's nowhere to hide, the trees aren't thick enough.

"What's going-"

"My father." The two-word explanation is enough to send shivers down Harry's spine.

"Shite! I can't-"

Then Harry is shoved violently up against a tree trunk, by Draco of all people.

Draco slaps him. "You call yourself a wizard, Potter? Pathetic. I can't believe a wizard as 'great' as you would go wasting your time with low class refuse like the Weasleys, with . . ." Draco pauses for half a second, guilt clear in his eyes, he can't bring himself to say the word, not again. For better or worse he doesn't have to.

"Draco? Is this where you scurried off to? Off fighting with fists like some lowly muggle?" Lucius Malfoy says the word with unmasked disgust. "Did your mother and I simply waste the money we spent on dulling lessons for you?" His look of disapproval is penetrating, the kind of look that freezes one's self-esteem and then shatters it all in the same instant.

Harry would say it reminds him of his wretched Aunt, but Petunia Dursely could only dream of looking so cruel. 'Aunt Petunia wishes she could look at me like that.'

Draco doesn't want to look at him.

'Don't be a coward, Draco. Not in front of Potter.' He tells himself.

Draco turns to face his father, a calm, unbothered look in his eyes, not like a boy desperate for approval but scared of what it means.

"Well, you see father, I simply couldn't duel him."

Lucius quirks a blond eyebrow, hair barely darker than his son's. "And whyever not?"

"Because it would be too cruel. You see, Potter, here, can't duel. He was raised by muggles." Draco makes an aghast face, but it's theatrical. "He only knows how to use his fists. Isn't that ridiculous, Father? Can you believe such an imbecile is 'The Chosen One'? He's like a troll-"

"Draco, quiet! I hear of nothing but bloody Potter all summer. Now let him go before you dirty yourself. After all, he consorts with mudbloods."

"Of course, father. I shan't touch him any more than necessary." Draco shoves Harry back, slamming him into the tree just hard enough, yanking his hands away like Harry is a hot cauldron, throwing one last artificially nasty glare then turns to follow his father back to his tent.

"Idiot boy." Harry can hear Lucius Malfoy whisper cruelly as he exits the forest with his son. "Did I not tell you to make friends with 'The Chosen One'? If only you'd gotten on his good side then perhaps you could've been useful. Hmmph, surely he will find something an ingrate like you can do."

Harry would like to say the words shock him, after all, Lucius has done nothing but gloat of his son's perfection whenever he's encountered Harry, especially when he's with the Weasleys, but Harry has seen the cruel glint in his eyes. It was inevitable he'd turn that gaze to his son if he hasn't been from the beginning.

'Is this why he never tells me anything? . . . Is he . . . afraid? No, Malfoy isn't afraid of anything.' But Harry knows that isn't true. He remembers that time in the woods in first year, even before the boys encountered Voldemort, Malfoy had been shaking. And when Lupin had mentioned the Boggart. No, not Malfoy, Malfoy isn't afraid of anything, he couldn't care less, but Draco is. Draco is the young boy who cares all too much.

'What would have come out of there?'Harry wonders distantly.

But behind his hard exterior, it can be hard for anyone to see that, even the boy he'd now call his closest friend. Harry ignores the gruesome memory, blinking away the visions of split unicorn blood turning the ground under his feet silver, telling himself not to feel guilty.

It takes Harry a moment to catch his breath, he doesn't know why. He's definitely the fitter of the two boys, with all his running away from near-death experiences. But Draco is stronger than he looks, and at the moment, with all that fear and adrenaline, the pressure building, mounting to an explosion under his father's watch, he pushed Harry a bit harder than he meant to. Harry doesn't mind. He's used to being shoved. He's had much worse. He understands. It feels almost nice to be shoved for a reason other than someone's enjoyment of seeing him in pain.

With one last glance in the direction the Malfoys left, he leaves the forest, heading back to the Weasly tent.

'Wait . . . the water! Fuck. Right.' Sighing Harry ducks to avoid an explosion of bright green sparklers and heads to the pump.

As he walks a feeling of embarrassment washes over him for the second time that day. He hadn't noticed in the moment, but Draco had been so close, his silver eyes looking so guilty, guilty, and something else. Harry thinks it was far more guilt than was necessary. It's not like he's had a choice. How else would he have explained their being alone in the forest together? It's just the way that things have to be. Harry's learnt to be fine with that.

'Or should I feel guilty as well, for nearly making him say . . . that word again. How didn't I realise before? Of course, Mr Malfoy reserves his highest standards of all for his family. Maybe having no parents at all is better than that. I know I'd rather have been put in a group home with Nuns than with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, then at least the beatings wouldn't have been personal.'

Harry looks down just in time to see his pail overflowing. It seems heavier than it should as he carries it back.

'Relax, Harry. Not everything is about you. Here no one cares, they're all just here for Quidich. The dream can't have meant anything, nothing bad is going to happen. Don't go being all paranoid. Voldemort is gone. I can't let him have any more power over me. Ron would tell me to enjoy myself, so that's what I'll do.'

Harry nods, waving at Dean and Seamus as he passes them, they nod back, then go straight back to setting sparklers. Harry was going to have fun at a non-school sporting event for the first time in his life, yes he was, and absolutely nothing was going to stop him.

(A/N: OMG! The first chapter. I really hope it's alright, characterisation can be hard for me sometimes. I hope I kept Harry's sass in enough.)

(A/N: Use of underage magic can be explained by this reddit post: [Harry Potter theory] The underaged magic law was created in a subtle effort to remove non-pure-blood wizards from wizard society. : r/FanTheories and these Quora posts: If underage wizards and witches can't perform magic outside of school, how can Harry use Lumos at 4 Privet Drive? - Quora)

#drarry fic #drarry fanfiction #drarry fanfic #drarry #draco x harry #harry x draco #hpdm #dmhp #harco #gof #harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter rewrite #hpdm fanfic

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