#there was gonna be more spicy content to this but I cut it for length :pensive: | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spicy-lefaiye · 1 year ago

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hi i wrote more spicy spicy salvatore content, feat. his human boytoy jason, aka billy

kinks: daddy kink, some light almost-choking, some light orgasm denial

sal and jason's first time having sex is in the back of jason's shitty van, jason sprawled out on his back and keeping his hands by his side, with sal straddling his hips. jason is also naked, while sal's wearing one of jason's shirt, an oversized button-up that he's left completely open, hanging off his shoulders and freely showing off his body. he's holding jason's long, fat cock in his hands, stroking it and admiring it.

"damn, billy, who'd'a thought you had a third leg?" he teases, rubbing his thumb over the squishy head and collecting the beading precum there. he's been at this for a while now, teasing jason but not letting him cum.

"please," jason whimpers. "p-please-"

"please what?" sal says. "use your words, billy." jason whines as sal pumps his cock, tilting it to rub it against sal's damp folds. jason's vision whites out briefly as he feels that hot slick drip onto his cock, imagining how tight sal's gonna be.

"pleaseletmefuckyoudaddypleasei'vebeensogoodforyou!" the words leave him in a single rush of breath, and sal chuckles.

"damn eager little whore," he growls. "can barely even contain yourself--c'mon, try again. be clearer this time." he runs a clawed finger over the thick vein on the underside of jason's dick, grinning at jason's desperate little sob.

"please-" jason whimpers. "p-please, daddy, i-i need you. please let me f-fuuuuck you, pleasseee-" sal's laughter cuts him off.

"good boy," he coos. "that's a good boy. god, you're pathetic, a desperate little whore, drooling and begging for daddy's cunt." he squeezes jason for emphasis. "... but you've been good. obedient. so you deserve a prize."

sal shifts his hips, positioning the head of jason's cock at his hole.

"keep those hands still," he barks. jason nods, and sal starts pushing it in. it's a tight squeeze, but sal's so wet that jason slides in easily for the most part. by the time he's fully seated, their hips flush together, jason is trembling and gasping. sal, too, is struggling to hold himself together, biting back a moan at the feeling of the thick length inside him.

it takes a moment before sal starts to move, lifting his hips slightly before bringing them down again. he rests his hands on jason's chest for leverage, groaning as he starts to fuck himself.

"you're so tight, daddy," jason whimpers. "fuck-"

"shhhh," sal says, moving one hand to stroke jason's face. "keep quiet--let daddy use you."

and jason tried to stay quiet, but he can't stop himself from moaning and whimpering. sal's walls are slick and hot, squeezing him perfectly. his moans gradually get louder, and he's struggling to keep his hands in place. finally, sal takes pity on him.

"put your hands on my hips," he orders. jason does so immediately. sal laughs, his hand sliding down to wrap lightly around jason's throat. "fuck, you're so eager to please, ain't you?" jason nods to the best of his ability, whimpering breathlessly.

sal gradually gets faster, until he's bouncing up and down on jason's fat dick hard enough he's barely staying upright. jason's hands are gripping his hips tight, offering support and holding him up.

"you close?" sal asks. jason nods, hardly able to speak. "don't finish yet, little slut--daddy needs to cum first."

jason tried his best not to cum, but he finally can't hold it back, his cock twitching before spilling deep into sal as he shouts with pleasure. sal's hips still, and jason takes a second to catch his breath.

after a moment, jason speaks.

"'m sorry, daddy," he whimpers. sal's grip on his throat loosens, and he strokes a clawed thumb across the hot, sweaty skin.

"for what?" sal prompts.

"f-for cumming too soon." jason swallows. "i-i tried to hold it back, i did, but you felt so good and-"

sal clenches around his softening cock suddenly, making him cry out, and smiles.

"you can make it up to me, billy," sal says. "i ain't mad at ya', but if you really wanna show daddy what a good boy you are..." he pauses, thinking for a moment, before he comes to a decision. "... you can eat daddy's cunt like a good little whore." immediately, jason is nodding, licking his lips unconsciously. sal laughs at the sight. "eager fucking slut."

sal sits up, letting jason's soft dick slip out of him, followed by a trickle of cum and slick. jason groans at the sight, his cock twitching in a valiant effort to harden again.

sal hovers his hips over jason's face, carefully lowering down. "enjoy your meal, billy," sal says fondly, stroking his hands through jason's long blond locks.

and enjoy he does.

the moment jason's mouth makes contact with sal's cunt, he digs in, not even flinching at the taste of his own seed. he slurps it right up, lapping at the soaking folds and grazing his teeth along sal's throbbing t-dick. jason's hands end up on sal's hips again, squeezing and holding him firmly in place. it's clear right away that jason doesn't know what he's doing, but his emthusiasm more than makes up for that. he licks sal over and over, occasionally nipping and sucking. his face is a mess of drool and slick and cum, and he's having the time of his goddamn life.

as jason eats him out, sal is suddenly struck by just how eager jason is to please him. previous sexual partners, even ones who cared about his pleasure to some degree, never were like that. never acted like touching sal was an honor, a privilege they were grateful for. jason is out of his depth here, but he's diving in with gusto because it's sal.

sal shoves down the swell of emotion in his chest and tugs on jason's hair instead.

finally, sal cums with a snarl, shuddering as jason continues lapping at him through the aftershocks of his orgasm. soon after, sal pulls back, resting on jason's chest and looking down at him.

jason looks starstruck. his face is wet and red, his eyes a little glassy, but he's smiling. and he looks so proud of himself.

"like that, daddy?" he teases. "or should i go back in, just to be sure?"

the tide of emotions swelling up inside sal washes over him and he feels tears bead at the corners of his eyes. he tries to hide them, but of course jason notices. immediately, jason's proud grin falls and he sits up.

"sally?" he says gently. "sally, baby, what's wrong?"

the open concern and care in his voice is the final straw that breaks the dam, and sal lets out a muffled sob as he covers his face with his hands. jason immediately moves them both, holding sal tight to his chest and rubbing his back. soon, sal is fucking bawling, burying his face in jason's neck. and jason keeps holding him, lifting a hand to stroke his hair as he coos to him.

finally, sal calms down enough that his sobs become quiet little whimpers, but he stays in jason's arms, shuddering. jason kisses the top of his head.

"you okay, baby?" he asks. "c'mon, tell me what happened."

"n-nothin' happened," sal manages to say after a minute, his tongue heavy in his mouth. "i- i- you-" you're too good to me. too good for me. i'm a mess and a monster and fucking pathetic and you're the best thing that's-

sal is wrenched out of those thoughts by gentle fingers carding through his hair.

"i'm here, baby," jason says. "i'm here." he kisses sal's forehead. and even though his face is tacky and sticky with cum and spit, all sal can do is press himself closer.

#xavier makes text posts #xavier ocs (spicy edition)#oh oh oh sexy vampire #xavier writing (spicy edition)#i love them...

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yourfaveisyanderematic · 4 years ago

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Could I request yandere Trish with a stand user bodygaurd making them share a bed with her for "" protection""

It’s been a long day.

A change of clothes later, and you’re still finding blood in odd and random places--soaked in the lining of your shoes, staining your arms at the elbow, droplets caked in the roots of your hair—really, you’ll need a shower to completely purge the memory of the bloodbath you enacted. Your Stand was powerful, but it was messy in a way that laid bare your savagery and made it impossible to get anyone else to work with you. Every time the Don sent you and his precious daughter on a mission, you were required to act as protector and attack dog both, with Trish as your civilizing force. When you called upon the brutal power of your Stand, it terrorized everyone who survived seeing it in action…and impressed them just as greatly, when they saw the ease with which Trish reigned you in.

At first, you didn’t understand why someone with power as vulgar as yours had been assigned to protect her, but now you could appreciate the twisted logic of it all—each mission hardened the little princess’ stomach that much more, made her more willing to put you to work as her own personal executioner. She had a throne waiting for her, after all, and the steps leading to it were drenched in blood.

Blood…yes, blood. The stench of it doesn’t dominate the air anymore, now that you were in the cushy hotel suite and the only red in your surroundings was the velvet trim and flowers in the wallpaper, but there are lingering traces of it all the same, and for the life of you you can’t figure out where they’re coming from.

The door next to you opens, interrupting your thoughts. Trish walks out in a haze of steam as she towels her hair dry, the lack of makeup and expensive suits making her seem strange in a way you can’t put your finger on.

It’s not until she finishes changing into her nightwear—with you pointedly looking away, of course, you’re not that much of a beast—that you realize what it is: she actually looks her age. It’s an occurrence that’s becoming rarer and rarer the longer you’re with her.

Trish turns to look up at you and immediately wrinkles her nose.

“I thought that might be you. You stink,” she says. You smile indulgently in return.

“All in a day’s work, Miss Una. Was there anything else you needed me for?” You can already feel it. The hot blast of water soothing the ache from your muscles, the strong soap you’ll use to scrub every inch of you clean, and when you slide between your sheets you’ll be as clean and blameless as anyone else in this city. You’ve become a crane-wife in reverse, threading feathers through your skin to become a beast only to tear them out again at the end of the day. You can’t wait to be a person again, your humanity tucked out of sight before it can be mistaken for weakness.

Except that Trish is still looking at you, head cocked in that way you’ve learned to recognize from watching her stare at little trays full of treats. Want, naked and hungry, but it would break decorum to simply reach out and grab, and she needs a moment to work out the way to phrase her request.

“Leaving me here?” She asks, “by myself? You’re an awful bodyguard. What about protection? How am I supposed to have that if you’re gone?”

You raise an eyebrow at her. The lie is barely worth humoring—there are no Stand users in this city, not anymore, the two of you had made sure of that this very afternoon. Who would dare try to touch her, after all that? Who would dare try to touch her at all?

Your master has spoken. You ignore the ache deep in the bones of your feet, renewing their protests as your body realizes it won’t be resting anytime soon, and you move to sit in the plush armchair near the door.

A hand yanks around your arm, pulling you back. You’re not taken off balance—you’re too disciplined—but you do hesitate, looking down at her in obvious confusion.

“I didn’t say you weren’t resting,” she says slowly, as if it was patently obvious and you were missing the point to be obstinate, “you just have to stay with me. For protection.”

“For…protection,” you repeat dully, trying not to imagine what would happen to you if anyone found out about this, “but of course. Then I’ll—“

“Undress? Yes, I’d hope so. You’re not coming to bed wearing all that.” she finishes for you.

You stare, and then you try very hard not to imagine what would happen to you if anyone found out about this. If a blush is heating your cheeks, Trish is polite enough not to point it out.

It was okay, right? If she was the one who told you to do it, and you were just following orders…it wasn’t wrong to obey her, right? You weren’t allowed to do anything else.

Your hands fumble at the buttons of your suit, shrugging the jacket off and then undoing each button one by one. Trish rolls her eyes again and pointedly turns her head away, a courtesy you can’t help but thank her for, even though she could easily choose to not make you do this at all. You hesitate again at the waistband of your pants, and look helplessly to her as if to ask: is this enough?

No such answer is forthcoming: she simply huffs, clearly impatient to go to bed. You shed your slacks, step out of your shoes and socks, and hesitate yet again at the edge of the bed. If you weren’t terrified, you’d laugh at the absurdity of the situation—only months ago did you rankle at being beckoned to and fro like a dog, and now someone’s bed felt too much like forbidden territory to intrude upon. You’d almost rather sleep on the floor.

She sighs, yet again, but there’s a strange emotion to it this time, one that’s difficult to place. Trish runs her hands up your forearms, brushing against your skin, and then finally takes both your upper arms in her grip, pulling you over embroidered sheets and fluffy pillows until you’re nestled next to her.

If you’re going to die of a heart attack, you’d better do it now. Her skin is warm and smooth and very, very bare, and she’s entangled your legs in hers, and her head is resting against your breast, where she can hear the frantic thrum of your heart. You’ve held her closer than this before, but that was with both of you fully clothed and in the heat of battle, so. Totally different. The difference of course being that nobody would argue that you weren’t doing your job then; nobody would argue that you were doing your job now.

You needed to stop thinking about this. Fortunately, Trish picked this moment to be a supremely unhelpful distraction, tracing patterns around the dip of her clavicle with one hand. You focused on the motion, if only so you would stop focusing on the softness of something else pressed against your ribs.

“Say a bunch of men with guns kick down that door, right now, and attacked you,” she murmurs suddenly, almost lightly, “what would you do?”

The scenario is absolutely ridiculous. Nobody would make it this close to her with guns alone—simply fighting their way up to you would give you more than enough time to get dressed and get out. You humor her, though, because that’s what you do.

“I’d shield you with my body and move you to cover, where I would then escort you to the exit point.” The answer is mechanical and practiced. You could give it in your sleep, and you’re pretty sure you have.

She giggles. “Liar. You’d tear them apart where they stood. And then you’d go back and kill the rest of my detail, for letting them up.”

A laugh huffs out of you, lightening the moment. “Alright. Yes. But that’s not really the right answer.”

“Everyone knows it’s what you’d do.” She grins, still tracing circles along the light blue webbing of your veins. “But okay. What if…what if I attacked you? What would you do then?”

That one took a little more thought. “It would depend on whether it was a reprimand, or if you were actually trying to kill me” you say at last. “I think I can safely assume that you wouldn’t try to kill me unless you were being controlled by something.”

She pulls a little closer into you, pressing a little harder on the skin over your heart. “You’re right,” she says at last, “I’d never do that to you.”

Her finger dips lower still, tracing circles around the pocked scars of bullet wounds across your chest and the spot where your heart beats strongest. At last, she speaks.

“What if I told you to kill Daddy for me?” This isn’t a hypothetical. There’s a tremor in her voice, as if she’s almost dreading your answer, as if something very real is riding on what you say next. “What would you do, then?”

Your heart jumps into your throat. Your breath, traitorously, stutters as you consider the question. Is this some kind of test? You try to anticipate the kind of answer she must be looking for—the earnest truth? The calculated, political answer? The passionate defense? The helpless trust?—but eventually, what comes out of your mouth is:

“Are you afraid of your father, Trish?”

Her nails dig into the skin of your chest, painfully now, and belatedly you realize that the hammering of a frantic heartbeat you’d been hearing wasn’t yours—it was hers. You stutter out a follow-up, perhaps trying to recant, to reassure her that you’re on her side without explicitly speaking against your employer.

“M—Trish. I know he can be brutal and cruel to everyone else, but he’s leaving his legacy to you. There’s no reason for you to think—he wouldn’t want you to—“

Trish’s body twists and shifts, and suddenly there’s weight on top of you, making you sink into the plush bedsheets. She’s on top of you, straddling your waist, hands over your shoulders as her eyes glare into yours, looking for something but not finding it. Her jaw works, chewing up the words she was about to say.

“I—“ you begin, but she cuts you off.

“I don’t care what he wants,” she whispers, and you have to strain to catch every word, “Not about you. He doesn’t care about you. Don’t you get it? He just wants to use you to keep me safe, and he’ll take you away from me if he thinks he needs to—once he decides you’re too broken to be with me anymore, or just a bad influence, and then he’ll give me another bodyguard and say they’re just as good.”

Her grip on you tightens, painful now, as if you’ll disappear if she doesn’t cling to you hard enough.

“It doesn’t matter what I want!” her voice is choked now, horrible and raw in a way that makes you instinctively want to soothe her, but you can’t—not when you’re the source of her pain. “Not when it’s you! You’re supposed to be mine!”

She’s going to hurt herself if she clutches at you any harder. You gently rest your hands on her white knuckles, shaking her grip loose and pulling her hands away from the crescent shaped cuts she’s left on your skin.

“I am yours, Trish,” you murmur, even though it’s clearly not really your decision to make, “Remember? Until you’re ready to let me go.”

Her burst of manic energy has run its course, because she’s slumping now, not only out of relief but also because of renewed fatigue.

“I won’t ever do that,” she promises you, drowsily, as she nestles back in beside you. “Not ever.” And she means it—she’d tear down everything her father built with her own hands, if it meant she could hold onto you.

You can still feel where her fingernails cut into you.

#by me #yandere trish #yandere x reader #hm. Gotta say I'm not quite vibing with this one but I gotta post for my prompt SOMETIME this year lmao #might revisit this if only because I am #mmmmmmmmm all over Bodyguard!SO for Trish #there was gonna be more spicy content to this but I cut it for length :pensive:#Anonymous

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honeesucker · 4 years ago

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Iwaizumi Hajime as part of my Haikyuu boys after you text them *~spicy photos~* and then fall asleep...

Word Count: 2,165

Content Warnings: Choking, swearing, dacryphilia, dubcon (can appear noncon but IwaxReader have previous safe word set up for safety), reader is asleep during penetration, overstimulation, double-penetration w/use of toy, Dom/sub themes, use of Daddy; all around we’re being grey-area debaucherous here - there’s aftercare though?

You didn’t hear the door open, or the duffle bag drop to the floor because you were in Iwaizumi and yours shared room, lounging on the bed in a Gudetama sleep short and tank top pajama set. Your chest rose and fell with your soft, deep breaths showing him you were indeed asleep, though even in your sleep you were teasing him (unintentionally, but try telling Iwaizumi that).

Your legs were splayed open, the hem of one of the legs of your insanely short sleep shorts was riding up and sticking to your inner labia having become wedged during your movement in your sleep, this giving Iwaizumi a sweet little teasing view of your pussy. You didn’t hear him let out a groan from deep in his chest as he peeled off his work shirt, hook his thumbs into the top of his joggers and slide them down baring him to your sleeping form only in his dark grey briefs. He palmed his already hard cock through the front of his briefs, the friction sending jolts through his cock and only making the ache to bury all of him inside you that much worse.

How fucking dare you send those photos while he was at work and then fall asleep, and worst of all you knew he would’ve asked you to stay dressed for him until he got home – unfair because of how late it was – but it was just how you both worked together... but you had to be a brat and change into those damn pajamas, the apathetic face of the egg yolk staring at him from between your thighs. Fuck these shorts... Iwaizumi began to pull the fabric from your hips slowly, the silken cotton slipping from your body easily without much resistance. Iwaizumi froze when you gave a soft little hum in your sleep and shifted, but you only made it easier for him to grab you and pull you gently until your ass was lined up with the edge of the bed. He ran his large hand up your thighs, the goosebumps sprouting in the wake of his touch, ran his fingertips along your hips, along the curve of your tummy, up to the soft swell of your perfect breasts that he loved to abuse and leave bruised and sore. He thumbed over your nipples until the sensitive buds pebbled underneath your soft sleep tank, he gently pulled the front of your shirt down exposing your breasts to the cool air of your bedroom. You gave a soft moan in your sleep at the sweet ghosting ministrations of his skilled fingers, and he smirked, you were so easy to read... your body so honest even unconscious.

Iwaizumi traced his fingers back down to your thighs until he parted your legs further and was greeted by the sight of your already glistening pussy, lips looking so soft, puffy and welcoming. He traced up your inner thighs and along the outside of your core until he slowly dipped into the sweet honey coating your skin. His first finger wasn’t met with any resistance and elicited a low, melodious moan from you again. Iwaizumi had his one finger hooked in you, pressing into your g-spot as his thumb rubbed lazy circles with a gentle pressure on your clit which had your silken walls fluttering around his digit and more juices collecting on his knuckles and your lips. He yanked his briefs off, stepping out of them and gave himself a few strokes using the hand wet with your slick. He bit into his bottom lip to keep from outright moaning just yet, running his thumb over the pearly bead of precum that gathered at his tip to help lube him up more before he was lining up and rubbing the thick head of his cock against your hole. With a quick snap of his hips, Iwaizumi pushed forward into you; the full length of his cock stretching you with a pleasant burn and the jolting sensation of him pushing into you jostling you in your sleep and you woke up startled and feeling someone inside of you, panicked. You started swinging your arms trying to hit whoever was on top of you until both your wrists were captured and pinned above your head, and you saw your boyfriend, muscles covered in a slight sheen of sweat as he leant over you.

“H-Haji-fuck-Hajime!” You whimpered, fighting against his grip. “Baby p-please it hurts, fuck, what are you doing? Stop!” A fat stream of tears was running down your cheeks as your boyfriend kept his brutal pace, thrusting the full length of his cock in and out completely. You felt the tight coil of your first orgasm already building which only heated your cheeks with embarrassment that you were enjoying this.

“Thought you could fucking get away with it, hm Y/N?” Iwaizumi grunted, punctuating his words with harsh thrusts that had his cockhead up against your cervix, sending jolts through your whole body. “Thought you could send those fucking photos while I was working and get away with it untouched?” Iwaizumi was leaning over you, his large body, muscled and tight in comparison to yours made you feel so small, so caged in. He switched from his brutal pace as he moved over you, opting for deep-reaching hard thrusts that had buzzes of pain and shocks of pleasure hitting through your whole body. He leant down to your face, one of his large hands wrapping around your throat as he kissed away the stream of tears running down your face, nuzzling his own into the wetness that collected along your neck as well. “My little fucking dumb bitch should know better than to try and be a tease, should know that it will never end well for her...” he said, kissing and sucking along the tender flesh of your neck until he heard you let out a soft moan and bit down hard until he tasted sweet copper in his mouth. He sucked and bit a large bruise where your neck and shoulder met, pulling away with a red-tinted smirk. “Should know that such a dumb baby can only listen, not think,” he said, his thrusts pace quickening until he was spilling white hot seed deep into your body, filling you up but not slowly down. You still hadn’t cum once and feeling Iwaizumi’s cum in your pussy only triggered something in you that ached for more.

“Haji please,” you whimpered, wiggling your hips until his hands came down hard to still your movements, feeling that his cock was still as hard as ever inside of you and he didn’t look like he was done just yet.

“Now, now baby that’s not how I taught you to ask for something,” Iwaizumi mocked.

“Da-mmphmff fuck!” Iwaizumi interrupted your pleading with a series of harsh thrusts that shook your whole body out of its train of thought, his harsh laugh cutting through you, making your bottom lip jut out in a pathetic pout. “Daddy please, please help me cum! I’m sorry for being bad, please I’ll be your good girl!”

“Mm, that’s an improvement,” Iwaizumi said, moving inside of you again to help tighten the coil of pleasure building in you until he pulled out completely which caused you to cry out in frustration, until your eyes widened as you saw him reaching over into the nightstand. Your eyes widened further when you saw him pull your guys’ favorite vibrator, slim and teal in color with white swirls, like his old school colors. You watched him as he turned it on, the soft buzzing filling the room over your panting breaths, until he dipped it into your pussy without warning, though it was thankfully much smaller than him. He was twisting and pushing and pulling it in and out of you at all sorts of angles that had you writhing and begging for him to not stop until that is exactly what he did, robbing you of your orgasm again as you cried out and thrashed on the bed until one look from him told you to stay still. “Just needed to make sure this was nice and wet for you,” Iwaizumi mused, and you didn’t know what he meant until you felt the cool top of the vibrator prodding at the tight ring of muscle at your backside. You whimpered and pleaded with him but he ignored you, pressing the toy in further until your hungry ass sucked it in, a wanton moan escaping you as you wriggled at the fullness. You were an inaudible jumble of mewls and hums and moans as Iwaizumi fucked your ass with the vibrator, the sensations filling you up and building up inside of you so intensely. You were thrown through a loop of sensations as you felt the tip of Iwaizumi’s cock breaching your puffy, soaking hole. He slipped in easy due to his earlier orgasm filling you up with his cum, he swore under his breath as you felt even tighter than before, and now he could feel the vibrations and extra fullness of the vibrator in your ass through the thin wall separating your pussy.

“Haji-Daddy, ‘mm gonna cum, oh fuck-” your voice was barely audible as you choked on the sensations filling up your lower half, and when Iwaizumi started pistoning in and out of you again in opposite time as he was fucking your ass with the toy you were nearly there.

“Come on, princess, I can feel you squeezing me-fuck-so tightly, cum for me baby! Cum on my cock!” Iwaizumi was pounding into your overstimulated body and with his permission you let go. Back arching and gummy walls gripping onto his cock as your entire lower half buzzed and contracted, pussy clamping down on Iwaizumi’s cock as he let loose another load of white cum, coating your walls and filling you up until he was dripping out of you with every squelching thrust. The vibrations from the toy still lodged deep in your ass kept you riding the wave of your orgasm until you were crying and begging Iwaizumi to take it out and thankfully, he did, having turned it off and thrown it near the dirty laundry. He plopped his body on yours, the weight of him making you feel safe as you came down from your high. His lips kissing along your temple and down to your jaw, along the line of your jaw and down your throat. He grabbed onto you and rolled your guys’ body until you were on top of him, panting and whining as he slowly slipped his softening cock out of you. He continued to kiss along your neck and shoulder, giving a gentle lick to where he bit you so roughly earlier. His hands were running up and down your back as your body still gave into little spasms from the intense orgasm.

“You with me, princess?” Iwaizumi asked, running one hand down your back at the other stroke your hair.

“Mmm,” you answered, eyes shut and drifting in and out. You felt a gentle patting on your cheek that made you open your eyes, a pout taking over your features.

“Awe, don’t give me that princess, c’mon,” Iwaizumi groaned, petting your sweaty hair down, “need to make sure my baby is good and safe in her mind. Wanna try walking with me to the shower so we can clean up and come back and snuggle?”

You just nodded and let Iwaizumi lift you up and let you lean on him as you walked toward the master bathroom, the large shower that could fit ten just calling your name. He set you on the inset bench and let the steamy water take over as he gentle sponged your body with your favorite soap and then lifted you to press against him as you rinsed off, all the while Iwaizumi was praising you with how wonderfully you did for him, how good you made him feel, how you were his very good girl, his darling princess.

You patted his cheek and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, reassuring him you were good and he did good and everything was good. Perfect, even.

You two were back in bed about ten minutes later, clean bodies and clean sheets. You were tucked under one of Iwaizumi’s arms, snuggled into his side with your head on his chest.

“You sure you’re okay, princess? I wasn’t too rough?” Iwaizumi was full of anxiety with a bit of how he acted, but he knew you’d let him know if he pushed you too far, right?

“You were perfect, Hajime, you are perfect,” you leant up and kissed his jaw. “Plus, I didn’t need to say Oikawa, didn’t I?”

You both burst out laughing, and he kissed the top of your hair as he pulled you tighter against him before you both drifted off to sleep, happy and fully satisfied – for now.

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badsext · 4 years ago

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A Comedy of Errors: Nathan Young x Female Reader

This was a combination of a request from my friend @elliethesuperfruitlover for a story where Klaus and reader are exchanging horny messages all day, then go crazy on each other when they finally see each other. That is combined with an anon request I received for a Nathan fic wherein the reader notices his boner and they have dirty filthy sex with loud moaning, biting, etc. I took some liberties and changed a few things to fit the narrative. I hope you like it 😚 Warning: Smut (of course)!

——————————————————

‘I had a dream about you last night.’ You knew a spicy little text like that would get a reply, even at 9:00 AM. And it was true, you’d had a filthy sex dream about Nathan Young and woke up horny as hell.

You pictured him zipping himself into that orange jumpsuit, then checking his phone and grinning like a jackass with his imagination running wild. He responded immediately, begging for details. But you loved teasing him. You were going to make him work for it, dropping hints and innuendos all day long.

As soon as the probation worker sent him home, Nathan headed for your place. But first a quick stop for something to spice up your evening for less than 20 quid. Double cream, a jar of maraschino cherries, a (stolen) bottle of vodka and ultra thin condoms that claimed to provide a tingling sensation. Nathan was very pleased with himself and optimistic about the evenings events. He became so distracted daydreaming about your naked curves that he ran smack into another pedestrian, sending the contents of his grocery bag toppling onto the sidewalk.

Nathan immediately let out a series of swears until he realized that this human obstacle was a wisp of a woman old enough to be someone’s gran. The impact had knocked her to the ground. He apologized and tried to help her back up, but his clumsy effort only made matters worse. The old broad was mortified. Help!,” she shrieked. “This man is molesting me!”

Nathan panicked, grabbing whatever was on the ground and stuffing it back into his bag so he could get the hell out of there.

After getting on the bus he noticed the cherry juice leaking all over everything in the bag and instead of condoms he had taken the old lady’s rash ointment. He sighed, abandoning the whole sticky mess and cutting his losses. He patted the bottle of vodka still safely tucked into his pocket. ‘Fuck it,’ he thought, sneaking a quick swig, then took a seat by the window.

By this time you knew he had already left the community center, so you sent him some extra motivation.

‘Hurry, I’m so wet!’ 💦

Nathan started to get hard and the fact that he was on public transport made no difference. His lust knew no such limits. ‘On the way’ 🍆

He looked out the window to see what street he was on and it suddenly dawned on him that he was headed in the wrong direction. He had gotten on the wrong bus! How could this get any worse, he thought, signaling the driver to get off at the next stop. He exited the bus like a shot and ran haphazardly across the street, his boner leading the way like a divining rod.

A car smashed into him going about forty miles an hour, enough to snap several of his important vertebra. Nathan heard the loud crunch of metal against bone before hitting the pavement and losing consciousness. Shocked onlookers started to gather and emergency services were called. Nathan expired in a pile of gore and debris just seconds before the ambulance arrived.

The paramedic examining him couldn’t find a pulse, so she administered CPR, but it was no use. He was pronounced dead on the scene. She had already called the coroner, placed a sheet over his body, and began filling out the paperwork when she noticed it. A conspicuous lump forming under the sheet. She dismissed it as nothing but a post mortem involuntary spasm until he sat up and threw off the sheet with a loud gasp. The paramedic stared back at him in shock. Nathan looked down at his erection, then back up to her and winked. “Thanks, love.” He got up and dusted himself off. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta get home to my girl, so I can fuck her brains out.” Priorities!

He arrived at your door panting and sweating. “Jesus, Nathan! You look like hell,” you teased, pulling him inside by his shirt. Your mouths converged, tongues fighting for dominance like a couple of territorial moray eels.

He tasted pleasantly of cherries and vodka. You pried your mouth away from his to playfully admonish him. “You’ve been drinking already I see...and why are you so sticky?,” you said, tracing your thumb over his lips and chin.

“I’m gonna make you sticky.” His breathy retort tickled your ear as his hand crept under your t-shirt to play with your nipple. You could feel yourself getting wet at his touch.

“Mmm.” You grabbed his stiff cock through his jeans.

He groaned, peeling your shirt off and eagerly cupping your breasts. “You wouldn’t believe what I went through to get here. A fucking quest!” Then he whipped his shirt off dramatically for emphasis, mussing his curls.

“Ooh. Did you slay a dragon?” You unbuckled his belt and pulled it through the loops with a snap, dominatrix style.

“No, but I died.”

You learned of Nathan’s immortality soon after meeting him. Following the initial shock you discovered it was a huge turn on. “Oh, fuck,” you gasped, gliding your hands down his chest. Nathan cracked a sly smile as you drew closer, kissing and nibbling his neck. You pressed your cheek to his to body to listen to his beating heart. “Was it painful?,” you asked, gazing up into his eyes, deep green pools of chaos.

“Excruciating.”

You looked back at him as if to say ‘no more fucking around.’ You led him back to your room and made him sit on the edge of the bed. You knelt down between his legs. “It looks like you need some T...” You unfastened the button on his jeans...”L” You unzipped them...”C”....You pulled them off along with his boxers. You began stroking his stiff cock gently with your fingertips. Nathan struggled to keep his cool. He propped himself up on his elbows to watch you work. His ragged breath betrayed him as you began to nuzzle him, dragging your lips and nose over his smooth, sensitive flesh. You licked his length and lapped playfully at the little drop of pre-cum at the tip. He whimpered. His eyes shut tight and his hands grasped the sheets.

Nathan let out a helpless moan as you took him into your mouth, bobbing slowly up and down, savoring him. You became lost in the act until you noticed Nathan’s breath change. “If you do that any more I’m gonna come,” he said with desperation in his voice.

You released his cock and raked your fingernails down the length of his thighs before standing up and sliding your panties to the floor. Nathan’s green eyes studied you, hazy with lust. He latched his mouth to your nipples, suckling each one them ravenously as his hand crept between your legs.

“Oh, no,” he said suddenly, his voice muffled between your breasts.

“Oh, no what? What’s wrong?”

“That old lady has our condoms.”

“Nathan, what the fuck are you talking about? I have an IUD....birth control. I got it a month ago.”

“So I get to fuck you raw?....unenCUMbered?” He smiled, and wagged his eyebrows.

You nodded with a giggle at his enthusiasm...”Wait, Nathan, was that a pun? You know that’s grounds for PUNishment.” He bit his lip, trying to hide his excitement.

You climbed on top of him, kissing him roughly, forcing his head into the pillow. Then silk ropes were used to secure his wrists to the bedposts crucifixion style. Nathan flicked his tongue at you defiantly as you straddled his face. “I’m going to teach you a lesson,” you said, lowering your most sensitive flesh onto his open mouth. You gasped at the exquisite feeling of his warm tongue on your clit. You ground your hips against him over and over, the rush of adrenaline filling your head. Using him the way he liked to be used. In this moment he existed only for your pleasure, your insatiable need. Your breath grew heavier, building to a sort of primal growl. Then the sudden pulse of your muscles, echoing the pleasure radiating from your core to every inch of your body.

After coming back to your senses, you realized you were squeezing the poor boy to death with your thighs. When you looked down Nathan was still. His neutral expression started making you nervous. “Nathan? Nathan?! “ You shook him. “Nathan?”

He opened his eyes. “What, love, I was just quietly basking in the afterglow,” he said, innocently fluttering his long eyelashes.

You hit him with the nearest pillow. “Jesus, Nathan I though you were...you know! I thought I might have...”

Nathan laughed. “You thought you smothered me to death with your fanny?”

You were embarrassed, but you had to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. “You are such a little shit,” you said with your hands covering your face.

“Yeah, but you love me anyway. Now, let me fuck that juicy little fanny before I go mad!” Nathan rolled on top you and searched your eyes for reassurance. Then he lined himself up with your entrance and moaned as he delved into your silky softness for the first time without protection.

You grabbed him by the ass and shoved him in as far as he would go. He started achingly slow, so you bit his chin and raked your fingernails over his shoulder blades. Nathan was always encouraged by a little bit of pain. He drove into you over and over, with vigor and purpose. You felt yourself unraveling once more. Your voice rang out at the peak of orgasm, then mumbled unintelligibly into his neck as you savored the rush of dopamine that flooded your brain. You watched his face contort as he came inside you. Nathan’s body suddenly tensed, then twitched. He made a new sound, vulnerable and uninhibited. He sighed contentedly and it looked like he wanted to say something. Of course you knew exactly what he wanted to say. You almost said it yourself. If he can’t bring himself to say it, here comes a joke, you thought, but Nathan just smiled shyly and laid down beside you. Then his hand crept nervously under the covers to hold yours.

@elliethesuperfruitlover @bubblyani @vinawyatt @chipster-21 @chokemerobert @helena-way07 @moorehollandplz @punknatch @renegadesheehan @dandycandy75 @meowbearspandas29 @taintedrosebud @bi-satanist @gunnerxsenpai @allthingsextrordinary @royhey @bitshy-life @honeymelon22 @gurlimtired @nobodydoodle @anonymouscherry @clownass-hoe @shuckinsquib @that-boi-misfits @klaushollandyoung

#nathan young smut #nathan young fanfic #nathan young imagine #misfits smut #misfits imagine #misfits fanfic #nathan young #misfits #robert sheehan fanfic

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mihidecet · 4 years ago

Text

To Lean on Somebody

Set in a Dream SMP alternate universe where everything from before the festival didn’t happen (I’m not in denial you are ;-;), two friends find a moment of comfort and honesty.

I am begging you, on my knees, to not take this as ship content. PLEASE let us normalize platonic cuddling and being close with your friends without it being sexual I am pleading.

I am but a touch starved dumbass, I hope you enjoy <3

It happens one late evening.

Quackity enters Schlatt's office at around midnight, tired, stressed out from the upcoming meetings, and almost lets all of the documents he's holding fall to the ground in surprise.

He hadn't expected to find the light still on and for a moment he stares, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights, at the ram hybrid still intent on finishing his own reports. And for a moment - right before Schlatt's eyes raise towards him, right before he notices he's not alone in the room anymore - Quackity just sees him. Shoulders tense, hair a mess and way too long, some curls reaching the tip of his nose, the darkness under his eyes as if he's been punched.

Yellow eyes blink slowly at him.

"What are you still doing up?" Schlatt asks, monotone betraying nothing of the tiredness his whole body is emanating.

"I could ask you the same thing." Quackity quips back, moving closer to the table to place down his finished work - Schlatt's eyes soften for a moment, gratefulness evident only to a trained watcher.

"Are you almost done?" The younger man asks, leaning into the desk to peer at the document still under his president's hand. At Schlatt's positive hum, Quackity simply hums back.

A thought hits him, a plan subtly forming in his brain as his eyes move from the document to Schlatt's hand as he tucks a stray curl behind his right horn with a huff.

He ponders for a moment. Meditates on possible outcomes. Prepares for the worst.

"Do you want me to cut your hair?" Quackity's voice asks, out of the blue, the traitorous fool, before he can figure out a way to properly construct his question.

Schlatt looks up, blinks at him.

Looks back down at the document, only silence passing between them as Quackity both tenses up and laughs at himself for the silliness of the question.

"Sure, why not. Shit's getting annoying, anyway."

Quackity discusses with himself the benefits of cutting his friend's hair at one am, and finds no reason why he shouldn't do it. It's not like he's that tired anyway, his brain always takes a while to turn off after he's finished working, and this way he can make sure Schlatt won't change his mind.

As soon as the man is done with his paperwork, he escorts him to his bathroom, where he has all the things he needs.

"Are you sure you can cut hair?" Schlatt asks, eyeing suspiciously the scissors and clippers Quackity is taking out of a specific drawer. Quackity just sighs with a smile on his face, waving his worries away.

"Now, we don't really have a proper place to do it. You can sit on the chair and lean back, or we can use the bathtub." Schlatt turns towards him, a sardonic smile on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"You know, if you wanted to get me naked-"

Quackity raises his index finger towards him.

"I will stab you. I'm giving you enough time to get ready and when I'm back I'm cutting your hair or something else. Up to you."

Schlatt chooses the bathtub.

Sue him.

He needs a bath anyway, this is just saving time. Also, there is no way in hell he is bending over backwards to have his head fit into the sink, his back is already fucked up enough.

For all that he jokes around Quackity, he knows that what they have can live through this situation. They're friends, in a way that honestly baffles Schlatt a bit too much. He doesn't know what he did to deserve somebody that clicks so well with him. Not that he's gonna say that out loud, but-

Maybe he should have just gone to sleep.

He is tired. But the prospect of a bath - and of freedom from his overly long hair - is too tempting.

When Quackity enters the bathroom again, he's silent. He makes no note nor quip about Schlatt's decision, he just goes and grabs what he needs and places it down on a chair, moving another one so that he can sit right behind Schlatt.

Everything is very still and silent around them, which could be weird and awkward but it's not. They're both tired, and there's not much to talk about that they can't talk about when they're both awake.

Quackity grabs a small plastic bowl and scoops up some of the water in the tub.

"Tilt your head back a bit?" He asks and his voice is so quiet, so soft - it's the voice he uses when he's helping Fundy with his projects, or when he's reviewing Tubbo's blueprints.

Schlatt raises his chin a bit, unsure of how much is required, until Quackity's hand gently rests over his forehead, pressing down just a bit as the man whispers.

"Close your eyes."

The water runs through his hair once, then a couple of times as Quackity repeats the process until his hair is properly wet - never once does water get in his eyes, even though Schlatt does feel it linger over his forehead, unable to move due to Quackity's hand.

His brain is tired, and the most he can think of is that it's a nice gesture.

Then Quackity grabs a bottle of shampoo - which smells oh so nice, like lemons and something spicy that makes him want to smile and reminds him of summer - and starts to lather his hair.

And oh.

The way his fingers run through his hair, slowly, picking up stray strands to make sure all of them are getting cleaned. The way the pads of his fingers press gently against his scalp, rubbing small circles at the nape of his neck, then behind his ears.

The way he traces the edges of his horns, where bone melts with cartilage and skin, before lightly pressing down and rubbing some more foam into it.

It takes a while, but Quackity's subconscious eventually brings him to much simpler times, and a familiar but long forgotten tune erupts from his heart in the form of a gentle hum.

Forgetting he should be cutting some hair, his hands move to his friend's shoulders, tense and rigid as if they were made of stone, and he figures that he can allow himself to try and lessen the knots of tension there too.

About a minute later, he catches himself pressing down on Schlatt's trapezius, huffs out a breath at himself and returns to the main task at hand.

Washes out the shampoo, then grabs some more and begins his lathering process once more - he just wants to make sure the hair is properly clean.

Meanwhile, Schlatt is in paradise.

He hadn't realised how much he needed something like this before, but oh does he not want this to end ever.

He feels relaxed, content in a way he'd forgotten he could be.

Each and every point of contact that his scalp has with Quackity's fingers are like beacons of calmness, turning his body into putty at an embarrassingly quick speed - his entire being concentrating around this focal points of just touch.

He doesn't realise he's crying until a quiet sob makes his shoulder shake.

Sudden fear grips at his insides, because oh no, not him, he is not crying because his best friend is washing his hair and treating him with a gentleness and kindness he doesn't deserve-

"Are you cold?" Quackity asks from behind him, the slight edge of worry in his tone, and Schlatt instinctively shakes his head no, realising his mistake as he does.

There's a perfect chance of saving it.

"A bit." Is what he tries to say, but his voice is thick with the tears he's been crying, it cracks in all the wrong places and it ends with a chocked sob.

Fuck, he is a mess.

When all that follows is a stunned silence, Schlatt feels his walls slamming down, shoulders tensing up as he moves away from Quackity.

"Fuck, shit- get out. Get out. Right now."

Nothing, no answer. Not enough venom.

"Get the fuck out!" He yells out, arms wrapped around himself, another sob working its way up his throat but he stomps it down- fights with it for a good second as he waits, too aware of the fact that Quackity is still in the room.

A moment passes. A shiver runs through his body, despite the room being heated up and the water still being definitely warm.

There's a sudden point of warmth as Quackity places a hand on his shoulder, slowly, lightly, as if dealing with a wounded animal.

Schlatt doesn't know what to do with himself. All of his instincts yell at him to fight back, to yell, to hurl insults until whoever is behind him will leave.

But this is Quackity. His best friend.

So when Quackity pulls him back, gently, he lets himself be brought back. Back, until his back is against something soft - Quackity's sweater, which has got to now sport a wet and soapy patch on the front.

Still, his friend doesn't seem to mind.

"I've got you" he whispers, and his words are like the final dent in the dam of his emotional walls.

One hand moving to grip at Quackity's arm, Schlatt almost doubles with the strength of his next sob, a gut wrenching sound that leaves his throat raw and heart weeping. And he cries.

All the stresses, fears, doubts, all the stuff that had been piling onto his mind just come crashing down - and he would have toppled with it, if it hadn't been for Quackity's firm but kind grip on his shoulder steadying him.

And he sobs, lets himself cry - because at that point, who even cares? Once he would have shrugged, shaken his head dismissively: nobody cares.

But the thing is, Quackity cares.

Quackity, with his bright smile and infectious laughter, with his gentle touches and firm hugs.

A solid anchor in the tempest of emotions he is finding himself stuck into.

Quackity holds him, free of judgement, lets him cry his heart out and then more.

And when things calm down, he picks up his hummed tune - a lullaby of sorts.

Between one sniffle and the other, Quackity rinses his hair out. Starts cutting his hair, brings it back to a respectable length.

Spends too much time carding his fingers through the strands, then takes out a hair mask and spens even more time massaging it into his scalp.

There are a couple of times when exhaustion - physical and emotional almost make him fall asleep in the water, but he stays awake, if anything to not miss a single moment of the experience.

And when Quackity whispers to him to turn towards him, they both have red rimmed eyes. Neither makes a comment on that.

Schlatt raises his hands from the water, shakes out some excess droplets, and figures it's the least he can do as he places both palms on his friend's cheeks and wipes away the couple stray tears he finds there.

Quackity smiles softly, ever so softly, and leans into the touch, eyes briefly closing.

"Thank you, mi amor." Schlatt croaks, wincing a little at how weird his voice sounds after crying for so long.

Quackity huff out, eyes crinkling with humour; when he answers, his tone is so thick with fondness it makes Schlatt melt.

"You're a dumbass."

Despite it all, Schlatt finds it in himself to smile cheekily, hands coming to rest at his sides as Quackity goes back to working.

He lets him do his thing, not wanting to disturb the process. It would be rude to do so.

When Quackity places his scissors back down, it feels like the moment is ending, and yet his fingers go back to his face once more.

Gently tracing his horns, thumbs resting on the side of his temples as he rubs circles with the rest of his fingers on his scalp.

Then, moving his palms to rest on the sides of his head.

Schlatt, who'd been keeping his eyes closed, opens them right on time to find himself staring at Quackity's chin. A split second later, lips press against his forehead, fingers still rubbing circles through his hair.

A sudden rush of emotions overcomes him, the tenderness almost too much, and his eyes water again as he grips at Quackity's arm like a lifeline, holding on through the onslaught of feelings that hit him like a shockwave.

Quackity lingers, and whatever he is trying to convey Schlatt feels. He understands. He squeezes his eyes and squeezes Quackity's arm, hoping, needing his friend to understand that yes, he knows, he understands, he feels the same.

And when Quackity leans back, eyes shining, a bittersweet smile on his face, Schlatt can't help but chuckle wetly.

"I'm going to wait outside, alright? I don't want you to get cold. Let me know what you think of the cut, alright?" Quackity says after a moment, then stands up and leaves, gently closing the door behind him.

He understands, it's all a bit overwhelming.

What's important is the fact that they understood each other.

Schlatt raises from the water, quickly drying himself up - his muscles ache from staying in the same position for too long, and his heart aches for a whole another reason, but he feels better than he's felt in a long while.

He shoots a look in the mirror: his hair isn't getting into his eyes anymore, and it looks good. The length is enough for his hair to actually start to curl up at the bottom, and once it'll be dry he assumes it's going to feel very soft, due to all the care it went into it - and products, but still.

He fixes his clean shirt, smoothing away inexistent dust, and ignores how puffy his eyes look.

That was one hell of a haircut.

#jschlatt #quackity #my writing #dream smp au #you love to see it #come here I'm touch starved and I have 2k of platonic intimacy

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kelyon · 4 years ago

Text

Golden Rings 17: A Name

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Mrs. Gold revisits her past

Read on AO3

Mrs. Gold looked on in mute horror as Hunter Duke dumped more hot sauce on his triple bacon hamburger. He’d asked Ruby to give him three meat patties with no bun and steamed broccoli instead of fries. When Mrs. Gold had questioned that lunch choice, he had explained his new diet to her.

At length.

Hunter had always been the kind of boy who thought meat and spicy food were substitutes for a personality. He’d been the star athlete at Storybrooke High, taking home championships in football and wrestling. He’d been popular with everyone--except for the one girl he’d arbitrarily decided was the hottest girl in school. That girl, the valedictorian, hadn’t given the quarterback the time of day. Not until she lost her scholarship and suddenly dating the son of a lawyer sounded like the way to the best future she would ever get.

“They do the burgers way too overdone here,” Hunter said with his mouth full. “You don’t get enough protein if it isn’t bloody.”

Mrs. Gold shrugged and took a bite of her own burger. It needed more pickles, but it was still amazing. Toasted bun, crisp lettuce, a patty that was juicy but not messy. She hadn’t had a Granny’s burger in forever. When she was a kid, her parents had taken her out for burgers every Friday night after their shop closed. Mom would bring her own supply of extra-zesty mustard and Dad…

She set her bun on her plate. On those idyllic, bygone Friday nights, her father would spend the whole meal grumbling about money and expenses and couldn’t they have eaten at home? Mom had always told him to stop worrying and enjoy the moment. It was the end of another week and they were together, happy and healthy. She’d calmed him down and kept him focused, every time there was a crisis.

Until they faced the biggest crisis of their lives.

Mrs. Gold blinked out of her thoughts. For some reason, Hunter was still talking. Maybe it looked like she was listening. She’d gotten good at that when they had dated. Now that she was listening for real, she tried to catch up.

“I keep telling my dad he needs to just change the sign. ‘Duke & Duke & Duke’ has a great ring to it, right? Or he could for ‘Duke & Sons.’ I don’t mind sharing the spotlight with Steven. Or he could leave the sign as it is and retire! ‘Duke & Duke’ is classic, everyone knows we’re the best bankruptcy lawyers in town. Just let my brother be the first Duke and I’ll be second Duke and we’ll take this firm into the future! But Dad keeps brushing me off for some reason.”

Mrs. Gold took a sip of iced tea and desperately wished it was something stronger. “Did you… go to law school?”

She had the oddest feeling that she couldn’t remember how long they had been out of high school. All she knew for sure was that Hunter had enrolled at Storybrooke Community College--and she hadn’t. It was possible that he had gotten his bachelor’s. As Hunter was fond of saying, “Cs get degrees.” But SCC didn’t have a graduate program. Had he taken more classes on the internet? Or correspondence courses? It boggled her mind to think of Hunter of all people had gotten a law degree during the years she’d been Mr. Gold’s stupid slut.

“Well actually,” he explained, “you don’t need to go to law school to take the bar exam. I’ve got a bachelor’s in poli-sci and I’ve been around lawyers all my life. My dad knows everyone at the state bar. He’ll pull some strings and I’ll be all set.”

Mrs. Gold stabbed her straw at the ice cubes in her glass. It was so fucking unfair. Hunter was an idiot child who had never worked for anything in his life. His father--Richard “Big Dick” Duke--had bought him a Humvee when he turned sixteen, a speedboat when he graduated high school, and a college education just because no son of his wasn’t going to go to college. Now he would give his son the bar exam and a ready job and everything he would need for a future, without Hunter ever having to grow up past the maturity level of a toddler.

She’d lost her virginity to this boy. One summer night after senior year, in the back seat of that gas-guzzling monstrosity. They’d been dating for a while and Hunter had been perfectly content with her amateurish attempts at blowing him. But for her, the novelty had begun to wear off. So she’d suggested that he “put it in” instead. It was mostly a way for him to get his rocks off while she could just lie back and think of something more interesting.

Her memories of that night were dark and cramped and disappointing. She kept her shoes and her bra on the whole time. When Hunter was done, she had been more confused than anything else. This is what people made such a big deal about? Wasn’t sex supposed to be better than that?

It wasn’t until later, with Mr. Gold, that she had understood what people were talking about in romance novels.

But now that things were so strained with her husband, she found herself thinking back to the only other sexual partner she’d ever had. Looking at Hunter now, she had to remind herself of how bad things had been that summer, when he had been a welcome distraction. Hunter hadn’t wanted to talk about doctors’ appointments or shop inventory or arguing with financial aid departments--every fight a losing battle. All he wanted to do was drink, screw around, and have fun, and he welcomed her along for the ride.

I thought he would help us. I was wrong. He wasn’t what I needed.

Mrs. Gold shook the thought out of her head. The thought was true, but she recognized it as not being her own, so she talked over it.

“Have you been hanging out with any of the old gang? Sean or Jesse or anyone?”

It had been exciting to be included with the rich kids, to feel like she belonged in the world of the young and the reckless--people who didn’t have to worry about things because their parents would always be around to bail them out. They could do whatever they wanted because the world belonged to them.

Hunter shrugged. “Jesse’s an idiot, so no change there. But Sean’s been such a pussy ever since Ashley had her baby.”

Ashely Boyd had been in that group with her. Rich boys liked running around with poor girls because they were easier to impress than the rich girls. New Town young ladies also had parents who bought them cars for their sixteenth birthdays. They didn’t need to rely on spoiled boys to pay their way every time they went out, so they didn’t have to go along with whatever stupidity the boys came up with. Mrs. Gold had taken a lot of risks just so Hunter would keep thinking she was interesting.

But Ashley had loved Sean for more than his money and toys. All she ever wanted was for him to love her back and stay with her. Once, Mrs. Gold had thought Ashley was stupid for pining so hard after a boy who would never commit. But now she had a little more sympathy.

“What happened with Sean?”

“Mr. Herman kicked him out, cut him off. Now he’s living at Ashley’s place, working his ass off at the fish factory.”

“The cannery,” Mrs. Gold corrected quietly. Fish King Canned Foods was always hiring. It was always looking for people who could stand waist-deep in ice and fish guts for twelve hour shifts, operating machinery that could cut through a human hand as easily as it did a whole herring. Her cousin Andrew had gotten a job right out of high school. Her Uncle Peter had worked there for twenty years before he died.

“Like I said, he’s a total pussy now. All he does is work and hang out with Ashley, work and take care of the baby, work and sleep. You know he asked her to marry him a couple days ago? Utterly whipped.”

“Wow,” she said.

She had never respected Sean Herman, so it was weird to think of him actually growing up. People didn’t usually change around Storybrooke. But now the spoiled party boy was taking responsibility for his child and the woman who loved him. He had given up his own wealth and family status because he loved a penniless girl from Old Town.

It was impressive.

She finished her burger while Hunter started another monologue, this time about all the fat, lazy, poor people who came to his father’s office to declare bankruptcy. Forget being a lawyer, he should go into talk radio.

“I did ask you to lunch for a reason.” She grabbed her chance to talk while he was taking a breath.

“Oh yeah?” Hunter wiped hot sauce off his face with the back of his hand. “What’s up?”

“You know a lot of people,” Mrs. Gold said. “I was wondering if you might know somebody that I don’t.”

He slurped up the dregs of his diet soda. “Yeah? Who?”

Mrs. Gold gripped the edge of the table and desperately hoped he wouldn’t notice how hard it was for her to say this. The gold of her wedding ring was dull on this cloudy afternoon. “I… just have a name right now. I think it’s a woman named Belle.”

She could see the wheels in his head turning as he thought. “Belle? Hmm. I don’t know.”

“She’s probably young. Maybe our age. Maybe younger. Or older? Maybe she’s one of your mom’s friends or something?”

A woman as old as Karen Duke would still be younger than Mr. Gold. Maybe he was looking for more maturity now. In the days since she found out about Belle, Mrs. Gold had been racking her brain to try to imagine what kind of person she was. She was only moderately sure that Belle even was a woman. If Mr. Gold wanted this Belle person more than he wanted his own wife, she was probably the opposite of her in some crucial way.

Hunter made a face and scratched the back of his head. “Nah, I got nothing. Sorry.”

“Yeah,” Mrs. Gold looked down at her empty plate. “I’m not surprised.”

Seeing that they were both done with their food, Ruby came up to the table. “Now is this gonna be one check or two?”

It was almost funny how quickly Hunter looked to Mrs. Gold. He panicked at the thought of paying for his own lunch. Daddy must not be giving him an allowance anymore.

“You invited me,” he said, almost chiding her with the reminder of how things worked.

“Yeah, that was my first mistake.” Mrs. Gold took the check from Ruby and pulled out her purse.

A fifty would be enough to pay for two hamburgers and Ruby’s discretion. Not that Mrs. Gold was being particularly sneaky, arranging lunch with her ex-boyfriend at the most popular restaurant in town. But that didn’t matter either. She could take Hunter to the pawn shop and bang him in front of the cash register and Mr. Gold wouldn’t give a fuck.

And neither would she.

****

Wandering listlessly up and down Main Street, Mrs. Gold tried to keep warm. The clouds were dark and heavy with more snow. The sidewalks were shoveled, but there was always a residue of dirty slush. It was the time of year when trash kept showing up in the streets, no matter how many anti-littering signs Mayor Mills put up.

Mrs. Gold’s suede boots were more fashionable than sturdy. The same could be said for her coat, scarf, and hat. The cold seeped through her flimsy layers, until she was nothing but numb and damp, until it was hard to breathe, until she was so desperate to be warm again she resolved to go into the next open store, no matter which one it was.

Sugar’n’Spice was always warm and it always smelled good. Mara Trudine burned a different scented candle every day the shop was open. Today the candle was cinnamon and cloves. The whole place smelled like cider.

Mrs. Gold entered as quietly as she could. She hadn’t been in the store since before Christmas. And she had never walked through that door without strutting proudly, loudly announcing her intentions to buy whatever lingerie it would take to drive Mr. Gold wild.

Was Mr. Gold even capable of going wild for her anymore? Or did the sight of her just turn his stomach? He thought she was trash, she disgusted him, he didn’t want her and he never would again.

Ducking behind a rack of silky robes, Mrs. Gold took a breath to calm herself down. It was a bad habit she’d developed lately, thinking of the worst-case scenario just to make herself feel something. Her mind kept poking and prodding at her pain, pulling out her darkest fears and putting them front and center. She could push it away if she concentrated. If she tried to act normal, she could almost feel normal. Sometimes.

“Oh hey.” Mara had spotted her from the sales counter in the back of the shop. “Mrs. Gold, I didn’t see you come in.”

Steeling herself, Mrs. Gold walked out from behind the robes. “That’s me.” She tried to smile.

Mara stayed where she was. Bits of fabric were spread out over the counter. It looked like she was sewing something.

Mrs. Gold’s heart skipped a beat. The fabric was a shiny yellow-gold. Sometimes, when Mr. Gold was really pleased with her, he liked her to wear that color. Without thinking about what she was doing, she began to walk towards the counter.

“What are you working on?”

Mara looked up from her needle. Even after all these years, she had the same face she’d had as a kid--sharp brown eyes, adorably crooked smile, freckles all over her round cheeks. She looked so innocent. You’d never think she made a living off of unmentionables.

“Custom order,” she said proudly. “I’ve been trying to get tailor-made lingerie off the ground for as long as I can remember. Got my first order in October and more have been coming in.” She held up the fabric and Mrs. Gold saw a pair of panties that would go up to a person’s rib cage.

“Somebody wants that?”

Mara’s excitement dimmed in the face of Mrs. Gold’s skepticism, but she did her best to explain. “It’s shapewear,” she said. “See the reinforced panels? The idea is to smooth out tummy rolls and make a more flattering silhouette.”

Mrs. Gold looked over at the rack of Spanx. “Don’t you already sell that?”

“Yeah, but the stuff I make is sturdier than the mass-produced product. Better for people with non-standard bodies. And prettier too. Nothing over there comes in straw yellow.”

It was true. Most of the stuff in that section was nude or black. Mrs. Gold knew a thing or two about wearing corsets, but she had never actually needed one. She had thought Mr. Gold liked her to be skinny.

“That is a pretty color,” she said. “Who’s it for?”

Mara looked at her dubiously. “I can’t talk about a client, it’s confidential.”

“How are you planning on getting more orders without word of mouth?”

“Well, normally word of mouth comes from customers talking about the product, not a creator talking about their customers.”

Falling into old habits, Mrs. Gold tilted her head back as her voice went up an octave. “I know, but it’s just such a pretty shade of gold, I was wondering if someone special might have ordered it...?”

She let the question hang. Mara just frowned and shook her head.

“Come on, you’re smarter than that.” She held up the garment again. “This is for a plus-sized woman. Two of you could fit in here without straining the elastic. Mr. Gold didn’t order this for you.”

Without thinking, she leaned over the counter and got in her friend’s face. “Did he order it for someone else?”

Mara’s eyes went wide. Her mouth transformed into a tiny little O of surprise. Mrs. Gold pulled away and kept her eyes on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Gold said. “That was out of line.”

“Wow,” Mara said softly. “I, uh, I’d heard that something had happened. But I didn’t know it was that bad. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” She turned around, pretended to look at something lacy until the urge to scream had passed. When she glanced at Mara, her brown eyes were trained on her.

“It’s not from him,” she said simply. “I’ll even tell you that my client paid with a credit card, so it was definitely her own money.”

Or maybe Mr. Gold was just covering his tracks. But at least he hadn’t called in the order himself. At least he wasn’t flaunting his disregard for her.

“Does he… Have you ever heard from him? Is he buying anybody lingerie?”

Mara shook her head. “I only see him on Rent Day.”

With nothing left to lose, she asked her old friend the same question she’d asked her ex-boyfriend. “Do you know anybody named Belle?”

Mara blinked. “I don’t… think so. The name sounds familiar, but I’m probably thinking of a character from a book or a movie. It’s not the sort of name you hear around Storybrooke.”

“No,” Mrs. Gold agreed.

“But I’ll keep my ears open, if you want.”

Mrs. Gold raised her eyebrows. “What about client confidentiality?”

“Well, whoever Belle is, she’s definitely not a client. And until Mr. Gold pays me himself, neither is he.”

You’re a good friend.

This time, Mrs. Gold didn’t swat at the thought that intruded into her head. She let it rest over her brain like a blanket. She let the thought warm her up.

She leaned against the counter and watched Mara work. The shapewear was fully constructed, and she was embroidering stalks of straw in a pattern along the sides. It was really pretty. The sort of thing that would give a girl a boost in confidence and excitement about her own body, her own clothes. Mrs. Gold remembered how fancy she’d felt the first time she wore something as simple as a bra and panties that were the same color. That sort of energy could get people through interviews or contract negotiations, any time you needed to feel powerful. Mara was helping people here, she was good at it, and it seemed to make her happy.

“So, business is good?”

“Yeah, it’s picking up. Valentine’s Day was a madhouse, but you know how that goes.”

Mrs. Gold nodded. Lingerie could be as popular as flowers when it came to last-minute gifts that men always thought would be cheaper than they were.

“Did you spend the day with anyone?”

Mara scrunched her nose. “I’m working too hard for that. Besides, I don’t meet a lot of single men in this business.”

She was able to snicker at the joke, and she was able to mean it. “Yeah, I guess not.”

They were quiet together for a minute, then Mrs. Gold asked a more personal question: “How’s your mom?”

Mara looked up from her embroidery for a second, but then went back to work. “She’s fine. I think she’s bored, now that the preschool is only open for half-days. She keeps asking me to move in with her.”

“I take it you don’t want to?”

A halfhearted shrug. “I don’t have a good reason not to. It would make sense, we could split the bills and keep each other company. But there is also something really nice about living by yourself. Even if it’s just a one bedroom apartment on top of your store.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Mrs. Gold drummed her fingers against the counter. She had gone from living with her father to living with Mr. Gold. The night after their anniversary had been the first time she had slept in any building by herself.

But she understood what Mara meant. When you lived with your parents, it was hard to feel like an adult. To make matters worse, Irma Trudine--Mara’s mother--had been a preschool teacher for as long as anyone could remember. She tended to treat everyone she talked to like they were a four-year-old whining for more juice and crackers.

Mama’s closest friend.

Now the voice was annoying her again. It was true that Irma and Mom had been good friends. That was why she had grown up with Mara as much as she had grown up with her cousin Janine. The three girls were inseparable, just like their mothers had been.

Until…

Mrs. Gold sighed. She was warmer now. She should probably buy something before she moved along.

“Do you have anything comfy around here?”

“What, like no underwire?”

“No, like pajamas, I guess. Or loungewear? I think I need to get a pair of sweatpants.”

Mara grinned. “The last time I saw you wear sweatpants, they had dinosaurs on them.”

“And they were fucking awesome.”

She had gotten those pants for her eighth birthday and worn them until the knees gave out. Even after that, Mom had cut them up for shorts and she’d worn them for another six months. If she could find sweatpants that had dinosaurs on them now, she wouldn’t think the mere act of wearing sweatpants was a sign of the end of her life.

But Sugar’n’Spice only had pajama sets with flowers on them--or hearts, but Mrs. Gold couldn’t bring herself to buy anything that looked like love. It was enough to buy comfort, something that would make it a little easier to be in her own skin.

Mara rang her up and gracefully accepted the extra fifty Mrs. Gold handed her.

“How about I call this a down payment on a custom order for you?”

Taking her bag, Mrs. Gold shrugged. “I don’t think Mr. Gold will want me in lingerie for a long time.”

“I didn’t say it was for Mr. Gold, I said it was for you.” Mara looked her steadily in the eye. “Come back some time and we can talk about what you need. Okay?”

She opened her mouth, and then closed it. “Yeah,” she said at last. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Good.”

****

The day wasn’t over. Mr. Gold was still in his shop. She could go there for a few hours of awkward silence. Or she could go back to the house, for a few hours of lonely silence. Then he would come home and make dinner. They would eat together and make stilted small talk. And then she would go to her bedroom, and he would go to his.

That was their life now.

He said he wanted her to stay. He said he wanted to take care of her. He said he loved somebody else.

It didn’t make sense. It was wrong. They were supposed to be together. Being near him, but not being with him, trying to act like everything was fine, trying to act like he didn’t matter to her as much as she obviously didn’t matter to him…

It was tearing her apart.

So she walked. Like a circling shark, she kept moving so she wouldn’t drown. She was trapped. Storybrooke was a small town, there were only so many places you could go in one day. And she had lots of days ahead of her. Mrs. Gold had the image of the rest of her life, stretching out to the horizon. She would have to keep walking, she would never be able to rest. She would never have a home again.

She was in Old Town now. The flower shop was behind her. Aunt Teri’s yellow and purple house was on this street. How many times had she walked the route between those two places? Her whole childhood, her whole life until she married Mr. Gold and moved into his house. She used to belong in this neighborhood.

Was there a way she could belong here again?

Turning at the plastic sign that said Hair Today! she went to the side door of the yellow house and knocked. Then she stepped away from the door and waited for an answer. She held herself against the cold.

Janine came up from the basement salon. Her mouth opened when she saw Mrs. Gold.

“Oh hi,” she said. “Mrs. Gold, you don’t… usually knock.”

“Yeah, I’m usually a bitch to you and I’m sorry.” She hadn’t meant to start that way, but she couldn’t avoid the truth anymore.

Janine’s eyebrows raised and her sky-blue eyes--a family trait--went wide. “O...kay,” she said slowly. Stepping outside, she shut the door behind her. The cold made her keep her arms crossed over her chest. “What’s going on?”

“I…” She didn’t know what to say. She had started, but what was the next step? “Things suck, right now, for me. And I kind of suck too. And I realized…”

What had she realized? That no one in her family would help her in an emergency? That she had built her whole identity around one relationship and without that she had nothing? That she had spent years intentionally, maliciously, pushing away all the people that had loved her in exchange for a man who only paid her? That all of those things were really fucking shitty? None of that was a realization. Mrs. Gold had always known what her life was. But she was just now starting to care.

“I realized I’m sorry,” she said. “For as long as I’ve been with Mr. Gold, I’ve been so caught up in him and it made me a worse person. And I want to be better.” She looked at Janine. “You deserve a better cousin.”

Janine sighed, her breath visible in the twilight. “So the honeymoon is finally over, huh? Are you tired of him or is he tired of you?”

Mrs. Gold pressed her lips together. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. At the same time, she didn’t begrudge her cousin the snark.

“He’s tired of me,” she admitted softly. “And I’m kind of tired of me too.”

Now Janine looked more sympathetic. “What happened?”

“You didn’t hear? I thought everyone in Storybrooke knew by now.”

“Yeah, no, I’ve heard a lot of rumors. But I’m asking you what happened. What’s the truth?”

“He loves someone else.” The words slipped from her mouth like a burden off her shoulders. “Some Belle person. And like, like he loves her, Janine. More than he ever loved me.”

“Oof,” Janine let out a long breath. “Oh honey, that’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

Until now, Janine had been standing in the doorway, and Mrs. Gold had been in the driveway, with about five feet between them. Janine stepped out first, one arm open in invitation. The two cousins met in the middle. They didn’t hug, exactly, but they huddled together for warmth and comfort.

“Do you need to stay with us?” Janine asked. “We never did anything with Andrew’s room after--”

“No,” she shook her head. Mr. Gold asked her to stay with him, and even that had to be better than sleeping in her dead cousin’s bedroom. “I’m fine, I… He’s taking care of me.”

“What, like alimony?”

“No, we’re not… I’m not leaving him.”

Janine pulled away. “But you said he loved someone else.”

She nodded. “He does, but he doesn’t want the marriage to be over.”

There was a moment of silence while Janine’s face twisted in anger and disbelief. Then she burst out: “Oh screw him! Does he really get to decide that? That man is cheating on you and you don’t even get the satisfaction of walking away? Come on!”

Mrs. Gold couldn’t look her in the face. “It’s not as simple as that,” she said. “I--I married him, I need him, I…” The next words were small and soft: “I don’t want the marriage to be over either.”

Closing her eyes, Janine pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. “I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I mean, the sanctity of marriage is great and all, but Mr. Gold has been nothing but bad to you for so long. And now you have a reason to get out, but you’re not taking it? Why?”

“Because this is different,” she said the words before she knew what they meant. “He’s different than he was when we got married. There’s something… good about him now. Something kind and gentle. Something that wasn’t there before.”

Janine rolled her eyes. “So now you have feelings for the monster?”

“He’s not a monster now. Maybe he was before--I can see that more clearly now. But now the only thing he’s doing wrong is… not wanting me. And it hurts, but it’s not an evil thing.”

He’s my husband and I love him. Can you understand that?

Shifting her weight back and forth, Janine kept her arms over her chest. “And he’s not… hurting you anymore?”

She shook her head. “Not even in a way I like.”

“Gross,” Janine said, matter-of-factly. “I mean, good for you that it used to be something you liked, but it is very gross for me to think about. Too much information is a very real thing.”

Both of them snickered at that. The years of lingering tension eased a little more.

“Can you at least stay for dinner? We’re having Spaghetti-Os a la Chloe.”

“Chloe’s cooking?” How old was she now?

“It was her idea. Under careful supervision, she is going to dump a can of Spaghetti-Os into a pot and warm it up. Mom might even let her into the spice cabinet for some basil.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.” She shuffled her feet. “But I should get going. I still eat with Mr. Gold. It’s… weird.”

“I bet.” Janine put her hands in the pockets of her work smock. “Listen, I… I’m sorry. All this time… I could have been a better cousin too. We--I think the general idea was that… we were waiting for you to meet us halfway.”

“I get that,” she said. “And I never came close to halfway. Not with anybody.”

“Well, you did today. And I’m glad. We missed you.”

Nodding, she tried to keep the tears out of her eyes. All this time, she could have had her family. If she had just eased up on being Mrs. Gold, she could have been the same girl everyone had loved.

“I’m trying to make things better now, you know?”

Janine nodded. “I know.” They were quiet for a minute, then she asked. “Have you talked to your dad lately?”

“Not yet,” she shook her head. “Not him or Uncle Manny. I… I kinda thought I’d start easy.”

Janine half-smiled, half-winced. “Manny will be happy to see you. You’re the only niece he’s got.”

She snorted. “I’m the only daughter my dad has and that didn’t make anything any easier.”

“He loves you, Lacey,” Janine said. It was the first time Mrs. Gold had heard her first name in as long as she could remember. “We all do.”

#golden rings #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #ouat #you like ocs? I've got so many ocs

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fandomrecycling · 4 years ago

Text

Pax and her Potions: Prt 3/3

Part 1 & Part 2 @anxiousworm @vlanderzine yeet this is kinda long and I don’t regret it

Pax clung to the unburnt material of her cloak and tried her best to mute her crying. The pain hadn’t dulled and the smell was festering in the tight space she was buried under. Pushing herself up as much as she could, she listened for the whining-wail of the ghast that nearly blew her up.

Digging herself out with shaking hands, she coughed and spat out a mix of spit and coagulated ashes. Gingerly probing her back as she walked, Pax traced the edges of her burn. It was big, about the size of both her hands, spreading the width of her right shoulder blade. She did her best to hide the injury and make it look like there wasn’t a charred hole in her clothes.

Climbing back up the netherrack mountains and avoiding the piglin patrols ached. The sudden awareness of time also started chewing away at her.

Space in the Nether was a screwy concept Pax had only the barest idea of how it worked. Time was another factor entirely. She berated herself all the while as she backtracked to her tunnel, silently regretting ever choosing to jump into this hell as literally as possible.

Shuffling her hands around her midsection, her fingers bumped into the nether wart. Her train of self-loathing paused for a moment as she rubbed against the smooth texture of the forgien plant. Out of impulse, Pax tore off a bit and popped it into her mouth.

The flavour was surprisingly not terrible. It was some mix of sour-spicy and juicer than she expected from a plant that grew around lava pits and fire monsters. Even the aftertaste was tolerable. Pax wasn’t sure if that meant she was weird, or something else.

Finally coming upon her tunnel, she began her climb down and was filled with relief at the thought of being able to go to bed. Then, after hearing the sound of pickaxes beneath her, another moment of self realization hit her.

She’d thought of a way through the portal, but she hadn’t considered a way out. Thinking harder about it, the guards would be stationed by the portal and she didn’t know their shifts. So if she did go through, there’d be no easy way to escape.

“Fuck,” She hissed. She wanted to scream so badly, the urge clogged her throat.

Pax beat her frustration into the ground, punching and crumbling the sandy red stone under her fist. More bruises would form and some small, logical part of her said getting more injuries wouldn’t help. She ignored it until she worried that a knuckle would split.

Dropping her head between her legs, she sat at the mouth of her makeshift tunnel and tried to consider her options. Staying in the Nether was not viable and going home would mean facing her parents and whatever reaction they’d have to her. Pax laughed to herself, pushing up her sweaty hair and started to climb back down the tunnel.

The other miners in the main tunnel didn’t notice her - she pulled up her hood to keep them from recognizing her too - and most were solely focused on mining the quartz used to build the redstone components the engineers relied so heavily on.

That sparked the inkling of an idea. As Pax made her way back to the portal, she found a small vein and chipped away at some small fragments. Her pockets were stuffed to the brim but she managed to make room.

Shuffling down to the hub, a steady stream of workers and guards made their way through from the overworld portal. Most didn’t look too dissimilar from her, with ashy pants and faces from their time in this dimension. She kept her pickaxe hanging by her side to try and look like one of them as she shuffled through the crowd.

The sunlight was harsher than she expected on her eyes. Bringing up one hand to block her face, Pax realized with a startling fear that the sun was up.

“Hey, you there!” One of the guards called out. “Don’t move!”

Pax didn’t - running would’ve been futile - but still flinched when they turned to look at her face.

“Have you seen - Miss Valora?” He startled. “You - you’re here? Your parents are worried sick, come, I’ll call for an escort to your residence.”

“Sure.”

The march back felt more like a funeral procession to the wannabe alchemist. People pointed at her as she walked, Pax could imagine all the terrible rumors that would spill from this incident. No doubt her parents reputation would drop and any she had left would crumble to dust.

Cynicism drenched her mind as they came upon the street her house was built on. It wasn’t as if she cared what people thought of her and it wasn’t like they cared about her. Pax made a bet with herself on whether or not she’d be yelled at for leaving her room or causing a disturbance first.

“Miss Valora! Where were you! We had the entire city searching for you, this sort of teenage rebellion is idiotic. You’ve made yourself look like a fool!”

Flinching at the sound of her mother crying out, Pax shuffled into the doorway and kept at arm's length from both parents.

“Couldn’t find the materials for the farm. So I just went out and got ‘em.” She lied.

“Well why didn’t you just go into the markets? Why did you have to go into the Nether! You aren’t allowed to be by yourself in such a dangerous place at all!”

Pax rolled her eyes. “I probably shouldn’t be up till sunrise working on machines that aren’t broken, but we don’t always get what we want.”

“That was for you to learn! We both explained everything and you didn’t listen. Do you want us to yell at you?”

“Sure,” Pax forced her voice neutral. Her lip still twitched, “I’m gonna go change.”

She didn’t run up the stairs, but she could tell her parents were still behind her and intending on lecturing her. Pulling the door open and hastily throwing it shut, she frantically searched her room for something to barricade her door. A flash of impulse told her to just jump out the window and make a break for it.

Finally, when she heard her parents' footsteps pause by her bedroom and finally descend down the stairs, Pax collapsed to her knees and tore off her burned clothes.

“Didn’t even realize it,” she laughed with bitter satisfaction, “you didn’t even fucking notice. And they call me the idiot.”

Grabbing a spare water bottle to try and wash down the ashy taste in her mouth, Pax grabbed a small pair of shears and began cutting away the ruined cloak to make bandages. She cleaned off the wound as long as she could tolerate and finished wrapping her back.

Sorting through the resources she gathered, she tossed aside the quartz and dumped all of her new ingredients onto her desk.

The orange-slime thing the piglin gave her looked exciting, so Pax began with that. Under the morning light, she ran through all the steps of preparing the brewing stand before finally adding the nether wart. Watching it filter into the water filled her with the same mix of dread and glee exploring the Nether gave her.

Once it was finally gone, Pax was surprised to see that the water didn’t look that changed. There was a very, very slight, opaqueness to the liquid and the sense that something was different. Pax decided to trust her intuition.

Gathering a clump of the orange slime, the amature alchemist sucked in a breath and poured it into the brewing stand.

“Please work, please, please, please work for me just this once,” She begged, “don’t let this be a waste.”

It felt like hours were ticking by as she watched the water bubble in the glass bottles. Her fingers picked at her arms, nearly breaking skin from anxiety that crawled across her body.

She hardly believed it when the water turned a shimmering, rich amber.

“No way,” Pax’s eyes lit up.

Gingerly, she pulled the glass bottle free. The liquid was glowing, there was no mistaking it. Clapping one hand over her mouth, Pax could feel more tears running down her cheeks. Happy hiccuping noises filled her throat and she had to stop herself from dancing around her bedroom.

She didn’t even hesitate to swallow the entire contents. The spice was unexpected and the flavor burned deliciously down her throat. Pax relished in the sudden pulse of warmth through her body and the tingle of magic running through her veins. There was an effect, now it was just a matter of figuring out what.

That could come later, she jotted down that combination in her notebook and switched in a new bottle.

Pax blended together all the ingredients she could find; golden carrots, leaves, redstone, sugar, gold nuggets, anything and everything she could find stashed away in her room.

The orange potion, she realized, was a form of fire immunity when she ran into a torch and it didn’t leave a burn. The silvery-blue mix left her feeling hyper and charged with energy. When she mixed up her ingredients with extra blaze powder for the brewing stand, the mix left her feeling like she could fist fight a zombie horde and win. The one she accidentally dropped a golden carrot into cleared her vision and allowed her to see perfectly in the dim evening light.

It was only when Pax had ran out of clean bottles and all but the night vision had worn off did she relax against her bed.

“I actually did it,” she said to herself, “I actually did it. This worked, I did this. I did this.”

An immense feeling of pride rose in her. Then, after a pause, anger.

“Call me stupid now,” Pax scoffed.

She broke out into laughter bordering on hysterics. Her vision was sharpened beyond any normal senses, her thin muscles ripped with adrenaline and her entire body was immune to fire. No machine could accomplish this, no set of redstone and repeaters could grant this kind of power.

This was a lost innovation she’d rediscovered all on her own. Pax wondered what her parents would say about it.

Pax considered it. She’d done research, kept notes, and did all the things engineers did. Just with magic instead of redstone. And there could be practical uses for this; keeping miners in the Nether safe, helping people working in the low light mob farms, all manner of things.

The idea of being able to help others, combined with the hope of making her parents proud made for a compelling argument. But just to be safe, Pax hid away her brewing stand ard her notes, taking one of her fire resistance potions down with her as proof.

She’d ignored the call to dinner, but now she climbed down the stairs with her heart pounding against her chest. The table was silent, but the sounds of utensils on plates paused when she came down.

“So, there’s something I’ve been working on.” Pax muttered.

“I couldn’t hear that,” Her mother snipped.

“Speak up,” Her father ordered, “you know you shouldn’t mumble.”

Breathing out, she nodded, “I was working on a project in my free time. I finally had a breakthrough… and… I dunno, I thought you would want to know.”

Her hands were shaking as she pulled out the bottle and set it on the table. Both her parents stared at it, expressions unreadable.

“I-it’s a fire resistance potion. Like the ones from the stories, but it works I swear,” She started to ramble, “I took one and I fell into a torch but it didn’t burn me and I think if you fell in lava like in the cobblestone generators it’d be helpful to those working in them and prevent injuries and - “

Her mother pushed herself out of her chair and glared down at her, “This is what you’ve been doing? Is this why you tried to sneak out last night?”

“Y-yes but I promise it’ll be important. I can make more and I can - “

“This is what you’ve been wasting your time on?”

Glass shattered as Pax watched the bottle shatter across the floor.

“You idiot! You have so many opportunities and you’re wasting all of them! Me and your father have given you every chance to learn and you refuse every time! It’s like you want us to be mad at you, is that it?”

“It’s not!” Pax sobbed, “I don’t want this! I don’t want you to be mad at me! Do you seriously think I want this?”

“Then why don’t you listen to your mother?” Her father added, arms crossed with vague disappointment.

“I do! I swear I was really trying. I wasn’t being lazy!”

“Then why aren’t you better? If you really want to be better, then why aren’t you working to be better?” Her mother yelled back.

“Well maybe I’m just a fucking idiot then!”

Pax sprinted back up to her room. This time, she shoved her entire bed against the door. Eyes blurry, she ran to grab all her belongings and stuffed them into a bag and her pockets. Outside, it began to rain.

The wall she’d broken the night before was still loose.

She threw herself into the branches of the nearby tree, then downed one of her swiftness potions and made a break for the gates.

Guards stationed by the entrance noticed her approach. Pax barreled past then, throwing off their arms as she pushed towards the wilderness. Her vision was still saturated, and along with her tears, it gave everything she saw a blurry, dream like quality.

She couldn’t remember how long she ran for. When her legs finally started to cramp and the cold started seeping through her clothes.

Gasping for air and whipping her dripping nose, Pax looked up to her surroundings. Through the trees, she could see stars in the deep navy sky. Her vision flickered and everything went dark for a perilous moment.

She was cold, terrified and exhausted. The alchemist robotically ordered herself to find shelter and she started wandering deeper into the woods.

There wasn’t much that looked like shelter. But ‘shelter’ to Pax always looked like four walls and a roof. Before her potion effects faded, she spotted an entrance to a small tunnel and the faint light of a torch.

She nearly slipped on the stone as she made her way down. Oddly, Pax noticed that the torch was made from redstone. Shrugging off her wet cloak, she couldn’t find the energy to care about that anomaly.

Resting her shoulder against the perfectly smooth - were they supposed to be smooth? - walls of the cave, Pax rolled one of her potions between her fingers and listened to the patter of rain.

#minecraft #minecraft oc #mcoc trio #man I got invested in this #pax honey you don’t deserve this at all

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spookysanta · 5 years ago

Text

e. a.

Summary: Ethan and Ari—the best of friends. (Or, “how Ethan parents when (Y/N) isn’t around”)

Pairing: Dad!Ethan Dolan xReader

WARNINGS: literally you’ll be smothered with fluff

this is my first full-length dad!efeet fic. damn. ANYWAY i’m writing other shit don’t ask when it’ll be up bc idk!! :)

UNEDITED.

***

Listen. No one’s gonna ever deny this fact, but the Dolan boys love their kids more than anything. Their little girls are the best thing that’d ever happened to them. Ethan thinks his little girl is the best of all the little girls that ever existed, and Grayson would argue that logic with him for hours. But the fact is that they’re both pretty great.

Arielle’s getting to the age where her daddy is her favorite person and object. Person, because duh, it’s her daddy; and object, because she uses him as a vessel for her entertainment: she climbs his body, she jumps on his lap, and, her favorite thing to do, pull on his hair.

He doesn’t like any of these things but they keep the otherwise loud child quiet so he doesn’t complain much.

She likes to spend time with Ethan because she gets aways with doing things her mom wouldn’t let her do. Things like jumping on the bed, or eating on the couch.

But her favorite thing to do was drinking daddy’s soda.

She’s almost four now, so she’s got a bit more of a vocabulary and can communicate what she wants better. And that’s gotten Ethan into trouble a couple times, like today, because when he was drinking a cup of Sprite and let out a nice “ahhh” after a big gulp, she somehow knew that that’s the sound he makes when he drinks soda. And Arielle now loves soda (because of Ethan). So she says, “Daddy, I want soda.”

And of course, it’ll happen when (Y/N)’s around and naturally she’ll look at him. Why would Arielle know about soda if she can’t read and they don’t keep soda in the house?

And then that becomes a whole thing between the parents, but the little girl doesn’t care at all, because all that matters right now is daddy’s soda. “Daddy,” Arielle said again from the backseat as they drove to the (Y/L/N) family reunion one afternoon, completely ignoring (Y/N)’s scolding of her husband. “I want soda.”

“Just wait, Ari,” he replied, also ignoring his wife.

“No!” (Y/N) exclaimed. “Don’t give her soda! It’ll give her cavities.”

“Oh my God, (Y/N). It’s one sip, she’ll be fine.” The streetlight turned red and Ethan stopped the car, putting the gear in “neutral” and grabbing the large cup of Sprite from the cupholder and reaching behind the seat to put the straw to Ari’s lips. “Here, bubby.”

She took a big sip, Ethan having to pull the cup away so he could drive once the light turned green. She shivered. “Ooh, daddy, mommy! It’s cold soda!”

And (Y/N) had to admit, that was cute. She chuckled. “Yeah, bug?”

“Mhm. It’s spicy, too.”

Ethan snorted. “Spicy?”

“Uh-huh.”

***

In the mornings, Ethan’s job is to get Ari dressed and clean and ready for the day, so that when (Y/N) got back from work they could all do things together as a family. So when she wakes up ungodly late (inherited from her daddy), the first thing they do together is—“Potty!”

Ethan jumped awake. This morning, she’d gotten up early, managed to get out of her crib and get into her mommy and daddy’s room. “Ari?” He responded, because surely their toddler couldn’t’ve gotten out of her crib and bedroom by herself. But she had, and she was particulary proud of herself that she did. “What’s wrong?”

“Potty, daddy.” She whispered. Because when someone’s sleeping you have to be quiet. “Gotta go potty.”

He stood up from the bed, picking up the little girl who was wearing her mommy’s high school P.E. t-shirt, and carried her to the bathroom, escorting her to her potty and letting her do her business.

“Finished.” She mumbled after a yawn.

“C’mon, come wash your hands.”

“Kay.” She got up and went to the sink, stepping up on the Dora stepstool and washing her hands with the foaming hand soap. When she finished washing her hands, she left the bathroom and climbed up onto her mommy and daddy’s bed and laid down with her bum in the air, as she’s always done since Ethan could remember.

He cleaned out her potty and set it back on the floor next to the shower. After washing his hands, he came back into the room and got back into bed, pulling the covers over Ari’s body and his own.

“Daddy.” She mumbled, voice muffled by the cotton pillowcase her head was stuffed into. “I’m tired.”

“So go back to sleep.” He replied with a chuckle. “We don’t have to go anywhere until mommy gets back from work.”

“And then what?”

“And then we’ll—can you get your head out of the pillow? You sound like you’re about to suffocate.” She sat up and flopped over onto her back, resting her folded hands on her tummy like Ethan was. “We’re gonna go to Uncle Gray’s house for dinner.”

“Will GiGi be there?”

Oh Lord, Ethan thought. GiGi and Ari together were a dynamic duo; they did everything together. Whenever Gray or his wife would take GiGi to the park, they’d call Ethan and (Y/N) so that Ari could come along. He’d be more ecstatic about letting her go with his brother if it wasn’t at nine a.m. and he didn’t have to fight with her to get up. “Yeah.”

“And Grant?” Grant, the newest addition to the Dolan family, had the most empathy from Ethan. Because he was only a few months old, he was a spectacle for Ari because “babies look weird” according to her.

He agrees with that logic, but since he’s had a kid, he doesn’t say it out loud anymore.

When Ari’s there and Grant’s awake, she liked to poke him cheecks and tummy and squeeze his nose. Ethan doesn’t know why, (Y/N) doesn’t know why, and Grayson and his wife don’t know why. Hell, GiGi doesn’t know why.

But she does, because in her mind, he’s squishy—and you poke squishy things, don’t you?

And there’s the almighty statement that emerges from her mouth after they’d left and were on the way home. “Daddy, I want a baby brother.”

The first time she’d said that (Y/N) choked on her coffee.

And (Y/N) and Ethan had made a pact since before they got married. “One kid.” She told him when they decided to try for a baby. “That’s it. If we get lucky and have twins, great, but I’m only going through this pregnancy thing once.”

And Ari voicing her want for a baby brother (an alien in her eyes) was right around the time Grant was about to be born. And he thought, well, maybe if I take her to the delivery room and she’s reminded of what having a newborn was like, maybe she’ll want another kid.

That didn’t happen.

He tried though.

***

“Daddy,” Ari grumbled when she was awoken from her nap on the couch. “Daddy, I want apple.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” She let him—emphasis on let him; she does not like to be bothered when she’s woken up—pick her up and take her to the kitchen. He set her in her chair, going into the refrigerator and grabbing the container of apple slices that he’d cut yesterday for this specific moment. He made sure the peel of the slices were removed, putting them on a plate and setting them in front of her. “Thank you, daddy.”

“You’re welcome, bubs.”

They sat in the kitchen in a comfortable silence, him just being there so she wouldn’t worry about where he is—because that happens a lot more than you’d think. “Daddy?”

“Hm?” He looked up from an article he was reading on Buzzfeed. “What’s up?”

“I wanna watch tv.”

He’s not supposed to let her watch tv while she eats because she gets distracted easily, according to (Y/N). But she was at work, and what she won’t know won’t kill her. So he took the plate and the kid and sat down on the couch, putting her in his lap and letting her lean into his warmth. He turned on Blue’s Clues, which, as he’d learned from watching, was nothing like the version he grew up on. He didn’t complain though, because she was quiet and content and was actually not distracted for once.

(Y/N) got home from work about forty minutes later, unlocking the door and calling out a “hello?” into the atmosphere of the house. She didn’t get a response, though she saw Ethan’s truck in the driveway. She walked further into the house and entering the living room she could’ve died at the sight.

Ethan was slouched on the couch with Ari laid across his body, a protective arm around her while she hugged him. Her head was tucked into his chin, a thumb in her mouth. (Y/N) took notice of the two of them sleeping soundly, taking a blanket off the back of the recliner and draping it over them. She decided to join them a bit later after she’d had a chance to decompress from a stressful day.

As she walked toward the steps, she’d heard him groan—a telltale sign that he was waking up. She couldn’t even count the amount of times she’d been woken up by the loud grunts of Ethan Dolan. “Baby?” He mumbled, eyes halfway opened.

“Hey, hun.” She crept her way back to where they were, pecking his lips and peppering kisses on Ari’s cheek. “Just got in.”

“Okay. ‘M gonna wake her in a few, she must’ve dozed off.”

“And I wonder who she got that from, Mr. Lazy Bones.”

“Ha-ha.”

***

“Daddy, I don’t wanna go to bed.”

“For the last time: no Disney tomorrow if you don’t go to bed. I mean it.”

He didn’t mean that.

He’d take her to the moon if she really wanted him to; but someone has to have the authority, because (Y/N) says he’s just as much of a kid as their daughter is. “No Disney tomorrow if you don’t lay down and go to sleep.”

“Can I sleep in your bed?”

He sighed. This always happens when she’s trying to prolong sleep: she’ll whine and complain about how she doesn’t want to go to bed, then she’ll get in Ethan and (Y/N)’s bed and be asleep in ten minutes. “Ari, when are you gonna sleep in your own bed?”

“I do!”

“No, no. When are you going to sleep in your bed without sleeping in mommy and daddy’s?”

“Oh... I dunno. But you keep the bad dreams away.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He kept holding her in his arms, feeling her body begin to settle. “They don’t like you.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think they’ll want your big, scary dad to get them, huh? Same with the boogey man.”

She nodded quietly, letting out a soft yawn. “Sleep in your bed? Just for a little bit?”

“Alright, fine.” He carried her into his bedroom, setting her in the middle of the bed, next to (Y/N), who would wonder why Ari was there but already knowing the answer, she didn’t say anything. He took up the rest of the space, letting the sleepy toddler climb over him like she usually does. One would think she’d grow tired of sleeping on her daddy’s (hairy) chest so often, but he assumes that she sleeps the soundest when she’s with him. “Comfy?”

“Mhm.” She hummed with her thumb in her mouth. She pulled it out to say a, “Comfy, cozy.”

“Good.” He pulled the covers up over the three of them, (Y/N) turning off the lamp on the nightstand and keeping the tv on. “Goodnight, my sweet girls.”

“Goodnight daddy!” mumbled the child.

“Goodnight, daddy.” (Y/N) cooed in his ear seductively, kissing the lobe before laying down to sleep.

He cut her a glare, as if to remind her that there was a child laying across his body and to not awaken anything within him. He allowed himself to get comfortable, watching bits and pieces of Family Guy to keep him entertained as he tried to doze off. But about ten minutes later, instead of hearing snores, he heard in a quiet voice:

“Daddy, I’m thirsty.”

“You want some water?”

“No, daddy. I want some soda.”

He glanced over at his wife who was sleeping soundly, then looked down at the little girl that made his heart flutter. “You know you’re bot supposed to have any soda, especially not this late.”

“But daddy, I just want a little bit.”

He had to give in.. his little girl was dying of thirst, he had no choice! “Fine. Let’s get some soda.”

He took her down to the kitchen, setting her on the counter by the fridge. Then he opened the fridge, taking out the half-empty bottle of Sprite he’d just-so-happened to have stored, getting a straw out the drawer, and holding the straw to her lips.

She swallowed happily, a satisfied ahhhh leaving her lips. She giggled. “Mm. I like soda.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded gleefully. “Yeah.”

“Is it spicy, bubby?”

“Yeah. It’s spicy.”

He had to laugh. He put the soda away, taking Ari back downstairs and laying her back down. “Okay. Now, bed.”

“Okay daddy.” She kissed his cheek, cold lips buttoned against his beard. “Love you.”

“I love you too, princess.”

#dolan twins #dolan fandom #dolan tuesday #dolan imagines #planet dolan #ethan dolan #grayson and ethan #ethan dolan x black girl #ethan dolan x poc #ethan dolan fic #ethan dolan x reader #ethan dolan imagine #dad! fic #dad!ethan dolan #dad!fic #arielle dolan #arielle lisa dolan

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dyscrasia-eucrasia · 5 years ago

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<<Prev | Next>>

Content Warning: This chapter depicts a brief scene of attempted assault

Part 9

"What's up Claykids, welcome back to my second channel, new vlogs every single day," Clayton Howard shouted at the Go Pro he held at arm's length from his face. Angel knew he was loud based on his videos, but hadn't been prepared for just how loud he really was. It took a lot of restraint not to cringe away.

"We're here with AngelVinh96, go follow him on Insta," Clayton continued, wrapping an arm around Angel's shoulders and pulling him into frame. Angel flashed a bright smile at the camera. "Angel's here to show us how they party in West Virginia!"

"Hiiii," Angel cooed, holding up a peace sign for the camera.

"Okay, and cut," Clayton said, and he lowered the camera, his huge smile instantly disappearing. He released his hold on Angel's shoulders. "That's good for the intro, we'll start filming again when we actually get to the club."

The conversation had been like that since they'd met up. Clayton had been all business, talking about shots and directing not only his friends, but Angel as well. Angel couldn't help but feel disappointed. This was sort of what he'd expected talking to Demie to go like when he'd approached him after the concert - awkward and parasocial. But Demie had been easy to talk to. Clayton, on the other hand, was the worst kind of influencer, the kind that was purely a performance.

And he'd looked so relatable on Youtube, too.

"Alright, so where are we headed?" Clayton asked, turning to Angel. His face was so devoid of joy that it was eerie.

"Alright, so, Broadway is the big gay nightclub," Angel said. "There's Atmosphere, but they don't have a dance floor."

"Aw man, we're going to a gay club?" One of Clayton's crew moaned. Angel thought that that one was Jason Ransom, but he could've been Miller High. It was hard to tell, they were both blonde Californian white guys.

"Man, shut the fuck up," Clayton said. "You can deal with gay guys hitting on you for one night."

That was the saving grace of all this, at least. Clayton was openly bi, and even if he was just as image-obsessed as the rest of Youtube, Angel might still be able to get a hookup out of this. Plus the exposure on Youtube would really help his Instagram follower count.

"So how long have you been a dancer?" Clayton asked as they walked down the sidewalk towards the club. Angel fought back a sigh of relief. Clayton was asking him about himself, so the guy couldn't be that self-absorbed, right?

"Like four years?"

"Wow, so you're like a veteran, huh? How'd you get into it?"

"It was in college - I really, really needed money, and I mean, I did theater in high school so I already knew how to dance, just not on a pole, y'know? And then it wound up being more fun than school, so I just sort of stuck with it."

"That's dope. So, this the place?" He nodded to a two story plantation-style house, complete with columns, with rainbow flags flying from the second story balcony.

"Yep, this is Broadway."

"Cool, cool, let me get some shots."

Clayton pulled out his Go Pro again, and turned it on. As soon as he did, his face light up with a smile and he started shouting. It was eerie, like he'd flipped a switch and become a totally different person.

"Yoooo, check it out guys, this place is DOPE!"

"Look at this Colonel Sanders looking place, fam!" One of his crew shouted behind him.

"Let's go inside!" Clayton said as he ascended the porch steps. Angel followed after him, flashing his ID to the bouncer.

It was a Thursday night, so the place wasn't jam-packed, and there weren't any drag shows scheduled, but the bar still thumped with dance music and there was a decently sized crowd.

"Yo, this place is so fuckin' country, I love it," Clayton shouted over the noise as Angel led him to the bar.

"Okay, so, my tradition here is to always start out with a shot of Fireball," Angel shouted, smiling as Clayton shoved the camera in his face.

"Alright, yeah, show us how country kids party," Clayton shouted back.

Angel ordered, and within a minute the bartender produced enough shots for the entire filming crew, who had gathered around the bar. Clayton took a minute to hand off his camera to one of the guys and coordinate camera angles, then picked up a shot glass.

"Alright, on three," he shouted. "One, two, THREE!" He knocked back the shot with ease, and Angel followed suit.

Clayton's entire body shuddered, and he yelped. "Oh shit man, that's fire!" He shouted. He looked over at Angel, who hadn't had a reaction to the shot at all. "Dude, look at this fucker, look how fucking calm he is!" Clayton grabbed the camera back and shoved it in Angel's face again. "That shit was spicy as fuck, how are you not even affected?"

"That wasn't spicy!" Angel laughed. "That was like, white-people-spicy! It's not actually spicy!"

"Check this guy out," Clayton shouted, "balls of fucking steel over here!"

"C'mon, let's dance!" Angel shouted, grabbing Clayton by the strap of his tank top and pulling him towards the dance floor.

"You heard the man," Clayton shouted into the camera, before tossing it back to one of his crew.

Angel quickly learned that Clayton had no rhythm to speak of. He moved jankily; gyrating, but not in time to the music. He couldn't really keep up with Angel. Still, it was fun. Or at least that was what Angel told himself. He would've preferred someone who could actually dance, but it wasn't like Clayton was known for dancing or anything. It wasn't like he could really be disappointed.

They stayed on the dance floor for a few songs, always shadowed by one of Clayton's crew, before Angel dragged Clayton back to the bar. "Okay, we gotta get more drinks!" He shouted.

After downing another drink, they headed back to the dance floor. Clayton loosened up some, but he was still way off rhythm.

"I gotta go take a leak," he shouted after a couple more songs.

"Sure, bathroom's over there," Angel shouted, pointing.

Before he could tell what was going on, Clayton grabbed the sides of his face and brought him in for a sloppy kiss. His crew hooted in drunken frat boy-style approval.

Angel had no time to react before Clayton stumbled off the dance floor. He just stood there, stunned. Sure, he had had a crush on Clayton for ages, but this wasn't how he wanted the hookup to go down. He didn't necessarily need anything romantic, but he wanted it to at least feel like… something. Like it meant something, even if the meaning was just that they were both horny. Instead, all it felt like was that Clayton was doing it for the camera.

He walked off the dance floor, going to lean against a wall. Clayton's cameraman followed him, and Angel hated it. He wanted a chance to think, but he had to smile for the camera.

Clayton emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, and spotted Angel. He grabbed Angel's hand and practically dragged him over to a bench.

"Hey, you should dance for us," Clayton said, almost collapsing onto the bench.

"I've been dancing!" Angel laughed.

"No, like, you should give me a lapdance or something!" Clayton shouted.

"Um… I don't really do that outside of work," Angel said, laughing again, though this time it was tinged with anxiety.

"C'mon, it'll be good content!" Clayton said.

"Strip! Strip! Strip!" His cameraman started chanting.

"C'mere," Clayton yanked on Angel's hand. Angel lost his balance and stumbled, almost falling on Clayton's lap.

"Take it off!" The cameraman shouted as Clayton grabbed at Angel's shirt.

"Stop," Angel said, shoving Clayton's hand away.

"C'mon, one little lapdance," Clayton slurred, sticking a hand on Angel's crotch.

"Fuck OFF!" Angel shouted, pushing Clayton hard and standing up.

"Uh oh, made him mad," the cameraman jeered, coming in close with the Go Pro.

"Get that out of my fucking face!" Angel shouted, swatting it out of the cameraman's hand. It hit the floor with an audible crack.

"Hey, you're gonna break my camera," Clayton whined.

"Good!" Angel shouted, kicking the camera across the floor. He didn't wait for Clayton to react. He wanted out of the bar, now. He stumbled towards the door, and out into the muggy night air. He stomped down the sidewalk, in the opposite direction from where they'd all parked to get to the bar.

He accidentally hip-checked a public trash can, which wobbled, and then spilled. He let out a guttural shriek of frustration, walking away from it before anyone on the street could say anything. He rounded a corner and spotted a bus stop bench, collapsing onto it.

He bent over, his head between his knees. He felt like he was going to puke, but it never came. There was nothing in his stomach to puke up. He'd starved himself all day, hoping that he'd get to hook up.

Well, that definitely wasn't going to happen.

He fought back tears. He didn't want to cry on a public street. He fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He knew he should get an uber, but he couldn't stop himself from opening up Instagram. There, right at the top of his feed, was a picture of himself at Broadway. Clayton had posted it, and tagged him in the post. His notifications were going crazy as people began to follow his account.

He closed the app, pressing the top edge of his phone against his forehead. He wanted to throw the thing across the street, but knew better.

He felt betrayed. Not like he'd ever had any trust in Clayton - they didn't even know each other - but he'd at least figured Clayton for a good person. He guessed that was why people always said you should never meet your heroes.

He needed to talk to someone. He needed to vent. He needed someone to tell him that it would be alright, that he was more than what he made himself out to be online.

There was only one person he could think of that would do that. Or at least had the potential to do that.

He opened up the phone app and dialed a number. As always, the phone rang for a long time before it was finally picked up.

"Demie?" He asked in a shaking voice.

#writing #writers on tumblr #original fiction #gay fiction #lgbt fiction #original characters #wright's writing #w:demie and angel

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cutesuki--bakugou · 6 years ago

Text

Oh hey look I finally wrote something lol

Also sorry, ended up going spicy, can’t help myself.

Either way, I hope you enjoy!

BTW, please blacklist the tag cutesuki-lemons if you do not want to see this content from my blog. I will no longer be tagging with specific keywords for this type of content. Thank you~

Due to the nature of this post, the characters are 18+

Under the cut~

“A hundred sit ups? Are you kidding me?”

Bakugou glared at the woman before him, using a towel to dry his face and neck of sweat. “No? I wouldn’t fucking say it if I was joking. You asked me to train you, so anything I say isn’t a damn joke.” He pointed down to the cold wooden floor of the gym, giving a snap of his fingers as he did so. “You do it, then I will. Lay down and I’ll hold your feet.”

With a sigh, the annoyed woman fixed her hair a bit, obviously tired and worn out from the already intense training session. “Okay, okay. You’re right.” Flopping down to sit on her butt, she watched Bakugou as he knelt down to his knees, waiting until she was ready before he took hold of her feet. Though, it was more than just waiting for her that he hesitated. If he were honest with himself, putting them in this situation was probably incredibly stupid of him, and he shouldn’t be doing it. He should stand on her toes instead, but no. He had decided to sit in front of her as she laid there, beautiful, hot and sweaty.

Bakugou didn’t even think this whole training thing was a good idea, either. Being her colleague in a hero firm was one thing, but her personal trainer? That was on a whole new level of intimacy, something that he just wasn’t made for. But he had agreed. Why? Because he liked this woman. He liked this woman more than anyone that came before her. She was fit, gorgeous, strong, devoted and honestly a bit stubborn, but that wasn’t anything he could really complain about without being a hypocrite.

There had been rumors sent his way the past few months that she had been into him, too. It wasn’t just the office whispers that gave him this idea, however. He had caught her, staring at him or purposefully volunteering to work with him on any given occasion. Most people avoided this, just because Bakugou was notoriously difficult to work with, but she took to him like a fish to water. With hardly any effort at all, it was like they were completely in sync, and that just totally blew his mind. But, it also scared him. The thought of actually falling for a woman as hard as he had at this point had always worried him, as he wasn’t exactly a romantic or well spoken man. How the hell was he even supposed to come onto her? This wasn’t like women in bars or wherever he met someone just for a quick fuck.

This was a crush. A serious ‘I want this woman to be my girlfriend’ crush. But how was he supposed to ask her? Just blurt it out? Kiss her? Write her a love letter? Damn it, he was frustrated. Holding onto her feet and listening to her voice, breathlessly counting as she pulled her body up to her knees was killing him. Arms behind her head, he had the perfect view of her torso, watching her muscles roll with her movement. Her skin glistened with sweat, and he just happened to catch a taunting bead roll down the curve of her breast, vanishing into her cleavage. He wanted to rip that sports bra right off, to cup her breasts with his hands and feel her skin--

Ah, stop! You fucking moron, staring at her tits will get you noticed!

Still, he couldn’t help himself. His eyes trailed across her body with each movement that she made, her breath growing increasingly heavy and soft grunts escaping her lips the more she strained to do the sit ups. And then, he could feel it. His member, straining against his workout shorts, growing hard from his wandering mind and admiration of her body. Shit! Think of something fucked up, c’mon!

Bakugou couldn’t. All he could think of was her, his hands on her skin and kissing her until she was breathless--

“One hundred! There, I did it!” Bakugou’s thoughts were interrupted by his colleagues outburst, watching as she slumped against the floor with her arms spread out, breathing heavily. “Ow! Man, that hurts. How do you do it?”

“It’s not hard. Now you’re doing push ups--”

“Uh, no.” She sat up, glowering at him. “You said you were gonna do sit ups after me.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You can’t just change your mind. C’mon Bakugou, don’t be lame. I want to see you do them.” She leaned forward a bit, sly smile on her face as she hugged her knees. “You can’t just go back on your training after all this stuff you’ve put me through today.”

Grumbling a bit, Bakugou sat in silence for a moment before he gave up, hoping and praying to whatever Gods existed that his shorts were baggy enough that his raging boner wouldn’t be noticeable. Keeping his legs bent in hopes it would hide it, he flopped back to lay on his back, giving a sigh. “Alright, alright. Fine.” He glared at her as she gripped onto his shoes, wide smile on her lips. “Get to it, Mr. One-Hundred-Sit-Ups-Is-Easy.”

“Shove it.” Bakugou put his arms behind his head, hating himself. How could he do this with his dick hard as a rock? Just laying with his legs like this was painful enough, the thought of squishing his body wasn’t pleasant in the slightest. Though, right as he was about to do his first sit up, she pulled his legs put towards her, displaying his secret before he could even pull his legs back. “I knew it! You got a boner watching me!”

Bakugou felt heat rush to his face, quickly propping himself back up on his arms before he fell. He was too in shock and embarrassed at first to try and moved, wondering for a moment if it was even worth it to try and get his legs back. She had noticed, and yet, the look on her face wasn’t… mad. In fact, she was smirking, a taunting gleam in her eye that only made the fire in his chest that much hotter.

“You like me, Bakugou?” She teased, letting his legs go. They flopped down with a thud onto the wooden floor, though he still didn’t move them, allowing her to sit between them. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he glared at her, moving to prop himself up on his elbows instead so he could clench his hands into fists. “What’s it to ya?! Maybe I do! Geez, wipe that smirk off your- Hey!” More heat rushed to his cheeks as her finger came to rest on his tip, playfully running it up and down his length.

“It’s okay. I’ve liked you for months. Why don’t we take a little break from working out? You seem… distracted.”

“If you think fucking would end up as a break from working out, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Then show me. You’re supposed to be training me, after all.”

#cutesuki-lemons #bnha scenarios #bnha writing blog #bnha imagines #bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #cutesuki scenarios #request

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vampirefreakism · 5 years ago

Text

The Scientist (Chapter 34)

Summary: In the events following Asgard’s destruction, Loki finds himself on Earth seeking refuge to await the inevitable. Much to his surprise, it comes from a source he would never have expected.

Warnings: a touch of angst

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: First off: Happy Pride Month, children! Second, we made it to another chapter! Yay! Another set-up for future events, but hey, as long as y' all like it as much as I liked writing it, I think it's all fantastic any which way. Also, I am posting on AO3 and Wattpad and still making the playlist. The links for all these things are in the masterlist.

Masterlist

———-

Luna sat hunched over her microscope. This was a common occurrence for her in recent days. She would investigate her subjects, going from the C. elegans worms to the zebrafish embryo and back again. To her luck, the embryo was growing as expected, and at the rate it should be. Its hatching time was any minute now, and it held her at the edge of her seat.

Pulling away from the eyepiece, Luna shook out her hands and squinted at the clock. She huffed, still unable to see, and put on her glasses. Not yet lunchtime, but it mattered not. The homemade French toast with herbs and coffee she had for breakfast sated her well enough. She smiled, remembering how Loki enjoyed his and made a point to tell her twice – once when he was done and one more time as she was leaving. If they weren’t already friends, it would be a call for suspicion on her end.

Taking her glasses back off, Luna yawned and leaned back over the microscope. The embryo twitched and wiggled inside the egg, teasing its urge to come out into the world. As it stilled its body again, Luna watched its little heart beat inside its body, and she smiled. She could watch it a million times over with a million different embryos, and they would all bring her the same amount of joy. The joy of creating life and welcoming it into existence.

"Come on, baby. You can do it," Luna muttered. It moved again, and she snickered, making fun it could hear her. “FRIDAY, are you getting this?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent,” Luna whispered. Excitement coursed through her veins like a fast-burning fire, but she kept her breathing even. No need to disturb the serenity of the tiny baby fish. She drummed her fingers on the table. Any second now.

With a final hard thrash, the embryo broke through the chorion and out of the confining space.

“Yes! Oh, yes!” Luna exclaimed. “Hi there, little one. Are you gonna make some ice for me, maybe?” As though it was listening, miniscule frost particles formed around where it swam. Her mouth split into a proud grin. “Very good. Good job.”

She gazed at her new baby and recorded its every move. Appearance- and size-wise, it was normal. It moved comfortably in its space, and the yolk sac it retained was an appropriate size. Luna was content, feeling like she won the world.

“FRIDAY, are you able to get a read on the water temperature?”

“Right now, it is at room temperature.”

"Alright." Luna pulled away from the microscope and slipped her glasses on, turning to look at the clock. It wasn't lunchtime yet, but she could take a few extra minutes. "Keep an eye on the little guy, will you? I'm gonna take my lunch break. Alert me if there are any changes.”

“Will do.”

She made one last note in her lab notebook before closing it and locking it in a drawer. The dish of fish eggs was placed in an inconspicuous corner, and the microscope turned off. Pulling off her gloves and lab coat, Luna hung it and grabbed her lunch, bag, and tumbler from the cupboard.

The upper kitchen was barren. Luna had it all to herself, assuming Tony was out to lunch or for the day. She looked this way and that. No sign of anyone approaching, so she took out her earbuds and put them in. Pressing 'play' on her music, the bass thrum of a Fleetwood Mac song met her awaiting ears. She whispered a victorious “yes” and closed the distance to the microwave.

"Now here you go again, you say you want your freedom."

Luna snapped her fingers to the beat and used the other hand to punch in the time to heat her food. Today, the Tupperware held leftover acorn squash curry and rice. Watching the container turn slowly through the opaque window, Luna smiled as she remembered making it. Wishing Loki to help her cut the squash in two and bake it. Him hovering close by and watching her cook, like a curious hummingbird.

The timer was close to finishing, so Luna took the remaining seconds to fill her tumbler with Tony’s expensive coffee. Her maker at home worked as perfect as it did the day she got it, but sometimes stolen things tasted better.

The spicy aroma permeated the air. It had the power to turn heads if there were any in the room, save the individual who made it. A fresh paper towel in hand, Luna took her hot dish and coffee to her place on the sofa. She situated herself – careful not to spill anything – and started her hour of rest.

She took her time as her food came out hotter than desired. A few stirs and puffs of air did the trick. Halfway done with her lunch, some movement caught her eye. Someone had entered the room. Luna looked up and took out an earbud.

“Vision! Hi!” she greeted her new guest.

“Hello, Dr. Fields,” the android said back. Luna put her container and utensil down and stood to embrace him. “I say, you look well.” Vision pulled back and held her at arm’s length.

“Thank you. You look good too. Well, you always look good, but you know,” she chuckled a little. Luna sits back down and gestures to the open space beside her. Vision accepts the invitation and joins her. “When did you get back?”

“Not long ago. I figured I would stop by and say hello if you’re not too busy.”

Luna grins. “No, not at all. I’m always happy to talk to you.”

“That’s good. Wanda says hello too.”

Luna crossed one leg over the other and turned her body towards him. “Oh, how is she?”

“She’s doing well. Training with Ms. Romanoff and helping with the secret missions that I know nothing about.”

“Good, good.” Luna nodded, smiling a full-tooth smile. Vision silently regarded her, and she took notice. “What?”

“Nothing. You seem different. A good different.”

Luna wanted to probe on what he meant but didn't bother. "Yeah, I’m feeling good.”

“Excellent.” Vision jumped, remembering something previously forgotten. “Oh, I have something for you. A very late Christmas gift from us, if you will.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cubed box.

“Really? Thank you.” With great care, Luna took the box and opened it. Inside was a ring; all silver, with a little tree sitting in a circle. It was simple and elegant, like the last one he gifted. “Oh, Vis, I love it. Thank you so much.” She reached around him and pulled him close into another hug. He placed a hand on her arm, reciprocating as best he could.

“You are quite welcome." He gave her arm a pat, and they pulled away from each other.

“Do thank everyone else for me when you get the chance.”

“I will.”

“And I’m sorry I don’t have any friendship bracelets for you guys. No offense, but I didn’t plan on anyone showing up.” Luna cringed a little. Vision held up a dismissive hand.

“There’s no need. Knowing you think of us is gift enough.”

“Gosh, you have such a way with words,” Luna gushed.

“Well, I do possess the collective consciousness of five separate entities.” They shared a little laugh.

“Speaking of which, how’s the Stone been treating you?”

Vision brought a hand up to his forehead, touching the gem lightly. “It whispers occasionally. I still haven’t a clue what it’s telling me.”

“You seeing Tony about it or did you already see him?”

“I will, at a point. It’s nothing too alarming right now.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Vision paused and looked down to Luna’s barely-steaming lunch. “As I seem to have caught you in the middle of your meal, I believe I should take my leave now and let you get back to it before it gets cold.” As he rose to his feet, Luna followed suit.

“Ok. See you later?”

“If you like. Farewell.” Luna opened her arms; an open invitation to hug him goodbye. He took it and embraced her one more time.

“Bye.” They let go of each other and Luna waved Vision off. He reciprocated the gesture and, instead of using the door, phased down through the floor. Once he was out of sight, Luna inhaled and put her hands over her face, minding her glasses. “I will never get used to that,” she sighed, voice muffled.

Dragging her hands down, Luna took her spot back and resumed her lunch, not bothering to turn her music back on. No need to let someone else sneak up on her. She was lucky it was Vision and not someone she’d rather not interact with during break time.

She concluded her lunch faster than desired, leaving plenty of time for anything else unrelated to work. As she rinsed her Tupperware and spoon, she pondered on what to fill the time with. Walks outside were off. The air was too chilly, and she lacked the proper clothes to trek through the snow blanketing the ground. An exercise session was out of the question unless she wished to lose the lunch she finished. Drying her things off in a daze, Luna decided to check on her – or rather, Loki's – rose.

She tucked her lunch bag in her personal cupboard and moseyed across the compound to the greenhouse. Taking her time, she looked nonchalantly through every window, doing her best not to disturb anyone inside meeting rooms. Unbelievable how employees could have regular meetings during lunch hour. They seemed to be no fun at all.

The greenhouse stood delightfully heated, as always. Plants turned out their leaves, and annuals continued their cycles of growth. Luna passed a hand through a few of them, feeling their smooth textures. So much life in one place. She reveled in it.

She reached her little clay pot and bent to behold it at eye-level. A spot of soil lay disturbed by the green shoot emerging from beneath it. Luna beamed and grabbed a nearby water can.

“Hey, good-lookin’,” she murmured to it. “How are you? Feeling ok?” She tipped the spout over the pot edge and allowed a bit of water to fall and seep into the dirt, turning it a color close to black. How warm and comforting it looked. The sight eased Luna’s spirit. “Yeah. You’re ok.”

Lowering herself to a squat, she wondered about how Loki would take the gift when the time came to give it to him. It was a personal thing he told her about once. Would she be overstepping? Perhaps, but perhaps not. Their relationship was going well enough, but she couldn’t tell where it would go or if he would stay long enough for the flower to bloom. She touched the stem, delicately tracing a line from the base to the top. All she could do now is hope things turn out alright.

Standing up, Luna stretched her arms out and yawned. She tucked the watering can back where it belonged and left. Her brain was abuzz with new matters and thoughts. Ones concerning her work, the future, and her best friend. Friend, or best friend? Hard to say. It tickled her brain like the beginnings of a headache. She rubbed her forehead and sighed. Loki wasn't the type to feel or think of feeling the same. She was thinking too much about nothing.

But Loki wasn’t nothing. He was something. A big something. If word got out he was alive and well and on Earth, he could have the world at his feet writing hate-gossip about him or idolizing him for trying to take over and rule them. Both were horrid avenues, and Luna did her best to avoid exposure. So far, it was working. The incident in the bar could be chalked up to someone having one-too-many to ease their aching heart and made a false drunken accusation. She imagined it happening more than once.

Each time they were out together, it was a risk, but it was a risk they enjoyed. It ebbed Luna's fear away, and Loki found entertainment in the mundanities of human life. They would never voice it, but the holding of hands was the most anticipated part of any excursion. The closeness and sensation of the other’s touch provided an air of safety.

Trekking down the last hallway to her lab, Luna held her own hand, pretending it was someone else’s. It was foolish. The gesture was nothing more than a clever tool used to mislead the public, as a close-up magician would utilize misdirection in a performance. They put on a show each time they went out, and their unassuming audience adored them.

Luna took a fast peek in her lab and went to freshen herself up in the restroom. She took her time. She could afford it. Looking in the mirror, she studied her reflection. The difference Vision saw was lost to her. Her eyes were the same. Her hair, a bit longer and due for a cut. Her skin, dull from the lack of sun. The only significant difference in her life was Loki, but no one could tell by looking. Could they? Luna frowned and swatted away the intrusive thoughts. Never mind them for now.

Back at the bench, Luna took a record of the zebrafish larvae. To her eye, it had no apparent impairments, though one thing on its body caught her attention.

“Hey, FRIDAY, what happened here?” she called out, keeping her gaze trained on the little yolk sac on the larvae’s abdomen.

“I was going to alert you to it, but you were already on your way back.”

“Ok.” Luna leaned back from the microscope and sighed. “Do you know by how much the yolk sac shrank? Like, how much more is gone than usual?”

“About 60% more than it should have by now.”

“Hmm.” She peered into the eyepiece. “Guess he’s really hungry,” she muttered under her breath. “Do we have protozoa for him to eat when he’s able?”

“I can make an order.”

“Yes, please do that.” Luna grabbed her notebook and jotted down her findings. “How are the vital signs?”

“They’re strong and holding steady.”

“Good, good.” She clicked her pen. “When do you think it’s possible to embed it and make an incision?”

“The usual wait time is six days post-fertilization, at the least.”

“And this is only day three.” Luna drummed the side of her pen against the table edge. “We can’t change too many variables. Make a note of it to do the next step of the experiment in four days, just to be safe.” She added the note to her page. “Do we have enough Petri dishes with agarose in stock?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Make a log of this in my private server and keep taking a record of any and all changes. We don’t want to lose anything.”

“Of course.”

Changing pen colors, Luna wrote down her plans and goals for the experiment. A habit from her undergrad days, fostered and encouraged by her many professors. They instilled in her the drive and desire to record everything, so she kept it up, for no information was useless and no step a waste of time.

Finishing her writing, a wave of fatigue washed over her, threatening to make her put her head on the table and doze off. She shook her head and took her gloves off. No sleeping in the lab. Rubbing her eyes, Luna slowly slid from her chair and to her feet. A little eye-break would do a body good.

She hung her lab coat and ambled to the lounge, phone in hand to read up on a science journal or two, and get some ideas on what else she could do. Getting comfortable in the armchair, Luna found a couple on zebrafish larvae and CRISPR-Cas9 gene therapy, but it didn’t take long for her attention to drift to her social media and lifestyle blogs. She would get mad at herself, but she hadn’t the energy or the will.

Every other post, companies and brands advertised their Valentine’s Day sales and special offers. Luna groaned – feeling a touch of second-hand embarrassment – and switched back to her CRISPR article. She could count the weeks left to the holiday on half of a hand, but the ads had been growing for over a month. In her mind, it was silly and superficial. Money-makers cared not for love, especially the love Luna held in her heart. To them, it was unnatural and worth as much money as she could give them.

She ground her teeth and put her phone down. No need getting upset over nothing, but it couldn't be helped. The exhaustion she felt shortened her temper, and the subject matter made it more so. It was invalidating, and she was sick of it. Everyone else seemed to always get what they wanted. But what did she want?

Coming down to it, she wanted basic things: respect, her time valued, her presence appreciated, and to be thought of as irreplaceable. Unfortunately for her, they were hard to come by. Closing her eyes, she put her head in her hands and sighed. Her heart desired a genuine friend.

In response, her head recalled one crucial detail: she had a friend. A good friend, sitting in her home, one phone call away. Luna rubbed the heels of her hands into her temples.

“Don’t. Don’t. It’s so stupid,” she mumbled, trying to convince herself to leave it alone. She glanced to her phone on the table. One call away. She moaned angrily and growled. “No. No. Ugh.” She stamped her foot on the ground. Two sides of her will waged war against each other till one of them won. Grimacing, she snatched her phone up and pulled up the recent call list. She pressed the top one and held the device to her ear. “Sure, the worst thing he'll say is 'no,' but then I'll be embarrassed forever."

The dial tone clicked off and was replaced by Loki’s smooth, low voice. “Hello?”

“Hi!” Luna forced a bit of cheerfulness, going so far as to don a smile. “Uh, how has your day gone so far?”

“Well. How has yours gone?”

Luna rubbed her forehead. “Lots of work, but my egg hatched.”

“Oh, that’s good,” he praised. “How is it?”

“It looks really good so far. And before you ask, yes, it did produce little particles of ice.”

She heard him chuckle, making her smile a little wider. “I expected no less.”

“So what are you doing right now?”

“I got onto your Netflix for a bit, and I started watching this fantastic show called 'Stranger Things.' "

Luna gasped and exclaimed, “Oh, I love that show! Who’s your favorite character so far?”

“Eleven, for sure. She’s so strong yet so tragic. You could write an entire story only about her.” Loki sounded as enthusiastic about it as she felt.

“Yeah, I really like her too. She’s great.”

He hummed quietly. “So, uh, for what reason are you calling?”

“Oh, yeah.” Luna cringed, getting ready to tell him her reason. “There are actually a couple things I wanted to tell you before I forgot.”

“Ok.”

She decided to stall a little. “First off, I’m going to be a little late. I’m still in with this experiment, so I’m not sure when I can leave. I’m just taking a break right now.”

“Good. Breaks are good.”

She paused, feigning a faulty memory. “Oh, and the other thing I want to half-tell, half-ask you.”

She heard a spot of shuffling on his end like he was nervous too. "Alright.”

Luna inhaled and built up enough confidence to last her the next 10 seconds. “I have an idea about what we should do for Valentine’s Day.”

“Do enlighten me.”

“There’s, uh, there’s this really nice restaurant on 5th Street. Tony's gone there with Pepper a few times, and they say it's good, so would you be amenable to going?”

“Going with you?” He toyed with her. How cruel.

“Well, yeah, unless you’d rather go with Tony, then –”

“No! No." The thought created a visceral reaction, and he stopped her as quickly as he could. “I’d be delighted to accompany you.”

Luna dropped her tense shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief. “Great! Um, so since I’m not a Stark, I have to get a reservation before they all fill up, so does 7pm or 8pm sound good?”

“Ye-yeah.” Loki cleared his throat. “Sounds quite fair.”

Luna did a fist pump in the air. “Great. I’ll set that up.” She was on a roll. “And, uh, would you want to go shopping this weekend for a proper outfit? It's kind of a fancy place, and since you don't have your magic to conjure your John Wick getup, you’re going to need something to wear.”

“Oh, sure. And what about you?”

“Don’t worry, I have a little something.” She smirked and admired her nails as she pictured it. “Who knows? You might like it.”

“I think I just might.”

The tone in his comment made her do a brief double-take, but she shook it off and continued. “So, uh, I should make the reservation before it gets too late and all the spots are taken.”

“Oh, yes, you should do that.”

“I need to, uh, get off the phone to do it.”

“Mhm. Well, goodbye.”

“See you at home. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Luna hung up and set her phone in her lap. Folding her hands and resting them against her mouth, she beamed. She did it. She asked him, and it went better than expected. Rising from the chair with a surge of newfound energy, she pocketed her phone and sauntered back to the lab, snapping her fingers with each step and muttering,

“Snaps for you, Lu. Snaps for you.”

----------

A/N: Ok, get this. I was thinking of a ship name for them because everyone needs one and I have a proposition: FrostMoon. You dig? Or maybe LauFields, if we’re going directly on the name route? I'm just happy that y' all like these two :D

———-

Taglist: @the-doctor-9-10 @pinkieperil @sherlockfan4life @kybaeza

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invisibletinkerer · 6 years ago

Text

Fic: 30 Seconds Later (chapter 10)

Chapter 1 – Chapter 2 – Chapter 3 – Chapter 4 – Chapter 5 – Chapter 6 – Chapter 7 – Chapter 8 – Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11

Length: ~4500 words

AO3 Link

Stanford blinked, slowly, his eyelashes uncomfortably crusted for some reason. He’d been on the beach, and there’d been some kind of trouble, but right now he was resting against something warm and safe, so it seemed best to just close his eyes again.

No.

No, what was he thinking, what was he doing? He pushed himself up and scrambled to his feet on a surge of panic. How could he possibly think it was fine? He’d been asleep again, his body was betraying him just like everything else did, it was already too late. He hit his back hard against the covered mirror on the opposite side of the room, clenching his large hands in the fabric and stared wild-eyed around him, trying to understand what had happened.

The blurry, grey-haired person he’d been resting against in the couch grumbled his name. “Stanford?”

Stanley. Of course.

He remembered. The barrier spell. Bill was blocked out.

He was safe.

Ford made himself draw a deep breath, slowly letting go of the cloth behind him and allowing his shoulders to relax, repeating the words like a mantra in his mind. He was safe. For now. Bill couldn’t touch him.

“Stanford?” Stanley repeated, sounding more worried this time. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Ford said hoarsely, trying to will his heart to slow down, his head to stop throbbing. “I believe so.” Bill wasn’t here. Bill hadn’t been in his mind or body since before he’d entered this room. He hadn’t endangered anything by sleeping. Stanley was fine, the children were fine, the world was fine. He hadn’t lost control.

Running a hand through his hair, he tried to parse the repercussions or lack thereof of this course of events. He’d slept undisturbed. His mind must have been throwing randomized memories and emotions at him, but natural dreams were harmless, and Bill hadn’t been there. His body had actually had a chance to rest.

“Bad dreams?” Stanley asked.

“No—no, hardly that bad,” Ford said, making an attempt to bring the fleeting images of the dream back to mind. He’d been on Glass Shard Beach. Stanley had been there, with gray hair and a dirty red jacket, standing on the deck of the Stan o’War and threatening to burn the unicorn hair, but Ford had been preoccupied with a futile effort to erase the myriad triangles someone had carved into the sand. Discomforting, certainly, but not delibitating. “Bill stayed out of my head, and I think I slept well. I was just startled upon waking.”

Stanley grunted. “Fair enough.”

Ford leaned back against the mirror and closed his eyes – and it was alright to do so, he was safe – and tried to take stock of himself. His throat was parched, and there was a distracting headache pounding the insides of his skull to the beat of his still racing heart. He probably shouldn’t have moved so quickly. The skin on his chest was throbbing even worse, heating up as if Bill had burned him rather than cut him last night, sticky and clammy under his clothes, but he refused to think further about that mess. He felt thoroughly sore. Bruised. But none of it was new, and despite everything, he felt – better. More real. The exhaustion hadn’t gone away, but it felt more like simple weariness than having his consciousness balanced on razor-sharp blades at the moment.

With a final sigh, he relaxed and didn’t even stumble on the way back to the couch. He picked up his glasses and the opened Pitt cola he hadn’t finished earlier on the way, draining the stale soda in a single gulp as he sat down. “What time is it?” he asked, leaning forward with his arms on his knees.

“A couple of minutes past five in the afternoon.” Stanley yawned while checking his watch. “I can’t believe I slept that long. Probably good for you, though. You feel any better now?”

“Yes, I—” Ford hesitated. “I still can’t believe it. I never meant to—well.” He rubbed his eyes hard with the heels of his hands, then put his glasses back on. “I needed this.” He’d prefer not to talk about his earlier breakdown, not to mention falling asleep on top of his brother like a small child, but despite the embarrassment he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Safety was such an amazing luxury, and Stanley was—

Helping him. Part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Thanks,” he mumbled finally, deliberately not looking at his aged twin. He wanted to berate himself for showing that kind of vulnerability, but in the end, no harm seemed to have been done. Stanley made a decent pillow, that was all.

“Heh,” Stanley said beside him, stretching his arms. “Told ya we could fix it. We’ll have you back up and nerding out in no time.”

The familiar fatigue in Ford’s limbs reminded him that he could probably sleep more – and the realization that he could sleep more, risking no immediate horrors, made him chuckle briefly with a mixture of amusement and wonder. Perhaps he had more time left than he’d dared hope. There was still an apocalypse with his name on it waiting in the wings, but he would be content to take Stanley’s earlier advice and delay the expedition to the UFO crash site until tomorrow. Amazingly, a delay didn’t have to mean deterioration of his chances.

Stanley was standing up and stretching further, loudly cracking his back. “So,” he said, “You gonna admit you’re hungry already, or am I gonna have to drag you to the kitchen?”

Ford considered it and found that he was, indeed, hungry. “I suppose I could eat,” he said. Although he was sorely tempted to go back to sleep immediately, some nourishment might give him a bit of much needed strength back.

“Good, because now I’m starving, and you’re running out of excuses not to eat. Let’s raid the kitchen for leftovers, shall we?”

Ford flinched. Those words – that infliction – were too familiar, assaulting him with a wave of unwelcome déjà vu. A simpler time, a beloved brother, and damn it all, but he’d missed him.

“Stop it!” he blurted.

“Stop what?”

Stop sounding so much like yourself. Stop making me think we’re still—

“Never mind,” Ford deflected quietly. He had more important things to worry about. Stanley had ruined everything for him at least once – twice, if he counted the yesterday of thirty years ago, although perhaps he’d had very little left to be ruined at that point. And he had ruined everything for Stanley in turn. They were both better off without a twin. This aching emptiness inside him was ridiculous. “Let’s go,” he said.

Passing though the metaphysical barrier should not have been a physical sensation, but crossing the threshold still made a chill go down Stanford’s spine. Beyond it he was vulnerable again. For a moment he froze, a cowardly part of him ready to turn back to the miraculous sanctuary, but no. He couldn’t lock himself in a room. Bill was still out there, and even if he could hide himself from the demon forever, Bill would find other ways to bring about the end of the world unless Ford could put a stop to it. He hoped that the manic laughter in the back of his mind was just his imagination.

The soundless laughter blended with the headache, but didn’t cease even as Stanley found a large plate of no less than six pre-assembled cold tacos in the fridge, grinning at Ford as he set them on the table and started digging into them with good appetite.

Stanford would have done the same if he could. The tacos smelled simultaneously delicious and nauseating, flavorful and filling, spicy and greasy. He picked one up and found himself staring at it as if it was an opponent set to tear down his carefully constructed thesis. The thesis being: he was hungry. Carefully nibbling a small bite, chewing and swallowing, he found his stomach churning painfully, an annoying wave of nausea passing through him.

Trying to find something else might an option – he’d eaten a whole pancake this morning before his stomach started protesting – but he’d never been a picky eater and this seemed like a frustrating time to start. Just because he hadn’t been eating in a while didn’t have to mean he was psysically incapable. Sighing, he got up to the sink, fetched a glass from the cupboard – Stanley’s glass, Stanley’s cupboard, Stanley’s house, Stanley’s food – and filled it with water. He drank deeply, then refilled. At least that felt good going down.

He’d just sat down by the table again when the children came bouncing down the stairs. Well, Mabel bounced – Dipper came after, stiffly and carefully, hindered by the injuries Ford’s carelessness had inflicted on him. Ford looked away, wishing they wouldn’t see him.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel exclaimed, throwing herself around Stanley’s neck. “We thought you were gonna sleep forever!”

“Ah,” Stanley said, gently pulling her off him. “Yeah, sorry about that, pumpkin. But on the bright side, the barrier worked fine, so no one’s gonna get sleep possessed again.” He glanced at Ford who did not look up. “You’re a hero, sweetie,” he told Mabel.

She shrugged. “Maybe, but I think heroism is relative,” she said. “Just like being pure of heart.”

“Fair,” Stanley admitted, raising a finger. “Protecting the family from demons sounds pretty heroic to me, though. What do you say, Poindexter?”

Ford gave up on his staring contest with the taco, being obliged to look at the weird, charming child who had done the impossible for his sake. “Yes,” he said. It would have been mostly to protect her actual family, not him, but she had handled herself above and beyond what anyone could have expected, and giving him this gift after what he had done to her brother – she shouldn’t have had to. “You did well, Mabel,” he managed.

She beamed at him. “You’re welcome, uncle Ford!”

“So, um,” Dipper’s voice appeared from Ford’s other side, “Did you have a good nap?”

Ford turned reluctantly to the boy. He looked more than a little bit nervous, and for good reason. “Much better than I deserved,” he replied solemnly. “Don’t worry, I won’t allow him to hurt you again.”

“Good, that’s good… Um...” Dipper bit his lip, apparently trying to say something else, but unable to get it out. Ford took the paus as an opportunity to focus on the meal, forcing himself to take a big bite out of the taco. If he was going to eat it he might as well go ahead and do it.

That was a mistake. The greasy taco meat seemed to grow disproportionally in his mouth, making it a struggle to swallow, and once he succeeded in getting it down, it tried to get back up. He hulked, putting a hand over his mouth and fighting not to vomit all over the kitchen table as his own stomach turned against him. For a panicked moment he was convinced it was Bill’s doing, this was some new trick to throw him out of his own body. His insides were burning with acid and spasming with gag reflexes, and the rest of the world disappeared in a blur next to his desperate efforts to stay in control.

Somehow he was able to push it down. The next thing he knew he was panting painfully, eyes filled with hot tears and a figurative knife twisting in his stomach, but he was still himself, and the bite he’d taken had stayed inside him. Someone was holding up his water glass for him. He took it and drank gratefully.

Logically, it wasn’t Bill. It was just nausea. Just nausea. His own body was betraying him, but that was nothing new either, and he was stronger than that. He shoved the fear back before it threatened to drown him again. No need to panic.

Stanley’s hand was on his shoulder, the weight uncomfortable but grounding. Without looking at anyone, Ford wiped his face with a hand, then placed his elbows on the table and leaned his forehead into his palms, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He resisted the urge to press a hand to his aching stomach, too reluctant to touch the infuriating marks that covered it. His shoulders wouldn’t stop trembling.

“Are you alright, Sixer?” Stanley’s gravelly voice was almost soft.

“Yes,” he replied reflexively. “I’m fine. I’m not in any immediate danger of being possessed or passing out.”

“That’s not really what I was asking for,” Stanley said, his voice still inappropriately worried. “You’ve barely eaten at all, and that kinda sounded like you were gonna throw up.”

“I’m fine,” Ford repeated. His stomach churned unhappily at him, but he wasn’t dying, and he’d survive a while longer on what he’d managed to swallow, surely. He forced himself to look up for a moment to meet Stanley’s eyes.

Stanley’s slitted, yellow-tinted eyes.

Ford stiffened, heart pounding, but it was gone when he blinked. It couldn’t have been there at all. Could it?

“No, you’re not fine.” Stanley grimaced and glanced at the plate of tacos, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “You need something easier on the stomach, don’t you? I didn’t even think of that; how did I not think of that?”

Ford managed to draw enough air to speak. “It’s fine!”

“No, it’s not!” Stanley let go of Ford and raised his hands in exasperation. “Stop hurting yourself, Sixer!”

Bill had said the exact same words, mocking him, telling him to give up. Stanley didn’t mean it that way, surely not, but something snapped. Ford slammed his fists on the table and pushed himself up, staring at Stanley, ignoring the way his head throbbed at the movement. “Why do you care?” he said, louder than he’d intended. “Why do any of you care?” It struck him anew how none of this made any sense. He couldn’t afford to question it, but could he afford not to? Stanley’s insistence on fixing Ford before fixing the rift. The children’s eagerness to help, not just for the sake of world, but for him.

Stanley’s pose deflated. “Stanford…”

“I’m hurting myself? Bill is in my mind, Stanley! I’ve been doing whatever it takes to fight him! And now you’re—” He stopped, eyes widening with a horrifying possibility. “—you’re undoing it.”

Stanley winced, as if knowing his own guilt.

“You want me to lower my guard, don’t you?” Ford continued, voice hard. “You want me to stop fighting.” Something inside him warned that this didn’t make sense either, it didn’t add up, but nevertheless the possibility was there. Stanley had mocked his work for thirty years. He could be mocking him now, making him believe safety was even possible before ripping it all away again. He slowly took a step backwards, then another.

“Ford, don’t.” Stanley sounded almost pained. “There’s a difference between stopping you from fighting and helping you fight.”

“Is there?” Not if this was all a trick. It wasn’t, he knew it wasn’t, but what if it was? He needed to escape, but there was nowhere to go and all the stakes were right here. All too familiar helplessness started to flood him, and he fought to keep it down like he’d fought the nausea. “Stanley – you pushed me through the portal.” He could have been planning this all along, taking Ford’s life and turning it to a mockery. Bill could have planned this. Family can betray you. Bill knew.

“Stanford, no,” Stanley breathed. “You know I never meant to do that. I’ve regretted that one moment for the last thirty years. You can’t believe I’d do that on purpose.”

“I didn’t believe you’d wreck my science project either!”

“I’m sorry!” Stanley almost screamed, then took a deep breath, slowly unclenching his fists. “Listen to yourself, Poindexter. Why the hot belgian waffle would I want you to sleep and eat and recover if I was going to screw you over? That demon’s messing with you, but you’re smarter than this.”

Was he, though? At some point he’d backed into the stove and now he was half leaning against it with his hands clenched behind his back, acutely aware of the children looking on with wide eyes. Human eyes, as far as he could tell. Stanley was right, Bill was messing with him. Bill would want him to relax and lower his guard, but he wouldn’t want him to recover.

Was that even possible to recover? Was that also a mockery?

“Breathe, Ford!”

He was trying, but his lungs refused to do more than hyperventilate.

“Look, just – he hurt you. I get it. And you had to fight back by hurting yourself, I get it. But you don’t have to do that anymore! Okay? Look at me! You’re not alone anymore.”

Ford finally managed to draw a deeper, shaky breath. “I know,” he panted, and it was only partly a lie. “But why? Why do you—why do you care what happens to me? What does it matter?” That was the sticking point. He wanted to trust Stanley. That’s why he’d sent for him in the first place. But if Bill had taught him anything, it was that things that seemed too good to be true tended not to be.

“You’re—” Stanley bristled, but Ford interrupted him.

“I made my own mistakes! They’re not your responsibility! All I asked you to do was to hide a journal!”

“Yeah,” Stanley said, “And if I’d left and done that you would’ve been dead within days back then! You wouldn’t even tell me what was going on!”

“I would have been dead, but I might have prevented the end of the world and no one else would have had to suffer for my mistakes! Including you!”

Stanley narrowed his eyes. “You’re not even gonna argue about the ‘dead’ part?”

Ford ignored that; it wouldn’t have been worth lamenting, not if he could have ensured the portal and the journals were never used again first. “And then, once I was gone, you had no reason whatsoever to bring me back, and every reason not to. Even now, you keep insisting on helping me over and above dealing with the crack in reality that you caused. Why?”

“I told ya. You’re my brother.”

“That’s not—”

“But you wouldn’t do the same for me.” Stanley looked down and crossed his arms defensively. “That’s fine. I make my own choices.”

Ford glanced at Dipper, remembering what the boy had said this morning. You’re family, that makes it worth it. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” he mumbled, finally feeling his shoulders sag and his fists unclench on the stove behind him. He kept his eyes open and focused on remembering how to breathe.

“Whatever.” Stanley shrugged slightly. “Just. Please. I didn’t spend thirty years on that machine just to have you kill yourself as soon as I got you back.”

Ford didn’t have a response to that. It had never been his intent to commit suicide, but he’d accepted that Bill would kill him eventually. That hadn’t changed.

“I’m gonna check if I’ve got some canned soup or something for you.” Stanley turned away and started rummaging through the cupboard that served as pantry. “Give me a few minutes and don’t disappear into thin air, willya.”

Ford didn’t argue, or move. Disappearing into thin air was neither possible – at least not without the portal, and he wasn’t keen on repeating that experience – or likely to help matters in any way. He did wince hard and hiss in pain when Mabel appeared next to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her head painfully against injuries he’d made sure she knew nothing about.

“Did you sleep alright, at least?” she asked.

“Yes,” he muttered, carefully unwrapping himself from the embrace. “Thanks to you, I did get some rest.”

She smiled, perhaps slightly too wide, too strained – and Ford tensed, but her eyes were normal and he needed to trust that that meant something. “Good!” She looked at him intently. “We’ll fix the rest too, don’t worry!”

“Mabel.” Ford hesitated. She meant it, didn’t she? She meant every word, with even less justification than Stanley had. He drew a deep breath and tried to be rational. “I told you before to stay away from me.”

“And I told you before – nope!” She reached up and poked his nose.

Ford jerked back and didn’t reply. The best he could do was to gently push her aside and leave the kitchen, as if he could leave his own conflicted thoughts and fears behind. He needed to do something useful. The journals. The rift. The bed. He half expected Stanley to try to stop him, but his brother was in the middle of saying something to Dipper and only glanced at him. Mabel, however, followed along – whether on Stanley’s unspoken orders or her own accord was unclear.

He’d only meant to pick up the third journal from the TV chair, but instead he found himself reclining in the chair with the book in his lap, leaning his head back against the cushion and rubbing his temples. It was safe, he reminded himself. He’d had some real rest and wasn’t half unconscious anymore. He wouldn’t hurt anyone by sitting down for a moment, and no one would hurt him, either.

“You know,” Mabel said, bouncing on her toes next to the armrest. “I know you wrote that in the journal, but I need to tell you that trusting no one is stupid. Then you’d be all alone all the time, and that makes people wonky in the head!”

Ford huffed. Yes. He was ‘wonky in the head’. Anyone would be in his position, if you disregarded the fact that no one else would be in his position in the first place. “I know,” he said with a sigh, half hoping that Mabel would go away, half wishing she’d stay and distract him. He took a moment to flip through the journal, confirming that it was still intact, before turning back to the girl. “Do you still have the journal I lent you?” he asked.

“Of course I do!” Mabel said, immediately rushing off to the hallway by the door. “It’s right here in my backpack!” The bag in question lay discarded on the floor under the coat rack, and after a moment of rummaging through it Mabel produced Ford’s first journal. “Do you need it back?”

“Yes.” Stanford got up and took it from her with a curt nod. It seemed no worse for the wear either, through he’d noticed earlier that Journal 1 showed a lot more wear and tear than the other two, presumably because it had been studied by Stanley for decades. His guts clenched for reasons quite unrelated to food at that mental image, but he shrugged it off, stacking Journal 1 with Journal 3 on the crook of his arm.

It wasn’t that he needed the journals himself, exactly, but with everything else going on, he’d momentarily lost track of both of these, and it was a relief to have them accounted for. They were still too dangerous to lose, too dangerous to risk them falling into the wrong hands. The previous hiding places were unsafe, so he’d have to figure something else out soon, but for tonight he’d just put them away in the warded room.

Re-entering the barrier should not have felt as overwhelming as it did. He had to fight down a feverish urge to curl up on the couch and never move again, but he couldn’t allow that, not while his handiwork was still a threat. Mabel was still tailing him, admiring the glowing line along the walls that made up the physical components of the barrier spell while Ford hid the two journals out of sight in the liquor cabinet. He half-consciously noted that all the bottles and flasks were empty, even the ones he hadn’t yet finished yesterday, thirty years ago. Stanley must have drained them, before he boarded the room up.

“Did you know that you and Stan looked really adorable when you were napping before?” Mabel said suddenly.

“Adorable?” Ford repeated, rising to his feet and taking a deep breath, trying to settle the pain in his head and body. He didn’t believe Mabel was using the word condescendingly, but it still sat wrong with him.

“Yes! Like a couple of kittens!”

He stared at her. This should probably be amusing. “I’m a grown man,” he said. “And Stanley is... well, he’s twice my age. Hardly a kitten.”

“Nope, you totally looked like kittens! So cute!” She grinned innocently.

Ford clenched his teeth around a curse. Bill had called him cute, too. ‘Cute’ was struggling against the hold he had allowed Bill to have on him. ‘Cute’ was trying to prevent an apocalypse he himself had instigated. Perhaps ‘cute’ was falling asleep next to his brother and believing that was fine. “I’d rather not be called that,” he said tersely.

Mabel blinked. “But uncle Ford! Kittens are awesome!”

“There’s nothing wrong with kittens,” Ford conceded, shuddering as he left the barrier again and headed back to the living room. He’d find the final journal and the rift itself down in the basement. “It’s a more appropriate appellation for children, though.”

“In that case, you and grunkle Stan must have been extra adorable when you were kids!”

He sighed softly. “Perhaps.” He’d walked right into that one.

“Hey, Ford.” Stanley appeared in the kitchen doorway, eyes flicking from Ford to Mabel and back.

“Don’t worry, grunkle Stan!” Mabel said and slipped her hand into Ford’s as if for emphasis. ”I’ve got this!”

Ford withdrew his hand immediately. So she was here to keep an eye on him, then. As if that would end well for anyone.

“Come here,” Stanley said, reaching around to give Ford a gentle push on the back. “There’s some hot soup for ya now, and then you can go back to sleep or something.”

“Oh. Yes. Soup.” Ford blinked. It was, admittedly, a good idea. He could argue that it wasn’t strictly necessary – he’d be functional for a while longer, especially if he did get all the sleep his body was yearning for. But his body was yearning for nourishment, too, and with safe sleep within his grasp, there was nothing stopping him from eating but his own frailty, and soup would work. It would make him stronger.

The whole situation struck him as absurd in so many ways. The world was liable to end, and Stanley of all people was fussing about making him eat, while a grand niece too old to have been his daughter compared him to a baby cat. He huffed a sound that might have been a helpless laughter. The only part of his current existence that he could still understand was the threat to all reality. But yes, he’d take that soup.

#gravity falls #fanfic #30 seconds later #stanford pines #paranoid ford #in which one good nap doesn't fix five weeks of paranoia and torment #but progress is still made #it writes

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cha0ticmimzy · 6 years ago

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Chapter IX: A Car, a Torch, a Death

Author’s Notes: It’s spicy. It’s sad. It’s painful. It’s soft. This chapter is a mixture of a lot of things and I enjoyed writing it, so I hope you all enjoy reading it. Word Count: 5933 Warnings: It’s spicy from the get go. NSFW content (nudity, mentions of sex). Rating: Mature

“I began to understand why God died.”-Twenty One Pilots

“Don’t stop,” the blond gasped out, hands entangled within midnight locks. Teeth grazed along a freckled neck, threatening to pierce skin. The headboard of the bed thumped against the wall, echoing through the room, mingling with the sound of skin hitting against damp skin, of soft gasps and long moans.

“I don’t plan on it.” The vampire responded, bloody hues clouded with lust as his thrusts gained speed, pulling free a high moan from the human beneath him. He could smell him, could smell the blood pumping through his veins. Could feel how warm and soft he was, pliant. It would be so easy to feed from him right now. Just one little bite, that’s all.

“I’m gonna-” the blond choked out, gasping as he reached his peak, body tensing, shaking. The vampire stilled within him, reveling in the way he clenched and spasmed around his length. So warm, so soft. Rouge gaze met with not cornflower blue, but lilac rimmed with amethyst; such a riveting combination, such an inhuman color.

Inhuman.

“We’ll have extra security from Tenebrae coming in within the next few days, so we can go over the protocols then. Until then, however, we need to go over a few rules,” Drautos spoke, voice loud and clear through the training hall. They had all paused in the middle of weight training when he’d come in with not one, not two, but three large bags filled with the dreaded uniforms that they would be forced to wear. “Yes, we have different uniforms. Yes, you have to wear them. No, you cannot customize them, Furia.”

A round of soft laughter filled the room as the man called out slumped down upon the bench with a pout.

“Now, moving on: the King has announced that the Gallery will be open to the public during the day of the event. This is a rarity, and the public will jump at the chance to get inside the Citadel. This cannot happen.” There had been an incident once, years ago, when a human managed to get past security and wandered the halls of the Citadel.

He never saw the light of day again.

“Due to this, we will be spread thin. I won’t force you to work both the day and the night, however, should you choose to do so, you will receive compensation for your time.” A ripple moved through the group. Compensation could mean anything from a day off to extra pay. It was definitely worth the risk. “HOWEVER,” Titus’ voice boomed, silence the murmurs, “the king has asked for a select few to be assigned to the Gala to keep an eye on things. Ulric, Altius, Lazarus- you three will work the Gala, and you will keep an eye upon the crown prince and Lady Lunafreya. Lady Sylva has her own personal guard already, as does the Lord Ravus and his fiancé.”

“Sir,” Nyx spoke up, brow furrowing, “what is it that his majesty wants us to do, exactly?”

“Keep an eye on the prince and Lady Lunafreya; there’s tension between the two and given the disaster that happened nearly a decade ago at the Gala, we’d prefer to keep things as calm and non-dramatical as possible.” And to make sure that the prince didn’t have another slip up; that didn’t need to be said aloud, however. “You’re dismissed for the day to make arrangements with the Citadel tailor if your uniform does not fit.” With that, Drautos left the room, and barely a minute passed before the Glaive all but launched themselves at the garment bags.

Crowe got to it first, ripping them open and reading the labels out loud. “Wow, these are fancy,” she mumbled, holding her own up. It was similar in make to their normal uniforms; black and silver, jacket and pants. However, she realized that her own was lacking… Pants. “A dress. I have to wear a- Nyx, I swear to the Six, if you don’t STOP laughing I can and will punch you through that wall!”

“Wow, a dress? Regis really is going all out.”

“I’m not wearing a dress.”

“Yes, you are,” Nyx replied, holding his own uniform up. A deep violet band had been sewn into the left sleeve, showing that he wasn’t a shifter like the rest of the Kingsglaive. “If I have to wear a monkey suit, you get to wear a dress.”

“But-”

“And just think,” Pelna chimed in, coming up behind his mate, his arms wrapping around her waist, “I get to see you in a dress. And we get to dance. And you get to drink. And we get to dance.”

“Get a ROOM.” Tredd booed, grabbing his uniform and slinging it over his shoulder.

“We say that to you all the time and yet you’re still here.”

“Fuck off, Ulric.”

“You offering?”

“CHILDREN.” Libertus broke the pair up, keeping a steady hand upon Nyx’s forearm, keeping him from stepping closer to the redhead. “Calm yourselves. You’re both pretty.”

Nyx sighed, shaking Libertus’ hand off so he could grab hold of his uniform and hold it up. It was similar to their normal work uniform, only more… Dressy? He couldn’t decide what made it different. Perhaps it was the fact that the make was more delicate, the fabric being more akin to velvet rather than the rough leather. Silver threading took place of the metal normally in place, and delicate buttons lined the left side, each one with Insomnia’s symbol engraved into the metal. “Wonder how much this cost?”

“Don’t wanna know,” Libertus replied, pulling on the suit jacket. He made a face as he moved, feeling the strain in the shoulders. “Nope, nope, nope. We gotta fix this. A trip to Mister Scientia is in need if I’m gonna wear this monkey jacket.” He attempted to pull it off, only to pause, eyes widening as he realized his arms were stuck. “Nyx- Nyx, babe, help. I can’t- stop laughing you dick help me out of this before it rips!”

“Calm down, you oaf,” Nyx teased between laughs as he pulled the jacket the rest of the way off before holding it out, only to have it snatched away by Libertus. “C’mon, let’s go. I need to drop off some documents with Clarus, anyways.”

“Finally finish your report?” Luche asked, a brow raising as he folded his uniform over his shoulder. “I finished mine yesterday- didn’t really want to revisit that hell, but…”

“Yeah,” Nyx sighed, shaking his head. “The footage that my body cam caught… I still can’t figure out what that thing was.” A grave silence fell across the room as memories of their mission a week and a half ago. Even after watching and re-watching the footage, he couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever that creature had been, it was old and dangerous. “Either way, it was terrifying.”

“It looked like-” Axis began, only to be cut off by Luche.

“Don’t.” Luche interrupted, shaking his head at Axis. “That’s impossible, you and I both know that. We all know that. That isn’t possible because they don’t exist any longer. That was hundreds of years ago, before the last war, even.”

“Right…” Nyx frowned, brow quirking as he glanced between the two. Hooking an arm through Libertus’ own, he pulled his lover closer. “We’re gonna… Head up to see Scientia. Don’t burn down the rec room.”

“Damn!” Pelna cursed jokingly. “There goes my plans for the evening.”

“I always knew you were a hidden arsonist!” Nyx shot back with a wink before leading Libertus out of the room, their uniforms in hand. Once outside, the door firmly shut behind him, he paused. “That was weird, right?”

“Yup. But maybe Luche’s spooked, still. I mean, I know you couldn’t pick up the scent we could, but that thing was more of an Alpha than Drautos was. I wanted to roll over and bare my neck…” Shaking his head, Libertus let a shudder dance through him. “Whatever the Nifs are working on, it’s dangerous.”

“Right. Listen-… I need to talk to Clarus. About what we saw. Because we saw what that thing was, and I know it’s impossible-”

Libertus interrupted him with a swift kiss and a reassuring smile. “Go do what you gotta do. I’m gonna got get poked accidentally with some needles and complain about wearing a uniform.”

“I’ll walk you up?”

“Whatta charmer!”

Sunlight peeked through the curtains, dancing across his face. Noctis was already awake, sitting beside the blond. His freckles weren’t just on his face- they were all over. He’d tried to kiss them all last night, but… That would have been impossible. Hell, last night seemed impossible, but Prompto was still sound asleep in his bed. His hair was a mess of a blond spikes, and his neck was covered in bruises left from Noctis’ lips.

It brought a smile to the prince’s lips.

Yawning, he fell back against the pillows, listening the steady breaths Prompto released beside him. He didn’t wanna wake him, not yet. He needed rest- humans needed sleep, right? Or was it dangerous if they got too much? He remembered watching a news story about how too much sleep was dangerous- was Prompto getting too much sleep now?

… Where was Ignis when he needed him?

“If y’stare any harder I might turn t’stone…” Came the sleepy voice of Prompto, startling Noctis so bad he nearly leaped off the bed.

“Sorry,” Noctis apologized, cheeks flushing. “How do you… Are you okay? Does anything hurt?”

“Mm,” Prompto hummed, rolling over onto his back and stretching. “My back sorta does, but my back always hurts so that’s nothing new- is that breakfast? It smells wonderful!” Prompto rapidly changed the subject, sitting up and all but crawling over Noctis to get at the tray beside the bed.

A laugh bubbled free from Noctis as he held still, watching the blond in amusement. “They brought it in about an hour ago. It should still be warm…. I dunno what they made.” He got his answer right after as Prompto raised the lid to reveal a plate of French toast and berries. A moan slipped free from Prompto as he pulled the plate off the cart and onto the bed, settling it down between them. Silence fell as Prompto began to stuff his face, eyes closed as if he were basking in the taste.

“That’s it. I’m stealing your chef. I need this in my life every day all day.” Prompto moaned around a mouth full of food. Noctis hummed, stealing a strawberry. Sure, they couldn’t eat a lot of human food, but a few little bites here and there didn’t cause that much damage.

Prompto fell silent again, focused on eating. Noctis found himself thinking on the events that transpired; the kiss- which evolved into more kissing. The touches, the way Prompto looked beneath him, how he felt, how he sounded. It made his skin tingle, just thinking about it. But that tingle dissipated when the thought of Prompto’s eyes came to the forefront of his mind. Right now, they were their normal sky blue; gorgeous and light. But last night, they were lilac and rimmed with amethyst. They weren’t blue, they weren’t normal.

Did Prompto know?

Mouth opening, he was about to ask when a swift knock sounded upon his door. Groaning inwardly, Noctis sat up. “Enter.”

“Good afternoon, Noct, Prompto,” Ignis called as he made his way into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. “Noctis, you’re needed in the council. There’s been…” He faltered, something that was rare to see from the normally put-together man. “There’s been an altercation.”

A chill danced down Noctis’ spine. “What happened?”

“It’s better if-”

“No. Tell me before I get down there.” He all but demanded, already climbing out of bed. He silently thanked the Six he managed to put on underwear before falling asleep last night. “I want to be prepared, and since you’re so shaken up, it must be bad.”

Prompto shifted on the bed, pulling the sheets closer, sinking in on himself. The tension in the room had rose, putting him on edge.

“There was an attack in Tenerbae. The remaining members of the royal family were not in any danger, but…” Ignis sighed, running a hand through his hair, ruffling the carefully groomed brunet locks. “Lady Aurora’s parents were murdered.”

Noctis dropped the brush he’d been holding, his eyes wide as he stared at the mahogany top of his desk. Prompto wanted to reach out, to say something, anything, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it- not with everything in him screaming for him to run. Noctis’ back was tensed, anger flowing off him.

“Get a maid to bring Prompto some clothes.” He finally spoke as he pulled on a simple black hoodie and yanked on a pair of jeans. Turning to the blond, he gave a small smile. “I’m sorry- I… This- I gotta go. I’ll try to catch you before dinner, but…” Shoulders rising in a small shrug, he suddenly looked unsure.

“Noctis, we need to go.”

“Right-” clearing his throat, the prince straightened himself. He went to walk forward before suddenly changing his mind and walked to the edge of the bed. Soft, cool hands reached out, cupping Prompto’s cheeks, holding him in place as he placed one, two, three soft kisses against his lips. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Alright…” Prompto sighed, smiling, as Noctis withdrew. The prince left quickly after pulling on a pair of shoes, the door closing behind him. And then he was alone.

Again.

He fell back into the multitude of pillows, sinking into the soft mattress. The bed was easily three times the size of his back at his apartment, and far softer. And, he noted as he rolled over, it smelled of Noctis. Soap, of woodsmoke, of a sharp tang of ozone and something sugary sweet. A smile curled his lips as he buried himself beneath the sheets. Maybe a nap wouldn’t hurt…

“Don’t touch me.” Aurora hissed as soon as Noctis opened the door. Ravus took a quick step back, hands up. She was seething with rage; her normally sapphire eyes had deepened in color, resembling an angry ocean more than a gem. The anger was palpable in the room; even Sylva seemed to be put on edge. “They are dead and you refuse to do a damned thing. Sylva, I will not beg. I will not ask again. I am demanding that you retaliate against them!”

“Against who?” Noctis finally spoke up, flinching as Aurora spun around to face him. She still had tears falling, and her hair that was normally curled elegantly fell around her face and shoulders in dramatic waves. “Who did this?”

“Niflheim,” she growled out, hands- no, entire body shaking with the anger she felt. “Those damned bastards did this. They attacked Galahd, and now they strike at the holiest country? How can you sit on your-”

“Aurora!” Ravus interjected finally, and it was as if all her control finally slipped. She crumbled to the floor, falling upon her knees and leaning over, her hands curled into fists upon the floor. Ravus knelt beside her, his arm wrapping around her, pulling her to him. It hurt to see such a strong, happy woman completely wrecked. Her sobs made her entire body shake, and as Noctis watched, he could see tears trailing down Ravus’ face.

Attention turned towards the two coven leaders, he took notice in the way Sylva seemed to be made of stone- not reacting to what was happening at all. His father, on the other hand, looked ready to commit murder. “Within this room are the only ones who know of this tragedy.” Looking around, Noctis took in the faces: Cor and Clarus behind his father, Nyx beside the door, Ignis and Gladio behind him, Lunafreya and Drautos behind Sylva. Twelve people, total. The rest of the Glaive, the remainder of the council, Lady Sylva’s security- none of them knew.

Aside from Prompto.

“Tomorrow, we will make an announcement of this attack. During this, we will address the attack on Galahd as well. Niflheim will be brought forth for trial.” Regis paused, giving Sylva a pointed look. Noctis couldn’t help but wonder what that was about… “For genocide and for murder of a royal clan. We will seek justice. We will not stoop to their levels; war is not what we are searching for. We are looking for an answer.”

“I want blood.” Aurora muttered into Ravus’ chest, though it was loud enough for everyone in the council room to hear. “I want the one who executed my mother and father. I want to show them how it feels.”

“That’s the anger talking, love,” Ravus murmured, brushing his fingers through her hair. “… Though I agree. I’d like to see the one who gave the final killing blow brought to trial and persecuted-”

“Executed.”

“Executed.” Ravus finished, leveling his mother with a hard stare. Noctis watched as Sylva simply raised her wine glass to her lips and took a long sip.

“We can talk of that after tomorrow. You’re all dismissed. Noctis, come with me; we need to speak.” With that, the room cleared out relatively quickly, Clarus, Cor, Nyx, and Drautos being the only ones left behind to act as guards for them. “We cannot enter into another war, you understand this. You know how crippling the last war had been. Insomnia nearly fell had it not been for the surprise attack Tenebrae launched against Niflheim. I fear this is their retaliation for that attack.”

“But that was… What, over a hundred years ago? Before I was even born, so almost two hundred? And they’re still angry?” Noctis asked, confusion evident in his voice. “Why attack now?”

“They’re working on some sort of secret weapon. During our reconnaissance to Galahd, we were attacked by Niflheim airships. There was…” Nyx faltered, brows furrowing. “Something in the forest. It’s impossible, I know, but there was a shifter in the forest. One that wasn’t like us- now, that is. It resembled the original shifters. Like the werewolves of old.”

“How is that possible?” Alarm caused his voice to pitch upwards, much to Noctis’ annoyance.

“We don’t know,” Cor spoke up. “We’ve sent agents to Niflheim over the years, but none of them have ever returned. I assume they were taken hostage, defected, or took their own lives before Niflheim had the chance.” A grim silence spread through the room.

“I’ve reached out to Iedolas Aldercapt; he’s the president of Niflheim.” Regis broke the silence, voice soft. “He has agreed to meet during the upcoming Gala. It’s a risk, but that was the only way he would agree- if we did this during the Gala.”

“He’s planning something.” Clarus stated harshly.

“I know. Which is why I’m going to make sure we have our best on guard during the Gala. Drautos, I want you to remove your Glaives from patrolling the morning. The Insomnian police force can handle the public,” Regis ordered, magenta hues focused on the marble floor beneath their feet.

“Of course, your majesty.”

“I want Lazarus and Altius to be on the Gala floor at all times. Khara will be on the upper floor with Arra, Ostium and Furia in the gardens. Nyx will remain near Noctis or Lunafreya at all times- when Noctis is not with Gladiolus or Ignis, Nyx will be with him. Any other time, he will be with Lunafreya. We cannot have her injured.”

“Sir?” Nyx interrupted, brows raised.

“I fear they will attempt to strike at Lady Lunafreya. Lady Sylva is too much an obvious target, and Lord Ravus is an accomplished warrior that would be too difficult to fight.” Noctis shifted nervously. His father really had thought everything through already, hadn’t he? “We must be prepared for the worst. If an attempt is pulled, we will default to Alpha Phase One.”

“Which is?” Noctis asked, leaning against the edge of the oak table. “If I’m here, it involves me. What’s this… Alpha-whatever?”

“Alpha Phase One,” Regis began, shooting his son an amused glance, “is a plan of escape that only a few know. And I will keep it that way.” His tone was final.

“So I don’t get to know it?”

“No.”

“… Ouch.”

“You have your own escape route that Gladiolus and Ignis know and will take should something happen.”

“They know it?” Noctis asked in surprise. “And I don’t?”

“Exactly.” Regis replied smugly.

“Rude.”

“I think you’ll survive.”

“You shouldn’t be here!” Titus hissed as he closed his apartment door, quickly locking it. Ater shrugged, perfectly comfortable with sitting atop the counter. “Do you realize how much trouble I could get in? You aren’t supposed to be seen here.”

“And no one saw me.” She replied simply, sliding off the counter. “You stress too much, babe. No one saw me. I even went as far as using prosthetics.” She waved a hand to the mess on the kitchen table. “It was a pain in the ass to get on and off. Oh, and disposable contacts. And a wig. I made sure I wasn’t recognized.”

Groaning softly, the general ran a hand over his face. “You’re going to be the death of me, you realize this?” He muttered as he walked closer, hands coming to rest upon the vampire’s hips, pulling her close. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“They sent me out before they dispatched the Gloriam clan.” Her voice was soft as she reached up to cup his cheek, his scruff scratching at her palm. Icy hues took in the dark shadows beneath his eyes. “I didn’t know what they had planned. I don’t even know what- or who- they sent out. It wasn’t me, or Highwind. I would know- I was out drinking with her when we got the news.”

“Well, shit.” Sighing, Drautos released her and began to work on removing his coat. “Regis is pissed. They do realize that they didn’t get the entire clan, right?”

“… They didn’t?”

His blood froze in his veins as he turned slowly, taking in the genuine surprise that splayed across Ater’s face. “… They didn’t realize Aurora was still here.” He whispered, panic settling in. His heart began a tap dance within his chest. “Who authorized the attack?”

“Aldercapt.”

“That idiot!” Hand banged against the counter, the wood releasing a groan in protest. “He moves without thinking and creates a mess that I have to clean up.” Drawing in a slow, deep breath, he forced himself to relax. It wouldn’t be good to shift in his apartment. “Regis is going to address the public in the morning about the attack on Galahd and the murder of the Gloriam clan.”

“Shit.” Ater mumbled, biting on her thumb. This managed to mess everything up. “What of the girl?”

“Aurora?”

“Yes.”

“She’s untouchable, especially now. She’s engaged to Ravus, and we all know what the Lord is capable of. He saw battle when he was a barely an adult. He killed. He’s ruthless and dangerous.” Drautos shook his head, jaw working. “Iedolas is coming to Insomnia in a week… Why are you here? Had he planned on coming here?”

“He wanted me to come and check in on you. Watch- since you haven’t been sending in your reports…” Ater trailed off, shrugging. “And to get familiar with the city.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s planning something. I don’t know what it is- I can’t ever get him alone to talk to him, that scoundrel of a man is always there, whispering in his ear. I don’t trust him, Titus. I don’t like him. He’s… Wrong.” Shuddering, she moved closer, her arms coming to wrap around his middle. Cold fingertips slipped beneath his shirt, nails just barely dragging across the skin of his back.

“Ardyn is dangerous,” Drautos agreed, fingers trailing down her spine, hooking in the waistband of her pants. “But now that you’re here, I don’t have to rely on phone calls or texts.” He murmured, leaning down to steal a fierce kiss. A surprised noise escaped Ater before she reached up, holding onto his shirt, pulling him closer. His teeth grazed her lip, and her fangs pierced his own. Blood welled up between them, the kiss growing far more messy, animalistic. His hands wandered lower, grasping her rear, squeezing, pulling her up. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he held her up with one arm. His free hand slipped beneath her shirt, preparing to unclip her bra, only to be met with bare skin. A laugh melted into the kiss from Ater.

“I didn’t bother with one.” She whispered, pulling back to lick at her lips. Blood smeared down her chin, across her lips. He could feel blood across his own chin, in his mouth. But a growl of approval slipped free as she pulled her shirt off, over her head. “I’m not wearing any underwear, either.” She added, watching as his pupils dilated. He leaned down, pressing a kiss within the valley of her breasts. A soft breath left her, her head tilting back as he pressed more kisses against the soft skin before pulling a nipple into his mouth. His tongue laved against it before he bit down gently.

“Good.”

“It’s late, my lord.” Cor murmured in lieu of announcing himself as he entered the study. Regis sat in a plush armchair before the wall of floor to ceiling windows, gazing out across Insomnia. “You need to rest. It’s been a long day…” The room was softly lit due to the fire burning within the large fireplace. It smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg; warmth.

Regis hummed in response, slowly swirling the remnants of his glass of bloodwine. “Sylva is planning a coup d'é-tat.” He spoke simply, listening to way Cor’s footsteps paused. Even from here, across the large room, he could hear the way his friend- no, lover’s- heart skipped a beat.

“Sir?” He asked, as if he hadn’t heard him correctly. “How do you…?”

“She isn’t the only one with spies within the ranks.” Came the soft answer as Regis rose from his seat. Standing there, back illuminated by the fire slowly dying in the fireplace- it brought Cor back to their first time together. So many years ago, he’d been so young, and Regis had been so very gentle and kind. Strong. Smart. Heartbroken.

“You have Aurora working for you, then.”

“Yes,” Regis replied, turning to face the human. Cor had changed out of his uniform and into a pair of sweat pants and a long-sleeved shirt. Ready to sleep, and yet he came to check on him. It warmed his heart. “I had made an agreement with her shortly before her engagement to Ravus. He knows, as well.”

“And Lady Lunafreya…?”

“Is a pawn in Sylva’s game.”

“That poor, poor girl.”

“A shame. She was once so gentle.”

“And now she’s the perfect blade for her mother to weild.”

Silence fell as Cor moved closer, stepping around the desk to stand beside his king. Glacier hues stared out upon the city below; it never stopped moving, never stopped advancing. Never slept. The feeling of Regis moving closer, stepping in behind him, made a shudder dance through his skin. He leaned back against the vampire, head resting upon his shoulder. Regis, I turn, wrapped his arms around his middle, leaned his head against Cor’s. Together they stood, watching the city, as the last embers died out.

“Take me to bed, Cor.”

“Of course, your majesty.”

Prompto had been playing a game on his phone when Noctis came back to his room. Dinner had been delivered three hours earlier, along with an apology from Noctis. Some sort of meeting happened, and he couldn’t leave until it was over. Which was fine! Prompto had plenty to do! Update his Instagram, play games on his phone, snoop through Noctis’ drawers (he was a boxer brief guy, apparently), and look through the books that lined the wall. Prompto knew that the Citadel had its own library, but Noctis had his own personal one within his bedroom.

He may have spent too long looking through the comic books.

“Is Aurora alright?” He meant to say hello, how are you, but he needed to know. She was such a kind, sweet girl. For her to be hit with this…

Noctis sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he toed off his shoes. “No. She’s… Angry. Sad. Grieving. I spent the last two hours with her and Ravus. She tore up their bedroom- literally.” Prompto’s eyes widened in surprise. “Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. She’s mostly mad at Sylva for not doing anything. Or suggesting any action. Dad took it upon himself to decide to make a public statement…”

“Why isn’t Lady Sylva doing anything?” That was confusing. Prompto scooted to the edge of the bed, feet barely grazing the floor as he watched Noctis move about, pulling the hoodie off. “Isn’t Aurora Tenebraen?”

“She is. I don’t know why Sylva isn’t doing anything- she barely spoke during the council meeting. I dunno. The entire situation is just… Weird and bad.” Shrugging, Noctis slipped into the en suite. “I had them bring you dinner- did you eat? Did you like it?”

“I did!” Prompto called back, grinning. “I had to have that girl- Crowe? She was the one who came with the maid. I had to have her help me figure out how to eat lobster tail… I’d never had it before.”

“Really?” Noctis poked his head out, brows raised, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

A snort spilled free from Prompto as he nodded. “Yeah. But it was good! And that linguine was so good. I swear I’m going to steal your cook.”

“Nah, you can’t have Iggy.”

“IGNIS COOKED THAT?!” He hadn’t meant to be so loud, but he couldn’t help it. Finding out that Ignis cooked that entire meal was surprising.

“Yeah, he’s been trained to be my personal chef. Lowers the risk of being poisoned.” Noctis answered, coming back into the room with an amused smile. “Since that’s a thing that happens to royals.”

“Oh…” Right. That was a thing that Noctis had to worry about. “… You have a lot of books.” He changed the subject easily as Noctis pulled open a drawer, rummaging around before pulling a pair of sleeping pants out.

Tugging his jeans off (and nearly falling in the process), he glanced over to the book shelves that took up an entire wall. “Yeah- dad used to read to me as a kid, and it just… Stuck. I only like fiction. Like… Magic. That kind of thing.”

A sudden question popped into Prompto’s mind. “Have you ever played Dungeons and Dragons?” He asked, watching as Noctis paused, pants pulled back up.

“… No.”

“You’d love it! It’s sort of like… If the characters from Lord of the Rings clashed with Dragon Age.” Prompto attempted to explain, and received a laugh in response as Noctis settled down onto the bed before collapsing backwards. “I’m serious! It’s really fun, too. You can make your own character and there’s always detailed stories…”

“Prom?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“… Stay the night with me.”

Prompto froze, cheeks flushing at the request. “I… You sure?” He asked, fidgeting with the hem of the pajama top that had been brought for him. It was too big, but that was perfect. “I mean, I can go back to my room-”

“I’m sure.” Noctis replied, reaching out to tug on the edge of Prompto’s shirt. “Not to… Not to have sex. But just- I don’t wanna be alone. And I sleep better with someone beside me.” He explained almost shyly, not meeting Prompto’s questioning gaze. “If you don’t want to, I won’t force you, but-”

“I do!” Prompto exclaimed, before quickly backpedaling. “I mean, I’d love to. I’m good. I like it here. I like… I like being with you. Near you.” He wiggled in place for a moment before falling back on the bed beside the vampire.

“Good.” Noctis nodded, pulling Prompto closer. “I just wanna lay here. Today was… Rough.”

“Alright,” Prompto hummed, lacing their fingers together. “Then we can just lay here- as long as you want to, Noct.”

Noctis nodded, eyes closing. Prompto shifted, tucking his head into the crook of the other’s neck. It was nice, to just lay with one another. Prompto hadn’t realized how much he wanted, no, craved this. This softness, this warmth. Slowly, he tangled his legs with Noctis’, who hummed and cracked open an eye. He pulled his hand free to clap twice, and the lights dimmed by themselves.

“… That is so cool.”

“I know, right?” Noctis grinned as he took Prompto’s hand into his own once more, giving it a gentle squeeze. He felt the blond yawn against his shoulder and answered it with one of his own. “I’m glad you’re here, Prom.”

“Me, too.” Prompto murmured, pressing a tiny kiss just below his ear. Within minutes, the pair had fallen asleep.

Neither one noticed the way the bedroom door opened slowly, letting in the shadows of the hallway.

Her breaths came fast, panicked. Running, running; why did the family have to put in a maze in their garden? She could hear the water lapping against the shore; she was so close to finding the exit! The sound of growls behind her made her run faster, ignoring the way her feet bled, the way her dress was torn to shreds. She’d been there when they arrived. She’d hidden, contorting herself to fit into the hiding hole in the Lady of the house’s closet.

They thought they got everyone.

The little Lady was not here. She was gone, in Insomnia. They didn’t know that. They couldn’t know that. They wouldn’t know that. She wouldn’t tell them.

She thought they were all gone. She came out, and it was quiet. She went into the sitting room and found their bodies there. She didn’t scream; she couldn’t scream. Her vocal chords had been damaged when she was little. She couldn’t make a sound, even if she tried.

Then she saw it. It was big, and scary. Its fur was dark brown, and it smelled bad. Like rotting bodies. It had seen her, and it stared at her, golden eyes seeming far too human like. It was big, too; easily reaching her shoulders. And then she ran, and it followed, crashing through the house.

It hunted her through the maze, and it was still hunting her. Right, left, right, and she should be out!

No. No, no, no. No, this couldn’t be. There was supposed to be the exit here, not a dead end! Turning, she looked about frantically. She couldn’t climb through the bushes; the thorns would tear her to pieces before she even made it to the top. The sound of a growl made her freeze, her entire body shaking.

It was here.

She turned, slowly, coming face to face with the beast. It was… Smiling. Smiling in a far too human way. No shifter should look that human, like it was a human sewn into bear skin. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she backed up against the hedge, feeling thorns press into her back. It advanced. For the first time since she was three years old, she managed to make a noise.

She screamed as its teeth closed around her throat.

#bis vivit qui bene vivit #bvqbv #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv fanfiction #ffxv #nsfw-ish #prompto argentum #noctis lucis caelum #ignis scientia #aurora mane gloriam #ravus nox fleuret #regis lucis caelum #cor leonis #nyx ulric #titus drautos #libertus ostium #tredd furia #luche lazarus

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h-styles-babes · 7 years ago

Note

Can you do 13 and 23?

#13 “i could kiss you right now!”

So, I’ve combined these requests to give you this. Sorry it took a little long. I’ve been pretty busy with school, but i finally got a bit of down time to write this out. Hope you like it, and thanks for the request :) xx

When Harry had called Y/N and asked her to meet him at a local cafe between their two flats just off campus, she figured it was just for a quick meet up like they usually did. So, she’d donned a jacket to protect against the biting cold of a late fall day in London and trekked her way the short walk from her flat to the warm shoppe.

Harry and Y/N had met their first year of uni during their very first class of the year, and they’d been pretty good mates ever since. It was the first time either of them had been in London for more than a day’s trip, both having been from other parts of England. Harry was from Holmes Chapel, a small village in Cheshire, and Y/N was from Malmesbury, a similarly small village in Wiltshire. They’d bonded over their humble upbringings and their similar tastes in music, as well as their love for baking. It also helped that they were both studying law and were in many of the same classes and made sure they were always together for any projects and study groups.

Three years in, they were thick as thieves, and they spent most of their free time together with the occasional added company of Niall, an Irishman whom Harry shared a flat with, and Y/N’s own flatmate, Penelope. Harry and Y/N remained the closest out of the bunch, though, and many mistook them for a couple, even though there’d never even been an inkling of anything other than platonic love in their friendship. They usually just laughed it off, and Y/N only really blushed when Penelope brought it up now.

It was fair to say Y/N had a bit of a crush on Harry. She always had, really. His cheeky grin and his disarmingly green eyes were the first things she’d noticed about him the first time she saw him, and his charismatic personality and intense care for others were a close second, and that was only because he hadn’t spoken for at least ten minutes the first time they sat beside each other. The feelings she had for him got brushed aside within the first month of knowing him, though, opting for being a good friend as opposed to trying her hand at getting anything else. Looking back now, that had been the best decision she could have ever made, because Harry and her shared a bond that she didn’t even share with her mates that she’d had since she was a toothless little girl in primary.

Y/N shook out her umbrella under the awning of the shoppe, already spying Harry through the large windows. He was at their normal table, two cups of tea already sat in front of him, and Y/N had to smile at the gesture. Harry grumbled every time Y/N stood at the counter to order, looking over the menu to find something to drink when he knew she’d just end up ordering the same thing she always did, so he took it upon himself to get it for her if he arrived first, avoiding the headache. Y/N really only did it to annoy him and see him flush a little when he got worked up over it, but she also enjoyed knowing that he knew her well enough to order what she liked. Harry had the patience of a saint when it came to anything else, but for some reason, Y/N’s ordering skills were his downfall. She found it hilarious.

Harry ran a hand through his long curls, something Y/N had come to love. When her and Harry met, he’d had a pretty standard, shaggy haircut where the ends of his hair only really began to curl a bit, but Y/N was pretty sure he hadn’t cut it since. It was now just past his shoulders, forming full ringlets that always looked so lush and always smelled of the coconut shampoo he used in the mornings after his workouts. She’d teased him about its length when he first started growing it out, but she’d developed a soft part for his signature locks, and she quite enjoyed running her fingers through it when he’d lay his head on her lap while they were studying or watching some telly.

“Hey, thanks for gettin’ this for me,” she said in greeting, dropping a kiss to the top of his head before she pulled out her chair. “Bloody cold out there.”

“Well, it’s December…” he reasoned, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Thank you, Harold. I had no idea.” Y/N rolled her eyes and blew a bit at the surface of the liquid in her mug. The scent of chai hit her in the face, and she hummed in contentment at her favourite winter-time tea. Technically, it was still only fall, but it was cold enough that she considered it to be winter. Honestly, she’d drink chai tea at any time of year, but the spicy scent from the cinnamon in it reminded her vividly of the winter months.

“How’s it going, love?” he asked, once they’d both settled.

“Good, just finished up that essay we have due for Jameson’s class,” she shrugged. “Still gotta do the editing and resource page, but it’s done otherwise.”

“I’ve still gotta get my conclusion together,” he groaned, sitting back in his chair. He scrubbed his hands over his face before pushing one back into his hair. “Only got a few days left.”

“You’ll be fine, H,” Y/N brushed off with a wave of her hand. She knew Harry enough to know that he always stressed about things like this, only to pull through with high marks once he turned it in. She’d watched him stress and ramble about how he was going to do shit on something, only for him to pull absolute gold out of his arse and turn in an immaculate piece of work that deserved to be bloody published. It was incredibly annoying, but she found his worrying beforehand a little endearing.

“I know,” he huffed, leaning his elbows back on the table. “I’m just anxious for holiday, I think.”

They only had a week left before the term ended for Christmas and New Years, and they could feel the antsy-ness creeping up on them. Both were excited for the time off and get back to their families and have a bit of a relaxation before they went on with their last term before graduation. They were so close, but the break was much needed and felt like it couldn’t come fast enough.

“One more week of exams and papers,” Y/N nodded. “Then we get to go home and pig out on junk and watch as much telly as we want.”

“Got my best mate’s wedding to go to, too,” Harry added, his tone suddenly becoming tense, fingers darting up to pull at his bottom lip.

Y/N squinted her eyes at the gesture. Harry’s oral fixation only really presented itself when he was nervous about a situation. The lip pulling, biting at his bottom one with his front teeth, licking them, dragging his fingers along the corners—they were all his tells. Y/N was curious as to why he was nervous, now, though. Last she’d heard, Harry was excited about his friend’s impending wedding. He’d been asked to be a groomsman and he’d been elated to get to wear a fancy tux and spend a day with his mates from back home. She was unsure of where the nerves were suddenly coming from and why.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asked. “Yeh were so excited for the wedding just last week. Why are yeh nervous now?”

Harry cringed. He was about to have to spill his secret to his best mate at uni about the lie he’d been keeping up with his friends from back home. He’d also have to propose his ridiculous idea to her and hopefully plead his way into getting her to agree to it. He felt pretty shitty to have kept the story up for so long with his friends, but it had been innocent at first, and then just progressively gotten out of hand. He didn’t think it’d come this far, though, and he knew it was all his fault. He didn’t see a way out, really, and he was hoping Y/N would just agree so he wouldn’t be revealed as a liar at his best mate’s wedding.

“I’ve done something stupid.”

Y/N snorted. “What else is new?”

He scowled at her as she giggled over the rim of her mug. “I was only gonna tell yeh ‘cause I needed your help, but I’ll go elsewhere if you’re gonna be mean ‘bout it.”

She quelled her laughs, only a few slipping out as she apologized. “Sorry, sorry. What’s the problem, H? How can I help?”

“I may or may not have told my mates—on more than a few occasions—that I couldn’t hang out when I was back home because I was spending time with my girl.”

Y/N gave him a deadpan look. “Why on earth would yeh do that? Yeh haven’t got a girl. And can’t yeh just tell ‘em yeh broke up or summat?”

“I ran out of excuses to avoid goin’ to parties and pub crawls. My liver couldn’t handle it anymore,” he whined, a drama queen as always. “Tellin’ ‘em I had a girl was easier than just tellin’ ‘em ‘no.’”

“You’re an idiot. Still doesn’t explain why yeh can’t just tell ‘em yeh broke up. Happens in real life, H.”

“Problem is, I already told ‘em I couldn’t hang out the first night I got back because I had to pick my girl up from the train station then. Said she was visitin’ over the holidays.”

“You’re an actual idiot,” she repeated, shaking her head. Only Harry would get himself into this sort of situation with no way to back out.

“I know! I fucked up.”

“So how exactly am I supposed to help yeh?”

“Gonna need someone to go to the wedding with since I already fucked up and put down that I’d be bringing a plus one. Now I need a plus one. Just pretend to be my date.”

Her eyes widened and she sat up straighter in her chair. “You’re not asking me to pretend to be your date, Harry. I’d really be your date to the wedding. You’re asking me to pretend to be your girlfriend. The girlfriend that your dumb ass made up.”

“Yeah, alright,” he relented with a sigh. “I’m asking yeh to pretend to be my girlfriend. Just for a few days. I’m going home on a Tuesday, the wedding’s on a Friday. Yeh can be back home by Saturday evening.”

“I haven’t got anything to wear to a wedding, Harry!” she protested. She was a jeans and jumpers sort of girl. The only dress she owned was one that was appropriate for job interviews and formal presentations. It was very business-like, and was definitely not something that was wedding-worthy.

“I’m sure Gem’s got something yeh can borrow,” Harry assured, already knowing his sister and Y/N were around the same size. Y/N had a few more…assets than he’d ever cared to notice about his sister, but they’d made it work before. Y/N had visited him in Holmes Chapel enough times to become friends with Gemma and swap clothes with her when need be.

“You’re really gonna make me do this?”

“I’m not makin’ yeh do anything,” he reasoned. “I’m askin’ nicely. And you’re agreein’, because you’re my best mate and yeh love me.” He shot her a cheeky grin, hoping it would get her to agree faster. He really did have to get back to his flat to finish his paper. And he had work later in the evening, so he was in a bit of a time crunch.

“You’re really lucky that I do love yeh, Styles,” she grumbled.

“So, is that a ‘yes?’”

“Yeah, sure. Like weddings well ‘nough.”

So that’s how she ended up on a train to Holmes Chapel with Harry the Tuesday after the beginning of their winter holiday. Anne and Gemma knew Y/N was tagging along with Harry to his mate’s wedding, but they didn’t know that she was pretending to be his girlfriend, as well. Neither his mum nor his sister were to be in attendance of the wedding, so it hadn’t been necessary to tell them. They just brushed it off as Harry asking Y/N to be his plus one and her getting to spend a little time with the Styles-Twist family during their break from school.

Gemma wouldn’t be showing up until the next day, with instructions from Harry to bring a few dress options for Y/N. Gemma was more than happy to comply, and she promised her brother she’d bring a few things she knew his mate would like.

Harry and Y/N agreed to act as couple-y as need be in front of his friends, not uncomfortable with showing physical affection toward one another anyways, even though she huffed and rolled her eyes through a lot of the discussion, still unable to fathom just how stupid he was to have gotten himself into this mess. She’d play nice when they were around his friends, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t take the piss out on him any chance she could get otherwise.

Anne was all smiles and warm hugs when Harry and Y/N walked through her front door. Anne always loved Y/N, liking that her personality was a perfect compliment to Harry’s. She’d once accidentally voiced her opinion that she thought Harry and Y/N would make a good couple to Harry, which he’d immediately shot down. Anne could understand that they were just good friends, but she really thought they’d be better in a romantic relationship. And she wasn’t entirely convinced that both of them weren’t attracted to the other. She saw the way Harry’s gaze would linger on Y/N whenever she was in the room, even if he was having a conversation with someone else. And she saw the way Y/N’s lips would perk up in a little grin any time Harry was around, even if he wasn’t talking to or near here at the time. Anne was pretty sure they were smitten with each other and just too blind to see it.

Anne asked them about how school was going as she brewed up a pot of tea after they’d put their things away in Harry’s room. They took turns chatting about how studies were going and their anxiousness at finally being in their last part of school. Both Harry and Y/N would be carrying on to get their masters degrees, but it was nice to finally be done with their initial studies. They’d be qualified to get jobs in their fields, now, and actually utilize the skills they’d been learning for the last three years. They’d also be going to the same school again, still in London. They were glad to still have each other as support as they moved on to a different chapter in their lives.

Y/N stayed in Gemma’s room that night since it was vacant, but the following day, after Gemma arrived, she stayed in Harry’s room. It wasn’t uncommon for them, sleeping in the same bed together, and no one else thought anything of it. At this point, everyone who knew Harry and Y/N were used to their comfortable dynamic. Gemma had initially teased them about sleeping in the same bed together the first time Y/N had come out to visit, but it was just that once. It was a little weird now if they didn’t share a bed.

Wednesday evening, Y/N and Harry got hooked into going to see his mates down at the local pub so they can all hang out in a relaxed environment before the wedding. Harry no longer has an excuse, since they’ve all got to meet his “girlfriend” at some point, and Y/N points out that it’ll be an easy way to get introductions out of the way. So, Harry and Y/N get dressed after supper and head down to the pub. When they’re about a block away, Y/N grabs onto Harry’s wrist, trying to get his hand out of his pocket.

“What’re yeh doing? It’s cold,” he whined. He put a jacket on before they left, but it hasn’t got any pockets, so he’d been forced to put his hands in his jeans for warmth, but it wasn’t enough.

“Hold my hand, yeh knob,” she scoffed. “We look like we don’t even wanna be near each other.”

“That’s not true!” he protested. “We’re nearly bumping into each other, we’re walking so close together.”

“Harry, you’re super affectionate. It looks weird when someone like you isn’t touching the girlfriend they claim to care about.”

She’s got a point, Harry realized, so he easily slipped his fingers between Y/N’s dainty little ones, surprised to find them so warm. She smirked as she took their joined hands and shoved it into the large pocket of her jacket where it’s much toastier than the outside air. Harry flashes her a content grin before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

When they made it through the door of the pub, Harry immediately spotted his mates, all sat together in a large corner booth. Liam sat in the center, his arm draped around Cheryl’s shoulders, holding her close to his side. They were the ones getting married this weekend, and they looked completely content to Y/N. She knew Liam was a year older than Harry, and Cheryl was a few years older than her fiancé, but you couldn’t tell that just by looking at them, Louis was there too, sat on Liam’s other side, his girlfriend Eleanor sitting next to him, their hands intertwined on the table top. Y/N had never met them personally before, only ever seen their social media accounts via Harry and heard stories, so when the group spotted the entering the pub, all their eyes lit up with excitement to finally see Harry’s girl.

Harry extracted his hand from Y/N’s, only to wind it around her waist and settle it on her opposite hip in a move he’d seen the other lads do with their girls numerous times. If Harry and Y/n were stood together, he’d usually just throw his arm around her shoulders, but that seemed a bit too platonic in the moment.

“Harry! Yeh made it, mate!” Louis shouted to be heard over the chatter in the pub and the music that was playing throughout the room. “Almost expected yeh to flake out on us again.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he helped Y/N slide into the booth next to Cheryl, who grinned happily at the extra female company. “Fuck off, Tommo. ‘M here, aren’t I?”

“And yeh brought your girl!” Liam shouted happily, leaning across his soon-to-be wife to get a better view of the woman Harry had walked in with. “I’m Liam, and this is me missus, Cheryl.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Y/N reciprocated with a smile as Harry slid in next to her. “I’m Y/N. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you, love,” Cheryl beamed, and Y/N was a little surprised by her Geordie accent. She knew enough about Liam and Louis, but she’d never really learned much about their partners.

The group settles into a comfortable conversation while sipping on pints. Y/N easily answers everyone’s questions, keeping everything truthful until they ask about how she and Harry got together. She honestly tells them that they met in class their first day of uni, but she knows Harry’s only been using the excuse that they’ve been dating for the last several months, so she explains that they’d been good mates for awhile until it just kind of blossomed into something more.

Harry had been prepared to jump in and manipulate the story a little bit if need be, but Y/N was handling it well on her own, so he slung an arm across her shoulder and sat back, listening to her tell the story of their fake relationship and watching his friends fall in love with her. He wasn’t surprised, honestly. He’d fallen in love with her within a few days of knowing her. He wasn’t really sure what type of love it was, though. He found her attractive, obviously—she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met—and he hung on just about every word she said, but she’d never shown any interest in him, so he’d kept his feelings platonic. He’d take loving her as a best friend any day over muddying their relationship with feelings that might not be reciprocated.

About two hours into their night, Liam suggested a game of darts since all the pool tables were occupied. The couples were put into teams, and Harry smirked, knowing Y/N and him were about to wipe the floor. He’d discovered in their first year that Y/N was extremely good at darts. She’d explained that her family had a dart board, and it had been a bit of an ongoing competition with her cousins over the years. Harry can’t recall a time when he’d seen her miss her target, even when she was right pissed.

They set the game up in elimination style, so the other two couples played against each other first. Before they began, Louis called out a bet, saying that whoever won overall wouldn’t pay for their drinks for the rest of the night, the tab to be picked up by the two losing teams. It wasn’t much, but it was enough encouragement to make it an actual competitions as opposed to six people just dicking around in a bar.

Harry and Y/N sat back as they watched the other teams due it out on the board. Y/N snickered when Cheryl tossed it and it stuck into the wall just above the board, a squeak emitting from her mouth.

“How do yeh think they’ll react when yeh go up there and throw ‘em perfectly?” Harry asked, leaning into her to mumble the words into her ear.

“Think they’ll be a little mad we hustled ‘em,” she chuckled.

Harry shrugged. “Their own damn faults for suggestin’ the game.

“Yeah, but they didn’t know I’ve basically been trainin’ my whole life for this moment,” she joked, bumping her hip into Harry’s.

He laughed and pulled her into him, their chests flush together. Y/N sighed at the warmth his body radiated to hers. He was always so cuddly and smelled so good that it was hard for her to refrain from pressing her nose into his neck and living there. Although, since the people around them thought they were dating, she couldn’t see why she couldn’t do just that. So, she pushed up onto her toes and buried her face into the juncture between his shoulder and neck, nuzzling her nose against his skin.

His grip around her shoulders tightened and she felt more than heard the chuckle bubbling in his chest. “What are yeh doin’, pet?”

“You’re warm,” she explained, winding her own arms around his waist, under his jumper. She thought he had a t-shirt on underneath, so she was a bit surprised when she made contact with bare skin, though she didn’t pull away. He really was warm, and she was basking in it a little bit. “And yeh smell really good.” He always smelled really good, but it wasn’t often that she was able to sample it straight from the source like that.

“How much have yeh had, yeh weirdo?” he teased her, but he just pulled her body closer to his. “Usually only get this cuddly when yeh’ve had a few.”

“Only the one,” she promised. “Can’t I just enjoy your warmth? Yeh know I’m always fucking freezing.” It was true. Something about poor circulation and a normally low blood pressure meant her hands and feet were always cold, and Harry was a perfect way to warm them up.

“Oi! Love birds,” Louis called, drawing their attention. “Li and Cheryl are shit, so it’s you and us. Get your arses over here.”

Harry and Y/N parted from their embrace and walked to join their new opponents. Y/N let Harry go first to lull Eleanor and Louis into a false sense of security. Harry wasn’t bad by any means, but he was just pretty average, kind of like how El was when she went right before him. Both racked up a decent amount of points, but Louis looked cocky as he stepped up and threw the darts. He got one bullseye, which had Liam, Cheryl and Eleanor cheering. Louis smirked over his shoulder at Y/N, like he was happy to know she was watching him beat her. Harry pursed his lips together to keep from smirking and giving away his confidence that he and Y/N were definitely about to kick their asses.

The rest of Louis’s darts were well-aimed, but none of them were as good as his first attempt. When he handed Y/N the darts after he’d retrieved them, he sent her a playfully competitive wink with a, “Good luck, love.”

Y/N rolled her eyes behind his back, and Harry chortled at her reaction.

“Yeh’ve got this, love,” Harry called out, sending his support and encouragement, even though he knew she didn’t really need it.

Y/N smirked at him with a slight lift of one brow, her silent way of saying, “I know I do. We’re about to win free drinks for the rest of the night.”

“Yeh can move up closer if yeh want, love,” Louis called out. Y/N couldn’t tell if he was trying to be helpful or taunting with his words. She’d noticed both Eleanor and Cheryl had stood about a half a meter in front of the mark that was set into the ground for the dartboard, but she knew she’d probably do some damage if she stood that close. She threw hard enough to make he darts into the little holes the first time.

“I’m good,” she assured without looking back at him. She squared herself up and took a dart in her right hand.

“Watch this,” Harry muttered to Liam, who had taken a place next to him when Y/N had vacated it.

Liam furrowed his brow at Harry’s comment, but turned to look quickly when he hear the thwack of the dart hitting the board. His jaw dropped when he say it sticking out of the center red mark of the board.

“Lucky shot,” Louis called out, though he sounded a little unsure of that. Harry shook his head with a little smile. Louis had always been really competitive, since he was usually the best at whatever game they were playing. He didn’t like to be shown up, and Harry could tell Y/N’s first bullseye was getting to his friend a bit. He couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when the next ones she threw were just as perfect.

“Can’t wait until you two have to buy the rest of me pints,” he continued, trying to sound more sure of himself.

Y/N barked out a laugh, and quickly threw the remaining two, sinking them into the board right beside the first one, all well within the red mark in the center. Y/N turned to see Louis’s mouth dropped open in shock, eyes trained on the three perfectly thrown darts still wiggling a bit in the board.

“I’ll take that pint now,” she announced.

The other girls cheered while Liam laughed at Louis’s put out face. Harry hopped off his stool and gathered her in a hug, lifting her a few centimeters off the floor. He laughed joyfully as she giggled at his boisterous reaction. He knew she was going to kick their asses, but he was still giddy about watching it happen.

“I could kiss you right now!” he exclaimed, still laughing and spinning her slowly. He was so impressed by her and he really liked that she’d put Louis in his place so effortlessly. It was a beautiful thing, really, seeing her take him down a few pegs so easily.

Without thinking, he brought her down and pressed his lips to hers, capturing her bottom lip between both of his. He hummed as his eye dropped closed, feeling her soft mouth against his slightly chapped ones.

Y/N’s eyes widened at first at the sudden kiss, taken aback by the ease with which he did it. They’d never kissed before, aside from quick pecks to the cheeks and forehead. She’d always wondered what his berry pink lips would feel like against hers, and she was pleased that they were so warm and plush. She dropped her eyes closed quickly, only now remembering that they were surrounded by people that thought they’d been dating for months, now. It would be weird if they saw anything amiss with this kiss.

Their lips parted and met again quickly, slotting them even closer together than the first time. Y/N whimpered slightly when the tip of Harry’s tongue drug lightly against her bottom lip. Harry knew that meant it was time to disengage, though, not wanting to get into anything in a crowded pub with his mates watching them.

Harry pulled back, his hands cradling her head, and he hadn’t realized he’d moved them from her waist at any point. His breathing was stilted, grappling for breath but also at a loss for it at the same time. Y/N eyes bore into his as they looked at each other, her lips parted slightly as she seemed to try to regain her own breath.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered, so only her and Harry would hear. What had they just done? That was no pretend kiss to appease any onlookers. That was genuine and real and had a lot of emotions she hadn’t really knew were there between them. She’d always had a crush of sorts on Harry, but she never thought it’d been reciprocated.

“Don’t run away,” he urged, stooping to press their foreheads together. “We’ll talk about this, yeah? Just don’t run from me, pet.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Okay, Harry.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging in relief. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

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