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duckprintspress · 3 years ago

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Ten Things We Hate About Trad Pub

Often when I say “I’ve started a small press; we publish the works of those who have trouble breaking into traditional publishing!” what people seem to hear is “me and a bunch of sad saps couldn’t sell our books in the Real World so we’ve made our own place with lower standards.” For those with minimal understanding of traditional publishing (trad pub), this reaction is perhaps understandable? But, truly, there are many things to hate about traditional publishing (and, don’t get me wrong - there are things to love about trad pub, too, but that’s not what this list is about) and it’s entirely reasonable for even highly accomplished authors to have no interest in running the gauntlet of genre restrictions, editorial control, hazing, long waits, and more, that make trad pub at best, um, challenging, and at worst, utterly inaccessible to many authors - even excellent ones.

Written in collaboration with @jhoomwrites, with input from @ramblingandpie, here is a list of ten things that we at Duck Prints Press detest about trad pub, why we hate it, and why/how we think things should be different!

(Needless to say, part of why we created Duck Prints Press was to...not do any of these things... so if you’re a writer looking for a publishing home, and you hate these things, too, and want to write with a Press that doesn’t do them...maybe come say hi?)

1. Work lengths dictated by genre and/or author experience.

Romance novels can’t be longer than 90,000 words or they won’t sell! New authors shouldn’t try to market a novel longer than 100,000 words!

A good story is a good story is a good story. Longer genre works give authors the chance to explore their themes and develop their plots. How often an author has been published shouldn’t put a cap on the length of their work.

2. Editors assert control of story events...except when they don’t.

If you don’t change this plot point, the book won’t market well. Oh, you’re a ten-time bestseller? Write whatever you want, even if it doesn’t make sense we know people will buy it.

Sometimes, a beta or an editor will point out that an aspect of a story doesn’t work - because it’s nonsensical, illogical, Deus ex Machina, etc. - and in those cases it’s of course reasonable for an editor to say, “This doesn’t work and we recommend changing it, for these reasons…” However, when that list of reasons begins and ends with, “...because it won’t sell…” that’s a problem, especially because this is so often applied as a double standard. We’ve all read bestsellers with major plot issues, but those authors get a “bye” because editors don’t want to exert to heavy a hand and risk a proven seller, but with a new, less experienced, or worse-selling author, the gloves come off (even though evidence suggests time and again that publishers’ ability to predict what will sell well is at best low and at worst nonexistent.)

3. A billion rejection letters as a required rite of passage (especially when the letters aren't helpful in pinpointing why a work has been rejected or how the author can improve).

Well, my first book was rejected by a hundred Presses before it was accepted! How many rejection letters did you get before you got a bite? What, only one or two? Oh…

How often one succeeds or fails to get published shouldn’t be treated as a form of hazing, and we all know that how often someone gets rejected or accepted has essentially no bearing on how good a writer they are. Plenty of schlock goes out into the world after being accepted on the first or second try...and so does plenty of good stuff! Likewise, plenty of schlock will get rejected 100 times but due to persistence, luck, circumstances, whatever, finally find a home, and plenty of good stuff will also get rejected 100 times before being publishing. Rejections (or lack there of) as a point of pride or as a means of judging others needs to die as a rite of passage among authors.

4. Query letters, for so many reasons.

Summarize all your hard work in a single page! Tell us who you’re like as an author and what books your story is like, so we can gauge how well it’ll sell based on two sentences about it! Format it exactly the way we say or we won’t even consider you!

For publishers, agents, and editors who have slush piles as tall as Mount Everest...we get it. There has to be a way to differentiate. We don’t blame you. Every creative writing class, NaNoWriMo pep talk, and college lit department combine to send out hundreds of thousands of people who think all they need to do to become the next Ernest Hemingway is string a sentence together. There has to be some way to sort through that pile...but God, can’t there be a better way than query letters? Especially since even with query letters being used it often takes months or years to hear back, and...

5. "Simultaneous submissions prohibited.”

No, we don’t know when we’ll get to your query, but we’ll throw it out instantly if you have the audacity to shop around while you wait for us.

The combination of “no simultaneous submissions” with the query letter bottleneck makes success slow and arduous. It disadvantages everyone who aims to write full-time but doesn’t have another income source (their own, or a parents’, or a spouse’s, or, or or). The result is that entire classes of people are edged out of publishing solely because the process, especially for writers early in their career, moves so glacially that people have to earn a living while they wait, and it’s so hard to, for example, work two jobs and raise a family and also somehow find the time to write. Especially considering that the standard advice for dealing with “no simultaneous submissions” is “just write something else while you wait!” ...the whole system screams privilege.

6. Genres are boxes that must be fit into and adhered to.

Your protagonist is 18? Then obviously your book is Young Adult. It doesn’t matter how smutty your book is, erotica books must have sex within the first three chapters, ideally in the first chapter. Sorry, we’re a fantasy publisher, if you have a technological element you don’t belong here…

While some genre boxes have been becoming more like mesh cages of late, with some flow of content allowed in and out, many remain stiff prisons that constrict the kinds of stories people can tell. Even basic cross-genre works often struggle to find a place, and there’s no reason for it beyond “if we can’t pigeon-hole a story, it’s harder to sell.” This edges out many innovative, creative works. It also disadvantages people who aren’t as familiar with genre rules. And don’t get me wrong - this isn’t an argument that, for example, the romance genre would be improved by opening up to stories that don’t have “happily ever afters.” Instead, it’s pointing out - there should also be a home for, say, a space opera with a side romance, an erotica scene, and a happily-for-now ending. Occasionally, works breakthrough, but for the most part stories that don’t conform never see the light of day (or, they do, but only after Point 2 - trad pub editors insist that the elements most “outside” the box be removed or revised).

7. The lines between romance and erotica are arbitrary, random, and hetero- and cis-normative.

This modern romance novel won’t sell if it doesn’t have an explicit sex scene, but God forbid you call a penis a penis. Oh, no, this is far too explicit, even though the book only has one mlm sex scene, this is erotica.

The difference between “romance” and “erotica” might not matter so much if not for the stigmas attached to erotica and the huge difference in marketability and audience. The difference between “romance” and “erotica” also might not matter so much if not for the fact that, so often, even incredibly raunchy stories that feature cis straight male/cis straight female sex scenes are shelved as romance, but the moment the sex is between people of the same gender, and/or a trans or genderqueer person is involved, and/or the relationship is polyamorous, and/or the characters involved are literally anything other than a cis straight male pleasuring a cis straight female in a “standard” way (cunnilingus welcome, pegging need not apply)...then the story is erotica. Two identical stories will get assigned different genres based on who the people having sex are, and also based on the “skill” of the author to use ludicrous euphemisms (instead of just...calling body parts what they’re called…), and it’s insane. Non-con can be a “romance” novel, even if it’s graphically described. “50 Shades of Gray” can sell millions of copies, even containing BDSM. But the word “vagina” gets used once...bam, erotica. (Seriously, the only standard that should matter is the Envelope Analogy).

8. Authors are expected to do a lot of their own legwork (eg advertising) but then don't reap the benefits.

Okay, so, you’re going to get an advance of $2,500 on this, your first novel, and a royalty rate of 5% if and only if your advance sells out...so you’d better get out there and market! Wait, what do you mean you don’t have a following? Guess you’re never selling out your advance…

Trad pub can generally be relied on to do some marketing - so this item is perhaps better seen as an indictment of more mid-sized Presses - but, basically, if an author has to do the majority of the work themselves, then why aren’t they getting paid more? What’s the actual benefit to going the large press/trad pub route if it’s not going to get the book into more hands? It’s especially strange that this continues to be a major issue when self-publishing (which also requires doing one’s own marketing) garners 60%+ royalty rates. Yes, the author doesn’t get an advance, and they don’t get the cache of ~well I was published by…~, but considering some Presses require parts of advances to get paid back if the initial run doesn’t sell out, and cache doesn’t put food on the table...pay models have really, really got to change.

9. Fanfiction writing doesn't count as writing experience

Hey there Basic White Dude, we see you’ve graduated summa cum laude from A Big Fancy Expensive School. Of course we’ll set you up to publish your first novel you haven’t actually quite finished writing yet. Oh, Fanperson, you’ve written 15 novels for your favorite fandom in the last 4 years? Get to the back of the line!

Do I really need to explain this? The only way to get better at writing is to write. Placing fanfiction on official trad pub “do not interact” lists is idiotic, especially considering many of the other items on this list. (They know how to engage readers! They have existing followings! They understand genre and tropes!) Being a fanfiction writer should absolutely be a marketable “I am a writer” skill. Nuff said. (To be clear, I’m not saying publishers should publish fanfiction, I’m saying that being a fanfiction writer is relevant and important experience that should be given weight when considering an author’s qualifications, similar to, say, publishing in a university’s quarterly.)

10. Tagging conventions (read: lack thereof).

Oh, did I trigger you? Hahahaha. Good luck with that.

We rate movies so that people can avoid content they don’t like. Same with TV shows and video games. Increasingly, those ratings aren’t just “R - adult audiences,” either; they contain information about the nature of the story elements that have led to the rating (“blood and gore,” “alcohol reference,” “cartoon violence,” “drug reference,” “sexual violence,” “use of tobacco,” and many, many more). So why is it that I can read a book and, without warning, be surprised by incest, rape, graphic violence, explicit language, glorification of drug and alcohol use, and so so much more? That it’s left to readers to look up spoilers to ensure that they’re not exposed to content that could be upsetting or inappropriate for their children or, or, or, is insane. So often, too, authors cling to “but we don’t want to give away our story,” as if video game makes and other media makers do want to give away their stories. This shouldn’t be about author egos or ~originality~ (as if that’s even a thing)...it should be about helping readers make informed purchasing decisions. It’s way, way past time that major market books include content warnings.

Thank you for joining us, this has been our extended rant about how frustrated we are with traditional publishing. Helpful? No. Cathartic? Most definitely yes. 🤣

Have a question about writing? Drop us an ask!

Like what we do and want to support us? You can buy us a ko-fi - or get access to exclusive content by backing us on Patreon!

#duck prints press #original content #writing advice #sort of

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lostinthewiind · 3 years ago

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Piss Off Your Parents - Part 8

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren’t a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner’s 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: PG13

Warnings: none

Song → 18 by Anarbor

Previous → Part 7

Next → Part 9

Feeling a body shift beside you, you slowly began to wake from your deep, dreamless sleep. With thin rays of sunlight shining through the crack between the curtains, you let a content, sleepy smile toy at the corners of your lips as you rolled over in Keishin's arms and came face to face with his sleeping form.

It had been over a week since you had started staying with Keishin and even though waking up beside someone every morning definitely took some getting used to, you were a little surprised by just how quickly it was beginning to feel normal. Not only that, but you never slept better than you did in Keishin's bed with his warm, calming presence beside you and strong, protective arm draped over your waist.

Eyes closed and lips slightly parted, Keishin was fast asleep. His chest rose and fell rhythmically and at some point during the night, just like every other night, his hair—which wasn't tamed by the headband while he slept—had gotten all messed up and a few strands had fallen into his face.

Whenever you woke up before him, you would always take the chance to just look at him. While he slept, he seemed completely and utterly at peace—no longer burdened by the stress of coaching volleyball, working at the store, and no doubt whatever extra problems you had brought into his life. You thought back to the time you had watched him sleeping on the couch in the back room and sighed happily; the thought of how much things had changed in such a short period of time truly putting things into perspective.

Unable to keep your hands to yourself any longer, you reached out slowly and brushed the loose strands of hair out of his face and tucked them behind his ear—the same way you had done when you two had first had sex and the same way you had done countless times since.

Keishin could sleep through a thunderstorm or the sound of you calling out his name, but as soon as he felt your fingertips graze against his cheek, his eyes fluttered open. Upon noticing he was awake, you made your touch more prominent and caressed his face.

"Good morning," you whispered, unwilling to raise your voice any more than that and ruin the soft ambiance of the early morning.

Keishin leaned into your touch and smiled softly. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you answered as you ran your thumb along his bottom lip, internally debating if you should ambush him with kisses now or wait until he had woken up a little more first. Chuckling to yourself over your own thoughts, you caught yourself staring at his lips and directed your gaze back to his eyes. "I'm just looking at you."

Keishin scoffed as he pressed a gentle kiss to your thumb. "Why?"

"Because you look so beautiful when you're asleep," you told him matter-of-factly. "Not that you don't always look beautiful," you added quickly before he could make some sort of sarcastic comment.

Keishin rolled his eyes before pulling you flush against his chest and kissing you. "You're such a sap, you know that?"

You laughed. "First, I'm dramatic. Now I'm a sap. What's next?"

"I have no idea." Keishin shrugged the best he could while lying down. "What I do know, however," he glanced at the clock, "is that we need to get up and get ready."

Following Keishin's gaze to the time, you huffed sadly when you noticed there were only five minutes left until your alarm would go off, forcing you to get ready to open the store. "Can't we just stay in bed all day?" you asked, hoping you could convince him to stay under the covers with you.

"Not unless we want to go broke and end up living under a bridge together."

You chuckled as Keishin crawled out of bed, the temptation of slapping his ass gently when he stood up almost too much but you managed to control yourself. "Together?" You grinned. "You'd stay with me even if we were both dirt poor?"

Keishin rolled his eyes playfully at your takeaway from his statement. "Of course." He collected his clothes before making his way around to your side of the bed and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But I think I like plumbing and heating too much to give them up, so let's shower and get ready."

Sitting up in bed, you cocked an eyebrow. "You want to shower together?"

Keishin flashed a devilish smirk as he headed for the bathroom. "Purely for the purpose of saving water." He disappeared into the bathroom and seconds later his boxers flew out and landed on the floor, indicating he was completely nude. "But if you hate the planet, then I guess that's on you."

Your cheeks flushed red but nevertheless, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and began removing your clothes as you approached the bathroom. "Sure," you laughed as you closed the bathroom door behind yourself and let your eyes wander over Keishin's wet, naked body as he stood under the steaming water. "If it's for the planet, how could I possibly say no?"

20 minutes of passionate kissing and soapy hands exploring every inch of each other's body later, the two of you towelled off and finished getting ready before sitting down for a quick breakfast together.

"So the volleyball team has a game today, right?" you asked Keishin as you poured milk into your bowl of cereal. Keishin nodded. "What time do you think you will be home?"

Keishin thought for a moment before answering. "Probably around six or seven tonight. The game is right after school so it shouldn't run too late."

"Okay." You sat down across from him at the table. "Should we get dinner after I close up the shop?"

Keishin nodded again. "Sounds like a plan."

With a few more bites of his breakfast, Keishin was setting his dishes in the sink, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, and rushing down the stairs and out of the building to start his day.

As you listened to his footsteps stomp down the stairs, followed by the sound of the back door opening and closing to indicate that he had left, you sighed to yourself and sat back in your chair. It was then that you took a minute to think about everything; your job, your boyfriend, your living arrangements, your tattered relationship with your parents. In the span of a few months, your life had completely turned upside down, but that wasn't the part that freaked you out the most.

What really got you thinking was the fact that, even though your life had done a complete 180, you had never been happier; which led to the constant internal questioning about if you had ever really been happy before you had met Keishin at all, or if this was just a different kind of happy—a happy that only a stable, supportive significant other could provide.

Before you had the chance to get lost in your thoughts, you snapped out of it, finished your breakfast, and headed downstairs to open the shop and begin your day.

As usual, you dealt with the typical morning rush of people stopping in to grab a coffee or other various food items on their way to work or school. Once the mid-morning slump hit and the customer traffic went way down, you took the time to do some routine cleaning and inventory. By now, you were like a well-oiled machine when it came to the daily task of running the store.

Around noon, as you were finishing up stocking some shelves, the front door opened and a very well-dressed man strolled into the store. "Hello," you greeted him, standing from where you were kneeling in front of the shelves and dusting off your pants.

The man gave you a once over, eyeing you from head to toe. Without so much as an acknowledging nod, he brushed past you and toward the full-length fridges at the back.

Assuming the man just wasn't in a chatty mood, you took the empty boxes to the storage room. When you exited, the man was already standing at the front counter, impatiently tapping his foot while he held two bottles of water in his hands.

"Sorry for the wait," you apologized. "Just the waters today?"

The man just nodded and let out a grunt.

Trying not to take his dismissive attitude too seriously, you rang up his purchases and gave him the total. Instead of pulling out his wallet, however, he just gave you a dirty look.

"That's a little expensive for two bottles of water, don't you think?" he retorted.

You didn't know what to say to that, so you shrugged. "I'm sorry, I don't make the prices, sir," you told him. "I just work here."

Huffing loudly, the man fished his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out some bills before tossing them haphazardly onto the counter. "Fine. Don't forget my change."

Before you could open the cash register, the front doors opened again and a woman dressed in a beautiful dress with her hair done up elegantly walked in and stopped beside the man before you. "Have you paid yet?" she asked the man, who was either her boyfriend or husband based on the way she was hanging off of his arm. "I just realized I'm out of cigarettes."

"I'm just paying now," he told her, his face softer than you had seen it yet before he turned back to you and asked for the brand of cigarettes that his partner smoked.

Spinning around, you felt your stomach twist at the sight of the empty dispenser of cigarettes, meaning that you were out of the brand he had requested. Of course, the delivery for that day hadn't come in yet, making your job even harder right now.

Plastering the warmest smile on your face that you could muster, you turned back to the couple. "I apologize, but we are all out of that brand. Can I get you something else?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "No, everything else tastes like garbage."

"I see." You stepped back up to the cash register. "So just the waters then?"

The man nodded. "I guess so if your shitty little store doesn't even stock up on popular brands of cigarettes." He watched you intently as you opened the register and counted his change. "I knew we should have stopped somewhere other than this hole in the wall."

As much as you so desperately wanted to rip this man and his spoiled girlfriend a new one, you bit your tongue instead and grinned as you handed him back his change. "Here you are." You dropped the coins into his outstretched hand. "Have a wonderful day."

Neither one of them said anything in response as they turned on their heels and marched out of the store, noses turned up at everything around them. As you watched them get into their fancy car and speed away, you wondered if they treated everyone like that or just lowly corner store workers like yourself.

Trying to let the incident slide off of you like water off of a duck's back, you returned to the remaining tasks on your to-do list and tried to forget all about being treated like a second-class citizen.

As the day turned to late afternoon and the after-school and after-work rush hit, you had found your way back into your groove again.

An hour or so before closing time, and roughly around the time Keishin would be returning, you heard a pair of heels clacking against the tile floor and stood up front behind the counter only to come face-to-face with your mother. Dressed in a pencil skirt and blouse, it was obvious she had just come from work, but your attention was more focused on the envelope she was holding out to you.

"This came for you the other day." She didn't even bother with a simple greeting even though it had been weeks since you had seen or spoken to her or your father.

"Oh, okay." You reached out and took the envelope from her. Turning it over, you felt your heart jump into your throat when you read that it was from the University of Tokyo.

You looked up at your mother expectantly but she waved you off. "Don't ask me what it says, I didn't open it," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "Why didn't you tell your father and me that you applied to the University of Tokyo? It's a very good school."

"Because I didn't do it for you," you said as you tucked the envelope into your back pocket. "And I certainly didn't do it to go to law school or anything you guys would approve of."

Your mother narrowed her eyes at you. "Then why did you do it?"

"To play soccer," you answered, your mind immediately going to the conversation you had had with Keishin while taking inventory together. "And because I told someone I would."

Your mother eyed you for a minute more, waiting to see if you would reach for the envelope again to open it. When you made no indication of sharing your application results with her, she hummed softly. "Well, whatever that letter says, you should take some time to seriously consider what your next step is going to be." She turned to leave but stopped halfway to the door and looked at you over her shoulder. "It's not too late to make the right choice. Think carefully before you throw your life away."

With that, your mother exited the store, leaving you with a mixed slurry of emotions and no clue how to deal with any of them.

Pulling the envelope out of your back pocket, you set it down on the counter in front of you and stared at it. Whatever was printed on the single piece of paper inside would set a course for your future . . . although you were unsure if you even still wanted the future that this piece of paper could give you.

All you wanted was to be happy, and all you knew was that Keishin gave you that.

Anything more felt like asking for too much.

Anything more felt like a gamble that wasn't worth the risk.

#piss off your parents #part 8 #haikyuu #haikyuu!!!#sexy time #haikyuu smut #lostinthewiind #reader insert #reader imagine #x reader #ukai keishin #ukai #ukai x reader

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

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"I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met." memory loss angst? 👉👈🥺

anon... fam, this turned into an emotional rollercoaster and totally stole my braincell.

3.8k words. angst with a happy ending.

tw: memory loss, minor anxiety, repressed memories, idiots to lovers, whump, angst with a happy ending, angst with a fluffy ending

---

It’s been three hours, five minutes, and forty-two seconds since the frigid breeze whipped Geralt’s angry words at him, shattering his fragile, stupid heart to pieces. Every syllable rings through Jaskier’s head over and over, slamming into him from all directions and crippling him with a bone-deep pain far worse than anything he’s ever felt before. The ache ebbs and flows, lancing through him with every step. Not even Geralt’s first frustrated blow to his abdomen had been this terrible.

Geralt… That’s the problem, isn’t it? He hadn’t been smart enough to get out of the gorgeous Witcher’s long, silvery hair soon enough. He’d overstayed his welcome, fallen in love in the meantime, and is now very out of sorts (and also alone in unfamiliar territory). The bard laughs but it’s a hollow sound. Jaskier has reached the edge of hysteria, his intelligent blue eyes now vacant and unseeing. Even as he stumbles through the underbrush, all he can picture is the snarl on Geralt’s face as the Witcher yells at Destiny to take Jaskier off his hands.

Jaskier’s own hands are covered in sap and splinters from pushing tree branches away from his face as he traverses the darkening forest. His hair is full of debris and his clothes are torn and dirty; Geralt has all of his emergency supplies, still. Jaskier is pretty sure that his lute is still strapped over his shoulder but he realizes, with no small amount of surprise, that he doesn’t actually care.

He doesn’t have the capacity anymore.

He can’t care… caring hurts too much.

If only Destiny had taken him off Geralt’s hands. Maybe then it would be okay. Maybe then, if Geralt was well and truly free of him and his irritating presence, the Witcher could be happy. He and Yennefer will surely come back around, they always seem to, and Ciri will be joining them soon enough it seems.

There’s no need - no room - for a humble bard anymore.

Only five hours, thirty minutes, and twelve seconds after Geralt’s outburst at the top of the mountain, Jaskier’s delicate human body succumbs to the stress of the day.

He drops to the forest floor without a sound, grateful for the darkness.

---

Yennefer finds the bard in a heap a few miles away from the previous night’s elevated campsite. When she presses the back of her hand to his forehead she yanks it away almost immediately; he’s burning up, and his skin is clammy and sticky with sweat. The feathery bangs he flicks about and preens so much are stuck to his forehead and temples. He’s on the verge of shaking apart and Yennefer tosses her head imperiously, swearing.

“Damnit, Geralt. You and your incredibly foolish need to be alone all the time so you can brood and self-flagellate. Me, an ageless sorceress from one of the greatest magic schools on the Continent? I can handle a thorough tongue lashing. Fuck, I’m older than you and I’ve seen far worse but this… oh, you great lummox. You absolute bastard…” Yennefer mutters to herself as she assesses the bard’s deteriorating state of health, ranting to an invisible Geralt all the while. “You’re absolutely going to be hearing from me about this, Wolf.”

--- Three days, one hour, and fifteen minutes after Geralt dismissed him forever, Jaskier wakes up with a loud gasp and a violent shudder. He blinks slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright light streaming in through a window. Whatever he’s lying on is comfortable and the sheets smell fresh and bright, like lilac and freesia. A hint of gooseberry lies beneath it all, delicate and sweet. He glances around the space and finds it to be relatively bare; a guest room, perhaps. Maybe he’s a servant at some noble house?

Jaskier only really knows that his name is Jaskier and that he plays music. He’s also rather talented with floral arrangements.

Shortly after he’s finished purveying his (borrowed?) chamber, the very image of grace, beauty, and terror enters the room. The woman, whose coppery skin and enchanting violet eyes practically glow in the midafternoon sun, smiles down at him in a way that toes the line between Motherly and Shark-like.

“How are you feeling, Jaskier?”

“I’m alright. And you?”

“Just fine. Geralt really did a number on us, huh?” she asks, a playful grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. He has the feeling that something isn’t right; she shouldn’t be looking at him so kindly.

Her expression changes from friendly to horrified to confused in an instant, as soon as Jaskier manages to ask: “Who’s Geralt? And, pardon me, but I feel as if something is rather amiss. Who are you, my Lady?”

Whoever the gorgeous and terrifying woman is, she grimaces briefly. Then, as if by magic, the comforting smile returns. “I’m Yennefer, of course. I saved your life a few years ago, remember?”

Jaskier wracks his brain but cannot call the occasion to mind. “Unfortunately no, I don’t remember your no doubt heroic deed. Although I suppose that means I’m in your debt, doesn’t it? Do I work for you? Is that why I’m here?”

The woman blinks a few times, slowly, and then nods. “You’re my gardener and personal musician.”

Jaskier brightens, happy to have found himself in a safe environment.

“But you’ve had a nasty illness and your mind is clearly fatigued. Rest another day or two and then we can see about getting you back into the fresh air.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Jaskier nods.

“Yen is fine.”

“Thank you, Yen. I don’t know where I’d be without you,” he grins.

---

Yennefer turns away to hide her pained expression. You’d probably still be with your beloved Witcher.

She makes her way to the kitchen to fix Jaskier something to eat. He must be hungry after spending three days in a deep, healing sleep. She hadn’t been expecting the amnesia, though; it was an unexpected but not unsurprising turn of events. Heartbreak had done stranger things than a little bit of fever-induced memory loss. When she’d delved briefly into his mind she hadn’t seen any sign of Geralt. His face was absent from the bard’s consciousness; she would have needed to dig to unearth those memories. Whatever the Witcher had done was grievous, especially if Jaskier’s mind compensated with something as dramatic as burying Geralt completely to save itself from further harm.

No matter, she decides, the bard can stay here as long as he likes. It’s the least I can do for all the upset Geralt and I have caused him. Where is that idiot Witcher, anyway?

The sorceress quickly clears her agenda and her mind before returning to her guest room with a large tray of food, a bottle of Toussainti red under her arm. “Jaskier, darling, let’s get your convalescence started in style!”

---

2 months later

---

Jaskier watches a strange man ride up the long path to Yennefer’s manor, the hilts of his twin swords glinting in the sun where they’re slung over his shoulder. He has long white hair and the most devastating jawline the bard/gardener (or ‘bardener’ as he says to irritate his darling employer) has ever laid eyes on. He’s clad all in black, from his plain linen shirt to his tight leather trousers; Jaskier thinks he’d also look rather lovely in dark blue or perhaps forest green.

In front of him, wrapped securely against his chest by one strong arm, sits a little girl with ashen hair and frightened eyes. Haunted eyes. Jaskier’s mind fills with ballads, some familiar and some oddly dreamlike, their lyrics half-obscured and hazy. Ciri, he thinks for no reason. Her name is Ciri. And she is a Princess.

The brunette scurries from the garden alongside the house to the kitchen, searching for the familiar cloud of Yennefer’s strong perfume. “My Lady?”

“Darling?” the sorceress replies, coming around the corner. She raises her perfectly maintained eyebrows and her lips quirk up into a smirk. “Did you sprint all the way from the west lawn?”

“There’s a- strange man- on the- drive!” he huffs. “White hair- horse!”

“Oh,” her eyes go wide with surprise. Then, in a split second, they narrow to slits. “Oh.”

“Do you, uhm, know him?” Jaskier asks, twiddling his fingers. “He’s rather handsome, Yen. Is he a former lover?”

“Unfortunately,” she growls. “I can’t believe it’s taken him two fucking months to get here. He’d better have a damned good excuse.”

By now Jaskier can breathe normally again and he straightens up, shaking his long, shaggy hair from his eyes. “He had a child with him. She looked scared, Yen.”

“Cirilla!”

Yennefer dashes for the front door and Jaskier follows instinctually. They’re always together and he can’t bear to let her confront this man alone. He’s spent every waking moment with Yen since he awoke that first day and she has grown to be his dearest friend; he’ll protect her even unto death. “Yenna, what’s wrong? Who is he!?”

“Geralt of Rivia,” she snarls. The name seems familiar; maybe from a ballad or story? Perhaps Yen has mentioned him before?

“What about Geralt of Rivia?” a low, rumbling bass asks from the front hallway. Jaskier and Yennefer arrive in the doorway together and the man, Geralt apparently, takes a shaky step back. He recoils a bit, as if he’s been slapped, and Yennefer’s smile grows cruel. His voice, still incredibly low but now with a slight tremor to it, stutters out; “Wha- Yen, what is he- Jaskier? I only came to ask for help with Ciri, I didn’t know- I didn’t-”

Geralt’s stammered speech tapers off into silence and Yennefer’s brow furrows a second time. When the sorceress sets eyes on the child, who cannot be more than twelve years old, her expression softens again. Jaskier watches the most imposing woman in the world kneel, taking one small, pale hand in both of her own. “My name is Yennever of Vengerberg, former Sorceress of Aretuza. I am honored to meet you, Princess Cirilla. Geralt has come seeking protection, no doubt, and it is easily granted. I will do everything I can to help you.”

“Thank you, Lady Yennefer. And, uhm… Ciri’s fine,” the girl replies. Her voice is high and reedy, shot through with anxiety. She’s so young, Jaskier frowns. And yet she seems to have weathered an incredible storm.

“Ciri,” the bard bows from the doorway, low and dramatic. He sweeps his arm out to the side and bends his knees as awkwardly as possible, “I am Jaskier, private troubadour and gardener extraordinaire, under the employ of the magnanimous and dangerous Lady Yennefer, here. It is my greatest honor to make your very mighty and very royal acquaintance.”

“You’re silly, Master Jaskier,” the child giggles, hiding her mouth behind her hands. Geralt’s eyes grow wide and dart between Jaskier and the girl. Yennefer makes meaningful eye contact before nodding toward the door. Jaskier looks down at Ciri again when she asks: “Do you grow lots of flowers in Lady Yennefer’s garden, or just herbs and things for magic?”

“I grow lots of things all over the property,” the brunette man steps forward and offers Ciri his hand, gesturing towards the front door with the other. “Would you like to come and take a look? I know all the scientific names, you can even quiz me if you like.”

“I know some,” she smiles shyly, accepting the offered hand. “May I go take a look at the gardens, Geralt?”

“Go ahead,” the Witcher nods dumbly. “Jaskier will take good care of you.”

“That I will. Now, let’s take a look at the flowers and let these silly adults have a chat,” Jaskier grins. He winks at Yennefer and disappears out the door, exiled Princess in tow.

The two lively companions have toured through all the medicinal herbs and are halfway through Yennefer’s large collection of rose variations when the two other members of the party approach. Geralt looks sheepish, his eyes downcast. Yennefer looks triumphant; she is radiant in her victory as always.

Geralt steps forward, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Jaskier, I’ve come to apologize for what happened when we parted.”

“Excuse me?” the bard chuckles, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, exactly.”

“When I yelled at you after the dragon hunt. It was only two months ago, Jaskier, surely you remember?”

Jaskier blushes, glancing anxiously between Geralt and his friend, whose violet eyes are stormy with emotion, “I'm truly sorry, but I don't think we've ever met."

Geralt gasps sharply and takes a step back, as he did in the entryway. Jaskier winces, seemingly on instinct, and shies away from the larger man. “You don’t remember me?”

“No…” Jaskier sighs. “I really don't. Should I?”

“You don’t… You don’t even remember Toss a Coin?”

“Oh, that ditty from town?” Jaskier perks up. “I know that song! It always gets stuck in my head.”

“You… You wrote that song,” Geralt’s face crumples. “About our first adventure together outside of Posada. With the elves and the sylvan...”

“I’ve never been to Posada,” Jaskier laughs, waving his hand dismissively. “They hate bards. They prefer troupes of traveling play-actors. Posada is far too serious for my tastes.”

Geralt seems to be in agony. His chest rises and falls unevenly, as if he’s on the verge of tears but unable to shed them. Can Witchers cry?

How does he know that Geralt is a Witcher? Is it the two swords, the scars, or the strange eyes? How does he know that those are common Witcher traits?

His stomach lurches and he turns away from the group in case he needs to be sick. The ground spins and shivers in little ripples around him, unstable and impermanent beneath his feet. Yennefer is calling his name from somewhere far away and a pair of warm, strong arms are looped around his waist. Still, he can’t seem to breathe. Or focus.

There’s something missing.

He starts to hum, trying to remember the words of that damned song.

The rest of the world fades in and out around him, finally disappearing altogether.

---

He’s gorgeous.

Jaskier shoves another roll into his pocket. His eyes are focused on the man in the corner. He has long, snow-white hair and his shoulders are hunched forward protectively, as if he can hold the world out by sitting by himself. He’s glaring the table into submission, one fist clenched around his tankard.

I want to write him a thousand ballads. I want to know what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning, before he brushes it out again. I want to know if he snores. I want… he stops himself.

He makes his way across the room with eyes only for the stranger. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

The man looks away and Jaskier notices that his irises are gold. “I’m here to drink alone.”

Gods, his fucking voice… Velvet and gravel all at once. Melitele, does Jaskier want. “Good, yeah. Good. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance… except for you.”

The man, the Witcher, Jaskier realizes, rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” he wheedles, sitting down across from the gorgeous stranger. “You don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me, three words or less.”

The man’s face stays stoic, expressionless. “They don’t exist.”

He realizes shortly thereafter that this man is not just any Witcher but the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, Geralt of Rivia. He could try to disengage himself from such a daunting character; he could easily make some kind of excuse and disappear back to the troubadour’s path, heading towards civilization, but it’s already too late. He doesn’t want to leave Geralt’s side ever again; he wants to write all those ballads he was thinking about earlier, when he glanced across the room.

Jaskier has fallen head over heels in love. ---

Geralt cradles Jaskier against his chest and presses his nose deep into those chestnut brown waves. “Wake up, Jaskier. Come back to me, bard, it’s been too long.”

“Don’t you usually go all winter without seeing him?” Yennefer asks from the doorway.

“It’s hell,” he replies easily. There’s no point in hiding his feelings from her. “I miss him every minute of every day.”

“Verbose this evening,” she remarks, taking a seat by the fire. “He’s dreaming, you know. He’s remembering you.”

“He’d forgotten?”

“He’d repressed it all,” she shrugs. “When I found him that day, feverish and nearly dead on the side of that godsforsaken mountain, he was barely coherent enough to open his eyes. He just kept asking for you, Geralt. Over and over he called for you, reaching his arms up, weak as they were. Gods, it was pitiful to watch.”

Geralt swallows.

“I thought you were going to come back sooner. I was surprised when his memories didn’t resurface after two or three weeks. Short-term memory loss after a fever isn’t uncommon but repressing twenty years worth of feelings and experiences-” she whistles lowly “-it was impressive and tragic, all at once.”

“He forgot me?”

“Entirely.”

Geralt glances down, shame-faced. He adjusts Jaskier in his arms, holding him close and pillowing the bard’s head against his shoulder. “I deserve it, Yen.”

“He’s remembering now, though. He’ll probably be a little less than pleased to see you when he wakes up, but he knows who you are.”

“When will he wake?”

“Can’t say,” she shrugs again. “After I brought him back from the mountain it took three days for him to wake up. The first day was magically induced but after that it was just him… exhausted and heartbroken to the point of self-induced amnesia.”

“Fuck, Yen,” Geralt groaned, pressing his forehead into the soft warmth of Jaskier’s cheek. “How can I make it up to him?”

“Stay.”

“Hmm?”

“When he wakes up and he’s angry and upset, stay. Don’t stomp off or blow up or freak out,” she instructs. “If he asks you to leave, go, but otherwise… prove yourself, Geralt of Rivia. You wanted to be a knight once, didn’t you? Now’s your chance to play Prince Charming. Get down on your lovely knees and beg and apologize.”

“Hmm. How’s Ciri?”

“Fed, bathed, and put to bed. I’ll take care of her for as long as it takes you two morons to make nice again. Good luck, Geralt, I’m sure he’ll forgive you too easily for my tastes.”

She stands from her seat and leaves just as efficiently as she entered, carefully closing the door behind her. Geralt lays Jaskier back on the bed and takes a seat beside him on the mattress, kneeling just within touching distance, should Jaskier reach out for reassurance in his sleep. Geralt closes his eyes and slips easily into meditation.

The Witcher is pulled from his trance a few hours later when Jaskier makes a startled sound and tries to sit up. Geralt opens his eyes and splays one warm, broad hand against Jaskier’s chest, forcing him back against the goose down pillows. “Stay still, Jaskier. You’re feverish and weak.”

“I’m still dreaming,” the bard grumbles, reaching to rub at his eyes with the heels of his hands. It’s adorable and Geralt grins widely, warmth spilling into his chest from some newly discovered fount of happiness. “You’re being too nice to me, Witcher.”

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier, for everything.”

“What’s everything, Geralt?”

“I’m sorry for pushing you away when I was angry and confused instead of communicating with you. I’m sorry for hurting you with my brash words and foolish actions; you have always deserved so much better and I’m so afraid that I can never give that to you. I take the wrong step at every turn, it seems, and yet you stay by my side. I didn’t want to risk hurting you the way I’ve already hurt Yen and Ciri, by tying us together against your will.”

“Darling Geralt,” the bard sighs. The Witcher scoots slightly closer and Jaskier lays a gentle hand atop his thigh. “It has always been my greatest pleasure to travel the Path with you and write of our adventures. I appreciate your concern for my agency and wellbeing, dear heart, but I am quite happy spending my entire human life in your presence.”

“Hmm,” the Witcher frowns. “You’re going to die someday.”

“And? So are you. So shall Yennefer, maybe.”

“Not likely,” Geralt jokes. Jaskier grins and the sight of it is so heartwarming that the Witcher wishes he could break down into tears. At least then Jaskier could see just how deeply his feelings ran. “I’m sorry, Jaskier, for blaming you for things that I brought upon myself. I love you dearly, and I hope that someday you can choose to travel with me again.”

“Excuse me?”

“I hope that you’ll-”

“No, the other bit.”

“I love you?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Oh. Yes, I-” Geralt clears his throat and looks Jaskier in the eyes, gold and blue locked together, “I love you very much, Jaskier.”

“Fuck.”

“May I kiss you, Jaskier?”

“Yes,” the bard breathes.

And then Geralt is lifting him up into his lap, one hand cradling Jaskier’s skull so so fucking carefully. Geralt’s other arm supports his waist, holding him steady. Their lips come together softly, carefully, and Jaskier’s soul spirals up to the ceiling with joy, his body abandoned. He is merely a vessel for the happiness that comes with kissing his Witcher. When they pull apart, both men are grinning like fools. “Oh, dear heart.”

“Yes, my love?”

“Never stop calling me that.”

“I swear I won’t, my love.”

From downstairs, Geralt hears Yennefer mutter, “Fucking finally.”

It takes twenty-two years, seven months, and one day, but Geralt and Jaskier manage to figure things out.

#bounceacoinoffyouranons #geraskier #amnesia #amensiac jaskier #memory loss #rare species fix it #the witcher netflix #the witcher ficlet #geraskier fluff #angst with a happy ending #fluff and angst #whump with a happy ending #jaskier whump #yennefer #yen and jaskier are bitchy theatre bffs #and you can't stop me #anon you really got me fucked up

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fific7 · 4 years ago

Text

Dangerous and Divine - Epilogue

Billy Russo x Reader

Summary: Billy Russo is an itch you don’t want to scratch. But he’s all over you like a rash.

A/N: The final part!! This does not follow canon, it’s mainly fluff & lemon zest 🍋 Hopefully you’ve guessed by now that is my “Billy Russo Deserves Real Love AU” as I totally refuse to accept what happened in S2! The GIF is from Exposed, unreleased pilot show in case you’re wondering 😌... Billy vibes.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral and unprotected* sex between consenting adults. Some drinking & swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My GIF)

Six Months Later

You opened up your eyes slowly, becoming aware of a finger trailing gently down your arm; it felt like a butterfly fluttering on your skin. Two dark chocolate eyes were gazing down into yours, sparkling with mischief.

“Good morning, Mrs Russo,” a very self-satisfied Billy Russo whispered, smiling at you.

You yawned, stretching out out your limbs and enjoying the feeling of a light breeze on your body coming through the patio doors.

“Morning, Billy,” you replied, reaching up and kissing his lips, scratching a finger along his bristly jaw. “And how is my wife this morning?” he asked, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “I’m good... actually, very good,” you smiled up at him. “Just as well we’ve got our own villa, angel. You were so noisy last night, screaming my name,” he teased.

Getting up, you stretched again, aware of Billy’s eyes on you as you picked up your little silky robe, slowly putting it on and enjoying the disappointed look on his face. “That’s just to big up your male ego, poppet,” you teased back. He flung himself onto his back on the bed, faux-sulking, “How can you say that, sweetheart?! ....after I kept you up half the night making love to you?”

“Only half the night? Would’ve thought the love god that is Billy Russo would be claiming it was all night!!” A pout instantly appeared on his handsome face and that was just too much, so you leant down over him, stroking his face and kissing him passionately. He grabbed you, pulling you down onto him and your robe came off a lot faster than it went on, unceremoniously dumped on the floor. “Ride me,” he whispered in your ear.

You had to bring him back down to earth though, as you quite urgently needed to visit the bathroom and so you’d extricated yourself from his arms and stood up, picking up your robe. The pout had got even poutier and his eyes looked huge as he gazed up at you from where he lay on the crisp white Egyptian cotton sheets. “Oh, okayyy,” he drawled, grinning, both hands going up behind his head as he lazed back on the pillows, “....so now we’re married, you’re gonna start slappin’ sex bans on me, huh?” You slipped your robe back on and put your hands on your hips, “Billy Russo! Don’t be such a drama king! You’d think you were on your honeymoon or something!” He just kept on grinning at you.

“Well! You either wait two minutes so I don’t have an accident on those lovely clean sheets, or maybe I’d better just call my divorce lawyer right now!” you mock-threatened. His face fell, “Angel! I’m only jokin’ y’know!” You burst out laughing, “Me too, you silly big sap! But not about going to the bathroom!” Flouncing out of the bedroom, hearing his answering laugh as you went.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Once you were in the bathroom, you let your mind drift back over the last few days. You and Billy had been married just two days ago, a small wedding just as you both wanted with close family and friends only (Billy’s Marine buddies being his family). You’d had the most perfect day, but after all the planning and rushing around in the run-up to the big day, you felt as if it had all gone by in a flash. Whoosh - and it was all over. One minute Karen and your little cousin had been fussing round you, helping with your hair, your makeup, your dress, and in no time at all - it seemed - Billy was taking your hand and leading you out of the reception party, accompanied by a chorus of wolf whistles and catcalls.

You two had stayed that night in the beautiful hotel in upstate New York where the wedding had been held. Billy had picked you up ‘bridal style’ while you were in the hotel elevator and then carried you along the corridor to your suite, kicking the door shut behind him and laying you gently down on the bed. Then he had slowly and sensually slid your wedding dress and underskirts up over your thighs, smile as bright as the sun as he ran his hands over your stockings and garter belt, pushed aside your lacy underwear and had taken you right there and then, whispering to you all the while that now you were truly his.

The next day, you and Billy had flown from JFK to Ibiza in the Balearic Islands, Spain. He’d been surprised when you’d said where you wanted to go for your honeymoon. He thought you’d want to go to the Caribbean or the Maldives or suchlike. But you’d spent some very happy times there when you were on your travels a while back, and you knew he’d love the laid-back vibe of the island.

So he’d booked a luxurious villa for a whole month, in the pine-clad hills above a large cove with a beach called Cala Llonga, east of Ibiza Town. The aromatic scent in the air was truly intoxicating and you closed your eyes, inhaling it from the small breeze making its way through the bathroom window, open just a tiny bit.

You sighed happily; both workplaces had been asked to contact you only in a dire emergency and with Frank and Jake left in charge while you and Billy were on honeymoon, after initially being anxious about being away for so long you now felt surprisingly relaxed about it.

Washing your hands and making your way back to the bedroom, you smiled as you saw your new husband sprawled out on the bed, naked and looking at you with a devilish smirk on his handsome face.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy happily stretched out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and hearing the water running in the bathroom in the background. The more he thought about it, the more he could hardly believe it - he’d actually managed to persuade her to marry him. He really thought he’d blown it when he’d proposed the first time. When she’d changed her mind and said ‘Yes’, he’d been so happy he thought he’d explode like a human hand grenade.

Still somewhat surprised about his complete turnaround from playboy to lovesick sap, he’d decided long before the wedding to just lie back and accept what the Fates had in store for him. Maybe they’d decided to give him some good karma for a change, after his solitary and loveless childhood and the difficulties he’d had after he left the Marines.

He thought back to just before the wedding ceremony, when Frank had been helping him tie his silver silky cravat after he’d put on his fancy morning suit and dress shirt. His big friend had suddenly clasped his shoulder, saying gruffly, “Bill.... you’ve finally got a chance to be ‘Happy Ever After’, y’know bud. Don’t fuck it up, whatever you do.”

Grabbing the big paw on his shoulder, he’d said sincerely, “I won’t, Frankie... believe me, I won’t.”

He’d also thought about a text he’d received the night before the wedding, and which he’d decided not to mention to his girl. Because it was from Madani. She’d heard the news about Billy getting married from Sam, who he’d met by chance in a local bar a few days before the wedding.

Typical vitriolic Madani, he thought. Saying how he was making a big mistake and he’d regret it in the end. Meaning, of course, because he hadn’t chosen her. Hadn’t even wished the two of you well, couldn’t bring herself to make even that small concession.

Bitch. He’d angrily deleted the text along with the whole string of her past messages, and had then deleted her contact details out of his phone. A feeling of great satisfaction had washed over him as he’d hit the ‘Delete Contact’ button on Dinah Madani. Gone and very definitely forgotten.

Now he looked over to see his angel walking back towards him, looking totally edible in her silky robe.

Grinning, he patted the sheet next to him, “C’mere, sweetheart....”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy grabbed your wrist, pulling you down next to him and pouncing on top of you. The robe came off again and he was kissing you hungrily, appetite undiminished even after your mutual athletics the night before. He ran his hands all over you, pulling your body closer against his, telling you how much he loved you, wanted you, needed you. Then he rolled over onto his back, grinning over at you, “C’mon, angel... I need you to ride me.”

Grinning back at him, “Might do,” you replied. He shook his head, “No, really.... angel... you need to do it and do it now.” You also lay down on your back, “What’s the consequences if I don’t?” you teased. He looked horrified, “You sayin’ No to me?” You shrugged, smirking. “Angel! Please.... what... uhhh... do I gotta beg?” You nodded, “I think you do.” So Billy sighed, getting up and then kneeling beside the bed, hands clasped together and held up in supplication to you, “Please, goddess, m’beggin’ you.... pleeeease! Please!”

From your lofty perch on the bed, you looked down at the male masterpiece currently on his knees in front of you. The early morning sun highlighted his sculpted muscles to perfection, including the delicious-looking erection he was sporting, and you couldn’t keep up the pretence any longer. You reached down and grabbed a handful of his hair, tugging on it several times as his now-grinning face looked up at you.

“Ahhh... so I got the green light, goddess?” You nodded imperiously, and he leapt up and onto the bed at the speed of light. You pushed his shoulders down into the pillows and climbed on top of him, seeing his eyes widen in anticipation. Leaning over, you slid your fingers to the back of his neck and began gently stroking, then took his ‘tache between your lips and sucked gently, before running your tongue over it and then sucking again. Hearing small whimpers coming from him, you moved on to the tufty bit of beard under his bottom lip, giving it the same treatment. Then you ran your tongue very slowly over his bottom lip and suddenly you heard an agonised ‘Fuck!” from Billy, and wetness spread over your stomach and thighs.

Sitting up, you looked down in surprise at the sheen you could see glinting on your skin. A very sheepish-looking Billy was gazing up at you, “Uhhh....m’sorry, angel,” he whispered, “....y’got me too excited.” He covered his eyes with one big hand, then you saw two dark chocolate eyes peeking out between his fingers at you. “Are you mad at me?” he asked, somewhat fearfully. You leant down and kissed his nose, “No! Course not, Billy.”

He slid his hand away from his face, “Really? Been goin’ on at you to ride me then don’t even get inside you before.....!” and he gestured at the pearly liquid on your skin. His face was tinged pink by now, “M’so embarrassed!” he wailed. “Honestly, Billy.... I’m not mad at you,” you said, tweaking his nose between finger and thumb before getting up and heading through to the bathroom. Grabbing a handful of baby wipes you went back to the bedroom, sitting on the bed and quickly cleaning yourself up before teasing Billy by running a baby wipe slowly and sensually along his velvety length. You heard some low soft moans from him, and knew it wouldn’t be very long before he was fully aroused again.

So you kept on stroking him. Laying the baby wipe aside, you continued using just your hand on him. “Sweetheart, what you tryin’ to do to me?” he asked in a breathy voice. “Oh, poppet.... I think you know exactly what I’m doing,” you smirked down at him, loving the way he looked at that moment, vulnerable and at your mercy, big wide eyes gazing up at you, lips parted slightly. You slid your hand in between his legs, taking hold of his balls, gently massaging and squeezing them while still working his cock with your other hand. He squirmed below you, breath catching in his throat, one hand going to the hand you were stroking him with and pulling it to the head of his cock. Taking the hint, you concentrated on it, squeezing and rubbing at it while Billy writhed under you, letting out a string of swears.

Then you decided to add a little something to the mix and leant down to lick him, letting your tongue drag over his tip back and forth with quite some force. Billy had cried out really quite loudly as you started doing that and you smiled, thinking he’d made a good point about having a private villa. You could both be really noisy when you wanted to be. Feeling him stiffening in your hand, you increased the speed and firmness of your stroking and also took him more fully into your mouth.

“Please.... sweetheart!” groaned Billy, “....gotta get inside you... please!!!” You could hear him beginning to pant so without further delay you guided him inside you, before sinking down onto his length. He gave a long low moan, while you gasped with pleasure as soon as he was fully sheathed inside you. Billy was giving out soft whimpering moans and began desperately thrusting up into you, hands running up the sides of your body onto your breasts and he began slowly massaging. In turn you started moving on him, hands on his chest, relishing the feeling of both his firm muscled body and how he filled you completely. “You...” Billy whispered, big dark eyes gazing up at you, “...you’re perfect for me, angel. Fit me like a glove.” His hand moved down to where your bodies were joined and began rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“Could say the same about you, Marine,” you breathed against his ear, leaning down and giving him a dirty open-mouthed kiss before moving your mouth onto his neck beard, and running your tongue over it. You felt Billy tense up and knew he was about to climax, and you felt your own orgasm building. Both of you were wound up tighter than springs! You wrapped your arms round your new husband’s shoulders and let the waves of pleasure roll over you.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

A lot later on, you and Billy strolled down to Cala Llonga and joined the small queue of people waiting on the little stone jetty for the water taxi to Ibiza Town. The boat was fairly small and you all crammed onto the wooden benches which filled most of it. Billy wrapped his arm round you, glaring at the Dutch guy sitting on the other side of you who’d been smiling and trying to make small talk with you. “We’re on honeymoon,” he growled at him, butting in just as the guy asked where you were staying. “Oh that’s great, congratulations!” he said, and you’d smiled at him, “Thank you.” Billy however was still glowering at the poor guy, so you elbowed him and he said reluctantly, “Yeah, thanks.”

You tried to distract Billy by pointing out several landmarks as the boat bobbed and puttered its way round the coast, and then the main town on the island came into sight as you rounded the last headland.

Billy gazed at the sight of the Dalt Vila (Old Town) in front of him and said in an awestruck voice, “Oh hey, that’s so pretty.” You smirked at him, “Told you you’d love it.” He looked back to you, “What’re our plans for this afternoon then?” Pleased that he was handing over the reins to you, smiling fondly at him you said, “Well, first of all I’m gonna make sure my hungry husband gets fed and watered. There are some lovely little outdoor restaurants along the marina.” You heard his stomach rumbling quietly as you mentioned food and he gave you a huge grin, “Now that’s what I call a plan.”

Stepping off the ferry, you guided him to one of the restaurants you’d eaten at before, and chose one of the tables at the front overlooking the yacht moorings. There were quite a few superyachts - some the size of small ocean liners - moored up so the oligarchs were in town, you thought to yourself.

The two of you enjoyed a leisurely lunch, before heading into the maze of narrow streets of the Old Town. Strolling right up to the old church at the very top of the hill, Billy oohing and ahhing at the whitewashed old houses and the view once you reached the church. He leant on the wall enclosing the courtyard in front of the church, looking out over the town, the two marinas and the surrounding hills and you heard a big happy sigh. He turned his head towards you, “This is perfect. You’re perfect. I love this place. And I love you.” He leant in for a kiss, and things started to get a bit raunchy before you heard a throat being cleared loudly behind you. The two of you broke apart, turning to find two elderly Spanish ladies glaring at you with outraged expressions on their faces.

You smiled at them, “Ah... lo siento, señoras, estamos en nuestra luna de miel.” Instantly, large smiles appeared on their faces and they moved away in a flurry of waving hands and staccato Spanish which you couldn’t quite catch. “What d’you say to them, sweetheart?” asked Billy. “That we’re on our honeymoon,” you grinned, “...didn’t understand all of the replies but rest assured, we’re forgiven!” He leaned in, “Well, reckon we should pick up where we left off then,” mouth back on yours. You surreptitiously ran a hand over the zip of his jeans and felt an interesting bulge there, hearing his low gasp, “Okay, but we better leave most of it till we get back to the villa... otherwise we’ll get arrested!” He sighed, nuzzling your neck, “Couldn’t we just go down one of these little streets an’.....” Laughing, you walked away holding out your hand to him, “No we can’t! C‘mon, tiger,” and with a pout firmly in place he followed, taking your hand in his.

Heading back down through Dalt Vila into the main part of town, you came to Paseo Vara de Rey, a wide, short tree-lined boulevard near the marina. In the evenings, the locals would come here for their before-dinner strolls, stopping for a chat with friends or a quick aperitif. It was just starting to get a bit busier as locals and tourists alike came along to enjoy the late afternoon sun.

You and Billy joined the strolling groups of people, looking in the shop windows and at people sitting in the open-air café sections, gradually making your way towards the marina end of the Paseo. Steering him towards a large hotel situated on the corner of Vara de Rey and into the cool white interior of its bar, you suggested he might want to buy you a cocktail. Leaning on the bar, he grinned at you, “Okay, I will... but then can we go back to the villa?”

“But why do you want to go back to the villa, Billy? I thought you were having a nice time here in town?” “I am!” he protested, “...and you know perfectly well why I wanna go back!” said with an accompanying eyebrow wiggle, “...we’re on our honeymoon!”

One of the barmen overheard him, “Ah, señor y señora! Let us make you very special cocktails in celebration of your wedding!!” Bill looked round, embarrassed, “Oh no.. s’okay, honestly - we’re fine, thanks.” Shaking his head vigorously, the barman grabbed a couple of cocktail shakers and tossed one of them to his co-worker, “But we must! It will take just a few moments.”

Then there was a flurry of pouring, shaking, ice, fruit and citrus slices being added before a couple of glasses were placed on the bar in front of you with a flourish. You and Billy eyed each other before taking a sip from your drinks. It was pleasant enough - you could taste rum and fruit - but not particularly what you’d’ve chosen for yourself. However, in the same spirit as the drinks were offered, you both made appreciative noises and thanked them profusely, before escaping to a table by the window overlooking Vara de Rey. Sitting down, Billy chuckled, “I guess I better learn to keep my big trap shut!” You agreed, “You’re forgetting that most of the locals speak really good English, so don’t be giving away any more of our secrets!” “What... like the fact you love my dick and think it’s really pretty?” he sniggered, while you slapped his arm, looking round quickly to make sure no-one had heard him.

Seeing no-one within earshot, you leant forward and said, “No... more like you telling me you’re in love with my ‘perfect pussy’ and how you’d be inside me 24/7 if you could be!” He snorted out some of his drink, and the two of you just sat and laughed at each other for a few moments in sheer happiness. “I love you,” he said, serious all of a sudden. “I mean, like really love you.” You smiled at him over the rim of your glass, “Well that’s good, Russo, cos I love you. Like, really love you.” Again, you sat looking at each other with goofy grins on your faces. You caught sight of both barmen looking over at you and smirking so you finished the last of your cocktail, purposefully making a noisy sucking sound through your straw as you did. “Hey, Billy... will we have one more drink and then head back?”

His eyes lit up, “Yeah!!! What d’ya want to drink this time round, angel?” “I’ll just have a mojito, please.” A few minutes later, a luscious mojito-filled glass was placed in front of you, while Billy had decided on a Sidecar, which he polished off in a few quick gulps and then sat looking expectantly at you. Shaking your head and laughing at him, you said, “I won’t be downing my lovely mojito as if it was a beer, Billy. I will be sipping it in a ladylike manner.” His face fell, “Oh.” “You’ll just have to be patient, loverboy.” He perked up a bit, “But if I’m a good patient boy, I’ll get a nice reward when we get back to the villa, yeah?” You patted his silky-haired head, “Yes, you will,” and couldn’t resist tugging on a few locks of it while you were at it. His grin grew devilish, “You wanna tug on something else, angel?” You slid your hand onto his thigh under the table, giving him a very innocent smile, “No, I am not going to lower the tone of this fancy hotel bar by misbehaving, Mr Russo.” His hand covered yours on his thigh and pulled it up onto his zip, “Well, I haveta say I’m very disappointed, Mrs Russo,” before bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing it, putting on his best puppydog eyes and pout.

You had to admit, a frisson of excitement had run through you as he’d done that - Billy had made sure you realised he had an impressive erection. So in fact you picked up your mojito and drained the glass like a sailor who’d just hit a bar after six months at sea. “Okay, Billy,” you smirked, “....you win. Let’s go, tiger.” Billy sprang up from the table and pulled you by the hand towards the door, waving over at the barmen as he went, while you gave them a smile as you passed them.

Then you had to contend with an impatient Billy, pacing up and down at the marina while you were waiting on the water taxi back to Cala Llonga. Eventually it appeared, and Billy hustled you on board, making you sit at the back and beginning to kiss you as he boxed you into the corner seat. More passengers joined soon though and you pushed him back slightly, “Billy.... behave, please. We don’t want to upset any more people with PDA’s.” He grinned, “Okay, okay, I’ll keep my hands and my mouth to myself ... for now.” As the boat began to manoeuvre backwards and away from the quayside, you pointed at the town, “So, what did you think of Ibiza Town then?” Billy nodded, “Yeah, I loved it. It’s beautiful. But y’know, as long as you’re with me.... wherever we are, that’s what I really love.” You poked him in the side, “You big sap!” you laughed and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, “...but you’re my big sap, as they say.”

Those gorgeous dark eyes of his sparkled back at you, and his hand stroked your cheek, “Yeah I am, sweetheart... and that’s the most important thing. It’s all anyone needs to know about us. I’m yours, and you’re mine. And we’re in love. And together. Forever.” You put your lips next to his ear, “Yes, Billy... forever,” you whispered as the little boat carried the two of you away into the gathering dusk.

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Additional A/N: Hope you enjoyed this little journey with Billy and his sweetheart. All I ever wanted for Billy Russo was for him to be happy. Maybe we’ll meet these two again, who knows? Thanks so much for reading.

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@blackbirddaredevil23 @galaxyjane @omgrachwrites @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @ourloveisforthelovely @swthxrry

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo imagine

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griavian · 3 years ago

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the 36 questions that lead to love

x <- read on ao3

dream finds a list of questions that can supposedly lead to two people falling in love, so him and george try it out on stream. turns out, they don't really need all 36.

“Come on, George. It’s just a couple of questions.” Dream pleaded into the call, making George roll his eyes. He’s been trying to end stream for the past 15 minutes, but Dream always convinces him to go “just a little longer!”.

“36 questions is not just a couple of questions, Dream.” George glances at his second monitor to make sure his green screen was still black and to check a few discord messages. He had no intention to fall into Dream’s trap for another hour of streaming.

“But it says it’ll lead to love!” Dream says, exasperated. He googled ‘questions to ask your friend’ earlier and found a list of them that apparently lead to falling in love. To George, it was bullshit.

“That’s such bullshit.” He expresses.

“You’re no fun.” Dream’s voice lowered, and George can feel the pout Dream has plastered on his face. He can already predict what the next 12 hours would be like with Dream: silent treatment and being a general dickhead. George was used to it when they lived an ocean apart, and even found it amusing, but it was a totally different experience living with him. Dream would mope around, go into George’s room randomly just to not talk to him, and go as far as to blast sad music from his own room across the hall while George was trying to finish up some editing. Sure, it was all light-hearted jokes, and Dream would stop his act in a heartbeat if George was truly annoyed by it, but George still dreaded it.

“Fine.”

Dream immediately cheers up and starts typing on his keyboard while George watches his chat fly by, seeing a lot of emotes and positive messages.

“Okay, um- first question. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom,” Dream mocks the formality, “would you want as a dinner guest?”

George’s nose crinkles. “How is that gonna make me fall in love with you?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I don’t know! The queen?”

“That’s a stupid answer.”

“What!” George screeches and Dream barks out a laugh. “You’re so dumb.”

“You gotta give me a better answer than that, or else we won’t fall in love with each other.”

George rolls his eyes, but decides to think about his answer. Truthfully, he wouldn’t want anyone special as a dinner guest. “Um. My mum.”

George eyes his chat as it’s filled with “aw”s. He almost scoffs.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” George wants to punt Dream into another universe.

“Alright, who would you want as a guest?”

“Tom Brady.”

“That’s the stupidest answer ever!” George yells, his eyes wide, perhaps offended that Dream picked Tom Brady out of anyone else in the world.

“Question two!” Dream ignores, “This one is kinda dumb, but would you like to be famous and if you do, what for?”

George hums. “Probably don’t want to be famous-famous. Maybe being well-known for being the first person to invent IRL-VR. I want my body to be submerged in the Minecraft universe.”

“That’s sick. I dunno what I’d want-”

“You’re already famous.”

“Shut up. I don’t even- I don’t even want to be famous, really. I just want to make whoever knows me smile.”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet, Dream.” George teases and he knows Dream waved him off. George has his habits practically memorized.

“Whatever. How about you ask some questions?” Dream sends a link on discord and George reads through them.

“There’s no way these can make people fall in love. What even is this question? Before making a telephone call, do you rehearse what you’re going to say and why?”

“Trust the process. I mean, I do that. I don’t want my brain all jumbled up, I guess. Words are hard.” Dream answers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that. I wing it.”

“That’s very you. Next question.” Something about Dream saying that made George smile the tiniest bit, made the serotonin flow through his brain.

“What’s a ‘perfect day’ for you?” George reads. It’s quiet for a moment.

“Hanging out with you,” his voice is sincere, “You and Sapnap. Recording, streaming, anything like that. What about you?”

“Hm. Me too.”

George isn’t one to show his feelings often. He remembers being asked if he did, and he answered with “not ones that matter”. It still rings true to this day. His walls are still built up and that’s okay to George. Mushy feelings aren’t important, but he’d be damned if he didn’t say his heartstrings were playing a beautiful melody during this moment.

The questions and answers fall easily after that. George knows it’s around 1 am, and he should go to sleep, but answering the questions was kind of addicting.

“Do you have a hunch on how you’ll die?” Dream reads the question with a chuckle. “That’s such a weird question to ask someone you wanna fall in love with.”

George tries not to read in between the lines.

“Heart failure. For both of us.”

“You know how I’ll die?”

“We’re Minecraft streamers, Dream. We’ll probably die at 40.” They share jokes and giggles of scenarios where they die and what they’d do, and something about it feels a bit too honest.

“I’ll die the day you die, George. Emotionally and physically.” Dream says, dramatic as ever. George only huffs, and they leave it there.

“Name three things you and your partner have in common. Dream, do you have a secret girlfriend?” They start to bicker back and forth, because of course they do.

“It doesn’t mean romantic partner, you dumbass. Like- it’s like a science partner,” Dream sighs, “Well, we do have a lot in common. We have the same job, we care about the same things, and we love each other! Easy.” Dream answers.

“Who said I loved you?”

“You literally did last night.” George had closed chat a while ago, already prepared for what was to come. He can only imagine what they’re saying.

“They’ll never believe you.” George says with a sadistic grin.

“Ugh. Okay, what are you grateful for in life? You have to answer this.” George can hear Dream get a little closer to his mic, almost anticipating George’s answer. Dream knows how much he doesn’t like to express any feelings, and probably expects him to skip the question overall. George prevails.

“You. Obviously,” and before Dream can get out an aww, George says, “You made my career, dummy, and I’m grateful for that. And my friends, family, all the normal things. Chat! I’m even grateful for chat.”

“Well, I’m incredibly grateful for you especially.” Dream’s voice is soft, almost loving. George rolls his eyes. He could’ve guessed Dream’s answer, but it weirdly hurts him when it was spoken aloud. He doesn’t know whether it hurts because it might be a fun little joke or if it’s because someone might care about him that much. George decides to stop thinking.

They answer more questions, from taking four minutes to tell each other their life stories (“There was no reason to add that detail; you’re so gross, Dream.”) to what significant quality they would want to wake up and suddenly have (“You’re already good at code shit, George. That’s the saddest answer ever.”). They move onto section two of the list, which are deeper questions.

“Is there something you’ve dreamed of doing but haven’t yet, and why haven’t you?” George asks. He knows about Dream’s unfinished projects. There’s probably a million answers to the question, and George would listen to every single one.

“Uh, well. You know I was writing a book, yeah? I was halfway done with it, and I can’t make myself finish it. It’s probably writer’s block, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it.” George frowned.

“You can’t finish it with that attitude, silly. You’re annoyingly amazing at everything.” George says with a snort, “I don’t have an answer to this. What did you say that one time? Your future is my future? Well, your dreams are my dreams, then.”

George cringes a little at what he said. He doesn’t know his viewer count, but knows that at least a million people will watch that clip out of context. Dream doesn’t say anything back and moves on to the next question.

“What is your most treasured memory?” Dream asks, and George immediately laughs.

“I definitely know your’s.”

“Do tell, George.”

“Our first Christmas together. Sapnap insisted on getting a real Christmas tree, and when we started decorating the stupid thing, Sapnap sees a spider and screeches. Then, our neighbors come knocking on the front door and you had to explain to them that nobody was being murdered, it was just your roommate being a big baby. And as if it could get any worse, I got tree-sap all on my fingers and clothes and you couldn’t help me because you were laughing too hard.”

“Pretty sure I almost choked on my own spit.” Dream adds, and George scoffs. “But no, that’s not my treasured memory.”

George sputters. “What? You’re telling me I told that to thousands of people for nothing?”

“To be fair, you were all soft on Christmas morning, so our first Christmas might be your treasured memory. Anyways, remember the first time you helped me with a code?” George stays silent, giving Dream the answer. “Well, that was the first time we had a real conversation. I made you laugh, then I started to laugh because you laughed, and we didn’t get the code done. It sounds dumb, but I always smile whenever I think about it.”

George’s face falters a bit. God, he just wants to hug Dream; he wants to make a beeline for his room and attack him with affection and make sure he knows that George loves him, platonically or romantically, George wants him to know.

He just can’t express it with words.

“That… sweet.” George’s eyes travel down the following questions and panics, seeing how personal the questions are. He fakes a yawn. “As mushy and stupid this thing is, I’m really tired.”

Dream doesn’t say anything. It almost scares George, but he deafens on Discord and bids farewell to his viewers, who were completely freaking out. George doesn’t blame them. He’s abruptly leaving after a sweet moment? That’s a recipe for disaster, and George knows better. Yet, he clicks the end stream button.

The door to his office swings open instantly and startles George. It was Sapnap, someone he didn’t particularly want to see.

“What the fuck was that?” His roommate whisper-yells.

George groans and slides deeper into his chair, covering his face. “I don’t know,” he muffles.

“Are you even trying to hide your feelings at this point?” He can hear Sapnap close the door and flop on his office’s couch. “You might as well buy a billboard that says ‘I’m in love with my best friend! His name is Clay!’ with a big ass picture of your dumb face beside it.”

“I know,” George whines. “Do you think he knows?”

“He’s not the one I’m worried about knowing. I’ve told you a million goddamn times that he’s too whipped to notice. I’m worried about the fans. They’re gonna go fucking bonkers because of this stream. Clips are gonna be shared. People are gonna speculate.”

George uncovers his face and narrows his eyes at his friend. “Thanks for the reassurance,” he deadpans.

Sapnap rolls his eyes. “I’m being serious, dude. I know you’re very deeply in love with him in the gayest of ways, but you gotta be careful in front of the fans.”

“Oh my God. I know, Sapnap! I know. I forgot we were even streaming. It felt like it was just the two of us, and I got too comfortable. And it was so nice. I can’t even do anything about it now, so it doesn’t even matter.”

Sapnap sighs and pulls himself from the couch. “You need to talk to him before this gets out of hand. You know I love ya, and that I’m here for you.” George cringes out of habit, but nods. It reads as ‘I love you too, I guess’.

Sapnap leaves without another word, and George is left alone with his thoughts. It’s not long before he sluggishly makes his way back to his bedroom. He opens the closed door, enters, and shuts it. He turns around, only to be greeted by a familiar person in his bed, and yelps.

Dream laughs. He’s wearing blue pajama pants and a white t-shirt. His hair looks messed with, and his cheeks seem to have more color to them. George can’t help but stare.

“Well? Aren’t we gonna finish it?”

George cocks an eyebrow.

“Finish what?”

“The questions, dummy. You don’t… you don’t have to. I mean, it’s kinda stupid that I want to do it in the first place, but…” Dream trails off. George hops on his bed and grins lightly.

“Go for it.”

They answer questions they skipped, like what is your most terrible memory (“My, uh, grandma. She died when I was about 14. It was… hard on me.” “Oh, George…”).

The overhead light was off at this point, the only light coming from a lamp on his desk and the stars shining through the window. The two are on their sides, Dream on the right of the bed and George on the left, facing each other, occasionally looking at their phones to ask the questions.

“What roles do love and affection play in your life?” Dream asks, his voice softer than ever. George can almost not answer. He doesn’t know.

“I’ve never been a super affectionate person, so I don’t know. I’ll give you guys quick hugs of course, but with really close relationships, I don’t know what to do.”

Dream looks as if he’s searching for something in George’s face, and George can’t tell what he’s looking for. His movements are hesitant, George sees.

“Do- um. You wanna maybe,” Dream pauses, closes his eyes,and scrunches up his face. “Try?”

“Try what?”

“Affection.” Dream lets out a breath and opens his eyes. “Affection is my strong suit, afterall.” His mouth forms into a teasing smirk despite his eyes showing nervousness.

“Um. Take the lead.”

It’s slow. So, very slow. Dream’s hand raises up and lands itself on the dip of George’s waist. He’s whispering instructions, and George listens. His hands are hung around Dream’s neck, and their legs are starting to tangle together. They laugh when they realize how far apart they are, and Dream pulls him closer. George can feel his heart beating out of his chest as he lays his head where Dream’s right shoulder meets his neck.

“Do you want me to ask the rest of the questions, sweetheart?” It sounded like a coo, and George is surprised at how effortless the pet name comes out of Dream’s mouth.

“Was that okay?” Dream whispers after a moment of George going still. He perks up.

“Yeah! Yeah.”

“Okay.” Dream pulls George closer and rests his left hand on his back. He starts rubbing up and down in slow motions.

George simply melts.

The questions and answers go by slower, and their voices become gentler. Dream announces that they’re on section three now, and to state three true “we” statements. Dream goes first.

“We… are cuddling?”

“Obviously, idiot.” George chuckles. “We are really tired?” Dream hums.

“We meant everything we’ve said tonight.”

“We are going to mean everything we say tonight.”

“You can’t just steal my answer.”

“Just do your third one.”

“We will be ‘Dream and George’ forever.”

Forever is a long, long time. And yet, Dream’s statement is still true.

“We don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Very vague.”

“Next question, Dream.”

“Alright, alright. Complete this sentence: ‘I wish I had someone whom I could share…’”

Without a second thought, George replies, “My emotions with. Your turn.”

George swears he felt Dream squeeze him.

“My everything with. Every single little thing. Physical, metaphorical, emotional.”

“Even Patches?”

A laugh.

“Yes. Even Patches.”

“Next question.”

“Tell your partner what you like about them and be very honest.”

“Your voice. It’s like… I don’t even know how to describe it.”

“Does it get you going, George?”

“Shut up. I definitely don’t like your smart-assery.” George can feel Dream lean down into George’s shoulder and smile. “I like how you act around people. It’s always different depending on the person. Different with me.”

“I like how you act around people too. You’re almost always bubbly, even though you like to say you aren’t. And, God, your laugh. It’s so overwhelming, but in the best way possible. You have no idea how many times I’ve said the stupidest shit just to hear your little laugh.” George digs his head deeper into Dream’s shoulder. “I also… really like it when you say my name. My real name.”

George raises slightly, gaining the tiniest bit of confidence. “Clay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that.”

“Clay,” George whispers.

“George.” Dream sounds weak. So, very weak. George gets closer to his ear.

“Clay.”

George can’t tell if he’s joking.

“You’re gonna kill me, George.”

George’s lips brush against the outer of Dream’s ear, and his friend shivers. He decides this isn’t a joke anymore. He thinks the invisible line they had drawn in the sand many years ago has been kicked and stomped on to the point where neither of them remembers the line being there. George goes further.

“Clay, Clay, Clay,” George is still whispering, slowly brushing his lips across Dream’s jaw, and the hands around his waist get the littlest bit tighter.

George finally raises his head to meet Dream, who was a mess. His cheeks are glowing and his eyes are almost bloodshot. His breath is labored and his hands are shaky.

“Calm down, love.” George whispers and raises his right hand to meet Dream’s cheek, who leans into the touch.

“Kiss me.” Dream begs quietly, as if saying anything louder would shatter the moment in little pieces.

An adrenaline rush fills George’s veins. “Anything you want,” he says, and closes the gap.

The kiss is soft. Dream is maneuvering their bodies to be more comfortable, meaning George is pulled on top of Dream. Their lips didn’t part once.

They move together in harmony, both in the kiss and their bodies, putting everything they got into it. It was unsaid feelings and years and years of thoughts, and George felt every single one of them. George is straddling Dream’s middle and Dream is leaning up to meet George’s touch. His hands are rubbing up and down and squeezing George’s hips and George’s hands find their way into Dream’s hair. It’s perfect and imperfect and everything George has been waiting for, yearning for.

They part, and Dream pushes their foreheads together. George assumes they look dumb, but how could he care in this moment?

“Beautiful. You’re beautiful.” Dream says, his breath tickling George’s mouth. He lets out a breath and breaks out into a smile. His hands start brushing through Dream’s hair and George backs away to get a good look. Dream is staring back.

George lunges forward and wraps his arms around Dream’s neck, sending him flat on the bed with an “oof”.

“Jesus Christ, George. A warning would be nice.”

“I love you. I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-I-love-you-” George couldn’t get enough of saying it. George’s dam cracked when Dream held him and fucking exploded when they kissed. He doesn’t have to hold back anymore, so he doesn’t.

“Slow down, baby.” Dream says through a chuckle. He makes George lean up with tans hands on pale cheeks and a lot of eye contact. “I love you, too.”

George’s breathing slows down to a normal, less-adrenaline-filled pace, and Dream kisses him again. George forces his head back up.

“What does this mean for us?”

“Isn’t it a little obvious?”

“Not really.”

“Boyfriends, George. We’re dating now.”

“How do you know I wanted to even be your boyfriend.” George narrows his eyebrows in faux-suspicion.

Dream’s stare is blank. “I mean. You’re- well- you know, um-”

George dismisses this shortly and confirms, “I want to be your boyfriend.”

Dream sighs in relief. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” George slides off Dream’s waist and lays facing him. Dream turns as well. “Was that question the last question?”

“No, actually. There were a few left.” Dream blinks, then muses, “Guess we didn’t need 36 questions after all.”

“That was the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said and I hate you for it.”

“You wound me, George. You wound me.”

George makes up for it by letting himself be engulfed in Dream’s embrace, and feels tiny kisses on the top of his head. George nuzzles closer.

Yeah, everything was going to be fine.

#idk how to tag this but um anyways u should read this #I SPEEDRAN THIS SHIT IN 3-4 HOURS #dnf fic #dreamnotfound #dnf #dreamnotfound fic #dnf fic rec #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound

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greaterspawnislands · 4 years ago

Text

lead me into the light | emerald duo platonic soulmates

For all the years he has lived, Phil has lived without a soulmate, and as a result, without color. And he's perfectly fine with that.

Then he touches down on a battlefield for fun, and meets the eyes of a total stranger.

And as the world goes from monochromatic to full of color and more beauty than he had ever imagined, Phil knows that everything is going to change.

(But a mortal's life is only so short, after all.)

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My twitter account voted a series of polls to decide what fic I was gonna write, and they decided on an emerald duo platonic soulmates au fic that was angst with a happy ending ! Link will be in the notes, but here’s a bit of the start to get you into it!

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There are a few constants that Phil holds in his life, has always held, and will always hold.

The first, the most glaring, is the centuries that stretch far back in his past and the ones that he approaches in the present. It is the fact that he cannot die from old age or from hunger or from thirst, that it is only by injury that he could possibly be taken down for good.

The second is his lifestyle. Always a traveler, never with a permanent home. For fear of being targeted, or not wanting to cause that kind of disturbance, and because Phil truly desires to wander the world on his own terms, he travels. Visits every city and explores every nook and cranny of it as it changes over the months and years and decades. He visits fields where he spilled blood and watches others spill blood in that very spot a few years later. He carves out temporary places, favored nooks to fish in and well-loved corners of libraries or especially nice inns, but he never lingers around others who might question his unaging face.

And the third is the grayscale in which he sees the world, shades of black and white and everything in between, the only hues he’ll ever lay eyes upon.

(Soulmates are rare. They are not a common thing, they are often considered blessings by the gods to live your life devoid of color, the trials and tribulations to find your other half.)

(Phil has met quite a few gods, in his time of wandering. That’s just straight bullshit.)

He’s lived decades upon decades without a soulmate, and is perfectly content to keep living without one. Where others find agony in not being able to separate the color of the leaves in autumn, Phil has long since made his peace in seeking out the beauty of the world in other ways. The speckled patterns of a newborn fawn in spring. Waves darkening the shade of the sand upon an ocean. The way his lover’s hair seemed to melt into the endless night sky.

(Gods are exempt from the concept of soulmates, and Death had no answers for Phil when he asked her why he had been cursed to live like this, nor could she bring his sight into full color, even with all her otherworldly abilities.)

(“Maybe there is someone out there,” she said to him one night as he rested against her shoulder, looking up at the star-studded sky from where they sat within the earth. “And you just haven’t found them yet.”)

(“I don’t think I need to find anyone else, honestly,” he replied, turning to look at her. She was a thousand times more dazzling than any sky could behold on its own. “You’re all I need, I’m not letting this kind of stuff stop me from living my life any longer.”)

Their visits were infrequent, but time means nothing to a god and a human whose chances of death are slim as long as he keeps himself out of trouble.

Phil’s wings flare out as he touches down on a battlefield stained with darker shades of gray, determined to find go and find some trouble, if only because this past year has been incredibly boring otherwise.

“My name is Philza,” he introduces himself to the general of the army, hand raising in a salute that had definitely been appropriate last time he was on a battlefield, and he doesn’t really care much whether it still holds up. He takes his hat off as well, holding the striped material against his chest. “And I’m here to help, if you’ll have me.”

His reputation, that of the Angel of Death, precedes him. For all his intentions to keep away from sticking around civilians as they aged, wars and skirmishes would always be an exception.

It was a secret sort of thrill, to throw himself into the fray of a conflict he would hardly remember by the next one. To release the fearlity that he kept tightly wound up inside him, to splatter blood on a blade and sink arrow after arrow through the eyes of assailants. Nevertheless, the legends of his help follow him wherever he goes, and the look of relief on the general’s face says enough on that matter.

A night’s rest later, he’s led across the loosely set up encampment to one of the larger tents. As he walks, Phil tips his head up to gaze at the sky. There was no smooth texture, instead fuzzy clouds crowd the sky, and Phil tilts his head, noting the approaching rain.

Once inside the tent, the general nods at him, speaking before Phil can even courteously extend a greeting.

“We’re going to have you take command of the Red Snakes force, over here.” The general indicates to the map spread out on the table between them, pointing to a marker that Phil notices has a small symbol carved into it. It’s a small squiggle, barely noticeable, but it stands out against the other symbols carved into the various markers that Phil gathers to represent the different sub-forces that this general is commanding.

It’s helpful primarily, though no one knows of his own color-absence, he does appreciate the carved symbols. As an afterthought, it’s interesting. He wonders who else is color-absent this high up in the commanding forces. A rare thing, to be sure, not that he’ll bother to interact with them for that reason. He’s here to help spill some blood, not hear some poor sap moan about how they feel they’ll die on the battlefield before meeting their soulmate.

Phil’s eyes snap from the squiggly symbol back to the general’s words, tuning in mid-sentence. He’s definitely missed some information that was probably crucial, but he’ll get somebody else to relay it to him later. For now—

“Your co-commander already knows this, of course, but I figured I would inform you separately so you were up to date on our intel before you began discussing the best course of action.”

“Sorry, my who?” Phil blurts, brow furrowing, heart sinking a little.

“You’ll be co-leading this group, at least for now.”

Phil lightly bites the inside of his cheek to keep his face schooled appropriately. He knows what this is. It’s a nicely phrased term to cover up the fact that he’s being babysat because they don’t trust him with their armies, so they’ve appointed another commander to watch over him.

On one hand, it’s fucking annoying to be watched like that. On the other hand, that does mean Phil can totally push all the actual commanding duties off to the other guy while he buggers off to do what he pleases. Maybe this won’t be too bad after all, honestly, it depends whether he gets some kind of suck up as a co-commander or not.

“Commander Technoblade has shown great leadership prowess in recent skirmishes, so it was determined that he could take up control of a new force until your support and guidance,” the general continues, and Phil’s heart sinks further.

Oh, gods, they think he’s some kind of trainer, some kind of mentor to a kid who’s been handed too much responsibility for his age and will die in a week. Not this shit again. “Sounds great,” he lies through his teeth. “When do I meet him?”

There’s a soft knocking against the flap of the tent, and the general lifts a hand. “That’ll be him. You can come in, Technoblade.”

“Yes sir,” a deep voice intones. There a shuffling of fabric just as Phil turns to greet whoever this guy is, and—

And his vision explodes with—

Everything is so bright, even brighter than the white gleam of the sun in his eyes. Phil blinks furiously as what he’s certain is color blooms across his vision, spreading outward until there’s nowhere he can look to escape from the blinding, unfamiliar hues. Gone is the subtle change of shade between the grass at his feet and the canvas walls of the tent. They’re two entirely different colors now, unrecognizable in this state.

#technoblade #philza #emerald duo #dream smp #technoblade fanfic #philza fanfiction #emerald duo fanfiction #antarctic empire #hhh.writing #my writing

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nyxdelanuit · 5 years ago

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Don’t Hook Up With Your Friends (Sero x F!Reader)

Jealous!Bestfriend!Sero x F!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Smut ahead~

To say you and Sero were close would be a bit of an understatement. The two of you debuted as sidekicks in the same agency and though you had picked different agencies as fully-fledged pro-heroes, Sero was never far from you. This had culminated into you being entwined with his group, affectionately called the ‘Bakusquad,’ despite Bakugou huffing every time they referred to it as such. Being so close to Sero and his friends had some interesting repercussions, such as Sero and Mina trying to hook you up to each and every one of their available classmates.

You should have been thankful, that was how you landed your job as a hero at Shouto’s agency. You were a nice counterpart to Shouto’s stoicism and the media ate up your hot and cold personalities. This also meant you were conned into a date with Kaminari, his usual flirty nature replaced by a bleating, nervous wreck, flowers and all. You had banned any and all blind dates after that. Kaminari could barely look you in the eye anymore.

As close as you were to them, especially Sero, there was one secret you held close. One secret that meant no amount of hook-ups or blind dates would work. You were hopelessly in love with Sero. Every smile, every touch, every joke lit up your world. This was the reason you would never tell him. How could you risk losing that? There was a ridiculous level of burnout in the pro-hero scene, but one joke from Sero would pull you from the depths of your worst days. No, you were content being Sero’s friend. Perhaps even best friend.

You truly shared everything with him, which was why you were spending one of your precious free Friday nights sprawled out on his couch complaining about your lack of a love life.

“I just need a good fuck, Sero.” This fazed neither of you. With the introduction of Mina, you and Sero had learned the unadorned truth of each others preferences. From then on, it was less awkward to run with it than to avoid it. Now there was no filter to what you could talk to him about.

Sero chuckled, waving his phone. “I still have a few friends we haven’t tried. I could make some calls?” His wide grin faltered as you threw a round pillow at his face. He caught it out of the air and glanced around it. “I know they’re called throw pillows, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to actually throw them.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth still pulled up into a grin. “Sero! I said no more hooking me up with old classmates. You know that I’m already terribly in love with someone.” Yes, even this he knew. He heard how you pined for someone, he just didn’t know it was him. It was only fair, Sero often talked about his crush. Neither Sero nor you pushed for a name, knowing you would be pressured to reveal your own.

“Don’t you think it’s time to move on?” Sero pouted. He knew you couldn’t resist when he gave you that face.

“What about you? Are you moving on from your mystery girl?” You could tell by the way he averted his eyes that he wouldn’t- couldn’t move on. You tried in vain to push down the ache in your chest. As much as you wanted it to be you, even more so you wanted Sero to be happy.

“This isn’t about me! This is about you pining after someone, who from your own admission is blind to your feelings. Who is, and I quote, ‘Never going to happen.’ At least I’m optimistic.” His grin returned, a little bit lopsided as his thoughts drifted to more romantic affairs.

“It’s kind of hard to move on from someone I see damn near every day, Han.” His goofy grin intensified at your nickname, but you didn’t miss how he turned his phone back to his face. While he didn’t push for a name, he was adamant about trying to figure it out on his own. On his phone was a note listing all the little hints you never meant to give. With another bullet point, he jots down ‘sees often, every day?’ and closes the note.

“Well, instead of sitting here like two lovesick teenagers, why don’t we get out and do something about it. Maybe a couple of drinks and some good music will make you more open to a good hook-up.” He shot you a wink, and you were glad you had such a resistance to his flirtations. Your heart picked up, but the heat didn’t stain your face. There was little resistance from you, anything to make it seem like you had a life.

The sun had set long enough for a chill to set it, and you wrapped Sero’s arm closer around your shoulder. Despite his warning, you didn’t want to deal with keeping track of a jacket tonight. Not that he complained about you sapping his body heat. Luckily, you were able to slip into the cloying heat of the club soon after you arrived. You danced out of Sero’s grasp and to the bar, ordering for you and Sero right away.

You sipped on your drink heavily, wanting the alcohol and music to course through your veins. Sero merely chuckled at you, dipping into his drink to match your pace. A few more drinks and you and Sero prowled the dance floor. For a while, you were content to dance against the twenty-something-year-old frat boys and hero-chasers. A few more drinks and you started to look with intent. Even with the haze of alcohol over your eyes, every dance partner fell short. Curse your standards and subpar sex life.

You knew it was Sero from simply touch alone. It was as if the memory of his hands was seared into your body. You took no time to lean back against him, allowing the bass to drum through your body. You moved as if you were a thrall to the music, letting everything fall back except the noise and all the parts of Sero that pressed against you. His hands were fire on your hips, his face nestled into the crook of your neck. You allowed your hands to caress your sides as they slid up, barely ghosting your breasts. Your breath hitched at their passing, moving ever high to nestle into Sero’s hair.

All at once, you notice his hard length against your ass. It was a wonder you hadn’t noticed sooner. Your body seemed to move of its own accord, spinning in his hold. Sero’s hand dipped from your waist to trail down your thigh and you threw it over his hip. The effect was immediate on Sero, grinding up against you. You threw your head back and barely registered Sero’s face following to trail his nose along your collarbone.

You knew this was more than dancing as soon as you met his eyes. Half-lidded and blown out with lust, you never felt anything burn hotter in your core. You were unaware who leaned in, but your mouth was hot on his. It was nothing like you had imagined your first kiss with Sero, drunken and messy. Teeth hit teeth and lips, but neither of you shied away. As soon as you pulled back, Sero was dragging you from the club.

The two of you laughed as you crashed into Sero’s house. The door clattered and then slammed as you moved your way in, never out of Sero’s grasp. Hands, lips, and teeth were everywhere. You couldn’t tell if your head was spinning from the drinks or the pleasure of Sero touching you like this. Everything was such a blur. You fell into his bed with him settling on top of you. This wasn’t a time for the slow, sensual love you’d like to give him. Not while he’s sucking a deep purple into your neck and the metallic clink of his belt rings in your ears.

Your panties were slipped off and surrendered to a distant part of the room. You didn’t even get a good look at his dick before he ducked back to your lips. The desperate meeting of your mouths and the feeling of his hair running through your hands damn near distracted you from the prodding of his length at your heat. He swiped his cock through your slick, parting your lips as you bucked against him. His hand gripped your shoulder as he pressed into you with a groan. You winced at the stretch and your sober voice wondered softly if you should have prepared a bit more. That thought was quickly lost as the alcohol dimmed the pain. Sero’s soft murmurs into your hair and the shallow, slowly deepening thrusts grounded you as the stretch subsided. You felt his hips brush against yours after a few more thrusts, but you were too needy to listen to your body’s need to adjust. You rolled your hips against him and whined as your clit met the cool air and nothing else. It tempted you to flip Sero on to his back for the simple purpose of grinding the sensitive nub against him, but he quickly stopped those thoughts with a sharp thrust.

With how far gone you both were, there was no pacing. It was all or nothing, and the way Sero’s hips canted against yours, you couldn’t help but give him all you had. You arched you back as he gripped your hips and rutted into your heat. The sweat on you cooled on your skin in stark contrast to Sero’s smoldering heat. “Looks like drinks were enough to loosen you up for a hook-up.” Sero chuckled gruffly. Your heart sank to your stomach with his words. You felt sober all too suddenly as Sero groaned into your neck at his release.

You awoke to the tinny chime of your phone the next morning. For what had transpired last night, your headache was relatively dull. You didn’t dare look back at Sero, his soft snores assuring you that your phone had yet to awaken him. You slipped out of his bed as smoothly as you could, hoping you pulled it off at least a little bit better than a newborn calf. Your phone was snatched out of your bag and muted as you padded into the attached bathroom.

Shouto’s stoic face displayed on your screen as he called you again. “Shouto, it’s my day off, what do you want?” You usually had a bit more patience for these calls, but after the night you had, all you wanted to do was wallow at home by yourself.

“It’s your day off of work, but you did say you would help me train today.” You could almost hear the gentle smirk in his voice. You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair.

“That’s right, sorry. I thought this was a work call. I… I’m gonna be a bit, but I’ll be there as soon as I can.” You winced as you felt the dried juices rub against your thighs. You hung up shortly after, assuring Shouto that you knew where to go. You peeked out the door, Sero turned toward you but still asleep. After a cursory glance, you gave up on trying to find your missing panties. It was just more time than you had to spare. You did stand for a minute, contemplating whether you should wake Sero. What would you say? ‘Thanks for the fuck, see ya around buddy?’ You didn’t have time to get into what it means for you. At this point, you just wished everything would go back to normal. No, you would pick the coward’s choice out and leave while he was asleep.

If Shouto had noticed the change in your mood that day, he said nothing. Not like you expected him to, he was still emotionally constipated. Sero had gone back to the goofy friend you had grown to love after a day of silence, but now his antics hurt. It was like that night had never happened. While it ached, you thought it was for the best. You’d rather have him like this than not at all. So you followed his lead, responding to all the group chats and texts with your usual fervor, even if you couldn’t bring yourself to believe it.

You had avoided him for a week and a half, something that was almost unheard of in your friendship. As much as you wanted to see him, you needed time to heal. Time to grieve. You were planning on holding out a little longer, but Sero’s reminder of your planned movie night ruined your plans. You couldn’t bail on him again without it becoming suspicious. The last thing you wanted to do was make him question your feelings.

You found yourself at his door, allowing yourself a deep breath before you walked in. “Hey Han, I brought popcorn!” You cheerily yelled into the halls. You set down your bag of goodies on a counter as you walked further in. To your surprise, Sero was sat in the living room, his elbows braced on his thighs as he leaned his head into his hands.

“Sero?” You questioned softly. He looked up to you, his eyes hard and angry. You weren’t used to seeing him angry at all, definitely not directed at you. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?! What’s wrong… you mean besides you ignoring me for over a week! Pretending nothing happened? Leaving me in bed after we fucked to see another guy and not even having the balls to wake me up before you go?” You flinched at his tone, each word like a cut to an already aching heart. “If you thought we could just go back to the way we were, you were wrong.” You broke at that. Pride thrown aside, you launched yourself into his chest.

“Please no Han- Sero, please.” You let your tears fall, as unbidden as they were. You could feel the heat radiating from Sero’s hands as they hovered over your arms.

“No, I can’t just go back to being your friend after this.” You jerked your head up to meet his eyes. His hands finally found purchase on your arms, nervously rubbing them up and down. “You can either go, leave now, or…” You shook your head before he stilled it with his hand. You couldn’t bear looking him in the eye, so you kept your eyes shut tight.

“I can’t lose you.” It was merely a whisper, but it was soon swallowed by Sero’s lips crushing against yours. You were so startled by it that you didn’t think of reciprocating. He was steady as he walked you back to the wall. Being between him and the cold roughness of the wall made your head spin. You gripped his shirt, desperate to anchor yourself to something. His body was pressed against yours, and you wished this was happening in a better situation. If it was friends-with-benefits or nothing, you were sure you could get used to it. It would hurt, but not having him would hurt more.

You gave in, letting his shirt drop from your hands in favor of winding them around his neck. The hot sting of tears burned in your eyes, but you kissed him like you wished you had earlier. Sero wasted no time in running his tongue against the seam of your lips. You opened easily to him, how could you not? It was sweet torture feeling his nose brush against yours as he tilted his head to slot against your mouth. You tried to ignore the feeling of a tear running down your face. Sero’s arms traced down your sides, sending a flutter through you when his hands met the bare skin of your stomach.

You felt empty as Sero pulled away, straying only far enough to push your shirt up and off of your body. He quickly started his assault on your collarbone, suckling an ever-darkening spot on the fragile skin. He continued down to the valley of your breasts. You tried desperately to lose yourself in his actions, to enjoy what you had desired for so long. Your hands searched for him, tangling in his hair as he lavished the skin he could reach.

You arched under his touch, inadvertently rubbing yourself softly against his leg. A gasp escaped your lips, causing Sero to look up at you. You tried to turn your face from him, hiding the wetness on your face but Sero knew you too well. His hands abandoned your sides, finding the swell of your cheeks. A rough thumb swiped at your tears as he kissed your cheek softly. His head bowed, once again nestled in the crook of your neck. You could feel the feather-light touch of his lips against your shoulder.

“I know I make you feel good. I know I can make you happy, so why?” Sero’s voice was a soft whine, the brush of his breath sending shivers through your skin. “Please don’t cry.” His hands fell against the small of your back, bringing you ever closer to him. You cradled his head in your arms, urging your tears to dry. Sero’s tongue wet his lips, accidentally dragging against your sensitive skin. He watched the effect he had on your body, leaving soft kisses on your shoulder. “Just tell me who… I know I’m not the best hero and I know that my looks don’t stand up to some of my friends… but I know you. There’s nothing that you haven’t told me.” His hands traced light patterns on your back. “I know your favorite movies, your order at every restaurant in town. I even know what you want your future house to look like and how many kids you want. You’ve told me all of your fantasies, just like I’ve told you mine. We know each other more intimately than anyone else in the world… so how? Who took you from me?” A defeated chuckle sent hot breath cascading over your skin. “It’s Todoroki, isn’t it?” He finally pulled back to look you in the eyes. You couldn’t hide from him anymore.

“It’s… you. Sero. Hanta, it’s always been you.” You were prepared for him to release you from his hold, but his arms tightened instead. The world seemed to be thrown out of balance as Sero hoisted you over his shoulder. He quickly made his way down the hall and into his room. You bounced softly as he laid you on his bed. Sero returned to ravishing your chest, arms straining against the plush of his mattress to remove your bra. You went to cover your chest, say something in protest, but you were swiftly reminded just how fast Sero had gotten. Before you could move, his tape had already circled your wrists, pinning them to his headboard. Your words died in your throat as you looked up at him, his eyes dark with want and an incomparable joy shining on his face. Sero stood, pulling off his shirt and pants as he grinned down at you.

“So you’re telling me,” he leaned over you, placing ticklish pecks on your hips, “that for years, you have been telling me all these dirty things you want to do with this mystery man,” he paused, allowing himself to enjoy the way you squirmed against his ministrations. “How badly you wanted his touch,” he sucked a dark mark into your hip, “how you wanted to suck him dry.” He made quick work of your pants, slipping them off your legs and abandoned them to the floor. His fingers traced you through your panties, slick already coating them. “And you were talking about me?” He laid a kiss on your thigh as he moved down. “Dirty girl.” His fingers were already hooked around your panties, pulling them slowly down your hips before you found your voice.

“Han, what… what about that girl that you like?” You were desperate to continue, but you needed to know. You watched him grin up at you from between your legs, biting your lip to contain the moan that the sight brought. Your panties were finally stripped from you and went the way of their predecessor, lost to Sero’s room. His fingers trailed up your thighs. “She’s amazing, but she’s oblivious as hell.” You tried to keep your head as his fingers trailed over your slit. “I thought I made my feelings clear over a week ago, but I guess it didn’t take.” You gasped, gripping the tape above your wrists as Sero softly pushed a finger into your warmth. “Lucky for me, I get another try.” It didn’t make sense, Sero knew how you felt now, and you knew Sero wouldn’t say things that would hurt you so badly. He ducked his head down, lapping at the excess wetness dripping from your core. You dropped your head to the pillows with a groan. “And she tastes so sweet.” It took a moment to register as Sero’s tongue circled your clit. Your head snapped up, desperate to see him. His eyes stared up at you hungrily as he lapped at you. Another finger entered you, curling and scissoring you open.

“Ha-Han! Please tell me you’re saying what I think you are?” He wiped the slick from his face as he crawled up your body. His fingers pistoned inside you as his palm ground softly against your clit.

“We’ve been pretty dumb, huh?” he peppered your face in sweet kisses. “I love you. Always have.” His last kiss pressed to your lips. Sero knelt, using his free hand to release you from the tape. You hands went to his hair, pulling him back into a messy kiss.

“You are an asshole, Han.” You panted against his lips.

“Your asshole, hopefully.” You swatted at his shoulder. Despite the remnants of tears glistening in your eyes, you smiled up at him.

“You’re stuck with me now.”

“Then let’s make it official.” He shucked his boxers in record time, removing his fingers only to glide your slick on his cock. You watched, enraptured, as he closed his eyes in bliss. His lip was worried between his teeth and you couldn’t resist tracing it with your fingers. You pulled his lip from his teeth before allowing yourself to trace down his body, following the lines of his lithe muscles. Sero rubbed his length against you, causing your breath to hitch every time it passed your oversensitive nub. Delicate nips and kisses were laid at your throat, traveling down your chest. Your arms grasped as Sero’s back as his lips brushed your nipple. His tongue traced idly around it, enjoying the way you tried to press yourself closer to his mouth. He obliged finally, sucking your nipple into his mouth softly. His tongue swirled around before releasing it with a satisfying pop. He quickly moved across your chest, repeating his movements as he ground himself against you.

“Hanta, please,” You maneuvered your hand between the two of you, trying to line him up with your opening. He chucked against your chest, sending the vibrations rippling through you. Your hand was softly pulled from his length. He brought your wrist to his lips, laying a kiss over your pulse before placing your palm on his chest. Sero adjusted between your legs, gripping himself as he ran his head over your slick lips. He touched his forehead to yours, gazing into your eyes adoringly as he slowly pressed inside. The stretch felt heavenly. Sero claimed your lips, a passion you had hardly felt before radiating from every touch.

Sero thrust into you slowly, taking his time to bottom out. He stilled as he did, peppering your face with kisses before snaking his arms underneath you. His first few thrusts were shallow as he took his time to enjoy your heat wrapped around him. It was a stark comparison to your first encounter.

He held you close to him, pressing kisses to every bit of skin he could reach. Each press of his lips was like a prayer, an apology for every day he made you wait, every time one of you had missed the obvious signs, every time something he said came out wrong. Your skin was begging to buzz from his affections. His fingers trailed up your shoulders, one hand cupping the back of your head as he focused on curve your jaw. He suckled a mark into the juncture of your neck causing you to buck into his lazy thrusts.

After a moment of hesitation, he rocked to the side rolling you on top of him. His hands slid down your back, settling on your hips as he helped you keep pace. He stared up at you like a worshipper at an altar, reverence and awe written on his face. His lips were swollen from his affections. You couldn’t resist dipping down to run your tongue over his lip, drawing a moan from deep withing him. He bucked up into you harder, urging you to pick up the pace. Your hands settled on his stomach, trailing through the sparse hair leading to where you were connected. The feeling of his hands pulling you down against him was a sweet torture, almost saccharine. Each time he brought you down on himself, you ground against him, pulling gasps and moans from the both of you. Your lewd duet only served to drive you higher, the sounds of your skin meeting his as your wetness pooled around you a lustful accompaniment. Your fingers stopped their roaming as you used your hands to help lift you higher, faster. You chased after your high, eyes locked onto your lover’s. His eyes were lidded and blown out as he panted underneath you. His dull nails desperately tried to find purchase in your hips, pulling you harder against him as he bucked into you.

Your moans only grew louder the harder he pushed. Sero seemed reluctant to move his hands from your hips, but the desperation of his face mirrored the quickening pace he set. His hand sent sparks through you as it dragged over your hip, settling on your oversensitive nub. He rubbed lazy circles against it, pulling broken moans from you. His touch was feather-light, causing you to grind even harder against him to gain friction.

You knew he felt you clench again him as he groaned, his eyes fluttering behind his lids. His hips stuttered and you took control, not faltering in your pace until your crest washed over you. Sero couldn’t hold back any longer, the fluttering of your walls driving him to buck into you with a desperate fervor. It only drew out your ecstasy as he chased after you. His release pulsed inside of you soon after.

You collapsed onto his chest, uncaring of the sweat that clung to the both of you. His forehead fell to yours, his breath hot against your face. You couldn’t bring yourself to care at the moment. You basked in the moment, pressing lingering kisses to his face as he did to you before. You would have been content to stay like this for a while, if not for the obnoxious sound of crunching popcorn from the doorway. Sero quickly pulled a sheet up over your bare form, slipping you to his side furthest from the door.

“Oh, you don’t have to stop on my account.” Mina popped another handful of popcorn into her mouth. She leaned causally against the door frame, a wicked grin plastered on her face. “Just thought you guys might want a reminder that movie night is a group thing. That started like fifteen minutes ago.” Sero stood with a start, finally getting over the shock of Mina appearing in his doorway. You didn’t want to dwell on how long she had been standing there. Sero quickly wrapped a blanket around his waist, leaving the sheet to cover you. He nearly stumbled over the dragging fabric as he rushed Mina out of the door, slamming it behind her. Her boisterous chuckle was loud even with the barrier between you. “Maybe close the door next time?” She cheered.

Sero turned back to you, an embarrassed grin on his face. “Well, I guess we better get dressed and get this over with.” He sighed, scratching at his face. You nodded, sitting up with the sheet pulled to your chest.

“Hey Hanta?” You murmured.

“Yeah?” He didn’t even look up as he scanned the room for his clothes.

“If you liked me so much, why did you keep trying to set me up with your friends?”

“First of all, I love you, not just like you,” he straightened to look you in the eye seriously, “and I just wanted you to be with someone who would be good to you.”

“And you weren’t part of that list why?”

He chuckled, “Doesn’t matter now.”

“Oh, and why is that?” You asked coyly, unable to resist the usual banter.

“Because I’m gonna marry the shit outta you.” His trademark grin was stretched across his face, warning your heart. Even with your fondness for him, you couldn’t let him get off with such a bold statement.

“Why sir, we’re not even dating and you’re talking marriage?” You gasped dramatically into your hand.

“Oh my apologies,” He threw the end of the blanket over his shoulder before dipping into a frivolous bow, “I would be forever grateful if my lady do me the honor of letting me court her.” His eyes twinkled in delight as he extended a hand to you. You accepted, holding the sheet to yourself as you returned an equally cheesy curtsy.

“How could I turn down such a chivalrous request.” You fell into Sero’s hold as laughter bubbled up between you. The two of you broke apart to search for stray clothes. You grimaced as you held up your panties, drenched and cold. Sero must have seen the dismay on your face.

“Catch.” He called from across the room. You barely caught a bundle of his clothes before glancing over to him in confusion. “Your shirt is in the living room,” he snickered, “and I figured you would be more comfortable in clean clothes.” Warmth bloomed in your chest at his thoughtfulness. You slipped on a pair of his boxers and shorts before slipping on an oversized tee. Sero tugged to you his side, tucking you under his arm. “You look good in my clothes.” He grinned against your hair.

“I like being in your clothes.” You retorted, mirroring his grin. He ushered you out of the room, not bothering to pull away from you. Everyone had at least heard the two of you already, no point in pretending.

The squad was gathered in the living room, and uncomfortable silence hanging over everyone except Mina, who twirled your shirt on her finger. Bakugou stared angrily out the window, but the tips of his ears were bright red. Kirishima was more upfront. His face practically glowed red.

“Uh, good for you guys!” He choked out, thrusting out a thumbs up towards you and Sero.

Oddly enough, Kaminari seemed the most put together. “So does this mean I don’t get a second date?”

#sero x reader #sero smut #sero hanta x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #nyx writes

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mymedicine · 4 years ago

Text

Love and Other Drugs

or, 5k of new bf harry

moodboard/inspo tag + my masterlist

sum - yacht parties are cool and all, but harry really just wants to spend more time with his girl

warnings - alcohol (have I even written a fic where both mc’s are sober the whole time yet lmao), light sexy stuff (lil bit of ch*king k*nk if you squint), swearing probably, harry being a little shit, fluff to the maxxxxx

notes - good lord, this fic has been the absolute death of me. I stg, murphy’s law is real. anyways, the driving home scene is completely inspired by real life events that once made me swoon, but now I am lonely and so so tired so pls be nice to me thx much love <3

“Hold still!”

Harry whined and craned his neck away from his girlfriend’s hand, but he wasn’t able to go far with his back flush against the car door. “No baby, we’re already late!”

“But you’ve got jam on you!” Y/N cried. She reached her fingers up to rub the reddish marks off of his face, but, once again, he turned his head away like a stubborn child. “And we wouldn’t have been late if you hadn’t spent two hours combing your hair.”

“S not jam, it’s lipstick,” He insisted, deliberately ignoring her second (valid) point.

“Whatever. It’s on your cheek.”

Y/N made one final attempt to clean him up, but this time, he managed to escape the circle of her arms. He ran backwards toward the dock, taunting her playfully as he went, “Come on, baby!”

“Harry!” Given no other choice, she frantically pushed the lock button on the car key and chased after her child—er, boyfriend. She winced as her high heels hit the asphalt, feet aching against the gold sandals already. He’d slowed down a little to give her a break, but she was still panting as she yelled, “You can’t go to a fancy yacht party with lipstick on your face!”

He finally stopped running—thank God, because they were right in front of the ship and the last thing Y/N needed was to embarrass herself (or rather, be embarrassed by her man-child boyfriend) within sight of all the famous people that would surely be onboard already.

“But I like it.” He pouted as she reached him, entwining his fingers with hers before she could use them to try to scrub his face again.

Before she could reply, a familiar Irish accent boomed over the loud purring of the boat’s engine, “Harry! Y/N!”

Y/N really hoped someone was keeping an eye on Niall tonight. It was barely dusk and he already looked a little too buzzed to be leaning over the railing on the top deck. She craned her neck up to look at him, giggling to herself at the flush in his cheeks and the blonde mess on top of his head.

“Welcome abooaaard!” He waved far more aggressively than was necessary.

“Happy birthday, Niall!” Y/N yelled back at him, blocking the bright sun with one hand—a hand she discreetly wrestled out of Harry’s.

Harry, too, looked upward and was squinting into the sky. The sun was just beginning its descent into the horizon, and soon the evening would be hanging behind the silvery moon. In the mean time, the sky was bright and painted with delicate strokes of soft pink and peachy orange.

While Harry waved back at his friend, Y/N took advantage of the distraction—and his exposed cheek.

Without warning, she hurled her hand up to his face and swiped at the pink mark as hard as she could.

“Hey!” Harry whipped his head back to her, mock hurt written all over his face.

Y/N flashed him a cheeky, victorious smile. “Got it!”

September in south Florida was as hot and humid as summer anywhere else. Even out at sea, with the cool ocean wind surging throughout the top deck of the yacht, it was plenty warm enough for the guests to enjoy the outdoors.

“H, can you hold my phone and keys in your pocket?”

Harry was standing awkwardly near the railing of the boat, fiddling absently with the plume of lace and chiffon on his black top. He still had a faint reddish mark on his cheek (she wasn’t sure if it was leftover lipstick or just irritated from her rubbing at it) that Y/N, despite the turmoil that had ensued over it, found very endearing. She always thought he was handsome. She had since the first day they met four months earlier. But tonight, he was positively glowing. He shined in the fabulous black number, his skin further brightened by the setting sun and the utter joy coursing through him (the entire flute of champagne he’d already downed certainly didn’t hurt, either).

He took the phone and keys from her while she admired him, happy to help her but not without a smart remark: “You should’ve worn the dress with the pockets, love,” he chastised her playfully, a smirk dressing his berry lips.

Y/N’s eyes widened, “You said you liked the pink on me!”

Choosing her dress for the night had been an ordeal that rivaled even Harry’s complicated hair routine. She’d originally chosen a black long sleeved one with pockets that was comfortable and appropriate and matched Harry’s own all-black ensemble (which he’d had picked out for weeks). Her boyfriend rejected the black dress, pointing out that she’d be hot it in because “It’s practically summer in Miami, love.” Instead, he chose a silky pink number, midi-length and tight in all the right places with a tastefully low cowl neckline. She’d dressed it up with a few gold bracelets and a single pearl earring in her left ear that, to her satisfaction, matched Harry’s. And yeah—it didn’t have pockets, but Harry liked it and it made her feel sexy and that’s all that mattered.

Harry hummed with a tight lipped grin. “Yeah, you’re right,” His tone was innocent, almost regretful as he looked her up and down. The pink sunset behind her was highlighting her figure just right, wind rushing through her hair, exposed skin supple and tempting. Harry was mesmerized by her.

His hands moved on their own accord to gently hold her by the waist. “Your ass looks really cute in the silk…I reckon the color makes your skin glow a bit, too. And matches your makeup, and looks nice with my earring…” He continued spewing some breathy compliments at her, even after she sort of stopped listening when a waiter holding a tray of delectable looking hors d'oeuvres caught her attention.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course, honey,” she replied (mostly) honestly. He was always a mushy little sap for her, but she truly did love the way he appreciated the little things she put effort into. “Thank you for noticing those little details.”

“You’re welcome. Know ya don’ just do it f’me though,” His ring clad fingers drummed against her waist, the metal cold through the thin silky material she wore. “Love that about you.”

Y/N cracked a smile in spite of the nervous shiver washing over her at his words. She couldn’t help but notice it was already the second time he’d said that word since they’d embarked. He was treading dangerously close to the vast, uncharted l-word territory. He’s a little buzzed, she reasoned with herself, despite also knowing it was silly because he’d only had a single champagne. But then again, he was a lightweight—and judging by the way he suddenly dropped her waist to chase down a passing waitress for two more glasses, he wouldn’t be slowing down any time soon. If he told her while he was drunk, would it really count?

He returned to her side, keeping one flute for himself and presenting the other to her. “Thank you, honey,” she said, grasping the stem of it (even though she still had a half full one resting precariously on the railing behind her). It was a fitting nickname for him, she thought. She hadn’t really meant for that to become her little pet name for him, but he loved it just as much as she did. “You’re sweet.”

“You’re sweeter,” her boyfriend hummed happily, “even when you’re checking out that waiter…”

“No! I wasn’t!”

“You kinda were,” He smiled cheekily at her.

“Was not.”

“’S alright, baby. He’s handsome. You’re allowed to have a little look.” But the way he held her protectively by the hip betrayed his words.

“You know I only have eyes for you,” If that wasn’t a hint, she didn’t know what was. “I’m just hungry. He was holding bacon wrapped shrimp, I think.”

“Mmm, me too,” Harry replied, the interaction already forgotten in favor of a savory snack. He tugged on her hand so they could follow that waiter, grumbling as they padded around the crowded deck. “Niall’s a fuckin ass for not serving dinner at an evening party.”

“Oh give him a break! It’s his birthday.” she let him pull her toward the middle where more people were gathered around the bar and admiring the decor—

“Is that an ice scultpure?”

Harry was right. It was a giant clear sculpture of a guitar made entirely out of ice. People were around it, admiring the intricacies and mingling and sipping on expensive looking drinks.

“How long you bet til it melts?”

“Not before Niall accidentally knocks it over,” Y/N laughed and gestured toward the man of the hour, who indeed was stumbling over his feet while trying to maintain a conversation with a group of several strikingly beautiful looking people—models? Probably.

It was obvious that Niall hadn’t planned this for himself. The whole thing was far too elegant and classy. His drunken ramblings were entertaining, sure, but he stood out amidst the black tie formals and live R&B music floating around the large deck of the luxurious vehicle.

Harry chased down the waiter and grabbed shrimp skewers for them both while Y/N continued quietly giggling at Niall’s antics.

Minutes drifted into hours as alcohol, shrimp skewers, and joyful conversation flowed liberally about the deck. Y/N had separated herself from Harry—much to his drunken dismay—to go and mingle with some of the “famous people.” She did it all on her own, confidently striding over and striking up a conversation with anyone worthy of her attention.

“Long time no see, mate.” Mitch’s voice interrupted Harry’s inner thoughts surrounding his girlfriend. He tore his eyes away from her and turned to face his friend, who was standing with his own girlfriend beside him.

“Been busy,” Harry replied.

Sarah’s eyebrows rose as a grin spread across her cheeks. She glanced at Mitch, who wore a matching one.

“You both have been quite busy, yeah?” Sarah cocked her head toward where Y/N was, grin widening along with Harry’s eyes.

Harry hid his smile in his glass, taking a large gulp of the bubbly. “What d’ya mean?” He asked innocently.

“We saw you staring at her, buddy.”

Well, fuck. He can’t exactly deny that. He was indeed watching her as she mingled with a group of people—exceptionally beautiful people. She fit in perfectly with the models, her smile bright and dress shiny, hips swaying tantalizingly to the beat of the drums. She engaged effortlessly in what looked like an exciting conversation with A-listers and held their attention with sweeping hand gestures. Even from across the deck, he swore he could feel her joy. Light just radiated off of her and sent a gentle flutter through his belly and a heat wave through his heart.

Sarah studied him. The way his eyes twinkled and his cheeks flushed with happiness…it was obvious. “You love her.” She deadpanned.

Harry shrugged in response, a knowing smile on his face which he didn’t bother to hide this time.

“You do!” It was Mitch this time, who wrapped an arm around Sarah and looked at her with the same happy smile his friend wore.

“No comment.” A twinge of jealously bit his heart as he watched a handsome brunette lean down to whisper something in his girlfriend’s ear. He frowned instinctively, picturing the man muttering flirtatious compliments or dirty suggestions to her like he should be doing right now.

Sarah continued to watch Harry watch Y/N, unsure if he was even listening anymore. “It’s alright to admit it. Love is a beautiful thing.”

“Don’t listen to her,” said Mitch, “it’s a drug!”

“Hey look!” Harry shouted a distraction, pointing somewhere behind the two of them. He spotted two waiters bringing out an impressive tiered cake swirled with white frosting and topped with those sparkling candles. “It’s time to sing for the birthday boy!”

The boat erupted in a cacophonous rendition of the birthday song as the cake was placed on top of the bar. Night had fallen over the deck, making the sparkly decorations shine blindly bright against the moonlight. Meanwhile, Niall was dancing hysterically among the crowds, even singing along to his own birthday song in a drunken spree. At the final, …to you! he performed a dramatic bow and roared, “Thank you, beautiful people!”

Applause died slowly as Niall began grabbing peoples’ faces to kiss their cheeks in thanks. Y/N looked around for Harry, quite certain that her boyfriend would be perfectly willing to accept a kiss from the birthday boy, especially when he was inebriated. Sure enough, she caught sight of him wrapped up in an embrace with the blonde, a wide smile on his face as Mitch and Sarah laughed hysterically at the interaction.

Harry accepted the cheek kiss, just as his eyes met hers over Niall’s shoulder.

“Y/N!” He screeched and broke the embrace. He started running over to her in an uncoordinated stride, limbs flailing and most definitely spilling alcohol on other peoples’ expensive clothes.

“Y/N!” he slurred, finally reaching her side, “Gimme a kissy!”

She laughed. “You just got kissies from Niall, honey.” “But I want your lipstick on me. Yeh wiped it off.” He frowned deeply, no—melodramatically as his hand cupped his own cheeks where the pink lipstick mark once was.

She called him a little baby but obliged anyways, stamping a firm lip shaped mark on one of his flushed cheeks. He grinned wildly in response and looked at her with that look in his eyes that she absolutely adored. He was looking at her like she was royalty, like she hung the moon and commanded the sea and granted miracles upon mere mortals such as himself.

“Wish I could give you one too…” Harry trailed off, eyes wandering around the room. “Maybe then all those hot models and waiters would leave you alone.”

“Aw, you jealous baby?”

He nodded shamelessly and, with a pouty look, tucked her into his arms. He pressed a series of hard kisses on her cheeks and temples, squeezing the silky pink fabric at her waist. The feeling made her heart squeeze in the most delightful way—chest tight and warm with…with love.

“Wanna go check out the lower deck?”

And Y/N hadn’t known this man too long, but it was long enough to know that he had anything but innocent intentions with his sweet request. She was still only nursing her third glass of bubbly, but Harry’s suggestive stare and wandering hands seemed to ignite the slight heat flowing through her veins into an inferno.

It engulfed them both as Y/N’s back hit the inside of the door to the lower deck bathroom.

Harry’s lips were soft and playful and sexy all at once—just like him. He trailed hot kisses down her cheeks and jaw much like he had earlier, only now there was no audience. No need to hold back. Only hot, sweet skin swathed in pink silk and black chiffon.

“You marked me already, ’s my turn.”

Just when she was feeling a little too sober, Harry’s words drenched her in the heat of desire. This was definitely a bad idea, but it didn’t sound like one when he put it like that.

His fingers slipped from her jaw and followed his lips down to her throat, enticing her with a gentle squeeze—a warning? Or a promise for later? Either way, this bathroom escapade was fucking sliced bread and she was putty in his hands.

He sucked harshly on the supple skin of her neck without warning. A gasp slips out of Y/N’s mouth and Harry’s ringed thumb pressed deeply into the center of her throat in reprimanding. His other fingers gripped the crook of her neck, just enough to make her head spin and keep her body pliant.

Meanwhile, his other hand slithered down the smooth silk to her waist, his hold on her heavy and warm. Harry’s swollen lips retracted from her bruised neck, not before pressing a few gentle pecks to the hickeys to soothe the pain.

Y/N felt dizzy with pleasure and enveloped in love. She couldn’t help but chase his lips for a few more desperate kisses as he pulled away from her neck. She suddenly wished she could admire the marks he’d left, but the glazed, hungry look in his eyes would definitely suffice. The little bathroom felt ten degrees warmer—leaving Harry looking hot and flushed and absolutely irresistible.

“You okay, baby?” Harry whispered in the tiny space between them, words slightly slurred and dipped in bliss.

Y/N nodded aggressively, letting her hands wrap around the back of his neck where his skin was hot and hair curled adorably. “Please kiss me again.”

He did as he was told, of course. His lips moved tenderly with hers and his hands trailed lower, gently caressing her waist and hips. His fingers started a course back up to her ass, this time taking the fabric of her dress with them.

Y/N’s head felt light as a feather, no thoughts besides Harry…Harry’s hands…Harry’s lips…Harry…

She curled her thighs around his hips and he responded effortlessly, hoisting her up by the backs of her thighs and pressing taut between the cold bathroom wall and his own hot chest. The temperature in the room seemed to rise impossibly then, the sounds of breathy moans and gentle sucking kisses seamlessly diffusing into the heat and surrounding them in a delightful symphony.

Y/N was thrilled by the way Harry’s tongue tasted like champagne—as sweet and plushy as always. She decided then that she would never get tired of the feeling of his mouth on hers, of the dizzying joyful feeling his lips gave her every single time.

“Harry…honey…”

“What ’s it pretty girl?”

The pet name in his raspy accent went straight to her core. She let out another shameless whine, squeezing his waist tighter with her legs.

“I need you, Harry…”

“Hm? Need what?”

She groaned—now he wanted to be a tease. After he’d gotten to give her the hickeys like he wanted.

“Harry, please.”

“‘M just messing, pretty girl. I know what you ne—“

Suddenly, a loud crash rang out in the little cabin. Y/N let out a screech and sprang away from Harry, landing awkwardly on her stiletto heels. Wide eyed, she and Harry both looked up toward the source of the sound. Muffled shouts followed, in the midst of a horrible shattering sound, like broken glass, or hail or—

“The ice sculpture!”

They were both wide eyed and panting and a little sweaty, hair tousled and lips swollen red.

“Oh shit,” There were more muffled shouts and some shuffling of feet above them. Even through the ornate ceiling of the bathroom, it was clear there was an ordeal going on up there.

Breathy pants lingered between them, and the room suddenly felt even smaller, even more swelteringly hot and stuffy. Of all things to ruin the heat of the moment…a fucking ice sculpture.

They looked at each other blankly, as if to say what the hell do we do now?

“Let’s head back up while everyone’s distracted.” It was Harry’s alcohol-induced idea, cooked up in his foggy brain.

“There’s no way we can go back to the party like this.” Y/N gestured between them—the sweaty foreheads, messy hair, skin dotted with hickeys, and most prominently, her boyfriend’s obvious arousal.

Harry sighed, glancing down at himself. “Let’s leave then.”

“What, you wanna swim home?”

Harry frowned, “Huh?”

“We’re on a fucking boat, dumbass.”

Harry looked away from her with wide eyes and burning cheeks. Right…Absently, he thought it was funny how she could go from making out with him against the wall of the bathroom, practically begging for more, to mercilessly making fun of him, all within seconds. His thoughts bled into his expression, a happy smile tugging on his lips as he thought about her and her unparalleled sex appeal and her cute laugh and her mock insults and her more and more.

And just like that, he was laughing. His wild laughter seemed to echo in the small bathroom. Despite their hot rendezvous being rudely interrupted, Y/N swore she could smell the happiness in the room—almost as poignant as the champagne on his breath.

Seconds later, she couldn’t help but join him in happy laughter.

Turns out, the fallen ice sculpture was even more of a hazard than they’d initially realized—so much so that the captain of the yacht demanded an early return to shore and a continuation of the party on land. Many patrons were disappointed by the early end to the yacht cruise, not including the birthday boy himself, who Y/N would be surprised if was still walking at this point.

As they sailed back toward the shore, Harry was nursing yet another flute of champagne while Y/N clung to him in the boat’s interior—half because she wanted to cover his erection from any passerbys, and half because she just really wanted to hold him. He’d also managed to produce a slice of cake on a porcelain plate, which he’d presumably snagged when he left her on the couch to find more alcohol.

“You look cute,” she mused at him while he chewed the forkful of cake she’d just slid into his mouth. She was sideways in his lap, bare feet rested on the arm of an expensive looking couch. She vaguely realized that this area of the boat was probably off limits for guests, but fuck it, she thought, no harm no foul.

“Hm?”

“I said, ‘you look cute.’” Y/N repeated. He really did look cute like that, with his face flushed and hair messy and a tinge of lipstick still lingering on his cheek.

“Oh yeah,” he mumbled with frosting still between his teeth, “I heard you the first time.”

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying. I take it back.”

“You can’t take it back!”

She gathered another forkful of cake and brought it up to his lips, “I just did.”

“Fine then,” He said, “I’ll just toss you overboard. Out of sight, out of mind.”

At that, Y/N gasped. She quickly turned her hand away and brought the cake into her own mouth, licking her lips for extra impact.

“Noooo!” He held her by the hip and dragged her even closer to him, as if she were about to get up and actually go overboard and take the cake with her. “I’m sorry baby, you’re cute, too. So cute. Like, so cute that I can’t believe you like me.”

Like? I think I more than like you.

“I can’t believe it, either.”

The words were on the tip of her tongue, dancing around in the tiny space between their lips like electricity. Harry leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, sucking on her bottom lip as if trying to pull them out of her.

Yet again, they were interrupted. This time by a loud horn blare and the captain’s voice over the intercom. “Land, ho!”

“Finally.” Harry sighed in relief, already trying to stand up from the couch, “Can you take me home now, please.”

“We can’t just leave when the party’s still going! What about Niall?” Y/N pressed her hands against his chest to slow him down.

“Niall won’t remember a damn thing.”

She considered his words. He wasn’t wrong; Niall had already knocked over the ice sculpture, after all.

“Take a left here,”

“Here?”

“Ye—wait, no.” Harry slurred, shaking his head from the passenger seat.

But his girlfriend had already turned the wheel to the left, inevitably sending the car in the wrong direction, again.

“Shit, M’ sorry baby.” he said with a drunken giggle.

“Good lord Harry…”

She threw the car into a random driveway, grumbling as she executed a clumsy K-turn.

She could hear the cranky frown in Harry’s voice as he groaned, “You’re a shit driver.”

“Well you’re a shit navigator!” Y/N looked over and gave him a pointed look. But the look only fell on his droopy, half-open eyes. “Where the fuck do I go?”

A beat of silence passed as Harry’s head lolled around. He hummed a bit, imitating the low rumble of the car’s engine. Finally, he murmured, “Keep goin’ straight.”

“Are you sure?”

He didn’t reply, just turned to look at her with that mischievous drunken smile.

“Aw fuck, no. We passed it up.”

“Harry!” She couldn’t help but laugh. Despite her annoyance, his antics were amusing. “Are you sure you actually know where you live?”

“Of course I know where I live!”

Y/N sped into another middle-of-the-road U-turn, and Harry dramatically fell into her lap with a low yell.

“Slow down, you minx! Gonna get us killed!”

“You’re so dramatic, Harry. If you’d just tell me where the fuck you live!”

“Can’t remember.”

She craned her head up to ceiling, letting her own eyes fall shut as she inhaled her frustration.

“Okay, fine. It’s that blue one over there.” He gestured vaguely to the right, but it was too dark to see the colors of the houses anyways.

Y/N let out her deep breath, “Somehow I don’t believe you.”

His growing smirk gave him away. After only a few seconds, his foggy brain would not allow him to contain his giggles.

“Harry!” she whined. He was always kind of silly and clingy, but the excessive alcohol made him an actual baby. He was still laying in her lap over the center console.

“Why are you like this?”

He pouted, feigning hurt. “Maybe I just wanna spend more time with you.”

Y/N’s fingers loosed on the wheel. She slowed the car to a stop against on of the curbs in the quiet neighborhood, poised under the soft light of a street lamp. Her annoyed expression softened and the familiar urge washed over her—the urge to kiss his cheeks and tell him she loved him and squeeze him tight and never let him go. How could one person be so annoying yet so fucking adorable?

She pushed his hair back (not without thinking about how he would’ve scolded her for messing it up at the beginning of the night when he had been sober, but now he was far too drunk to care) and wrapped an arm around his neck. It was definitely an awkward position and Harry couldn’t have been comfortable like that, but he didn’t seem to mind. He held her arm in both hands and snuggled into her lap as she cooed at him. “Aw, baby. You could’ve just told me.”

“But we’ve only been together for a little bit…and I don’t want ya to get sick of me.”

“Could never get sick of you, honey. Not even if I wanted to,” she said earnestly, continuing to stroke her fingers gently through his curls.

“Really?”

Now if that wasn’t a hint…this man was even stupider than she thought. In spite of his endearing idiocy, Y/N still could not resist the urge to just love him.

The idea that he could possibly love her back crossed her mind several times, especially in the past few weeks.

But they’d only been officially for a month and a half…was it too soon? Would she scare him off? Was there some unwritten rule of love to wait until they’d at least seen each others’ homes? Although, if she did tell him now, Harry was so drunk he may not even remember. If it went horrifically wrong, maybe she could forget it happened. (No, she definitely would not ever be able to forget if that happened, but the lie comforted her a little nonetheless). But if it went well, she’d be more confident telling him again when he was sober tomorrow. And at last, she didn’t even think she could hold the words in for another second while he was cuddling into her and kissing her arms like a baby kitten.

“I love you, Harry.”

“You do?!”

Suddenly, he seemed alarmingly sober.

“Ugh, yes. How could I not?”

He looked appalled, really. As if the idea of her loving him was absolutely insane. “Well, I annoy you, I kiss you in public, I drink too much, I spend way too much time on my hair, I’m not as handsome as that waiter…”

“And you’re pretty stupid.” Y/N interrupted with her own addition to the growing list.

“Yeah, you’re right. I am pretty dumb…But,” he paused, flipping over in her lap to look her in the eyes, “I did get one thing right.”

“What’s that?” She asked, fondly stroking his gelled hair with trembling hands.

“Falling in love with you.”

And loving him was that easy, as easy as sipping champagne and eating cake and falling overboard. She loved his flamboyance, his confidence, his kindness. She loved his silly tattoos and his bunny teeth and the little scar under his chin and the faint lipstick stain on his cheek. She loved the way they teased each other like children. She loved the way his mouth felt against hers. She loved the way he adored her. And so, she couldn’t help but smile wide.

“Alright, let’s add you’re super cheesy to that list, too…”

thanks for reading! please reblog if you enjoyed <3

feedback is welcomed, encouraged, and highly appreciated!

#harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #boyfriend!harry #yacht!harry #harry styles #my writing #i know shes a lil babie one shot but please be nice i have slaved over her

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

Love... and a soft place to land.

Request: Hey! can I request a Harry x reader where the reader finds out she's pregnant and going through the pregnancy with Harry? It can even be when they're still at Hogwarts if you want!

A/N: Thank you for the request!! I’ve written this post!Hogwarts as I don’t feel comfortable writing teen pregnancy (I hope you understand!) but nevertheless I hope you enjoy! The title is a quote from A Discovery of Witches, I use the full quote in the fic and I have put that in bold so you’re all aware. There’s loads of cute moments in this; I wrote it in one sitting and made myself cry at one point.

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: pregnancy, odd cravings, she/her pronouns, FLUFF - ALL THE FLUFF.

Word count: 2.3k

The two lines staring back you confirmed your suspicions.

The nausea being the main symptom that had you counting back the days to your last cycle. Realising the lateness had you leaving Harry in bed while your rushed to a muggle chemist, buying three tests. The chemist gave you soft smile as she rang them up, asking whether you’d be paying by cash or card. You tried to return the smile, but knew it was a watery one.

It wasn’t as if you and Harry were actively trying to avoid pregnancy, you just hoped you’d have a little more time to have him to yourself before sharing him with a son or daughter.

Rushing home, you find Harry still in bed, snoring away and utterly oblivious to the world.

You shut the door to the bathroom quietly in the hopes of not waking your husband. You’d have woken him sooner, but the idea of getting his hopes up for something he had wanted since he slid the golden ring onto your finger, only spurred you on to make sure you were pregnant.

Your heart soared and your stomach dropped as the two lines appeared on each test.

A knock on the bathroom door has you dropping the test still held in your hands.

“Love, you’ve been in there a while, is everything okay?”

You clear your throat, swallowing around the lump there, “I’m fine, love. I didn’t wake you did I?”

Harry chuckles, “No, I woke up when I rolled onto an empty side of bed. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You pick up the dropped test, placing it next to the others. Unlocking the door, you say, “You better come in.”

Harry wastes no time entering the bathroom. He scans the room quickly, checking for whatever the problem could be.

He does a double take at the sight of the pregnancy tests laid next to the sink.

His eyes do a circuit; the pregnancy tests, your face, then dropping to your stomach.

His eyes do this three times before he whispers, “Are you pregnant?”

You grin, handing him one of the tests, “It seems I am.”

“You’re really pregnant?” He asks again; disbelief lacing his voice.

“Yes Harry. I’m pregnant – you’re going to be a father.”

“How far along are you?”

“I’m not sure, I need to make an appointment with a Healer to make sure.”

Harry nods; the smile never leaving his face. He drops the test into the sink; his arms circling around you. “You make me unbelievably happy; you know that?”

You laugh, letting some tears fall. Harry kisses them away, “I think you’ve made me the happiest man in the world. I thought nothing could rival what I felt when I saw you walking down the aisle to marry me, but this. This is something else.”

“Harry Potter, you are a sap.”

He kisses you; long and languid – his happiness pouring into it. He pulls away; the both of you breathless. He drops to his knees before you, pressing kiss after kiss to your stomach. The sight of it has you crying again. Harry stands back up, pecking your lips once more before rushing out of the bathroom, “I’m going to make you an appointment at St. Mungo’s, I’ll be right back.”

You laugh to yourself; your hand dropping to curl around your lower abdomen where in nine months, a bump will be sitting.

You grin as you hear Harry’s excited chatter on the phone; ever grateful that St. Mungo’s installed phones a few years ago to make the booking of appointments easier.

You pass by him on your way to the kitchen to begin breakfast. Your hand runs across his shoulder, and the smile he gives you in reply is breathtaking.

Your earlier worry about this being too early in your marriage has now dissipated.

Now, you couldn’t wait to begin this journey.

--------------

Two months after you tell Harry your news and the elation has worn off, the panic begins to set in. You work through it logically; borrowing book after book from your local library, setting up appointments at St. Mungo’s with the help of Draco who offered as much advice as he could give – he’d had his son almost a year ago now; he was happy to help in any way he could.

Harry took it in his stride; coming to every appointment, following the progress of his unborn son or daughter. From the moment you told him, his heart had stretched wider to be able to fit the love he already felt for his unborn child. Harry thought it would burst the moment he heard his child’s heartbeat on the ultrasound. However, he couldn’t help but feel panicked. This baby was going to be loved, there was no doubt about it – it would have enough aunts, uncles, and cousins to never be bored and Harry already adored the baby with his whole being.

But he couldn’t ignore the nagging doubt stemming from the little voice in the back of his head. The voice had him doubting his abilities to be a father; after all, his own had died when he was fifteen months old and then Sirius was ripped from him at the Department of Mysteries – he had never gotten to truly know his godfather who was supposed to guide him through life in the absence of his own father. Every chance to have a father figure was ripped away by death, and it led Harry to question his abilities and his readiness.

--------------

It comes to ahead on blustery night in March, four months into your pregnancy. Harry lays beside you in bed; propping himself up on his elbow as he watches you eat your latest craving – cheese and onion crisps with a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate. His nose crinkles as he continues to watch you eat, but he’d make sure it was always available at a moment’s notice.

The room is quiet save for the rustling of the crisp packet. Harry runs a hand over his face; he hadn’t been sleeping well these past few night – his doubts keeping him awake until the early hours of the morning.

It’s hard to miss the panic settling in his blue eyes. You run a hand through his hair, asking, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Harry blinks away the tears forming, whispering, “What if I’m not a good father? I’ve never had a father figure to guide me.”

Your hand falls from his hair to his chin, where you grasp it, keeping his eyes on you. “You’re going to be a wonderful father, I know it in my bones,” You hum, “All children need is love, a grown-up to take responsibility for them, and a soft place to land. I know for a fact you can offer all three.”

He buries his face in your stomach, where a small bump has started to form, “I can’t be sure though,” he mumbles.

“Well, I’ll be sure enough for the both of us.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“If I remember correctly, you tripped me up in the corridor. Sent me flying into a statue.”

Harry snorts, thinking of the memory, “It was love at first sight.”

“More like I wanted to throttle you.”

“But you soon fell for my charms,” He flirts.

“How could I not? You were so apologetic, and you carried my books for the rest of the day – meeting me outside my classrooms. I’d fallen in love with you by the end of the day.”

“I could tell. I felt like the king of the world.”

“I bet,” You chuckle, “I knew Ron took the mick though didn’t he?”

“Of course, but I shut him up when I told him to make a move on ‘Mione.”

You laugh again; lapsing back into silence as you both return to thinking of the same memory.

“Are you feeling any better?” You murmur after the bout of silence, referring to his earlier panic.

He nods, shifting his position from laying on his side to sitting up against the headboard next to you. “We have each other through this.”

You take is hand, tangling your fingers together. “We have each other through this.”

------------

Arthur Weasley is the one who takes Harry aside on a random Sunday in June.

At this point, you’re seven months along in your pregnancy and your son is making every effort to squeeze your bladder to the point it bursts. Harry isn’t ashamed to admit that he shed a few tears when told he was going to have a boy; it meant that he could take the reins his father and Sirius had left behind.

As you’re waddling to the bathroom at the Burrow, you overhear the conversation between Harry and Arthur.

“How are you feeling, Harry? How is (Y/N)?” Arthur asks. From your spot on the stairs, you can see through the railing that Arthur has his hand on Harry’s shoulder and a caring expression on his face.

“(Y/N) is great; taking it all gracefully.”

“And you?”

Harry sighs, “I don’t know how I feel. The closer we get to the due date, the more nervous I become.”

Arthur chuckles lightly, “I felt the same way with Bill… I felt the same with all of them.”

“Does it ever go away?”

Arthur shakes his head at your husband, “No, it doesn’t. You find new things to be worried about. But Harry, I’m here to help you. I know I’m not your father or your godfather, but I’ll help you in any way I can.”

Harry pulls Arthur into a long hug; surprising the patriarch of the Weasley family. When Harry pulls away, you can see the tell-tale signs of tears.

Harry sniffles, “You’re as good as, Mr. Weasley.”

Arthur sniffles too, “You’ve become a great man, Harry. You’re going to be a great father too. Molly is beside herself with excitement to meet the little one.”

You wipe the tears running down your own face, taking the final few steps to the bathroom where you blow your nose on some tissue.

Harry was going to be just fine.

-------------

The labour is long and intense, and for a while, there’s the worry that you’ll need to have an emergency c-section. Harry is by your side through it all; he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. He wipes your forehead with a cool cloth after each contraction; he holds your through each push – bones be damned if they break.

With a loud cry, your son enters the world just after midnight on a quiet night in August.

There are no words to accurately describe the feelings that coursed through his body when the midwife asked him to cut the cord. It was the first look at his son, and then and there, Harry made a silent vow to never let his son question his talents and abilities whatever they may be.

Wrapped in a pale blue blanket, he’s placed onto your chest with a cry. Immediately, the tears begin to fall down Harry’s face. Nine long months and his son has arrived; and you, you took it all so gracefully, sniffling slightly as you welcomed him into the world.

You hand Harry his son; being careful to make sure that the head is stable before letting yourself relax slightly into the hospital bed. The midwife hands you a cup of tea and a slice of toast, and you thank her gratefully for all that she has done for your new family. She pats you on the head before leaving, letting the new family have time to themselves.

You watch Harry with a tender expression on your face. He had been so worried for so long, but as you watch him walk his son around the room, murmuring to him absentmindedly, you know that he’s going to make a wonderful father. You never had any doubt about it.

-------------

A few hours later, there’s a small knock on the door and Hermione’s voice rings out, “Harry, (Y/N), it’s us. Do you mind if we come in?”

You nod at Harry, adjusting the babe at your chest. He opens to the door, being pulled into a hug immediately by Ron. Hermione enters the room with a bouquet of pale pink roses; your favourites. She sits the vase down on the other side of the room so as to not disturb the baby too much with the new smell.

Hermione tiptoes over to you, “I’m sorry we didn’t send an owl.”

You shake your head, “I wouldn’t want you stay away anyway.”

Tears line her eyes as Ron and Harry join you at your bedside. Your son gurgles, shifting in your arms, aware of the visitors here to see him. Hermione holds a hand to her mouth, eyes flickering to Harry, “He’s got your eyes, Harry.”

Harry nods, “I know. But he has his mother’s hair, and her mouth and nose.”

You hush your husband, “He’ll be the carbon copy of you, I know it.”

Silence falls in the room as the four adults continue to watch the new life slumber in his mother’s arms. He shuffles for a minute, finding a comfier position before settling back into his dreams.

You shift your gaze to Hermione, silent tears falling down her face. “Would you like to hold your godson?”

“Godson?” She whisper-asks, “Me?”

Harry places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing, “We want you and Ron to be godparents.”

Ron sniffles, reaching a hand up to wipe at his eyes. “Harry, mate, we’d be honoured.”

At those words, you hand your new-born son to his godmother who holds him like a pro. She dips her head down to sniff at his head; smiling at the new-born smell.

Hermione lets her tears continue to fall as she stares down at her new godson in awe. Ron’s arm is tight around her waist as he asks, “What name did you decide on?”

Harry’s voice breaks as he replies, “James Sirius Arthur Potter.”

*******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04

#harry potter x reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter imagines #harry potter reader insert #harry potter one shot #harry potter drabble #harry x reader #harry potter x female reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #harry x y/n #harry x you #fluff #harry potter fluff #cute #hp imagines #hp fanfiction

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the-volume-is-astronomical · 4 years ago

Text

The Crown, The Sword, and The Gay

The Tower

A/N: mi gente im just trying something out and seeing if people like it :] ive had this done for like months and months on end and i finally decided to share it so em enjoy

First | Previous| Next

words: 2380

summary: Roman’s stomach is making it very clear that this talk wasn’t going to end well... as long as he doesn’t end up in that tower.

pairings: eventual prinxiety, eventual intrulogical, eventual moceit

warnings: some potty language (not much), stress, anxiety, disappearance mention, flashback, crying

(let me know if theres any other)

Roman felt himself waking up, maybe because of the stupidly bright sun hitting his eyes, he didn’t know how that was possible since he remembered closing the red velvet curtains shut tight, so he didn't have this exact issue. So, when he heard some ruffling and things being moved around he wasn’t all that surprised.

¨Rise and shine, you little brat¨ Ruth said in a very tired but demanding voice.

¨Oh dear nurse, allow me five more minutes¨ Roman whined putting a pillow over his eyes so he could block out the rude sun.

¨Oh, flattery will get you nowhere, mister.¨ Roman could hear Ruth moving around the room, preparing breakfast no doubt. Roman took the pillow off his face and sat up, hair a wreck, and his eyes squinting because of the light coming from the window.

¨And he finally rises,¨ Ruth said sarcastically.

¨Yeah, yeah, the dashing prince has awoken.¨ Roman said half asleep. Ruth helped him sit down so he didn’t trip over anything and started serving him breakfast, she wasn’t going to wait for him to finish eating as she was already heading for the big oak doors.

¨Wait!¨ Roman sobered up, Ruth flinched a little at the shout but turned around anyway ¨Can I do anything for you?¨ She asked.

¨ Come eat with me, you for sure haven’t eaten anything today.¨ Ruth went to argue but closed her mouth when she noticed she, in fact, had not eaten.

She sat down in the chair in front of the royal, Roman made a few hand gestures as if to show she was open to take anything, she knew the monarch wouldn’t eat until she had settled for something so, she took a piece of bread and started eating, as did he.

After a few moments of silent eating Ruth spoke up ¨I still don't understand, after all these years you haven’t become a spoiled brat that doesn't care for his servant¨ Roman didn't even look up at her he just said ¨I guess you raised me well.¨ Ruth almost choked on her bread and looked at Roman as if he had gone insane. “Oh come on don't be so humble Ruthie!¨

She still looked at him confused and a little annoyed at the nickname but mostly surprised he would say anything of the sort, ¨Ruth, you are my nurse. You have been with me my entire life, You fed me when I was a baby for god sake! I consider you a mother, even if I have another mother in the throne room right now,” Roman shivered at the thought of having to talk to his parents after the events of the past week but continued anyway “and I sure as hell think of you as the person who raised me.¨

Once he had finished he immediately put a mouth full of food and kept eating as if hadn’t given that speech. Ruth still looked shocked but cleared her throat ¨Well, then I made you a sap!¨ Roman started laughing ¨How will your future spouse ever forgive me?¨ Roman burst out laughing and Ruth gave a small chuckle.

Ruth stood up and went to Roman's closet to gather his outfit for the day, while he finished breakfast. She threw the clothes at him “Hey!¨ Roman made his trademark over dramatic gasp. She sighed “I unfortunately also gave you my dramatics…”

“And I don’t resent you for that!” Roman screamed back with a big smile on his face.

Ruth looked like she had something on her mind. Roman didn’t have to wait much before she said what that was, he never did. ¨Would that make you and my Remy brothers?¨ she said, actively ignoring the prince’s comments. Roman stood up going towards his shoji screen to change behind. ¨Ha! We already consider each other brothers so it wouldn’t be much of a change.¨ Ruth started making his bed “Well this is new information to me.¨ Roman giggled a bit

¨Remy´s supposed to be back by noon, he passed a lot of territories to deliver this message so I sure hope he’s alright¨ Roman has always thought she was a worried mother even to him when he went on long trips.

Roman stepped out from behind the screen and reassured her ¨ He’s fine! He may act reckless but he's very calculating… but expect him a few hours later than what the estimated time of return” Roman slipped away looking for his shoes. ¨Oh and why is that?¨ she asked, hands on her hips, Roman gave a nervous chuckle.

Shouldn't have let that slip.

“Roman…” Ruth said in a warning tone. Remy was going to kill him but he didn’t want to die at his nurse’s hands “Remy’s been... seeing... this person a-and when his message trip aligns with where they live… he spends some time with the person so…” Ruth looked at him as if deciding something, “As Remy’s mother, I thank you for telling me the truth..” Roman was relieved “But, as your mother, I have to say…YOU SNITCH! Snitches get stitches for a reason!” Roman laughed genuinely and Ruth joined.

After their giggle fit, they heard someone knock on the door. Ruth went to answer the door, it was a guard “His and her highness request the prince’s presence,” Ruth thanked the guard and turned around and Roman looked mortified, “Roman, you have to talk to them.” Roman had never heard Ruth speak that soft. Roman only felt dread “Ruth I don't want to go” He was genuinely petrified.

“I understand, but they are very understanding and I believe they wouldn't punish you for simply trusting the wrong person” Roman shook his head “ They’re already so protective. They always had me under knight or guard surveillance but now they might do something so I won’t be able to sneak by” Roman was panicking and Ruth noticed, she walked up to him. And took his hand “Roman they just want the best for you…” Roman took his hand away from her own “No! They are just afraid they aren’t going to have an heir after one of them ran away.” Roman's hands were in his hair and his eyes started to glaze over.

Roman was very much not over his brother's apparent “disappearance”

“I understand Remus vanishing has affected your parents over protectiveness, BUT they have always aimed to protect you but after what happened...can you really blame them for it?” Roman sighed, Ruth forced his hands out of his hair, he took a shaky breath to calm down “No, but getting hurt is part of life! So what if I trusted the wrong person? Everyone does!” He gestured to the sky as if it was the only person listening, he felt so defeated.

“Well I can't change anything so, you should tell your parents that!” She didn’t know what to say to make things better. “I’ll try, let’s just hope they at least try to listen” he left it there and headed out of his bedroom’s oak doors, he never liked disagreeing with Ruth.

Roman walked down the long hallway towards the throne room but, of course, he wasn’t alone because that would be too much to ask apparently. Instead he was being escorted to see his parents by the guard that had informed him his parents required him. He already knew what they were going to talk to him about and he was dreading it.

Why did he have to make such a mistake?

Did the universe want him to not trust anyone after what happened?! If it would make the sinking feeling in his stomach leave then he would happily oblige.

The guard stopped at the throne rooms doors and Roman took a deep breath as the guard gave him side eye glance and opened the doors, “You required my presence?” Roman spoke trying to keep his voice steady and his head high, “Yes, Roman, we would actually like to talk to you about last week's event…?” He phrased it as a question a little too late. Roman’s father, King Leonardo, wasn’t an emotionally driven person and never was truly soft with anything he said, but he cared. The way he was soft spoken with Roman was just having the opposite effect that his father wanted.

Roman’s mother, Queen Victoria, was very comforting and always tried to shield her children from harm's way, but coming from a family of royals, she didn't have an example to follow but she wanted to be there for her child. “Roman, my little lion heart, I need you to keep in mind this is for your safety...ok?” Following everything by the book, always looking and being her best, so she would be a good example even if she wasn't nurturing, all she wished was for Roman to know she loved him and Remus with her whole being, Roman just gave her a tense nod as a response.

Roman’s Father spoke up, “Roman, you're going to be under knight supervision at all times,” That wasn't as bad as Roman expected, he basically already was! Anything but to be stuck in that damn tower “...And you have to stay in the south tower-” ...He should have knocked on wood.

“Father, I did nothing wrong! I shouldn't be punished for this-” Romans mother spoke up, she knew both her son and husband could be hot headed. She wanted to stop anything before it got the chance to begin “Roman this isn't to punish you! We want to protect you-” The Queen sounded like she was pleading with her son.

Roman did not hear her plea or just ignored it “...For how long do I have to stay there?” Roman’s mother spoke up, “Don't worry, you'll be there maximum 2-”

“Indefinitely.”

The King spoke in a cold unforgiving tone, Roman knew he had messed up big time. Victoria turned to her husband “Leo, we agreed he wouldn't be there for more than 2 fortnights, we agreed on that.” The Queen seemed upset but was obviously attempting not to show such emotion.

“Those were the rules we agreed to when he was a child and he would grant being punished” Both of Roman’s parents were staring at each other, showing they weren't going to back down.

Roman spoke, “Understood.” His voice was mostly monotone but tight, Victoria turned to him with an apologetic gaze. Roman shook his head. It was his own fault, his mother shouldn't blame herself for his actions.

“I'll tell Ruth, so we can pack.” Roman turned to leave but his father had more to say. “Before you go, Hugo won't be your assigned knight. One of the new recruits is climbing in status and popularity very quickly and he agreed to-” “babysit” Roman cut in. “-protect you. As long as I recommended him to Queen Marie for her armada”

As if things couldn't get any better, he had to meet this new recruit, he hoped they would at least get along. Roman just nodded and opened the door to leave. At that moment, Roman’s father called the guard that had escorted Roman to get the new recruit as soon as possible, he just left as quickly as he could.

His parents knew that not being around people and not being able to talk were some of the worse things that could happen to him. They decided it was going to be the way to punish him. Though, he never stayed for more than a month, now he understood why.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Roman- basically power walked- back to his room, his brain tortured him with memories of his 7 year old self being forced onto the tower for the first time.

No! Please it was an accident-!

I won't do it again!

I won't- Please!

That was all he said as his father signaled the guards to take him, his mother not being able to look, turned her head away, trying to ignore every motherly instinct in her body to stand up and comfort her child.

The guards dragged him out of the castle- the only home he knew- and shoved him in a carriage, where Ruth was waiting for him. Ruth had always been happy around him but her expression was unreadable -looking back she seemed angry, he just hadn't seen her that way before- but, Roman didn't care. He threw himself onto Ruth and sobbed his tiny heart out, Ruth trying her best to calm him down, he eventually fell asleep. Three hours later, he was woken up by Ruth.

“Were here, principito”

Roman was scared. Ruth saw it in his eyes.

“Come on! You offend me, you really think I would let them take you to a scary place?”

The little royal could only muster a small “no”. Ruth took his hand and walked with him toward a tower. Roman thought it was beautiful, that's the day he figured beautiful things can hurt you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roman never got used to it. He always dreaded the ride there, all the build up to the feeling of nothingness. When he looked up at the tower, he got the same feeling that he did when he was 7, Roman learned to not look up. He’d always prefer being in the tower when he was a kid because, back then they allowed Ruth to stay behind with him. Now she would only go in the carriage with him and leave.

After they stopped allowing Ruth to stay with him, at least he had Hugo to bother, by asking him for stories of his adventures. He didn't have that anymore.

The only adventure story he had now was a vibrant red book, in the book shelf of the tower, the only fictional book in his whole collection. He will admit, it was a very smart move on his parent’s part. They always monitored what he read, filled his whole book shelf in the tower with Philosophy, Math, and Royalty etiquette. When he begged for weeks on end for an adventure book they granted him one but, they made sure it was the only book that was fictional. They wouldn't give him an adventure book based on real events, No! That would be giving Roman too much hope.

Good move.

#roman sanders #roman angst #sanders sides roman #ts roman #prinxiety #ts prinxiety #future prinxiety #sanders sides #ts princey

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ithebookhoarder · 4 years ago

Note

Could I get something for valentines day to do with the Shelby gang? I really don't mind what or who. I just feel like I need a little love for the day...

Valentines Day Head-Canons for the Shelby Family

A/N: Of course you can, anon! Hope you have a great day, whether you’re celebrating or not. It’s just a day, really, so I hope this cheers you up ;) Sending so much love x

Masterlist:

Arthur:

This man would be nervous as hell that he’d mess up valentines day with you. He’s not exactly known for being the romantic of the family, nor does he have the sophistication of his younger siblings. In fact, he’s sometimes surprised you’re even with him at all.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t try, though. Oh no, this man is going all out for the day and nothing is too much for you. He’ll have asked everyone, and I mean everyone, for advice about what to do to make the day special.

He’s not a many of many words so he lets his actions do the talking for him, giving you a massive bouquet of flowers as he comes to collect you for the evening.

“Arthur, they’re beautiful. You really shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for me. I mean, you even got orchids - my favourites. How did you know?”

“I remember you told me before, eh? When we were at that place down in London. The one with the fancy window displays.”

“I can’t believe you remembered.”

But that’s Arthur. He’s utterly head over heels for you, which is probably why he turns bright red as you kiss him on the doorstep before hurrying back inside to put them in some water.

He’d also make sure to open every door for you the entire night, refusing to let you even lift so much as a finger.

In fact, he even pulls your chair out for you in the restaurant he’s taking you to, glaring at the waiter who was going to do it, in a clear sign to back away if he wants to escape with his life.

“Arthur. I saw that. Behave.”

“I’m on my best behaviour, love. Promise.”

“Oh really? What a shame, as I had kind of hoped you wouldn’t be, considering that I’m wearing your present underneath this dress.”

Arthur almost combusts there and then.

Screw dinner - he wants to devour you and only you. Maybe that’s why he practically drags you out of the door at the end of the night, making you laugh as you hurry after him, the two of you fumbling with each other like horny teenagers.

Needless to say, you spend the rest of the night wrapped in a tangle of limbs, lost in an haze of pleasure as you gift one another with your bodies.

John:

Now, considering his kids and the fact they are more than a handful, he knows just how important time spent with just the two of you is. That would be his first and biggest gift, getting one of the family to agree to watch the hell spawn long enough for you two to spend some time alone together.

It’s just you and him for 24 hours of uninterrupted bliss, with no crying children or screaming babies to think about.

True, it would be weird at first to have the house so quiet, but that’s exactly what you need for you and John to just talk to one another about anything and everything you’ve missed over the past few weeks. After all, he’d probably have been so busy with work he feels like he’s hardly seen you recently.

He’s also remarkably in-tune with you and knows exactly how to spoil you rotten.

“You do so much for me and the kids, it’s the least I can do, right? You deserve the world, but I guess I’ll have to do, eh?”

Who knew John Shelby was such a softie?

He’d have the day mapped out down to the finest detail: Breakfast in bed? check. A hot bath with wine and candles? Check. That new dress you had your eye on when you last went into town? Check. Making love for hours on every surface of the house? Triple check.

He knows how lucky he is to have you and would spend all day making sure you knew.

“At this rate, we’ll be having another little one to be bribe Polly to watch next year.”

“John Shelby! I swear to god I am not having another baby-“

“So you want me to put my clothes back on and not fuck you again?”

You wisely say nothing and kiss him instead.

“As I thought.”

Tommy:

Considering how busy he normally is, the only gift you could ever want from him was that of time. Time away from the stresses of the company or his family and their never ending messes.

It’s why you’re eager to subtly remind him about the date every chance you get in the weeks preceding it.

Little do you know, he’s perfectly aware of the day. In fact, he has plans of his own cooked up for the both of you… you just didn’t need to know that yet.

It makes the surprise all the more satisfying as he wakes you early the morning of, peppering you with kisses and encouraging you to get dressed.

“I thought people usually tried to get people undressed on Valentines day?”

“Patience, love. It’s worth it, I promise.”

You laugh and trust him, unable to deny him anything when he looks genuinely happy for once. That in itself is a gift, as is the chance to spend the day riding with him around the estate you called home.

Tommy is happiest on horse back, and you grin as you eye him clambering on his horse out front.

You’re quick to follow, not surprised to see he’d had your horse readied too. He really had thought this out, down to the route you take.

“This way, there are no phone calls or fucking distractions,” he explains, relieved at the utter delight in your eyes. “Not unless one of the staff want to grab a horse and come find us. Good luck to them.”

“They’d need it, especially if they’re stupid enough to risk me shooting them for disturbing us. They’d be idiots.”

Tommy laughs.

Eventually, he’d stop you both, just on the edge of the woods, revealing the next surprise as he pulls out a blanket and basket (prepared with Frances’s help, of course).

“A picnic, Tommy?”

“I told you it was a surprise.”

It’s the best surprise as you both sit there, drinking and laughing as the sky turns dark.

That’s when he lights a fire for you both, letting you huddle close by the flames, eyes gazing at the stars above you.

You listen to him telling you all about the constellations and the stories he learned as a child. The sound of his voice is heavenly and you could easily listen to him all night.

So much so, you’re quick to wish the night would never end, letting you two stay like this, wrapped peacefully in each other’s arms forever.

Finn:

This literal angel is sweet as hell. Like, you better be prepared for the hand made card he’ll have made you… with Polly’s help, of course. He isn’t a hundred percent sure his spelling would have been right otherwise, but for you he’s willing to make the effort to try and write it for you. After all, you’ve more than likely been trying to help him learn to read and write since you started seeing one another.

“Aunt Pol… is heart spelt with two t’s or one?”

“One, Finn.”

“And does angel have a j in it?”

“No, Finn.”

Everyone else thought it was adorable and proof that he truly does love you. They’ve never seen him work so hard on anything in his life.

Your own card is much simpler, because you wanted to make sure he could read it without too much difficulty. You also may or may not have got a bit carried away with drawing hearts and other sketches to fill it instead of trying to use long and complicated words about how much you loved him.

However, neither one of you seem to care. You’re too happy with the cards you receive to care about your own possible mistakes.

You’re also too busy admiring how much of an effort each of you made with your outfits for your date. Sure, it was just drinks and dancing with some of the other teenagers in Small Heath (basically Isiah and his girl) but you’d both gone full out for the occasion.

“Is that suit new?”

“Maybe… John helped me pick it out. Why? Does it look stupid?”

“No, Finn Shelby. You look incredibly handsome,” you beam, toying with his lapels before linking his hand with yours. “I’ll be the luckiest girl there tonight.”

“And I’ll be the luckiest man.”

Oh yeah, you two are reals saps, just as most young lovers are. You’re all nervous glances, laughs and touches as you two dance the night away.

It would also be the night Finn kisses you for the first night, summoning the courage to do it as he drops you off back at your house, just a little after curfew.

It’s worth the risk and as you kiss him back he swears he’s flying the rest of the way home.

Micheal:

Micheal has had his plans in place for weeks, making sure every little detail would be perfect for the two of you. He’s honestly looking forward to it, enough to welcome his mother’s advice as she throws suggestions and tips at him the week before.

“Women like to feel special, Micheal. What about getting her a necklace? Or some chocolates? Fancy ones from France or something.”

“Mum, thanks, but I’ve got it covered. Promise.”

“Are you sure?”

Micheal laughs and tries not to be offended at her obvious doubt. Then again, he’s not always had a track record of being the most romantic or thoughtful with women. Still, he really cares about you and he’s determined not to mess this up.

It’s why he’s chosen the perfect place for you two to spend the evening together: your place.

He’s determined to spend the time just the two of you, and what better way to impress you than cooking dinner for you?

With the bottle of champagne he brought and your favourite records playing in the background, you’re quickly at ease, grinning as you watch him effortlessly chop, dice and season the dish he’s chosen.

How is peeling a potato so sexy when he does it?

It’s honestly impressive, but also because he’s putting so much effort into it which is a nice surprise. As is the way he dances around the kitchen with you whenever there’s a pause in the recipe or a particularly good song comes on.

You’re surprised at his soft singing voice as he holds you, humming along. It’s rare he allows himself to be seen in such a way, relaxed with no one to judge him for being soft or a little off key. In front of the other Shelbys he’s normally desperate to impress them, trying to be tough and nonchalant.

However, you know deep down he’s still the country boy you fell in love with when he first arrived in the city.

By the time you’ve finished dinner, the candles have almost burned out and you know where the evening is headed as you both start to scurry off to your bedroom.

Ada:

Ada is probably the most relaxed of all the Shelby bunch when it comes to special occasions. This is Ada we’re talking about. She’s also probably the most sane of the bunch, so she knows how to act like a normal person.

She doesn’t need anything big or fancy as a gift or some elaborate plan to make her fall head over heels.

A day in the park, with Karl holding both your hands as you walk to the duck pond, is enough to make her look at you with utter adoration in her eyes. She loves how well you both get on, becoming a little family of you own.

It’s why it’s no surprise you all have dinner together, with Karl helping to serve you as your two favourite people spoil you rotten. You normally eat together most days, even if Karl doesn’t normally wear a suit or call you ‘madame’ every time he passes you something like a mini waiter.

Ada smirks at the sight, informing you it’s all Karl’s idea - as is the card he thrusts upon you.

“I made the card myself!”

“You did? Wow, Karl. Look how amazing it is. I love the glitter on the heart.”

“I knew you would. Mum didn’t think so but I won.”

The look Ada gives you makes you want to laugh until you cry as you clearly sense the frustration she must have suffered in the pursuit of Karl’s artistry. It also explains why you’ve been finding glitter everywhere all week.

“Well, I love it. Thank you - both.”

You press kisses to both of their cheeks, grinning as Ada purred something about giving you her card later once Karl’s in bed. You’re eager to return the favour, impatient to give her your own card and gift.

It’s a framed photo of you all, taken one day when you’d all been at the local fair.

The sight of it is enough to make Ada watery eyed as she gives you yours, watching as you unwrap it and gasp in delight.

The book is the next in a series you’d recently started and fallen in love with. However, you were pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be released yet.

“What can I say? Perks of having a librarian girlfriend with exclusive access to advanced copies we’re supposed to be holding on to until next month. I borrowed one and I’m sure they won’t notice.”

“Ada Shelby. You stole a book for me?”

“Borrowed. Not stole.”

You don’t care, too overwhelmed to do anything other than kiss her passionately.

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iliumheightnights · 4 years ago

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Remembrance | Robb Stark x Male Reader

Fandom: Game of Thrones

Pairing: Robb Stark x Male Reader

Summary: (M/N) finds Robb alive after thinking he was dead.

A.K.A, an alternate universe where Robb survives the red wedding somehow.

…

“King Robb and Lady Catelyn are dead! Killed by the Frey’s at the twins!”

(M/N) stopped as he heard those words. Not just two days had passed since he had left his love to deal with Theon. He had been worried about leaving Robb, but the man assured him he would be okay. He should have trusted his instinct. Now Robb was dead and he wasn’t there to protect him...at the least to die with him.

When they arrived at Winterfell they found that the ironborn had all been killed or captured and the Boltons now held it as their keep. (M/N) couldn’t believe it, there was practically nothing left for the Starks. He knew that if he tried to retake Winterfell he and his forces would die. He ordered his forces to fall back and then disbanded the war party. “Return to your keeps, swear loyalty to the Boltons,when I find Bran,Rickon, Arya or Sansa...be prepared to retake Winterfell.”

…

It had been months since the events of the red wedding happened. (M/N) was haunted by the visions of Robb. He couldn’t remember if he told him that he loved him before he had left. That was the part that (M/N) worried about the most. He didn’t want the last thing he said to Robb to be awful or an argument.

It was a common occurrence for him to see Robb in his dreams whenever he went to sleep. Robb would be standing there like any other day and smile at him with that stupid grin. (M/N) would try to get to him but before he could reach him Robb would look like he had just been stabbed and would fall just out of (M/N)’s reach. And those were the good nights.

Sometimes when he would be travelling he would believe that he had seen his lover standing in the treeline, or sometimes he would think he was among the crowd of people. It was never true. He couldn’t seem to get it through his head that Robb was gone, the king of the north was dead. He thought about what Robb would say if he could see him now. He’d laugh at him for being so weak, for not being able to move on.

No. Robb wouldn’t think that at all. Robb would apologize for worrying him, apologize for leaving so soon. He would tell him how much he loved him and how they’d meet again. (M/N) knew that's what Robb would really say. He saw how broken his love was after his father was killed in kings landing, he’d never judge (M/N) for grieving.

Sometimes (M/N) hated the fact that he was alive. Why was he still breathing when Robb and most of the Starks were dead or missing? Missing. He had to find the Stark kids, that’s the least he could do for Robb, Ned and Catelyn. So that became his next mission, he knew that Sansa was being held by the lannisters. Bran had been at Winterfell with Rickon if anything Osha and Hodor would protect them both. Arya was what concerned (M/N), the lannisters said they had her...but he knew they were lying. Arya couldn’t be captured by anyone.

So that’s what (M/N) had been doing now. Searching for the lost Stark Girl. He had looked everywhere, From king's landing to even casterly rock. Everywhere he looked he didn’t find her. His search finally brought him to one place he was hoping to avoid. The Twins. Of course, he couldn’t just go around asking for a missing Stark. They’d have his head before he even thought of escape. His best chance of finding out if she was here would be to sneak into the dungeons.

Sneaking into the dungeons was no easy feat, for some people. For (M/N) all he had to do was kill a guard and take their uniform. Maybe it wouldn’t work for say the Lannisters, but for the Frey’s they were too stuck up to truly notice that he didn’t belong. He approached the dungeon and spoke to the guard. “You lucky Bastard. Lord Frey says you get to go have fun with the others, I get stuck guarding the pigs tonight.” The guard laughed and handed him the keys before he started walking away. “Sucks for you! Imma go find a nice woman to bed.” (M/N) rolled his eyes and waited for the guard’s footsteps to quiet. Once the coast was clear, he turned and entered the dungeon.

The cells were mostly empty, probably because Walder Frey liked to execute his prisoners rather than waste food on them. The few cages that did have prisoners looked like they had been there for a while, but no sign of Arya so far. Then (M/N) caught his breath as he took in the sight of someone he didn’t think he’d see ever again. “No...it can’t be. Robb?” He stepped closer to the cell and the man inside looked up. The man’s eyes widened and quickly stood up rushing to him. “(M/N)! By the gods what are you doing here?” (M/N) felt Robb’s hands grab his own on the bars. He actually felt him. He was real, he was alive. He looked exactly like he had, but with more messy hair and beard. “How are you...nevermind. Let’s get you out of here.” (M/N) quickly unlocked the cell and was engulfed in a hug by Robb. “Oh gods...It’s so good to see you. I thought I’d never see you again.” (M/N) hugged him back but quickly let go. “I thought the same, we’ll talk later but now we have to go. Here.” He handed Robb a cloak from the wall. Must have been left by another guard. The man quickly put it on. “So what’s the plan?” Robb asked. “You follow my lead.” He gripped Robb’s shoulder and began walking out of the keep. (M/N) quickly checked the hallway and was glad to see it still empty. “We’ll go through the secret entrance. That’s how I got in here.” Getting out of the Twins was surprisingly just as easy as getting in. They never expected someone to come and steal the king in the north.

(M/N) and Robb made it back to where (M/N) had left his horse. “Okay you’re up first, we need to go.” (M/N) quickly undressed from the Frey uniform and got back into his regular outfit. He grinned as he caught Robb watching him. He helped Robb onto the horse and followed soon after. “Okay let’s get out of here before they realize you’re missing.” (M/N) wrapped his arms around Robb’s body and grabbed the reins. The two booked it as far from the Twins and the Freys as they could.

As they rode it seemed to be too quiet. “What happened to you? I thought you were dead?” Robb stiffed a bit. “I thought I was. I had been shot multiple times and stabbed, but somehow...not enough to kill me. Walder Frey wanted to use me as a hostage in case the North retaliated...but I can see that isn’t going to happen anytime soon.” (M/N) let out a huffed, forced laugh. “North’s in a large civil war right now. No one’s saving anyone anytime soon dear...I heard they sewed Grey wind’s head onto your body. I’m guessing it was some other poor sap?” Robb nodded. It got quiet again. “I’m sorry about your mom Robb. She was a strong woman and I’m sure she’s watching over you with your father right now.” Robb didn’t say anything but leaned back into (M/N). They were quiet the rest of the ride.

They rode on for another day and only stopped to rest when they were sure they were far enough not to be followed. They arrived at an old hut, it seemed to be worn down by the weather. “Here, this looks abandoned. We can rest in here for the night.” (M/N) jumped off the horse and helped Robb down. “I’m fine, I’m fine. You don’t need to coddle me.” (M/N) tied up the horse. “Oh I think I do. I thought you were dead for months. I don’t want you out of my sight again.”

The inside of the hut was at least still stable. The roof didn’t look like it was about to collapse so that was the most important thing. (M/N) started a small fire in the fireplace and pulled out his pack. He took out a knife and threw it towards Robb. “Here. Get yourself cleaned up. Looking more like a wildling now.” Robb laughed and took the knife. “You wish.” Robb was going to start but stopped as he had an idea. “Why don’t you help me?” He wiggled his eyebrows at his love.

(M/N) sighed but grabbed the knife and began shaving him. He kept his hands steady as he worked his magic. “I’ve missed this...well not shaving you but just getting to feel you. I never thought I’d get to do this again. Glad I was wrong.” Robb smiled and rubbed (M/N)’s arm. “I’m glad you were wrong too.” (M//N) finished shaving Robb and cut his hair down back to the length it was at before the red wedding. The two looked into each other's eyes and leaned in. (M/N) felt Robb’s lips on his and pressed deeper. It had been so long and he almost forgot what his love felt like.

The two broke apart and cuddled together in front of the fireplace. “So what happens now? I can unite the houses and rally them against the Boltons and Freys.” Robb said but (M/N) only shook his head. “I can’t see that going well. The red wedding killed many of your loyal men and the survivors won’t easily come back just yet. Perhaps you and I should figure out how to save Sansa or to find Arya or Bran and Rickon.” Robb frowned. “We’ll find them, I want them to be safe. Protected. But I also want my family home back. Those Boltons-” (M/N) interrupted him. “Will pay for what they’ve done. But there’s nothing we can do right now. For now just try and relax and we’ll come up with a plan tomorrow. For now…” He let his fingers move across Robb’s chest.

“Let’s make up for lost time.”

#game of thrones #robb stark #robb stark x male reader #robb stark x male!reader #robb stark x reader

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coffeestainsandcashmere · 4 years ago

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Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - (older Dramione) Part Five

I hope you enjoy this one! It features a surprise snooty owl (I wonder who could own such a creature???) and some well-meaning concern from a friend. And some banter. And an expensive lunch. Because Theo is extra and can’t help himself. And it’s 4.6k words long...

I also realised that, since I wrote the first chapter basically out of the blue and not really intending for it to blow up into a big multi-part story, I’ve messed up the timeline a little with Harry’s kids, so I’ll have to go back and fix that when it comes to a re-edit before it goes up on AO3, but for now, just handwave it, ok? :)

Finally, many thanks for your lovely owls, anonymous or otherwise, about this story and where it’s going! I was honestly floored by the feedback I’ve got, and thank you to those who’ve reblogged it and helped get it out there for folks to read. I have a very small following since this side-blog is fairly new, so all reblogs are very much appreciated. I did a quick doodle for the cover of the story which you can find here, if you’re interested in how I pictured Draco and Scorpius standing in the steam from the Hogwarts Express from chapter one.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

___

Far earlier on Monday morning than she was accustomed to these days, Hermione woke with a start and frowned, confused. Eyes dry and prickly, and hair absolutely everywhere, she sat up and looked around, straining her ears as she blearily tried to work out what had yanked her so unceremoniously from a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep. Her Muggle alarm clock silently showed 05:54 in harsh red numbers, and nothing had touched the wards or tried to get in, though there was something thrumming against them, like the lingering reverberations of a plucked harp string.

The temporary stillness was shattered when a wild scrabbling of claws and the beating of enormous wings started up against her bedroom window. With a flailing shriek of surprise, she nearly fell out of bed, but after taking a deep breath, she stumbled out from under the covers to wrench the curtains open.

“Bloody owls!” she began, but drew up short when she saw the unfamiliar bird waiting impatiently on the other side of the glass.

There, battering its truly monstrous talons against the glass, was a colossal eagle owl. When it saw her, it stopped its fussing to perch haughtily on the brick windowsill outside and fix her with a fiery red glare. If owls could have raised their eyebrows, she got the impression that this one would have done it at the sight of her.

“Yeah, well, it’s early. What did you expect?” she groused as she slid the window panel to one side and the bird looked around her bedroom with obvious disdain. Imperiously, it stuck out one leg, like a noble expecting a servant to remove a dirty boot, and she saw a rolled-up piece of parchment with a green wax seal and a green ribbon to bind it together.

“Who do you belong to then?” she asked, going automatically to stroke the bird’s flight-ruffled chest plumage. It instantly hissed and nipped at her fingers, and she barely drew them back in time. “Christ! No need for that,” she gasped. She’d never met a postal owl as cantankerous as this one. “I usually give visiting owls a treat, but I don't think I like your manners one bit.”

With the letter in hand, she slid the window closed again, leaving a gap just small enough that the bird wasn’t going to barge its way in. She wondered if it had been instructed to wait for an answer because it began almost immediately clicking its beak against the glass and hooting indignantly.

“Manners makyth bird,” she snapped without looking up, and broke the unfamiliar wax seal on the letter.

It had a cursive ‘M’ within a circle, but was otherwise unadorned. Unfurling it, she glanced at the name on the bottom and her eyebrows rose as her growing suspicions were confirmed. It was signed in a princely English roundhand by none other than Draco Malfoy.

She snorted, glancing back at the bird who was doing its best basilisk impression from the other side of the glass. “Who else would have such a snotty owl?”

It hooted childishly at her again and she laughed.

Dear Hermione,

I must beg of you to forgive the unspeakably rude hour of this correspondence, but I am leaving this morning for France by portkey for a couple of days and I had hoped to get your answer before I left. I should add now before you read any further — although with your kind heart I fear it may be too late already — that Cassiopeia here is not fond of physical affection, but is very partial to owl treats. She can be bribed into doing almost anything for food, but affection is sadly not in her nature, so please be careful with your fingers around her beak. The only reason I was able to get her to fly at all at this time of the day was to bribe her lavishly. She’s terribly spoilt, and for that, I’m sorry too.

Hermione shot another look at the bird, who narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Cassiopeia, eh?” she said and the enormous owl bobbed a few times. “Prideful about your good looks then, are you? You should know how your namesake’s story ended then. But, I suppose you could be forgiven since you are an inordinately pretty bird. You’ll still not get a crumb from me after trying to take my fingers off though. I’ll be having words with Malfoy about that.”

Cassiopeia ruffled her feathers and promptly turned her back on Hermione. The bird didn’t take off, so she returned her attention to the letter.

I spent all weekend thinking about our evening together on Friday, but it will come as little surprise to you to learn that it has taken me all that time to muster up my limited courage to ask you to dinner at your next convenience. Naturally, I left it to the last possible moment to ask you. I have a place in mind in London, but it’s a little more out of the way than the restaurants on Diagon Alley. I have it on authority from the owner that you have never been there, and I would very much like to surprise you, but if you would feel more comfortable knowing in advance, then you can ask Theo while I am out of the country.

Staggered, Hermione stared at the letter and found her vision swimming a little. Blinking, she was shocked to find tears blurring his formal — almost painfully formal — words.

But how long had it been since anyone had actually asked her on a date? ‘Too intimidating’, ‘too boring’, ‘too work-orientated’, ‘too bossy’, ‘too driven’ were all things she’d heard at one point or another, and admittedly many of them from Ron.

Thirty seven wasn’t even old - especially by magical standards - but she didn’t exactly have the same bright-eyed charms as someone like, say, Lavender did anymore. Hard work, and a draining marriage seemed to have sapped much of the youth and vigour from her. And, if she were honest, being replaced by someone supposedly ‘more attractive’ had damaged her more deeply than she cared to admit, even to herself. There were certainly days when she felt like a washed-up, burnt-out, dowdy old matron. She had crashed out of a sparkling career in the Ministry to run a scruffy old second-hand bookshop next to the newly-refurbished Florian Fortescue’s ice cream parlour.

“Why are you even bothering, Malfoy?” she murmured aloud as she stared blankly at the letter in her hands. With looks like his — and a groaning Gringotts’ account if the rumours were to be believed, not that that mattered a jot to Hermione — he could probably have had almost any witch he wanted, his past and reclusive behaviour be damned. And yet he was asking her to dinner after having only met twice since they turned eighteen? Three times, she supposed if she included that brief encounter at the Ministry on the night of the attack.

Perhaps he was lonely just wanted the company. Perhaps she was just… convenient; a chump with a soft spot for outcasts…

Before she let herself go too far down that unsavoury rabbit hole, she forced herself to read on, heart pounding. Outside on the windowsill, the owl had gone very still, watching her with curious, orange eyes.

Please feel free to send Cassiopeia back with your response either way. I hope I have not overstepped or misread how things are between us now, especially given our history, but I find my thoughts returning over and over to our evening, and to that surprise lunch on the 1st of September. I’m not sure what I had expected when you asked me to join you that day, but I certainly hadn’t expected to enjoy myself as much as I did. In the years since I became Scorpius’ sole guardian, I have not sought the company of others, nor have I particularly enjoyed it when it has been inflicted upon me, but those two occasions spent with you have drawn me out of myself. You truly are a remarkable witch, and I’m more moved and honoured than I can express that you have given me even this much of your precious time already.

Before I begin to ramble too freely, I think I must sign off here.

Yours,

D.M.

P.S. Scorpius did write to me in the end. He has a detention already, and Potter’s youngest is also involved somehow… I will get more details from him anon, and no doubt a letter from McGonagall in due course.

For a long time, Hermione stood in her bedroom, with her hair in a wild halo around her head and her scruffy old pyjamas hanging low on her hips, just staring at his signature.

When Draco’s owl began to fidget and fuss again, she sighed and looked up. “Sit tight,” she breathed. “I’m going to get a piece of paper and if you keep quiet, I might bring an owl treat with me when I come back, ok?”

Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes and ducked her head suspiciously, but remained put on the windowsill, so she took that as a ‘yes’ and disappeared into her tiny study.

Grabbing a biro from the chipped mug that served as a pen and quill pot, and tearing a sheaf of paper from a muggle notebook, she scrawled a note back to him.

With that done, and before she could talk herself out of what she had just accepted, she returned to his owl with a treat. The bird mobbed her for it instantly, but Hermione scowled at her, snatched her hand back, and barked, “Wait! My goodness, you are spoilt. Let me attach this first, and if I manage it without you drawing blood or otherwise maiming me, not only will it be a flipping miracle, but you’ll get your sodding treat, alright?”

The bird went still with a tiny shuffle of her wings, and stuck out her leg.

“Thank you,” Hermione said tartly.

Cassiopeia took off with her note attached by the same green ribbon and secured with a basic sticking charm. The downdraft from her departure sent bits of accumulated detritus from the window ledge spiralling up into Hermione’s face, but she coughed and blinked, and watched the bird soar way up into the sky. The receding dot of her silhouette banked west, out of sight and in the eventual direction of Wiltshire and Malfoy Manor.

Malfoy Manor.

She’d hardly given the place any thought since that fateful night ten or so years ago when Malfoy had been attacked, a whole wing had been burned to the ground, and Scorpius had nearly been killed. They’d never said in the papers who had done it, and the Auror Office had been distinctly tight-lipped about it. Not that she’d really bothered to find out more, if she were honest. Once Malfoy’s little yowling mandrake had left her office in his father’s arms, she had been almost instantly reabsorbed with her own caseload, and Harry had never mentioned the outcome of the investigation to her. A twinge of gilt shot through her but she pushed it down. It was hardly a topic for dinnertime conversation either, so she doubted she’d find out immediately.

She thought vaguely about clambering back into bed, but since she was up, she headed to the kitchen and put the kettle on for a cup of tea. It had been a while since she’d been up before dawn, and she had some paperwork to do anyway.

Cassiopeia’s appearance was not the only unusual thing to happen to her that day. She had no visitors to the shop at all for the entire morning, but when the brass bell above the door did finally chime, she looked up from the desk at the back of the shop to find Theo striding in.

“Hi, love,” he grinned, stepping deer-like over the stack of recent arrivals beside the counter and stooping to hug her where she sat. “Lunch. You and me. Now.”

“Theo, I have a shop to run,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t just… leave. Besides, I brought sandwiches.”

“I will literally pay you the price of an entire chest of first editions to spend the next few hours in my company if things are that tight. Or I could just… buy you an entire chest of first editions,” he said, adding with his most dangerous puppy-dog eyes, “Seriously, please come to lunch with me?”

She flicked her wrist and the ‘open’ sign hanging in the glass-panelled door flipped over to ‘closed’. “I’m not accepting your money, Theo. What’s the occasion?”

He twitched slightly and then flashed her a grin; a combination that made her instantly wary. “Does a gentleman need ‘an occasion’ to ask a beautiful lady to lunch?” he asked, his brown eyes wide with feigned innocence.

Hermione slowly raised one eyebrow. “You’re gay. And happily married. And that’s a terrible line. Try again.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t take my very best friend out,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

Something was definitely up.

“Draco Malfoy is, and always has been, your very best friend in all the world. Try again.”

“You,” he said, actually growling the word this time with comical frustration, “Are one very persistent witch.”

“Mmhmm. How do you think I made it to Minister by twenty-seven, darling,” she grinned, still without getting up from her chair. “Last chance or I turn that sign around and forcibly evict you from my shop.”

Theo whipped his wand out from his inner jacket pocket like he was in a duel, and apparently vanished the offending sign from the door altogether. “There. Your threats are empty. Come to lunch with me.”

“Theodore Nott, you return my sign this instant.”

“Say you’ll come to lunch with me, and the sign goes back up.”

“I will not be threatened in my own shop!” she laughed, arms folding across her chest like a petulant child. “Put it back. Now.”

“Say you’ll come with me,” he said with a wide, playful grin, planting his hands on the counter and leaning his long frame forwards.

She had to bite her lips to stop from giggling. The charming scoundrel knew she’d say yes anyway. “I’ll tell Dan you were bullying me,” she said.

“Tell him; he’ll never believe you. He thinks I’m lovely. Come on, Hermione,” he added, softening from playful to plaintive. “I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“You and my ‘very best friend in all the world’, that’s what,” he said, and levelled her with a flat stare.

Her stomach dropped and she remembered the letter from that morning. And its contents. ‘…if you would feel more comfortable knowing, then you can ask Theo while I am gone’ Draco had said. He’d spoken with Theo about asking her out. She didn't know whether to be honoured or embarrassed.

Seeing her expression slip, Theo came round the side of the counter to stand beside her and leaned his hips against the wooden desk. “So you like him?”

“I… Why would that be a surprise?”

Theo blinked, and then his gaze flickered down to her left forearm. Everyone knew about the word engraved into her skin with the point of a cursed knife — she’d never tried to conceal it — but not many knew the real truth of just how the slur had come to be carved indelibly into her flesh. Theo was one of the few who did. “You’re really asking me why I’m surprised you like him?” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You, of all people?”

She took a very deep breath, held it, and then sighed. “Let’s go. You’re paying though. And I’m drinking.”

He managed a shy smile, and as they approached the front door of her shop his shimmering illusion around the sign dissolved to reveal it once again.

“Cheeky bugger,” she smirked at him and he waggled his eyebrows disarmingly. An undercurrent of anxiety still lurked beneath his jovial expression though.

A number of new restaurants had opened up in Diagon Alley, but Theo’s and Dan’s favourite was a sleek, modern establishment, quite different from the fusty old decor of the Leaky Cauldron or the other more traditional restaurants in wizarding London. It also sat overlooking the crooked columns of Gringotts, and was eye-wateringly expensive. Naturally, Theo was greeted by name at the door, and the pair were shown without fuss or fanfare to one of the nicest — and most secluded — tables.

With food ordered, and enormous balloon-glasses of wine in front of them, Theo fixed her with a serious look and steered the conversation around to the real reason for his impromptu lunchtime kidnapping. “He finally grew a pair and asked you to dinner then?”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “I take it this is… unusual for him?”

Theo tipped his head back and chuckled softly, sounding more tired than amused. “That’s putting it mildly, love. Until Friday, I had the devil’s own job trying to get dear Draco to leave his gloomy little manor house and come to anything. I had to blackmail him into coming to our anniversary, you know?”

Hermione just frowned, not entirely sure if he was being serious or not.

Theo let out a slow breath and stared into his wineglass, idly twirling the stem between long fingers. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said without looking at her, “I’m beyond grateful that he finally seems to be opening up to the idea of… being somewhat… vulnerable again, but…”

“You’re worried I’m going to hurt him,” she said quietly, and Theo bowed his head. “Theo, I’m… You know me. This isn’t just some one night stand with a rich, attractive bloke I met in a bar. I haven’t —” she leaned in close over the table and hissed, “I haven’t even had sex with anyone in years, Theo. Years!” She brushed an errant corkscrew of hair back out of her eyes, embarrassed.

His lips twitched at that, but his eyes remained stormy.

“I’m not going into this lightly. I was honestly as surprised as you are, but I wouldn’t even be considering going on a date with Draco Malfoy if I wasn’t completely convinced that he was no longer the bratty little owl-pellet he was back at Hogwarts.”

At that, Theo barked such a loud laugh that the patrons at the tables nearby turned to look at him like he’d sworn in a church. He covered his mouth with his hand and snickered himself into silent tears for a good thirty seconds before she rolled her eyes and sat back with her glass in her hand, waiting for him to control himself again.

“I’m telling Dan you called him that. And Pansy. They’ll love it.”

“Right,” she said, cheeks suddenly hot. “Well, as much as he might have been an owl pellet, let’s not have it become a ‘thing’, hmm?”

The mirth in his face simmered back down and he looked at her steadily over the rim of his wineglass. “Look, I care about both of you, and I can see this going two ways. One: you realise that the two of you actually have an awful lot in common, he takes you to increasingly fancy places for dates, you have lots of steamy sex, and finally settle down together. Two: the past gets in the way, you both say hurtful stuff you don’t really mean, and you both end up single and twice as miserable as you were before you went for lunch at the Leaky. Don't think I didn’t know about that, either,” he added.

“You’re such a gossip,” she snapped.

“I was being serious, Hermione,” he said, leaning to one side as their food arrived.

She paused until the waiter had left but didn’t make any move to pick up her cutlery. “Are you looking out for him or for me?” she asked.

Theo sighed. “Both of you. But…”

“Mostly Draco, huh?”

“He’s like a brother to me, Hermione. He was there for me when no one else was. You know the things my father did to me as a child, and Draco helped me through all of it. And ‘Cissa too. And I couldn’t believe it when he actually showed up at drinks the other night. Watching him, it… it was like the old Draco had come back to me. The nice ‘old Draco’, I mean.” His eyes glistened and he blinked rapidly, voice cracking as he continued. “After the attack, he shut himself away at the Manor with Scorpius, as if he could keep the whole world out just to keep little Scorp safe. I thought… I thought he’d never leave, Hermione.”

“You never talked about any of this,” she said gently, forcing herself to make a start on her linguine despite the fact that her appetite had vanished almost completely.

Theo shrugged. “I guess… I guess I wanted to give him the privacy he craved, and to be honest, I didn’t think you’d be all that sympathetic to him after your history.”

At that, she scowled, but she could see his point. “Theo, I held his screaming infant in my arms for hours while he was being questioned by the Aurors that night. I saw his face when he came to my office for Scorpius afterwards.” She shook her head. “No one who saw him then could believe he was even a shadow of the person he had been at Hogwarts.”

At her words, Theo had stopped eating, fork held loosely between perpetually-ink-stained fingers even as it rested on his plate. “You did? He never said.”

She tried not to examine that last comment too closely. “Mm. Harry didn't know what else to do with him, so he brought Scorpius to me to see if I could quieten him down. In the end all it took was a handful of my hair and a few poorly-sung folk songs. But you’re missing the point, Theo. You could have trusted me with things that were worrying you. I would have listened to you.”

“I —” he cut off and cleared his throat. “I know. I’m sorry. I just… Aside from Dan, I don’t think I love anyone as much as I love him.”

It was Hermione’s turn to choke up a little, but she swallowed and said, “Then I can think of no greater accolade for his character.” She looked up at him and added, “So where’s he taking me then?”

“You said yes?”

“I did. I like him. And not just because he looks like a flipping marble statue brought to life. He’s thoughtful, and he always was extremely intelligent and articulate. I’ve really enjoyed talking with him this time around. I think… I think…” she pursed her lips and took a too-big gulp of wine. Luckily it all went down the right way, and she forged on. “I think… we could work. Or at least… I want to see where it goes, Theo.”

With a slow nod, Theo finally relaxed his shoulders and let out a shaky breath. “He wants to take you to The Foundry.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” she mumbled. It wasn’t one of the ones in Diagon Alley, for sure.

Theo made a side-to-side movement of his head. “I’m not surprised. It’s…”

“Oh God, is it horrifically expensive?” she asked, eyes wide with a sudden abject terror. “Theo, if he’s going to take me somewhere hideously fancy for our first date, I’m going to back out right now…”

The corners of his lips lifted and he shook his head. “Not in the way you’re thinking. You have to know the owners to get a table though, and there are no menus. They’ll ask if you have any allergies, but other than that, you eat what they serve you.”

“Holy fuck, Theo…”

“Trust me, you’ll love it. The place used to be a bell foundry in the seventeenth century — hence the name — and it’s this gorgeous brick building with arches and vaults, and cosy little corners,” he added, raising his eyebrows. “You’ll forget where you are and be as comfortable as if you were in your own pokey little Muggle living room. I promise.”

She narrowed her eyes and took another gulp of wine. “I’ll take your word for it, Nott,” she said. “What should I wear?”

Without hesitation, he said, “That burgundy number you haven’t worn since Pansy told you to buy it.”

She blanched at that. “Theo, it’s…”

“Gorgeous? Revealing in all the right ways, yet modest enough to suit you? Dead sexy? Exactly the kind of thing that will make Draco lose his goddamn mind when he sees you in it? The kind of thing that will make him spend all evening simultaneously admiring you in it and mentally tearing it off you —”

“Theo, stop!” she hissed, flushing darker. “For God’s sake shut up!”

He cackled into the remainder of his wine, but refused to give any more sartorial advice.

“Burgundy dress and heels it is, I guess,” she said, and the two of them focused on their food again.

“I hope,” Theo said as they left a very leisurely two hours later, “I hope you don’t think I was too…” he jiggled nervously on the balls of his feet as he held the door open for her, “Overbearing…”

“I mean, you did ambush me, blackmail and threaten me into having lunch with you at the fanciest restaurant in Diagon Alley where I couldn’t reasonably kick up a fuss, and then proceed to tell me all sorts of heartrending stories about Draco and yourself…”

When she saw the wounded look in Theo’s brown eyes, she stopped and turned to face him.

“Theo, no. You’re one of my best friends, and you clearly care about us both. Stop panicking,” she added when she saw the slightly wild light in his eyes. “You didn’t try to tell me what to do or who to see. You’re looking out for your friends, and making sure we’re both… serious about this. And I appreciate that.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and added, “But know that if you keep meddling beyond that, I will hex your bollocks off and make you explain it to Dan.”

“Understood,” he said with a watery smile. “I was worried I’d overstepped.”

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me one thing.”

“Name it.”

“Did you have the same talk with Draco about breaking my heart?”

His handsome, freckled face split into a blinding white grin. “I did.”

“Forgiven,” she said. “Now, some of us actually have to work for a living.”

“I work!” he squealed. “I work bloody hard up in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, thank you very much!”

“I know you do,” she conceded. “Not that you actually need a job, you filthy rich prick.”

Theo laughed long and loud, scooping her hand up in his and walking arm in arm down the bustling, cobbled street towards her bookshop. “And to think,” he chimed with a sidelong look down at her, “You used to be Minister for Magic with that mouth.”

“I know,” she said. “It nearly got me into trouble on many an occasion.”

Kneazel and Quill’s little sign swung jauntily in the breeze and Theo gave a slight bow from the waist when they stopped at the door. With anyone else, it might have seemed foppish and insincere, but with Theo, she knew he meant it. He was only silly like this with his closest friends.

“Good day, fair maiden of the dusty bookshop,” he said. “And thank you for giving my idiot best friend a chance.”

Hermione nodded and smiled. She stood and soaked up the autumn sunshine for a while as she watched his retreating back, until he eventually disappeared into the Diagon Alley entrance to the Ministry and she slid back into the musty quiet of her little sanctuary.

Chapter Six

___

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter of friendship! Next time, Hermione and Draco go for that date...!! Things will start to gain momentum too, fear not. It’s not going to be an eternal slow-burn...

writing masterlist | Ao3

#dramione #dramione fic #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger x draco malfoy #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #theodore nott #hermione granger #let no man steal your thyme

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backalley-requests · 4 years ago

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The Proposal | Chapter Four

The Proposal Masterlist

Summary: The Proposal™ au, where Ivar gets swept away in a lie about a fake engagement to stay in the country and needs to convince everyone (including his family) that he’s genuinely engaged to a woman he works with

Warnings: use of the word cripple, almost swearing

Word Count: 2,515

You didn’t truly conceptualize how far away Denmark was from New York until you were flying there. It felt like an eternity. You and Ivar hadn’t spoken since your last exchange. Things felt tense and your stomach felt sick. “Get the luggage,” Ivar spoke his first words when you got off the plane.

Even though you would’ve appreciated a “please” you didn’t argue, waiting by the conveyor belt. “Are you going ahead?” You turned to talk to him as he was already going. It seemed as if he was incredibly successful at pushing you from his mind.

It took several minutes before you found the last of your bags. As if on cue, you heard a woman shout in danish. “You left her?” Followed by the harsh thud of a smack. “You can’t just leave your girlfriend, Ivar.” Your grasp on the language was tentative at best. You used duo lingo daily but hearing it in practice was a different beast entirely.

“She’s fine, mor.”

“If she’s dating Ivar seriously enough to visit us in another continent then she’s probably used to this by now,” a man laughed.

You could hear the annoyance grow in Iver's voice as he bickered back. You caught some of the language but less than you’d have liked. You grabbed the luggage and started to head over.

“This must be Y/N,” Aslaug walked over and you immediately recognized her, a smile on your face as you waved.

“Hey! Um— nice to meet you,” you offered your hand to shake and instead she pulled you in for a hug. Her arms wrapped around your body and you could’ve died with no regrets. Why was it so warm?

“Oh, I’d rather you not butcher the language, dear. But the attempt was lovely,” Aslaug smiled sweetly and placed her hand on your upper arm sympathetically. Her English was a lot better than your Danish. It was the nicest way you’ve ever been told to stop trying because you sucked so badly.

Your face flushed in embarrassment and you laughed. “Sorry— I’m still learning.” Maybe you should just stop if it was that bad. It sounded fine to you. You glanced over to see Ivar as he rolled his eyes at you.

His brother walked over, to introduce himself. “I’m Hvitserk, Ivar’s cooler brother. And the only one willing to tolerate him,” he flashed a grin and shook your hand.

“Then you must have great perseverance.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them. It was easy to forget that this was the part where you were supposed to convince people you were in love with the man.

“Is father not coming?” Ivar was quick to change the subject. He wasn’t happy with the situation— but when was he ever happy? Even the fleeting moments between the two of you managed to turn sour by the end.

“No— he had a prior engagement, but Ubbe is waiting in the car!” Aslaug tried to save the conversation, the disappointment was evident from Ivar’s face. “I’m sure you two much be tired, jet lag is killer.” She was swift to move into the next conversation, ushering them away.

You grabbed the luggage and began to roll both bags when Hvitserk stopped you. “Let me help with that. If my brother wants to let you do all the work the least I can do is offer to share the load,” he teased. “Trust me, he used to make me do his chores too.”

Hvitserk was immediately more welcoming than his brother. It made you question how the two could’ve been related at all. Ivar spared a glance, scowling at you. You took the natural course of action and scowled back. “Thanks,” you laughed and immediately eased up. “Tell me then, which one of you two is adopted. Because I highly doubt you’re related.”

How could the same family raise such opposing figures. Even if Hvitserk turned out to be some evil bottom dwelling menace, he made an effort to appear nice. You wasn’t sure you ever saw Ivar bother to do the same, at least not to a stranger.

“You wouldn’t be the first person to ask that. Ivar’s different,” Hivserk went along with it. And soon the two of you managed to easily slide into conversation. You found out a bit more about the family.

The father, Ragnar had two family trees. One with his first wife, Lagertha, with whom he had a son, Bjorn. The second was with Aslaug, and they had four children: Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar. Their father wasn’t married but often far from single. Bjorn is married to Gunnhild. Ubbe is married to Torvi who used to be married to Bjorn. Sigurd and Ivar didn’t get along. Some of this you knew already and the rest of the facts started to blend together.

By the time you got to the car you forgot much else that Hvitserk tried to prepare you for. Ubbe was leaning against their car. “Long time no see, my baby brother.”

Ivar rolled his eyes and tried to just enter the car but was stopped by his brother. Ubbe hugged Ivar who failed to reciprocate the hug, nearly dropping his cane from the intensity of the squeeze. The older brother didn’t seem to mind it and instead easily moved on to hug you. “At least one of you two is more affectionate, you could learn a thing or two from her, Ivar.”

—

“Don’t get too close to them,” Ivar whispered to you when you got to his family’s home. The car ride back had been filled with childhood stories of the boys, mostly Ivar. You understood why he was so agitated, they seemed to mess with him a lot. Not that you agreed with the irritation, but clearly Ivar didn’t handle it well. He was the youngest, it made sense to you. “None of this is real.”

Yet, the warning annoyed you. You wanted to get closer just to spite him. He was right, you two weren’t in a real relationship and they wouldn’t be a real family. It still wasn’t nice to say. His words distracted you from the mansion his family seemed to own.

“He didn’t tell you that we’re made of money, did he?” Hvitserk asked you with a lazy grin, he placed his arms around your shoulders. “If you’re going to become my sister then you’ll just have to get used to it.” You didn’t know his family that well but they didn’t deserve this. They were already making an effort and it was for a lie.

“Let me show you guys to your room,” Aslaug smiled. The inside of the house was just as beautiful as the outside. You never even saw something so big. It felt unreal. She showed the two of you one room. “I’m not going to bother pretending to be dumb. I know you two sleep together.”

You tried to stammer your way into a guest bedroom but she didn’t seem to be listening to you. “Dinner is at 7 if the two of you want it.” The room was on the ground floor, just outside was a view of the backyard and a river. It was huge. The only issue is that there was only one bed.

“You can stay on the floor,” Ivar answered before you could ask. The moment his mother was gone he didn’t hesitate to remind you where you were going to be sleeping. “I need the bed.”

It made sense. He had needs you didn’t. “Fine.” For some reason you expected to enter a fanfiction where there was only one bed and you were forced to share— it was evident the thought didn’t cross Ivar’s mind. “Can I at least have some pillows and blankets. I get cold.” You were more a tropical kind of person, and spent most of your life feeling cold.

“They’re in the closet.”

You watched as Ivar laid in the bed. He sighed heavily and sunk deep into it, as if finally resting. It looked like the euphoria you got from laying down after a run or a workout. Maybe he was more tired than he let on. “Is it soft?”

Ivar opened his eyes and stared at you, “what?”

“The bed, you just look really comfortable.”

He patted the side next to him. “It’s expensive. It ought to be.” You weren’t sure what he was doing at first until he did it again. “Try it.”

Tentatively, you walked over and sat down. Yours went wide as you immediately sunk into it and you were just sitting. Why is this so good? You couldn’t help but relax your body into it and lay down for a moment, just a manny. Any soreness was being sapped out. “Wow.”

“I know right.” The two of you laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling.

Maybe you ought to try and get some money from the divorce, get yourself a mattress like this. You closed your eyes softly, your eyelids never felt so heavy.

“Now get out of my bed.” The words made your eyes shoot open. He decided it was time for you to go.

“What?”

“You’re about to fall asleep on my bed,” Ivar reminded you. “Which means you probably s shouldn’t be in it.”

You immediately got up and nearly fell on your way out. “You could’ve been nicer about it,” you glared. Being there for a moment was going to make it all the more difficult to lay on the floor. It was so hard compared to it— then again your own mattress was hard compared to his. “Did you do that just so I’d feel worse when I had to sleep on the floor? Knowing a bed like this existed just outside of my reach?”

Ivar laughed. “No. But that would’ve been a good idea. I like the way you think.”

“Are you two ready for dinner?” Aslaug knocked and entered the room.

“We’re not hungry,” Ivar answered for the both of you. You personally couldn’t agree with his statement but it was clear he wanted to be left alone from them and didn’t trust you to be alone with them.

“Get up. You have to go.” She entered the room further and before she could grab Ivar he was already up, as if repulsed by the idea of her touching him. You were quick to follow behind

Ivar grabbed his cane and started going. “Is there any reason?” Aslaug didn’t answer and instead bit her bottom lip before she left.

“What was that about,” you asked as you walked to the door. Ivar stared down where his mother left, deep in thought.

“I have a bad feeling about this. Mor is up to something.”

The two of you walked together out towards the common areas of the home when a number of people eagerly shouted, “welcome home!” It was a lot of people, and it became evident this is what Aslaug had been wanting them out of the room for.

A number of people came by to greet Ivar, he seemed ambivalent to the conversation at best and annoyed at worst. You were greeted as a secondary and remained far more polite. You knew nothing much at all and the best you do was follow, that didn’t seem to make things less annoying for Ivar. “Will you stop following me?”

“Where else would I—“

“Ivar!” An older man appeared and wrapped his arms around Ivar, a grin on his face. This was the first person Ivar didn’t instantly pull back from, and the laugh he made was genuine in response.

“Floki, you old bastard. I’m glad you could make it,” Ivar seemed to genuinely mean that. It made the whole thing even stranger to you.

Floki eyed you and then Ivar and then laughed, “how did an ugly poor cripple end up with a beautiful woman like this?” He immediately hugged you and pulled back. “Maybe it’s best not to question it. We wouldn’t want her to realize,” he winked at Ivar.

The two seemed to get along better than most and Ivar left with the man. You tried to follow but got cut off by the people who stood around talking to each other.

—

“He left you alone?”

It had been who knows how long since he had left and you hadn’t seen Ivar since. Where he was, it wasn’t here. And it was clear to you he didn’t care where ou were. Hivtserk appeared beside you and attempted to make you feel included.

“I’m used to it,” you shrugged.

Hvitserk furrowed his eyebrows, “the two of you make for an odd couple.”

Panic began to fill you. “I— no. Not really. We’re very real.” The words were dumb and you hated yourself for having made the sentence at all. “Normal, I mean, normal.” None of that made it better.

“Then you love him?” If Hvitserk didn’t believe you then he didn’t show it. The truth was harder to believe. That you were pretending to marry your boss so he could stay in the US and give you some big promotion.

“What? N—“ you couldn’t say no, “not yet. Or maybe.” You admired the man. But this was all fake. Still, he never appeared more human than in these past few days. It just sucked that he was never willing to keep doing that. Whenever he relaxed he was so quick to correct himself.

Hvitserk laughed at you, “then you probably do. He’s a difficult man to love but I’ve managed it.” How Ivar find it in himself to not talk to his family more, or show them more care? “I can tell from the way you look at him sometimes.”

Your face got flushed. You had to keep reminding yourself this whole thing was fake. Hvitserk was expecting these sorts of things and said them. Just like your coworkers. None of this was real. Yet, it felt easy to want to get swept away. “Well— I’m not sure if we’re quite there. He certainly isn’t.”

His brother shrugged, “maybe. But I’ve ever seen him let anyone tease him without getting hit with his cane for as long as you have. And he doesn’t bring women around to the family. That has to mean something.”

You knew why you were meeting his family. It was the same reason he seemed to tolerate this but— it was different. You wanted to be different. It would feel nicer that way, and you couldn’t quite understand why. Every soft moment lingered in your memory for too long and you desperately wanted to hold onto them. “Maybe,” your eyes caught Ivar.

It was the first time he was so casual and seemed relaxed. He was gorgeous. You allowed yourself more time to just stare at him, knowing he was none the wiser. “You’re good for him.”

“I certainly like to think I am.”

“Good,” Hvitserk responsed. “So where are you from?”

He started to ask question upon question about your origins and your life story. He seeemd more interested than anyone else here. You admitted you weren’t from money and that you were trying to make a name for yourself in New York.

“So how’d you meet Ivar?”

“I actually work for him,” you admitted. “He might act like a dick most the time but it’s gotten some amazing results. I admire what he can do, I just wished he went about it more... humanely,” you laughed.

Hivtserk watched you carefully, “fair enough. He was never very personable. And that doesn’t bother you?”

It did. A lot. “No.”

“Then maybe you two are suited for each other.”

The two of you weren’t. “I like to think to.”

—

Taglist** @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #Vikings #forgive my writing

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