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kpostedsum · 4 years ago

Text

daddy issues; D.M

summary: you and draco bond over issues in 6th year

word count: 2.4k

warnings: err angst, comfort, illusions to sex

song: daddy issues (the remix) - the neighbourhood

a/n: i tried not to make it stereotypical bc i didn’t wanna make it seem all “i like older men lol”, probably my fav fic i’ve written, also arent these anime gifs so cute

masterlist | taglist

Take you like a drug

I taste you on my tongue

Tongues battling for dominance, bodies rubbing against each other searching for a feeling. It’s become routine now, a different person in your dorm swallowing a new pill, entangling limbs with someone just to feel something.

You ask me what I'm thinking about

I tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about

Tell me something that I'll forget

And you might have to tell me again

It's crazy what you'll do for a friend

It was a constant cycle, putting yourself out there seeking the male attention you crave, seeking validation, constant reassurance and trusting too easily. That’s how you ended up with a different guy who always in the end leaves. You trusted too easily and people took advantage of how trusting and naive you are just for a quick shag.

You wished it wasn’t like this but that’s all you knew, wanting to be the best version of yourself for someone just to feel needed, no matter if the person was good or bad for you. You didn’t care, you wanted love from anyone you could get it from even if it just hurt you more.

You’re familiar with the absence, something stable made you feel a bit wary. It wasn’t something you were used to. Your father wasn’t the most present in your life, and even though he's there, he's never really there.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

You always wondered where you went wrong, he preferred your siblings over you and doesn't pay you a piece of his mind. Constantly going out of your way to get his attention whether it was academically or acting a certain way just to get some sort of reaction. But he was too preoccupied with his other children, even if they were from your mom or his affairs.

That’s how you found yourself right now sitting in the astronomy tower past curfew watching the rain fall, trying to clear your head while humming softly to yourself to keep yourself distracted.

You hear distant chattering from below and quickly get up from where you were sitting and make your way to your dorm unnoticed by anyone.

Except one person, Draco Malfoy.

I tried to write your name in the rain

But the rain never came

So I made with the sun

The shade

Always comes at the worst time

He’s seen you before, you’re known around Hogwarts for how you put yourself out there and how ‘desperate’ you are for some affection. He almost feels bad for you, but he’s in no place to judge. With his dad in Azkaban Draco had so much more to worry about, like his task and how he can succeed. But there was something about you that intrigued him that he couldn't ignore.

He saw you again in transfiguration the next day and noticed a few hickeys littering your neck that you had tried to cover but it didn’t work. He wondered why you gave yourself up to so many people, but once again he was in no place to judge. He noticed the way your tongue would stick out when you focused extra hard, the way your hands would tighten around your quill when you got a question wrong and your face.

The same face that many boys including the older years would fawn over, the face that entranced and attracted many, the face of someone who would do anything for someone for some affection and the face of someone who seeked out all the wrong things.

You ask me what I'm thinking about

I tell you that I'm thinking about

Whatever you're thinking about

Tell me something that I'll forget

And you might have to tell me again

It's crazy what you'll do for a friend

You walk out of transfiguration on your way to the owlery to send a letter to your parents and feel eyes watching you everywhere. You like it, the attention, it’s something that you thrived in, but you couldn’t help but feel a new set of eyes on you.

Once you reached the owlery you realized you weren't the only one there, Draco Malfoy was also there sending a letter to who you assumed was his mother.

“y/n, right?” he asked, trying to spark a conversation.

“Yea, listen i’m sorry about what happened with your father i know you really looked up--”

“Dont worry about it, he wasn’t as good an influence as I made him out to be,” he sighed, looking away.

“My dad isn’t the best either if i’m being honest, i guess we’re in the same boat” you let out a light chuckle.

And that’s how you found yourself hanging out with draco malfoy bonding over your shared issues.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues

It’s been weeks since you two started hanging out since the interaction in the owlery and have been getting closer ever since. You both sat down together in the astronomy tower, backed against the wall as the cool wind blew against your faces. The aura between you two was calm, a comfortable silence.

“So tell me about your dad, how is it with him in Azkaban?” you asked, tilting your head towards him.

“Mother’s not taking it well” he frowned. “I can’t even say potter’s wrong for getting him locked up because he deserves it. All my life he praised the dark lord and taught me to be selfish and always defend my blood, but he was never there for me when I needed him. I would have done everything just to hear ‘i’m proud of you’ but it never came. It’s worse now because mother’s all alone. I wish I could have stayed with her” he sighed looking out the tower watching the stars twinkle.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been much quieter this year as well, you stopped making fun of people. It’s not that nice on the receiving end huh?” you said with a teasing look on your face.

He shook his head at you scooting closer to you, it’s like the demeanor between you two have changed over the past few weeks. You found yourself pining over him rather than being in someone's bed. But this is how the cycle always goes, you get attached and they leave, you couldn’t help but hope this wasn’t the situation this time.

“Tell me about your father”

Daddy stuck around but he wasn't present

Cheated on your mom but she never left him

First I didn't get it, now I understand

He broke her heart, left money in her hand

So everything got paid for

She made sure you and your brother had way more

Than she ever had growing up

And when you told me the whole story I felt like throwing up

“ I don't know if i’d even call him my father at this point, he doesn't want me.” you sighed. “He's been cheating on my mum for years now and she still won't leave him because she thinks they can work it out. He’s had affairs with different pureblood women and has children with them. But what hurts the most is how he treats them as his own children and treats me as if I don't exist” you said, looking down as tears pooled your eyes.

Draco moved closer to you and brought his arm around your shoulders for a sense of comfort and waited for you to catch your breath so you can continue.

“I just want him to love me” you cried. “I go out my way to try and get his attention with my school work but it never works. That's why I get along with so many guys. I seek the validation, the comfort and the reassurance that I can get from him from others and I am so tired of it. I just want him to want me draco.” tears slipping out your eyes as you looked up at him, you’ve never confessed this to anyone before.

“Everyone always leaves, please don't leave me” you cried

“I’m not going anywhere” he turned his face towards you, leaning forward cautiously as if you were made of glass.

You leaned forward, wanting the exact same thing. Both very hesitant he gently pressed his soft lips against yours and they moved together in sequence, only taking a break to go back to his dorm and to breathe, limbs tangled together for the rest of the night until the sun rose.

I can see it on your face it was rough left a bad taste on your tongue

And she didn't even take any drug

She would rain all day

Couldn't wait for her son to shine

And you made it shine

There when she cried, you saved her life

It's been a week since that night in the astronomy tower and draco had already been avoiding you. It’s humiliating, but you should have known. You thought the ‘bond’ you had with him would last, it felt so genuine this time. So real.

You’d see him around the halls snogging pansy on your way back to the ravenclaw tower, lowering your head down so he wouldn’t be able to see you so you could get by quickly and unnoticed.

But he saw you.

He stared you right down in your teary eyes as he made out with pansy. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of betrayal, for someone who promised he wouldn’t leave you like everyone else, he did the exact same.

You did the only thing you knew of, you ran.

I keep on trying to let you go

I'm dying to let you know

How I'm getting on

I didn't cry when you left at first

But now that you're dead it hurts

This time I gotta know

Where did my daddy go?

I'm not entirely here

Half of me has disappeared

Draco followed you to the girls lavatory, hearing your shallow cries coming from one of the stalls. He approached the stall you were in trying not to make too much noise so he doesn't startle you.

He felt awful.

He promised he would never leave you, after you both poured your hearts out to each other but he still left. He had too, he was putting you in danger just by being with him. If Voldemort ever found out about you and hurt you he wouldn't be able to live with himself, that's why he took it upon himself to hurt you first.

“y/n are you in here?” he called out even though he knew the answer.

You recognized that familiar voice anywhere. “What do you want draco?” you said, trying to make it seem as if you weren’t just crying.

“I want to talk to you, please”

“No,” you said getting up and pushing yourself out of the stall. “You don't get to just throw me away after I told you everything and just come back into my life like nothing ever happened. Just go away, that's all you guys are good for” you spat.

“Just listen to me, it was to keep you safe. I didn;t want to but i couldn't bear seeing you hurt” he tried to explain.

“Safe?” you laughed. “ and what exactly do i need saving from, malfoy.”

“From me” he said as he pulled up his sleeve revealing his dark mark to you. Your body instantly tensed, you knew he was having problems and his family was involved with the dark lord but you never knew it was like this.

“Draco i-” you tried to say something but the words were stuck in your throat. He stood there looking at you desperately like he was waiting for you to tell him everything was okay, you wanted to be there for him but you didn’t know what to do. You trusted him with everything but he couldn't trust you with this? You thought the bond you had made would have made him trust you in the slightest, but clearly it's always you who’s more trusting.

“Why didn't you tell me?” you managed to say, your voice hoarse.

“I thought you’d leave me, you were the only good thing i had. Please don't leave me” he begged, salty tears escaping his eyes and running down his cheeks as he looked at you with desperation.

“So you thought pushing me away by snogging pansy was better?” you yelled, as he continued to look at you slightly taken aback by your lashing out.

“You know what, go ahead and cry little boy. You know that your daddy did too, you know what your mama went through. You gotta let it out soon, just let it out” you taunted walking closer to him looking straight into his teary eyes.

“This time I'll be the one that leaves.” and with that you were gone.

Go ahead and cry, little girl

Nobody does it like you do

I know how much it matters to you

I know that you got daddy issues

And if you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

It’s been months since that night in the girls lavatory, and you missed him. You wanted to visit him in the hospital wing once you heard what happened with Harry Potter, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. He left you, and you were tired of always going back to people who just hurt you.

Now here you were at the battle of Hogwarts, standing with everyone while Voldemort and his death eaters stood across from you all.

“Draco, draco come here” you heard narcissa call from across the scene. He looked hesitant, as if he was waiting for someone to stop him but no one did. So he started walking over to his parents.

But you grabbed his hand.

“Stay please” you whispered looking up into his eyes.

He looked back at his parents and back at you like he was contemplating his answer.

“I’ll stay”

If you were my little girl

I'd do whatever I could do

I'd run away and hide with you

I love that she's got daddy issues, and I do too

—————-

tagging fun ppl nd ppl who interacted (so srry if u don’t wanna be tagged)

@hellohellook @astoria-malfcy @justfangirlthingies @sfdlm @falling-loki @notvasi @gwlvr @malfoytookmyheart

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tracksidequeen · 3 years ago

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Hi darling. I am so sorry but I literally feel like I have nobody. I’ve been in a relationship for about 5 months now, madly in love. He was literally the Toto to my Susie and we have the same age gap but I’m 26. Anyway long story short I miscarried last week (9 weeks, I didn’t even know I was pregnant. I’ve got the mirena coil so how the fuck did it happen 😭.) it was an ectopic pregnancy so it would never have survived but I am literally broken. My other half has literally gone, he’s gone to stay with his friend 200 miles away as he blames me for the loss (even though we weren’t planning kids!!) I don’t know what to do. I’ve been finding slight happiness in F1 as it helps me escape and reading your fics make me smile. I’m wondering if you had any soft Toto Drabble you could maybe make up or if you had any on pregnancy loss you could tag me in? Idk I’m struggling to find any comfort and your fics do with Toto x Reader. I literally have no one and I’m scared to come off anon as I don’t wanna be judged. Sorry darling 🥺

This message hit me really deep and I felt this needed a proper response - which you can find below the page-break. Please read the trigger warning before proceeding.

I am so sorry for your loss. My heart was breaking as I read your message and all I want to do is hug your pain and worries away. Sending you all my love, and I hope for peace and healing when the time is right. You deserve all the happiness and blessings in the world sweetie. Please don't ever forget that.

You are not alone in this. I am here whenever you need me. We are all here for you (if I may speak on behalf of my community).

Thank you that you feel comfortable enough to share your experience with me and this safe community we have established - I am so grateful for all of us. Know that you can share with me anything you feel comfortable with. I will always be here with a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on (or as a distraction to laugh with). Also, at the end of your message you apologised, and although I understand where you're coming from, I need you to know that you don't ever have to apologise for sharing your emotions and experience with me, okay lovely. I'm always here, and it is on your terms how you decide to share something with me ❤️

It truly warms my heart to hear that I have helped with giving you comfort in these trying times. Even if it is just a little smile that I put on your face or a wave of tranquil that your might feel when you read my stories - it fills me with gratitude and it makes my effort feel worth while. And I am happy to write more for you if it brings you more comfort and peace.

Please tell me what you are looking for in a soft Toto drabble. I am asking specifically because I don't what to unintentionally trigger you in some way. You can always send me a follow up ask, and I will 100% take it into consideration

Sending you strength, blessings and love xx

#trigger warning: miscarriage

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ghostofbambifanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

Part 1 of ?????

Started writing this fic a while ago and then lost faith in it. Should I continue? Feel bad for not posting much lately so I thought I'd share this. Read on and weigh in.

COME OUT TONIGHT

You don't have to fucking shout?

Said the pot to the kettle?

Oh you grandmother The caps were an accidental by-product of voice-to-text Blame Siri if you're going to blame anyone

You have a Samsung Galaxy S20.

HAD. It got smashed. Worst luck. Listen, come out with me tonight.

Urghhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm tired!

https://www.boots.com/wellness/vitaminsandsupplements/vitamins-supplements-shop-by-ingredient/echinacea

Hah (indifferent)

Just come out with me! Isaac has to go see some godawful student performance of the Antigone in wherever the fuck Chichester is and it's Sirius's flatmate's birthday party so I have to go and I don't know any of his weird mates

You don't HAVE to go.

Have to/want to Semantics

I'm not in a birthday party mood. I'm having a stressful week. My arse has been tense since Tuesday.

I will wade into the deep and massage your arse if I have to, just come It's a swank pad in Belgravia! I bet they'll have all sorts of expensive nibbles!

I read that as expensive nipples.

Those too!

Partying it up with the children of wealthy Tories. Sounds super fun.

Just come out with me, for fuck I'll pick you up at 7 and we can steal their silverware if it's boring as the grave

URGH I'll go but I'm NOT dressing up!

You don't have to dress up!

FINE!

take the drawings down please i'm begging you i'm actually begging you

Nah mate

siriusssssssss pleeeeeease

Nah

PLEASE

Nah

PLEASE ffs it's MY birthday!!!! there are going to be PEOPLE there! standing around! AT EYE LEVEL

I don't see what the problem is.

EVERYONE will see what the problem is! they literally will not be able to IGNORE what the problem is!

Sounds like a recipe for lively discussion to me tbh

that is NOT what i want people talking about at my birthday!

If I take them down, I'll have to take all the nails out and that'll leave nail marks all over the walls. It would be unsightly.

MORE UNSIGHTLY THAN YOUR DICK, SIRIUS?

My dick is bewitching.

DIE

She walks in expecting to find herself the infiltrator of a Made in Chelsea/Royal Ascot/Henley Regatta netherworld, filled with a gaggle of giggling, SW-postcode socialites wielding suspiciously powder-edged Harrods Amex cards in the place of horses and boats, but that's not what actually greets her on the other side of the lacquered front door.

What greets her is really quite ordinary.

Aside from the naked drawings of Kingsley's mate, which aren't.

Otherwise, the whole affair is pretty relaxed. People her age are clustered in their small groups, swigging beers. There's a table of oven-heated party foods, salty snacks and rapidly depleting ramekins of guac. She spies more band shirts than there are dress shirts. There's a round of Fortnite in full swing on the TV.

It's all just...startlingly normal. A normal birthday party.

And that's sort of embarrassing, really.

Where are all the visible Tory toffs, she wonders? Where is the braying laughter? The Eton alumni reunion? The glimpse of hunting-happy tweed and shotgun barrels as a coat cupboard door swings shut? Where's the indelible air of sneering superiority, of "we're richer and more privileged and better than you, so fuck the NHS and death to foxes!" that she'd been expecting? There's a fucking Henry Hoover in the corner of the hall, for Christ's sake. Lily came here to smile through her teeth at them all, to listen to the champagne problems privilege that bubbled from their lips and tell herself that she was the one who knew better, who thought better. Her plain white tee and skinny jeans and scuff-toed, high-top trainers were supposed to be a statement, a subtle setting-apart, but she's not even the most underdressed person in the room.

She pre-judged a house full of people. What's that about?

There's a lesson to be found in this. Perhaps.

James covered all of the dicks in Paw Patrol stickers that he bought from the newsagent on his way home from his mum's, but Sirius peeled them all off while he was taking a soothing lavender bath, so what's the bloody point in birthdays anyway?

It's early in the evening, and he's wedged—against his will—between the dining room bar and Shane Ruttle, who has just pointed at one of the many lamentable dicks and asked, "Is this one of yours?" which James kind of wants to thump him for. It's bad enough that he looks like a madman who stuffed his house with naked drawings of his brother, now people are actually assuming that he drew the damn things, even though most of the compositions are appallingly far beneath his skill level. He's a professional illustrator, for the love of god, and Shane is really standing before him like the posturing prick he is, asking him if he's the one who drew Sirius with one arm disproportionately longer than the other.

He knows that he should cheer up.

It is his birthday. There is cake.

Good cake, too, not the kind that gets buried in too-thick fondant that he has to pick off before he can eat what's underneath.

The problem is, there's also a party, and his friends are his friends, Peter and Sirius included, and Peter and Sirius can both get drunk much faster than James can. When Peter and Sirius get drunk, serious injuries tend to follow, Remus tends to fuck off in a flash and James tends to be the one who calls for an ambulance or mothers them back to health—physical, mental or otherwise. He has just turned twenty-six, and these repeated, drunkenly dramatic medical emergency scenes are starting to wear a little thin.

Can't a man get comfortably drunk and have a laugh at his own birthday party?

No, he can't, because Peter's already halfway to trashed, wobbling unsteadily towards the French doors that lead to the terrace, wearing that look on his face that says I'm definitely going to vomit or maybe even shit myself like I did on that one night we all spent in Munich with the Belgian handball team and the creepy tour guide who couldn't keep his sleazy hands to himself. For the sake of sparing the lawn such a punishment, James hastily removes himself from Shane, grabs Peter by the collar, shoves him in the direction of the downstairs loo and retreats to the safety of the living room, where there are, at least, no naked drawings of Sirius gracing the walls.

Most of the people in here are transfixed by Saffy Stephens, who is down to the last three in her Fortnite game and cursing like a sailor, but there are a small pile of birthday cards on the end table where James and Sirius normally keep their keys. He perches on the sofa arm, sets his half-drunk beer bottle on the carpet, pushes his dark, disheveled hair away from his forehead and begins leafing through them. It's a necessity when one lives with Sirius, who thinks nothing of swiping gift cards when the mood strikes him and he's had enough to drink.

They're mostly from his female friends, and all pretty standard, until he reaches the middle of the pile and finds a card bearing a picture of a moustached tabby and the caption: Have a Purr-fect Birthday!

The inscription inside is written in a lovely, swirling hand.

To Jasper/Jack/Jason/maybe Ja Rule?/J-something idk

(see above: everything I've learned about you from the friend* I came here with, verbatim)

(*who can't remember your name)

Happy Birthday! Thank you for (not) specifically inviting me, a stranger, to your party to celebrate this momentous event in your life. Please enjoy this festive card/social nicety/convention from me to you. My friend brought rum which you may prefer.

I'll be around. Not that you'll know.

James lowers the card and twists on the sofa arm at once, eyes darting around the room in search of its author, as if they might be laying in wait to watch him read it and see how he reacts. Nobody appears to have ducked behind the couch, however, so the situation merits further scrutiny.

Obviously, he needs to meet this person.

A mystery! At his birthday party!

He perks right up after that.

She's coming out of the downstairs loo when a short, blonde man in a garish Hawaiian shirt barrels past her and pukes all over the chequerboard tiled floor, narrowly missing her jeans.

"Oh no," he moans into his wet hands. "Oh no—"

"There there, mate," says Lily consolingly, never one to judge somebody for getting drunk early at a party. She pats him on the back before squeezing past him and rejoining Kingsley, who is standing in one of this meandering Georgian house's many hallways, chatting to a bloke in a houndstooth sweater vest and holding two glasses of something very, very sparkly that she must try at once.

"It's like...it's like everything and nothing at the same time," Houndstooth Bloke is saying when Lily draws close, gesturing to a huge canvas painting of a rain-soaked fairground at night.

"Is it?" Kingsley asks.

"Mmm. Very." Houndstooth shakes his shoulders like he's slipping out of a robe. "Meant to be esoteric, I suppose."

That sounds suspiciously like pretentious bullshit to Lily, who doesn't find the concept of a merry looking fairground all that difficult to absorb. Kingsley knows more about the art world than she does, but he must agree with her assessment because he grunts and shoves her glass into her hand when she stops beside him, and more roughly than she deserves, as if she's the one who landed him in this mess of a conversation to begin with.

Trust him to find himself stuck with the only dick (not etched by a 4B Steadtler graphite pencil) in the building, and trust her to be stuck with the person who got himself stuck with King.

"What are we talking about?" she asks brightly, just to fuck with him.

"Drink your champagne, there's a good little hen," King mutters, his teeth clenched together, hallway lights bouncing off the smoothly waxed dome of his bald head.

"We've been discussing this piece." Houndstooth nods to the painting, but his limpid eyes narrow on Lily's face. "Christ, you're very redheaded, aren't you?"

It's decided. She'll wait 'til Houndstooth is drunk and trip him up with Henry Hoover's hose.

"Ergo soulless, yes," she agrees.

"And you...enjoy that?" he asks, as if being redheaded is her profession.

"Very much, thanks."

"Hmmp. Well. I came here with Saffron," he announces, pronouncing it Sef-ron. As if Lily is supposed to know who that is. "Platonically, of course. Actually, we're some sort of cousins, I think. What do you think the artist is trying to convey?"

He's very pointedly asking her, so Lily blinks at the painting, her eyes on the outstretched arm of a child on the carousel.

"I like the pretty colours," she decides aloud.

"Right," says Houndstooth, "but that's not—"

"And the lights, too. The lights are really pretty."

"But—"

"I love funfairs, actually," she brightly continues, finding a strange satisfaction in playing dumb in front of Houndstooth and his overbleached fade. Although she does really like the colours. "Haven't been to one in years!"

"Yes, good, whatever, but what is the artist trying to convey?"

"What artist?" comes a voice from behind them.

Lily glances over her shoulder and finds herself looking up at the man whose penis she's spent the past thirty minutes avoiding eye contact with, though he is taller, better proportioned and infinitely more beautiful than any of those crudely drawn depictions could possibly convey. He is also beplumed and bejewelled like a pirate, wearing a sumptuous velvet jacket over a loose white shirt, numerous rings on his fingers and an assortment of silver chains around his slender neck, while his grey eyes and elegantly high-set cheekbones are framed by a tumble of black hair that genuinely looks like silk.

The man is so beautiful, in fact, that Lily immediately wonders why he's been taking sketches home from the life drawing class that he and Kingsley pose for—hence their acquaintance and Lily's presence at this party—when nothing she's seen tonight has done him any justice.

Most happily, his penis is tucked safely out of sight.

"Alright, Sirius?" says King.

"Alright, Marvel?" Sirius claps a hand to the taller man's massive shoulder. Kingley's muscles bulge in a way that cannot be hidden by modern habiliments. "What are we talking about?"

"Not much." Houndstooth looks put out by the arrival of yet another person. "We were just mesmerised by this piece."

Lily refrains from gesturing to the painting with both hands and a "ta-dah!" choosing instead to sip her champagne.

It's very good champagne. Mmm. Yes.

"Oh, yeah, it's really something," Sirius agrees. He brushes past Kingsley and runs a finger over the illegible squiggle of a signature on the canvas. His nails are beautifully manicured. "Local guy, young up-and-comer. I assume you've heard of Algernon?" he asks Houndstooth, fixing him with a steely-eyed stare.

"Er, yes." Houndstooth's gaze slides from Sirius to the painting. "I know him."

Sirius's eyebrows lift. "Know him personally?"

"Well—"

"That's so weird, I heard he never speaks to people."

Houndstooth chews on the inside of his cheek, weighing up the challenge. "How…funny."

"Funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, I know I've spoken to him before, and since you've bought his painting I assumed that you'd have—"

"That is funny, actually," Sirius interrupts, "because the artist is my brother, and Algernon is the name of his cat."

Kingsley has been tugging on his earring and almost rips it out of his ear as his body convulses, champagne spraying from his nostrils, while an alarming red flush sweeps across Houndstooth's face and he begins to sputter on his own self-importance. Sirius has clearly decided that he's done with all of that noise, however, because he turns back to Lily instead, looking her up and down with great and sudden interest.

"Who's this then?" he asks Kingsley, cocking his head to one side. "James's present?"

The champagne glass swings down and Lily fixes him with a deadpan stare. "Excuse me?"

Sirius slants a grin at Kingsley, a quick flash of teeth. "This one's queenly, isn't she?"

Kingsley wipes his nose with the back of his hand and laughs again. "Hardly."

"This is Primark, mate," Lily retorts, tugging on her t-shirt.

"Queenliness is a state of mind," says Sirius, "not a state of wardrobe."

"You had me marked down as a prostitute not ten seconds ago."

"Oh, that. I was only joking," he sighs, and grips her arm at the elbow, his long fingers cool against her skin. "But still, you're far too attractive to stand here talking to this clown. Come with me and I'll find you someone better."

James's friends are useless.

And drunk. Useless and drunk—or sort of drunk, in Saffy's case. Remus is certainly already pissed, but Remus is on meds so often that he drinks but once in a blue moon. One cocktail is usually enough to set him off, and he's been hard at the gin since he turned up with Peter at six.

"I don't know anyone with those initials," Saffy declares, once she has read, examined and even sniffed the birthday card for clues. "Except for Lisa Edelstein."

"Who's Lisa Edelstein?"

"Cuddy from House," says Remus, lowering the negroni from which he has been drinking deeply.

James pulls a face. "What the fuck is a Cuddy?"

"Oh, actually, it could mean le?" Remus suggests.

"Yes!" Saffy points at him like he might be onto something. "Like the French word for the?"

"Exactly, like—"

"It doesn't mean that!" James interrupts, unwilling to allow such profanity in his home. "That doesn't make sense, why would somebody sign their name as the?"

"Now you're asking me to explain how French people think?" says Saffy derisively, adjusting her bra strap beneath that burnt orange waistcoat she loves, the one that makes her look like she's directing a pornographic movie in the 70s when she pairs it with her tortoiseshell-framed aviators. It clashes wildly with her electric blue buzz-cut. "Am nooooo drunk enough for that."

"They could be one of those one word moniker pop stars, I suppose," Remus pipes up, smiling slyly. "You know, like Madonna?"

They think James doesn't realise that they're taking the piss out of him, but neither of them are sober enough to attempt their gambit with any kind of subtlety or grace.

"You know that's actually her real Christian name?" says Saffy.

Remus turns towards her with interest. "What, Madonna?"

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Saffy repeats. "I thought it couldn't possibly be her real name because, I mean, Madonna, yeah? But then I looked it up and apparently that's the name her mummy gave her, just goes to show—"

"I'm sorry," James interrupts, "but is Madonna relevant to this conversation?"

"Yes, always," says Saffy.

"She's an international pop megastar," Remus seconds.

James stares at his friend incredulously. "Drinking really chips away at your wit, y'know?"

"Does it?" Remus grins lazily and jiggles his cocktail in the air. "Oh, well, I'm negronly joking."

Saffy does a spit-take without the spit and clings helplessly to Remus's shoulder as she laughs, knees buckling, bangles tinkling, but James fights his own urge to start snickering.

"It's not that funny," he lies, and Remus eyes him with an alarmingly teacher-like shrewdness, despite the tellingly intoxicated flush that has crept into his thin, freckled face.

James's love of puns is tragically well known.

"You didn't get it." Remus points at his drink. His speech is starting to slur. "This is a negroni, what I said was—"

"Yeah, I got that part, I just—"

"Jesus fuck, look at her!" Saffy suddenly hisses, staggering sideways into Remus and sending him into the wall in a flurry of giggles—Remus giggling?—her voice hushed and urgent. "Who the hell is that?!"

James does look, following the direction of Saffy's gaze. Sirius has just entered the living room, casually clutching the elbow of a……

……goddess.

An actual. Like. Goddess.

A goddess. In James's house. In his living room. In the place where he eats his chocolate boulder cereal and rewatches Scrubs (even season 9, which is hilarious, and very unfairly disparaged by Joe Public) on Saturday mornings.

She's a goddess. A real one, and cleverly disguised as a mortal, sure, with her slouchy white t-shirt and her big hoop earrings and her light blue jeans that are torn at the knees, wearing her shoulder-length red hair half up, half down and slightly messy, but that doesn't hide what she is.

"Oh my god," he murmurs. His heart is pounding all of a sudden, which is so...utterly bloody stupid, but Saffy's right, bloody look at her, Jesus fuck.

"Surely she can't be with Sirius?" Saffy murmurs back.

"No, she—" He watches Sirius lean down to mutter something in the redhead's ear. A ghost of a laugh flits across her beautiful face. "She's not his—he isn't—"

"D'you think—"

"No, I—"

"Good," says Saffy firmly. She lets go of Remus and rises, lengthening her spine. It is a battle stance of some sort, presumably. "Because I saw her first."

"No!" James cries, wounded, and the redhead shoots him a curious look with a pair of eyes that are startlingly emerald green, even from all the bloody way over here. He spins to face Saffy and lowers his voice, face burning. "It's my house!"

"What are you arguing here, ownership rights?"

"No but it—it's my birthday!" James retorts, jabbing at his own chest. "And, actually, and—"

"It's in the bloody post!"

"—you didn't get me a present!" he finishes in triumph, not that he knows what he's arguing for, because the likelihood is that his tongue will glue itself to the roof of his mouth if he even dares to look in her direction one more time. "Plus I set you up with Vanya Petrich, with whom, as I recall, you enjoyed four years—"

"Stop throwing that in my face!"

"—four blissful years—"

"Is it my fault that you've never fancied any girl I've set you up with?!"

"—promised me an Easter ham for setting you up with her and I never got it—"

"So now you'll trade a woman for a ham?" Saffy accuses, though her face is too lit up, her brown eyes too crinkled at the corners—she's having fun with this and she isn't going to fool him and she knows it. "That's so low, even—"

"Don't start with that," James scathingly cuts in. "You offered me Sean Connery's autograph for Bonnie Grogan's number—"

"Which you never gave me!"

"Because you forged the bloody signature!"

"And now she's bloody married!"

"Yeah, well, Isabella wouldn't give me a counterfeit present, would she?" he retorts, and Saffy lets her shoulders drop, smirking. "This is pointless, Saf, we can't—"

"She's just left with Sirius," Remus informs them, and burps.

#Jily #Part 1 #Of 3?#Honestly I just wanted to give you guys a treat

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drivingsideways · 4 years ago

Note

Hey talk to me about your top three favourite kdrama women. What makes them special? What's a fic you would like to write about any one of them?

Mystery anon! :D What a lovely ask.

I’m going to cheat a bit and divide my answer into characters I loved a lot, but do not want to write fic about, because I think the canon gives me what I need; and characters that I loved a lot but NEED TO BE RESCUED ZOMG. (My fic writing impulses are 50% spite and 50% fix-it )

Caveat being that I’ve still watched only maybe a dozen kdramas, so I’m pretty limited in my knowledge!

Characters that I love a lot, but have very zero fic impulses toward:

Han Yeo-jin from Stranger/Secret Forest: What a delight! What an iconique character! Is there anyone like her? NO. LSY-nim gives us a delightfully complex character, and Bae Doona knocks it out of the park in every single scene, so I’m just happy to be along for the ride. I think what makes Yeo-jin special for me is the intrinsic place of empathy that she operates from. I think “righteous” is a word that often comes with negative connotations (self-righteous, for eg), but I do think she’s one of the most righteous-in-the-good-way characters I’ve watched in kdrama or any drama. I’m tired of stories that portray goodness as “boring” , as unworthy of narrative breadth or depth, and I love that Han Yeo-jin comes to us like a breath of fresh air in our particular dystopian narratives hellscape. She’s good, but never naive. She’s righteous but never cruel in her moral certainties. I think that LSY nim, in the second season especially, gave Yeo-jin the kind of arc that character deserved when she’s forced to really dig deep into herself to figure out how she’s going to live in the world in the face of a deeply cutting, deeply personal disillusionment, and I’m really hoping for an S3 to see how that plays out further.

Goo Hae-ryung from Rookie Historian: Ok, I will admit this may be rose tinted glasses view due to this show being my gateway drug into kdrama, but c’mon! She’s a reader! and a Thinker! And loves her wine! She’s plucky! She’s cute! She’s got a wry sense of humour! She’s got principles! She’s got a solid common sense to her that somehow doesn’t get in the way of her dreaming BIG! Oh dear, doesn’t she sound like the Mary-est of Mary Sues? Good for her.gif, I say! Anyways, Shin Se-kyung is unutterably charming in this (AS IN EVERY SHOW OMG GIRL) and I just have a huge fondness for free-spirited heroines who get to tramp through the narrative changing the world as they do!

Lee Ji-an from My Ahjussi: I’ve never had my heart broken more OR restored by any single character. IU is *phenomenal * in this, I think she really stepped up to what the script demanded from her. Ji-an’s weariness, her fear and vulnerability, her prickliness, her anger and her bitterness, and how, despite everything, she fights : GOD. Just. Again, what I love about the writing in this show is that it’s deeply empathetic without being cloyingly sentimental. I think a less, hmm, imaginative writer/PD might have focused on the Lee Ji-an the victim, and while the show definitely tells you in no uncertain terms that she is one, of both circumstances and a cruel society, I think it refuses to take away her agency over her own life.(Lee Ji-an when we meet her is too busy hanging onto life by tooth and claw to indulge in self-pity, but we also see the toll it takes on her not to be able to say “this is too heavy a burden for me to carry myself and it isn’t my fault”; the show I think approaches Dong-hoon from the opposite side- his emotional isolation is partly a result of his own choices, but he doesn’t see it yet, and so his journey is also about letting people in and sharing the burden, but also recovering his own agency over his life. It’s an interestingly gender-bent arc, which is one of the things I love about this show. )

Ok, can I please add one more?

Hwang Han-joo from Melo is my Nature: She just felt SO real to me. She’s someone who doesn’t have the spectacular brilliance of either Jin-joo or Eun-jung, and struggles with accepting her limitations but not allowing herself to be defeated by them? I love her struggles as a mother, as a working woman in a sexist industry, a woman who’s perhaps having to rethink and reimagine what she wants from romance. I love that she’s a little silly, a lot kind, and an optimist, and just. I just think she’s the bravest of the three, tbh, and I LOVE HER AND I WOULD WATCH A SPIN OFF ABOUT JUST HER (i shouldn’t have faves among the three i know, BUT I DO, IT’S HER, IT’S HER.)

Ok! On to the next section! And I’m going to cheat again because I can’t stop at three. SORRY. NOT SORRY.

Characters I love and SHOULD write fic for if I weren’t such a tired and lazy bunny:

Song Sa-hui from Rookie Historian: Oh, girl, girl, GIRL. I love how she fights to snatch her freedom from the jaws of the patriarchy. I love that she unapologetically centers herself while doing that, because she knows that nobody else will. I love that she’s prickly and calculating. I love that she’s smart and knowledgeable. I am SO HAPPY that she got to carve out a little bit of freedom for herself, even if it also is exile to some degree. She *should * be Emperor Jin’s Prime Minister and steering the ship of state, while also carrying on a tumultous affair with Queen Min Woo-hee, while ALSO commiserating with Emperor Jin about his boyfriend Historian Min Woo-won’s regrettable tendency towards Principles (TM) and masochism-but-not-in-the-fun-way. (This takes up much of his time which is why Song Sa-hui is running the country, of course. It works out well for all concerned, well, except her dad, of course.)

Song Ga-gyeong from Search:WWW: What’s NOT to love about our brilliant, beautiful, emotionally tortured gay icon? Nothing, absolutely nothing. I loved how the show allowed her to be flawed and make bad decisions, and then allowed her to make better decisions and regain control of her life. What I do need to do, of course, is see the CANON LOVE STORY between her and Cha Hyeon through to the end. It must, of course, include at least one baseball game, a lot of tequila and messy beach kisses.

Oh Ji-hwa from Beyond Evil: Oh boy, this year’s runaway hit cleared the extremely low bar for standard crime/ thriller shows by leaving more than one of its female characters breathing and with all limbs intact, and got called feminist for it BUT it didn’t do justice to any of them in any meaningful way and that never hurt more than in the way they sidelined Kim Shin-rok’s talent by not giving Oh Ji-hwa anything much to do. She’s a tough as nails cop, a loving sister, a devoted but unsentimental friend-and by rights SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE HEROINE OF THIS SHOW. My secret fic fantasy is to rewrite the show entirely by making her , and the two other female characters in non-antagonist roles- Yoo Jae-yi and Im Sun-nyeo- as the central characters, as they investigate a serial killer who targets women. It’s the only acceptable version of this done-to-death (ha!) genre, I have no idea what the Baeksang jury and tumblr fandom is smoking when they hype the show so much, I want none of it.

Jung Sun-ah from The Devil Judge: I love her rage, her spite, her passionate defense of women, her style, her sexiness, her rage, her rage, her brilliance, her tenaciousness, her smartness, her clothes, her refusal to hate herself for everything she is and chooses to be, her ambition, her comfort wielding power, her EVERYTHING. Dead, her? NOT IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT. Here’s what *really * happened at the end of canon- she gets out of the building by planting that lady-like but still deadly gun against Kang Yo-han’s temple and making him lead her through his own “secret escape route” or whatever the fuck it was the show wanted us to believe. From there on out, it’s all sunshine and beaches, and scheming and waiting for the right moment to strike again-though of course, this time around, she also has to reckon with vigilant, tenacious cop Soo-hyun -another character who REALLY didn’t die for manpain reasons and had the good sense to leave her gay best friend to follow his psychopath boyfriend to Switzerland or wherever it is that star crossed lovers in kdrama land meet up on the regs these days- anyways, Soo-hyun and her are in this catch-me-if-you-can epic transnational honest and cute cop-and-beautiful sexy villain chase and yes, they WILL kiss (and more) AND IT WILL BE GLORIOUS.

*whew *

Thanks for coming to my TEDTalk.

#kdrama #thank you for this ask OMG #[fiona apple voice] ladies ladies ladies ladies

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aperrywilliams · 5 years ago

Text

When The World Breaks You (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

———————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Reader makes a mistake during a case that triggers a lot of thoughts about a series of stressful events in her recent life. Spencer Reid turns out to be one of them.

Word Count: 6538.

Warnings: Mention to stressful events in relationships. Mention to possible alcohol abuse. Unprotected sex. A lot of curses. Angst. Smut. I promise it’s an ‘optimistic’ end.

A/N: For the Secret Fic Swap. An excellent idea from @dontkissthewriter and organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

This fic was written for @safertokiss. Thanks for reading. Feedback is welcomed!

——————–

We all make mistakes in life. It’s written somewhere. They tell you that since childhood. Everybody knows. But when you have to experience it, things are different: it seems nobody remembers and they throw it in your face every time they can. To err is human. Have they already forgotten it?

It’s true, there are situations where a mistake can be much more costly than others. In this line of work it turns out to be so. One misstep could result in the death of innocent people. In my case it was not like that... but it could have been. Hotch's face of disappointment when he looked at me could have killed me down in the same spot, after he himself shot down the unsub almost by the work and grace of the Holy Spirit. I was wrong. I tried myself to save a little girl from the hands of a psychopath using the most reckless strategy that occurred to me at the time. The girl might have died if Hotch didn’t appeared in the right moment.

It wasn't many minutes before my own teammates started to reproach my recklessness.

"How can you did that (Y/N)? You could have had that girl killed!" shouted Emily.

"You should have waited for reinforcements (Y/N). It was obvious you couldn't handle the unsub" Morgan barked.

"(Y/N), lucky you Hotch showed up at that moment..." JJ hissed.

"Your youthful impetus almost got the worst, (Y/N)..." Rossi mused.

"Tomorrow, first hour of the day, I want your report in my desk (Y/N), and we’ll talk about what happened today" was the last sentence of Hotch.

The only one who didn't say anything was Reid. Although his look of frustration was only comparable to Hotch's. Bent on continuing to torture myself, I walked over to where Spencer was, almost forcing him to speak to me.

“I still haven't heard any ‘comments’ from you about what happened in there. Everyone has already given me their opinion". I snapped with a challenging tone. It was the only thing left for me if I didn't want to cry right there. Reid looked at me but said nothing. “Ah, your punishment for me is the silence. Very original Reid, very original”. I left the place by getting into one of the SUV that would take us back to the jet.

The trip back home was silent. I self-relegated in one of the furthest seats. I looked out the window as the jet's wings touched the clouds. I could feel some compassionate glances from my teammates, but I never made eye contact with them. Nor when we get to the bullpen to collect our things. Nor when I quickly got on the elevator to avoid having to share it with anyone.

When I got to my apartment I just wanted to lie down in my bed. Before reaching my mission, all I did was take off my shoes. I fell slumped on the mattress. Only then did I allow myself to cry. In the solitude of my own place. Place not long ago I shared with another person. Person who decided my job was too demanding and didn’t want to pay the price for my absence. Person who was quickly disappointed in me despite having promised his eternal love in front a civil judge in our wedding. Person I believed loved me unconditionally. To be fair, I forgot that too. My love didn't turn out to be unconditional either.

Love is not unconditional. This is a learning for life my dear friends.

As Hotch requested, I was in his office first hour in the morning with my report from the day before. As he read it, I was standing in front of him with my hands crossed on my stomach and staring blankly at the bookshelf behind Hotch's desk.

"So you agree that it was a reckless decision..." Hotch recited.

"Yes sir. It was. Although the purpose was to save the life of an innocent…”. Hotch interrupted my speech.

“(Y/N), indeed that is the goal of this work, but there are rules too. And if you can't follow the rules, you can't do this job either. I hope you understand that” he stated.

"Yes sir…" was my reply.

“Due to the scope of this case, I cannot leave you without some sanction for your conduct. That is why you’ll be suspended for 2 weeks without payment. I need your badge and your gun”.

I was not surprised by the measure. Although I had a secret hope it would only be a reprimand from Hotch. Hopes are shit. I handed over my gun and my badge. I was about to leave the office when Hotch spoke again.

"(Y/N). I understand you have been through a lot in these months, please try to take these days to rest and clear your head” he suggested.

"Yes sir".

Why was I going to argue with him about it? Was it worth telling him that not even a one-month suspension could be enough to me for clear my head?

I went downstairs to my desk. Again without making eye contact with my co-workers. I grabbed my jacket and purse and walked out of the bullpen into the elevator. Before the doors were closed I heard my name.

"(Y/N), wait!". Reid with one of his arms stopped the door and got on the elevator. I looked at him without saying anything. "Where are you going?".

"I think you know where... and why too". I replied now looking at the elevator floor.

"How long?" He asked.

"Two weeks" I replied dryly.

"Oh, I'm sorry". Reid lamented.

"Don’t be sorry. At least I still have my job. For now…”. I assured with a shrug, barely making eye contact with him.

"Do you need something?..." he offered.

“Don't worry about me Reid. I'll be fine". The elevator had reached the subway, opening its doors. I went out and gave him a little warm smile. He did the same. Then the doors closed with him inside. I started walking to the car to get back to my apartment.

It was strange being in my apartment so early. I’m usually one of those who leaves the BAU almost at dusk. At least that's what I had been doing for the last 4 months, after my divorce. Now I was sitting on my couch thinking about what to do in the next two weeks. No idea came to my head. I knew it would be a long two weeks.

The next day I started doing a deep cleaning of the place. It’s not my apartment has been neglected in these months, but there were many things from "my old life" I still had. I started going through boxes with my ex-husband's things: there were clothes, sporting goods he didn’t take with him, books. I also found photographs. The vast common of them I tore up and throwed into a trash can, however, I stopped at my wedding photos. Smiles were everywhere. Many of the photographs with both of us at the altar, others dancing. There was a photo of us with the BAU team at the party. Memories of that moment quickly came to my mind. Precisely after taking that photograph in particular.

After the photographer captured the moment, my husband gave me a sweet peck on my lips and told me he would go and talk with his family a while. I nodded, meanwhile the BAU girls surrounded me laughing next to me and hugging me for the umpteenth time, happy for me.

I could see Spencer walking away towards one of the corners of the garden. I had seen him act strange a few days ago. But particularly on my wedding day we had hardly spoken a word. Which was strange. Spencer was my best friend, my "partner in crime". That's how it had been since I came to the BAU 4 years ago. Taking advantage of the fact I had a moment of freedom, I approached him. He was sitting on one of the benches in the garden. I sat next to him smiling. He looked at me and gave me a smile too.

"Hey... why are you alone around here?" I asked taking his hand.

"I'm enjoying the fresh air and there is less noise here," he replied.

“I know you are not a friend of loud music. I understand you and I share that. I just must say today has been a roller coaster of things. I'm exhausted”. I confessed but I received no reply.

"Spencer?". He looked at me as if trying to tell me something without words. "What is it? Can you tell me...". After a silence that started to become uncomfortable, he resolved to speak.

"You really love him..." he said. I frowned. I didn't know exactly what he meant.

"Well... if I married him it must be for that, right?". I tried to joke to lighten the mood. But Spencer didn't laugh.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry. I think I should go…”. He got up from the bench and was going to leave me there with more questions than answers.

"Spencer, wait!... you can't leave like this. Please tell me what's wrong..." I pleaded.

Forcing Spencer to speak at that point must have been one of my biggest mistakes in a long time. How often does your best friend confess he has been in love with you for years on your wedding day?

Only in the movies. The difference is that in the movies the bride runs off with the lover, leaving the groom behind and living happily ever after. It was not my case. Spencer was the one who ran off, alone… while I stood on the bench with tears rolling down my cheeks, a confession and millions of doubts that beginning to fill my mind.

Of course I was in love with my husband. Perhaps a somewhat childish love, but we had known each other for so many years that it was difficult for me to imagine myself otherwise than being married to him, having children, a house and a dog. That was my dream since I was 16 years old.

But things change. My life also changed. I studied Forensic Psychology and fell so in love with my major that I wanted to join the FBI to put what I had learned into real practice. This is how I came to the BAU afterwards. A whole world opened before my eyes. I faced the best and the worst of the world. My innocence faded over time. I was much more aware of what was happening around me. And I was happy with that.

I fell in love with my job too. I also bonded with my co-workers. I started spending more time with Emily, JJ and Penelope both on and off work. But what changed me the most was making friends with Spencer Reid. When we met, the first thing I noticed was his shyness. It seemed adorable to me. As we got to know each other I understood many things about his character, just as he understood many things about me as well.

The jet trips, the talks at the local police stations, the theories about the unsubs were made much more bearable thanks to Spencer. At some point I asked myself if our friendship could be something more. I didn't think it was possible. But the doubts came all the times I had a strong argument with my boyfriend. Arguments that sometimes ended with me leaving the apartment we shared and crashing into Spencer's place crying on his shoulder.

I remembered one of those times. It was a strong discussion. Triggered by my prolonged absence thanks to the cases that kept us traveling all over the country. Like the previous times I ended up in Reid's apartment drowning my sorrows in his chest.

"(Y/N)… can I ask you a question?" I just nodded, still sobbing. "Are you sure you love him?... I mean… maybe I said it wrong... I don't have doubts you love him, but do you think this relationship is working for you?..."

“It has worked so far. It's true… we have our ups and downs, but… I don't know… it's just I wish he could understand what my life is really like…"

"And if he doesn't?... how many more chances will you give him (Y/N)?... don't hurt yourself more, please...".

My memory recalls the way he looked at me. At first I thought it was compassion. ‘Poor woman, in love with a man who doesn't understand her.’ But then I thought I saw something else. A plea? I didn't really know what it was.

Without thinking, I let myself be carried away and wrapped my arms around his neck, crashing my lips on his. A simple impulse that ended with me and Reid making out on his couch. And boy I did enjoy it!. And I'm sure he did too. But we were both cowardly enough to admit it.

After that things were strange between us. Until one day I faced him. I needed to know what his true feelings were. The bastard denied it. He said he only wanted me as a friend, that I deserved to be happy with my boyfriend and that ours was just a good friendship.

I let it go. We returned to our dynamic of good friends. Things seemed to take their normal course. My boyfriend proposed to me, the fights between us disappeared. Thus faded the nights when I came crying to Spencer's apartment. I was feeling happy. Excited. Until that moment in my wedding party, in the garden, when Spencer left me with his confession stabbing my chest.

I didn't want to think about that. I had given him a chance to open up earlier. And he didn’t do it. Spencer fucking Reid kept the silent. And I didn't say anything either. Maybe if I had given him a sign. But it was too late. I had to get on with my life. And that's what I did.

A year of happiness. That was how long my marriage lasted. And not because I haven't tried. I really tried. But Reid was right. Sooner or later the opportunities would no longer be enough. Promises weren't sufficient to keep alive the illusion of life as I had dreamed of as a teenager.

*************

I was worried. It had been 4 days since (Y/N) was suspended and no one had heard from her. I asked Prentiss and she only told me she texted her to know how she was doing and (Y/N) replied with a dry ‘fine’.

Besides being worried, I was upset. No one on the team had bothered to visit (Y/N). Months ago it would have been my mission, but given the circumstances maybe it wasn't a good idea. I was annoyed by the idea she was struggling alone with this situation. It was not fair. None of this was fair.

That she couldn't be happy wasn't fair. And that we couldn't be together was my fault. My silence. I lied when I could have told the truth. There is not a day I don’t regret that.

My second mistake was speaking at the wrong time. I couldn't bear it and in a moment of weakness I confessed my feelings to (Y/N). And it was selfish, I know. A chain of bad decisions I tried to bury over time.

And it seemed time was working. She was happy with her husband, or so I thought. While we tried to return to our friendship routine. Perhaps that is another of the biggest lies in the universe: ours would never be the same. Ours will never be the same again. I didn't find out things were going wrong in her marriage until it was all broken. I could notice some things about her behavior, but she was never going to tell me anything about that part of her life, ever again.

On the sixth day of her suspension, my worry began to overwhelm me. This time I wasn’t the only one who was concerned. Emily and JJ tried to contact (Y/N) but she just didn't answer the phone. Even Hotch had left messages on her voicemail to check her status. None had an answer.

I couldn't sit idly by. What if something had happened to her? Sure she wouldn't want to talk to me, but at least I needed to know she was okay. That afternoon I left the BAU heading to her apartment. Upon arrival, I knocked on the door twice. But I got no answer. Maybe she had gone out to buy something. Or maybe something had happened to her and she couldn't open the door. I hesitated what to do for a while. I paced outside her door until anxiety got the better of me. I still had the spare key to her apartment. I knew it wasn't appropriate, but my concern won. I opened the door and launched to inspect the place.

She was not in the apartment. The place was a bit messy, but it wasn't a mess itself. I found many boxes in the living room, some half packed. They didn't seem to be her things, which partly reassured me. For a second I thought she was moving somewhere else. What made me uneasy was seeing several empty liquor bottles on the kitchen counter. That gave me an idea of where she might be at that specific moment.

I quickly reached (Y/N)'s favorite bar scanning through the crowd until I saw her near the bar counter with a group of men surrounding her. I stepped closer and crossed the circle of testosterone that shrouded (Y/N). Seeing me, she raised up her arms to signal my arrival.

“And here is my favorite genius! Dr. Spencer Reid!" (Y/N) chimed obviously drunk. When I managed to get to her side, she threw her arms over me, almost falling from the tabouret where she was sitting next to the bar. I hold her with my arms, restoring some balance to her. As I spoke to the group of predators still looking at (Y/N).

"Well. The show ended here. You can go to the other side of the bar”. I announced to the marauders who, puffing, broke the circle around (Y/N) dispersing.

“You are a killjoy Reid. You always have been”. Despite her condition she knew exactly how to hit me with her words.

"Let's go. I'll take you home" I stated.

When we left the bar, she stopped and didn't want to keep walking.

"Reid... really, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"I came to look for you…" I mumbled.

"You didn't have to... I'm fine, don't you see me? Won-der-ful…" she tried to joke.

"(Y/N)... you're drunk... let me take you home" I insisted.

"Noooo, I don't want to. I'm fine here. Let me…"

"Please come with me". I demanded and grabbed her forearm.

"I don't want to be hurt any more Spencer... leave me alone" she complained.

"I know. But let me help you…"

"You cannot. Nobody can help me. Everyone abandons me and it's my fault...". (Y/N) tried to left my grip.

"Don’t say that. It's not your fault". I hugged her and she stopped struggling but started sobbing into my chest.

We held each other for a moment. The sobs gave way to hiccups. When (Y/N) was calmer, I managed to get her into the car. I drove to her apartment. When I stopped the car, I noticed she had fallen asleep with her head resting on the car window. Carefully, I opened the passenger door and took her in my arms, bridal style. She only let out a groan, but not fully awake. I went upstairs with her to the floor of her apartment, took out the key, opened the door and we went inside.

As gently as I could, I laid her on the bed. I took off her shoes and tucked her with the duvet. Again I heard her sobs.

"Why did it have to be like this?..." she muttered. I didn't know what to answer her.

"It's my fault. I end up ruining everything. I always make mistakes that end up ruining everything…” she cried. I knew it wasn't a good time to talk, but (Y/N) needed to be able to at least sleep in peace.

"No, don’t say that. You better sleep now. Tomorrow we can talk about this".

"You will stay with me?" she asked in a barely audible voice.

"Only if you want me to stay..."

"Please…" she begged.

I took off my shoes and cuddled next to her under the duvet. I wrapped my arms around her body and after a few minutes I felt her breathing much quieter, a sign that she had fallen asleep.

When I woke up next morning, (Y/N) was still sleeping. I knew she would be in that condition for at least a couple of hours, when the light in the room will wake up her and make her feel the hangover in her body. I gently got up and went to the living room. I wondered if it was really wise to stay until she woke up or maybe I should just leave her and go home. I wanted to be able to talk to her, but I wasn't sure if it would be the best time. I laughed at myself after that thought. Is there a better time for us at anything? That didn't exist in our books.

I made myself a coffee and grabbed some of the books from her shelf. I struggled with the urge to explore the things that were inside the boxes scattered around the room. I sat down on the couch and started reading.

A few hours later I heard (Y/N) walking out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, turning on the shower faucets. I got up from the couch and started making coffee again. She was going to need it. I also started making some toast. After a while she came out of the bathroom straight into the bedroom again. A few more minutes passed and she peeked into the kitchen where I was finishing buttering the toast.

"You didn't need to make breakfast..." she remarked, making her presence known. I raised my head to look at her.

"At least you need the coffee..." I suggested as I handed her the mug of coffee.

"It’s true. Thank you". She sat down and after a sip put the coffee on the table.

"How do you feel?"

"The shower helped... but the hangover won't leave me for a good couple of hours," she complained. I put the plate of toast on the table and sat across from her with my own coffee. We fell silent as we drank our coffee and ate our toasts.

When there was no more coffee or toast left, (Y/N) started talking.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night." She mused.

"You don’t have to apologize…". I shook my head.

"Yes. I need to. Although I don't know how you knew I was there, you brought me back safely. Thank you". Her eyes felt into the empty mug.

“It was not a bother to me. I was worried about you (Y/N). In fact, I'm worried about you,” I confessed, looking again at the empty liquor bottles on the kitchen counter. She followed my line of sight and knew exactly what I meant.

“I'm fine Reid… so don't worry. I have accumulated them in all these days. It's not so big deal either" she bragged.

“I don't think you're okay (Y/N). You've avoided calls and messages from the whole team these days…". I stated.

“I just wanted to be peaceful, Reid. As you can see, I’m trying to 'clean up' my life,” (Y/N) assured as she pointed to the boxes scattered around the room.

"You don't have to do that alone..." I implied trying to get into the matter.

"Reid, please… don’t do this. You know I can't let you do this…” she mumbled.

"Why not? Please (Y/N)... why do you want to keep pushing people away from you?".

“Not all people. Only you". Her overabundance of sincerity didn’t surprise me, but at that moment it left me speechless. "Sorry to say it like that, but you can't pretend things are the way they were at the beginning." She was right, but I wasn't ready to lose this fight.

"Will you never forgive me for telling you about my feelings that night at your wedding?" I shouted running one of my hands through my hair.

"Not that. I’ll never forgive you for keeping silent when I asked you what you felt before!" she yelled at me back.

"(Y/N)... I was scared...". I tried to explain.

“I was scared too Reid!... but I had hopes. The hopes you killed at that time," she grumbled taking her head with both hands.

"Do you think it was easy for me?"

"I don’t care. If you had told me maybe I would have cared. I'm not a fucking fortune teller Reid!" She got up from her chair and began pacing the room. We were getting back into this discussion, again.

"I just… I never thought you would do it..." I said defeated.

"What? Get married?... why shouldn't I?". She asked in exasperation.

"Because you didn't love him!!!" I screamed.

"How do you know that? Damn it Reid!"

"Because if you really loved him, you would never have come to my apartment every time you both had an argument! That was never love (Y/N)! It was your dream, but it was never real!"

"What do you know about love?, ah?... are you really going to give me a lecture on something you have no idea? You weren't even able to face me when you made your big reveal. That's not love either Reid"

"Watch your words (Y/N), you have no idea what you're talking about" I warned her.

"Oh no? Enlighten me genius"

I got up quickly from the chair. I took one of her wrists and pulled it towards me. I cupped her cheeks with both hands and bumped my lips to hers. (Y/N) tried to pull away from me for a second, but then she melted into the kiss just like I did at the time. If words weren't enough, I hoped that kiss could help me ‘tell’ her everything I was feeling. When we both run out of air, we pulled away.

“If you didn't always have the compulsion of saying the last word, maybe I would have shown you earlier. But no! Always contradicting (Y/N)! " I muttered panting.

“What the fuck Reid?. Do you think a kiss is enough to silence me?". She pulled away trying to catch her breath and not knowing whether to keep yelling at me or to leave the room.

"No, not with a kiss. I know. Of course it is not enough with you (Y/N). I think I’m just starting with you".

“Where does this dominance come from? Eh Reid? What are you trying to prove?" she asked me defiantly.

"Just shut up (Y/N)... and stop calling me Reid". I protested. How difficult is for this woman to give up in a fight, for God sake!

"Make me... Reid". She challenged me back.

The tension built up over the years seemed to have exploded at that moment. I took her wrists again to attract her to my body, with one of my hands I took her hair and yanked it back to make her look at me.

"Stop it (Y/N). You don't want me to make you" I managed to mutter before collapsing my lips with hers again. This time the kiss was more passionate and extensive. I couldn't keep my hands still, while with one I was still yanking (Y/N)’s hair, the other started to down her back by entangling my fingers in the edge of her shirt. As I put my fingers under the shirt to touch her bare back, I felt a moan from (Y/N). That encouraged me to continue. Releasing my other hand from her hair, I grabbed the other end of her shirt, pulling it, take it off her body and throwing it to the floor. My lips began to search for the sweet spot on her neck that I knew existed and always wanted to explore. When I found it, another groan came from (Y/N)'s mouth. Those moans quickly turned me on. With my hands traveling down her nearly bare back, I paused on the clasp of her bra, pulling it apart and letting it fall to the floor. An exciting sigh left my mouth when I could see her naked half.

(Y/N) looked at me expectantly. Her eyes inviting me to continue, but I started to worry that no words come out of her mouth.

"Is something wrong?... do you want me to stop?"

"What are we doing Spencer...?" she said panting.

“What I think we should have done so long ago. And because of me we couldn't. But if you don't want to, I'll stop”. I assured her as I stroked her cheeks with my knuckles.

"Shit Spencer... I don't want to die without you fucking me once in life at least...". With that she threw herself into my arms and started to unbutton my dress shirt.

"God (Y/N)... you don’t how much I want you." I whispered to her as I dropped my dress shirt to the floor and my hands searched for her bare breasts. My lips and tongue tracing paths on her collarbone. Her arms were around my neck gripping tightly.

“Show me, you fucking coward! Prove you mean it!” she told.

“This time you don’t have to tell me twice…”.

I took her in my arms and carried her into the bedroom, laying her on the mattress, while I undid the clasp on my belt and unbuttoned my pants, letting them fall to the floor. She slipped her sweatpants, exposing her body only in her lace. I laid down next to her, tracing eager paths in her bare skin with my fingers.

"You are so fucking beautiful (Y/N)... you drive me crazy...". I blurted, peppering kisses and sucking one of her nipples. (Y/N) stroked my hair as I keep my mouth attached into her breasts. My hands went down her waist and stopped in her thighs for a while. Then my fingers traveled anxiously across her belly, her hips, and her ass. I looked at her with fire in the eyes and could see how (Y/N) was breathing heavily holding her eyes on me as I slide her panties off, one leg at a time. I put one of her legs over my shoulder and buried my mouth between her legs, nibbling on the skin while I was holding her hip with both hands. (Y/N) couldn't help but arch her back, letting out a deep whine.

"Oh fuck Spencer... shit… please…" she moan not expecting to be coherent in her words. I was decided to go further, so my hands started to slide into her inner thighs. I wanted to explore the depths of her core. Not so gently I put one of my fingers inside her. The moisture I found did nothing but arouse me more. The contact sure caused more stimulation on her and she started to move and buck to feel more depth and friction.

"Please... Spencer... if we are going to do this, I need more...". Her words made me put a second finger. She shuddered on contact again. I couldn't help but bite my lower lip as I looked (Y/N)'s eyes stiff at the sensation running through her body. At the movement of my fingers inside her, (Y/N) was unable to control her own, seeking to deepen the feeling by riding hard on them. I lowering my tongue until reached her folds. I slipped my tongue to catch some of her moisture mixed with my own saliva. A stifled moan from me made (Y/N) tremble at the vibration of my voice running through her body. I put a third finger inside her while my tongue focused on her clit, licking and sucking the exposed nerve.

(Y/N) let out almost a cry bursting with pleasure. I speed up the actions of my fingers and my tongue and I could feel (Y/N) shiver under my touch. I heard her moaning louder as she held on to my hair. I knew she was close to her release because her body trembled at every thrusting of my fingers and slapping of my tongue.

"Oh fuck... I can't... Spencer... please... don't stop... I'm going to cum..." she said frenzy as her nails scratched my shoulders.

"Do it love, cum in my fingers... do it... let me feel how you undone beneath me…" I gasped trying to help her to find her release, while the thrusts of my fingers became more frantic than ever.

"Fuck... Spencer... uhhh, shit!" It was the last she could say before falling hard at her ecstasy. She was trembling completely with her eyes lost on the ceiling. When the spasms stopped, I pulled my fingers out, tasting her arousal in my mouth and looking at her. Her messy hair, the sweat running down her forehead and her eyes full of pleasure. It couldn't have been more pleasing for me.

“I think you need a reward for this so… come here. I need you to fuck me with your cock right now… please…”. (Y/N) demanded still panting.

I just chuckled meanwhile I slipped off my boxers and then placed my hips between her legs lining up my cock at her entrance. My slow entry produced a unison groan in both of us.

"Oh fuck (Y/N)... you're so tight for me..." was the only thing I said before (Y/N) raised her hips without warning to feel me fully in her. A roar tore from my mouth as I grabbed her hips to start moving inside her. The thrusts started slow but intense, accompanied by gasps and sweat. I increased the speed of my thrusts in the next minutes. The desire to feel each other had reached a point of no return for both. The moans mingled with the vocalization of our names only increased arousal in us. I could feel her walls tighten with friction and it drove me madder and louder. She was very close to losing herself in ecstasy. Her body began to tremble, which made me hasten my pace. I put one of my fingers over her clit and traced circular movements on it. The (Y/N)’s moans increased in time and noise.

"Fuck Spencer... Oh yeah, right there. More please… Spencer, harder…”. She exclaimed in ecstasy.

"(Y/N), you feel so good with my cock inside you. Do you like it?, tell me… I want to hear you… use your words…”. I needed to hear her voice.

"Harder Spencer. You are fucking me so good. Please don't stop… I love you. I wanted this so badly… so time ago…”

“This time I'm not going to let you go. Tell me, did he touch you like this?... He kissed you like this?... He fucked you like this?"

"Shit… Spencer, it’s not the time to compare yourself to my ex…" (Y/N) moaned.

“I just want you to realize that I’m better than him. That I have more right to have you than he and any other man. That I’m the only man who could love you like you deserves (Y/N)…"

With those words I could feel how the orgasm hit (Y/N) like a train. She screamed my name one last time before getting lost in her heights. I kept my thrusts knowing I was close. Feeling her walls tighten around my cock was enough for a couple more thrusts and reach my own release. And it was better than I had imagined every time I thought about (Y/N) and what sex with her would be like. God! I could stay like this forever.

Even with our shaky breaths and still inside her I looked (Y/N) directly in the eyes. I needed to know her reaction. I just hoped I didn't find regret in her gaze. That would have been death for me.

She looked at me with a glint in her eyes that I couldn't decipher. Tears? I was terrified. I didn't want to lose (Y/N) again.

"Shit Spencer... where did you learn to fuck like that?" she blurt suddenly. We both started laughing. I assumed it was a rhetorical question, so I only answered with a deep kiss on her lips as I got out of bed in the direction to the bathroom.

I came back with a damp towel to clean up the remains of our recent activities. (Y/N) didn't take her eyes off me but she didn't say a word either. I put the towel on the nightstand and sat on the bed with my back on the backrest.

"Okay, what are you thinking now?" I asked. (Y/N) smiled because she knew exactly that I was going to ask her that question.

“It's just… I find it hard to believe that you really love me. I mean, so much has happened in this time… don't you even have a little doubt going around in your head about this?" she questioned giving me a shy look.

"Not anymore. I had doubts for so long (Y/N), that's why I wasn't able to do anything about it. But I can assure you that there are no more doubts. I love you and I know you love me too. Nonetheless I'm willing to wait for whatever it takes until you're ready. But I’ll never be silent about my feelings for you again. That I can assure you. I promise”. I replied taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

"I'm still broken Spencer...". She remind me pressing her lips together and trying to hold back a sob

“(Y/N). I know and I take full responsibility for that too. But now I don´t care all our past mistakes. I don’t care the past itself. I don’t care if you’re broken now. I want to fix this. I want you. I want to make up to you. I want to make you happy. No matter how long it takes me to accomplish that. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll hold you when you need it, I want to be there when the world breaks you. I’ll fight and support you every time that happens…"

Tears began to roll down her cheeks. (Y/N) hugged me tight and buried her head on my chest. Then she raised her gaze to look at me and speak.

"Love is not unconditional Spencer... you know that…" she murmured.

"Not by default my love, but we can build it to make it work for us.". She smiled at my words and after giving me an intense kiss she spoke again.

“I hope you’re right. I know we can try to make it work. I love you Spencer”.

“I love you too (Y/N). We are going to make it. I promise".

———————

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #dr. spencer reid #criminal minds

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shootybangbang · 4 years ago

Text

[Talking Bird] Ch 16: In which the plot finally makes an appearance

[Ao3 Link]

[Content Warning]: suicidal ideation, mild gore

[Note]: this fic has gone through some serious revisions — mostly expanded scenes/dialogue. The chapters most heavily affected are 1, 2, 3, and 7, but I’ve added a changelog to the end notes of each previous chapter detailing the edits that have been made. To save you some time though, here are the three main things to note:

The reader character does not have the bonds

The reader character refers to Arthur by his last name due to unfamiliarity

The horniness from last chapter has been moved to a future chapter. sorry!

This chapter is also pretty long in comparison to the others. From here on out, the chapters will probably be 2000+ words.

———

You look out into the plains, at the last pale band of light disappearing beneath a horizon of prairie grass and dark, looming buttes. The shadows of the scant trees stretch long and thin, their branches like a thousand spindly fingers grasping, searching. The landscape is dimmed to a tableau of reds and blacks, anything not illuminated by the fire slowly sinking into the featureless canvas of night. All of it blurred and indistinct behind a curtain of rain.

It’s a prettier sight by far than any you’ve had in St Denis. Or San Francisco. Or anywhere else you’ve lived, really.

And yet it hangs like featureless gauze behind the endless reel playing out over and over behind your eyes, spinning round like the printed images on a zoetrope.

The O’Driscoll’s hands wet with blood and mud. His eyes wide and uncomprehending. Trying to put himself back together the way one might a broken toy, sieving his viscera between his fingers and scooping it into the cavity of his chest. That initial, stunned bemusement giving way at last to the dawning horror of his own end.

And accompanying it, the numb realization that what bothered you more was the bare abstraction of the act. The burden of this sin weighing heavy with all the others, its addition tipping some moral scale, and —

“Hey.”

Morgan’s voice, jarringly brusque against the murmurings of your own private judge and jury, is almost mercifully irritating.

“What do you want?” you snap.

“Get up,” he says. “Start strippin’ the wet bark off the firewood.”

“For chrissakes, at least give me a second to catch my breath.”

“Why, so you can keep sittin’ there feeling sorry for yourself?” He leans one hand against the stone wall of the outcrop and drags himself back to his feet. The barest shadow of a grimace flits across his face as he straightens his back. “C’mon. Sooner we get set up proper, the sooner we can get back to ignorin’ each other. Then you can sulk all night in peace.”

The cottonwood branches are covered in cracked, ash brown bark that scrapes rough against your palms and fingers, rasping the skin raw as you hold the wood firm for carving. One of the downsides of living easy for so many years, you suppose — all the protective calluses atrophy to nothing, and what remains becomes susceptible to old and familiar hurts. But habits run deeper than skin, and what the mind forgets the body keeps.

As you work your way through the firewood, Boadicea nickers and paws impatiently at the dirt.

“I’m sorry girl,” you hear Morgan say. “Been a hard day for us both.”

You snort contemptuously. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he unhooks the horse’s bridle and lifts away the saddle, then starts grooming her with a battered looking brush, brushing with quick, circular motions, going against the grain and fluffing up her coat to dry out her fur with a solicitous measure of care that seems wholly unfitting of a man of his temperament and occupation.

Boadicea makes a low, rumbly noise in the back of her throat that sounds almost like a purr. She dips her head down and chomps at the yellowed prairie grass lining the floor of the outcrop, tearing up mouthfuls with a sedate contentedness that makes you sorely wish you could share in her circumstances.

A sense of fatigue more complete than any you’ve ever felt before settles over you like heavy snow. For the moment, you feel blank and washed out, stripped bare of all pretense.

“Morgan,” you admit. “I don’t have the bonds.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I know.” He unpacks his canvas roll and yanks free from it the saddle blanket of coarse, undyed wool, then unfurls it over the horse’s back, pulling it over her flank and adjusting the fit. “Figured as much before we left Strawberry.”

“Oh.” At this point, you haven’t even the energy to be surprised. “Huh.”

For a long while, the only sound is that of the knife scraping against bark and the intensifying patter of rain, fat droplets coming down hard and fast.

In a small voice, you ask him, “You’re not really gonna sell me to a brothel, are you?”

He scoffs. “What makes y’think that ?”

“Thought you seemed too… too decent to do something like that.”

“Me? Decent?” Morgan lets out a low, disbelieving whistle. “Thought you’d know better by now.”

He turns partway to face you. In the dim light of the fire only half of him is lit bright enough to see, the rest tapering sharp into dark silhouette. For the lapse of a heartbeat it’s as if all the irreverence and bravado has been ripped away like a sheet of paper, and underneath a viciousness, a suppressed violence that you’ve been too blind to see.

This whole time you’ve been treating him like a dog, when the teeth at your throat are those of a wolf.

Your mouth goes dry and your fingers tighten around the knife in your hand. You stare up at him like a deer caught in his sights — blind panic rising up in your chest and throat like cold water. You swallow hard and try to force it down so you can maintain at least a semblance of control.

“Mr. Morgan…?”

“You ain’t been half as scared of me as you should be,” he says. “holed up with a wanted man, nobody around for miles. Some of the men I’ve run with, they…”

He lets the sentence trail off, the implications clear enough without him saying so. Then he shakes his head, and there is a weariness in him, a kind of cynical exhaustion that ages him far beyond his years. “Girl,” he says. “You keep at this line of work, I guarantee you’ll be dead in a year.”

Morgan slicks his fingers through his wet hair to keep rainwater from dripping into his eyes, and you can see that the hangdog look is back on his face, all his suggested cruelty vanished like smoke. He shifts his attention back to the saddlebags. “No, I ain’t decent,” he continues. He pulls out a tin cup and the individual components of what looks to be a collapsible grill. “But I ain’t so far gone that I’d hurt a woman. Or sell one.”

“But you’d ransom one.”

“Figured it out, did you?” he says. “Thought you might.”

He sits back beside the fire and pieces the grill together, twists its winch tight and positions it over the fire. Then he fills the tin cup with water from the canteen and sets it atop to heat.

“If you don’t hurt women,” you say slowly, your right hand still holding the knife tight as a vise. “Then what’re you going to do to me when you find out I’m not worth ransoming?”

“Doubt that’s gonna be a problem.”

“Why not?”

“Had a brand new Mauser on ya. You know how much those things cost?”

Mentally, you kick yourself. Looks like begging the gunsmith to lend you the best pistol he had in stock has come back to bite you in the ass.

“The gun’s not mine,” you say quickly. “It’s a loan.”

“Those bloomers in your room were real silk. You gonna tell me those were a loan too?”

“You — my bloomers?! Why were you going through my bloomers, you fucking degen—”

Of all the things you’ve accused him of today, somehow this is the one that actually rankles him. “You think I like rummaging through women’s underwear? Had to go through ‘em to get to your billfold.”

You flush hard enough that even the tips of your ears feel hot. “I… I saved up for those bloomers. Not that I’d expect you to understand the importance of—

“That shirt’s custom tailored, ain’t it? Those boots, too. And that’s good leather right there. Far too good for your typical drug mule. Either you come from money, or you got rich friends.”

There’s not much you can rebut here. All you can manage is a lame, “You don’t even know who I am .”

“Got a friend not too far from here who’s plenty familiar with St Denis. He’ll know.” Morgan holds his hand out towards you. “Gimme that knife a second.”

The knife is the only scrap of protection you’ve managed to grab hold of through this entire ordeal. You squeeze its handle tight.

He lets out a short, impatient sigh. “If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it by now. So c’mere and hand it over.”

You’ve known men who take a certain vicious pleasure in abusing women. Merchants with cringing wives. Clients with kind faces who’d leave working girls battered and bruised. There’s usually a certain mien about them that sets you on edge and that Morgan, brusque as he is, thoroughly lacks.

You brush the wood shavings off your lap and approach him. When you reach his place beside the fire, he tilts his head upwards to meet your eyes, the look on his face calm and expectant. A self-assured confidence that you’ve seen many times before, in the guises of many different men. It sends a familiar shiver of resentment down your spine.

You could cut out his eye right now. You could sink the blade into the thick cord of his neck. And he’d shoot you dead just for trying it — oh, you’ve no doubt of that — but it’d be quick and it’d be painless, and here comes that pathetic urge again, that little whisper coaxing you deeper, deeper towards the welcoming dark —

But equally pathetic is the nagging insistence that always stays your hand, that strident, desperate plea born from bodily instinct. The shared fear of all life from the inevitable. Cowardice — that’s what it is. A cowardice you’ve never been able to shake, a resentful, stubborn tether that you’ve bitten and clawed at over the years, but that still stays looped firm around your neck.

( And what about Mei? What about her son? )

You hand him the knife, and he receives it without incident.

The water in the tin cup is boiling. Morgan slips the point of the knife through the cup’s metal handle, and delicately removes it from the grate to cool. As you stand there, wet and cold and resentful, but not sure what else to do, he saws the top off a can of beans and sets it on the grill to warm, then pulls something out of his satchel and tosses it in your direction.

Somehow, you manage to not fumble the catch. It’s a can of peaches.

“Don’t eat ‘em yet,” he says. “I wanna take a look at your arm first. Roll up your sleeve for me.”

You grimace. One of the pros of tailored shirts is having sleeves that actually fit. “It doesn’t roll up that far.”

“Then I’ll cut it off for you,” he says, putting the knife to the shoulder seam.

“Like hell you will. This is my last decent shirt.”

Morgan shrugs. “No way around it, unless you wanna take it off.”

A shirt nice enough to present a veneer of respectability costs at least $4. Your usual tailor’s fee runs about $2, plus tip. That’s $6 total: the equivalent of two week’s worth of food for Mei and her son. Good food — white rice and cabbage, maybe even a bit of pork belly. Not the bits of offal scrounged from the butcher and wilted produce she’d resort to otherwise.

You hold out your hand and say, “Give me something to cover myself with.”

Your time spent reading Ovid in college would have probably been better served learning to dress like him, you think to yourself as you try and try again to wrap Morgan’s blanket around yourself like a toga.

“I said I’d give you a minute to yourself,” he says. “It’s been more than three now. I’m gonna turn around.”

“Just ten more seconds,” you respond, hastily tucking the corner of the blanket into the horizontal swathe pulled taut across your torso.

The sheer amount of irritation he manages to convey in the sigh he lets out is really quite impressive. In it, you can somehow hear him rolling his eyes.

When you finally let him know you’re ready, he takes one look at you and has to stifle a laugh. “You could’ve just wrapped it around your chest. Woulda been more practical.”

“Oh, excuse me for wanting to preserve what’s left of my dignity,” you snap, keeping one arm pressed against your chest to keep the whole improvised garment from falling apart.

“Alright Caesar, c’mere. Let me see.”

The cut looks like an angry red furrow ploughed through the field of your skin. Its edges are ragged and torn, separated like poorly cut cloth. In between, the wound itself gleams red and raw, with particles and fibers mixed in with blood and indeterminate tissue.

Earlier, when you’d gingerly untied the makeshift bandage and taken off your shirt, you’d taken a silent moment to survey the damage, wondering with horrified fascination if it was perhaps your own muscle you were glimpsing, that particular facet of your body surfacing through its dermal barrier for the first time.

“I’m gonna hold your arm,” Morgan says. “That ok with you?”

You nod, a little dumbfounded that he of all people would have the foresight to ask for permission.

He lifts your arm towards the firelight so he can better examine the wound, and in doing so handles you with more care than you can remember any lover ever giving you. You tell yourself that it’s a rebuke of your own terrible taste than an indication of any extraordinary kindness on his part, then forcibly dredge up the memory of his gun at your back for good measure.

“You’re gonna have a hell of a scar after this,” he says, running his thumb along the unbroken skin below the cut. “No inflammation, which is good. I’ll patch you up the best I can, but we’re still gonna want to check on it every couple hours to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

He gets up to rummage through his saddlebags and returns holding a roll of gauze and a bottle of clear liquid. “You’ll be wanting this,” he says, handing over the latter. “This’ll hurt.”

You take a swig and nearly choke on it. “What the hell is this?”

“Grain alcohol.”

Grimacing, you bring it to your lips again and take in two more mouthfuls of the stuff before handing it back, gulping it down quick to get the burn of it down your throat and off of your tongue.

Morgan hovers his hand over the tin cup to test its temperature. “This needs to cool down first. Gives you some time for that liquor to set in too.”

“I think it’s going to my head already,” you admit.

Heat is spreading from the warm pit of your stomach to your neck and face, branching through your veins as sure as blood. The thud of your heart, previously an imperceptible thing, now asserts itself like a metronome.

He glances over at you and whistles low. “Not much of a drinker, are you?”

“Not usually.” You press your palm against your cheek. “Am I turning red?”

“Gettin’ there.”

It’s strange, settling into this oddly comfortable limbo between cordiality and aggression. Your sustained caution of him is beginning to wane so steadily that you have to consciously remind yourself the only reason he hasn’t shot you dead or at least seriously injured you is due to the fact that you’re worth more intact than otherwise.

“So,” Morgan says. “What’s someone with silk bloomers doin’ all the way out here runnin’ opium to Strawberry?”

“It’s a very long and stupid story.”

“Then give me the short version.”

You stare at the ground as though it’ll offer you some way to condense the sordid affair of your life into a couple easy sentences. He’d asked the question with what sounded like genuine curiosity instead of interrogation, and for once you feel inclined to blurt out the whole of it, like a girl in confession.

You want to tell him about how small the missionaries had seemed when you’d waved at them through the train’s grime-smudged window, not knowing it’d be the last time. The tweed jacket tossed carelessly onto the floor, and the cool, smooth sheen of mahogany against your skin. Feng fishing you out from the dark water lapping at the docks. The money, the opium, the blood.

The sight of the Heartlands for the first time, its blue horizon impossibly vast.

“I owe someone a lot of money,” you say finally, fiddling with a piece of grass between your fingers, tearing into halves and halves and halves. “He said it was either this or the brothel.”

“And you chose this. Runnin’ dope to those poor bastards working the railroads.”

It’s not the first time you’ve heard this particular tone of voice. The kind that implies its speaker’s higher moral ground as it categorically condemns you. But coming from him makes its sting especially hard.

“I don’t force them to buy it,” you say hotly. “It’s not just me that’s at fault here.”

“You ever seen a dope addict? They ain’t got a goddamn choice —”

“Well, d’you know what the average lifespan of a Chinatown whore is?” You don’t bother waiting for a response before plummeting to the answer. “Two years. After that she’s either dead from syphilis or suicide. At least with the opium I’ll die out here in the open and not in some squalid closet of a room that smells like piss and men.”

The liquor is starting to hit hard , and a part of you is fiercely grateful for it. It’s been a long time since you’ve been given an excuse to scream out the inequities of your life to someone, and a man who’s holding you for ransom seems as good a target for your vitriol as any.

“You think that just ‘cause it’d be better for the greater good or some shit, they should get to fuck me over? Is that what you think?”

Morgan seems a little taken aback. “I didn’t say th—”

“I don’t give a shit about the addicts. I don’t give a shit who’s life I’m ruining, as long as it isn’t mine. I don’t… I don’t care about anyone else because I’m a terrible excuse for a human being. That’s what you want to hear me say, right?” At this point, you realize that you’ve transitioned into a hysterical rant, that you don’t properly mean half the things you’re saying, but saying it out loud feels good nonetheless, like sucking venom from a festering wound. “But people like you don’t get to tell me so. Because at least I don’t hold people at fucking gunpoint . I don’t rob banks or kidnap women or beat debtors. I’m not a fucking murderer like you—”

The last statement barely clears the air before the image of the dead O’Driscoll, sprawled across the ground with his belly torn open, flashes through your head. You immediately clap your hand over your mouth, as if doing so will let you swallow back your words.

“No,” Morgan says, “You ain’t a murderer. And that’s why you won’t last long.”

“Good,” you seethe. The hot sting of tears begins prickling again at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to.”

He raises his eyebrows and regards you with a vague, detached kind of pity that makes you almost wish he’d just outright condemn you instead, then touches his fingers to the tin cup. “Water’s cool enough now, I think.”

You feel like a petulant child who’s just thrown an ineffectual tantrum. Rendered self-conscious and obedient for the time being, you allow him to secure your elbow with his hand and begin irrigating the wound with warm water.

“Jesus fucking god,” you hiss. You reflexively try and jerk away, but he holds you still and tells you to stop squirming, his grip firm as iron.

It’s the worst pain you’ve felt in years. Like a lick of flame passing over your skin, echoing its progenitor again and again as he washes the cut with a series of short, measured trickles of water, flushing away the combined grime of dried blood, dust, and lint.

“You think this is bad,” he says, unscrewing the bottle of grain alcohol. “Wait’ll I sterilize it.”

If the water was flame, then the alcohol is a streak of molten lava, wet fire soaking through the wound in a rush of white-hot burning pain. You don’t scream — you let out a weak, choking sob so pathetic that you cover your mouth again in an attempt to stifle it.

But you’re a little drunk and your subconscious recognizes this as an excellent excuse to cry, and so it lets flood the tears you’ve kept stoppered up for hours now. You whimper, meet his eyes briefly, then start bawling.

Your crying before hadn’t seemed to bother him, but now he looks almost comically alarmed. He must think it’s the physical pain sending you into hysterics, because he starts trying to comfort you the same way he did Boadicea when he’d led her into the river.

“You’re doin’ good,” he says, cajoling you in a soft, affectionate voice. He sets the bottle of alcohol on the ground and pats you awkwardly on the shoulder. “Just a little more to go, and we’ll be done.”

Another agonizing, scorching splash of fire. He doesn’t chide you this time when you try to pull away.

“Shhhh… I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, don’t it? I’m gonna give it one more rinse, and — yeah, there we go. You’re alright.”

Morgan wraps the bandage over your arm with deft, practiced fingers, and you wonder briefly how many times he’s had to do this for himself, with no one to soothe him. Though better that than the shoddy job you’d done on him six weeks ago, frantically patching him up with just the barest idea of what you were doing.

He ties off the bandage, then picks the can of peaches off the ground, pops open its metal lid with the tip of his knife and proffers it to you like a peace offering. “Here. You’re hungry, right?”

It’s very hard to cry and eat at the same time. You decide to concentrate on the latter.

After tapering your sobs down to a series of quiet, resentful sniffles, you begin gulping down mouthful after messy mouthful of sliced peach. It’s the first morsel of food you’ve had in over ten hours, and you wolf it down so quickly you hardly taste it. Just an impression of cloying sweetness mixed with something faintly aromatic (cinnamon, you think) lingering as an aftertaste.

The old instincts of hunger are hard to shake off. All decorum thoroughly discarded, you raise the can to your lips and drink down what syrup remains, tilting it nearly perpendicular to the ground to get at the last few drops.

“My god,” Morgan says. “I seen dogs with better manners.”

“If you’d fed me earlier, then I— what’re you doing.”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he asks. He holds his bandolier in one hand. The other is working at his shirtcollar. “I’m gettin’ the hell outta these wet clothes.”

You clutch at the empty can of peaches as his union suit reveals itself in a revelation of blue. A blue which, you admit to yourself with an uncomfortable surge of appreciation, suits the shade of his eyes extremely well. But when he begins unbuckling his belt, you quickly avert your eyes. “Really?” you ask. The scandalization you probably ought to have felt from the very moment he’d begun undressing finally begins to surface. “Your pants, too?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m keepin’ the union suit on.”

“Are you usually this brazen with the women you kidnap?”

“D’you usually sit around half-naked with the men who kidnap you?” he asks, jabbing his thumb towards your own discarded shirt, which you’d spread out neatly beside the fire to dry.

“That’s different,” you hiss, knowing very well that it isn’t. “I had a medical reason.”

“Yeah, and so do I. I don’t wanna get pneumonia.”

He has a point. You look down at your own sodden trousers, which cling to your skin in a cold, wet embrace, and your internal scale of comfort versus propriety tips decidedly towards the former.

“Turn your back again,” you tell him.

“What for?”

“I’m gonna take my pants off too, and I don’t want you trying to sneak a peek at my bloomers.”

He laughs, then winces and gingerly splays his fingers across his ribs. It’s the first sign of real levity you’ve seen from him. “Oh, that is the last thing on my mind right now, girl.” There’s a tired grin on his face, and were it not for the events of the day, you might have almost found it endearing. “Besides, you ain’t hardly my type.”

“Well that’s good to hear,” you reply, a little offended. “Because I’m not interested in men with terrible taste.”

But he does as he’s told, and when you’re satisfied with the oblique angle of his range of sight, you let the borrowed blanket fall from your shoulders and pull the ribbon securing your braid free. You rake your fingers through your hair until it hangs loose, then gather the ends of it in one hand and twist it tight to wring out the rainwater. Only then do you pull the blanket back over your shoulders and begin to undress.

First, your boots. Then the knee-length woolen socks, which have left their cable-knit weave as an imprint on your skin. After glancing at him one more time to make sure his face is turned discreetly away, you unbuckle your belt and wriggle your way out of your trousers. It takes some maneuvering, and some thoroughly indecent posturing, to finally get them off. You leave your cotton bloomers on, figuring that the warmth of the fire will dry the thin material soon enough.

When you look back at Morgan, you find that he’s since turned back towards you. Not to gawk, but to get a better look at his own wounds in the firelight.

His union suit is half-unbuttoned. Most of his bare chest is visible, and along with it, the bruises from the ricocheted bullet. A mottle of blue and violet, like a spill of ink that radiates from the negative imprint of the flask that took the impact in his place. And right below it, a glimpse of your own handiwork.

When you’d first found him, the cut had spanned diagonal across his torso, trailing shallow from his chest and biting deep near the ridge of his hip. Most of it’s healed over since, but the edges are angry and inflamed still, and you can see the fading marks of your inexpert stitches laid like railroad tracks over the land of his skin.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t looked at you,” Morgan says. He probes gently at an indigo patch and inhales sharply. “Too busy lickin’ my own wounds.”

If you look closer, you can see the remnants of multiple scuffs and scratches. A history of violence storied across his body, told in the pale lettering of scars, many of them recent. An unwelcome pang of guilt settles itself low in your belly. It looks like he’s been on the road for a while, healing sporadically through long stretches of hard journeying. Hard journeying made worse, no doubt, by your theft of his bonds.

“You… uh. You want me to keep carving off wet bark?”

“Nah,” he says distractedly, still trying to determine the depth of the damage left behind. “Should be fine leavin’ the rest of it to dry out by the fire.”

You draw the blanket tighter around your shoulders, then root around your head for something, anything to talk about. Anything to get this burgeoning sympathy for Arthur Morgan out of your head.

“Your friend in St Denis,” you say finally. “He’s not gonna know much about me if he doesn’t speak Chinese.”

Morgan absentmindedly scratches his chin as he begins buttoning his union suit back up. “Wouldn’t put it past him. I know he’s had dealings with ‘em in the past.”

Something clicks in the back of your head. Long overdue recognition like puzzle pieces fitting together. “What’s his name?”

“Josiah,” he says.

“Josiah,” you echo. The spark of some fit of emotion is beginning to rise in your throat. “Josiah… Trelawney?”

His bewildered face is enough to confirm your suspicions. Relief, anger, confusion — all of them flood you at once with such intensity that you have to take a moment to squeeze your eyes shut. When you open them, you take a deep breath and swallow hard. “Josiah Trelawney’s the son of a bitch I sold your bonds to.”

———

Massive thanks to @reddeaddufus for editing not only this chapter, but the entirety of this fic. This whole thing would be a lot more disjointed if it weren't for her.

Definitely give her fic Red Dead Pursuit a look. The main character is extremely compelling, the plot is fast-paced, and the porn is A+. Her writing style is also a delight to read.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #fic #red dead redemption #rdr2 #my work #talking bird

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iwannaholdyoutight- · 5 years ago

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Oh, my love (pour me that jack and coke)

Summary: only one more time won’t make any difference, right?

Warnings: FWB!harry, smut. Just the life I wanted to live, honestly.

Wordk count: 3K (small one, sorry, my job and uni are kind of hard right now)

My masterlist

A/n: heeey guys I’m back this time with a fic for @stylesharrys 10k celebration. I got the prompt FWB!harry: “you’re alright, love? You seem a bit flustetered”. Don’t forget to support the other authors who are participating on the challenge HERE. And the singer they listen at the festival that takes place in the flashback is this ONE.

PREVIEW

Natalie Portman was dancing with her pink wing on the tv and y/n could feel Harry’s eyes on her, hands touching her right arm in a flirtatious behavior. He was wearing a white shirt and black running shorts. She looked at him and his intense eye stare was running through her, she was feeling his desire; the sensual scene only adding to the fire that was always between them and since last satuday increased to a wildfire. She wanted to sit on his lap and give the actress on the tv a run for her money, giving him the best lap dance ever.

“Have you ever recieved a lap dance?”

“Yeah. Have you ever given one?”

“No” she said timidly, suddenly feeling insecure.

“Do you want to give me one?�� Harry asked with hooded eyes and a smirk on his face, tha last rays of sunshine paiting his face a beautiful golden tone, letting his eyes look clear, almost blue.

“Do you think is a good idea that we do this one more time?”

He smirk at her, his hands fully incansing her face:

“I mean... only one more time won’t make any difference, right?”

They were sitting together at the coffee just down from their work place. Y/n was staring at the judgmental eyes of her best friend, Natasha. Her black eyes looked like two grapes because of her wide stare.

“It’s not a big deal” y/n said, drinking from her cappuccino with a douple shot and a hint of mint essence.

“He’s your best friend”

“Who can I trust more to fuck me without breaking my heart than my best friend?”

“You don’t think NOTHING could go wrong?”

Nat was raising her voice, a little bit surprised that her childhood friend just told her that Harry fucked her just 6 days ago, at the Lights festival

“I don’t know if I want to know more or ask you to never talk about it”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tell you if the rumors are true?”

“You are a little bitch. Tell me all of it”

6 days ago...

She was seeing the worlds in colors. The woman singing on the staged was called Sevdaliza and she had the most sensual music ever.

Harry, just like her, was high and they both ended up loosing their friends in the middle of the crowd. Y/n looked at Harry with his glittery yellow shirt and white jeans. He looked like he fit the part: graduated from film school, always writing poetry and reading them at the coffee next to his house. He was celebrating: his script was going to be shot, the small production office decided to endorse his project and he was on cloud nine.

Quite differently from the time she met him: undergrad student, insecure about his art. She worked as a designer and photographer and met him at a visual arts masterclass a few years back, when they were both on their early twenties. Now, each day closer to reaching the big 30s, they were the best of friends. Always together.

Y/n always thought they had nothing but friendship, but now, so close to him, listening to Sevdaliza voice melt the audience of the festival, with his cinnamon smell so tangible in the air and his bird warmt so close: she wasn’t so sure if it was just friendship.

And she can’t deny, she was curious if the rumors were true: was he THAT good in bed or all the lovers of his she ever met were just easily impressed?

What she didn’t spect was for Harry to also have the same questions. He was just behind her getting closer and closer till both of his arms were around her waist and he was crouching so his face could fit like a pluzze in the curve where her neck met her shoulder.

“You smell good” Harry said in a low voice that was meant just for her

“H, what are you doing?”

“I was just wondering...” he was using his hands to turn her around but not releasing her from him, his nose touching hers, his mint breath blinding all of her senses “we are so good together, always helping each other out, figuring it out exactly just what the other wants. So... maybe... you and I could make quite a pair on the sheets...” that only thing Harry got wrong the night was about the sheets: they fucked in her living room.

Now

If you ask y/n she doesn’t remember who kissed who. But they kissed till the show was over and next thing she knew they were sharing a uber back to her place. Nat was staring at her like she had comitted a crime. She wasn’t planning on telling anyone, thinking it was a one time thing. But she was surprised when during a presentation during work she god a text from Harry asking if she wanted to go back to his place after work and maybe have a repeat of last Saturday and Nat was right beside her.

So she had to tell. But judging by Nats reaction, it would have been better if she had lied about it.

“You’re still going to his place. Even if you know what might happen?”

“I mean... is another time really going to make any difference?”

Latter that day

The bus was moving slowly, the 5 o’clock traffic was the worse: nobody had patience, everybody with a 9-5 job was just crazy to finally get home and be able to rest.

From the bus window y/n could see the sky painting the city, the golden light was starting to make itself aware, combining with the aesthetic of the old buildings and bridges.

That’s probably one of her favorite things to do: observe the town she lived in; that city was just so beautiful. There was a contrast of the old with the new. The sun reflecting on the river, calm as ever, while people were running across the streetwalks, dreaming of a homecooked meal and a place to rest.

The bus was taking a left, ready to cross the revolving bridge. Harry’s place was getting closer and she could feel her stomach starting to turn with anxiety all of it in the forms of butterflies.

Harry’s place was above an old movie place, people say the building dates back to the 1930s: 5 floors, the first being an old movies that still worked, only showcasing indie movies and oldies from the 40-80s. She remembers the first time she ever visited Harry, they talked for hours to end and then they went to the screening of a Doris Day festival. She went home that day singing to herself the theme song of the movie Pillow Talk, thinking to herself why she never went to an old movie theater till that day.

After getting off the bus, she walked just around 10 meters till she was face to face with the old movie theater sign. Today they would have a screening of shorts films from the 40s from 6 to 8 pm and then they would showcase the new movie based on Gloria Steinem’s best seller memoire called The glorias. Maybe if they were done till 10pm she could catch the movie.

Harry’s apartment was on the second floor, with a wooden door, a cat tapestry underneath saying: meowcom. She never thought it was funny but when they saw it at the street fair last year he laughter so hard at it she decided to give him as a Secret Santa gift.

“Don’t you look tired yet dashing this fine evening , miss” said his voice once he opened the door. Stepping aside so she could come in.

She went for a hug, he went for a kiss: they nocked their foreheads.

“Fuck why does your head have to be so big” she asked while taking her shoes off and walking towards his strawberry shaped sofa.

“You can’t expect me to be a movie genius with a small head, right?”

“The question is: what head are you talking about?”

“You know I have both heads quite big, so I don’t know why you asked” he took her purse from her, resting the object on the small table he had set closer to the door so he could always throw whatever he had in his hands there. Y/n took the moment to appreciate how he looked today: baby pink flare trousers and a graphic shirt, he was barefoot but with his rings still on his fingers; she knew he got home not too long ago.

“Harry what is that smell” she was referring to the tangerine smell that was all around his place

“Oh, it’s this tangerine essence oil I got from my upstairs neighbor... you know that one that always reads your tarot?”

“You’re talking about the witch?”

“Yeah, she prefers to refer herself as Wicca but yeah, her. She gave it to me to clean my energy now that I have this big project. And it smells quite nice, doesn’t?”

“Yeah it does” she could feel his eyes on her while she was playing with her nails “so what do you wanna do today?”

“I was thinking we could watch a movie here and then we can see where we wanna go from there?”

“do you have any jack and coke?”

He smirked at her and said:

“With ice?”

The night was young and it was only starting...

After a few glasses and a heated conversation about what movie they were going to watch, they both settled for closer because of the crush they shared on the cast.

Natalie Portman was dancing with her pink wing on the tv and y/n could feel Harry’s eyes on her, hands touching her right arm in a flirtatious behavior. He had changed his outfit, now wearing a white shirt and black running shorts. She looked at him and his intense eye stare was running through her, she was feeling his desire; the sensual scene only adding to the fire that was always between them and since last satuday increased to a wildfire. She wanted to sit on his lap and give the actress on the tv a run for her money, giving him the best lap dance ever.

“Have you ever recieved a lap dance?”

“Yeah. Have you ever given one?”

“No” she said timidly, suddenly feeling insecure.

“Do you want to give me one?” Harry asked with hooded eyes and a smirk on his face, tha last rays of sunshine painting his face a beautiful golden tone, letting his eyes look clear, almost blue.

“Do you think is a good idea that we do this one more time?”

He smirk at her, his hands fully incansing her face:

“I mean… only one more time won’t make any difference, right?”

With that being said, he turned the movie off and she got up from the couch, going to the bathroom and started to look at herself on the mirror

“You know what you need to do. You’ve never done it yourself but you know, I know he has more experience but he is your friend. Nothing can go wrong because he can help you. You both thrust each other and when it comes to sex consent and thrust are the two most important things. You have both with him.”

While y/n was having a mental breakdown over a lap dance, Harry was excited with the idea, cleaning the pizza they were eating and taking the now empty cups of jack and coke back to the kitchen.

He didn’t tell anyone but he was so glad they fucked last Saturday. It just made everything better. She didn’t have to know about how he always had the hots for her. She didn’t have to know that sometimes he would take people to his bed and picture they were her. And she definitely didn’t have to know that another time does make a difference to him.

Diming the lights and looking for the perfects songs to go on about this night. He was shaking with anticipation. After choosing to just play Childsish Bambino (you can never go wrong with that guy) he sat on the couch and that was the moment she opened the door of his bathroom. She had taken off her pants, just with her social shirt loose on her body, with the buttons down to the middle of her chest, her hair always messy and her very colored lips looking so delicious, just waiting for him to say “come here” and she would go... like a little puppy.

“I have never done this so you need to be nice to me”

“Darling... I’m always nice”

She walked over to him, but stopping halfway, going on her fours and crawling her way to him.

“I still have a lot of bite marks on my boobs that prove the exact opposite” now standing in front on him, on her knees, spreading him open, with her tint hands massaging his thighs, marking her way to his short “you don’t mind if I take off your shorts right” she was with her face inching closer to his legs, resting her head right on top of the tiger tattoo, teasing him “I have never given someone a lap dance but I do know that the less clothe, the better if feels”

With both of her hands she took off his pants while he got rid of his shirt. Standing still she admired his body, why did she waited so much to get on it with him? He was soft on the sides but with a strength beneat the bones, with a few abs and chest bigger than most. Green fucked up eyes and rosy lips. He deserved to be on all of the screens, all of the stages, not living in a small flat above an old movie theater.

“You know” Harry broke the silence “for one to give a lap dance she must actually be on top of him”

She didn’t answered him, instead sitting herself on his knees not allowing him any more than that touch. With the tips of his fingers he started to trace her face, admiring her. She was a beacon of light, with every color shining inside her eyes, every sin could be found in her lips but every prayer was found on the way she would blush at his words.

Putting her hair behind her shoulder she got closer and closer to him, using her knees on either side of his body to help her move. Feeling his warmth. She didn’t know how to give a lap dance but she knows him. She knows what makes his knees buckle and what makes him shiver. She was going to make him her little puppy. So with all the confidence she could muster, biting his vein that was always apparent on the neck, her hips started to move.

He was semi hard but the more she moved, the more she could feel him getting harder. That was one of the things she loved the most about sex: the foreplay.

“You know” she got back to talking, not stopping her hips, using her hands to tease all of his body “when we are like this is when I remember how much I’ve always wanted you”

“Fuck, love. You’re going to kill me”

“Oh my love, you have not seen a thing” with one of her hands she started to take off her shirt, leaving her with a rose gold brallete that matched her barely there panties “You alright, love? Look a bit flustered.”

She was mocking him, trying to copy his British accent but that only got him a side smile while his eyes were fixated on the way her nipples could be seen through the piece of glittery fabric. She was having so much fun

“You know” Harry said trying to get a bit of his control back “when you talk like this, you drive me fucking mad” with one hand climbing on her back, till he reached for her roots, tugging on it, now she didn’t knew it she was the one in control “when you mess with my neck, or when I pull your thighs further apart and I can feel just how wet you actually are and then you kiss me and I’m closer to the point of no return”

With a hand behind and knee he got up, changing position and spreading her all over the tapestry on the floor, the fluffy blood red velvet matching with her skin. He now had the upper hand and he was going to make a good use of it.

With his kisses going down her neck, he started to rut his body against her. Her moisture could be felt throught his underwear and there was nothing that Harry wanted more than to fully ravish the defenseless girl panting underneath his tattooed body. Glistening with sweat and moaning without an ounce of regret.

He wanted her to know he was the only one that could do this to her. With his hand playing with her breast while the other was getting closer and closer to her mound, he looked at her. With her open mouth and closed eyes, out of a painting that deserved its place on the Louvre. He decided to use her own words against her:

“You alright, love? Look a bit frustrated”

“You asshole just fuck me already”

“Yeah, I’ll fuck you good. But only if you promise to stay the night”

“Is this really a good idea?”

“One more time won’t make any difference, right?”

Laughing at the irony she pulled him closer. They had a deal... because it won’t make any difference, right?

But it did.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #fwb harry #harry fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #fallinharry10k

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ikleesfiction · 5 years ago

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Will you follow through if I fall for you?

Fandom : One Chicago Word count : 2,409 words Disclaimer

Previously on this fic : Part 1 🞂 Part 2 🞂 Part 3 🞂 Part 4 🞂 Part 5

Part 6

It's been a few days since your date night with Jay. It went much better than you expected. You knew from the start that Jay is a good guy and probably a sweet lover too. But after that night, you found out that there's more to him than his good look and easy-going attitude. Jay's gentleness soothes your insecurities. His understanding warms you from inside. It's hard to feel miserable when he's around. You cannot help but latch on to him.

You and Jay keep texting and calling each other every day, but you only got to meet him once since then. For a coffee date before he ran to work while you went for your PT session. His job doesn't leave a lot of spare time, so you relish all the time he spends with you.

You hear your phone rings when you have your lunch. There is a video call request from your best friend and work-mate, Alex. "Hey, you! I miss your stupid face!" you greet him.

"You know what's not stupid?" Alex ignores your greeting. "The new material I received this morning

He refers to an email you sent him last night. Instead of sleeping, you wrote some lines and tinkered some notes on your electric keyboard. It was still very rough, but you and Alex swap ideas all the time. They could be a bar of melodies or chord progressions. Or maybe a single line that you cannot get out of your head, even there's no context to it.

"Wanna work on it soon?" Alex proposes.

"Yeah, sure!" you easily agree.

"You know I'm gonna ask how you come up with that song idea, right?" Alex probes further. He got an idea about your sudden burst of inspiration, but you haven't told him anything yet so far.

"You can ask. I might not answer", you nonchalantly retort. "Are you asking now?"

"I would, but I just arrived at my parents' house for our weekly dinner", Alex turns his camera phone and shows you his family dining table. "Say hi to Y/N, Pop" He lets his parents know that you're on the phone.

"Hallo, Liefje" Alex's parents greet and wave at you. "I miss you, Y/N. How are you doing, darling?" Alex's mom squeals at you.

"I miss you guys too. I miss home," you utter mournfully.

"I saw your dad last week. He and your mom cannot wait to have you back home next month. As are we." Alex's dad informs you.

Your face gets even more upset. "I haven't told my parents yet, but it's gonna be another two months. It's not working out as good as they wanted"

Alex's parents let out a sympathetic noise. "Oh great, I still have two more months to hide all my chocolate from you" Alex teases you instead. He knows if he doesn't throw any humor here, you're going to weep. The family laughs at your offended look.

"Where's Sara?" you ask them when you didn't notice Alex's little sister on the table.

"She's getting ready for a date after dinner. Said they will go stargazing. Can you believe it?" Alex skeptically recounts to you.

"Hmm, that sounds romantic. Good for her." you hum your appreciation. Alex can see twinkles in your eyes.

"Of course, you thought it was charming", Alex sounds vexed.

"Why are you so grumpy about this? You have a hit song that compared someone's eyes with the moon", you remind him. "Last time I checked, that song already got more than 400 million streams on Spotify". Alex just grumbles incoherently, while you can hear his father's booming laugh in the background.

"Alex, would you please call your sister down for dinner?" Alex's mom orders him.

"Alright, ma. Gotta go, Y/N. I'll call you later when I'm back at the studio. Bye, sis!" Alex ends the call.

◢◤

Kelly Severide comes to your place in the evening after he finished his shift. He called you on your cell several times, but you didn't pick them up. He knocked on your door for a few minutes without answers. Worried that something bad happened to you, he uses his key to open your apartment door. You gave him a spare when you began your recovery from the incident. Since you got nobody in town except for the 51 Family, you thought at least one of them should have access to your place, in case you need help.

Kelly sees you sitting on your corner desk with headphones on. Your head is nodding to the beat you're working on. Relieved to know you okay, but feels a bit annoyed, Kelly taps your shoulder lightly. You jump in surprise, almost fall from your chair if Kelly doesn't hold you down.

"Kelly! What..! Why are you..??" your heart is still pounding in shock, makes you unable to finish your thoughts properly.

"I knocked! And called you many times! Neither you answered! I was afraid that you fell and unconscious so I used my key", Kelly exclaims.

You check your phone and see seven missed calls from Kelly. "Sorry, I left my phone on mute, somehow"

Kelly goes to raid your fridge and takes a bottle of apple juice. "Your fridge needs beers" he judges. "Go, get ready! We'll hang out at Molly's. Everyone misses you", Kelly orders you.

"I'm working, Kelly. Just because my work has no shifts, doesn't mean I can go anytime you want", protest you.

"You work for your best friend, who's in another continent right now. You can slack off for a bit" he dismisses your complaint.

"I'm making big progress here. My writing juice is flowing", you point at your laptop.

"One hour. I give you one hour to work. Then I'm hauling you out of here. In the meantime, I'm gonna order take out for us", Kelly decides.

You only mumble your disagreement, knowing that you're gonna lost the argument anyway. So you just put your headphones back on your head. However, Kelly pokes you again five minutes later, with his phone on hand, "Hey, do you want Thai or Greek? I'm in the mood for Greek right now", Kelly playfully asks you.

"Yeah, Greek is fine" you start to feel bothered.

He leaves to order the food while you're back to do your work. Ten minutes passed, Kelly drags a chair from the kitchen island to your side. He knocks on the table to catch your attention.

"Hey, I just remember, Brett said they saw you rescued somebody at the swimming pool last week. How did that happen?" he questions.

You let out a desperate sigh. "You're not going to let me work in peace, are you?"

Kelly just grins. "C'mon, we haven't hung out for a while. Lots of drama to share"

You save your work in defeat and then move to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. Kelly sits on the couch with legs resting on the coffee table. You place yourself next to Kelly.

"They extend my therapy for another month" you restlessly play with your bottle cap.

"Is it not going well?" Kelly asks in concern.

"I got cramps that day at the swimming pool. They worried I damaged something. So they prefer to be cautious" you fill him in.

"That's when you rescued Dr. Manning's son " Kelly tries to clarify.

"Well, I just pulled him out of the water. The pool guard was the one who helped him breathe" you shrug.

"You assisted. It still counts as a rescue", Kelly insists. "Bet if Dr. Manning knew, she would buy you drinks at Molly's forever"

"More like got invited to dinner at their place," you mutter.

"Hmm, that's probably true" Kelly pauses for a moment, thinking. "Wait, did you meet her?" he grills you.

"Yeah. And her fiancé. I came to the hospital to check on Owen. Then next thing I knew I'm having family dinner with Manning/Halstead clan", you convey to him.

Kelly's phone chirps interruptedly. "Food's here" He goes to pick up the food from the delivery guy. "Alright, let's eat then we can go to Molly's"

◢◤

Jay is nursing his first beer as he watches Will bottoms up his third glass of whiskey. Will called him earlier in the evening, claimed that he needs bro night out after a shitty day at Med. Jay's initial plan to have dinner with you got scrapped before he even asked.

"Maybe you need to pace yourself, Will", Jay suggests to him as Will signs to Otis for a refill.

"Yeah, Doc. Maybe you want to switch? We have a nice Dutch craft beer chilling here", Otis offers. But Will is still holding out his empty glass to him, silently demanding for more. "Okay then" sighs Otis as he fills the glass.

Jay hears the commotions at the other end of the bar. He recognizes some people from Firehouse 51 there. Christopher Hermann is cackling, while Matt Casey grins widely. They pay attention to someone that is sitting among the group, but he cannot see who because Severide is blocking his view.

Jay checks his phone while he finishes his beer. He received a text from you beforehand, told him that she's going out to meet her friends tonight. He texted back, wishing her to enjoy her night out, but got no replies. Will notices Jay's scrolling on his phone and asks, "Do you need to go back to work?"

"Nah, just checking my texts" Jay puts his phone back in his pocket. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Not in the slightest. But I still have to go to work tomorrow. If I wanna do better than today, I cannot do that with a hangover" Will sulks. "Hey Gabby, I would like to try that craft beer Otis suggested" he requests to Gabby who passes by.

"Would you like one as well, Jay?" Gabby offers him.

"Alright, why not.." Jay accepts the new bottle.

"Is this a new batch? Don't think I ever have it here before", comments Will after his first sip.

"Yeah! Just start to come in this month. It's a friend's favorite. She hooked us up with a supplier directly from The Netherlands. You like it?" Gabby enthusiastically claims.

"It's good. But still not Bourbon", Will pouts. Jay lets out a snort while Gabby snickers.

Jay looks around the bar as he savors his beer. He paused when he thought he saw you sitting among the 51 Gang. Will notices and looks in the same direction. "Is that Y/N?" asks Will.

Jay stands up for his seat, "I'm gonna go say hi to her"

◢◤

You feel a palm pressed to your back as you hear someone's saying from behind, "Didn't expect to see you here tonight"

You turn your back immediately as you realize whose voice it is, "Jay!" shout you excitedly. You open your arms to hug him. Jay lands a chaste kiss on your lips before hugs you back.

Kelly and Matt look at each other over your head with eyebrows raised. "Well, that's something I didn't expect" goads Kelly.

"Severide, Casey" Jay gives them an acknowledging nod with his hands stay on your hips.

"How do you know each other?" Matt asks curiously.

Jay opens his mouth to reply, but you hear Will's interruption, "You guys finally made it, huh?" Jay rolls his eyes at his brother.

"These guys have been sending heart-eyes at each other since they first met" Will tips off the 51 gang. "Which I arranged, by the way. But this result was unintentional"

"No, we're not!" you try to deny.

"I was there, Y/N, at your almost first kiss" Will divulges.

"Oh my god!" you hide your blushing face behind your palms. Jay smacks a kiss on the side of your head, amused while the group makes fun of you.

"I guess this happened after Y/N rescued Owen?" Sylvie asks to confirm.

"Ooooh yes, our next year candidate!" Hermann yells. The others just clap and whistle in response. You thud your head to the bar table, abashed.

"Hey, don't be embarrassed. We are proud of you" Casey remarks. "That said if you want to go to the academy..." he continues.

"Nuh-uh, I love my job, thank you very much" you quickly state.

You spend the rest of the night beside Jay, chatting and laughing with 51 Family and Halstead brothers until you let out a big yawn. "Tired?" Jay asks you softly.

You nod, "Beer always made me sleepy"

"Let me settle the tabs, then I'll take you home" Jay squeezes your shoulder as he stands up.

Kelly observes you and Jay throughout the night. When Jay left your side, he lowly speaks to you after making sure everyone else is busy conversing elsewhere. "So Jay Halstead is the one who got your juice's flowing, huh?"

"Kelly!" you slap his arm, agape.

"I mean your writing juice! You said it earlier!" Kelly yelps, but his smirk contradicts his words.

"You're the worst" you just shake your head.

Kelly's face turns serious for a moment, "Does he know about your situation?"

"What situation?" you try to sound innocent, but Kelly just gives you a look.

"Told him about the collapsing stage" you deflated.

"Have you told him that you're leaving in two months?" Kelly pushes.

"It's still too early. Who knows, Jay might end this soon", your voice sounds unsure.

"Don't think so. He looks quite smitten by you. Should probably tell him soon", Kelly disagrees.

"I'm happy right now, Kels. Can I just enjoy this for a while?" you start to lose patience with him.

"He deserves to know" Kelly persists.

You look down at the table, your fist is clenched in frustration. Jay comes back and notices the tense atmosphere. "Is everything okay?"

You reply with a forced smile, "Yeah, let's get out of here" then stand up from your seat and give Kelly a quick hug, "Thanks, Kels"

You move to say goodbye to the rest of the group, which takes a bit of time since everyone wants a hug or has something to tell you.

"C'mon guys, my boyfriend has waited long enough" you cry out when Sylvie and Gabby hold you back from going. The group guffaw even louder and playfully nudges Jay, who just beams brightly at you.

"Good night, guys!" you casually shout, finally getting away from the rest of the group, with Jay's hand in yours.

Next on this fic : Part 7

+x Taglist +x

@shipshipshipau @itsdesiree86 @thevelvetseries @annaallicce

#fanfiction #jay halstead x reader #original work #one chicago #one chicago fic #chicago pd fic #chicago pd tv #jay halstead fic #jay halstead imagine #kelly severide #will halstead #matt casey #gabriela dawson #sylvie brett #christopher hermann #otis zvonecek #wyftiiffy

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perseusannabeth · 5 years ago

Text

My Hunger Knows No Bounds - Part 2

Okay, so this is based off a prompt I got, asking me for an Elriel labour fic. I kinda had to end up splitting it in two, because I'm still writing, and this would get super long otherwise. Part 3 is coming soon, I promise! Also I've not properly proof read this so I'm sorry for any mistakes. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1

Read on AO3

Ever since Elain had knocked on his door to ask for some food, they had set up a routine. They hadn't told anyone else about it, especially not their siblings. Cauldron knew that they were all a bunch of busybodies, and would ruin a perfectly good thing with their meddling. Azriel could already imagine his brothers with their knowing looks and raised eyebrows, and he didn’t want to imagine what Elain’s sisters would say or do, especially not Nesta. He knew that they meant well, but there was no way that he was ready for his brothers to start talking about the possibility of him being in a relationship again, and he knew that was exactly what Cass and Rhys would start talking about if they heard about the set up he had with Elain.

Plus, with Cassian and his big mouth, there's no way Mor and Ciara wouldn't find out. While he knew that he could get Mor off his back easily enough (just tell her about Amren's secret relationship), Ciara was a whole other ball game. Unfortunately, with three older brothers, Ciara had figured out very early on in life how to get what she wanted. With their big age gap, the girl was able to get pretty much anything she wanted and get away with murder. He didn't always regret it, but when she turned to use her big fake innocent eyes on him, he wished he was less of a sucker for her games. He even knew she was playing him, and still fell for it.

Truth be told, he wasn't quite sure exactly what his relationship with Elain was. They spent some time together with their family, but that wasn't the same. They spent many evenings together, eating and laughing and talking, just the two of them. Azriel had made quite a few recipes from the blue cookbook his mother had given him. He knew without a doubt that if it hadn't been for Elain, he wouldn't have touched it after the one time he had cooked the biriyani. He found it was quite nice to cook for Elain and to have a secret time that was just for the three of them. The baby was so active that you could never forget about the third person (not quite) in the room.

Elain was so easy to talk to. That wasn't something that he had ever found in a person, not his brothers, not his mother, not Rhys' mum, but somehow, Elain made even quiet, stoic Azriel want to talk. He couldn't quite believe it, but they spent most of their time alone just talking about anything, and he was more than capable of carrying a conversation, and participated in it just as much as Elain did, something which he had never been able to do before, and was very proud of.

They would talk about so many different things, some topics light and fun, some topics dark and heavy. Azriel found himself wanting to share things with Elain and looked forward to these evenings often. To this day, not even his brothers knew the full story about what had happened to his hands. They had pieced things together from what Rhys' mother had said, and when Azriel used to wake up with nightmares, and his aversion to fire. With Elain, he had been the one to bring it up. She had made it so easy to talk about, he hadn't even noticed the phantom pains he got when he usually thought about what had happened, because she had been holding his hands. He hadn't noticed the tears streaming down his face either until Elain had wiped them off his face so heartbreakingly gentle. He had felt at peace when he had told her what had happened like a weight had been lifted off his chest and he could finally breathe.

Perhaps it was the fact that he knew Elain would never judge or pity him because her situation made people judge and pity her. She knew how dirty and horrible the judgement and pity made him feel, how he would do anything to not feel like it was his fault it had happened.

Azriel hadn't wanted to pry about the father of the baby. He knew that Elain had recently moved to the building and that she lived alone. Her sisters would go with her for any baby-related appointments, and Nesta was Elain's birthing partner, much to everyone but Cassian's amusement. Nesta had been so horrified by the birthing video, that she had refused to have sex with Cassian for a week. Both Azriel and Elain had been shocked that they had even lasted a week without jumping each other.

Elain had opened up slightly about Graysen, her ex-fiancé who had left her because his family had put pressure onto him to marry someone more suitable. Azriel couldn’t help but get angry at Graysen whenever he thought about it, because how could someone not have the backbone to stand up for the woman he loved to his family. His father did sound like a piece of work, and Azriel was glad that Elain wouldn’t have to deal with that, but he pitied Graysen for being stupid enough to give in to the pressure and give Elain and the baby up. How this man, who claimed he still loved Elain, could give her and his child up was beyond Azriel, but he was almost selfishly glad of it because, without that, he would never have his nights with Elain.

Social interactions often left Azriel feeling tired and drained, even if the interactions were with his family and friends. It wasn't something that happened all the time, and his family and close friends were very good at reading the signs of him hitting his limit, depending on how sober they are. A drunken Cassian, for example, cannot read any signs of anything, and even if you tell him outright, he still might not understand. A drunken Cassian should never be let into your bedroom at 3 am because he 'missed his favourite broody brother'. It is a scam, and he will cling to you like a koala clings to a tree.

Azriel never felt drained when he spent time with Elain. It wasn't that he felt energised after being with her, he was pretty sure that was a myth. But he did feel calm and at peace after spending time together, happy even. Although his family and friends could make him feel like that, it was different with Elain. She made him feel like that every time they were together. He couldn't quite explain it, but he knew that their dinners were some of the most relaxing evenings he'd had in a while.

He wasn't ashamed to admit that he got excited whenever Elain text him to ask if he was cooking for her. Today was no different. When he had seen that she had texted him, he instantly felt the corners of his mouth start to rise. It had been just over a month of knowing Elain, and he had never said no to her. He was pretty sure that it was illegal to say no to a pregnant woman anyway, but he had never been tempted. Elain was just so sweet, how could anyone say no to her?

When Elain had texted him today, he had been having a boring day. Cassian was off work because Nesta was doing some fancy pants lawyer stuff today, and Cassian was a good boyfriend who was going with her to support her. With Cassian gone, Azriel had nobody to laugh at for being an idiot. Rhys was in meetings all day, so he couldn't laugh at either of his brothers for being love-struck fools who smiled dopily at their phones every time their significant others text them. Azriel tried to tell himself he wasn't jealous of what his brothers had.

Azriel had had to get his head down and do some paperwork which had been mind-numbingly boring, and the reason why he had been putting it off for so long. He had text Mor to see if she was around to save him from being bored, but she apparently had to do inductions for some newbies. Ugh. He hated how everyone in his family had responsibilities.

Just after lunch which he took with Nuala and Cerridwen, where they had a catch up (no Mor it isn't gossiping), he got a text from Elain, asking him if he would cook for her again. Azriel couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, even though Nuala and Cerridwen gave him some funny looks for it. Thankfully, they had been friends with Azriel long enough when to comment on something or not. He had no illusions that they would let it go, they would simply bring it up at a time when he had to answer. They were just so good at getting information out of people.

He spent the rest of the afternoon thinking of which other recipes he could cook for Elain, and what ingredients he had in the house. He probably wouldn't need to go shopping, but he didn't mind if he did need a thing or two. These days, however, he tended to keep his apartment well-stocked in case he needed to cook for Elain at short notice.

Elain had said she had been eating cup-a-soup for the past 2 days and would be for lunch too because, although it was just water and those gross dried ‘vegetables’, that was what she seemed to be craving. He needed to feed her something nutritional because he knew those stupid powered 'soups' had no nutritional value. Over the past month, he had been googling what was good for the baby, as well as making sure that it didn't make Elain feel sick. If he was going to cook for Elain, he might as well make sure that it’s good for her.

He decided that he would also make dessert for Elain, which was something he didn't do as often when Elain had dinner with him, mostly because she would usually want to have something that she had baked. He and Elain had figured out the perfect system so that she didn't feel guilty about eating his food, since there was no way he would let her give him money for cooking, or even for ingredients. He would cook the main meal, and Elain would bring over whatever she had baked. Today, however, Azriel had told Elain he would cook desert himself today. He wanted to surprise her with a dessert from his mother's cookbook. Elain had been enjoying milk flavoured things a lot lately, drinking it at any given moment, even having it with her meals, so Azriel had decided to combine her two favourite pregnancy cravings, sugary things and milk, making a dessert called rasmilai which was a sugary, milky dessert with strange little dough balls in it.

It had been one of Azriel's favourite deserts as a child, and had been craving it himself lately, but had decided to make it for Elain. He knew if not for her, he would have never made it because he was too lazy for that, but making it for Elain was so rewarding that he enjoyed cooking for her. The way Elain’s face lit up was exactly the same as the first time she had eaten his cooking. He wasn’t quite sure what it did to him when she was so happy at the sight of food in front of her, only that it made his chest feel weird and tight.

Azriel decided to finish work at 4, which was early for him, and definitely earned him a few more strange looks from Nuala and Cerridwen but he ignored them with ease. He knew he would be getting grilled about his strange behaviour in a few days after they had snooped around and asked his brothers and Mor about what was going on with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Azriel drove home, now not even attempting to hide the smile on his face. He seemed to smile more since he met Elain, another thing he didn’t really focus on too much. Or something he didn’t want to focus on. He seemed to be doing that a lot, but then again, Azriel was the master of avoiding thinking about his own feelings. It was definitely not a problem, his siblings had no idea what they were talking about.

Azriel sent Elain a quick text to let her know that he was home and going to start cooking, just in case she wanted to come over and keep him company. It had happened often enough now, Elain laying on his sofa and talking until she fell asleep while he cooked. Azriel would notice she had gone silent and cover her with a blanket, making sure she wasn’t lying in a way that would cause her or the baby any discomfort.

Elain replied as he was getting the milk into a pan, with a ridiculous amount of sugar to boil away, telling him that she would be coming over soon, with a share bag of prawn crackers, that she would not be sharing. Azriel let out a small laugh when he saw her text. He was never sure if Elain was having cravings, or if she just used them as an excuse and this was how she ate normally. Since he had never known her before she was pregnant, he couldn’t quite say for sure.

Thinking about Elain’s pregnancy, Azriel couldn’t help but think about how big Elain was. It was the one thing that put him on edge around Elain, how she looked like she could topple down at any moment and not get back up. He tried not to be overbearing and annoying, but he was always worried something would happen to her and the baby. He had spent more of his free time reading up about pregnancy than he would care to admit. He certainly understood why Nesta had refused to have sex for a week when he had watched a video of a woman giving birth. He definitely did not envy Elain for that.

A knock on the door pulled Azriel from the swirling thoughts in his head. He opened the door, instantly smiling as Elain waddled in, still eating her prawn crackers. He couldn’t help but laugh as she eased herself onto the sofa, still eating.

“Az, the baby likes the smell of whatever you’ve cooked today.”

Azriel couldn’t help but blush at the casual use of his nickname. “Tell the baby thank you, I’m glad someone appreciates my cooking.”

Tags list (if you would like to be added/removed from this please let me know!)

@hizqueen4life @kelly-fasel @sannelovesreading @acourtofmarauders @maastrash @sjm-things @bookstantrash @cursebreaker29 @humanexile @ iammissstark @stardelia @superspiritfestival @courtofjurdan @cass-nes @thewayshedreamed

Bolded tags don’t work.

#elriel #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #acotar #acotar fic #my fic #text #elain archeron #azriel

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makkoskafanfic · 4 years ago

Note

I really like how you write smut. I'm new to trying to write NC-17 stories but I'm trying! Can you share any ideas with a newby how to do sex scenes good?

This took me a few days to answer – and the reason for that is how this kept trying to turn into a bloody essay and I kept trying to cut it back to something sensible. I want to say I’m really happy with this ask, as I might be unsure about my plot, my ability to keep a story interesting, my grasp of the English language, but I do take pride in my smut.

Here are some advices in no particular order. Please keep in mind these are very subjective and reflect my own personal preferences when it comes to writing Explicit fiction.

Some non-worksafe ideas are ramblings are under the cut folks, don't like, don't click!

1. Start easy. Don’t write what you are not comfortable with. If you enjoy creating the scene, it will be smoother and better. This is not The Golden Rule, as you might want to challenge or push yourself or write on-purpose uncomfortable scenes, but if you are new to writing smut, starting with something easy and pleasant is a good idea.

2. Don’t make the mistake of sticking with a description of the physical act only. Written sex scenes are not a porn movie. There’s only so much you can say about who sticks what where and how long they move it around. Write what the characters are feeling. Is it good, is it bad? Do they experience pleasure, maybe discomfort or pain? What are their emotions? Are the comfortable, are they feeling safe? Compare it to their previous experiences. If they have non to compare it to, write about that.

3. Don’t give exact measurements. Before you say someone has a 13 inch dick, just think about how big that actually is. Don’t say something went on for 10 minutes, except if for some reason one of the characters are counting the time.

To combine point nr 2 & 3, a bad example would be: “Mike took out his 13 inch dick, lubed it up and thrust it into Jack’s hole. Jack moaned. Mike thrusted into him for 8 minutes after which Jack orgasmed.” This is very dry. You are not writing a script, you don’t want to simply describe the act, but make it enjoyable. You’d rather say Mike was larger than any men Jack took before, talk about how this makes him feel. Was the sex rough, was it gentle? Was it passionate? Did Jack love Mike or just had a fling with him? That’s all so much more interesting than inches and minutes!

4. Think it through – is it possible? Don’t forget the basic rules of anatomy and physics.

5. That being said, don’t be limited by reality, and I don’t only mean that for monster sex and the like. But you are writing fiction and not a guide. You want to ignore refractory periods? Go for it. Skipping lube? (or maybe replacing it with something handy as a lubrication spell?) Sure thing. I don’t remember ever reading someone giving themselves an enema before anal sex in a FF and I can’t say I mind this.

6. Speaking about lubrication spells. Respect the rules of your fandom (or the rules of your own universe). Magic of some kind will make things easier, but if you are writing an otherwise realistic story, you probably don’t want a too far fetched sex scene in there.

7. Respect your characters too. If you are writing someone who’s very reserved, you will want to write a process how they open up (or not) during sex. People don’t miraculously become a different personality just because they took their clothes off. I saw tags so many times saying characters are OOC but it doesn’t matter as it’s all porn. That’s a bad approach. If I look up Mike/Jack fics, I want to read about Mike and Jack having sex and not about two men who wears their name and looks but act nothing like them.

8. Writing goals. If you are writing a PWP you likely don’t want to overcomplicate this, you just want your characters to get on with it. Writing goal in this case can simply be making a pose/kink/scenario come true. If the sex scene is part of the story, try to tie it in. Instead of having a random sex scene somewhere (typically at the end) have it fit in with the plot, with character development. If you are writing about a relationship, and go for multiply sex scenes, have a curve.

9. Build it up, especially if you write a longer winded slow burn. Learning Mike has the hots for Jack 50K words in the story is kind of random. Light that spark and blow it to a fire as you go on.

10. Last but not least: don’t be embarrassed. Fiction is fiction – nobody should judge you for what you write. If you wrote something that doesn’t fit your usual writer profile, you still have the option to post it to Ao3 as Anonymous. I have one or two floating there as Anon too 😉

#makkoska writes

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cuddlepilefics · 4 years ago

Note

Could you do another GOT7 little space please? Where Yugyeom is a closeted little whose headspace is around 4 and JB walks in on him regressed. And Yugyeom ends up slipping into baby space and JB has to figure things out. I really enjoy your fics

Oh, alright

Fandom: GOT7

Little: Yugyeom (age 1-4)

Caregiver: Jaebeom

No one’s POV.:

Yugyeom had first learned about age regression during highschool. Two of his closest friends had come out to him as little and he occasionally took care of them. He found his friends quite cute when they were little but never considered slipping himself. His height making it difficult for him to feel small. Until he started to train under JYP, that is. A few months into his training, the pressure was already getting to him and for the sake of his sanity, he tried age regression for himself. It was difficult in the beginning but after a while, slipping felt more natural to him and he established his typical headspace age of four years. It was young enough to get away from the stress but he could still take care of himself and make sure he wouldn’t get caught. Regressing still remained his favorite and most effective coping mechanism after debut, though Yugyeom never told his band members about his headspace. They all knew the dancer wanted to be cute and yearned for affection from his friends but they never knew why. Sure, Yugyeom trusted them but he was too afraid of being rejected to ever out himself. He regressed every time he’d get the dorm to himself or cover his face during his sleep, so nobody would see him suck on his thumb. It had worked pretty well all these years, so he never even considered telling the others, despite wishing for a caregiver who’d treat him all soft and affectionate.

Today Yugyeom was tasked with choreographing one of their new songs. It was easy, the beat taking over his body and within the next two hours he was done. He kept practicing it for a while and recorded it to teach his members later that week. The dancer had expected to be spending the entire day in the practice room but to his surprise, he was able to go home shortly before lunch. He had no other schedule that day because no one expected him to finish up that quickly. The other members all had their own schedules, that would last the whole day too, which meant the dorm would be empty for at least five more hours, probably longer. A spark of excitement lit up his face. It had been ages since he had been little for longer than an hour. On his way back to the dorm, Yugyeom picked up some kimbap, so he wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of cooking for himself. Kicking off his shoes at the front door, the dancer dropped his bag and took a quick shower. The rubber duck he had taken with him, made it easy to let go of all the adult thoughts clouding his head. Afterwards he changed into black shorts and an oversized yellow sweater. He took his sippy cup and filled it with juice before sitting down at the table with his kimbap and juice. The little also tied a tea towel around his neck to create a makeshift bib. Little Yugyeom was not necessarily a messy eater but the bib made him feel small and it protected his favorite headspace sweater from any potential stains. He hummed happily, nibbling on his kimbap. He had really missed this.

After his meal, he cleaned up after himself and threw the tea towel into the wash. He picked up his sippy cup and took it back to his and Bambam’s shared room. Sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, Yugyeom pulled out a small box from under his bed. For a second his eyes became glossy, when they fell on his light blue pacifier. He usually preferred his paci over his thumb but when he slept his thumb was easier to hide, so he hasn’t been able to use that comfort item in a long time. Slipping the paci between his lips, the little instantly relaxed and started to suckle on it softly. He also pulled out a coloring book and some crayons for later, as well as a few small toy cars to play with now. While the coloring book sat on his bed untouched, Yugyeom let the cars race all over the room, over his desk and up him closet, making quiet ‘vroom vroom’ noises behind his pacifier.

Jaebeom had, similar to his dongsaeng, gotten off of work early that day. He had been in a meeting with their management which was supposed to last all day but was unexpectedly cut short due to the absence of one of their managers. Whispering lightly, the leader made his way back to the dorm, happy to have some time to himself. He might go for a walk later to relax and clear his head but for now all he wanted was to go home. Kicking off his shoes, he stopped whispering to engulf in the rare silence. It wasn’t all that silent though. Further down the hall way Jaebeom heard some weird muffled noises, coming from the direction of their maknaes’ room. Furrowing his browns, the leader made his way down the hallway to check it out. He didn’t expect either of the two to be home already, so he peaked into the room without knocking. The leader had expected anything, literally anything, except coming face to face with their giant maknae, having a pacifier in his mouth and a toy car in his hand. The younger was frozen in his spot, staring at his hyung in horror. Jaebeom was frozen too, taking in the scene but unable to make any sense of it. Thick silence hung over both of them, only interrupted by the car slipping from Yugyeom’s hand and clattering to the ground.

The little’s breath hitched and the tears started to spill. He was frightened, slipping fast. From being scared of his hyung finding him weird to not being able to identify why he was scared, only knowing what was happening was extremely bad and a reason to be terrified. Yugyeom was sobbing, harshly sucking on his paci and hiding his face with his arms. Jaebeom, though more confused than he had ever been before, sprung into action upon seeing his youngest dongsaeng cry. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the maknae’s shaking frame. “Hey, it’s alright. Don’t cry! Gyeommie, what’s going on? Please talk to me”, the leader frowned, giving the crying boy a light squeeze. Yugyeom just continued to cry his little heart out, clutching onto Jaebeom’s shirt, afraid his hyung would leave him. The leader was starting to get really worried, their youngest was not himself at all and he wouldn’t calm down. His breathing sounded so ragged, that Jaebeom pulled back a bit to look at his face and shushed: “Deep breaths, Gyeom. You’ll be fine, just breathe, yeah?” To Yugyeom it didn’t feel like anything would be fine ever again. He just knew that he couldn’t let his hyung leave him, so standing quite close to his bed, he gave the older a push and tackled him onto the bed.

Still breathing heavily, the little pressed himself against the older’s side. “Oh, alright. …Cuddles, I – I guess we can do that”, Jaebeom stuttered, surprised, “can you at least try to take a deep breath for me, brownie?” Yugyeom’s kept choking on his sobs, not even trying to follow the leader’s instructions. The Jaebeom it seemed like the pacifier between the maknae’s lips made it more difficult for him to breathe, so he grabbed it and with some struggle extracted it from his friend’s mouth, hoping the younger would be able to take a proper breath in and calm down afterwards. Quite the opposite turned out to be the case. The little misinterpreted his hyung’s actions and thought, the older would throw his comfort item away before scolding him for using it in the first place. Watching Yugyeom freak out and desperately reach for the blue object in Jaebeom’s hand, the leader looked at him horrified and quickly put it back between his swollen lips. The older found a plushie concealed by the blanket and pressed in into the crying boy’s arms. At a loss for what would calm his doongsaeng down, Jaebeom started to sing softly, one arm wrapped around the little’s waist, the other rubbing his upper back comfortingly.

It had been half an hour but Jaebeom still hadn’t gotten a single word out of Yugyeom. His sobs were slowly quietening down to weak, little hiccups, accompanied by the occasional tear, dripping onto the leader’s shirt. The dancer had exhausted himself with his anxious meltdown and he wandered on the edge of sleep, with the pacifier bopping softly between his pink swollen lips. Jaebeom continued to stroke his back until he was absolutely certain the maknae was asleep before shifting a bit to pull out his phone. If he couldn’t get an explanation out of his friend, he’d have to ask the internet as to why a full-grown man would be using a pacifier and children’s toys. He had to try out different search terms, since none of the results seemed to fit their situation but after a while he found something that seemed close to what he was dealing with. Age regression, a coping mechanism to handle emotional stress and possibly anxious thoughts. Jaebeom did more research on this as it seemed like Yugyeom was what people called a ‘little’ or ‘age regressor’. When he was satisfied that it was a harmless thing to do, he tried to find out how best to care for somebody in headspace. All it said was to treat the little like a real child and the age the regressor feels like in that particular moment. That seemed difficult. First treating somebody who’s taller than yourself is hard and second, how could he even find out how old Yugyeom was feeling if he didn’t talk?

Deep in his thoughts, Jaebeom remained in his spot on Yugyeom’s bed and let the little rest on his chest. His heart clenched, remembering the pure horror in the younger’s eyes. ‘He must have been so scared of me judging him’, the leader thought. Looking around the room, he didn’t only spot the abandoned toy car but also a coloring book and crayons close to his feet and a sippy cup on the nightstand. His attention was back on Yugyeom when the younger sniffled softly before sitting up and rubbing his fist over his swollen eyes. “Hey Gyeommie. How was your nap?”, Jaebeom asked softly, cringing inwardly at his awkwardness. The maknae’s eyes went wide and almost filled with tears again before the leader sat up, smiling: “Don’t cry, cutie. Hyung figured out what’s going on and he’s not thinking badly of you, okay? Need a hug, little one?” Yugyeom blinked at him in confusion but snuggled into the older’s broad chest anyways. Jaebeom picked up the sippy from the nightstand, afraid the younger would get dehydrated from all the crying he had done. “Here, have a few sips. We can’t have you dry out from crying now, can we?”, he asked gently. The little shook his head to that and reached for the sippy himself. Jaebeom had other plans though and removed the younger’s pacifier, promising when he saw the worried frown: “You’ll get it right back after drinking something.” Then he raised the sippy up to the little’s lips and had him drink a bit before letting him have his pacifier back. They both knew they’d have to talk later when Yugyeom got out of his headspace but till the others get back, they’d still have some quality cuddle time together.

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