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andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

Text

in cinders | 3 | obfuscations

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

length: 24,362 words / 9 chapters

summary: You’re just trying to fairy godmother your best friend into a happily ever after. If only the prince would stop hanging around and cooperate.

tags: cinderella AU, prince!Shouto, romance, misunderstandings, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut

The dress in question belonged to Lady Camie Utsushimi and you hoped she wouldn’t get close enough to notice.

It was a deep blue, almost black in certain lights, and though it wasn’t as fine as Ochako’s gown, it looked like the kind of thing that wouldn’t be out of place in a room full of nobility. In the scant hour you had to prepare, you’d done your best to temporarily alter it, quickly pinning the neckline into a different shape and ironing on spare silver ribbon lifted from Mina’s workrooms.

You’d cut a simple silver mask from the same ribbon, hurriedly stitching around the holes for the eyes and tying off the back with a thinner length. It wasn’t your best work, but then you didn’t intend for anyone to get close enough to take note.

While in Mina’s workroom, you also helped yourself to a scrap of pink ribbon and a pearl button, looping the ribbon through the eyehole to create a simple kind of a necklace. It would look too good with Ochako’s dress to pass up. You made a mental note to feed Mina more pastries in apology.

Back in your rooms, you and Ochako quickly washed down with a rough bar of soap of the type that all the palace servants used. It wasn’t as fine or perfumed with flowers like the ladies’ soaps you often caught passing through the corridors to be delivered to their rooms. It smelled vaguely of the olives that had gone into its production, but at least you smelled clean.

Once dressed, you and Ochako stole down the servant’s passages, taking care to avoid anyone carrying trays to the feast. At a quarter past the candlemark, you crept into the hallway that descended into the ballroom from an onlooking balcony. As agreed, Kaminari had left his post open for the spare minutes you needed to get inside.

“It’s not too late to back out,” Ochako whispered as you pressed open the hidden door leading into the back of the hall. The peerage was still being announced at the entry and you wouldn’t be noticed as you came in.

You grabbed her wrist and pulled her through the door, into the brightly-lit grandeur of the ballroom. At once, you were overwhelmed by the sights and smells of the reception. Bright dresses of every color dotted your vision like spots, their wearers combed and rouged to high perfection. Trays littered the tables at the fringes of the room, piled high with cheeses and sweetmeats and the other labors of Rikido’s love. At one table on the far end of the room, you spied the famous soba noodles.

All around you, the nobility swirled like currents on the sea.

“Wow,” Ochako breathed, sounding just as dumbfounded as you felt. “It’s even more than I thought it would be.”

Something pleased curled in your chest, happy you could give this to her. Even if she didn’t bag her prince at the end of the night, it would be worth it to hear the note of wonder in her voice and see her happily spinning among the party’s guests.

Speaking of Prince Shouto, you peered around in search of his tall figure. As the announcements of noble entries tapered off, you spotted your target in the corner of the room. It was hard to recognize all the courtiers in their elaborate masks, but you knew that head of distinctive red and white hair.

“What do you say you take your new dance skills for a spin,” you said, catching Ochako’s wrist again and pulling her through the splendid crowds.

She followed sedately, right up until she caught on to where you were going.

“Y/N, that’s him!” she hissed, “I can’t go over there.”

You pretended you’d conveniently lost your hearing. “What?”

“I said, I’m not going over there,” she whispered again, furiously. “I can’t look him in the face, what if he doesn’t -- oh hello, your highness! Mr. Midoriya!”

You stifled a laugh, dropping into your best approximation of a curtsy.

“Your highness,” you said, shoving Ochako in front of you. “It’s wonderful to meet you. I had hoped you might grace the Lady Uraraka with a dance. She’s quite new to court, you see.”

The man in question stared down at you, dual toned eyes burning into yours. Up close, you could see he was even more handsome than you had thought, his unusual eyes, sharp nose, and the fullness of his mouth only emphasized by the cut of his dark mask. He wore a doublet in a blue color only one shade lighter than your own gown, and the high points of his starched collar curved up towards his sharp jawline.

Over his shoulder, his valet Izuku Midoriya perked up, dressed in a green that matched his riot of curls.

“I’ve not heard of the Uraraka family,” Midoriya said, dropping into a bow. “It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance.”

Ochako seemed to blush to the roots of her hair at being addressed. “Oh, we’re um. We’re new, as my companion has said.”

Prince Shouto seemed to remember his manners as well, turning to Ochako. “Welcome, Lady Uraraka.” His heterochromatic eyes flicked over her face and he seemed to search for something to say. “I must compliment you on your choice of jewelry. Your necklace is quite unique and beautiful.”

You smothered a grin, proud of your efforts. She had his attention! Time to make your exit.

You bent your knees in a quick curtsy again. “Well, I must take my leave. I’d promised an acquaintance to find her. Please take good care of my friend.”

With that, you all but dove into the crowd, leaving Ochako at the mercy of the prince and his attendant. If the prince had any conscience at all, his chivalrous upbringing would compel him to ask her for a dance. From there, Ochako's inherent loveliness would do all the heavy lifting.

Once you were sure you were out of their sight, you looped around to one of the refreshments tables, intent on getting your evening’s worth out of Rikido’s cooking. If you had to be here, this would definitely beat the scraps you’d intended to scarf down by yourself. You planned on eating ten plates worth as you watched over Ochako from the sidelines. With the luxurious thickness of Lady Utsushimi’s skirts as cover, you might even be able to sneak twice your usual supply back into your room for later.

You were piling your plate high with barely-disguised glee when an elegant hand was held out in front of you. Your eyes followed an arm up a stylish sleeve and into the face of Camie Utsushimi herself. You froze, serving fork hanging from your fingers.

“L-lady Utsushimi!” you cried, quickly abandoning your plate. You swept into another curtsy so fast you heard your knees creak. “It’s a pleasure!”

Camie considered you with an unreadable look on her delicate features. Up close, her face was so symmetrical and pretty it almost made your eyes burn.

After a moment of uncomfortable silence, her features relaxed into something like geniality.

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name, Lady…?”

You panicked. You hadn’t planned on being addressed. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out the first name you could think of.

“Kamiko. I’m, um, from the Ito family.”

Fuck, what were you doing giving her Kamiko’s name?

“Well met, Lady Ito." Lady Utsushimi smiled. "I must tell you that I quite like your dress. I have one just like it! It appears our tastes are quite similar, and I found myself thinking that I must make your acquaintance.”

Internally, you were screaming. Did she recognize it for her own dress? What game was she playing? Was the king’s guard going to march in here any moment and separate your head from your shoulders?

You forced yourself to calm down. “I thank you, my lady. That is a high compliment coming from you.”

She regarded you. “Do you know me? I’m sorry that I cannot say the same - I don’t believe I know of your family.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Oh you wouldn’t! We’re, um, from the outlying provinces. We don’t really, uh, get to court much.”

Lady Utsushimi gave you a toothy grin. “Well I’m glad you could make it for Shouto’s birthday. Everyone seems to have turned out.”

You found yourself seizing on the opening she left, desperate to get the subject off of you. “Do you know the prince quite familiarly? You call him by his given name.”

She laughed. “Oh yes, Shouto and I are old friends. I only turned up tonight to give him some company should he need it. He hates these things.”

You turned back to the ballroom, searching out the prince’s mop of hair. You found him easily enough, but were startled to see a distinct lack of Ochako on his arm.

A panic seized you.

“Um, forgive me, Lady Utsushimi. I seem to have forgotten something. I’ll just--um, I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for her response, you plunged back into the fray of courtiers, beelining straight for the prince.

Emerging breathlessly as though from a cold river, you stumbled almost straight into him. Forgetting yourself entirely, you blurted, “Where’s Och--uh, Lady Uraraka?”

He looked at you, seeming startled. “Pardon, Lady…?”

You waved him off, “Oh, don’t worry about me. Just tell me where Lady Uraraka’s gone to and I can be on my merry way.”

He turned to look at you more fully, something curious alighting in his gaze.

“Forgive me, but is it not rude to address your liege lord without the proper respects?”

You froze, blood feeling like it was icing over in your veins. “I--of course, your highness, please forgive me for any offense. I’d only wondered--um, where my friend had gone.”

You hoped desperately that your disguise as a noblewoman stood between you and the gallows.

A smirk played at the corners of Prince Shouto’s mouth.

“I believe she is with Mr. Midoriya at the moment.”

You looked up at him in shock. Was he playing with you?

“Oh, um, thank you. And where might Mr. Midoriya be at this very minute?”

His smirk widened into something dangerously close to a grin. “I do believe I’m owed a name before I will tell you.”

Fuck. Don’t give out Kamiko’s again--

“I don’t have one,” you blurted, then winced.

Prince Shouto stared at you, something a little like disbelief creeping over his features. “You don’t have a name? That’s the first time I’ve heard something like that. Tell me, are you trying to make yourself interesting?”

You flushed. “There is absolutely nothing interesting about me, I can assure you--” nothing that a royal would find interesting anyway, unless they cared about the best kind of soap to lift grease stains from a pan -- “if you could point me in the direction of your valet, I won’t take up any more of your time.”

The prince stepped nearer to you. This close, you could feel the heat coming off of his left side and smell something fresh like mint, underlaid with the tang of saddle oil and leather. His proximity went straight to your head and you took a step back, feeling dizzy.

“I will take from you a dance, then, in place of a name,” he said. His gaze burned into yours like a torch laid to a pyre.

These nobles sure asked for a lot you couldn’t give.

“Um, I’m afraid I’m not much good at dancing.” You groped around for any excuse, taking another slow step back. “I've been told it's as if I'd never learned! Lady Uraraka, though, is a wonderful dancer. I’ll be sure to add you to her dance card when I find her.”

You moved to leave, but a rough hand on your waist stopped you.

“I must insist,” the prince said, “I’ll refresh you, if you are as unpracticed as you say. You would not deny your prince on his birthday, would you?”

You regarded him suspiciously, noting the wry twist at the corner of his mouth. He was being too obnoxious not to be obfuscating. Was there some reason he wasn’t letting you follow Ochako and Midoriya?

“Your toes will pay the price for this,” you intoned, “I assure you I am not being modest.”

Prince Shouto smiled and steered you towards the floor where a dance was already underway. “Perhaps. I will be the judge of that.”

This man had no idea what he was in for.

In the interest of spending as little time in the stocks possible, you did your best to minimize the damage to his toes. You still found yourself trodding on him more often than not though, confused by the many steps and the spritely movements of the couples around you. It became clear very quickly that you had not been lying to him.

Soon enough, the prince leaned down to put his mouth to your ear. “Stand on my boots.”

You pulled back to look at him in befuddlement. “What?” you asked, stupidly.

He tugged you closer. “Step up onto my boots. No one will notice with your long skirts. I will lead you through the dance.”

Your heart pounding in your chest, you did as he asked. This had the effect of bringing you much nearer to him than was proper, and you noticed that even standing on his boots, you tucked neatly under his chin. You hid your face in his strong shoulder, feeling your face turn pink, hoping desperately that he noticed neither your blush nor the messy stitches of your mask.

“So you were not being modest,” he laughed when you’d spun another few rounds, this time with much less difficulty. You could feel it rumble in his chest. “I, too, would guess you had never learned.”

You cringed. “One of many faults, your highness.”

A calloused thumb smoothed your back. “You do not have a name and you do not dance. What do you do with your time?”

Scrub pots. Wash the vegetables that go into your supper. Clean the fireplaces.

You wracked your brain for something suitable to tell him. What did noble women do that men found duller than dirt? What could you give him that he would not ask more about?

“Embroidery, your highness. I am skilled with a needle and thread.”

“With that mask?” he huffed a soft laugh. “Tell me honestly.”

“Well,” you declared, nose feeling hot, “what do you think I do?”

Prince Shouto looked almost delighted by the question, the blue of his left eye shining at you through his mask.

“Let’s see. You write to the Lady Uraraka, seeing as you are such good friends--”

You nodded. Writing, that was something that ladies could do.

“--and you make your own soaps--”

You looked up at him, startled. “What?”

He leaned into your hair, and you could feel him take a deep breath. Your mind felt like it was melting a little. “Your hair, it smells faintly of olives. Most ladies order florals. I’ve never smelled anything like this before.”

Well, it’s not as though he went around sniffing the help every day. All the same, he was too observant.

“Um, what else?” you prompted, trying to reroute him.

His right hand fell from where it clasped yours to gently encircle your wrist. “And you alter your dresses after they’re ordered for you. Do you not find the current fashion satisfactory?”

To your horror, he plucked at the loose silver ribbon you’d ironed on to the hem of your sleeve. It came away easily, clutched in his long fingers.

You opened your mouth to reply -- though what you might have said was a complete mystery to you -- when a blur of pink and green came rushing at you.

Ochako popped up almost between you and the prince, Izuku hot on her heels.

“Your highness,” Izuku sketched a quick bow, “my apologies for interrupting, but your father has need of you.”

Prince Shouto’s hand tightened on your back for a moment, then fell away as he stepped out of your space.

“I see,” he said quietly. He bowed deeply towards you. “I will look for you later, Lady No Name.” And then he was gone, followed closely by his green-haired valet.

Ochako gaped. “Y/N! That was--!”

You hissed, grabbing her hand and rushing off the dance floor. “I know! We have to get out of here before he comes back.”

She looked at you in concern and you held up the sleeve where he had pulled off your ribbon. “Another couple minutes and he’d have figured me out.”

Her eyes grew round with distress. “Do you think he--?”

You shook your head. “Not if we leave now.”

She nodded, and led the way out of the great hall. Once back in the halls of the castle, the two of you ducked towards the doors to the servant’s hall, stealing quietly through the drafty passageways. You kept to the shadows in the kitchen, creeping carefully down the short staircase that led to your shared room.

When you’d finally made it inside, you let out a deep breath, peeling out of Lady Utsushimi’s dress and stowing it carefully under your pallet to return to the laundry rooms at your earliest opportunity.

The two of you changed and collapsed into bed, laughing wildly at the night you’d had. Ochako wouldn’t share more than a word or two on where she’d gone with the prince’s attendant, but you guessed she might have rushed off too embarrassed to dance with the prince and Izuku may have followed to make sure she was well.

Still, it was clear she’d loved being able to go to the ball in her pretty dress, and you smiled, thrilled that you could have given that to her.

Eventually, she stilled, the sound of her breathing becoming heavy. You eventually drifted off as well, feeling the ghost of the prince’s hand at your back and his breath at your temple.

#todoroki shouto #bnha #todoroki shouto x reader #fanfic #bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #boku no hero academia

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imaginesupply · 4 years ago

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Homecoming - Chapter Five

(Gif’s not my own.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter Five starts after the cut. (Chapter Four can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in future chapters or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.

A/N: I am aware of the neutral, perhaps positive, portrait of the police I painted in this chapter. I am fully conscious of the recent (and not so recent) instances of police brutality happening all around the world, many – if not most – of them motivated by racism and other despicable ideologies. With this chapter, I did NOT mean to express support for the police forces. I simply had this ‘plot’ idea come to my mind and decided to write it. There is no ulterior motive.

While all my personal experiences with the police have been positive, I am aware that my ethnicity gives me privilege and that many people are not as lucky as I am. This both angers and saddens me. It has to change.

Black lives matter. Minority lives matter.

Chapter 5

Chapter warnings: Cockwarming, irresponsible driving (kind of), car accident (not serious), police (but no police violence), very mild violence, language (perhaps a little bit worse than in previous chapters but nothing you don’t hear in real life, I guess), mentions of mysogyny.

Ada yawned with Sy quickly following suit. “You can drive my car if you want, Sy. It’s not that new anymore, you know.” She offered, gracing him with the most angelic smile she could muster. It was the first time she was granting him the opportunity to drive her car.

Sy laughed next to her, his left hand moving over the center console to rub her thigh. He had that stupid grin again, that looking endearing with his current droopy eyes. “It’s your car, darlin’. Besides, you’d kill me if I ever so much as got a scratch on it.” He chuckled, suppressing another yawn. “And I know you’re only offering because you want to sleep.”

His wife gasped, a look of mocking offense on her features. “They’re your nephews!”

“But you were the one who said yes,” Sy countered, his eyes closing again as he made himself more comfortable on the car seat. The drive home was only about one hour and a half, but it was the perfect length for a nap.

“What the fuck was I supposed to say, huh?” Ada laughed, gesticulating wildly as was her habit. “Yes, Joshua, I understand you’re taking my pregnant sister-in-law to the hospital. No, I will not look after your kids for the night. It’s our date night.”

Next to her, Sy grimaced. She did have a point, even if he had been looking forward to going bowling with her: Ada was a sore loser which always ended with lots of fun for him. At least, his sister and the baby were okay. Just a normal case of Braxton Hicks, apparently, whatever that was supposed to mean. Perhaps it was good thing Ada didn’t want children because he’d freak out if she started having contractions four months in. “You fell asleep on Luke’s bed at one in the morning when you tried to get him to sleep for the third time and I had to spend the whole night entertaining them with tea parties because they wouldn’t tire!”

“Hey! That’s not cool!” She protested accusatorily, her eyes on the road as she switched lanes to take the next exit. “I didn’t know you couldn’t give kids sugar after a certain hour!”

Sy huffed, shaking his head. They’d had the great idea to bring donuts because according to his dear wife, sugar always made you feel better when you was anxious or down, and the kids had been aware something was off with their mom. “We suck at this parenting thing.”

“You don’t say!” Ada laughed, before loudly cursing at driver who’d just cut her off, something which never failed to make Sy smile. “The nap’s going to feel heavenly once we’re home.”

Sy hummed in agreement, his head falling back against the headrest as he drifted off, hiding his eyes from the sun with his cap. Ada glanced sideways at him, shaking her head. Part of her wanted to shake him awake. If she had to suffer, so did he. But he was right, she had slept more than him and he looked too peaceful to disturb, especially with some leftover glitter still on his cheeks.

Suddenly, there was a mild thump and the car stuttered before stopping, startling Ada who jumped on her seat.

"Shit!" She cursed. "Did I just...?" She began to panic, her eyes moving to the red car in front of them, too close. She had bumped it while she had been distracted by her husband’s stupid, sleepy face!

"Yes, yes you did," Sy laughed next to her. Ada was a good driver and she loved driving, but she was easily distracted and Sy never failed to tease her about it. This time, however, he could tell she was scared from the way her chest was heaving with her shallow breaths. "Want me to deal with it, darlin'?" He offered, tilting his head at the other driver who had just come out of the red, broken-down car.

"No!" Ada protested all too quickly, taking off her seatbelt and grabbing the necessary documents from the glovebox, accidentally hitting his knees in the process. "I am an independent woman who don't need no help," she muttered, trying to convince herself of her own statement. In the eight years since she’d had her gotten her licence, she had never given any of her cars a single scratch, let alone gotten into an accident.

Sy grinned at her antics but tried to hide his amusement, not wanting to make it worse. "All right. I'm here in case you need me, okay?" With a determined nod in his direction, Ada stepped out of the car and attempted to summon the Annalise Keating or the Olivia Pope inside her, whichever she could find in herself.

The man from the red car, who seemed to be in his early forties and balding, was already inspecting his vehicle for damage – looking mighty pissed as he did so. Ada approached the impact point from the other side, noticing the bump on the man’s old car. It didn't look too bad, she sighed with relief. Her own car barely had anything. Ha! She would have to use this as an argument next time Sy and her started discussing cars. Her black Citroën DS5 was sturdy and not just fancy looking, unlike what he said.

"Hello, sir," she said calmly, the man instantly looking up at her. Damn! He really looked furious, seething even. "I am so sorry for this. I was a little distracted- Anyway, it doesn't matter. My insurance will cover whatever repairs your car may require."

"You stupid little bitch!" The man shouted, out of the blue.

Ada gasped, backtracking. The muscles in her jaw twitched. What the fuck was wrong with him? "I understand your anger, but there's no-"

"What were you even doing behind that wheel?" He snarled, gesturing at her car, her baby. "Who the hell lets women like you drive cars like that?!” The man cursed, aggressively waving his hand in the air.

She just stood there, still in shock. Did... did he just bring misogyny into a fender bender situation?! "Women like me?!" She repeated, quite stunned.

"Aye! Bitches like you have no business driving-”

Ada flinched at the man’s words. He was starting to breech the distance between them, moving too close to her. Ada jumped again when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder before realizing it belonged to Sy and letting herself exhale slowly. Thank God he didn’t listen to her and stayed in the car!

"I get that you’re pissed, but that's no way to talk to a lady. You should to apologize," Sy told the man, making it sound very much like an order and very little like a suggestion. The driver huffed before coming closer, his face about as red as the car as when he started laughing. Ada instinctively hid under Sy's arm, though she aware of the ridicule of the whole situation.

"That's your whore? You let your whore drive your car?!"

Okay, this was going too far. It left her lips before she could help it, "that's my own goddamn car, you wanker!". Maybe it was time to stop borrowing insults from Tom.

Ada could almost hear how his jaw clenched when she felt Sy's whole body tense up against hers. "Call her a whore one more time and you're gonna wish she had run you over instead."

This was escalating. Ada bit her lower lip. She was going to have to be the bigger person here. "Look, I'll just go grab my phone from the car and call the police. They'll deal with this." Ada announced, dislodging herself from Sy’s grip before turning around to get to her car.

Her hand had just wrapped around the car door handle when there was a clouting noise, quickly followed by a loud thump, this time. Ada immediately turned around at the sound. The angry driver was out cold on the ground, blood rushing out of his nose and forehead, with Sy looking down at him, the same blood tainting his fist.

"Oh shit!"

°°°

A lanky guy, smelling heavily of pot, was thrown inside the almost full holding cell by the same officer who had arrested him. Sy was amused at the sight until the guy, after a full survey of the room, started walking him up to him before sitting down on the bench far too close for his liking.

Exhaling through his nose, Sy tried ignoring the smell and closed his eyes again. He didn’t expect the nap he had been looking forward to, to be in a stinky cell with stinky men but it would have to make do. At least, after the man sitting closest to the entrance had commented on the leftover pink glitter that still shone in Sy’s beard, nobody had bothered him anymore – not after he quite literally made the man piss himself with just one stare. That man wouldn’t have survived a single day in Baqubah.

"It's cramped in here," the new guy commented nonchalantly though his eyes were fixed on Sy. Out of politeness - damn Ada and her insistence on good manners! - Sy acknowledged his useless statement with a noncommittal hum.

"Name's Ben, by the way," he said, stretching out of his hand but Sy didn’t move a muscle. What was it in his current posture - crossed arms and spread legs - that made him appear friendly enough for a chat, he wondered, rolling his eyes behind his closed eyelids.

"And you are...?"

Sy groaned out loud time. "Not interested."

Ben didn’t get the hint and proceeded to ramble off about how he got caught selling pot near the university. Sy was actively working on drowning out his voice when the sound of fast and angry clicking heels on the concrete floor caught his attention. He smiled. Ada. Apparently, she hadn’t changed and was still dressed for date night, wearing a dress and stilettos, even though they had only meant to go bowling and eat at a steakhouse.

Somehow, everyone in the holding cell must have been intrigued by the same sound because all conversation suddenly stopped, the men all hoping to eavesdrop.

"I am here for Syverson. I wish to talk to him."

"Ma'am, I apologize but we are not allowed to let him out of his cell."

"Not a problem. Just give me the keys and I'll let him out myself!"

Every person in the holding cell laugh with Sy grinning quietly, amused at how she sounded distinctively more foreign when she was mad. He was used to her accent in more intimate settings, but he was enjoying the sound of it during her current outburst which was followed by an uninterrupted string of curse words and insults alike, all coming from her delicate mouth. First, in English, then French. Spanish. Portuguese. Italian. Sy frowned at the last one, he didn’t recognize it. Was it German? He'd have to ask her.

"What a woman, huh," the guy next to him deadpanned, still not giving up on a conversation.

Silence fell again as everyone attempted to listen to the rest. “I swear to God I’ll hang your heads up in my living room if –“

Sy only huffed, leaning back against the cold wall. "You can't even begin to imagine."

"You know her?" The pothead quipped up.

"Yeah," Sy replied. "She’s my wife." He said it loud enough to make sure everyone was able to hear it.

“Oh,” came the nasal voice next to him just as they heard heavy, resigned footsteps become louder.

A different policeman stopped just behind the door, a colleague just behind him as he fished out the right key from his pocket. “Syverson,” he called out loudly. “There’s a woman here for you.”

Sy got up at once, unable to hide his smug smirk. Ada always got her way.

°°°

“What the fuck were you thinking, Sy?!” His wife blurted out as soon as she was let inside the interview room, the young officer locking the door from the outside. Then, turning around, she caught sight of her husband handcuffed to the table and her shoulders instantly slacked, her anger vanishing almost instantly. “What you did was disproportionate,” she sighed, her voice calmer as she took a seat in front of him, the cold iron table separating them.

"He called you a whore, I just punched him!" Sy protested, leaning back on the chair. "My response was disproportionate - disproportionately small."

"You knocked him out cold!" Ada reminded him, her voice pitching higher than usual but the only response she got from Sy was a smug grin. "He might press charges, you know. It's battery."

Sy rolled his eyes, sitting up straight. "He’s an asshole."

Now, it was her turn to roll her eyes although she knew he hated it when she did that. She took a deep breath, hoping to calm down. Sy was looking entirely unbothered, but she was freaking out at the situation. "I'll try to convince him not to press charges and offer to cover the medical bill on top of the car repairs in return."

"Medical bill?" Sy asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"Yes. After the police took you into custody, he was brought to the hospital. From what I heard, he has a broken nose, needed stitches on his forehead and got a concussion." Sy only huffed with a smirk. "This is not funny, Syverson!"

"It wasn't funny when he called you a whore either," Sy countered. He was right. It was also very pleasant to see that dickhead in pain, but she wouldn’t tell him that.

"Look, my friend, Gale, who's a lawyer, is on her way. I'll get you out of here tonight. He’ll either agree to drop the charges or I’ll bail you out."

The corners of his lips twitched. He moved his hands as much as the chain allowed, to grab hers and squeeze them in his large ones. "Are you worried about me, darlin'?"

What a teasing little shit he could be! Of course, she was worried about him! He was in a cell! Feigning innocence, Ada smiled, running her thumbs over the back of his hands. "I am not. However, seeing what you did to that prick just got me really horny and I would like to have you back in my bed tonight," she whispered, watching as her husband’s smug grin slowly disappeared as she got up and grabbed her purse, heading to the door.

"You better get me out of here quickly!" Sy called after her.

°°°

He was returned to the holding cell, the officer uncuffing his wrists again once the bars closed behind him. There were two new faces, but he also recognized that at least three men had left already. Unfortunately, pothead was still there.

“I saved you your spot,” Ben smiled wildly, gesturing at the vacant portion of the bench next to him. “The guy in the red shirt was going to sit here but I told him it was occupied.”

Sy merely hummed, taking the seat that had so generously been saved for him. Hopefully Ada would get him out quickly because he didn’t know how much longer he could deal with his chatty neighbour.

“Was she mad?” Ben asked, whispering loudly and defeating the entire purpose of a whisper in the first place. “Did she yell at you?”

Despite his closed eyes, Sy could feel Ben’s stare on him as he awaited an answer. “No.”

Ben nodded thoughtfully, shaking the uneven bench as he did so. “If we go to prison, I want to share a cell with you.”

If Ada didn’t get him out of there quickly, he was soon going to get charged for battery again.

°°°

Sy stood by the counter, his attention on the ugly Christmas decorations he hadn’t noticed when they brought him in hours earlier. Somehow, he had managed to forget all about it. And fuck, he still needed to get Ada a present!

“Here are your things,” the young officer told him as he slid over a transparent plastic bag.

With a curt nod, Sy ripped it open and fetched his wedding band first, before looking for his wallet and belt. He was already heading to the door when he turned around at the last minute. “Did Mrs. Syverson post my bail?”

“No, the charges were dropped.”

Huffing with amusement and a hint of pride, Sy zipped up his coat and headed to the front door. He swiftly descended the stairs in front of the precinct, his face illuminating at the sight of her. She was still wearing the black dress and the fancy shoes, her makeup now lightly smudged around her eyes.

As soon as he was close enough, his hands moved to Ada's waist and he leaned down to kiss her, only for her to pull away at his touch. "Not so fast, big guy," she teased, a glint in her eyes as she grabbed something out of her coat pocket he couldn't yet identify. "You're still in trouble."

Sy threw back his head, his laugh booming through the night sky as he finally saw what she was holding up in front of him. Handcuffs, and not the fluffy ones either.

"Now gimme your hands," Ada demanded, making him cock his brow at her authoritative tone.

With a chuckle he obeyed, presenting her his hands. "Yes, ma'am."

Sy watched keenly as she fumbled with the cuffs to get them around his wrists, and then seized the right opportunity to take the upper hand, easily taking the cuffs away from her small hands.

With a shriek, Ada found herself bent over the black hood of her own car, her cheek pressed up against the slick surface and her husband's body pressed up against hers. She could hear the smirk in his voice when he spoke. "Mrs. Syverson, you're under arrest for unlawful teasing back in the questioning room." Ada scoffed, the sound weakened by his heavy weight on top of her. "You have the right to remain silent. Everything you do say can and will be held against you in-"

"Your dick!" Ada suddenly blurted out, a little too loud given where they were, and Sy immediately stopped, clearly surprised, but she quickly felt him laugh against her back.

Before she could join him, Sy smacked her ass, effectively silencing her. "Guess I'll have to fuck that attitude out of you," he grunted before pulling away and fastening the cuffs around her wrists.

Ada kept complaining as he carefully dragged her inside the car. Despite her struggling, Sy easily opened the right backdoor and threw her on the backseat, mindful to fasten her seatbelt before closing the door. Her eyes widened and her mouth went agape when Sy sat down behind the steering wheel and proceeded to push back the driver’s seat and readjust all the mirrors.

“Are you shitting me?” She exclaimed, leaning forward on her seat as much as the belt would allow. He was messing up with all her settings and the grin on her face made it very clear that he was doing it all on purpose just to get her riled up.

“Language, darlin’,” he chided, turning on the engine. “Didn’t you ask me to drive earlier, anyway?”

Ada groaned in response, shutting her eyes tightly before opening them again. “You know very well that was-“

Sy didn’t let her finish, the tires squealing on the tar as he sped out of the parking lot all too fast. Ada involuntarily cringed at the noise. “I’ll make you pay for this!”

“We’ll see, kitten. We’ll see.” He was entertaining by her determination even though her eyes were already closing.

As expected, Ada fell asleep within five minutes despite the handcuffs keeping her arms in an uncomfortable position. Her head lolled before it finally came to rest against the window. He watched her though the central mirror, an adoring look in his blue eyes as she sighed contently the very moment she had fallen asleep. While he had managed to rest while in the cell, though not as much as he had hoped, he knew Ada had been up all afternoon trying to sort everything out and get him out. Sy had noticed her exhaustion as soon as she started fumbling with the handcuffs, her movements uncharacteristically clumsy.

He stopped at a junk food drive thru on their way home – night had already fallen and he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. He doubted she had either. Her eyes didn’t even flutter under the bright neon lights and once he parked the car on their driveway and went to carry her inside along with their food, after undoing the cuffs, her body was completely limp in his arms. It was only when he accidentally let her shoulder hit the doorframe as he tried to lead them inside their bedroom, that she woke up again. “Ouch!”

“Sorry,” Sy murmured and kissed her forehead before laying her down on the bed and setting down the bag on the mattress next to her. Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air even as he helped her out of her coat and dress, and then the shoes. “Did you get us food?”

“Tenders and fries.”

Within an instant, she had ripped the bag open and was clutching the bucket of chicken to her chest, moaning as soon as she took a bite. He smiled knowingly at her– she had been hungry after all.

Hurriedly, Sy took off his clothes and slid in bed behind his wife, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer to him. They hadn’t slept together the previous night as they babysat the kids and he had missed the feel of her soft body against his. A content hum escaped him as his already partially hard cock nestled against the roundness of her ass.

Ada chuckled at his reaction, the vibrations of her body sending sparks of pleasure to his growing erection. “I have an idea,” she whispered, her voice becoming seductive again as she started rubbing herself against him.

Sy groaned deeply and tightened his grip on her waist, forcing her to still even though he was no longer sure for what he now hungered more; food or his wife. “We’re both hungry and exhausted,” he reasoned with her, his fingers moving some hair away from her neck so that he could kiss her there.

“Let me,” she insisted, a grin audible in her voice. Her hands disappeared under the bedsheets and she slid off her panties before retaking her initial position as the little spoon. Behind her, Sy groaned as her delicate fingers took hold of his cock, giving it a few pumps before guiding him inside her warmth. He muffled a soft moan against neck at the snug feeling of tight her walls, his arm tightening around her again. She let out a quiet gasp at the stretch, it hurt a little despite her still being sufficiently wet from when he had pushed her against the hood of the car. But once he was fully inside, Ada sighed at the pleasure of being again. “Now we can eat.”

°°°

There are two more chapters to go! Next chapter will include Christmas tree decorating. I am running behind on schedule so I cannot guarantee the last chapter will be posted by Christmas but I’ll do my best.

°°°

@colourmeinblue @hail-horror-queen @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl @kmuir1 @madbaddic7ed @coffeebreathy @purplelove75 @summersong69 @helenaellie

#henry cavill smut #syverson smut #henry cavill x ofc #syverson x ofc #henry cavill x reader #syverson x reader #syverson fluff #henry cavill fluff

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trans-yllz · 3 years ago

Note

Hey this isn't meant as hate (sorry if it does hurt you!! truly!) & it's long so feel free to delete but I think going after other tumblrs for what seems to be (unless I'm missing context) liking a book that you don't & haven't read properly, & having ships & fandom interests you don't like, ... I just don't think it's deserved? Like these are just Tumblrs & they're not TERFs/racists or anything actually bad? I know Lise likes "dark" ships & content but unlike most calls outs there's really nothing on their blog I would call understandably offensive? And I don't know all of them but what has alice or winepresswrath ever done? As for the gayjiangcheng incident, I find it a little surreal you're claiming he threw a fit over you mocking him when I came away from that under the impression that you were the one throwing a fit over fandom hcs bc you were having a very stressful day. Okay, to back away from something that was getting meaner than I intended, I truly think this isn't a healthy way of being in fandom. I see you complaining about "fujioshis" (using an inherently racist meaning that literal TERFs invented) yet tag "mdzs" despite not wanting to interact with book fans, & complaining about fandom tropes like trans hcs, & this is just not healthy! You do have some valid points I'm not discrediting that but they're often very ill-applied! This is the perspective of someone your age: please stop creating fights on the internet & find something meaningful for yourself that isn't inaccurately applying social inequality in places where it is irrelevant. These people aren't hurting anyone, but you are sending harassment their way which hurts them, & you are hurting yourself. I'm very sorry you have experienced transphobic attacks (I have read what posts I could find that seemed pertinent) but you aren't giving others the same empathy. I'm very sorry, I'm sure you are getting a lot of hate rn over this, & I very much hope that you have a really good day when this is all over.

well for starters I'm not "going after" anybody. I'm curating my space, and I clearly state that in my post. I'm not "sending them harassment" either. I don't even want my post to be reblogged because I don't want it to be spread around and cause problems. for anybody. I'm simply trying to make it very clear what environment I want on this blog. I'm not sending any hate, I'm not being rude or aggressive, I'm not encouraging others to do those things, I'm just setting boundaries. putting out of list of blogs that I don't want people who support to interact with me, isn't the horrible attack you seem to be interpreting it as. I don't need a lecture from you about how I should run my silly little blog on tumblr dot com or what you think I've done wrong in my life. I do not know you, and you do not know me. I find it very inappropriate that you're trying to come into my inbox and tell me what actions of mine are unhealthy or what things are making me unhappy. I appreciate that you're not yelling at me and calling me names, but you've still crossed a boundary, and I don't understand why you're spending your time trying to shame somebody who disagrees with you on a fundamental level

almost everybody on that list is there because they ship incest or pedophilia pairings, or have stated that they're okay with people who do. but since that probably isn't something you'd take issue with, I'm not going to waste my time explaining what all of them did and will just elaborate on one person on the list that maybe you'll care about: ky/uhudraws literally gives asian characters yellow skin in their art. they also like h*talia

have a good day

#I'm not going to go into the other things you bring up because a) I've already talked abt them at length #and b) I'm not going to waste my time and energy doing something that will have no impact on you #also no. no I'm not getting a lot of hate over this right now actually #ask #anon #not mdzs

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kindahoping4forever · 4 years ago

Text

Yes, Sir // Ashton Irwin

This is definitely the fastest turnaround I’ve ever had for a piece of writing 🤡. Yesterday @spicycal sent me a TikTok of Ashton reacting to being called “sir” and as you can imagine, the inspo machine started turning for a lot of us. Pretty quickly, I jokingly pitched a premise to @pxrxmoore @cashtonasfuck and @feliznavidaddycal that served as a sequel to the fic I had just posted, You Were Digging Plants, I Dug You. The more I thought about it though, the more I liked the idea so I ran with it and here we are. Thank you to @cal-puddies for as always, reassuring me I was on the right track and to the anons who excitedly messaged me in anticipation for it. (And to @rebelwith0utacause for implying my writing was worth losing sleep over.)

Warnings: Boyfriend!Ash, Gardening!Ash, Home Repair!Ash, Dom!Ash (we love a multi-faceted man), references to bondage and cumplay, brief degrading language, sex in a public place, unprotected sex in an established relationship

Word Count: 3750

Masterlist // Taglist // Ko-Fi

Let me know what you think!

————-

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were proud of what you’ve done,” Ashton accuses you with a smirk.

You drop your jaw in mock offense. “What I’ve done?! Ohhhhh, that’s right, that was my other boyfriend’s dick I was bouncing on that day. I’m sorry, baby, you’re correct. This was entirely my fault,” you offer with pouted lips, opening your arms for a cuddle.

“You were a woman possessed and your frenzied demon sex destroyed my relaxation zone,” he teases, pulling you in to first bite and then kiss your pout.

It had been a week since your spontaneous romp had ended in the untimely demise of Ash’s beloved hammock. He hadn’t let you hear the end of it since it happened and now the two of you were finally back outside, assessing the damage.

“I think I have a fabric patch kit in the garage but the framing is definitely fucked,” he mutters, picking over the pieces. “Gonna need new hooks… new spreader bar…”

“Been talking about getting one of those anyways,” you joke with a twinkle in your eye.

He gives you a look and shakes his head. “Jesus, already with you?”

You giggle and raise your arms in surrender. “I’m sorry, Ash, I honestly hate that I’m that girl but the manly man ‘lemme get my tools out and work with my hands’ act just does things for me.”

“Are you sure you want to go with me to get the supplies or are you gonna spontaneously combust right when we walk in the hardware store?” He teases, standing behind you and snaking his arms around your waist. “And you’re not that girl, you’re my girl.”

“Nice save,” you comment dryly and wiggle away from him; he chuckles warmly and you both walk back to the house.

While you’re getting ready to go, Ashton gets caught up taking notes on the hammock repair videos he’s found on YouTube so you end up heading out later than either of you intended. The home improvement store isn’t far but it’s LA so there’s still traffic and the car ride has a slightly tense air because of it.

You can tell how irritated he is by the way he’s relentlessly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as you sit in the standstill traffic. You reach out and take his hand, both to calm him and to stop the noise. He looks at you appreciatively and gestures at the line of cars in front of him with his other hand. “40 minutes to go five fuckin’ miles,” he grumbles. “There’s no way this is getting done today, the sun’s gonna be goin’ down before we even leave the goddamn store.”

You kiss the back of his hand that’s tightly squeezing yours. “I told you, I’ll help you with everything tomorrow,” you remind him reassuringly. “It’s not a big deal, just relax, baby.”

“You know what would help me relax?” He turns to you with a smirk. “If I could go home and lay in a fuckin’ hammock.”

You finally arrive at your destination and enter the store. After his YouTube deep dive, Ash decided he should install wooden posts to hang the hammock on since your sexcapade uprooted the metal stand’s legs straight out of the ground. He heads over to visit the lumber department and you decide to browse through the garden center, thinking that if you pick out some new seeds for him, it might put a smile on his face.

Ash returns to you less than 10 minutes later, looking more agitated than ever. You raise your eyebrows to him as a silent question and he huffs, “They just happened to have sold out of what I need. Gotta order it, won’t be here until next week.”

You give him a sympathetic frown and rub his back. “I’m sorry I broke your oasis center or whatever you called it earlier,” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

He cracks a smile and starts browsing the seed packs in front of you. “I called it my relaxation zone and I’m sure I’ll forgive you someday.”

You two linger in the garden section, pointing out vegetables that could be helpful to have on hand and having a mild disagreement over which flowers would look best growing next to his sunflowers.

“My phone is dying and I need it for my shopping list, baby, can you Google and see if we can plant marigolds right now?” He asks, turning a packet of seeds over in his hands.

You pull your phone out of your back pocket, happy to see that he’s calmed down and is interested in making the most of this trip. You chirp emphatically, “Yes, sir.”

Ashton hears your response and lets out a sharp, raspy exhale that you’ve never quite heard before and he immediately tries to disguise it as a cough. You glance over at him curiously but he appears to be intensely examining the package he’s holding so you move on.

“Depends on what type but these ones you can plant through the summer, so we’re good,” you inform him, pointing to the seeds he’s holding.

“Cool,” he breezes and tosses them into your shopping cart. “What about... basil?”

“Yes, sir,” you say again, fingers adeptly typing. You hear a similar noise come from him, though he deals with it much better this second time. You’re sure this wasn’t coincidental this time and you peer at him over your phone to see his jaw clenching in a way you’re very familiar with. Interesting.

“I’m just seeing ‘warm weather’... maybe just get one pack to try?” You suggest, eyeing him, trying to figure out if what you suspect is going on is really going on.

He shrugs, “Couldn’t hurt.” He flings the packet into the cart and moves down the aisle.

Ashton tosses out a few more things for you to look up and while you’re happy to help, you’re also glad for the opportunity to test the theory you now have. You vary your affirmations to him and as you suspect, “Yes, sir” is the only one that seems to get a reaction out of him.

The garden center is located outside and the afternoon sun is just starting to hit the area you’re shopping in. You notice Ash has begun to sweat and if you weren’t in a mood before, you absolutely are now, so you decide to rile him a bit more.

“That sun is brutal!” You start, dramatically fanning yourself. “You’re lookin’ a little warm too, handsome… unless there’s another reason why you’d be sweating.”

He looks at you incredulously and you stare back innocently, eyes wide and shining; he stares you down as he briskly takes off his black button down shirt, leaving him in a white tank.

“Are you good or does the sight of any bare flesh in the presence of gardening paraphernalia have you needing to excuse yourself?” He fires back, whipping his shirt into the basket pointedly, glare challenging you to push your luck.

You smile sweetly and answer, “Oh, I’m feeling just fine. But thank you… sir.”

Mischievous grin on your face, you start to make your way to the end of the aisle, scooting your body between him and the shopping cart. Sure, you could’ve gone around the other side but that wouldn’t have given you the opportunity to graze your ass against his crotch to confirm - yep - he’s losing the battle he’s fighting with his cock and he is definitely harder than he wants to be right now.

As you pass by, his large hand grabs your wrist and wraps around it tightly. “Watch it,” is all he says but the low tone he uses mixed with the feeling of his hot breath on your neck has your head spinning.

You lay off your teasing for a while but if you’re being honest, you both seem to enjoy the charged air lingering between the two of you now. Ashton grabs your waist to move you out of his way so that he can look at a display and his fingers dig into your skin just a little too hard, causing you to gasp sharply. You stop to read a tag on the bottom shelf and just happen to catch his gaze as you lick your lips, on your knees in front of him; you hear him curse under his breath as he turns away, adjusting himself.

The cat and mouse game continues and judging by the hiss you get out of him the third time you “accidentally” bump his crotch, you’ve pushed it as far as you can; you know you’re probably in for a long night when you get home but maybe that’s what he needs to take his mind off of how frustrated he is with this project. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. It’s also quite fun.

You leave the garden section, cart full of various treasures, and start to head for the checkout. “Wait, baby,” Ashton calls out and you stop. “I wanna get a couple of the things I need for the hammock so when I come back for the wood I can just pop in and out of here.”

He directs you to an area towards the back of the store; you follow him and wheel the cart down an aisle that’s filled with boxes of metal hooks and chains. He sees your eyes taking in the aisle and he makes a face at you. “Whatever obnoxiously horny crack you’re about to make, just do it now so you can help me look for what I need,” he says in faux exasperation, making a “come on” gesture with his hand.

You laugh genuinely, “I don’t have anything to say!” You walk down the aisle and peer into a few of the boxes on the shelves. “I do wonder if we might get a better price on some of these things at one of the other types of stores we frequent,” you say under your breath.

He ignores your remark and starts consulting the notes on his phone. He scans the selection of items and finds the types of hooks he needs, throwing them into your basket. He furrows his brow, unable to find the next thing on his list.

“What are you looking for, babe? Let me help,” you ask, eager to speed things up.

“We need this,” He states, standing next to you to show you a picture of chains on his phone.

You examine the photo and quip suggestively, “Yeah we do.”

He lands a light swat on your ass and you squeak. “Your jokes are gonna seem a lot less funny if you keep it up,” he warns quietly in your ear.

You look around and see that this section of the store is more or less deserted. Feeling emboldened by this discovery, you reach to palm him over his jeans. “Yes, sir,” you nonchalantly reply.

The words have barely left your mouth and his hand is already back around your wrist and dragging you to follow him down the aisle. Your logical mind says you should protest that his shirt, your sweater and all your intended purchases are being left in the cart unattended but the decidedly less rational section of your brain, the part that just told you to grab your boyfriend’s dick in the middle of a home improvement store, kind of wants to see where this goes.

You get your answer seconds later when he pulls you into a bathroom tucked away next to the employee break room; it’s small, only a couple of sinks and stalls, and looks infrequently used. Which is probably for the best because Ash does not appear to have any interest in taking you into a stall, at least not just yet.

He presses you up against the door, kissing you deeply with a bruising intensity. He pulls away and you gasp. “You’ve been acting up all day, sweetheart, you can’t be surprised we’ve ended up here.” His hand, large enough to reach across your entire face, grips your chin and turns you to look at him. “Is this what you’ve been aiming for, is this what you hoped would happen?”

His tone is harsh and his words threatening but his eyes glimmer with mischief, desire and excitement. You’re sure the look in your eyes matches his when you unflinchingly answer with a confident, “Yes. Sir.”

He smiles widely and leans in, kissing, nipping and sucking harshly at your neck. You groan against him, involuntarily, and then quickly wonder how thin this bathroom’s walls are and you start trying to recall if you saw anybody in the break room next door.

Ashton pulls back to admire his work on your neck and sees your concerned expression. His face softens for a minute and he asks you, “You remember your word, baby?”

You flash him a brief tender smile, appreciating how attentive he is, that he would pick up on even your briefest moment of apprehension. You nod enthusiastically and then your smile turns devilish as you think to once again answer, “Yes, sir.”

He hooks his fingers in your waistband and yanks you from the door, spinning you around and then pressing your chest into it. You hold your breath and brace yourself for the spank you’re certain is coming but it never does. You’re not sure if you’re disappointed but the way your core is throbbing hints that you probably are.

Instead of smacking your ass, Ash is rutting up against it, breath heavy against your neck, giving you goosebumps. “Feel this, baby? You knew what you were doing out there, you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Gave you my cock this morning and you’re still begging for it, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and wiggle against him, enjoying the feeling of his hard bulge pressing into you. “Yes, sir.”

Before you even realize he’s pulled away, that hard smack you’d been waiting for comes down on your ass and you cry out in surprise.

"That’s for being smart.” He presses his body roughly up against yours again and shoves his hand down your shorts, dragging his fingers through your folds, humming at the wetness he discovers there. “We’re on a fuckin’ shopping trip and you’re this wet for me? Even more desperate than I thought… and believe me, you were already very desperate in my mind.”

Ashton yanks his hand out of your shorts and pulls you away from the door, unceremoniously pushing you towards the sink counter. “Off,” he commands, gesturing to your bottoms. There’s not a lock on the bathroom door so he drags the metal trash can in front of the door, wedging it somewhat under the handle. “We already know you clearly can’t keep quiet, can’t have anyone barging in here to see who’s demeaning themself in the bathroom,” he taunts. “That’s only for me to see.”

You and Ash used to play like this all the time when you first got together but lately you’d gotten so caught up in your bubble of domestic bliss, it had fallen by the wayside. Things weren’t boring or unadventurous by any means but it’d been a minute since your last risky public romp or use of any degradation. Combining the two, plus the thrill of jumping back in after so long? Heavenly.

You hop up on the counter in your panties, shedding your tank top and spreading your legs, inviting him closer. “Yes, sir,” you tease with a sultry smile. “I’m your slut, no one else’s.”

He walks over and settles between your legs, kissing you hungrily as he unzips his pants and takes his cock out. “That’s right,” he growls. “Love hearing you say that… In fact, think I want you to see that too.”

He grabs you down off your perch and spins you to face the mirror lining the sink, your hands fly out to brace yourself as he presses you up against the counter, kicking your legs apart. He makes quick work of tugging your panties down your legs and then reaching over to jerk the cups of your bra down. You watch your reflection as he exposes more of your body to himself and now to you; you don’t even process your nakedness, your only thought is of how blown your pupils look.

Ashton lines himself up and pushes his cock inside you and begins thrusting roughly. You were undoubtedly turned on but the stretch is still a lot and you find yourself gasping and white-knuckling the counter at the sensation.

He sees your eyes start to close and he yanks your hair to get your attention. “I said I want you to see what a slut you are,” he breathes, already struggling to control himself. “Want you to see what I see, want you to see what everyone is gonna see if that door stop doesn’t hold up and someone comes in here and finds me giving you what you’ve been needing so badly.”

You whimper quietly at his words, at the thought of being caught. “Yes, sir… I love seeing how I look with your cock inside me…” You pant, “I already look so fucked out and we’ve barely started… I just wanted it so much.”

He slaps your ass again and the already loud smack sounds even louder given your setting. “We’re only at this fucking store today because we had to solve a problem created by your greedy little pussy and now that we’re here? You can’t even act right for a couple hours, got me hard looking at fucking flowers, now I’m having to bend you over in a fucking bathroom? How embarrassing,” he rasps at you through gritted teeth.

You love when he’s like this, you feel like you could almost cum from his words alone; you know it’s risking setting him off but you reach down and start rubbing your clit, you can’t help it. Ash immediately notices and laughs darkly. “Aww, baby, that time already? Go ahead and make yourself cum, sugar, the faster that needy pussy gets satisfied, the faster I can get on with my fucking day… until you’re back to begging me for it when we get home, of course.”

You’re aggressively meeting his thrusts now, throwing yourself back on him with pleasure being your only concern. You’d love to respond to his teasing with some sass of your own, rile him up some more but he’s hitting inside you just right and the only thing you can think to do is moan.

Seconds after you let out a particularly long moan, you notice voices can faintly be heard on the other side of the door, a pair of employees walking through the hallway. You catch Ashton’s gaze in the mirror and you can see the question in his eyes, letting you decide if you want to stop; you surprise yourself with how little you care and you stare at his reflection as you bounce yourself against him and rub your clit faster.

An amused smile paints his face and he whispers, “Starting to think you might want everyone to know what a slut you are for me. Is that what you want, baby?” His fingers dig into your skin as he drives his hips relentlessly into yours.

To keep from crying out, you bite your lip hard enough you’re almost sure you’re breaking the skin. You manage to gasp out, “Yes, sir,” before your orgasm completely takes your breath away.

The combination of you cumming around him and your breathless use of that phrase finally does Ash in and he thrusts into you only a few more times before his cock starts pumping you full of cum. Those voices outside the door are still somewhat present and you watch his reflection as he tries not to make a sound, fascinated by the way his jaw almost seems to be clenching in time with the pulsing of your pussy.

You both stand at the sink, catching your breath for a good minute, reality slowly starting to fade back in. You close your eyes and open them again, giggling once your mind finally starts to process the sight of yourself tits out, bottomless and bent over a bathroom sink in a hardware store.

Ashton smiles at the sound of your laughter and pulls out of you, hurriedly reaching for a handful of paper towels to help you clean up before things get too messy.

You accept his help and wryly ask, “You’re not gonna do the whole ‘no, put your panties back on, want you to feel my cum dripping out of you until we get home’ thing?”

He looks at you with amusement in his eyes and replies, “Gross, babe, we still have to go through checkout and everything. Jesus.”

You snort and pull him into you, kissing him sweetly before you both start the process of making yourselves and the bathroom look like nothing happened.

You manage to exit both the bathroom and the store without anyone catching on; you notice he’s in a much lighter mood and much more affectionate and touchy than he was earlier. You like it.

There’s traffic on the drive home but it doesn’t seem to bother either one of you; you’re excitedly chatting about the purchases you made and trying to decide what to order for dinner.

There’s a lull in the conversation and you can’t fight the urge to comment, “So… you definitely can’t tease me anymore for getting turned on by home improvement because I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna be able to visit that store without getting just a little bit hard now.”

The giggle Ash lets out fills the car and it’s the best sound you’ve heard all day. “I think whatever sex demon possessed you last week got to me,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “I literally had to stop myself from eating my cum out of you. That’s how far gone I was.”

You playfully jab his side. “I can’t even get you to do that at home and you’re trying to do it in a public bathroom? And we call me the slut in this relationship.”

He laughs again and squeezes your thigh affectionately. “Well… we have fun, don’t we?”

You place your hand on top of his, turn to him and grin. “Yes, sir.”

—-

My tag list is breaking my posts atm so apologies if you get tagged more than once/don’t get tagged at all while I figure out what the problem is!

—-

@mymindwide @suchalonelysunflower @loveroflrh @ghostofmashton @sexgodashton @ashtonangst @castaway-cashton @boomerash @megz1985 @ashdork-irwin @angelicfluffs @findingliam-o @abadaftertaste @myloverboyash @youngbloodchild @irwinsbetch @ashsun @everyscarisahealingplace @wiildflower-xxx @metalandboybands @another-lonely-heart @realisticnotes @makeamovehemmings @ashtondaddy90 @golden166 @burstintocolor @mfartzzz @babyoria @saphseoul @petunias-pet @youngblood199456 @notinthesameway- @seanna313 @calumftduke @zhangyixingxing1 @stardust-galaxies @Redeserts @zackoid @queenalienscherrypie @xsongxbirdx @justhereforcalum @laura66sos @calumrose @karajaynetoday @valdanvers @Obey-Kaylin

Click here if you’d like to be tagged for future fics and click here if your name is on my list but crossed out (Tumblr won’t let me @ you)

#5sos smut #ashton irwin smut #ashton smut #5 seconds of summer smut #ashton irwin fic #kindahoping4forever #smut #kh4f fic #Yes Sir #I have no idea where this came from and I can't believe I wrote this in a day lol #the clownery #fr shouts to everyone who encouraged me to churn this out #it was a challenge but i definitely feel accomplished and am happy with the result tbh #ALSO #if people are still interested in a True Sequel to this story lmk lol #That hammock ain't gonna fix itself #Feedback is appreciated #thank you for reading 🙏🏼

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a-dragons-journal · 3 years ago

Note

If you're a singlet you have no place involving yourself in syscourse and you ESPECIALLY have no place calling us or agreeing with hurtful, offensive words that mock us for having a trauma disorder that were coined by a known abuser who preys on mentally ill people. For someone who claims to give a fuck about people "traumatized" by dumb kids roleplaying you sure don't have any respect for any other traumatized group

Anon, as gently as possible, here is the first post in this conversation, which kicked it off. You may notice that I am not the one who brought up syscourse. I don't know if you're the same anon I've been speaking to or not, though I think you are based on your writing style and what you're saying? But either way, I did not "involve myself" in anything - the anon who brought this directly into my inbox involved me. If I were inserting myself into a conversation, I would agree with you that it's not really my place, but I didn't - I've done nothing but reply to people who brought it directly to me.

And if you are the same anon, then frankly, you don't get to bring this argument into my inbox unprompted and then be mad when I participate.

(You may also notice, if you've been following me for any length of time or if you scroll through my blog for a bit, that I very rarely post about plurality at all, much less syscourse. This is for the most part because I am aware it's not really my wheelhouse, and in the rare instance I do reblog something like that, it's almost always signal boosting plural voices. And I've been very transparent about that from that first post I linked onward in this discussion.)

I would also point out that, as I've acknowledged at least once and I think more than once during the course of this discussion, that everything I've said, I've gotten from other plural people. I'm not making these arguments up for myself; they're the arguments that have been presented to me that make the most sense, are the most internally consistent, and don't entail insisting that people are lying about their own experiences. Again, if I were pulling these opinions out of my singlet ass, you'd be completely right that I'd be out of my lane, but I am listening to plural folks - it's just that I've listened to both sides of plural folks, and the side that seems correct to me (both morally and logically) is not the one you're presenting to me currently.

With that cleared up:

First: please, genuinely, point out to me where I have mocked you or agreed with things that were mocking you. If I've done that somewhere, I want to know so I can avoid doing it in the future. Nothing I've said has been intended to mock or make fun of, and I genuinely am not sure where I've come off that way (other than possibly in some slightly snarkier tags in a response to a recent ask, which to be honest weren't meant to be taken too seriously and are more me letting off a little frustration steam re: this conversation than anything, but I do apologize if they were offensive). But me supporting one group of people in no way equates to me mocking another group. I've said nothing disparaging DID/OSDD systems at any point.

Second: regarding this:

with hurtful, offensive words that mock us for having a trauma disorder that were coined by a known abuser who preys on mentally ill people.

I honestly don't follow you at all - what words are we talking about at this point, and who is this "known abuser" you're referencing? There's been a jump here where you lost me, I think, sorry. (Possibly there's some community history I don't know about, or possibly I do know about it and am just not connecting the dots, ha.)

Third and finally: Whether you are the original anon or not, you haven't... actually addressed any of the points I presented here. If you have rebuttals to them, I genuinely would love to hear them. Otherwise, with all due respect, you're kind of just repeating things that have already been said louder and expecting a different response.

(But I suppose if you would prefer me to not "involve myself," I could just start deleting your asks instead of answering them, if you'd prefer that? /hj)

#or if you're going to keep yelling at me instead of actually engaging the points i'm presenting #i am getting a little tired of that ngl; hence the aforementioned letting-off-frustration-steam #but that's up to you i suppose and for the moment i've still got energy to engage with this if you want to #apologies to y'all whose ask responses are getting delayed by this; i don't want them to get buried so you can't find them #syscourse #discourse #rani talks #asked and answered #anonymous

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bladedweaponsandswishycoats · 4 years ago

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On Donghua! Wei Wuxian’s shattering of Wen Zhuliu’s golden core.

Submission by Full Metal Ox (sorry it won’t let me tag?):

Regarding the donghua-exclusive scene where Wei Wuxian gouges out and crushes Wen Zhuliu’s golden core: my own take is that that move was something that he seized the opportunity to learn, from unsuspecting teachers. Wei WuXian learns from Wen Qing that cores are extractable; he has two days and a night to experience the process, without cultivational defenses, anything resembling anesthesia, or even the respite of unconsciousness. A brilliant, inventive, and somewhat morbid mind’s natural reaction under prolonged, if consensual, torture might well be to detach, dissociate, and analyze the process; he is, after all, a participant in a groundbreaking medical experiment! (Let’s pause for a moment to reflect upon the tragic fact that the most significant collaboration between the two greatest prodigies of the Sunshot Generation was that one tortured and disabled the other, albeit at his urging.) Shortly thereafter, he falls into the hands of Wen Chao and entourage; by an even more exquisite irony, Wen Zhuliu then shows him the offensive blow—at a point when Wei Wuxian has nothing more to lose thereby, is resigned to imminent death, is brutally focused upon effecting his posthumous vengeance, and therefore is disposed to remember. (Performing a transplant would still have been beyond his abilities–he has neither the specialized medical training nor the healing spiritual energy–but Donghua! Wei Wuxian gives negative fucks about preserving that core or its donor—although his leisurely cat-and-mousing means that Wen Zhuliu is still alive to be handed over to Jiang Cheng for the coup de grace.)

As for the logistics: although this scene is very much intended as a one-off display of spooky uncharted magic, the impression I got is that Wei Wuxian delivers the blow by flash-stepping through in a burst of raging yang resentful energy. He never demonstrates this ability again for the simple reason that it’s a customized and specific bit of tit-for-tat retribution (and because he’s determined to confine any corrupting potential of Demonic Cultivation to himself.) (Future discussion topic: the CQL version of Summoning of Painted Eyes; just what the expletive deleted happened there?)

In response to this post. Yes, that is super interesting! Actually I kind of love the one-off display of unexplained spooky magic, it leaves so much room to speculate. (Really CQL did the least in terms of the YLLZ powers. The book is quite a bit more detailed in talking about/ implying more of the things he innovated. But then in the book he actually is the founder of the cultivation method, which is not the case in CQL.

And re: the Summoning of Painted Eyes is super interesting. Not least because if it is a WWX-specific technique, it has to be one that he invented early because it is at least known of by the teens, even if they don’t know how/would never do it. Actually the bigger question in my mind is about the intent of those making CQL, for the way they changed it. In the book it seems more straightforward - he animates the paper figures and sends them out - which feels not out of line with other skills he has displayed. But in CQL he does something to himself, which is both interesting and strange.

Actually one of my theories about the CQL version is that he animates himself in almost a form of possession that endows him with properties the spirit or possessing entity had - so moving supernaturally fast, not having to breathe/be subject to the corpse poisoning, and so forth. It is probably a long shot, because that is not how spirits seem to really work in CQL, but it really is not made clear.

#the untamed #wei wuxian #yiling laozu #demonic cultivation #mo dao zu shi #summoning of painted eyes #魔道祖师 #魏无羡 #陈情令 #submission #mo dao zu shi donghua

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spooner7308 · 4 years ago

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Okay here’s a PSA regarding my characters(TW: drug use, mental illness)

Firstly, all posts where I address Joan and EB’s (or anyone's) substance use will now be tagged with ‘tw drugs’ or ‘tw drug use’ or ‘stoner Joan’ for Joan specifically, so if you are genuinely affected by these portrayals then you can blacklist these tags so you don’t have to look at it

I feel the need to come out and clearly say this because I known that a lot of you are young, and as an adult (I’m 19) I need to take some responsibility over the messages I’m trying to send with these characters.

Firstly drug abuse is a serious thing and if you are young and don’t know what you’re doing, DO NOT DO DRUGS (mkay) the behavior that these characters exhibit is NOT to be emulated. Even marijuana, which I am in favour of being legalized can lead to cognitive impairment if you overuse it and take it before you turn 25, so DO NOT do weed before you are of age.

The reason I decided to make Joan somewhat of a stoner was because I was inspired by some friends from university who do weed recreationally, and as I made clear in this post, Joan is more than a addicted, dead-beat junkie who does nothing but smoke weed. I’ve seen and known people who use weed responsibly and don’t suffer for it. But even so Joan is still a character I’m developing and her issues and why she lives this lifestyle is still some thing I’m working on so the point is DON’T take advice on drugs from me or my characters, talk to a trusted adult about it.

But where most people have issues is with EB which is understandable so I need to make this clear...

EB was never intended to be written as a ‘good person’ but EB isn’t a bad person either

EB is someone who has been through a lot of rough times and has picked up a lot of bad habits and is trying to work past her awful history. EB is not nice to most people and has a lot of character flaws, she’s violent, aggressive, insensitive, argumentative but that is because she’s built up a lot of walls in order to protect herself and she’s not really doing it out of genuine malice or sadism. I am in no way saying that this justifies her behavior, it just explains this. EB also suffers from schizophrenia, anger issues and PTSD and as a result of this is not mentally stable, this isn’t me romanticizing it I want to be honest and raw with how badly this can effect your perceptions and life, as someone who has PTSD and anxiety it is not romantic or anything like that, it can make everything difficult and you can fall into bad habits very easily. And I am doing research on how to write these issues with sensitivity and understanding

Once again I am drawing mostly from real-life with this character, you meet people who are products of their environments and have bad histories, but are still trying to move past that despite their flaws. I thought it would be uplifting to write a character who is deeply flawed but actively trying to work past those flaws with the help of her loved ones (mostly Joan)

Also I have said this multiple times but I’ll say it again EB WENT TO PRISON

People were VERY concerned when I mentioned that EB is a recovering crack and heroine addict and Yeah...that was on purpose to show just how far she fell, and how messed up she was when she left prison. Hard drugs are NOT OKAY and will ruin your life, you should all know this. The point is to show that EB’s bad choices literally led to her going to prison and this was one of the lowest points she reached before she came to the realization that she needs to improve herself.

Multiple have felt the need to ‘call me out’ for ‘endorsing’ problematic behavior and make no mistake these two (especially EB) do have serious flaws but that’s because I’m not interested in creating, perfect little cherubs who have nothing offensive about them, but I don’t want to seem like I’m endorsing these behaviors by portraying them

I don’t want to make it seem like these behaviors are okay and to be emulated, but removing those aspects from those characters at this point will feel like sanitizing them for the sake of not offending anyone and won’t be true to the message that I AM trying to send and that is, despite bad things you have done or despite damage that you have you can still move on and make a better life for yourself, and it won’t be easy and it’s hard to let go of bad habits but it’s possible

TL:DR, Don’t emulate characters that a stranger on Tumblr created, I want to be honest with my characters, sorry if I sent the wrong message

Thank you, I hope you all understand

#personal #rant #tw drugs #tw drug use #tw mental illness #eb #elizabeth barton #joan meutas #joan on the keys #jeb #original character #six #six fandom #I love my characters #but please don't think it's okay to act like them #stay safe out there

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mageicalwishes · 4 years ago

Text

Read on AO3: here

Rating: Teen & Up

Summary: Simon and Baz have barely spent any time together recently with Baz bogged down at Uni, so a cosy night-in with Great British Bake-off and Dinner is long overdue.

Tags: Fluff, Flirting, Great British Bake Off, Innuendo, Simon Helps Baz Cope With Exam Stress, Domestic Fluff, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, One Shot.

Words: 1,621

Simon

“Hey, Snow. I’m just going to head home and shower quickly, and then I’ll be on my way. Give me … Forty minutes?”

He sounds tired - So tired - but it’s nice to hear his voice.

We’ve barely spoken these last few weeks, with his Uni Assessment Period - Our conversations cut down to ‘Good morning’s, ‘Good luck’s and ‘Good night’s - But it’s alright. I understand.

He’s been completely swamped with Essays and Exams recently. And last time we were together when he was trying to study, he got awfully snappy. It’s not that I was trying to be annoying or anything, but I’ve never been the best at sitting still … or being quiet, so I know that I was (Even though he was too polite to say so, at the time).

So this time we kept our distance. Even though it hurt.

“Yeah, okay. Are you … are you sure that you want to come over today? We can rearrange or something, if you want to rest at home, instead. I haven’t cooked dinner or anything, yet. It’s no hassle.” I offer, doing my best to sound encouraging (Although even I can hear the disappointment in my voice).

“No I- It’s been far too long. I’ll be there as soon as possible, Love.”

“Alright then. If you're sure,” I smile. “I’ll see you soon."

————————————————————————————

I open the door to a disarrayed Baz - His under-eyes blackened, skin dulled, and hair hanging in a waved, damp sheet against his face. Compared to his usual impeccable self, he looks a mess (Well, the Baz version of a mess, anyway. He’d still be right at home on some fancy fashion billboard. The fit tosser), and if the droning tone he greets me with is anything to go by, he feels it too.

I want to drag him into a kiss and snog him until he forgets all about Uni and Tests and shitty Economics, but I don’t know if I should. If I can. And … It’s been so long that I don't think that I’d even be able to do it right. Knowing me, It’d probably just end up being all stiff and awkward, which I doubt would help. So I refrain.

“Hey,” I say. “How did your test go?”

“I’m going to torch the Examinations Office,” he deadpans, shoving the door closed.

Fuck. Wincing, I reach up and help him shrug off his coat. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse. I’m being generous because they at least had the decency to include a few multiple choice questions. Otherwise the whole bloody building would be getting it.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, grabbing a hold of hands and tracing swirls against the cool of skin. “But I’m sure that you’ve done better than you think. You're clever, and you've definitely put enough work in, so I'm sure that if you found it difficult, everybody else did too. Grade boundaries will help you out.”

“Hmm. Maybe,” he hums, clearly unconvinced.

“Definitely,” I assert, pulling him into the Living room. “But just … try and forget about all that, now. However it went, it’s over, so don’t stress. Let’s just watch some Bake Off, yeah? I’ve been saving them all so that we could watch them together.”

That, finally, earns me a smile. And while it’s small, and painfully fleeting, it’s definitely there, which is a start.

“Yeah alright,” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple. “Let’s do that.”

Once we settle down onto the sofa, I tug him close to my side and rub the back of my hand against his stomach slowly, as we watch - The tension of his body loosening under my ministrations.

“You alright?” I mumble, resting my jaw atop his head.

“Yes. Why?”

“You’re all quiet, that’s all. Normally you insult all of their bakes.”

“Yeah, I’m just … I’m concerned that I haven’t done enough. I need to finish with a First. I know - What I’ve done wasn’t good enough. I’m sure of it.”

Back at Watford, I'd always just assumed that Baz didn’t stress about Work, or Exams, or Grades. He'd always appeared so infallibly unbothered, and it seemed to me that he could get perfect grades in his sleep. But … I guess that I wasn’t paying close enough attention (Not to that, anyway).

I’ve seen the ugly side of Baz’s academic achievement now. Drafting and re-drafting essays until his eyes are heavy and his wrists are pounding. Staying up all night to cram in more revision time, and forcing himself through the next day with obscene amounts of coffee. The stern, miserable day-long silences when he fails to get the grades he was hoping for.

I’ve told him time and time again to ease up on himself - That A ‘B’ isn’t the end of the world, and that exhausting himself will do no good - but he never listens. And I don’t know how to make him see. All I can do is try and comfort him when it gets bad.

“Baz. Come on. You’re some kind of freaky, vampire genius. I’m sure what you did is more than enough. Okay? You just need to … relax.” He doesn’t answer, so I tilt him off of my chest and twist his jaw around to face me. “Okay?”

Pouting, he swats my hand away and spins himself back around (Stroppy git). “Alright. If you say so, Snow”

Smiling, I pinch at his waist, earning myself a delightfully startled yelp. “Tell me what you think of that guy’s soggy bottom then.”

“You’re a nightmare,” he scoffs. But behind his words, I know he’s smiling. I can hear it clear as day.

We don’t talk much at all after that, and soon enough he falls asleep.

We’re barely half way through the first episode, when his breaths even out into soft, sleepy puffs. And while I had intended to binge through at least the first half of the series, I’m glad for it - It’s obvious that he needs the sleep.

So, leaning over as best I can with his weight still pressed against me, I pull Penny’s discarded blanket over him and switch channels, settling myself in for the night, contentedly.

————————————————————————————

Baz

I awake disoriented and heavy, Snow’s far away voice calling out for me as he shakes my arm gently. The room coming back to me in pieces - A warm sofa, and dim lights. The curtains drawn and television murmuring on quietly. And Simon - Beaming up at me from where he’s crouched on the floor.

“Hey, sleepyhead. I made you dinner.”

Scrubbing the sleep from my eye, I speak, voice low and rough. “What time is it?”

“Uh … I dunno like Nine or something? Why?”

“Nine!” I repeat. “Crowley, Snow, why didn’t you wake me?”

“You were sleepy,” he whines. “Come on, Bazzy, it doesn’t matter. Lets just eat dinner. I’m starved.”

I glare at him as best I can with him looking at me like that, dimple popping sweetly and eyes aglow (Which, as it turns out, isn’t very well at all. Since I can’t help the enamoured smile from breaching it’s way across my face, which I imagine rather weakens the blow). “Don’t call me that.”

Leaning forwards, he presses a kiss to my lips, murmuring out a muffled “Grump”, before pulling away and running off towards the kitchen. Imbecile.

A moment later he’s back, carrying in a huge casserole dish, spoons, and what I assume is Blood, held in that ghastly Fang-print mug he insisted on buying for me off of Amazon.

“Shepard's Pie alright?” he asks, flopping himself down besides me, and handing me the offensive mug.

“More than,” I sigh, pressing a kiss to the mole in the centre of his palm. “Thank you, love.”

“It’s alright. I made Brownies for pudding too, if you want them.”

I feel my throat pinch, pathetically at his earnestness.

He’s been ridiculously sweet to me tonight, even though I’ve practically ghosted him for the better part of a month. Even though I don’t really deserve it.

We’re still not the best at being affectionate with one another - What with all of our … ‘Issues’ these past few years, and the fact that we’ve had far more practise being enemies than boyfriends - but he’s clearly pulling out all the stops this evening. And I’m endlessly grateful.

Simon Snow my stupid, selfless hero. I must’ve done something really spectacular in a past life to have earnt myself him in this one.

“Snow. I’m sorry.”

“Huh. What for?” He asks, frowning. “I - If you want something different I can make it for you. Or … we could have takeaway if you’d prefer.”

“No, no. It’s not that,” I assure, smoothing a hand down his thigh. “I’m sorry for being so absent recently. I didn’t mean to … isolate myself quite so much. It’s not that I didn’t want to spend time with you, you know that I … that I always do. I just got caught up in it all."

And then he’s laughing at me, tongue poking between his teeth and shoulders shaking. “It’s fine, Baz. You don’t need to go all serious on me. Uni is important, I understand. And you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah. I’m here now,” I echo.

“And … I’m sure that you’ll make it up to me later,” he jokes, waggling his eyebrows in comical suggestiveness. A light flush filling his cheeks.

With a splutter of laughter, I shove him away from me in faux disgrace. Although, knowing me, he’s probably right. I’m painfully weak for Simon Snow.

I’d do anything he asked of me. I’d give him all that I am. I’d tie our hearts together chamber by chamber.

And I’ll definitely be ‘making it up to him later’ … if that's what he wants.

#carry on #wayward son #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #my fic #my writing

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years ago

Text

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 46)

Treasure

Reader receives a gift that gives her a reason to smile, and then she smiles a whole lot more.

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

Days went by, nondescript and immeasurable, practically the same routine everyday. I woke up, I did chores, I went to bed, and repeated it all the next day. The sense of hope that I'd kept at heart in the days following the discovery of that newspaper article was dwindling steadily, and every day felt longer and longer, harder and harder, till I was just going through the motions until I could go to sleep again.

People noticed. Charles first, of course, he'd been keeping a keen eye on me the whole time, checking in on me each day to ask how I was. He was soft and careful with me, speaking to me in a tone that reminded me of how one would talk to a spooked horse. I appreciated his kindness, but it didn't matter how many times he asked me if I was okay, I'd always just say yes. I wasn't, obviously, we both knew that. But mine was the sort of sadness that nothing could cure, but perhaps time. Even that seemed impossible, for the more time that passed, the smaller the flame of hope grew, and the more I came to believe that my Arthur was gone. It was a scenario I didn't want to accept.

Sadie approached me one afternoon an indiscernible number of days since Abigail and I's trip to Saint Denis. I hadn't left camp since, excluding the ride I'd taken that evening.

"Hey there. I heard you was a good con-woman. You wanna come out with me, see if we can rustle something up?" She asked. I lifted my head from the arrow I was working on – Charles had taught me how to improve them to make them stronger and more accurate – to look at her in bewilderment that she'd want me to do something with her, the miserable mare I was.

"Right now?"

"Sure, nothing too fancy. Just something to put a little extra money in our pockets," she said, offering me a kind smile.

My lips parted and I was hesitant to answer. In truth, Christ no, I did not want to go conning right then. It was the absolute last thing I wanted to do. It took enough energy just to pretend to be not on the verge of crying constantly, I didn't think I had it in me to paint another layer onto the facade for the sake of a con. But how on Earth could I say no when the gang was in such a dire situation?

Thankfully, she saw my hesitation for what it was, and her face fell just a little. She sat down on the crate next to me, leaned forwards with her elbows on her knees and stared at her hands.

"I know what you're going through," she said quietly. "I ain't making you work, I just thought you might wanna do something more interesting than chores, try and get your mind off it. For me, that's all I wanted at the start."

"That's a kind sentiment, Sadie," I whispered, smiling, "but I'm okay here, jus' doing this," I waved the completed arrow at her then placed it with the bundle by my feet.

"Okay then, if you're sure," she said, then after a moment, moved to leave. I stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"I'm so sorry about your husband. I know that was real raw when I first showed up, I never said nothing about it. I hope you don't think of me as rude for not giving you my condolences," I told her abruptly.

"I don't. You didn't know me at all, and no offense, I barely even realised you were new for a start. First couple weeks were a blur, I don't remember much. I was too torn apart," she admitted, and I nodded sympathetically. "Keeping busy helps, I know. But you gotta be careful not to just shut everything out and rely on monotony to get you through the day, you lose a lot of time that way. You wake up one day and realise how long it's been and–" she stopped abruptly, sighed and shook her head.

I felt awful for Sadie. She was a married woman, I didn't know for how long but she was married. I knew how painful it was no longer having Arthur by my side and he and I's relationship was relatively young. I couldn't even claim to know exactly how Sadie must've felt losing her husband.

"I always liked Arthur," she began on a different note, lifting her head, "he's one of the good ones, ain't he?"

I nodded my head.

"You keep hold of him, if he makes it back here," she advised, patting the back of my hand where it rested on my knee. I met her eyes.

"I fully intend to. I don't know how I'd– it's hard because I don't know whether I should be grieving or not," I said, and her brow creased in sympathy.

"Yeah, it's an odd situation. But some hope's better than none, ain't it?" She offered and I nodded slowly.

"I suppose it is. Every time I see something move over there–" I jerked my head towards the entrance to Lakay– "my heart goes mad and I'm searching for him."

Sadie looked at me, her eyes full of pity throughout the lull in conversation. She pressed her lips together, then sighed and looked down.

"After my Jakey died, Abigail was a good friend to me. She'd sit with me and let me cry and whine and feel sorry for myself and she did it all with compassion. I know you and I ain't particularly close, but I want you to know, I wouldn't mind paying Abigail's favour forward. I'm here for you if you need a shoulder to cry on. Someone who knows your pain," she told me.

She was speaking as if Arthur was definitely dead and while her kindness was appreciated, I hated what it meant. She didn't think he was coming back. She pitied me, saw herself in me, in what I was going through. I was far from ready to start accepting the very real possibility that Arthur was dead, and when a reasonable response to her offer failed to materialise in my brain, I just stared at her. I stared with parted lips and tears welling in my eyes and anger building that I did not want to direct at her. So I got up, and walked away as quickly as I could.

I shut myself away in the building with the painted wall, my usual spot, and threw myself down on the bed that resided there. The sheets were musty and unclean, I had no clue how long they'd been there or who had slept in them last, but I couldn't care less. I curled up on my side and squeezed my eyes shut.

Arthur wasn't dead. If he was I'd have a gut feeling, wouldn't I? I'd somehow know. It had been weeks since the night of the robbery, but it would take weeks for him to get back to America after leaving on a boat. There was still a feasible chance that he was heading home, or he could be back already, and just looking for us. Or maybe he and the others were just giving it some time, letting the heat die down before attempting to come back to us. There were plenty of alternative reasons for his absence and the likelihood of it being because he was dead was probably the smallest. Arthur's strong. He's clever.

I squeezed my eyes ever tighter, and the next thing I knew, I was being roused by a hand on my shoulder.

I woke with a start, my eyes flashing open to find Miss Grimshaw looming over me, her expression unreadable. My heart dropped and I shot upright.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to fall asleep– I know it looks that way, I'm laying in a bed, but I– I was–" I stammered, giving up on excuses and sighing. She sat down on the bed next to me, her expression shifting into a small smile.

"It's okay, darlin'. I ain't here to tell you off," she reassured me, squeezing my shoulder once. I shifted, crossing my legs and watching her with intrigue. "Sadie told me that you barged in here earlier on, she was worried she'd upset you."

I shook my head and closed my eyes in frustration at myself. "No, she was being kind. I just ain't myself right now."

"I figured. That's why I wanted to talk to you. And give you something," she said, looking down into her hand. She was holding something I couldn't see. "Things are tough on everybody right now, but I know you must feel especially worried."

"I don't wanna claim that I'm worse off than everyone else just 'cause–"

"It ain't a competition," she cut me off, "that ain't my point, just let me speak. Your relationship with Arthur is different, more intimate, you're bound to have more intense feelings about his absence, I'm not looking for a debate about that."

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling like a scolded child.

"I wanted to do somethin' nice. Or at least something I think is nice, you might hate me for it, I don't know," she shrugged, she had an air of stoicism about her, but I could see that she cared. I frowned in confusion.

"What is it?"

"I have this necklace," she began, unfurling her hand to reveal a silver necklace with an oval shaped pendant engraved with the image of a heron. It was very pretty. "It's a locket," she added, then handed it to me.

I draped the chain over my fingers and perched the pendant in my palm, lifting it for a closer inspection. There was a lot of detail in the engraving, I could even make out the suggestion of feathers.

"I dug around in all our old things. We've got a box of photographs we've kept for years, I had a look and found one small enough to cut up and go in there. I never wear that locket, so you can have it. It was a gift from a lover from years ago," she chuckled playfully at that.

I pressed my nail to the groove down the edge of the locket and popped it open, carefully parting it to reveal the photo inside. My eyes were blurry in a second. Of course, it was a photograph of Arthur; it looked quite old, he was a little younger, probably in his late twenties, but he was equally as handsome as the Arthur I knew. I blinked and felt tears roll down my cheeks and wordlessly threw myself forwards, wrapping my arm around Susan and burying my face in her shoulder. She made a surprised sound, but hugged me back after a moment.

"Alright, that's a good response," she chuckled.

"Why on Earth would I hate you for this?"

"I figured it might hurt you, seeing him when he ain't here," she explained.

"The only pictures I have of him are my silly drawings, I will treasure this," I told her, pulling back to look once again at the locket. I held it close to my face, relishing the opportunity to refresh the image of him in my mind, to remind myself of his lovely eyes, the cute dimple on the end of his nose, the shape of his lips…

"There's that smile we've all missed," she said, nudging me.

"Thank you so much," I whispered, pressing a kiss to the locket before carefully closing it.

"Would you like me to help you put it on?"

"Yes please."

I handed her the necklace and twisted around. Susan draped the thing around my neck, and I peered down at where it laid against my sternum. She fiddled with a clasp for a moment before letting it go once it was secured around my neck.

"So, there you go, any time you miss him you'll be able to see his face," she smiled at me and I returned it, holding the locket within my palm. "Now that you're smilin' again, are you gonna come help with dinner?" She queried with a stern tone, though it was coloured with playfulness too. I smirked and nodded, rising to my feet and following her back outside.

Every night since then I fell asleep with the locket laying open in my palm. It dulled the empty feeling in my chest made by his absence enough to give me some peace. Though I still of course longed to have him back by my side, Miss Grimshaw's gift certainly helped ease my upset. I went hunting again with Charles, and he noted that I seemed to be doing a bit better, either that or I was getting better at putting on a facade. I wasn't entirely sure which was true, sure, the locket gave me something to hold at night but it wasn't flesh and blood, it wasn't my Arthur. I just told Charles that the people at camp treating me with kindness was probably helping. And it was.

I'd grown closer to the likes of Charles, Abigail and Sadie, who each seemed to have some sort of perceived duty of care to me. I felt as if I was tucked carefully under each of their wings, and they all took the time to check on me if I'd spent too much time on my own. It made sense. We all had something in common. For Charles, it was that we were missing Arthur, both of us were particularly close to him in our own ways. Abigail, she was missing her man too, though she knew exactly where he was. She rarely outright admitted it of course, continuously mentioning Jack, who – bless him – didn't even fully seem to know what was going on. And Sadie kept looking at me with a certain softness in her eyes and I knew she still saw me as analogous to her when Jake passed, and she felt a sort of responsibility to offer me support.

We gravitated towards each other, I seemed to always have one of them nearby. I appreciated it. I felt less alone while my most treasured person was missing, and it allowed me to feel more like a part of the gang again. I realised that despite my intentions not to, I had aligned myself with Arthur while he was there, sticking to him so closely and allowing my bonds with the rest of the gang to sink into the background. When he first disappeared, I felt like an impostor, similar to when I first joined. I often wondered if that was how Molly had felt too, though she had opted to leave rather than staying. In my case, my strengthened relationship with the others helped me to once again feel at home, though it was an incomplete home.

After a couple more days passed, I found myself feeling a little numb. It was neither positive or negative. I guessed that my emotions had been so unsteady for so long that they'd stopped knowing what to do and had given up altogether. I took it while I could, grateful for the reprieve.

I found myself stood cleaning dishes with Abigail one evening, it had been pouring rain all day and we were standing outside underneath the shelter of the lean-to attached to one of the shacks. I lost myself in the constant hiss of the water hitting the ground as I scrubbed the plate in my hand dry. Abigail had been upset that morning, having found out that John had officially been moved to Sisika. I'd done my best to comfort her as she had done with me over Arthur, but she had been quiet and withdrawn for the remainder of the day. I stuck by her side, helping entertain Jack when it was clear that she was too distracted to give him her full attention. He was asleep now, though, curled up inside with Tilly and Mary-Beth.

I couldn't hear much over the sound of the rain, so when Abigail spoke I was sure I'd missed half of her sentence, because all I heard was: "Arthur?"

I glanced up at her, she was standing on the other side of the table, looking over my shoulder.

"What about him?" I asked. Then felt a hot jolt of adrenaline surge through me when I heard wet footsteps and noticed Abigail's eyes following something behind me, I could only take a split second to pray that the conclusion I had drawn was true, then I cranked my neck around so fast it'd hurt in the morning.

There he was. In the same white shirt and dress trousers he'd left Shady Belle in, a few weeks worth of beard grown in, rosy, sunburnt cheeks and a build-up of grime covering every visible inch of his body. My Arthur.

My knees felt as though they would buckle beneath me and my hand moved to the table behind me, gripping tight.

"You're alive!" Abigail cheered, a joyous laugh rippling through her words as she rounded the table and jogged over to him. Arthur's eyes never left mine as she gave him a brief hug.

"Hey ladies," he said, his tone friendly but he sounded tired and strange, a little like he was forcing it. My brain had disengaged and I hadn't yet reacted to his return, I was well aware of that, but could do no more than stare at him.

"Come on, get out of the rain," Abigail said, tugging him by the elbow until he was underneath the shelter, standing a mere few inches away from me, gaze still fixed on my face, his eyes trying to read mine. "I gotta tell the others!" Abigail added, then she was rushing into the house, calling out.

In the moments we had alone, Arthur reached for me, and I met his hands with mine, entwining our fingers. His shoulders dropped and the creases between his brows softened, then he leaned forward, his forehead kissing mine.

"My Angel–"

"I thought that you–" we both began, then laughed breathily. That was as far as we got.

"Hey, Arthur!" Uncle cheered, stepping outside, joined by everyone else inside who seemed equally pleased to see Arthur. I stepped back, turning to face them. Everyone crowded around, clapping him on the back, guiding him inside, I watched as he was whisked away from me, surrounded by his family.

I followed the crowd inside, watching everyone hug him, silently resenting the fact that I hadn't had the chance to do the same.

"Where on Earth have you been?" Uncle questioned as a chair was pulled out and Arthur was pushed down into it, a cup of water thrust into his hand. Arthur's eyes scanned the room until he found me.

"Some island somewhere. Uh, Guarma, I think it was. Washed up there when our ship went down," he explained.

"So that was your boat we read about in the papers," Lenny pointed out. Arthur downed the water and handed the cup off to an outstretched hand. He was then plied with a bowl of stew. I leaned up against the doorway and felt an easy smile cross my lips at the sight of him. Alive. Right there in front of me.

"I guess," Arthur mused.

"We all thought you were gone for good, laying at the bottom of the ocean," Uncle admitted and everyone looked at him with a warning in their eyes. "What? Ain't my problem none of y'all would admit it."

"Well, we nearly was. We all made it, though. The others'll make their way back over the next few days, we thought it best to go one at a time, draw less attention. I volunteered to leave first, I had to–" Arthur explained, his eyes settling on me again.

"Dutch is still alive?" Someone asked, and Arthur nodded with a mouthful of food, a look coming to his eye that I couldn't place. It wasn't a positive look, that was all.

"And Javier. And Bill," he murmured, then with a tone that nobody had to question, "and Micah."

"We buried Hosea. We got his body back and gave him a nice send off," Abigail told him. Arthur looked at her, slowed his chewing, and nodded in silent appreciation. His demeanor shifted further at the mention of his name, and my heart hurt to look at him that way.

"The horses all came back, Kieran's been doing a fine job of taking care of 'em," Mary-Beth announced when the silence became uncomfortable. Kieran squirmed under the attention but Arthur nodded at him once.

"Thanks, Kieran," he murmured.

"Just doing what I do," Kieran breathed, a lopsided smile on his face.

"How 'bout I get some water warmed up for you? You really do look like you've been washed up on an island," Miss Grimshaw chuckled, then headed outside.

"Thank you," Arthur called after her. After a few moments people seemed to realise that staring at him while he was eating wasn't exactly making Arthur feel comfortable, so everyone moved to give him some space and murmurs of conversation filled the room. Charles came up behind him, patting him on the shoulder and bending down to speak to him.

"Good to have you back," I just about made out over the noise in the room. Then Charles' eyes peeled up to me, an expectant look in them. He smirked and pulled a chair up next to Arthur, knocking his knuckles against the back of it.

"He's all yours," he told me.

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