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worldoftom · 2 years

Text

Blep! 👅 [18+]

words » 16.3k

verse » Fantasy & Putts [18+]

pairing » roommate fwb actor Tom x fem reader

warnings » all smut, explicit warnings under the cut

disclaimer » this story is 18+ ; unsuitable for minors

special thanks » @hypnotized-so-mesmerized ; @nowayhomeparker ; @spidey-sophie ;

b’s note » hey everyone! this came out of nowhere, but in the fantasyverse Tom gets so much oral and y/n not so much, which isn’t fair, right? our poor y/n. so here it is, a oneshot feat. *drumroll please* cunnilingus! lots and lots of it! and the best part is: it can be read as a standalone, no need to read what happens before :D a very special thank you to my hoes because this wouldn’t exist without our fascination with that picture of Tom in the pink polo, you’re the best 😍

fantasyverse masterpost | main masterlist

explicit warnings : Tom eats out a lot (not at a restaurant) aka oral sex, fem receiving in several places, including standing by a window (they don’t get interrupted, but the Harries are aware of shenanigans) and the garden + creampie & y/n recording it on camera, Tom gets so excited about it, it’s adorable + oral sex, male receiving in a bathroom. i think that’s it! also please don’t try this at home, it’s just fiction, nobody should be expected to have such a short recovery time!

~ ⛳️ ~

(timeline: springtime, six months after MFL)

So. Here’s how it happened.

It was just a roommates night out and it was all about fun because it had been too long since you’ve all hung out together. You have been the one to spend the most time at home, thanks to your now full-time job at the Toasty Den and the vlog channel you still manage to create content for every week.

As for the boys, Tuwaine is the one you see the most, even though he comes and goes; as far as you know, he spends a lot of time at his family home. Tom’s been out of the country for a month and will go back to work in only a few days. Sometimes Harry goes with him, but when he doesn’t, he’s always going in and out of town with Harrison to work on their doctrails—or so they say. And Sam spends most of his time away because he’s enrolled in a twelve-week culinary course, and when he isn’t in class, he applied to an apprenticeship in a restaurant a couple of towns over.

This means it’s really tough to gather them all for a few hours of fun. Not knowing when it might happen again in the future, you wanted to document pretty much everything, which was why you brought out the new camera that Tom bought for your half anniversary.

Harry freaked out when he saw it, twirling it around in his hands. “This was such a good choice, oh my god, you’ve gotta let me try it out.”

“Nope, sorry mate,” you said, making ‘gimme’ gestures with your palms turned upward. “This baby contains very sensitive pieces you don’t wanna be messing around with.”

Harry let it drop onto the kitchen island counter right away. “You’re gross.”

After that, since he wanted to check the quality so badly, you went upstairs and deleted anything that could compromise the original purpose of the new camera and later, you took your new baby out for a spin. Harry experimented a little like a boy with a new Christmas present, you took some pictures of everyone as well, and by the end of the night the memory card was filled with plenty of great moments among friends.

Tuwaine and Harrison were in charge of the night’s activities. And boy, was it messy and fun. It started with a drinking card game at home to get you all pumped, then a late dinner at a new pub Harrison had been obsessed with, a short visit to this ‘Glow In The Park’ party that was being held at the city park —though you all spent more time getting drunk by the spiked ice cream sundae bar truck than anything else— and finally you went clubbing. Tuwaine’s choice. And it was perfect.

In the club, neon lights distorting everyone’s sight, it was dark and loud and hot. Especially Tom. He was in a tight patterned shirt and your favorite jeans, scrumptiously snug around his perky bum, and he was all glowing and toned and huge because he’d been on a serious muscle-up plan at the gym for his next acting role. His thighs had gotten thick, his shoulders massive, his biceps no longer fit in any of his tops so he kept dragging a finger under the sleeves to, you believe, alleviate the pressure of being a proper hunk. And of course, you being absolutely smitten with his fingers, that’s not news to anyone, you kept staring at him and he always caught you just when your eyes were skimming down his veiny arms and focused on his gorgeous hands. Fuck.

“Take a picture, darlin’, it will last you longer,” he taunted you one of those times, wrapping an arm around your waist and blowing a raspberry into the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder.

“I’ll take a picture when they’re in my cunt,” you nearly spat at him as you grabbed his hand and tugged him closer.

“I will gladly make that a photoshoot, just name a date and a time.”

Then you dragged him to the dance floor, but all you wanted was to fuck yourself on his hand with the music loud around you and everybody lost in the sway and sweat of the crowd. Tom, however, he’d be enraptured by the column of your throat and the curve of your ass and the curl of his fingers kneading your sweet spot on repeat. But sadly none of that happened.

You do have a little decorum. Occasionally.

After a while, you followed like a kitten as he strolled towards the bar to fetch another round, but when you got there, he must have sensed your presence —or probably saw your reflection in the mirror behind the counter— because he turned around with a couple of beers in his hands and bumped into you. Spilling them all over your cleavage.

“Fuck. Meee,” you cursed at the cold liquid slithering down between your breasts.

Tom’s face showed no surprise, only a smug grin. “Whoops. Guess we’re gonna have to go home.”

Asshole.

You went home right after, as he expected you to. Tom’s hand was heavy on your knee on the taxi ride over, nails digging into the pliant flesh on the underside, his leg bouncing anxiously as he tried to contain his excitement. And as soon as you stepped foot inside the house, the lock barely closed behind you, his mouth was on you and that same leg slipped between your thighs, pressing up. Shoes were thrown into the hallway, your purse lost somewhere in the middle. You pressed the camera into your chest and sneaked your other palm inside Tom’s shirt, all while his hands groped your body.

You started going up the stairs with him in tow, lips sucking a wet kiss into your neck, but you tripped on nothing and he tripped on you when he tried to catch you, and you fell on your ass, and he ended up with his head at the level of your waist. Both of you laughed like crazy at the mess of limbs spread everywhere. Being slightly touched by alcohol as he was, he bit on the side of your breast and kissed your half exposed tummy, and then tugged on the edge of your skirt until it was all hiked up around your hips.

Before you noticed it, he was pushing your knickers to the side and diving headfirst between your thighs. It was so good while it lasted, his hands holding you up, his nose breathing over your clit, the relentless jabs of his tongue past the ring of tight muscles. Though after the first, heaven-sent stretch of his fingers into you, the lock on the door clicked and you had to bolt out of there.

By the time you got upstairs, you were laughing so hard at the mess of the night and slightly disgusted by the stench of beer on your bosom, and the mood faded. It didn’t help that Tom was fast asleep by the time you got out of the shower, either.

So here you are now, sitting on the window seat in your shared bedroom, in a flimsy top and your knickers because your bottoms were driving you mad, extremely horny and extremely wet, thinking of Tom’s crooked mouth and his beautiful dick. That loser really had to leave for a work meeting at morning-fuck o’clock, didn’t he? He’s unbelievable. He lets you sit on his lap, teases you, and then bails on you. It’s ridiculous. Although he did suggest a self pleasure fest in bed after he left, and you did try, but it ended in frustration. You couldn’t stop picturing his fingers and his thighs and his cock, but had absolutely nothing like them to bounce on.

You sigh.

You’re waiting for him to come back home after his meeting, though you think he mentioned a brunch with his mates or something like that. This means it might be a while before he returns, so you have to entertain yourself somehow.

Adjusting your position on the cushion to keep your legs from being cramped under your ass, you pull the camera out of its bag and connect it to your laptop. It’s propped on the large windowsill, and you click through the photos from last night, from the pub to the Glow In The Park party and many more.

From group pictures to singles and doubles and trouples, there’s a bit of everything hidden in the memory card. Tom is in most of them, either with all of his friends and their silly ways, or with Harrison because those two love sharing the camera, or under Tuwaine’s arm reaching up to kiss his neck or his face, or with his brothers in what you have learned to be a tradition of theirs, Tom in the middle with his arms around them. Pictures of the two of you, of course, and of just him with his tongue out or in his favorite poses, a wide grin with his eyes scrunched closed or his middle finger pointed at the photographer.

There’s a sequence of images on what you think might be the way to the club at the end of the night, clearly taken by Harry from the back. You’re walking ahead of him, showing something on your phone to Tom, who seems unaware of it in the first picture, looking over his shoulder and flipping the camera in the second one, a third one where he’s looking at the phone, and a last one where you’re both laughing at whatever you had found, his arm around you by then. You don’t remember the specifics of that moment, but it did result in a few cute shots.

Already at the club, the next photos are darker and less frequent. A few interesting ones at the table where you were stationed with your drinks that you take note for later, but for the most part it’s pictures of the six of you. You do click onto ones of just Tom, flipping you off and with his mouth open trying to tell you something, and then his palm getting closer and closer to the lens because he wanted you to stop taking pictures and go dancing with him.

And apparently, you did. On the dance floor, it’s obvious that you tried to take pictures, but they came out dark and blurry. There are videos, though, and they’re all pretty decent, the boys having a good time though the focus shifts to Tom. He’s hilarious when he thinks he’s being a sexy dancer. You shake your head at his laughable dance moves on the screen. After, you find a couple of selfies of you, of you and the boys in silent cheers, arms in the air and all because they’re silly and dramatic like that, and finally of you and Tom. You’re both smiling in one, in the next you’re smiling and he’s wiping something off your brow with a sweet look on his face —you totally stop on that one for a few seconds, saving a copy into the cloud— followed by one where his mouth has dropped to an affronted ‘oh’ because you’re shoving his face off camera. And in the next one, it’s just his ass.

You remember this moment in particular quite well. After the selfies, you were going to take another one with Tom’s squinty face in the background when someone knocked into you and you had to move the camera away. It seems to have clicked anyway, so all you got was a shot of his ass in the dark. You adjust a few filters to brighten it up just to check, and yep, that’s a pretty centered picture of Tom’s remarkable bum. You’d find it hilarious if it wasn’t so pretty.

A couple of random pictures of the crowd later, there’s another video. A shorter, sneakier one, though you don’t recall what was going through your mind at the time. The scene in itself doesn’t seem familiar, but it was clearly filmed by you. Tom is mouthing the lyrics of the song with his eyes closed, sipping his beer next. For a little while, the image zooms in on his face —well, on his jaw, let’s be honest— as he sways along to the music. When it zooms out, Harrison’s face comes into shot and you can perceive him shouting, “You’re here to dance, missy!” and then there’s your laugh and when the video freezes at the end, Tom’s very furrowed brow is front and center.

Anything after that is blurry as hell. What is supposed to be a group photo after you left the dance floor for more drinks, one of the twins making a toast, another of Tom, Harrison and Tuwaine making a stupid pose you believe was their hallmark in acting school, and several others, it’s all a mess of color and distorted faces.

“What the fuck.”

It seems as though someone wasn’t in a good state by that time. You don’t remember drinking that much, but clearly you were wrong.

Laughing at it, you realize that not all of the next photos are like this. There are very, very clear photos of Tom’s hands and Tom’s forearms and Tom’s neck, which leaves you questioning your drunk self’s intentions. In one of them, he’s standing by the table, his brothers around him having a conversation, but he’s staring at the dance floor, a beer bottle between his hands, and his tongue is poking out of the corner of his mouth. If you remember correctly from what you’ve seen so far, it’s something you caught him doing a lot throughout the night.

A lightbulb turns on brightly in your mind.

You figure that Tom’s meeting must be over by now, so you decide to send him this picture because it won’t bother him if he’s already at brunch or on his way over. You save the photo in a folder in your cloud and grab your phone to crop it to an appropriate size, with his face at the top and his veiny hands at the bottom, blurring out the background around him.

When it’s ready, you open Tom’s favorite messaging app and send it to him.

You: what do you think about when your tongue goes 😛

Not expecting him to answer right away, you go back to the laptop and search for those pictures of what you believe are accidental close-ups of his body. You want to save those as well. For a rainy day…

Tom’s reply comes after you’re finished deleting them from the camera’s memory card.

Tom: depends

Tom: but mostly ⛳️!

You: Why did i even ask

Tom: you tell me darling

Tom: what do you want me to be thinkin about 😏😏😏

You: I’m gonna wipe that f-ing emoji off your phone

As it is, his response turns you on more than it should. You hate those damned smirking emojis, but you can imagine his face while he’s choosing them from the huge list of yellow little faces at his disposal. You’ve seen it so often by now. He’s a cheeky little fuck by nature, but things get naturally more difficult for you when you’re as extra horny as you are at the moment.

The problem was that while Tom was gone for the last month, he kept traveling back and forth and the time zones were tricky to get a phone call in, so you did most of your talking to him via text message. Which sucked. When he came back on Wednesday, he was exhausted, and Thursday was an awful day for you at the Den, and on Friday he had a few errands to run and then you went out with the boys, so there was no time to quench that one month old thirst.

Hence the state of your legs right now. They’re weak, craving him, and wet in the middle.

Instead of sitting there in frustration, you take a few pictures of yourself and choose the perfect one to send to him. It’s mostly your naked belly, panties peeking at the bottom and a hint of a nipple at the top. First, you send him a little heads-up:

You: 18+ picture incoming

You: Watch your back!

Then you select the picture and choose the temporary message option at the bottom to make sure it won’t stay visible in the chat after he sees it. The message status turns to ‘seen’ almost immediately.

Tom: tease

You: Blep 😛

Tom: its pussy oclock and i’m stuck at brunch 😡😡😡

You: 💦🐈 waiting for 👅

You’re not sure if that sequence of emojis makes total sense, but Tom has seen it and he sends back a cheeky emoticon:

Tom: :D!

He must have understood the message.

Afterwards, every half hour, you send another message: a 💦 emoji after a clock emoji, always showing a different time up to 12—which you interpret as a countdown to zero. He doesn’t respond until after the third message, sending you three middle finger emojis and his favorite exclamation points.

Tom: 🖕🖕🖕 !!!

You stop with the texts and focus on flicking through the photos, paying more attention to detail. In one of the pictures at the pub, Tom has once more his tongue poking out of his mouth, and you send that picture to him.

You: BLEP 😛

You: Blep my pussy as often as you do this mf

He replies a few minutes later.

Tom: is this your idea of sexting

Tom: (its working)

You laugh at his response because how could you not. He gets you.

Later, a while after you’ve put down your laptop and started working on a rich salad for lunch, you have your phone resting on the kitchen island counter when it pings and buzzes once.

Tom: guess who

Shortly after you read it, he sends a selfie. A close-up of his face with his tongue tipping at the corner of his mouth. And a second one of him with his eyes all wide and fully sticking out his tongue. From what little you see of the background, it seems like he’s in the car already.

You want to send something back that follows the mood of your previous conversation with him. Something that will show him how you’re still craving him for more than just a sweet welcome home hug. The loveseat in the corner of the kitchen catches your attention. You sit on it and spread your knees, taking a picture of your thighs with a space large enough for Tom in the middle.

You: There’s an empty spot waiting for you

Tom: 😛😛😛

Tom: actually no

You: WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO

Tom: I MEAN

Tom: 👅👅👅

You: Oh

You: 🤤

Safe to say, it isn’t a salad that you want to have for lunch.

When Tom arrives, he marches up to you with his mouth in a tight line and greets you with an intoxicating kiss, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand grabbing and squeezing a butt cheek. It’s full of tongue and teeth and pure hunger, leaving you breathless in a matter of seconds.

“What’s gotten into you?” you gasp out a question, thumbing at the corner of your mouth to wipe a little spit.

“Nothing,” he says, breathing heavily. “But I’m getting into you.”

You chuckle at him, but have no time to react. He smacks your butt and says, “Get that hot arse upstairs, young lady. Gonna blep that pussy so hard you’ll pass the fuck out.”

“Uh, excuse me?”

The Harries are right behind him. Not even you had seen them. Tom apologizes, but dismisses them with a gesture of his shoulder, adding, “We’ll see you at dinner.” And as he pushes you past the living room and up the stairs, your bottom lip doesn’t leave its spot between the two rows of your teeth.

You expected this, after being interrupted last night and not getting it off your mind this morning, but you didn’t think he would be this raw with you. Or with them. Nevertheless, you follow the touch on the small on your back and trek all the way to the bedroom, with the ghost of Tom’s breath hot on the nape of your neck.

“You look so pretty today, baby,” he whispers into your ear once you cross the invisible border between the hallway and the bedroom. Kicking the door closed, he grabs your hand and twirls you on your feet a couple of times, stepping forward and stopping you mid-turn so you’ll crash against his chest. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this morning the whole time.”

“How come?” you tease, wrapping both arms around his neck.

“Can’t believe that stupid alarm went off when you were about to sit on my dick,” he grunts into a peck.

“Guess we need better time management skills,” you say to him, collecting his soft, smiling lips into a proper kiss.

It lasts less than a few seconds. Tom pulls away with a smack and says, “Now. Where’d you take that picture?” You blink at him, unsure which one he means. “The one with the legs. ‘Cause I fucking loved it and I want to claim the spot you saved for me.”

You hum into his mouth, then say, “Sadly that was downstairs, so—”

“Okay, that’s out of the question.”

“The Harries would kill you.” You chuckle, thinking back to his brother and friend, your roommates and friends too, and to how tired they must be of sharing a house with two people like you and Tom. “And me.”

Truth is, you both have caught them in the action as well in the past six or so months. The house is big enough for the six of you, but it’s not a freaking mansion. Not to mention that the walls are thin and the piping in the bathrooms is the same as every other smaller house in the country. Sound travels. Fast. So you and Tom have had your scares, too. It’s not often, but it happens. In the end, it’s tit for tat.

“Yeah, they would, and I’m already on very thin ice.”

“Maybe you should control yourself a little,” you suggest with a giggle.

Tom gasps and smacks your butt jokingly. “Uh, I’m sorry, miss, who climbed on who’s lap this morning?”

“But that’s different,” you remind him. “They weren’t here this morning.”

“And I didn’t think they were there just now,” he groans, rubbing an eye with one hand, the other wrapped around yours now. “Oh, I know just the spot. Here, sit over there.”

You look at where he’s pointing even though you know exactly where he means.

“The window seat?” Tom shrugs like it was so obvious. And okay, knowing him and his exhibitionist ways, it was.

“Do you not want to? We could do—”

“No, no. It’s fine, champ. It’s just a little… narrow, that’s all.”

It’s a 24-inch wide bench, so you can see it working a little, but judging by his haste right now, it could end up in disaster.

“We’ll make it work.”

He makes sure to push the curtains to the side before tapping the cushion where he wants you. It’s right in front of the largest of the three windows surrounding the seat. As you turn on your heels to do sit down, he stops you and keeps you turned to the window, tilting your torso forward a little bit. You look for support on the glass and look behind you at his puzzled expression, sensing the hand on your waist before you actually see it. Tom undoes the button at the front of your shorts, the zipper, then removes them and your underwear at the same time, exposing you to the room. He throws both garments somewhere behind him, but you don’t check where. Then, he needs just a couple of seconds to slide his hand up the inside of your thigh, seeking your wetness between the legs.

“Had a better idea,” he says with a grin, giving your butt a light slap, adding, “Knee on the seat, baby. Lean forward and push those lovely hips backwards, will you, hm? For me?”

With each of his words, his hot hand massages your sex, fingertips resting at the top of your mound when he cups you there. Tom helps you get into position, placing your left knee further apart than you would have and pushing your head until your cheek rests on the glass, ass tipped back in an angle that would require him only to drop to his knees to get a face full of cunt. Which is exactly what he does.

You moan at the very first sight of him down there, at the first press of his tongue in your slit, at the first poke of his nose so close to your needy hole. Hips pushed back, you enjoy the little licks and the little dabs and the really pointy tip of his tongue slithering over every inch where it’s wet. His hands grasp your butt before they move downward and spread your lips apart so he can reach your clit with an acute angle of his neck. He keeps moving up and down, dipping it here, lapping up there, with the tip or the whole pad or even the sides from what you can tell, sucking on your lips or the nub that’s starting to swell up with blood, or even on the patch of skin right under your thigh, which shouldn’t turn you on so much but it does.

When he grasps your hips in his arms and pulls you even closer to his face, his mouth opens over your pussy and he applies an insane amount of suction. Bits of slippery skin sucked into his mouth with a loud wet noise that drives a shiver up your spine and burns in your ears. Your eyes close at the sensation, but then you flutter them open at what you see outside. Downstairs.

Harry is doing something in the garden. All it would take is a glance to the upper floor of the house and he’d get a very explicit view of your face against the glass and the top of your breasts showing through your top. You try to move away, not wanting to expose yourself like that and make things worse between the two brothers, but as you do, your hips flinch back and Tom has his mouth open and his tongue slides straight into your hole.

“Fuck,” you can’t help but moan, calling Tom’s name in a hoarse voice, followed by, “Again. Fuck yeah.” And he does it again and again and again, fucking your little hole that clenches around his tongue when it slips inside. It’s so good, and it shouldn’t be because it’s so thin and small compared to what you usually have up in there.

Tom drives forward with his shoulders and your body slams against the window. So much for not wanting to expose yourself. Your mouth fogs the window and your nipples chafe on the back cushion despite the fabric, knee sliding in the seat and spreading you open even more. You ride his tongue just like that, letting out desperate tiny ‘oh oh oh’s through your open, panting mouth.

You’re getting so fucking close by now, your insides churning with it, but you must say something or make some kind of noise that Tom recognizes because he pulls back and smacks your ass hard.

“Not so fast, young lady,” he says, slapping your cunt right after. The force of it jolts through you at lightning speed.

“Uhh, Tom,” you whine and try to press back into him, but he’s already gone.

He’s up on his feet and grabs you by the hair. You think he’s going to pull backward, towards him, but instead he presses your face against the glass and licks a straight line from your jaw all the way up to your temple.

“What were you looking at, darling?” he asks in a murmur, biting into your ear lobe.

“Nothing,” you say, flicking your eyes to the garden and finding both Harries out there now.

“It’s never nothing with you, uh,” he taunts, his face really close to yours, eyes also seeing what you saw just now. “Fucking Harries, y’know? I mean, I love those dudes, I do, but sometimes I really wish we had kept the other flat.” You moan at the thought. Unspeakable things would happen if you and Tom were to live by yourselves, you just know it. “Would you have liked that, baby girl? Just me and you, getting naked everywhere, as loud as you fucking want.”

You try to respond, but your cheek is too tight on the glass and your throat is too tight from his previous ministrations, so all that comes out is a garbled, “Nghhhhh.” It means absolutely nothing at all and everything at the same time.

“We’d have so much sex on that bloody balcony,” he moans. “You know that, right?”

There’s no denying that the balcony sex was pretty hot, and that you have rarely said no to anything he suggested in bed. It’s safe to say you would have sex out there every other day if that’s what he wanted. You truly just can’t resist him and that’s the truth.

“Alright, enough of scaring those two to death,” he says, letting go of your hair and dropping a sweet kiss on your cheek. When you look through the window, the Harries are nowhere to be seen. You can only hope they didn’t look up.

Tom moves first next, helping you straighten back on your feet. Your legs aren’t too wobbly, so you let go of his hand right after with a faint thanks and a quick peck on the lips. He disappears to the left, and the next time you see him, he’s lying down on the window seat, his eyes on you and his bare feet climbing up the seat next to your legs.

There isn’t a lot of room for him. It’s barely enough for a person to sit up straight, really, but he looks so small lying there on his back, though one of his shoulders isn’t supported by the bench at all. He’s become so massive that it makes sense that he doesn’t fit, but somehow he does make it work. Just like he said he would.

“C’mere,” he asks, patting his chest. “Come sit on my face, darling.”

“Can’t say no to that,” you giggle, unwary of the risks. Of course you won’t fit with your knees around his head, his neck and shoulders take up too much space, so you prop your foot on the bench the best you can and the other stays on the floor. You’re a little slanted to the side, but Tom has both hands on your ass and pulls you onto his mouth before you can make sure the position is right.

Everything is misaligned down there, and he ends up kissing the cleft of your ass instead. Tugging you to one side and then even closer, Tom lifts his neck and gives you a long lick from top to bottom. Your hips hesitate and press down on him to find an open mouth awaiting. He manages to suck on your lips and on your clit a little, but he can’t make his arms work to keep you spread open, and you need both hands to balance your weight on top of him. You can see what’s going to happen mere seconds before it does.

“Fucking— fuck,” he curses and tugs on your ass again. As if that would be a good idea.

You topple over him and collapse with your face on his groin, his cock almost poking your eye if you didn’t swerve to the side, your legs give out and you hit your ankles on a piece of wood and his hands don’t provide support enough. So you end up rolling off of him, and he rolls off of the seat, and you both drop to the floor with muffled painful cries.

“Fuck.” You half sigh, half giggle.

“Fuck indeed,” Tom fully laughs, hiding his face in his hands. “Moving on. This is part of it, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” you say, still giggling, accepting his hand so you’ll both get up on your feet. Tom guides you back onto the seat, sitting your butt on it this time and keeping your legs apart with both hands on your knees.

“There we go,” he says, kneeling in between them.

“Now that’s your spot.”

“Exactly. What the fuck was I thinking?” Tom giggles, placing a small kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Let’s go back to business.”

The moment Tom leans forward and grabs your hips to dive back into kissing your pussy, you immediately regret his choice. You’re fully seated and you won’t fall from here, probably, you think, and he’s on the floor which is fine, but the bench is too low for what he’s trying to achieve. At least with a torso as large as his right now.

Somehow, he manages to slip his shoulders under your thighs and he gets a little lick on your clit, but then he pulls back and sighs. “This isn’t what I expected, it’s too—”

“Low,” you complete the sentence for him.

“Yeah.” He sighs, caressing your thighs as he looks around. “You can’t move any further on this thing, can you?”

“Nope, I’m right at the edge. Maybe we should—” You want to suggest the bed since you both know that will be a secure place for what he’s planning to do, but he shushes you before you can speak.

“We can make this work,” he insists. “Hang on. Put this foot up— No, no, no, wait. I got it. Lie back.”

He proceeds to place you where he envisions it will be a decent spot. You lie down on the seat with your left side pressed against the pillows on the back, your left foot on it with your knee propped up. The other leg is still stretched in the cushion beneath you, but then he moves it upward and to the right, spreading you open. He’s still kneeling on the floor and slips his head underneath your right knee, so you sort of lay your thigh over his shoulders. You must look ridiculous from a distance, but the determined gaze in Tom’s eyes keeps that embarrassing thought at bay.

“This is so not gonna work…” you trail off. There’s no way you’re not putting too much weight on him, but if you lift your leg from where it’s resting on him, you will be all tense and you’ll feel nothing.

“Of course it will work,” he says with a kiss on the bottom of your belly. “Alright, here we go.”

His face is lined up with your middle but sideways, so when he sticks a thumb into you and sucks on your clit, it’s different but good and just as intense as before, and you let yourself enjoy it. You’re somewhat comfortable and he seems okay as well. The laps of his tongue and the fingertip he keeps buried at your entrance help you forget everything, first quietly, but soon bucking your hips up to meet him halfway.

At one point, you have to shift your back because there’s something weird pressed at the bottom, probably one of the pillows you forgot to remove, which means you move your leg to the side and your knee knocks against Tom’s head.

“No violence please,” he giggles into your cunt, angling his head in such a way that his tongue licks at the top of your hole while he slips a long finger in and out of you. He pumps it repeatedly for a little while, and at a particularly sharp brush on your spot, with his nose nudging your clit, the pressure builds inside you, your back arches, and your mouth fills with a moan.

There’s a little pleasure and a little pain, the odd position keeping things new and innovative. It’s not a traditional approach, Tom’s nose rubbing from side to side on your clit as he fucks into your hole, and it’s really good after you figure out how to distribute your weight and how to control your hips and your legs to avoid suffocating him. And once you get the hang of it, Tom and his miracle mouth get you really close to an orgasm, head spinning from it.

It’s when you try to grab his hair to press him against your core that things get a little complicated. Your hips lift up, your legs squeeze together around his neck, and Tom tugs on the right one to stay in position. And that’s the movement that gets you rolling to the floor again, as you crumble down onto your ass and with your legs still tight around his neck.

“What did I fucking say?” you yelp, rubbing the back of your thigh where it hurts a little from the fall.

“Sorry…” Tom sits up with his side against the window seat, rubbing his neck with a faint ‘ow’. And then he bursts out laughing.

“You…” you grunt, sitting up to rest your back against the bench. If you kick him in the process, it’s by accident but deserved.

“Okay, that fucking sucked,” he says through a few more laughs, getting up on his feet with a couple of groans as his legs refuse to stretch on the way. “C’mon, let’s regroup.”

“Are you kidding me?” you almost yelp, but accept his hand just the same.

When you get up on your feet, he says, “You asked me to blep your motherfucking pussy, y/n. It’s what I’m trying to do.”

“Ugh, no,” you scoff. “I mean, yes, I said that, but like, regular oral sex is awesome too. The bed would’ve been fine for that.”

Tom laughs at you again, smacking your butt and squeezing you there. You give him a side look, squinting eyes and pursed lips, the whole ordeal.

“C’monnn, baby,” he says with his lips puckered as if he’s about to lean into a kiss. You refuse him so, and he pecks your cheek instead. “What would be of us if it weren’t for this kind of fun stuff in the bedroom? It keeps things interesting.”

“Sure it does. It’s not your pretty ass on the fucking floor.”

“Hey,” he calls for you and holds you under the jaw, squeezing. “I’ve fallen plenty of times on my arse. Remember the wellies?”

You chuckle at the memory, one of so many moments where a minor slip-up could have ended up in a really big problem. You’ll never forget that day. Inevitably, with the amount of fluids the both of you produce during sex, things down there started slapping way too loud and he had the brilliant idea to say, “Maybe I should have brought my wellies.” Enough said, you laughed at his comment and shoved him to the side until you were on top, but he was just as cheeky and rolled you both over again until you were on your back, except his leg slipped off the mattress and he hit the floor and almost dislocated his shoulder. If you remember correctly, he was in pain for a couple of days after that.

“Yes, I remember the wellies,” you say with an eye-roll.

“Hell, one time you whacked me across the face with my belt.”

“Because you wanted me to use it like a whip!” you say, laughing into your hand at the memory. Tom doesn’t think it’s that funny. “All right, fine,” you add, refocusing on his pouty lips and kissing them back to normal. “But I’m getting on that bed right now.”

“Be my guest…”

As you do, standing by the foot of the bed with your hands on the mattress, ready to climb on it, Tom’s face suddenly appears between your legs.

“Hi.”

He’s sitting on the floor, though you have no idea how he got there so fast, with his back to the bed and his face to your middle.

“Nuh huh, I’m getting on this bed,” you warn him, ignoring his puppy dog eyes and his delightful grin.

“I don’t think you are, darlin’,” he threatens, leaving little kisses on your sex with each word.

You roll your eyes in response, but that’s all you can really do. After calling you ‘darling,’ Tom covers your hot nub with his mouth and starts to suck hard. Your head tilts forward between your shoulders from the immediate pleasure.

He holds your hips with both arms around your thighs and with his eyes on yours, he teases, “Tell me you don’t want me right here, my whole face shoved up your cunt. C’mon, say it…”

“Fuck you,” it’s what you say, bringing a hand to the back of his head and darting your hips forward until his awaiting mouth wraps around your whole pussy all at once.

His eyes are on you when he kisses your mound, sparkling while his hand caresses your inner thigh. You’re wet and his lips are hot, creating an incredible sense of fire straight to your nipples. They're really fucking hard and poke out of your top so much, you have to use a hand to soothe them. In the end, you stay there cradling your breast as the tip of his tongue teases between your folds, collecting beads of pre-cum where it’s been pooling up since this morning.

“Best bloody taste in the whole damn world,” he mutters before his teeth tug softly on your nether lips.

You’re about to say he’s too cheeky, but he dives tongue-first into your pussy. Nose brushing your clit in every direction it goes, sucking on the skin first, then scissoring it open with the help of two fingers to expose you to his hot breath. He looks at it for a second and sucks the little nub into his mouth, lightly using his teeth around it too. You hiss but moan at the same time, the mix of pain and pleasure absolutely divine, feeling your fluids trickle down to Tom’s chin.

Pulling away for a moany breath, Tom licks you a few more times, thumb grazing your clit alongside his nose. You’re throbbing down there, the idea of the bed forgotten by now, hips tipped downward to seek all the friction you can find. Tom splays his hands on your thighs, squeezing the flesh, to keep you in place as he drops kiss by kiss across your folds, up your mound, down to your legs, one at a time.

Without warning, his hand finds your hole and you push down onto it. Riding his fingers while he watches your face, but your eyes close at the sudden press against your spot.

“Fuck, Tom,” you whine, rolling your hips around and downward and in every direction that plunges his fingers further into you.

“You getting close, huh, pretty thing?” he chimes in a teasing tone, the smirk obvious against your so sensitive skin.

You grab his head and push him closer, knocking your clit against his nose by accident, but with a swift tilt of his head, he’s got two fingers stroking your spot and his lips around your swollen nub. Sucking and applying pressure, drawing pants from your chest, shivers up your spine, fluids out through every pore.

“Fuck,” he says at some point, pulling away. His breath scorching on your skin. “You’re dripping all over my shirt, baby.”

“Tom, I’m gonna come,” you warn him, fisting at the curve of his head. Your legs keep him hostage as his mouth suckles your clit and your folds and everywhere. His fingers deep in your cunt, in and out at a restless pace.

“Fuck, fuck,” you whine and almost shout, pushing your legs together. His hair is soft and tantalizing on your skin, searing everywhere like kindle. Your nails carved into his scalp. His fingers at the right spot, massaging it inside so fast you’re a bomb about to explode. Your clit is stuck between his lips as he sucks and licks and pulls until all you see is a bright light behind your eyes.

Your legs give out and you totally knock into his teeth, but Tom never stops. He sucks your orgasm out of you, fingering you to help ride it out. When your thighs stop shaking, you let go of his head because you’re about to collapse, pushing both hands on the mattress and looking down through hooded lids.

Watching as he licks your clit a couple of times, toying it with the very tip of his tongue. Teasing it downward to your hole. Circling around it, around his fingers, collecting drops of fluid where he finds them. He hums into your pussy, vibrations reverberating everywhere, all the way to your toes and traveling straight to your brain until your vision is restored.

When you can see again, you can’t stop the gasps and little moans that fall from your throat. Tom remains sitting between your legs, watching as you’re surely still clenching around him and dripping profusely.

One last peck to your clit, his eyes find yours and you can tell he’s smirking. From the glint in them, and from the shape of his jaw against your cunt. You know it so well by now, you can tell when he opens and closes his mouth around your folds, pulling on them between his lips to tease because that’s what he does best.

Then he dips his fingers inside and pulls out, over and over again, making you tremble with oversensitivity. Yet you seek nothing but his touch, hands curled around the bedding, feet adjusting on the ground because the soles are sweating so much.

“Tom,” you pant, knees almost buckling.

“I got you,” he says, his eyes on you just to test your reaction, you know this much, but there isn't much you can do. Not after such a fucking great orgasm.

You love coming on his mouth. He’s skilled and attentive, pressing in all the spots where you inadvertently lead him to. Applying pressure and letting go in perfect timing, keeping you at bay or stimulated just right. Fuck, he’s so goddamn good. Your legs are still trembling with it when he places a final kiss and emerges from where he’s sitting.

Tom pushes up between your body and the bed, and you move away so he will fit. Hands tight on his shoulders so you won’t collapse. Covering his mouth with yours when he’s close enough. Your arousal tastes delicious mixed with the spearmint that’s all him, spread all over the softness of his lips and on the tip of his tongue that you claim into your mouth.

It’s when you press closer to him that you notice how hard he is in his jeans. They’re unbuttoned like he needed to relieve the pressure at one point. His cock fills the v of his crotch completely, reacting with a twitch when you nudge a fingertip on the head.

“Want me to help you with this, baby?” you mumble into his mouth where he collects yours into a short kiss.

He nods into it, as expected, so you grab the hem of his briefs with both hands and tug them down until his cock springs out for attention. It’s leaking, red at the tip, and very, very stiff, twitching harder when you grasp a hand around the shaft. Tom moans as you start to pump immediately, feeling the flow of his blood in your palm. He probably won’t last long, so you waste no time. You sit him on the bed and lean over him, your breasts peeking out of your top at the level of his eyes, with your hand jacking him off at a fast speed.

It takes only a few pumps before he’s begging you to stop.

“Wait, wait, get the camera,” he says within a moan. You obey without a question. Grabbing the camera from where it’s propped on the windowsill next to your laptop, and disconnecting it from the cable. It’s turned on and ready to fire by the time you get to the bed.

“Where do you want me?”

“Oh, uhhhh…” he trails off, thinking about it, one hand squeezing his cock so it won’t end the party before it’s truly over. “Oh, I know. Sit on the edge of the bed and lie back?”

“Mhmm. I see where this is going,” you say, practically foaming at the mouth at the thought of him releasing his explosion of cum all over and around you.

Following his instructions, you sit on the edge of the mattress and lie back, the camera propped just under your breasts and pointed at his middle. He’s standing in front of you, between your spread legs, and you need only a minimal adjustment of the lens until it’s perfectly centered on his leaking, neglected dick.

“Photos or video?”

“Video,” he says, grabbing a hold of himself and starting to pump. “We can, fuck— we can screenshot it later. Fuck, ‘m not gonna last at all.”

His fist jacks his cock expertly, twisting and pumping and thumbing at the head in regular intervals, and his hips keep jabbing forward as his moans start to garble in his throat. You send him little incentives to help him release, but it takes less than a minute before he’s all curled in on himself. Gasping and making these small noises like he can’t hold them back. His hand grasps your thigh and props it up, with your foot on the mattress. You reach out for his hand there, squeezing it under yours, and watch him surrender, so giving and pretty.

At the raise in tension in the air, you sit up and hold your weight on your elbows, watching him closely.

“Tell me,” you say, licking your lips at the beautiful sight of Tom thrusting his cock into his hand rather than the opposite. “Tell me when you’re there, okay? Wanna record this from a different angle.”

Right now, you have the camera pointed at his face, zoomed out enough that you can see the shift of his muscles under the tight shirt and the clench of his jaw from his wide open mouth.

“Please— fuck—” he moans and curses all around you, leaning his head forward until he meets your forehead. You’re both sweaty from the effort, but you let him be and angle the camera downward so you have a full view of his cock where it’s pressed just under your clit. His dick is swollen and just on the verge of busting out. You focus on the little screen to make sure it’s centered on the right spot.

It is, so you glance back at him and lick your lips at the sight of his tongue peeking at the corner of his mouth now, before he draws it back inside to moan really fucking loud and bend over you again. One, two, three strokes of his fist and he spritzes all over you, jerking back and forward on his little legs, his upper body shaking. His hand never stops moving on his cock as it spills mostly on your mound. Some of it gets on his clothes and your legs and his face, on your mouth a little too, a few drops hitting the lens making it blurry and wet.

As for Tom, he looks like his brain has sparked out, hips jerking forward a few more times before his body slumps and falls on the bed next to you. You smile at his satiated expression and film everything that you can. The cum between your legs, his spent dick still clutched in his fist, the up and down heave of his chest and that gorgeous fucking smile on his face when the camera catches his eye.

“You got everything?”

You nod. “Mhmm, you’re gonna love this one.”

Tom lies there on the bed with his arms spread open, clothes still on except around his crotch, a hand caressing your naked bum where it’s dipping down the mattress. You don’t move otherwise, clicking the button to stop the recording and putting the camera down in the middle of the bed.

With a single glance at your middle, you can tell that Tom got most of his cum on you this time. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of damage in your surroundings today. That’s awesome. It’s what he wanted to do and despite the odds being against it from his history of exploding cum all over the freaking place, he’s managed to coat your pussy in the majority of it.

You want to take a picture of it, want to see how it really looks from his point of view, but you don’t dare grab the camera again. Instead, you place a hand on his belly and ask, “You all right?”

“Fucking brilliant.” He grins wide. His breathing has slowed down by now, cock deflating on his lap, and he tucks himself into his briefs before he sits up next to you.

He smiles and kisses your mouth and says, “Look at you, not a single drop of cum on your face. What a day.”

You laugh at him, but show him an approving smile. “I got a little on my mouth, but I licked it clean. Other than that, most of it is right… there,” you say, pointing at your crotch.

“Oh I know,” he says sprightly, getting up from the bed next. “Let me take a picture of this, I bet it’s fucking gorgeous.”

With a giggle because you’d just had the same thought, you hand him over the camera and wait for him to take a couple of pictures. He insists on taking a few of you in different poses, all of them with your legs open and his seed proudly sitting in between, but after a while you tell him to stop so you can clean up.

“Oh no no no,” he says immediately, setting the camera back on the bed without turning it off. “I’m going to take care of that.”

“Oh really?” you ask, but it’s to no avail because he’s already kneeling between your legs and holding them apart by your thighs.

“I’m calling it, it’s Pussy Lickin’ Weekend, baby.”

You fetch the camera again, beaming at the wonderful idea he’s just had.

He grins at you when you point the lens at him, but wastes no more time to reach out and get it done. Your thumb presses record right as he starts to tease you in all the places where it tingles, even though you believe you won’t have much of a response. Nonetheless, Tom still has a broad smirk on his face as he licks you clean with his twinkling eyes on yours. You caress his hair in return and focus, breathing calmly through the bliss that is his smooth touch.

“‘ove this pussy,” he mumbles against your still hot and very wet skin. You tilt your head at him, laying back on your elbows and propping both feet on the bed so he’ll have more access. His face still centered in the image on the little screen of the camera. “It’s so pretty,” he keeps saying, with tiny licks between his words. “And juicy. Mmm, delicious. Finger-licking good.” At this word, he wiggles his eyebrows from where he’s looking at you and pretends to lick his thumb, pressing it into your hole right after.

“Stop…”

“I’m not going to, don’t worry,” he tranquilizes you. “Wish you could taste this, though.” Before you can stop him, he presses the pad of his tongue against your clit and hums into it. The sensation travels across your body and up to your head way faster than you expected it to.

He pulls away completely after that, however. Taking the camera off your hands and turning it off, he says, “C’mon, let’s get into the shower. Then I want to check if you’d be any good at directing porn.”

You chuckle and place your hand on the one he offers to you, palm up. Your fingers enlace almost immediately with his.

After a much deserved though quick shower, you run downstairs because you’re starving. For food, this time. Your sexual hunger is satisfied for now at least. That was a good one. Like, really good. Despite the accidents and the hysterical laughter, Tom makes a pretty amazing lover and you can’t believe how lucky you were to have fallen for him. It took a while, and it was really freaking complicated, but things worked out for the best. Six months into a proper relationship —because unlike Tom, you do not count the time you spent fooling around with him and fooling yourself— and no sign of regret just yet.

The rest of the boys don’t seem to be home when you get your salad from the fridge, chilling outside on the porch under the warm London sun. With sunglasses on, feet propped up on the sunbed too, you dive into the colorful bowl in your hands.

It’s empty as is the bottle of water on the floor by the time Tom comes find you out here. He’s now in a pair of comfortable shorts and a loose t-shirt, making you feel underdressed in short shorts and a tank top.

“Oh, hey, there you are, look at this,” he says all excited, crouching by the sunbed and practically shoving the camera in your face. You slide your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose and look at the screen. He’s showing you a portion of the video you recorded earlier in the bedroom, a clear up-close shot of his dick covering your skin with white liquid of bliss. “Look how beautiful it is.”

“Uh, no?” you say with a giggle, putting the sunglasses back on your face. “I would make a darn good porn director, I guess, but that’s all.”

“What? C’mon…” he trails off, and from the sound of it, he’s replaying the same section of the video. Perhaps he cut it somehow— no, that can’t be it. He’s not that tech savvy with this new camera yet, you think. “I mean, I’m going to delete it, but fuck me I could watch this every day, I swear. Look at the curve of your—”

“You don’t have to delete it,” you tell him in a calm tone. He looks at you surprised, but you don’t get why. After all, you were the one who wanted to start filming yourselves in bed. Close-ups like this are a little strange because you can see everything good but also every flaw, but technically they are better because there’s no risk of identifying either of you.

“Right,” he chuckles, looking down at the screen and rewatching it again. “If only. You know if I keep this, someone else will see it. It’s my curse. Me and tech, yeah, we no match.”

“I guess, but still. I could save it for you.” You smile genuinely. His whole face lights up at the thought. “For a rainy day.”

“For a rainy day.” He hums as though he’s considering it.

“Yeah. Like,” you sniffle dryly. “I don’t think I ever told this, but I have my own rainy day folder. Personal, private, encrypted, everything you could ask for, so.”

“Really?” he chuckles. “Pics of me?”

“No. Michael B. Jordan and your mate Chris Evans, of course.”

“Right.” He chuckles. “Of course.” When you roll your eyes in response, his grin lights up his face. He’s too damn smug for his own good sometimes. “Anyway. I could actually keep this?”

“Absolutely. As long as that disk never leaves the house,” Tom ‘mhmm’s as he listens to your instructions, “and you don’t accidentally use it for something else, we’re fine.”

“That’s brilliant!” He grins so fucking wide, the sun reflects indirectly on his teeth. You laugh at his childish enthusiasm, leaning backwards when he presses a kiss onto your mouth until you’re lying down on the sunbed. “Thank you, thank you, thankyou…” he says on repeat.

“You’re welcome. Now get off me before you get any ideas.”

“Oh, darlin’,” he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Oh boy. You’re screwed. “Ideas have already been had. Did you see the note on the fridge?”

“Mhmm…”

The fridge in the kitchen includes a white board with a couple of markers of different colors and tons of magnetic emojis that every occupant of the house uses for notes and reminders and other shenanigans. It’s easily spotted because it’s big and colorful, and it’s right there when you enter the kitchen. So it was very hard to miss when you came downstairs earlier. The note was signed HH and included a row of disgusted-looking emojis and a very clear message in capital letters.

😒🤬🤢🤮😷

BE DECENT BY 7 YOU PIGS!!! we’ll bring dinner

“Do you think they saw us?”

“On the window?” You nod in response to his question. “Nah, I mean, why would they? They knew we were up there, they heard what I said before we went upstairs. They would have to be very dumb to even dare to look at the upper floor windows.”

You giggle, of course. He makes a very solid point. “I suppose you’re right. Can I interest you in some food, putting on some music and enjoying the rare London sun while we’re out here?”

It takes a while before Tom and you agree on the details, but eventually you both lie down in a couple of the sunbeds on the back porch, one of your phones blasting soft music into the air as he holds a new script he has to analyze for work and you, a book. You thought you could get the laptop down here and do a little research for your channel, but screw it. You have enough material for your next three weeks of posts, so you can lay back and chill. In the actual sense of the word. Not the ‘other’ kind. All in all, it’s a peaceful afternoon.

At least until Tom huffs out loud and throws the script onto the floor, saying, “Uff. This is rubbish. Wanna fuck?”

You give him a look over the rim of your sunglasses. “You’re freaking nuts.”

“Why not?!” he whines, sitting on the edge of the sunbed, turned to you. He uses big gestures for no reason as he adds, “Listen, I’m here. You’re there—looking positively fuckable in those shorts by the way—”

“You say that about pretty much every piece of clothing I wear—”

“Because I’m a good boyfriend!” he argues. You don’t disagree with the logic, but you do a bit with the method and the reasoning, so you roll your eyes and continue pretending you’re reading your book and not listening to whatever he’s going to say next. “The boys are gone and we don’t know when they’ll be back—”

“They said seven.”

“So that gives us… an hour to do this. I always wanted to try this…”

When you glance at him, he’s looking out into the green ahead of you. “Nuh huh, not the garden.”

“But it’s perfect! And,” he pauses, clearing his throat, waiting until you drop your book open on your lap with both hands holding each side of it to continue. “Who knows when all of them will be gone again, not to mention that I’m leaving again. Next week. For another three weeks, baby.”

There’s a pause, and you can tell its only purpose is to add a dramatic tone to when he says, “Three. Weeks. Without me again. Oh, and of course— how could I fucking forget— it’s Pussy Lickin’ Weekend, baby. So let me lick your bloody gorgeous pussy, will ya?”

“All right, fine. You, um, you make a fine point there. About you leaving. This last month was un-bear-able,” you say with a huff. You sit up as well, a finger marking the page you were reading. “Okay. I’m in.” His grin grows impossibly wider. “What were you thinking? That big rock by the shed…?”

You take a look at the garden and that rock has always puzzled you. It sort of looks like a seat of some kind, but you figure it was accidental more than anything because of the way it was put up out there on the grass. Tom confirms it was a happy coincidence.

“As soon as I saw it though, mmmm,” he hums with his lip between his teeth. “As soon as I saw it, I knew I’d have to spread you open on it one day. Might as well be today.”

“Might as well be right now,” you agree with a sly smirk. Tom gets up immediately, making you struggle for the book so you can use your marker to know where you stopped later. He’s too antsy, though, and too handsy, nothing to complain about, but he does end up tickling you and you threaten him, “Oy! You tickle, the clothes stay on.”

He grins at you and says, “I can work with that.”

When he tries to grab your butt or your shorts or something in that area, you flinch to the side and escape his touch, saying, “I’ll get one of the big towels from the bathroom. You go over there and get in position.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It takes you a while to find a decent towel to drape over the rock. All the towels are pretty new which would be a waste, but you’re ninety percent sure that there are still quite a few that you brought from the flat. You find them right at the back of the cupboard, fetching one with a strong pull of your arm.

As you return outside, Tom seems to be waiting out there in the garden. Shirtless, now, the top button of his shorts undone.

“You started without me, I can tell.”

“Not really,” he shrugs, grabbing one of your hands and pulling you into him. “Just don’t want to have to think about it while we’re, y’know. Getting frisky, and things get a little tight down there.”

You kiss his pliant mouth and melt into his arms, either from the warm sun or simply from the hot touch of his palms under your top. The sizzle on your skin, burning your nipples when he cradles both of your breasts, kneading them for a little while as his tongue descends deep into your mouth.

You’re now both standing by the big rock he was talking about. He has mentioned it before, this was a debate you’ve already had out of curiosity during a to fuck or not to fuck sort of game as you discussed which parts of the house would be off limits. You just never thought you’d end up here, mostly because there’s always someone else in the house. Must be his lucky day, then. No one’s home and you’re both in the mood to fuck.

This is going to be quite ridiculous again and a totally impossible position because the rock isn’t leveled. It does look like a chair when you look in a certain angle, but from up close the ‘seat’ is all tilted and you fear you might just topple over if you sit over there and your reflexes are too busy with sex to follow through and keep you up. You just know someone’s back is going to get fucked in a bad way if you have sex on it, probably yours because riding Tom on this block of stone would be a hazard; you’d have to lean forward way too much and that would make it impossible to move over his lap. Although if you suggest it to him, you’re positive he’ll be more than glad to try. He’s the one who always says that laughter is sexy. You agree, it is, especially his —his eyes get all crinkly and you swear you fall in love with him a bit more every time you notice them—, but you don’t mind the uneventful, quiet sex you sometimes have up there in your room.

Nevertheless, Tom looks so giddy about this as he peels off your shorts and your knickers with hands that are shaking in his excitement. The music is still playing in the background, and he’s swaying his hips to the beat, humming the lyrics to himself, his tongue peeking at the corner again. It’s adorable and sexy and he’s beautiful all over, still glowing from this morning’s shenanigans and from the hours in the sun. His skin all soft and smelling good, his muscles on display on his torso, so yeah, of course you wouldn’t say no to this. He’s still very much irresistible. The months of your relationship and the quirks and habits you both picked up since turning official haven’t changed a single thing.

He starts by crouching in front of you to kiss your thighs, one then the other, then the inside of them, slowly making his way up in between them. You’re not in the right mood yet, but all it takes is a few tweaks of his fingers, a couple of licks, and your brain swoons, your gut churns, your legs squeeze at the way he caresses every inch of you like you were made to be blessed by his touch and nobody else’s.

Soon after he crawls back up to your chest, sucks on a nipple through your top, tugging at the fabric until your whole breast pops out. The way he licks the hardening bud is impressive, forcing you to close your eyes and cradle the back of his head, nuzzling his face into your warm skin until he starts sucking and you get a little wet from the obscene laps of his tongue. Tom gives it a tentative bite, not hurting at all, more like grazing his teeth around the areola.

“So hot,” you tell him with a hiss, sucking on your bottom lip. Tom’s mouth pops out with a smack and he gazes up with his warm little eyes glistening from the daylight and his overall glee.

“Can I remove this too?” he asks politely, tugging on the fabric. For a second, you consider it and slowly pluck your other breast out of your top. It stays there all rolled up under your chest, but it feels too exposing. Too vulnerable. Especially because he won’t be removing any more clothes.

His gaze is transfixed by the sight of your boobs as he cradles them both, leaning a bit to lick at the nipples, one then the other, repeatedly until you moan. Your back arches into his soft touch. However there’s a shout from someone else’s garden, and the idea of being fully naked is suddenly terrifying, so you cover up again.

Tom nods in understanding. He then drapes kiss after kiss on his way to your mouth, raising goosebumps in his wake. Before he kisses you, even though your head tilts forward seeking his lips, he plucks the towel from your hands and sets it over the rock, then sits you on it and kneels in front of you, holding your knees together for now. He asks, “Mouth only or with fingers?”

You hum into his soft ways and say, “Mmm, mouth only.”

He widens his eyes at you. “Surprised you don’t want my fingers.”

“Maybe the next weekend you stay home we can host yet another fingering marathon,” you suggest, spreading your legs open so he’ll fit in between. He slides closer immediately, tongue prying your mouth open as his hands lift your thighs up to rest them on his shoulders.

“You good?” he asks with his eyes on you, then flicking them downward to your center.

“Will you just eat it already?”

Tom doesn’t answer anymore. He gives you kitten licks on your thighs, fingers dribbling in the same spots right after where your skin is all tingly and sensitive after his touch. Holding your thighs against the sides of his head, he kisses your navel, your lower belly, your mound and that spot right over your clit, leaving you shivering from the closeness. His hands never leave your legs as he kisses and dabs and sucks on your lips and clit and everywhere around, not only getting you wet, but making you moan his name in the middle of the garden like this.

It’s like your body switches on whenever he touches you, that’s not unusual, but it’s strange when there isn’t the comfort of walls or a bed or the fact that you should be able to see his face, but you can’t. You can’t because your legs are in the way, and your hands are the only thing holding you upright on this motherfucking rock that did not seem this rounded and slippery every time you studied it and considered this very moment from the porch.

“Fuck, more tongue,” you ask of Tom, and he seems to nod and give it to you. Only the tip at first, but soon he laps at your slit and presses the whole pad of his tongue into you and something clicks in your brain.

All the muscles in your thighs are tight, sweaty where his shoulders are pressed on the underside to keep you in place. His head swings back and forth, from side to side, in every fucking direction, darting shots of pleasure with it. When you look down to try and see something, you get a glimpse of Tom’s lips wrapping around your clit, and when the suction starts getting stronger and stronger, you take a deep breath and hold it in, your head tilted all the way back, neck dampening with sweat.

There’s a nip of his teeth right on your clit, and another on your swollen lips, Tom smoothing the two spots with a wet lick from the top down, thrusting into your hole next. You feel it everywhere, from the crook of your knees to your brain that’s swimming around in bliss, and you choke on your own spit as he fucks in and out of you with deliberate jabs of his tongue. Your pussy clenches around him, and your hands squeeze around the towel, nails nearly breaking on the hard rock beneath you, and you totally swear at him and curse him for being so damn fucking good. “Oh, fuck, yes, that, there, more, fuck fuck fuck.”

Your hips buck up against your will and you can tell your butt slides down at least a few inches, but Tom catches you with his strong hands and his massive shoulders, and he holds up your weight like a fucking champion as you shake and lose track of time and location, only thinking of the sparks of pleasure shooting off of your cunt and setting your body alight like a lightning storm.

It pulses through you, the further Tom sticks his tongue inside you the stronger it gets, and then his hands— fuck, his nails dig into the flesh of your thighs and he presses his whole face against your core, slurping up your wetness and sucking on your lips and wherever else he can reach, you can’t even name all the body parts you have down there. Your stomach coils around the feeling, legs starting to shake in his grasp, and your high rolls through your entire fucking body in these waves that are completely different from when you come from his fingers.

“Please don’t fucking stop, that’s so gooood,” you whine and moan and cry, trying your best not to fall off the rock when you move a hand to yank his hair and pull his face further against where he’s rubbing it on you and slathering it with all your cum.

Tom pushes up with his shoulders and dives right back in, using more of his nose than his tongue, but it’s still so intense and good and you want this feeling to last forever. Your hand slips and you can’t move the other fast enough from his head, but thankfully you only end up lying back on the hard surface. Your back all curled backwards in an impossible angle, your legs the only muscles keeping you upright as the blood rushes to your head where it’s hanging off the side of the rock.

You think this is it, you’re about to drop to the floor yet again, but Tom seems to catch you just in time. He gasps away from your core and expertly twists you where you’re laying, so you end up on your front on the rock. There’s just enough room beneath your legs that you can press the knees on the floor and shove your hips back.

Except where you hope to meet Tom’s face, there’s a big nothing.

“Don’t stop now,” you demand or beg or plead. All you know is that your brain is burning for a second round, knees weak from the thought.

“Fuck, sorry,” he says, letting you fist at his hair and press his face against your buttcheek. Then he says, “Was checking— fuck, it’s so close to seven.”

“Then what the fuck are you waiting for?” you cry around the empty void of discontempt growing in your belly.

Immediately, he buries his face between your cheeks, kneading them tight in his hands, his tongue lapping quickly at the clenched hole. He sucks your skin and down to your clit, the wet noises mixed with your desperate moans and his eager throaty tips of encouragement. Nose nudging at your entrance and making it so unexpectedly good, Tom rubs himself all over your cunt, and you push back and forth riding his face and his tongue. And in less than a minute, you’re shouting and shuddering and coming all over again.

“That’s it, gimme it, baby,” he moans against your sex, biting into your ass before he dives back in and collects every single drop of fluid that drips out of you.

It takes a while to recover from that. A double orgasm with so little time in between is rare, so it’s not a surprise that when Tom helps you get back on your feet, your legs are totally wobbly and he’s got a motherfucking smug grin on his face.

“Came twice, uh?” he goads before he kisses you and shoves the taste of your cunt into your mouth.

“Best weekend ever.”

Tom laughs into the next kiss, gobbling up all of your mouth with a moan as you slip a hand into his briefs. You grasp his cock and he leans into you, his jaw all shiny from your fluids. He’s blocking you from crouching in front of him and takes a look down at his watch instead.

You see it, too. Less than five minutes to seven.

“Fuck,” he curses, ramming his cock into your fist, but hissing and pulling away next. “We can’t fucking do this here.”

“If not here, then when,” you rush to say. A glance over your shoulder shows you that the boys don’t seem to be back at the house yet.

“Tonight, I don’t know, but not now,” he says, grabbing your wrist. He moves it away and tucks himself into his clothes before he picks up your shorts from the floor. You’re already fetching your knickers and putting them on.

“Okay, okay, I got it, but I’m licking you later, then.” You grin, both hands in the air. “No hands.”

Tom chuckles but nods, looking around to check what’s left to do. You have to move fast before you get caught out here in a hot state of undress. Still you grin at Tom as he fetches the towel and balls it up under his arm, grabbing your hand and walking you into the house as naturally as possible.

As you step into the kitchen, Harry comes into the room with a bag in his hands, which he drops on the dining table with an excessively loud noise. “We heard that, too.”

Behind him, Harrison shouts, “We said seven.”

Of course you have to punch Tom’s shoulder when he laughs.

After the comfort of a homely dinner with friends that refuse to look you in the eye, you sit on the couch with the first batch of beers of the night for a short cinema session. Harrison picked the film, a comedy you believe. You sit there holding a bottle and looking at your feet, thinking back to today’s wet adventure. Legs and brain liquified from Tom’s hot words and erotic actions and from that sinfully skillful tongue of his. Speaking of, he sits next to you and grabs a beer for himself, splaying his arm over the back of the couch in that way he has of wrapping it around you without really touching you. You cozy up to him and smile at his domesticity. It is just as infatuating as anything else he does.

Except Harrison kicks his ankle lightly and tells him to move to the end of the couch. Tom rolls his eyes particularly hard when his brother Harry stands in front of you as well.

“You spent the whole day together, fuck knows what—” Harry gulps down his words as though he’s disgusted. “Anyway. We go in the middle, ‘kay?”

“So dramatic…” Tom trails off.

“I’m okay with that,” you say brightly, squeezing your hip against your end of the couch. Tom sends you a peeved look at your answer, but Harrison sits next to you and his annoyance fades from sight.

Sam and Tuwaine join in a little later, having come home in the middle of dinner. They stare at Harrison and you, Sam points at Tom inquisitively but they don’t ask questions. They only laugh at what they’re seeing. You reckon they’ve heard the lewd and totally incorrect version of the facts from the Harries or perhaps only a repulsed Harrison —who by the way, grabbed the green disgusted emoji from the fridge door and pretended to glue it to your forehead, doing the same to Tom with the vomiting emoji. It was a whole skit after dinner, making you laugh and ‘pin’ the huffing emoji to his tank top.

The movie you’re watching happens to have a non-explicit sex scene. You were familiar with this title, so you knew it was coming eventually, and try to sneak a glance at Tom who’s literally on the other end of the couch. His arm is splayed over the back of the couch even though you’re not there, the other one holding a beer that he sips every now and then. Looking over the back of the Harries’ heads, you stretch your own arm and grab his hand, trickling your fingers over the back. Tom catches your eye next and grins around the bottle he’s drinking from, wiggling his eyebrows when you gesture with your head towards the screen where the characters are prepping their own funny perversion on an office desk.

Out of nowhere, the characters’ voices become all distorted and when you check what’s happening, Harry has the remote in his hand and is fast forwarding the scene. “We get enough of this, thanks very much.”

Tom spits his beer all over his shirt and starts cackling at his brother. You’re amused by Harry’s exaggerated act as well, but you make sure to kick Tom’s shin when you pass by him to grab another round from the kitchen. He swats at your ass in return.

After the movie, the boys want to hang out on the back porch. It’s a lovely spring night, not too cold, not too warm, so you bring them a couple of beers each and excuse yourself to the bathroom. The plan is to distract them. There’s a little something you have to do before you join them. You set it in motion as soon as you close the bathroom door, pulling out your phone to text Tom.

You: Downstairs bathroom, tell them you’re making snacks 🍆>😮

You expect him to take a couple of minutes, so you shove your top down to the middle of your belly and lean against the counter, waiting for his knock. There isn’t one. Tom bursts in through the door with his hands unzipping his shorts in a rush.

At the sight of you opening your mouth to speak, he says, “Shut up.”

Obedient, you reel him closer by his t-shirt and immediately sneak a hand into his clothes, grabbing a hold of his cock and rubbing it to make it hard. His mouth clashes onto yours in a frantic kiss, his hips helping the motions and his dick growing larger and thicker with every stroke. He sucks on your tits for a little while, lathering them up in spit, warm from his moans.

The next moments are quick as fuck. Your brain barely registers them, but you are in control. You yank Tom away from your chest by the hair, keeping him at bay with both arms when he tries to kiss you again, then shove him around until his back bangs against the counter with a muffled sound.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he moans when you drop to your knees. You think he says something right after, but it’s all a strangled moan because you swallow his cock in full right away.

You drag him forward into your throat, quick and messy and hopefully everything he was thinking about earlier in the garden. Bobbing your head over the length, applying suction on every move, you squeeze and swirl a hand around the base and massage his sack with the other.

“No hands—” he reminds you, completely breathless. That had been the deal, so you put both arms on your back, one hand clasped around the other wrist.

Above you, Tom keeps making delicious, garbled moans, way too fucking loud, and when you look up, he’s bracing himself on the crown of your head, his mouth open and wet, just watching as you suck his cock. It takes him less than two minutes of that before he starts cursing filthy fucking words, totally coherent out of nowhere.

“Sweet little mouth, take my fucking cock, swallow, fuck, fuck, that’s fucking right,” and many, many more words that burn in your ears and leave you wet on the bathroom floor.

After that, hips rutting against your face to meet you halfway because you never stop bobbing your head, licking it and swallowing it and unable to take it but taking it all just the same. With his hand fisted around your hair and his cock swelling larger, your lips panging from the stretch. Choking you when the tip hits the back of your throat. It’s too much but it’s just right, and as soon as he sucks in a breath over you, you slap your hands on your thighs and stretch your mouth open as far as it fucking goes.

“Filthy kitten desperate to eat my cum, holy, holy, fucking fuck, I’m gonna come,” Tom says in a rush, the words all mumbled together. His hips jab forward and back, and your head follows the move until he’s nestled completely in your mouth. When you suck and swallow, the taste of hot spunk fills your mouth and he comes, jerking all over the place.

You use little bobs of your head to devour every single drop. He tastes like heaven right now, and it’s all from the knowledge that it was you doing this to him. You look up and moan at the sight, his eyes closed, sweaty lashes fanned out over his cheeks, his mouth crooked and wet from spit where he’s biting into his lip. You love that look on his face, love putting that look on his face. He looks fucking beautiful and blissed out.

“I am so paying you back for that.”

“Do you think we have too much sex?”

Your question makes Tom turn to you very, very slowly, a hand holding his toothbrush where it’s hanging off his mouth.

You’re both in your shared ensuite bathroom, getting ready for bed. Tom is wearing his joggers, you in shorts and a spaghetti strap top you’ve been using to sleep during the warmer nights. He doesn’t say anything yet, but after you inspect his frowning gaze in the mirror and he spits into the sink, he shrugs and says, “I know my brothers do.” Next he goes back to brushing his teeth, like he hadn’t just said that.

A stupid answer to a stupid question, you think. You laugh nonetheless. He makes a fair point.

“We don’t, right?” you insist, going back to your night routine.

“I don’t think so, I mean,” he wipes his face with a towel and stands there, all ready for bed. “I’m not home for about half the year, so it makes sense that when I am… y’know.”

“Yeah.”

That’s what you thought as well, but you have been wondering about the other side of the picture. You do have roommates, and you’re all going to have partners at some point, so it would make sense to dial it down a little and keep things private. The reputation of the house is bad enough from how many occupants it has. Five dudes and you, that would raise some relevant questions.

“No, you’re right. I was just, um, y’know, just asking.”

“Don’t listen to Harry, it’s not like we haven’t seen his bum… or worse in my case, am I right?” Tom points out with a smack of his lips.

Again, he makes a fair point.

On your way out of the bathroom in silence, Tom walks ahead and opens the bedding for you, as per usual. Even in bed he’s a gentleman, that’s so freaking unnerving. He’s too good. Why wouldn’t you have sex so regularly with him? Ugh.

“Did you have a good Pussy Lickin’ Weekend, baby?” you ask him, honestly curious. You don’t want to start anything, hopefully the fact that you’re lying in bed and pulling the covers over you will tell him just so.

“It’s only Saturday night, darlin’,” he replies with a giggle, wiggling his eyebrows. He’s only just draping his first leg under the bedding, but he immediately crawls to the middle of the bed, making grabby hands at you.

“Oh but you’re done,” you tell him rather firmly.

He laughs and tugs you into his embrace, spreading silly little kisses all over your face. When he rolls onto his back, pulling you over him, he smiles his flirtatious smile and says, “That’s what you think.”

“God…” you almost whine, rolling your eyes half in exasperation at his neverending libido, half in delight at his suggestion. A boyfriend who never gets tired of sexing you up, that’s a first.

“It’s Tom, actually.”

You caress his cheek and down to his shoulder, tracing the top and his clavicle with a finger right after. When you look back up, he’s got his tongue peeking at the corner of his mouth.

“Blep,” you say, sticking your tongue out at him, very briefly, like a cat would. Like his kitten would. Curious like one, you ask, “Not thinking about golf, are you?”

“Not at all…”

His reaction is endearing as fuck. He’s still got that stupid beautiful smile teasing at his lips, then he licks them slowly before he licks yours, craning his neck further to collect your mouth into a proper kiss. You chuckle and hum and melt into it by instinct, slithering your tongue inside to harvest the very obvious taste of spearmint from the back of his teeth.

“Okay,” you say when you pull back, chest panting a little from the kiss. Tom’s face is swarming with desire and a cheeky silent proposal. You tilt your head at him and ignore the tongue that keeps teasing you from the corner of his mouth, then say, “I think we’re done for the night, champ.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he protests with a grunt, spreading his legs. You fall in the middle, and between the position and his tight grasp around your waist, it wouldn’t be easy to roll away from this spot. Not that you want to, it’s cozy and comfortable, his body welcoming and warm in a domestic way.

“Don’t listen to those guys, they love it.”

“They what?” You frown.

“They love it… for me, that’s what I meant,” he says with a little laugh.

“Mhmm, sure.”

Tom’s face is lit up in his bliss, either from his usual perkiness, or from the many orgasms he’s managed to literally suck out of you today. And the one you sucked out of him. He pecks and growls into your neck, rolling you over until you lie on your back, on your side of the bed. You spread your legs for him now, letting him rest there. Just him, no second intentions. Except he asks, “Ready for your night class with your expert cunnilinguist?”

“My what?” you giggle. You understand what he’s saying, familiar with the expression he’s trying to invoke here, but he modified it in a way you’d never heard before. “Where’d you learn that word?”

“I dunno,” he says, muffled by your neck where he’s licking you. “Somewhere.” He drops another lick, now much closer to your shoulder, dragging the tip of his tongue down the side of the strap resting on your skin. “Does it matter?”

When he starts kissing further down and tugging on the fabric to expose your breast, you rest a hand on the nape of his neck. You want to tell him to stop, but his mouth is so hot when he wraps it around your nipple, and his tongue is so wet when he licks the little nub up and down, several times in a row, hardening it even though your mind is empty of naughty thoughts. So you embrace it for a little while, popping out your other breast and guiding his face to it so he’ll tend to both sides of your chest.

Yet the second his fingers dribble over the hem of your sleeping shorts, you force your eyes open and pat the top of his head.

“Tom, I meant it,” you hum, back arching up after he stops licking your chest. “Fuck. Sorry, but, um, I really think we’re done for the night.”

The truth is that you’re a little sore. You know he’ll understand, so you’d rather stop him early before he thinks you’re trapping him into sex and then pulling back at the last minute. Understanding, Tom sits up on his knees between your legs and pulls on the hem of your shorts, slapping them back against your hips.

“But the weekend isn’t over yet,” he pouts, puppy dog eyes and everything. “And it’s Pussy Lickin’ Weekend, baby, it’s a big deal,” he reminds you with a smirk. It’s the same expression he’s been saying to you all day, but in a completely different tone. He’s all pitiful and supplicant now, but when you shove his face away with your palm over it, he laughs.

“Mhmm, but sadly this pussy hurts, so no licking for you, champ.”

“Well, you know what?” He grins. His hands rest on the outer sides of your hips now, thumb rubbing the skin between the two pieces of clothing you’re wearing. In return, you caress his bicep a couple of times, moving your hand down to grasp his. He uses that to tug on your arm hard enough that you slide off the mattress with a laugh, eventually following his silent instruction and sitting up to stay at the level of his face.

“I think I could kiss it all better, kitten,” he purrs, nuzzling his nose into your cheek. “Call me Dr. Holland, if you will.”

“Dr. Holland, expert in—”

“Cunnilinguist,” he finishes the sentence for you. You giggle at his cheeky expression. “It’s cunnilinguist, darlin’.”

“Anyway, doctor,” you say with a shake of your head. “My back hurts too. From that rock in the garden you so badly wanted to fuck me on, remember?” He nods, the most pleased and proud expression on his face. You kiss it away, just so you won’t have to look at it anymore. “And I don’t think you can heal that with a tongue, so…”

“Is that a challenge?”

You giggle at him and say, “No.”

Tom grins in response and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you back down and rolling just enough that you’re both lying down on the bed. “It was hot, though. Tell me it wasn’t hot.”

“It wasn’t hot.”

He gasps. “Excuse me?!”

“You asked me to tell you that!” you laugh, shoving him away when he threatens to tickle your sides. “Get the fuck off me, or I’ll call Harry.”

“Which one of them?” he teases back jokingly, tickling you anyway. You almost kick him in the face to avoid his touch.

With an eye-roll, and still reeling him in by the shoulders for a hug, you peck his mouth a couple of times, sort of as an apology for what you said. It was a joke, because he did ask you to say it wasn’t hot, of course, so you settle back down and say, “Yes, it was very hot.”

“Fucking knew it.” He grins up at you, hand softly resting on the small of your back as you cuddle up to him.

“If you couldn’t tell from the double orgasm…” you add. “Will you let me sleep now?”

You expect an answer from him since he has stopped making advances, always respectful when you say no, the same way you are when he happens to not be in the mood. Still, he responds with another question, “Can I wake you up with my tongue?”

You roll your eyes at his suggestion, but the idea isn’t that bad. You can’t imagine anything better than his hot, wet, skilled, perfect tongue licking you awake.

“I love Pussy Lickin’ Weekend, baby.”

~ ⛳️ ~

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final note » this is it, the end of the fantasyverse. thank you for all your support and kind words

#fantasyverse #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #holland #b writes

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ebitchwriting · 2 months

Text

Dragged Into The Blood

Story Summary: Never staying in one place for long, moving nearly every year, Lea Anderson was used to impermanence, chaos, and having to leave everything behind at the drop of a hat. Lea never expected that she would be kidnapped and wake up in a rusted, decrepit prison cell because of a madman's delusional belief in eugenics and cleansing the Earth of imperfection. By herself, with only the clothing on her back, she will have to rely on luck and logic to escape before she's killed or worse. Chapter Summary: Finding an escape from this compound was easier said than done when everything was locked, and the captor was seemingly watching their every move, pulling their strings where the captor wished. More than that, it was getting harder for Lea to hide her true nature from her fellow prisoners, and there seemingly being a feral creature around every corner, ready to tear them apart. How long could Lea keep her mask up in the carnage? Chapter Warnings: blood, gore, guns, death, and sensory overload issues.

I'm back! After a month! Sorry, an ice storm hit, which led to me losing power for 12 days. Then I noticed how literally every single chapter has typos or weird nonsensical crap in it because, apparently, Grammarly sucks now. So once I got power back, I obsessively started to go over each chapter and edited out all the mistakes until it was acceptable in my eyes. And, in all honesty, my MA Apprenticeship overwhelmed me as well. Regardless, I'm back with a new chapter and working on the next! However, I will be changing my upload schedule to once a month rather than once every two weeks to account for the apprenticeship, this fic, and also the passion project of my own epic fantasy world. Anyway, enjoy the chapter, and let me know what you think of it!

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16.

Chapter 15: Locks and Keys

No one said a word as Claire took the first step forward. No one said a word when they pushed past the door and entered yet another ominous, dark hallway, lit only by the flickering overhead lights. Moving slowly, cautiously, anticipating someone or something to pop out and attack them. Yet, with each step, nothing jumps out of the shadows. Leaning against the wall behind Claire as she peered over the edge, there was still nothing. Turning past the corner, everyone stayed eerily quiet, not wanting to tempt fate.

‘… And whoever is puppeteering us…’

Lea couldn’t help the twitches at every distant screech. Wails reverberated off the walls, and it was impossible to tell where they originated. Eyes wide beneath the cover, darting back and forth as she shuffled forward.

‘… The doors conveniently unlocking… that butchered guy dropping as soon as Claire grabbed the keys… the fact we found each other damn near immediately… There is no fucking way that whoever kidnapped us isn’t watching us right now...’ The corner of her mouth twitched into a grimace. Back taut, feeling like a thread threatening to snap under the tension.

‘… This is actually worse than Wesker… at least that fuck couldn’t be bothered to keep tabs on me after… that…’

Another corner. Another stop to peer over the edge for anyone or anything malevolent. After a moment, Claire silently begins moving again. Moira tentatively followed, honey eyes alert and darting around the dimly lit area. Lea languished behind, struggling to keep her movements calm and controlled.

‘… They always have a goal… no matter how fucked it is… there’s always one… I’m swear if it’s godhood again…’

Claire pushed open the red-lit double doors, the hinges groaning, timed almost perfectly with the low wailing of something far in the distance. Every hair not singed from Lea’s body stood on end as a rush of frigid air poured out from what looked like the remains of a morgue. Teeth chattering, shivering hands reaching up to rub at her shoulders. Lea’s clothed gaze stared enviously at the other two and their jackets.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Moira whispered, rushing towards the knocked-over desks, rummaging through the drawers as fast as possible with shaky hands. The corners of Lea’s lips curled into a vindicated smirk at the sight, rubbing at her shoulders as she trembled.

“It’s L-” Lea froze, eyes falling to the floor as she tried to focus on what I.D. the B.S.A.A. supplied her. She cringed with every second that passed as Lea struggled with her memory.

“… Uh, you alright?” Moria asked, giving her a quizzical look as she moved across the room, idly looking over the counters for anything useful.

“Yep! It’s… um… Lana… Westerna.” Lea awkwardly drawled out as the name finally resurfaced, instantly burning with embarrassment when she peeked at Moira’s incredulous face.

“… Like from Dracula?” Moira asked, quirking up an eyebrow at her, eyes meeting cotton. Lea could feel the heat radiating off her cheeks as she blushed harder from the embarrassment.

“At least they didn’t name me Lucy,” Lea tried feebly to laugh it off, her attempts at laughter sounding painfully forced. Lea cursed under her breath for jokingly suggesting that name and her inability to use the correct tone.

“Shh, we still don’t know what’s out there. Come on.” Claire warned, the octaves of her voice falling down a few notes for a moment. The two quickly finished giving the room a once-over before falling back behind her.

Out and around the corner, the group found a ladder going down. Lea rises to the tips of her toes, peering over Claire’s shoulder to the lower platform. A surprisingly small room, hardly lit by fallen lights, just as run-down as everything else in this building. Her gaze locked with the two corpses on either end of the room. One covered in a bloodied and dirtied white tarp. After a moment of focusing her gaze, she recognized the fallen butchered guard as the other corpse.

“Alright, we made it. Key’s over there.” Claire breathed a sigh of relief, stepping down a few rungs of the ladder before gripping the sides and sliding down. On the other hand, Moira chose to go down each rung, complaining about the smell. After a pondering second, Lea slid down like Claire, not wanting to waste more time than necessary.

Tentatively stepping toward the butchered guard, about fifty feet away. Forty. Cries of agony, but the other two didn’t hear it.

‘… Not safe yet…’

Thirty feet. Twenty. A loud crash that as all flinching back.

“Shit, what was that?” A scared muttering nearby, Moira, perhaps? Or was it herself? It certainly wasn’t Claire.

Ten feet. Five. Then, finally, they’re at the body, the air thick with apprehension as Claire kneels and inspects the corpse. The more experienced woman grimaced slightly at the sickly-sweet stench of death but ignored it.

“The key’s gone.”

‘… The keys aren’t on the belt… did it fall to the ground..? No... nothing… not a damn thing… maybe it’s caught..?’

Claire pulled out the handgun from the guard’s belt, quickly ejecting the clip and inspecting it alongside the chamber of the 9mm. Lea’s eyes were trailing upward, looking at possible hooks and crevices. A shuffling step backward echoes in the room.

“Do you, uh… are you gonna use that?” Moira asked timidly, her voice just wavering a little bit. Shuffling of fabric, something plastic being clicked open.

“More reliable than any person,” Claire responded without a beat. A click, then something being pulled out from under the corpse, quickly followed by something plastic clicking close and something heavy being holstered. More shuffling steps backward.

“If you say so,” Moira said, her tone wary but dropping the subject. Lea opened her mouth to ask Moira a question when a metallic glint caught her attention. The keys, hanging off the side of a rusted water tank.

“I found the keys!” Lea excitedly announced, pointing at the rusted tank with a smile. A smile that fell as soon as she turned around and was met with the confused gazes of the other two women. “Uh… I really don’t need much to adjust to the dark…” Lea mumbled under her breath, reaching a hand to scratch at the back of her head.

“Moira, shine on light on it, will ya?” Claire asked, unholstering her gun. Lea didn’t miss how Moira’s amber honey eyes flickered with fear as they locked onto the 9mm. After a moment, the pixie-haired girl shook her head and pointed the flashlight at the water tank. Lea quickly raised her hands to cup her ears and turned away from the pair.

A jolt of pain shot through her head the second the trigger was pulled, followed by a high-pitched ringing muffling all other sounds. The jingling of the keys as they were quickly scooped from the ground was barely audible, much less the loud, mechanical beep of the nearest door being unlocked. Lea shook her head, rubbing at her ears as if that would make the ringing go away quicker.

Turning around, the three started making their way back. Fifty feet, forty. Lea nervously glanced around the room as she followed Claire, her nerves filled with urgency. Memories start flickering in the back of Lea’s mind, sidestepping her attempts to shove it down. Thirty feet, twenty. The temple, bullets flying back her head, debris coating her lungs, blood dripping down her hands. Ten feet.

The door crashes open, practically hanging off its hinges, as another mutilated shell of a person starts wailing, spewing blood and saliva everywhere. Without waiting another second, Claire aims and shoots, the bullet lodging in its throat and sending another jolt of agony through Lea’s head. Lea’s clutching at her head, hardly aware of the whine that escapes her lips.

A hand grips her shoulders, and suddenly, she’s being pulled along and toward the ladder. Someone’s shouting voice warbled as if from underwater, the horrid ringing muffling anything identifiable. Snapping back into action, Lea climbed the ladder as fast as possible. Sprinting down the hall, skidding around the corners. Eyes locked forward, ignoring everything behind her.

Slamming past the door and entering the frosted morgue, skidding to a stop at the sight of another one of those creatures baring its teeth at Claire. Lea’s eyes went wide. Claire lashed out with her knife before Lea could try to launch herself forward. She slashed the cheeks, forcing the thing to clutch at its face. Spinning around, Claire kicks at the thing, sending it back into the knocked-over trolley.

Claire looked over her shoulder, shouting something indiscernible back at the two girls before running again. Lea’s eyes flitted to the mutilated body in the corner for a moment before going against her instincts and following Claire and Moira.

Through the double corners, swerving around the broken door hanging off its hinges and down the hall. Skidding around the corners to a screeching stop. There was no one in sight except another one of those monsters. It shrilly cried out, charging her.

Lea cringed at the sound but forced herself to slip into a fighting stance. Closer and closer, leaving bloody footprints on the linoleum floor. Shoulders tensing, eyes locking with a bloated, malignant form. As soon as it reached out to grab Lea, she grabbed the closest arm, flipping and slamming the body into the ground. One swift stomp to the skull, crushing it beneath her heel. The ringing still hadn’t let up, but Lea could feel the crunch, the wet slick of blood and tissue.

‘… Doesn’t matter… need to find the others…’

Lea’s eyes roamed the corridor for anything familiar. After a few seconds, a flash of movement. Eyes snapped to the barred windows, and heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of auburn hair and a dirtied hoodie.

Relief was short-lived as the door at the end of the corridor flew open, and another one of those creatures toppled out. It wasted no time to start sprinting at Lea. Just as Lea slipped back into fighting stance, a shot rings out, the bullet lodging in the eye. The teen flinched but forced herself to close the distance, grabbing and slamming the skull into her knee. Once, twice, thrice, then it went limp.

A hand grabbed and pulled on Lea’s shoulder, and it took everything in her to not twist it off, focusing instead on the flash of auburn hair and blood-spattered leather jacket as they started sprinting again. Lungs burned with every breath, muscles aching with every step. Mind blank for once as her gaze is locked forward, uncaring of whatever is behind her.

Another walking, screeching horror charges from the opened isolation rooms. Another shot rings out, bringing the monster down to its knees. Instinctually, Lea swings down into its temple with her shin, bringing it down. From the corner of her eye, she saw Claire quickly searching for something in the isolation room.

Before the three could continue their escape, something leaps out from the dark. Without thinking, Lea pushes Moira out of its path. Within a second, it tackles the teenager. She reaches out with her hands, keeping it as far away as possible. It clawed at her with its gored and reeking hands. Lea gagged at the stench. From behind the writhing creature, Lea’s covered gaze caught the glint of the barrel pointing at the thing. She ducks her head to the side, squeezing her eyes shut. Another shot, and the splatter of something hot and putrid coating the back of her head and shoulder. Lea pushed the corpse off and flung herself back onto her feet. Running.

Slamming past the blue door, sprinting up the stairs. Claire practically rips the key from her pocket, shoving it into the lock and unlocking it. Yanking the key out of the lock, her hands push the door open, and all three rush past the threshold, slamming and locking the door behind them.

Moira and Lea collapsed, heaving and trembling, while Claire leaned against the door. Lea cupped her ears, closed her eyes, and focused on breathing through her mouth, trying to not gag at the never-waning scent of decay and excrement. The slowing thrum of her heartbeat. The feel of her now sweat-slick skin and sticky hair. Slowly, the high-pitched ringing ebbed, and the mumbling curse words of Moira right next to her brought Lea back down to the present. Behind the stained cloth, Lea opened her eyes, taking in the image before her. Moira, on her hands and knees, dry heaving and cursing up a storm that would put a sailor to shame. Claire, leaning against the door, breathing slowly and deeply, eyes closed yet focused.

After another blessed minute of rest and silence, Claire’s cerulean eyes opened, darting between the two younger women. She knelt, helping Moira back onto her feet before switching to Lea, offering her hand and a tired but warm smile. Tentatively, Lea took Claire’s hand and pulled herself up. They all exchanged glances with each other before Claire took the lead, slowly walking down the new corridor.

They had barely turned the corner before coming upon another corpse. However, Lea wasn’t focused on the fresh carnage but rather on the extended barrel of a shotgun that lay just out of reach of the gnawed hands. Very little of his blood contaminated the gun, only the barest amount on the handle. Claire grabbed the weapon and slung it over her shoulder before moving past the body. Lea couldn’t help but notice how Moira’s already pallid skin grew greyer at the sight of the weapon, honey eyes locking with it as the three turned the corner.

Claire swipes at the wooden crate, shattering the fragile wood. She knelt to rummage through the debris before picking up a small pack of shotgun shells. She holstered her 9mm and grabbed the shotgun slung over her shoulder.

“You need a gun too, Moira,” Claire said flatly as she started loading the shells. Moira froze mid-step, eyes going impossibly wider.

“No, I really, really don’t. Sorry, I don’t do firearms.” Without a beat, the words rambled out of her mouth. Her eyes fell to the ground as they seemed to grow distant, far away. “Not after what happened,” Moira asserted in a hush, her arms crossing over her chest, almost as if cradling herself. Claire swiped the knife through two more crates, grabbing another pack of shells and a handful of green herbs.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot.” Claire turned, looking at the brunette. She let out a small sigh as her eyes trailed to the floor, pondering momentarily. “Maybe we can find you something else.” Claire raised her eyes to try to meet Moira, but the brash young woman scoffed, brushing past Claire.

“No, I’ll just… be on flashlight duty or something. It’s fine.” Moira insisted, despite the waver in her cadence. Walking over to the surprisingly intact storage shelf in the corner, rummaging through the cluttered boxes for anything useful. There were a couple of 9mm bullets, which were hurriedly handed off to Claire. Then, there was something small and blue glinting in the light, but it was pocketed away before Lea could look at it. “Nice,” Moira pulls out the discarded and surprisingly not dirty or rusted crowbar from behind a few boxes on the bottom shelf. “Blunt weapon. I can do blunt weapons.” Moira moved to the other side of the room, inspecting the bright blue graffiti on the wall.

‘… What the fuck happened…’ Lea wondered to herself as she observed the pixie-haired girl walk over to the door, using the crowbar to rip off the nailed-on bar.

‘… I need to step up and get my shit together…’ With a muffled but loud grunt, Moira ripped the bar off, breathing laboriously.

“Lea,” Claire quietly called out, her voice slightly hoarse. Lea stopped, turning her clothed gaze towards the more experienced woman. “You know how to use a gun, right?” Lea’s gaze fell to the shotgun still in the older woman’s hands, the barrel pointed to the ground.

“Oh, uh, yeah. My uncles and aunt taught me, but I only know basic shit.” Lea said awkwardly, bringing a hand to the nape of her neck to rub at it. “I’m fine with the shotgun. It’ll give me more distance.” Claire nodded, handing the gun and shells over to Lea. Claire moved to the door, motioning for the two younger women to stay close behind her.

As soon as they pushed the door open, they were met with the menacing sight of flickering lights, blood stains drenching the walls and ground, and a lone figure dressed in something white and poofy. In an instant, Lea’s jaw dropped in horror as she processed that it was a little girl. Before anyone could react to the sight, the girl ran off, eerily silent.

The three froze, staring ahead where the girl was for a long moment. Claire slowly started inching forward, the others shuffling behind her.

“Clarie, you saw that, right?” Moira tentatively asked as the group turned the corner, careful not to step into the coagulated blood puddle. Rounding the corner, the dark hallway was nearly entirely silent, save for the rasping yet even breathing of dozens of probably more of those things. Were they resting?

“Yeah, I saw… something.”

“Something? That looked like a kid.” Lea snapped before remembering that the two couldn’t see as well in the dark as she could. “Fuck, I hope that’s not a kid. She doesn’t deserve this… no one deserves this.” Lea tacked on, feigning uncertainty as another rush of anxiety flowed through her veins.

“Are you sure, Lea?” Claire paused, turning to face the teen, tone deadly serious yet unjudging. Lea inhaled sharply before nodding just as sharply. “Then we need to keep an eye out and bring her with us. No sudden movements, don’t yell, and stay calm.” Claire flicked her eyes between Lea and Moira, not moving until they both nodded or made affirming noises.

Bizarrely enough, no child was in sight when the three crossed the next threshold. The prison door was sealed and barricaded with large metal crates. There were no crevices she could have hidden in, nor lockers or unlocked crates. After a moment, Claire sighed dejectedly as her cerulean eyes trailed over to a metal divider lifted just slightly so that someone could crawl underneath it.

The group fell back into the routine of breaking the wooden boxes and searching the crevices between the metal crates. Luckily, the search yielded more ammo but did nothing to ease the dread settling in their guts.

‘… There’s no way that kid is infected… too quiet… too good at hiding…. how long has she been here..?’ The thoughts rolled uneasily through Lea’s mind as Claire and Moira started to lift the metal divider to eye level. Lea quickly slid under the divider. She gripped the bottom edge of it, holding it up while the other two crossed over before letting the barrier slide down as quietly as possible.

The horrid stench of dried, old excrement got more potent with each and every step up the stairs, making Lea gag under her breath. The rasping yet even breathing also got louder as they made their ascent, leaving no doubt in her mind that there were at least a dozen more of those poor bastards throughout this new area.

When they reached the last step, Lea immediately recognized this area as an abandoned detention center. Like every other room in this hellscape, blood and dirt caked the walls and floor, though some stains appeared fresher. The stench of urine and fecal matter emanated from the locked solitary cells, strong enough to force Lea to breathe through her mouth to avoid its inescapable odor. The hanging lamps didn’t even flicker, so the only light source came from the tiny slivers of sunlight shining through the barred windows above. As Lea walked underneath one of the slivers of sunlight, she shivered in the minuscule warmth the feeble ray provided compared to the desolate prison.

A familiar electronic screech from a radio filled the relative silence, shocking them to a halt, heads whipping around to find the source of the noise.

“Fear what you will become and become what you fear.” A husky feminine voice languidly said, slightly distorted by the radio waves. Claire lifted her now orange wristband to her ear quizzically.

‘… She’s the bitch… I can feel it in my bones…’

“Are you afraid? You can tell me. Talk to me.” The mysterious voice continued, taking on an almost hissing, cold tone. With every word the mysterious woman said, the more her suspicions started nibbling at the back of her mind.

‘… Why does she sound so familiar..?’

“Those bracelets change color in response to fear.” The voice cryptically trailed on, frustratingly holding only clues and yielding no answers. Even though Lea couldn’t see the face of their captor, she could envision the sadistic smile painting her lips.

“And who exactly are you?” Claire demanded, not an ounce of fear in her tone. Eyes hard, lips pressed into a firm frown, Lea practically sees the fury rolling from the woman in waves. For a moment, she was envious of Claire’s fearlessness and collectedness. Why couldn’t she be like that?

“So much suffering… you don’t even know what to be afraid of yet.” Just as suddenly as the melodic voice had come, the voice went silent, leaving the three with even more questions as well as a palpable and undeniable atmosphere of annoyance. The more experienced woman rolled her eyes and started walking again.

“Was she talking to us or at us?” Moira vented, rolling her eyes as the group entered the next room, a dark room lit by a singular fluorescent light in the corner, otherwise devoid of objects.

“At us. She was definitely talking at us.” Lea concurred, walking over to the desk off to the side. Immediately, she took the map to the detention center before opening the drawers. She grimaced as she noticed that the drawers held nothing. “Here, found this,” Lea said, walking up to the leather-clad woman and handing the dirtied parchment over. For a moment, Claire said nothing nor moved, just stared again with an exhausted expression.

Scrunching her eyebrows, Lea’s eyes traveled over to where Claire was staring. Immediately, she understood Claire’s expression. There was a path, possibly an exit, barred and locked off. Just next to the doorway were gears, clearly missing two vital parts.

#dragged into the blood #original character #resident evil #resident evil revelations 2 #claire redfield #moira burton #a03 link #a03 fanfic #canon compliant #resident evil fanfiction

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blzzrdstryr · 3 years

Text

Like a fairy tale

Yandere!Diluc x maid!fem!reader

Wordcount: 1921

CW: Yandere and slightly suggestive themes.

You loved reading fairy tales as a child - they were magical and hopeful, a needed retreat for a child of destitute parents. They were a promise that if you were good and kind and beautiful enough, eventually some faraway prince would come by and save you from poverty. And you tried to be good - you were obedient and hardworking and you pushed your hardest in the local school, yet hardship and scarcity still trailed your every step - the meager earnings your parents made weren't enough to buy you nice clothes or let you eat until you were sated, which in turn made social interactions harder: some kids sneered and humiliated you, some tried to help you out of pity. You disliked both groups: whether they were friendly or aggressive towards you, they still looked down on you.

Thus you decided to distance yourself from your peers - there was no knight in shining armour galloping towards you on a snow white steed, yet a good education could be your golden ticket to a better rich life. It was hard at first - to work and to study and to help your parents all while ignoring the demeaning and insulting comments the bullies made, but you gritted your teeth and pushed forward, imagining how wealthy you’ll become in the future and in the end our efforts were rewarded - you graduated as the best student, that led you to receiving a scholarship from Sumeru academy. Sparks and shine appeared in your eyes as you read the letter, barely stopping yourself from outright squealing and jumping from joy.

The moment of happiness didn’t last long though, as a reality again reminded you that there’s no place for fairy tales in the real world - scholarship covered the full cost of apprenticeship, but only it - you still had to spend money on the journey from Mondstadt to Sumeru, a place to rent and food, and if you still could find a job after your arrival in the foreign country and pay off the later two, trip required mora that you never had. At first you had a mad idea to traverse Teyvat on your own two feet - it would be a slow and arduous process, but cheap nonetheless. You later gave up on this plan - archons didn’t give you any vision, nor did you have fighting and travelling experience to aid you on the trail that no doubt would be full of slimes, hilichurls and other dangerous monsters.

And that’s how you started job hunting - you took on any work that promised you a hefty pay, be it some boring reports for guild of adventurers or an exciting yet risky endeavor of getting information for an extravagant cavalry captain, which then led you to Dawn Winery. Head housemaid, Adelinde, posted a job opening for a maid, and the prospect of a stable salary, free food and comfortable bed was enough to lure you in there - two or three years ago the previous owner of the winery died in the accident and his successor left Mond for some reason, leaving the maintenance and management of the winery on the shoulders of the said housemaid.

After a quick interview, the head maid demanded you to show her your cleaning skills, which you effortlessly did, having to look after the house by yourself all your childhood. It seems she was satisfied, as she nodded to you and asked to follow her as she led you to your room. Compared to the other two maids here, Hillie and Moco, who preferred to spend their work time in idle chat, you came off as highly professional and diligent worker. This contrast raised both your position and salary in the winery, as Adelinde started to entrust you with tasks more interesting than simple sweeping and cleaning.

You were outside the winery the day you met Diluc - returning from the city and carrying several stacks of milk and wheat you got chased by the hilichurls. Monsters didn’t leave you, no matter how long and how far you ran. You were ready to drop all the goods and have Adelinde to scold you for wastefulness and dereliction when Ragnvindr appeared and stole a breath from you. He looked just like the prince from your childhood tales, impossibly pretty and strong, arriving just when the creatures caught up with you and then defeating all of them with a single slash of great claymore. And just like a fairytale prince he helped you to get up and collect the scattered baggage and asked if you were okay. Then you two headed for the winery, you didn't know that he was it's owner at the time, chatting and thanking him, as he carried purchases. Adelinde almost fainted when she saw the return of the prodigal master in your company. After hastily taking goods from his hands, she made you apologize for rudeness and insubordination, but Diluc interrupted you saying it was fine.

Ragnvindr heir returned back to the winery and life went on its own, except the unreadable glares Diluc started to send you when you both were in the same room. It started off small: the quick glances that soon grew into intense staring. With his impassive stone face it was impossible to tell why he was glaring at you so much, so you acted as polite and professional as you could in his vicinity - after all you didn’t want to get fired and look for a new job. The key to this riddle presented itself during one day.

It was a bleak windy morning when Adelinde sent you to the city again, and as you walked the sky darkened and rain started. You returned absolutely soaked and shivering, teeth chattering and limbs slightly numb from cold and when Diluc saw you he ordered you to change in a low commanding voice. Frightened by the possible dismissal, you hurried putting on the uniform. Because of the haste you pulled it too tightly, hiking up a maid dress a little. It wasn’t up enough to reveal your hips or thighs, showing just a portion of knees that was usually hidden by the wide skirt.

Diluc’s eyes were glued on the uncovered joints, a subtle blush appearing on his pale cheeks. You continued to work, feeling how he consumed your legs with his eyes alone. He is lusting after me. You didn't know what to do with that revelation back then, embarrassed and slightly scared of attracting master Diluc's attention.

Nonetheless, an answer quickly came on the next day as you found a bonus to your salary, so big that it could be considered a payment for the next month. Diluc, despite his usually impassive face, seemed to be ashamed of the thoughts he had yesterday, with the body language telling you of his true feelings.

A plan came to mind. You hated yourself for it at first - it was low and disgraceful, you felt like a stereotypical manipulative gold digger, yet still decided to realize it in life - you needed mora, as fast and as much as possible. Over the time you spent working at the Dawn winery you noticed that Diluc, despite his obviously high intelligence, wasn't really good at judging one’s character, so he fell for your scheme pretty easily. Design you had in mind was pretty simple - to stir him up with small, innocuous gestures and changes that would slip past the outsider’s eyes.

Sometimes you applied a thin layer of healing lip balm on your lips, that so conveniently happened shine and glitter under the light, sometimes you donned your dress a little bit higher, opening the view of two delicate knees and sometimes after cleaning and working all day you felt so hot that you had to unfasten one or two buttons to cool off. Diluc, despite not showing it on his face, was obviously distracted and aroused, hands clenched into fists and a shaky, barely controlled exhale escaping his nose.

He started to pile you with bonuses and prizes; “for a well done job”, he said one time, averting his gaze and masking the shame in his voice under a huff. He also started to request you to specifically clean the rooms he occupied, his eyes sizing up almost every inch of your body. You felt how the lust and desire radiated off him, how his hands itched to trace your skin and have you at his mercy, yet he stopped every time with his steel strong control and self-discipline. You sensed how it dwindled little by little.

Diluc, in some perverted sense, was that fair prince of your childhood daydreams that would save you from poverty.

You almost had saved up the needed amount of money when you noticed the loss of your most cherished possession - an invitation to the Sumeru academy and scholarship certificate. With heart booming in your chest you started to look for it in the whole winery, without giving out that you were searching for something. It seems that you were unsuccessful in your attempts, as master of the winery soon called you into the office.

Here, he was sitting behind the desk with a familiar paper in his hand - your eyes widened as you saw it and you had an urge to run up to him and snatch the invitation from him. You performed a curtsy instead, closing the door behind you and waiting for him to speak, eyes still on the sheet in Diluc’s hold.

“[First], you are a diligent and skillful employee, Adelinde has a very high opinion of you” he started from afar, a slight rosy blush dusting his cheeks at "skillful employee".

"So as your employer I wouldn't want any harm to befall on your person, and" he shaked the invitation a couple of times, "it came to my attention that you were planning on travelling to Sumeru. I advise you against this nonsensical idea".

You gritted teeth, careful not to insult him with the couple of barbed words at the tip of your tongue. Nonsensical idea? This was your goal, a main reason why you worked so much and allowed yourself so little.

“I am sorry, master Diluc, I am afraid I can’t abandon this idea”, you say, response flat and controlled, a thunderstorm of emotions hidden beneath the faux calm, “It is my goal, and the main reason why I work here”. So I can have a bright and secure future, in which I won’t have to worry about the tomorrow ever again.

“I also learned that you were born into a low income family and you had to struggle in your life because of that ” a sudden mention of your less than glorious origin makes your face burn from the shame you thought you buried a long time ago. You are stunned, so he continues: “I believe this little endeavor of yours is also motivated by your desire for a stable future. Drop it, I travelled all across the Teyvat and there are horrors that can easily destroy you both in body and spirit”.

He stands up from the desk, and gets closer to you: “I can look after and provide for you, just stay there and you won’t have to worry about the future again ”. His hold on the paper gets tighter, pyro vision shining with a dangerous glint. A faint smell of smoke spreads through the room - a warning if you remain stubborn and unyielding.

Who could have known that the fair prince was a greedy dragon all along?

#yandere genshin impact #Yandere genshin #yandere diluc x reader #Yandere diluc #Yandere genshin impact x reader #Yandere genshin x reader #Yandere #Diluc #Yandere x reader #my writing

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rayshippouuchiha · 3 years

Note

(Have some more building for Plot, Vigilante-to-Underground Hero, I was thinking on it so I share. Borrow, break it, use as you please.)

The Underground Heroes are desperate not stupid, so they do investigate the Vigilantes before they start pulling them into trying out apprenticeships. However, they are desperate so the investigation is more on “what have you done” and “is it showing tolerable behavior” verses “who the hell are you and where do you come from” so somethings fall through the cracks a bit.

They’re focusing on the prolific vigilantes, the ones who are known for working long hours, who are good at avoiding too much notice, who already do a decent job but maybe need a little polish, and haven’t gone on murder sprees. So they assume anyone treating it like either a job or a second job, are adults. Perhaps on the younger side of university graduates, but adults all the same.

(The Underground only cares about Quirks to help assign personnel on specialist operations for extra oomph. Otherwise they care more if you can do the job correctly than if you have a suitable Quirk.)

Izuku hears about the recruitment pitches being sprung on Vigilantes through the forums he lurks on, which is why when he’s approached one dark night halfway through a patrol run by an Underground hero he stays instead of bolts. He stays and knows exactly which law the near retirement age Hero is using to try and pull him into being an Apprentice, and eventually (potentially) an Underground Hero. Izuku knows, with slowly mounting excitement as he listens to the spiel that this is his chance, that he can finish his online High-school classes easily enough, that he can be a hero without having to first claw his way into a university program or fight the hero commission every step of the way as a solo act. The law in question, being so old and created in the early days of legalized heroics, means he can sign on without having to disclose anything personal if he doesn’t want to. Not a thing. Not his place of residence, not his legal name, not his age, not his Quirk. All he has to give is a dead drop for a notification of his death, and he’s had an auto forward email set up to alert his mom in the event he’s been missing for a week since he decided to be a Vigilante instead of an accidental Good Samaritan.

He’s sixteen and Quirkless and this is a job opportunity better than he was dreaming of. Sure he’s technically a little too young to accept but... apprenticeships are like being interns if a bit longer term. And they’re offering to pay in cash. Izuku isn’t an idiot he’s seen what his prospects as Quirkless are, and it’s grim. This is a path for his dream, he’s not gonna ever let it flee from him. Bring on the low sleep nights, he doesn’t need that much anyway. Izuku smiles beneath his mask, his goggles and hood hiding away the rest of his joyful reaction, and accepts the offer.

He’s not the only Vigilante who joins, but he’s one of the handful that stay. Most leave after a few months; when they can’t handle the depressing world of talking down jumpers, of the human suffering in trafficking cases, of the way they have to walk through drug dens with people blitzed out of their minds and willing to sell anything to keep themselves like that, back alley cruelty, the dead, and corruption everywhere that has to be approached from almost sideways instead of head on.

He’s a fast learner and is considered valuable backup for his fast reflexes and stamina. But the only things they know after a year is his call sign, his requirement for only four hours of sleep a day to be energized, and his very skilled analysis of quirks. It’s become a running joke that he’ll tell them his name and show his face when he gets his Underground Heroics License in his gloved hands and not an instant before. And even then some joke he might not show it at all until injury forces him, being the bouncy cryptid to Eraserhead’s exhausted one.

(He’s got the Apprentice Hero License , but you have to be an Underground Hero apprentice for three years to get an Underground Hero License unless you want to take an Exam. An Exam that requires you to disclose a lot of information about yourself to the Commission; Izuku will not do this no thank you.)

He’s Twenty-three when he has to show his face. Twenty-three and while the Heroics students and some Spotlight Heroes would age him up a bit from the stress marks Underground Heroics gave him, his Underground coworkers know what his age looks like beneath the stress. Which means he joined too young. They’re practical, but inside they scream baby, was a baby and we sent him on that type of mission when he should have still been a heroics student intern by age. They won’t reveal him, but now they’re wondering how they missed his youth.

Izuku dons his equipment and fades himself back into the Underground as backup and scout for anybody. Who needs recognition when he can save someone from the shadows instead.

He’s Shadow. He’s a Hero. It’s enough for him.

OOOhhhh YESSSSSSSSs

#BnHA #Prompt #FUCK YES #nikolaila #RayRambles

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moonbeambucky · 3 years

Text

I Promise (Part 1/2)

Pairing: Chris Beck x Reader Word Count: 4106 Warnings: fluff, smut, pregnancy

Summary: Before heading to Mars Chris Beck reconnects with his best friend, unaware of the outcome of their night together. With the burden of his mission will Chris make a promise he can’t keep?

A/N: My first Chris Beck fic! Rather than a really long one shot I’m splitting it into two parts. A big thank you to my love Allie @all1e23 for beta reading 🍕❤️ gif source (x)

“Hey.”

The soft resonance of Chris’ voice brings tears to your eyes, ones you couldn’t help from slipping out. They fall down the curve of your cheeks past the uneasy smile you wore.

“I kept my promise,” he said. Chris flashed the top row of his bright white teeth, his mouth curving into a boyish smile that reached his eyes, the fine lines crinkling around them. He tilted his head as he looked at you through the screen, a comforting gaze that made you feel as if he was there with you.

The quality of the video chat is near perfect making you almost forget Chris was millions of miles away. He looked the same, not that you expected him to look different. It had only been a few months since you last saw each other.

His hair looks darker than usual but you suppose it’s the low lighting of the small room he’s in. He’s bundled up in a thick NASA sweatshirt and you can see several more layers he has on beneath the collar. Chris looks tired but that’s expected, what he’s doing right now is not a walk in the park. You know it’s the reason why it’s taken so long for him to contact you but you wish he did it sooner.

More tears flood your eyes, burning their way out as you wished he never left at all. You can barely hear Chris over the sound of your own sobs.

“Please don’t cry,” he pleaded.

You lifted your head towards the screen and seeing the concern on his face only made you miss him more, wishing he was there to console you in person.

Your hand swept away tears from your cheek as your voice cracked saying his name. “Chris…”

The streets are simmering with the heat of a summer that couldn’t wait to officially start. Calendars be damned, it was hot. You indulged in a cool shower when you got home from work but time didn’t allow for a languid evening of staying in your towel as you applied serums and moisturizers, lotions and creams and every other post-shower pampering you normally do. Tonight was dinner with a friend and you needed to get ready.

Chatter filled the air of the patio, a small secluded outdoor space at the back of an Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side. It had an Old World Tuscan feel, from the stucco walls that looked purposely imperfect. Green patina shutters hung beside a wrought iron lantern that glowed in the early evening. Lush greens and bright flowers sat atop the half wall that surrounded the dining area making you forget you were in the city.

Chris looked the same, not that you expected him to be different. It had only been about two years since you’ve seen each other, right before he began training for his mission and now you can’t believe it was about to happen. Never would you have expected that the little boy down the block who became your best friend would actually be going to Mars.

For most of your lives you were in the same school, starting in Mrs. Kramer’s kindergarten class where you stuck together; two kids that were nervous about making friends and finding comfort in each other. As the years went on you weren’t always in the same classes but your friendship continued to grow. Chris was picked on for having a girl as a best friend and the girls always teased that he was your “boyfriend.” It never felt that way with Chris. He was your friend first and you never saw him as anything more.

By the time you were in middle school Chris was already taking advanced classes in math and science and the only class you had together was art which he was famously terrible at. It was there you asked him a huge favor, whispering to him at the sink as you rinsed off your paint brushes. “Could you kiss me?” Chris turned as red as a boiling lobster, immediately sweating as if he was being roasted alive himself. It was later that day walking home from school that you clarified what you meant.

There was a boy, Justin Kaufman, who was the coolest kid in your grade. You had a crush on him like everyone else and you were shocked when he asked if you would go with him to the dance on Friday. You were worried he might try to kiss you and being inexperienced made you nervous. Justin was really popular and if you were a bad kisser then the whole school would know it. Chris was your friend, someone you trusted, someone you could practice with just to make sure you didn’t make a fool of yourself.

You had no frame of reference for kissing back then apart from one sided smooches to pictures of movie stars that you had a crush on. But feeling Chris’ lips press back against yours was… nice. The best part about it was that things didn’t feel awkward after. Chris was still your best friend and nothing changed.

A server hands you a menu and you thank him, scanning through it to see what you might be interested in. Chris looks up at the same time you do, wondering if you wanted an appetizer. You nodded letting him choose, considering the limited food options he’ll have for over the next year.

“Can you drink?”

Chris’ nose crinkled as he smiled. “In space? No. Tonight? Yes,” he chuckled softly.

Two glasses of red wine were set on the table as you indulged in delicious food, catching up as much as you could before Chris’ mission.

“So you’d love what happened today,” you began, leaning closer, “We filmed a restoration video and yours truly was in it.”

Chris’ eyes lit up as he gasped. “I love those! You have to send it to me. Hopefully I can see it before I go. What was it?”

“A sixteenth century European oil painting.” You went into detail and Chris loved listening to your knowledge of art history. It was no wonder that was your major, taking your studies further to work as a conservator at the Met.

Chris swallowed his food quickly to speak. “You were always good at that– art, attention to detail. Remember when we had to sculpt our own faces?” he chuckled.

There was a short burst of laughter as you remembered that day from so long ago. “Yes! Thankfully the real you doesn’t look anything like that abomination you made.”

Chris drops his head down to hide a bashful smile that mixed in with laughter. He’s enjoying himself, catching up with you, eating. This was so good. He couldn’t help but scoop up another forkful of pasta, not expecting you to ask him a question. “So, how are you feeling?”

He paused to reflect and wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth. “I’m nervous… excited.” Taking a sip of wine, he sets the glass down carefully on the table. Chris’ face has grown more serious. “My mom’s worried.”

“Of course she is, I don’t blame her. I’m worried. Mars is… well it’s Mars! It’s not around the block.”

He chuckled. “No, it’s definitely not.”

Chris is heading home to Connecticut tomorrow to spend the next few days with his parents. Chloe, his younger sister is coming in as well so they can all spend some time together before he has to fly down to Florida.

“Then it’s go for launch!” he said with a beaming smile, though Chris had to correct himself for the sake of accuracy. Once he’s down there the crew has to quarantine for at least ten days and go through a bunch of pre-flight checkups and procedures first. “Are you gonna watch?”

The incredulous look you gave him answered his question. “Did you really have to ask? Of course I’m going to watch the launch.”

His eyes twinkled as he smiled back at you. “Oh and don’t worry I put you on my contact list so you can send me emails. Not sure how quickly I'll get them since CAPCOM directs it back to us. And as long as we have the right satellite coverage we can even do video calls.”

“Like Facetime?”

“In theory yeah, more like space Skype,” he laughed. “It’ll be nice to stay in touch.”

Your smile was bright in the dimness of the evening. You can’t imagine not staying in touch with Chris. The longest you had ever gone was during his Air Force training. He checked in with his parents when he first arrived and from then on it was sporadic. You were able to send him letters though and tried to write him every week though your own schooling and an apprenticeship at the Louvre had taken up a lot of time but that was how your relationship was.

No matter where you were in life, across the world or hovering above it in the International Space Station, you always kept in touch. It’ll be harder now considering he’s going farther than ever before but you’ll make it work.

Chris would be back by next November and his mom was already planning a big party for his return, one he’s certain you’ll be invited to. Though you haven’t seen his parents in a while you still kept in touch with them from time to time seeing as they were still friends with your own parents.

“It’s crazy to think you’re about to go to Mars.”

Chris swipes a palm down his mouth, leaning his elbows against the table as he muses, “I know. Feels like I got the call yesterday.”

It was a night similar to this one, where Chris was in New York celebrating with you and other friends on his selection to be part of the Ares III mission. He had been working at NASA for a few years, doing biomedical research in their center in Virginia and now he was about a month out from spending two years training for his long term mission to Mars.

He stayed at your apartment that night, continuing the celebration in your own private way. You had come a long way from learning to kiss with Chris. It wasn’t a big deal, neither was it the first time you had sex with each other. It was a special dynamic that worked for the two of you, one you don’t think you could have pulled off with anyone else. With Chris you had trust that was built up over the years. He was safe, he was your friend and this was nothing more than just sex.

It didn’t happen too often, a couple of times here and there. You both dated a few people over the years and even though you were single at the moment you thought about the promise you made to each other as teens. “If we’re not married to other people by the time we’re thirty let’s promise we’ll marry each other.” Such a silly promise but thirty seemed so far away at the time.

Chris couldn’t make it to celebrate for your thirtieth birthday but you did get a card from him where he joked that the wedding was off. You were in a long term relationship, one that Chris thought would lead to marriage but you ended things a year later. It wasn’t there; that natural spark that made your heart skip a beat every time they smiled brighter than the sun, or when their eyes sparkled like stars in the night every time they looked at you.

You walked through the streets with Chris after dinner, casually strolling back towards your apartment and stretching out the inevitable goodbye that you didn’t want to say. It was so good to be with him in person again, not realizing how badly you missed it until the hours started ticking closer towards him leaving. By the time you get to your apartment Chris decided to come up stairs, wanting to spend as much of his time with you as he could.

Chris sits comfortably on your couch, cozied up beside a large pillow. He places his wine glass down on your coffee table, needing to gesticulate with both hands as he starts getting into talking about his research. He’s been published before in numerous academic journals and now he’s going on about how excited he is for his latest topic, musculoskeletal alterations and the effects of deep space travel.

He’s cute when he really gets into it, crinkles pulling around the corner of his eyes as his whole face lights up. You let out a shaky breath, smiling even wider yourself as you watched the passion he had for science and learning, one that matched the level you had for art and preserving their history.

Chris apologized for rambling on, taking a sip of wine to clear the dryness from his throat.

“So, give me the lowdown… can you jerk off in space?”

He covered his mouth to prevent the wine he was choking on from spitting out. You couldn’t help the sly smile on your face that cracked wider the redder he became.

“Well?”

Chris cleared his throat again. Pinching the bridge of his nose he looked down into his glass, chuckling a bit as he said, “The official stance from NASA is no comment so I’m going to stick with that.”

“That’s not an answer!” You could barely hold a faux sneer before you broke into a smile. Teasing Chris was all in good fun, something that went both ways from the time you were young.

You adjusted the way your legs were folded underneath you, brushing your knee against his leg. Chris lifted his arm up, a silent invitation for you to get closer and so you did, resting your head against him as his arm came around you.

Things had quieted down and you listened to the steady beat of his heart. This would be the last time you would see Chris for a long time. Your arm reached around to hold him for as long as you could.

“I’m going to miss you,” you whispered against him.

Chris’ chest sunk as he exhaled a deep sigh. “I’m going to miss you too.” His arm squeezed a little tighter around you as he pressed his lips gently against your forehead. “Just look to the stars and I’ll be there.”

His words brought a comforting smile to your face, one you shared with him as you tilted your head to look up at him. “Do you want to stay?”

The corner of his mouth tugs a little as Chris thinks about it. There’s nothing he really misses at his hotel more than he does you. The only reason he came to New York was to see you first before going home.

“Yeah, I’d love to stay.”

You shifted yourself on top to straddle Chris, carding your fingers through his hair and taking in the gaze of his eyes that became pools of deep blue. You closed the distance between your lips, feeling his hands come around your back. Soft moans bubbled in your throat and soon you found yourself being carried to the bedroom.

Clothes were discarded, lips were on skin that burned hotter than the stars. You writhe against him, thighs quivering around his head, reaching out to grip him by the hair, holding Chris in place as he coaxed out your release. His lips taste like you and he licks them again, savoring your sweetness as he crawls up your body.

He tears open the condom, gathering your wetness on him as he slowly pushed in. A sinful moan falls from your lips as you feel the stretch of him inside you, inch by inch until he was fully seated. An experimental roll of his hips sets the pace for pleasure.

Your hands graze up the curve of his arms, reaching his back and digging in half moon shapes into his skin with your nails as he thrusts into you.

“Ahh fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he panted, moaning as his hips snapped forward. His name fell from your lips, a sweet sound that he couldn’t deny he loved hearing.

He changed his angle, hitting you with deeper, longer strokes. His mouth found your nipple, sucking at your peak as his hips gained speed; groaning and squeezing his eyes tightly as he fucked you, ready to explode.

“Shit!” Chris hissed, backing off quickly. You’re confused and concerned, sitting up and turning the light on beside your bed to see what was wrong. “The condom broke,” he said, still catching his breath.

Chris got up to discard it in the bathroom as you sat on the bed, crossing an arm over your chest, waiting nervously. When Chris walked back in the room he apologized for that, the stiffness of his length giving you relief that he hadn’t finished so you continued. Using your hands on him as he let out soft moans, distractedly opening another condom that you rolled down on him. You straddled him, leaning forward to capture his lips for a sweet kiss first before you lined yourself up and sank down on him.

Soon enough you were riding waves of bliss together, gripping Chris as you clenched around him, burning white hot behind your eyes. He’s right behind you, on the edge of pleasure, exploding inside you like a supernova.

Dropping your head onto his chest, it felt like your body was made of overcooked noodles that splayed loosely against him as you were desperate to catch your breath, coming down from the heights you soared to. Chris’ arms hold you close against him, his lips languidly peppering kisses to your sheen covered skin.

When his heartbeat returned to a steady pace Chris went to the bathroom to once again discard the condom and you followed behind him to use it. He went to the kitchen to get something to drink, bringing back an ice cold glass of water for you.

Back in bed you cuddled together, with goosebumps breaking out on your skin as Chris’ fingertips graze gently up and down your arm. Your eyes feel heavy but you don’t want to give in because when you wake up you know you’ll have to say goodbye and that’s not something you want to do.

“You’ll stay in touch, right?” you murmured against him, as worry took root within your stomach. His quick and emphatic reply should have been enough but you couldn’t help yourself from needing to make sure you would still hear from him during the mission. “And call me? With the space Skype?”

“I promise,” he said, as a smile spread across his face. Chris’ hand stopped moving, settling on your arm and holding you close.

“Promise me one more thing?” He hummed in response and you continued, “Stay safe up there.”

Chris tilted his head down and feeling him shift you looked up as he said, “I promise.”

In the moonlight his eyes sparkled like clear tropical waters. Slowly, a soft smile spread across your face as you stared at him. “I love you, Chris.” There was no romanticism behind it even after being together, just pure love for your friend.

Chris exhaled, planting a kiss to your temple. “I love you too, Y/N.”

Despite wanting to spend your remaining hours together awake you reluctantly fell asleep in his arms, tearfully parting in the morning. Two weeks later you watched as the space shuttle launched, with proud tears filling your eyes as Chris’ picture flashed on your screen along with the rest of the crew. Seeing that made you feel hopeful and overjoyed at the prospect of hearing from him soon.

“Chris… I’m pregnant.” It was a relief to finally tell him but you didn’t feel any better, uncertainty weighed heavy on your shoulders, crushing the space for your lungs to expand. Chris knows but now what?

He’s silent, his lips parted slightly and you don’t know if there’s a delay in the feed. Maybe you should have emailed it to him. You were going to at first and instead chose to word the importance of needing to speak to him in such a clandestine way that you were contacted by someone from NASA. Upon speaking to them they allowed your email to be dispatched and then you waited.

Chris’ eyebrows knit together, his shoulders slumping down as he stared at your face through the screen. He didn’t have any doubts, you were always truthful with each other, but he still wondered how.

“We put on a new one, I thought…”

“I thought we were good too,” you said, letting out a shaky breath.

You weren’t just pregnant, you were pregnant with his child and based off of some quick calculations in his head you were nearing the end of your first trimester. “H-how are you? I mean, how are you feeling?”

“Physically or…” Nervous laughter bubbles out of your throat.

This was hard on you, the physical symptoms weren’t fun but you could manage. What was more difficult was not telling anyone. It was early enough in your pregnancy that you could hide it from your family. They still lived in Hartford and hadn’t been down to visit yet but you couldn’t avoid them forever. Work was a different story. You had to let your boss know you would have to modify your duties as working around solvents and other chemicals would not be safe.

There was never a doubt in your mind about keeping the baby. When you were younger you imagined having children by now but it didn’t work out that way. It was something you were okay with, finding life fulfilling in different ways. Work was incredible, you were able to travel and though your relationships hadn’t worked out in the past you didn’t hold on to any resentments. Life was always complete and now things were going to be different.

You wanted to speak to Chris first before telling your family because you needed to know your expectations. Chris had a life of his own and you didn’t want your choice of having a baby to make him feel obligated in any way. You were an adult; a smart, independent woman and could do this on your own.

“I know this isn’t something we planned but…” Chris exhaled, the corners of his mouth lifting upward, “There’s no one I’d rather do this with than you... I promise.”

Chris’ eyes glisten with tears as his smile grows and you find yourself brushing away your own from the corner of your eyes. It was comforting to know Chris will be part of the baby’s life. Truthfully it would have been weird if he wasn’t in some capacity considering how close you were. For now you have a lot of time on how you’re going to figure things out for the future.

After the call Chris reflected in silence, staring out of the giant triangular windows of one of the Hermes’ common areas into the vastness of space. He was lost in thought, startled by his name being called by a crewmate. He turned to see Mark whose bright smile fell with concern upon seeing Chris’ face, asking if he was alright.

“I’m gonna be a dad,” Chris responded, his tone mournful in the realization he’ll be missing the birth. He accepted the congratulatory hug Mark gave him, sighing heavily as they separated. “I always thought I’d be there for that.”

You were due in March and Chris hated the fact that he won't be there for the first nine months of his child’s life, moments and milestones he’ll never get back. He doesn’t like leaving this all on you. He knows you can do it but you shouldn’t have to.

“I can’t pretend this isn’t hard but don’t think of it in terms of what you’re missing, look at what you’re gaining, what you have to look forward to when you come home.” Chris nodded, his smile trying to come back. “I didn’t even know you had a girlfriend,” Mark teased.

“I don’t. Y/N, she’s…” Chris’ face lights up as he thinks about you, which does not go unnoticed by Mark. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. She’s always meant so much to me and now…”

Mark gave Chris an honest smile as he spoke plainly, “And now you’re having a baby.”

With a proud smile that stretched from ear to ear he affirmed, “Yeah… we are.”

PART 2

#chris beck x reader #chris beck fanfiction #chris beck fluff #dad!chris beck #chris beck x you

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stiltonbasket · 3 years

Text

chancellor of the morning sun: burdens, mingjue (youth)

In which being a woman in the cultivation world is difficult, and Nie Mingjue comforts a friend.

On the night after the welcoming banquet, Nie Mingjue wakes to the sound of someone crying outside his door.

This was by no means unusual when he was younger; Huaisang often had night terrors after his mother died, and refused to sleep without Nie Mingjue for the next three or four years. But A-Sang is thirteen now, far too old to come crying to his da-ge after dark, and the person on the other side of his door seems to be a woman.

“Who’s there?” he calls, lighting one of his dream lanterns before getting out of bed. “A-Sang, is that you?”

“No, it’s me!” a familiar voice shouts, nearly sending Nie Mingjue to the ground as he scrambles to keep his footing. “A-Jue, let me in!”

Nie Mingjue drops his lantern and tries not to panic. The crying is still going on, but the person who called his name was Lan Xichen, without a doubt; and if she had come to his chambers this late, with the Unclean Realm full of foreign cultivators who would gladly take any chance to see her reputation ruined, then she must have come to seek his help with some kind of emergency.

And Nie Mingjue has not forgotten that the son of his father’s murderer is sleeping under his roof, or that Wen Ruohan openly sought Xichen’s hand in marriage for Wen Xu, and would have forced the two to meet if Nie Mingjue’s own fuqin had not intervened.

“I’m coming!” he says frantically, throwing the door open and grasping Lan Xichen’s arm the moment she crosses the threshold. “Lan Huan, I’m—”

And then he looks over Lan Xichen’s shoulder, blinking at the miserable line of young maidens trailing down the corridor behind her. Jiang Yanli is standing at Xichen’s side, crying into her sleeves, and Qin Su and Jin Zixuan’s first shimei are there, too; and Wen Ruohan’s young niece is standing in the back, holding Qin Su’s arm to keep her from falling over. All five girls smell of liquor, even Xichen, and Nie Mingjue gapes at them in bewilderment as Xichen fists her hands in his tunic and shakes him from side to side.

“Jiang-jie won’t listen to us!” she complains, sobbing drunkenly into his chest: which sets Jiang Yanli off again, and then Luo Qingyang starts weeping, too. “A-Jue, tell her!”’

Mingjue frowns. “Tell her what, A-Huan?” he says gently, wiping his intended’s face. It will be ruin for them both if anyone spots her here in the middle of the night, let alone with four other girls in front of his private quarters, but Nie Mingjue would rather cut his own hands off than turn the girl he loves away in such distress. “What’s wrong?”

“Jiang-guniang thinks she’s not worthy of Zixuan,” Luo Qingyang wails. “But just look at him! He prances around like a prize stallion, and he keeps making a fool of himself everywhere he goes! It’s pathetic! And he keeps talking about how wonderful he is, almost as much as Zixun! Nie-zongzhu, I have to beat him up twice a month to keep him in line, and it’s not even working!”

“Not worthy of Jin Zixuan?” he snorts. “Jiang-guniang, it’s Jin-gongzi who isn’t worthy of you. A-Huan, didn’t you tell her so?”

Jiang Yanli only cries even harder, and Xichen gives him a reproachful look and pinches his stubbly cheek. “She won’t listen to us when we tell her she’s more than enough. Yanli thinks we have to say so, since we’re her friends, so I brought her to you so you could tell her instead!”

“Jin-gongzi should count himself lucky that a maiden like Lady Jiang would give him the time of day,” Nie Mingjue says promptly. “He’ll get over himself in time, and Luo-guniang will beat him into the ground if he doesn’t. Right, Luo-guniang?”

Luo Qingyang nods fervently before listing straight into one of the walls. “I will!” she yells, as Wen Qing reaches over and puts her back on her feet again. “‘N then I’ll put itching powder in Jin Zixun’s pants, and, and…”

“Steal his wine again,” Qin Su suggests, letting out a loud burp. “That peach-blossom brew was delicious. Don’t you feel any better after drinking it, A-Li?”

“No, I don’t,” Jiang Yanli murmurs. “Good night, Nie-zongzhu. I’m going back to bed now.”

“Yanli!” begs Xichen, throwing herself at the shorter girl and almost knocking both of them backwards onto the floor. “Yanli, don’t go! You’re worth a hundred of Jin-zongzi, you—A-Jue, help!”

“What am I supposed to say?” he asks, thoroughly bewildered. “I can go challenge Jin-gongzi to a duel myself, if you like. Would that cheer you up, Jiang-guniang!”

But to his surprise, Jiang Yanli only goes to her knees and trembles like a kitten left out in the cold, sobbing about her fears for her future at Koi Tower and her dread of being bound to a man who will never respect her, her terror at the prospect of having no allies past her wedding day save for her mother-in-law, and then about having to spend the rest of her life within reach of Jin Guangshan.

“Mother keeps telling me that I should try to do better, so that Jin-gongzi likes me,” she chokes. “And one of my Yu aunties told me once that Jin-gongzi has to like me, since that’s going to be the only thing keeping me safe from—from—”

“Why haven’t you spoken to your parents about this?” Nie Mingjue demands, aghast. He knows very little about how his own engagement was settled on Xichen’s side; but not long after his ascension, he discovered that neither she nor her uncle were consulted on the matter, and that the sect elders only informed Lan Qiren of his niece’s engagement after the betrothal papers were sealed and signed and the bride price was already paid.

Nie Mingjue’s father made the agreement believing that Lan Qiren was amenable, and would have dissolved the betrothal in a heartbeat if Lan Xichen ever said she was unhappy with it—even in the months just before his death, when his greatest regret was that he would likely not live long enough to see his grandchildren. But he never disapproved of Lan Xichen’s decision to remain unwed until Wangji was at least eighteen, though the wedding was originally set to take place just after Xichen turned eighteen, and he would even have accepted a divorce if his daughter-in-law initiated it.

And Jiang Fengmian is widely known to dote upon his daughter, just as Nie Mingjue’s father doted on Lan Xichen, so why would he not offer the same choice to his child that Nie Huangyin gave to A-Huan?

“Father would break the engagement if I asked, but Jin-furen is mother’s best friend,” Jiang Yanli weeps, in answer to Nie Mingjue’s unspoken question. “It would make things so difficult between them if Jin-furen ever knew I felt this way. And A-Xian and A-Cheng already hate the idea of me marrying into Lanling, Nie-zongzhu. It would be so much worse for them both if they found out I was afraid.”

“It is better out now, than ten years from now, when you are wedded into that house and bound there by a husband and children,” Nie Mingjue says somberly. “Jin Zixuan is not a bad sort, but if he can look upon a maiden who spends her days tending to her family and teaching in orphanages and finding apprenticeships for street children, and call such a girl unworthy because of her looks and low cultivation—then he is not worthy of any wife, let alone one like you, and I pray he will come to recognize it without some great tragedy to bring him to his senses.”

“But—”

“If A-Huan were to lose her cultivation, I would still count myself as the luckiest man in the world to be her husband,” he declares. “And if she were not beautiful, that would be nothing to me. Whatever the strength of her golden core, and whatever she looks like—her heart has nothing to do with either her face or her jindan, and I love her for that above all things.”

Jiang Yanli’s jaw drops open, and she stares up at Nie Mingjue in open disbelief. Xichen is far too drunk to register what he just said, and Wen Qing seems to have stuffed bits of cloth into her ears to keep herself from listening to anything Jiang-guniang would not have confided while sober—but the word love still burns on his lips like the hot filling from Lan Xichen’s sweet bean cakes, flooding through every inch of his body until he can think of nothing else, and he spends a good two minutes in a kind of stricken trance before wondering if saying such a thing before Maiden Jiang might have hurt her feelings.

“It didn’t,” she says softly—because apparently, Nie Mingjue said that last aloud. “I think I see now, Nie-zongzhu.”

Nie Mingjue opens his mouth to ask what she means, but a small purple blur interrupts him before he can get the words out. The blur skids around the nearest corner, screeching in indignation at the sight of Yanli’s tearstained face, and then it turns upon Nie Mingjue and demands an explanation.

“What did you say to my Shijie?” Wei Wuxian cries. “Shijie, did he bully you?”

“Silly A-Xian,” Jiang-guniang smiles, ruffling Wei Wuxian’s hair. “Nobody bullied me, but Nie-zongzhu made me feel much better.”

“By making you cry?” Wei Wuxian says doubtfully. “Should I get Suibian?”

“A-Xian, no!” Jiang Yanli is giggling now, kissing her brother all over his puffy cheeks. “Come on, let’s go back.”

Wei Wuxian drags her off down the hallway, casting suspicious glances over his shoulder, and Wen Qing charges herself with the duty of escorting Luo Qingyang and Maiden Qin back to their own quarters. However, she declares in no uncertain terms that managing three drunk girls is beyond her, and that leaves only Nie Mingjue to look after Lan Xichen.

“Your uncle’s going to kill me if he finds us,” he whimpers, as he struggles up a flight of stairs with his betrothed yawning in his arms. “And then A-Sang will spend the rest of his life on birds and fans, and never catch up with his lessons in time to attend your clan lectures.”

“Shufu likes you,” Xichen assures him, patting the tip of his nose. “He would never do such a thing.”

“He would if he thought I’d been improper towards you,” Nie Mingjue groans. “A-Huan, have you had anything to eat after you started drinking?”

“Mm, A-Su brought snacks. And Wen Qing kept slipping headache medicine into my wine.”

Nie Mingjue sighs in relief and hugs her a little tighter. “Good. Will you try to drink a little water after we get back to your room?”

Xichen nods drowsily, nearly stopping Nie Mingjue’s heart as she nuzzles against his shoulder, but he manages to get her up to her bedroom in one piece and helps her get into bed, making sure she lies on her side to prevent choking in the morning. He also puts a few pieces of rice candy on her nightstand since he always carries a handful in his pocket for Huaisang, and fetches a glass of water for her to drink when she wakes.

Lan Huan is fast asleep by then, breathing quietly in her nest of blankets with her hand tucked under her cheek, and Nie Mingjue makes it as far as the door before remembering that she is still too drunk to be left alone.

But she doesn’t have a maidservant, Nie Mingjue thinks desperately, staring wildly out of the room as if one might climb out of the nearest cupboard. And Wangji didn’t come along this time, and I can’t wake Lan Qiren—

Oh, no.

Oh, this is very bad.

Anything could happen to Lan Xichen with so much alcohol in her blood, and she might even stop breathing during the night and smother. But there is no one to fetch except for Lan-xiansheng, and that means Nie Mingjue will have to stay with her until she wakes. And given the fact that Lan Qiren will be looking for his niece by mao hour tomorrow, while Lan Xichen will probably sleep a shichen longer than usual—

Nie Mingjue sinks down beside the bed and puts his head in his hands.

Well, that settles it, he despairs, pulling the thick blankets away from Xichen’s face. Lan Qiren is definitely going to kill me.

But he would be lying if he said that the sight of Xichen’s peaceful face was unworthy of death by uncle-in-law, so Nie Mingjue accepts his demise with grace and starts planning his funeral instead.

___

When Lan Xichen opens her eyes, the first thing she notices is the dull pain in her head.

The second thing she notices (after gulping down the water and candy on the nightstand) is that someone seems to have left a heap of something dark near her bed; probably a bag, or a pile of clothes, though she can’t see well enough to tell what it could be.

And the last thing is that her uncle is sitting on a chair by the door, tapping his foot loudly enough to make her head pound.

“Shufu,” she croaks, struggling upright with the aid of one of her pillows. “What are you—”

“Disciples of the Lan clan must not consume alcohol,” he says, strangely calm despite the enormity of her transgression. Her clothes still smell like Baling mead, sweet and spicy and fruity all at once, and she nearly dies of shame at the thought of how shocked Shufu must have been when he found her. “They must not go out of doors after haishi. And they must never share chambers with any member of the opposite sex to whom they are not married, unless they are a relative.”

Lan Xichen freezes. “What?”

“Should I not be asking you that?” her uncle reminds her. “What is Nie-zongzhu doing in your bedchamber?”

Thunderstruck, Lan Xichen stumbles out of bed and stares at the dark heap on the floor, which yawns at her touch and stretches like a cat before springing up in horror.

“Lan-xiansheng, it’s not what it looks like!” Nie Mingjue cries, making Lan Xichen shrivel at the memory of how shamefully she must have behaved last night. “I only wanted to make sure Xichen was safe, I would never—”

“And you did not think of waking me?” Lan Qiren lifts his eyebrows at them. “Even if you wanted to ensure that my niece was well, how could you risk being seen leaving her rooms in the morning? My own quarters are just on the other side of the hall.”

Mingjue ducks his head in shame, and Lan Xichen suddenly wants nothing more than the comfort of his hand in hers. “I didn’t want her to get in trouble, xiansheng,” he mumbles. “She only came out last night for someone else’s sake, and I couldn’t have borne to see her unhappy just for that.”

“You are a sect leader, Nie Mingjue. Don’t look down when you speak to me,” Shufu scolds. “As it is, I am glad that you did not leave her. But as her uncle, I must order you to go now before the breakfast bell, lest you ruin both of your reputations at once and force her to marry before she is ready.”

Mingjue takes the hint and flees, leaving Xichen and her uncle alone. Shufu says nothing more for a while, merely studying the ceiling as if the laws of the Lan sect were inscribed there, and then he clears his throat and points to the stack of parchment on her desk.

“Copy each precept you broke, a hundred times each. The tenth, eighteenth, and seventy-first laws. Go.”

And then, after a moment’s lull:

“I think he will be a good father someday, A-Huan,” Lan Qiren reflects. “Your little ones will want for nothing, what with how he cares for you and how much he coddles Huaisang. I could not have found you a better husband if I chose for you myself.”

Lan Xichen drops her paintbrush.

“Shufu!”

#nielan #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #chancellor of the morning sun #nielan arranged marriage au #my fic #long time no update #it's been 84 years

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janetbrown711 · 3 years

Note

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone," wakko?

Wakko never thought of himself as a worrier. He always held out hope that somehow, someway everything would work out- that Good would prevail and Evil would fall. He believed with all his heart it was his and his sibling’s destiny to defeat Salazar. He knew Dot was going to get better, and that Yakko would finally be able to relax for more than just five minutes.

However... being on his own for the first time challenged that.

He had taken the baker’s advice and went straight to the apprenticeship with the blacksmith. It had been excruciatingly difficult, and Wakko put a lot of blood sweat, and tears into the work he did. He had been revolted to find out that he was only paid a ha’penny a week. Sending letters had cost at least three ha’pennies so by the end of week one, he had had to get crafty.

He ‘borrowed’ paper from the blacksmith and wrote as neat and concise as he could manage before putting in the one ha’penny and the letter in an envelope (also ‘borrowed’ from the blacksmith) and snuck it into the mailman’s bag when he wasn’t looking. As for how he got food, he would take a piece of fruit or bread from the man when he wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t easy to do though, the blacksmith was a good person; he was stoic and old, hardly ever talked, except the occasional warning to Wakko that he shouldn’t touch or eat something, despite how delicious it looked. He was patient, though at the same time very distant. It was hard for Wakko to read him.

However, Wakko had gotten too comfortable too fast, as he had gotten caught stealing the blacksmith’s food and he fired him, said it was “a betrayal of his trust”. His words had stung Wakko, and he left without fighting, but not without taking a few pieces of paper and envelopes- Yakko and Dot would kill him if he didn’t write.

The letters.

Wakko thought he would love writing them, but it got harder and harder the more time passed. Wakko embellished how he was doing a lot, but he could tell Yakko wasn’t being entirely honest either. His words were fancy and he tended to dance around questions Wakko had asked. Wakko wished he had the energy and paper to argue with him, but he didn’t. He hated being lied to, but they quite literally couldn’t afford to bring it up.

After he got fired, he wandered and worked as an errand boy for a senile, but wealthy woman. He didn’t like it though- she was rude and she constantly spat on him, or hit him with her cane, which left him with nasty bruises.

He was almost thankful when she dropped dead one day.

He stole as much silverware, stamps, papers, and envelopes as he could fit into his hat before he alerted anyone of what had happened.

Still- seeing a corpse hadn’t been... pleasant.

It reminded him that, yes, death was a thing and was inescapable and could happen to his little sister at any moment while he was gone.

Needless to say, he did his best not to dwell on that, and sold all of the silverware as soon as possible and gave almost all the money to Yakko in the letter he wrote.

That should help delay Death for a while... hopefully, Yakko could buy her a new blanket, or a shawl. She always got so cold in the winter with just her skirt.

Wakko then went to work as a berry picker at the farm of an old cat couple with a few other children his age, though none of them liked talking. However, he only worked there for the month of May because he had gotten fired once they found out he had been eating more berries than he turned in. Wakko was hungry, and the farmers didn’t pay him enough for him to afford enough food anyway, Wakko thought that was bull.

However, he quickly regretted that decision when he had gotten a letter from Yakko that admitted that Dot was going through another rough patch. His brother wrote that he and Dot missed him a whole awful lot, but that they weren’t giving up yet. At least that was nice...

Still, Wakko couldn’t help but feel guilty. His selfishness had gotten him fired from two jobs, and because of that, his siblings were suffering. Sometimes he wished he could just magically fix everything with the snap of his fingers, but he knew that wasn't how it worked. If it was, he would’ve done it already.

After that, he was determined to find a job that would stick. Unfortunately, that was only getting more difficult, as the town that had once been not quite prospering still functioning well enough was starting to fall apart due to the King’s taxes only rising. The only good thing that came out of that was that prices were starting to lower which meant that if he could find a spare coin on the ground, he could probably actually afford something. However, that also meant jobs were going down, and so it was damned near impossible to find something to do.

Wakko had spent a whole month without a job. He lived on the street and picked up fallen coins and didn’t write- couldn’t write- a single letter. The last one he had sent had been about the farm, and he had lied and told Yakko it had burned down so he couldn't write to there anymore. Wakko could imagine how worried Dot and Yakko must’ve been. The thought of their worry kept him up at night.

Still.

A little voice in his head told him not to give up, that he come to far to call it quits now. He promised he’d return in a year, and that’s what he’d do.

“Bravery is not the absence of fear, it’s doing something in spite of it.”

Wakko had a vague memory of someone telling him that a very long time ago, but he couldn’t recall who.

During the late summer, he had worked different jobs every day. Some days, he’d deliver packages for a fraction of what the king’s mail delivery costed, others he’d return library books, and on some, he’d shine shoes. It was exhausting to run around for days on an empty stomach, but somehow he managed to scrape on by with just enough money to send to Yakko and Dot and survive.

Despite the feeling that summer would last forever, autumn arrived and it was the harvesting season. Wakko had heard that farms were in need of help, and he went off to go work at the pumpkin farm that was just a few miles out from town. Wakko had been delighted when he heard about the opportunity and had run seven miles to get there before anyone else. The farmer, a middle-aged Rabbit, had been pleased with his enthusiasm but warned him that he couldn’t pay much and that most of his payment would be in food and shelter, but Wakko didn’t care. He hated sleeping in alleys with a passion and swore never to do that again. Plus, he knew Yakko and Dot were probably pissed at him for not writing for several months, not giving him an address to write to, or anything. Plus, Wakko was not going to pass up on an opportunity for someone else to pay for his food.

However, he had thought working on a farm during the spring was hard, autumn was much, much harder. The town where he worked somehow managed to get more snow than Acme Falls, and earlier, so he often had to wake up before the sun rose and attempt to “fight off the freeze” as the farmer called it. Wakko didn’t care what it was called, it was agonizing. He ended up with blisters and sore arms and had even cut himself on the ax he used to chop branches quite a few times.

However, none of that mattered when he read the letters Yakko and Dot sent. Wakko hadn’t realized just how much he had missed them until he saw their handwriting on the paper in his hand.

Dot had apparently gone through another rough patch during the time Wakko couldn’t write but had gotten much better, even being able to go out of the ‘house’ and take walks by the river. Yakko wrote that Dot still missed him terribly, and was really mad that he hadn’t written in forever. Yakko then went on a tangent about how much it had worried him, but that he was still relieved and happy that Wakko was safe and okay.

Wakko’s reply had been full of apologies and embellished about his current situation (saying things like ‘i have an actual bed and it’s really comfortable’ and ‘the food is amazing’ and ‘i barely have to work at all’ and ‘I haven’t even hurt myself once!’). He didn’t want to worry Yakko any more than he already had.

In truth, the farmer wasn’t a very nice person, though he was nice enough to provide shelter and food for Wakko and the few others that worked alongside him. However, he did get annoyed when Wakko injured himself, and didn’t provide bandages, so Wakko would have to make do by tearing up pieces of his pillowcase. Soon enough, he tore it all up and there was no more pillow, which hadn’t been fun for sleeping. He also shouted and swore a lot, but Wakko mostly tuned it out, having had good practice after the senile dead lady.

Still, a job was a job, and Wakko wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world. He was able to keep up his promise with one ha’penny being sent home every two weeks, which Yakko noted was becoming “more and more useful in Acme Falls, as the economy was clearly in shambles”, whatever that meant.

Unfortunately, the harvest came to an end sooner than Wakko had hoped and he was back on the streets in the blink of an eye. He had a few survival strategies he had picked up from observing his older brother over the years, but surviving on the streets in the snow was a lot, a lot harder than surviving on the streets, not during the snow.

And even more unfortunately, there were little to no jobs available anymore. The only ones that were available required him to walk far distances in the snow even during snowstorms. Of course, he took them, but they were grueling and made every muscle in his body ache.

And so he resorted to his least favorite solution: stealing.

Whenever he’d walk past the market, he’d snatch an apple or a loaf of bread if he could manage and hide it in his package until it was safe and he could eat it. He stole matches so he could start fires in the garbage. He stole books that belonged to the library for kindling for said fires. He felt insanely guilty every time, but no matter what way he looked at it, there was no other option.

His main motivator had been survival. He knew he needed enough money for a ticket home in December, but knew that that’d be near impossible if he attempted to pay for his own things- especially with the taxes taking nearly all of the money he had earned with doing the jobs- and god only knew how guilty he had felt that he hadn’t been able to send any money home for Dot. Still... he figured coming home would be an at least okay replacement.

He hoped.

He wrote letters but didn’t give return addresses, fearing what Yakko would say again. He knew he must’ve been outraged that Wakko hadn’t written or sent money in awhile, and he prayed Dot was doing okay and that they didn’t need the money he wasn’t able to get.

He didn’t have the heart to write about his worries about not being able to come home after all...

Wakko shivered as he thought of that, before snapping back into reality realizing where he was. He had an awful tendency of getting distracted while he was doing errands, it was a problem.

Especially if he was trying to focus on nabbing some food. If he didn’t focus, he was likely to get caught.

Shaking his head to get back to the present, he looked around and saw an empty stall selling some type of fruit he hadn’t seen before, but figured it’d be enough. He casually sauntered on over there, and began to walk past before snatching one with his tail and quickly putting it into the box of books he was returning to the library for an old dog man.

“Hey! Kid!” Wakko froze when he heard a voice behind him. He peeked over his shoulder and saw it was the man who owned the booth.

“Stop right there!” He shouted. Wakko bolted.

He ran through the crowded market, but unfortunately for him, he slipped on some ice on the path and came crashing to the ground, books going flying everywhere, and his fruit was squashed to a pulp.

“Hey-! Kid- are you alright?” The man’s anger faded into concern and Wakko muttered to himself and trying to gather his stuff, ignoring the throbbing in his head, and stinging in his-likely scraped- knee. Eventually, he heard the man approach him, but to his surprise, he started helping Wakko put the books back into the box. Wakko didn’t look at him much, but could feel the man giving him pitiful looks.

“Look- I know what you’re gonna say and you’re wrong. I-i... I swear that I’m a good kid, okay?” Wakko sniffled as he put a blue-colored book down.

“I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort,” the man replied, handing Wakko a green book. Wakko took it hesitantly, still not willing to look him in the eyes.

“I was going to offer you some more of that fruit you took, but you ran in such a hurry, I couldn’t get my words out,” He said. Wakko didn’t know if he believed that.

“I-i just need enough money for my sister and a train ticket...” Wakko mumbled. The man nodded.

“You got family?” He asked. Wakko nodded.

“Sister and brother in Acme Falls,” he said.

“That’s quite a ways away. I suppose you came here for work but that ain’t working out well, is it?” He asked. Wakko frowned and didn’t answer. He wasn’t liking his tone...

“Here, I’ll give you a bag of clementines if you’ll let me. I can even help you with those books if you need,” The man said, standing.

“I can take care of myself,” Wakko scowled, but realized that was probably a really stupid thing to say. He was starving...

“B-but I’ll take the clementines...” Wakko added. The man nodded, and stood up, and headed back to his booth. Wakko did his best to ignore the looks the crowd was giving him as he followed.

“Here you go, sixteen clementines. That should do you good for quite some time. Oh- and here,” The man dug under his booth and Wakko stood awkwardly with his tongue sticking out.

“This should get you a train ticket, and hopefully enough left over for those siblings of yours,” he said, handing Wakko a little brown sack. Wakko gawked at it.

“I-i can’t accept all this. I’m sure you need it,” Wakko refused.

“Nonsense. I got all the clementines I could want. And besides, I don’t need to ride on a train to return to my family any time soon,” He waved it off.

“B-but the king’s taxes-”

“I know how to make due. I know you need the money, and if you know what’s good for you you’ll accept,” He pointed at Wakko, and Wakko realized he wasn’t wrong. He just wished he could do something for the man in return, but knew he couldn’t.

“Th-thanks mister... it’s been a really long time since someone’s been this nice to me,” he looked at the ground.

“No problem kiddo. Stay safe out there, winter is a dangerous time. Might want to bandage that knee of yours,” He pointed to Wakko’s bleeding knee. Wakko nodded.

“Thanks, will do, mister,” he said, grabbing the sack of clementines, putting it in the box with the books, and put the little brown bag of money in his hat. He then waved goodbye and headed on to finish his task, get paid, them immediately lose said payment to taxes, but smiled internally. The tax collector didn’t know about the money in his hat, so he didn’t collect it.

It looked like Wakko was going to be able to come home after all.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

#animaniacs #my fics #wakko warner #wakkos wish #yakko warner #dot warner

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angrylizardjacket · 3 years

Text

dirtbags // 1: Charlotte

Summary: Motley Crue High School AU with The Pack (Lola, Charlotte, Peach, & Eileen); Winter, 1984. Charlotte’s halfway through her Junior year of High School when Lola arrives in town, and becomes a part of Charlotte’s life almost by accident.

Tommy seems to fall for any girl he hasn’t grown up with, Nikki and Charlotte are in agreement that their friendship becoming public knowledge would be social suicide for them both, Vince is a tool, and Eileen is still mad at him for what happened over Summer.

A/N: 8829 words. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @misscharlottelee this has literally been in the works for what’s felt like a year, but i decided that i can’t keep putting it off forever, so here. part 1. i think im going to try and put these out weekly?? maybe sooner?? but i adore you and i of course absolutely adore @josaphinebaker so i’m glad to finally let you all enjoy the long-awaited, multi-part HS AU (me, not posting writing for months: AND WHAT’S THIS? THE HS AU WITH A STEEL CHAIR --) ft. a softer world quotes

who said life can’t be an adventure? because whoever said that is probably the villain.

There’s a place for everything, and everything has it’s place. That’s they way the world works, at least, that’s the motto the rest of the cheerleading team seems to adhere to almost religiously. Charlotte, who’s been on the team for almost a full year and a half, since the start of her Sophmore year, can’t see the world so black and white. It’s not that she signed up to be a Cheerleader to fulfil some bitchy, blonde stereotype, it’s more that she had free time to fill and thought it would be fun. It took her a few months to find her footing once she’d been offered a place on the team, and was quickly thrust into her school’s the social spotlight, but she managed in the end, and had been managing ever since, mostly.

“Charlie, you’re so lucky,” Tommy, her cousin, lamented to her, driving her home after cheer practice, and marching band, had finished for the day. He was still in his uniform, as was Charlotte, and she gave him a sidelong glance, picking at the nail polish on her thumb. She doesn’t even give him an answer; ever since she’d joined the team, he had felt the need to wax poetic about the other cheerleaders and their uniforms. It’s so familiar that she doesn’t even need to prompt him into mooning over seeing Pamela in the cafeteria that day.

“She’s never going to date you if you don’t talk to her,” Charlotte’s smile is sly as her gaze slides back to the road, and the sun drifting towards the horizon.

“If Pam ever found out I’d looked at her, she’d probably just spit on me, call me pathetic or some shit,” Tommy’s eyeroll is implied by the flatness of his tone, but Charlotte can’t help but laugh.

“Oh Tommy, everyone looks at Pam,” she reminds him, and Tommy lets out an annoyed whine.

“I know,” he groans, clearly not cheered by that fact, feeling ever the more hopeless, and they fall into silence. Charlotte reaches down beside her seat and lifts a lever, pushing the seat back so she could comfortably rest her feet on his dashboard.

“Did you hear someone finally bought the MacCready burger joint? Dad was talking about it yesterday,” Tommy says mildly, making a left-hand turn onto their street. Charlotte raises her eyebrows, intrigued, but doesn’t speak. Tommy knows her well enough to take her silence as an invitation to go on, “Mrs Mac is going into hospice care and apparently some guy bought it and moved into town.”

“Oh shit, poor Mrs Mac,” Charlotte muses, and crosses her ankles on the dash, “hopefully their food is edible now.”

“Their burgers were great!” Tommy protested loudly.

“Their burgers were trash, Tommy! You’re just a rat -!”

“I’m not a rat!” He argues back, pulling into the gas station around the corner from their house. Tommy pulls up beside one of the pumps, and Charlotte gets out to browse the various snacks on offer inside the service station.

“Afternoon, Mick,” Charlotte calls out to the gas station attendant, the guy who’s been working here since he was fourteen, who’s currently got an electrical apprenticeship every other day. Charlotte realizes she might know too much about him considering he barely communicates in grunts most of the time. It’s not that he can’t speak, it’s just that he has a well documented dislike of her over exuberant cousin.

As expected, Mick doesn’t look up from his copy of Rolling Stone behind the counter, but makes a noise of acknowledgement.

Before Tommy has finished filling the tank, an unfamiliar figure enters the gas station, breezing past Charlotte and snatching up a packet of pork rinds, moving to the drinks fridge and taking a can of lemonade. The person is a young woman, though Charlotte doesn’t get a good look at her face; she’s got silky, black hair down to the small of her back, beneath a backwards baseball cap, and she’s the most notable of her clothes are her scuffed, black boots, and her oversized, black denim jacket littered with patches and pins.

When she puts her items on the counter in front of Mick, she pauses, frowning at the display, and Tommy enters the shop with an oblivious smile, asking if Charlotte had decided on anything.

“Can I help you?” Mick asks flatly, and the girl holds up a single finger, the universal signal for wait, and Mick huffs, but remains quiet. The girl adds a packet of gum to her haul, and leans her elbows on the counter.

“And a pack of Marlboros.”

Mick scowls.

“How old are you?”

“Are you being paid enough to care?” She responds, voice a low, challenging alto, and after a moment of deliberation, Mick actually shrugs, and turns to the cigarette display, picking out a pack for her as she pulled a few bills from her back pocket. After everything’s paid for, and the various food and drink had been stashed in the numerous pockets of her jacket, the girl is quick to open the cigarettes.

“They’re for my dad,” she explains, taking one out and putting it between her lips, grinning, “mostly.”

She passes a bewildered Tommy and Charlotte on the way out, giving them a flat look over, eyebrow raising minutely at the sight of Charlotte’s cheerleading uniform, but she’s quickly out the door. Tommy, flabbergasted at her display of confidence, marches straight up to counter and leans on it like he’d seen the woman do.

“A pack of -”

“Fuck off,” Mick tells him, before Tommy even finishes his sentence. Charlotte snorts a laugh, approaching the counter with a bottle of diet coke.

“Fifteen bucks on pump three,” Tommy sighs, pulling out his wallet, “and Charlie’s drink.”

“Do you know her, Mick?” Charlotte asks, still smiling, mind playing over the interaction.

“Do I look like I know her?” Mick grumbles, counting the handful of quarters Tommy had passed him with a ten dollar bill. Tommy, however, has never in his life taken Mick’s constant foul mood to heart, even when he probably should.

“He loves me, secretly, I know he does,” Tommy grinned when they were back in the car, heading to Charlotte’s house to drop her off, “we’ve known each other for five years, we’ll be friends any day now.”

“Tommy, he’s three days away from just decking you when you go to pay.”

“Which is a step up from when you said he’d throw me in front of traffic,” Tommy, ever the optimistic dumbass, chooses to look on the bright side. Tommy wears his affection on his sleeve, and seems to find himself trying to befriend anyone who would sooner fight him, if his hero-worship of local punk Nikki Sixx is anything to go by. It’s with a painful clarity that Charlotte realizes if he ever meets the girl from the gas station, he’s going to fall in love with her almost immediately.

Which makes Charlotte’s accidental and secret friendship with Nikki Sixx awkward.

“Oh Miss Lee,” Nikki whistles at her the following morning, wearing a grin that’s all teeth, “you know just what a guy likes to see on a Thursday morning.” He’s leering at her, leaning on the mesh of the fence, fingers hooked into the metal as he presses himself against it, his gaze trained on the pleat of her cheer uniform split upon her thigh over her tights.

“Every time you speak, I consider vehicular homicide,” Charlotte tells him with a sigh, straightening out her skirt, already resigned to the fact the rest of her free period was about to be co-opted.

“Then I’m glad you can’t drive,” Nikki’s still grinning, throwing his bag over the fence, into the garden Charlotte had thought was peaceful enough to study in.

“It’s the only thing keeping you alive,” she says, plastering a fake, sweet smile on her face, closing her biology textbook as Nikki vaults the fence a few feet away from her. She pulls her jacket a little tighter around herself, in an attempt to ward off the slight chill of the end of semester air.

Never in Charlotte’s life would she have intentionally tried to befriend Nikki Sixx. How was she supposed to know that two of her free periods coincided with when he liked to show up to school? And that the secluded garden area out behind the library where she liked to study in said free periods was the easiest place to sneak in?

She’s threatened to turn him in more times than he can remember, and he spits back that she should just find a new place to study, but she keeps showing up, and she never turns him in, and by now most of Nikki’s flirting is harmless.

They were both very much of the opinion that having a public friendship would be bad for the both of them; Nikki’s got more than a reputation of his own, both because his name technically isn’t Nikki, but he fights anyone who calls him Frank, and because he’s kind of a slut. Also there’s still an unconfirmed rumour about him being expelled from his first high school back in Seattle, since he’d joined their school a semester in Freshman year. Everyone’s too afraid to ask. Charlotte knows the cheerleaders aren’t above making hell for one of their own if they were caught fraternizing with someone like him.

That being said, Nikki had made it very clear that he’d rather saw off his arm than admit that they were even acquaintances, scoffing about how he’d lose any and all street cred he’d ever had if his friends found out he was hanging around Miss Everyone’s Best Friend Charlotte Lee. At the time, she’d taken offence to his tone, but she quickly came to learn that that’s just how Nikki is sometimes.

He offers her a cigarette from the pack in his pocket like he always does, sitting opposite her on the picnic bench instead of going to class, his bag still on the grass where he’d thrown it. Like always, Charlotte turns it down, but it does remind her-

“Saw a girl yesterday at Mick’s gas station that reminded me of you,” Charlotte flips to the back page of her notebook, which was already littered with little drawings, and starts scribbling idly.

“She hot?”

“I guess?” Charlotte says after a moment of consideration, “didn’t get to see her long enough to really be able to tell.” Nikki hums thoughtfully, and Charlotte, without looking up, “she asked Mick for cigarettes and he was like ‘how old are you?’ and she was like ‘are you being paid enough to care?’“

Nikki takes a long draft from his own cigarette, and kindly turns to the side to blow smoke into the wind, instead of directly into Charlotte’s face, as he used to do, or like he does when he’s annoyed.

“Mick would have mad respect for a move like that,” Nikki snorts, and when Charlotte looks up from her notebook, she sees him looking off into the distance, giving a genuine smile at the mental image. Maybe this is why she puts up with him, these rare genuine moments. He raises the cigarette to his lips again, and looks back at her, eyebrows raised, as if prompting her to go on. Charlotte looks back at her notebook.

“It inspired Tommy to try and buy smokes too, but Mick shut him down fast; I swear, if we show up when he’s clocking off, he’s going to K.O Tommy the first chance he gets.”

“Which is a step up from when you said he’d throw him in front of traffic,” Nikki notes, and Charlotte pauses, frowning. She hadn’t realised her hyperbolic threats on Mick’s behalf were a standard unit of measurement for how much he did or didn’t like her cousin. They were bullshit! Why did anyone take them seriously? Charlotte’s often astounded at her own credibility, and how much people tend to take her at her word without question.

“What’s she look like?” Nikki asks, flicking his ash into the grass, bringing Charlotte out of her thoughts.

“Who?”

“The girl from the gas station.”

“Oh,” Charlotte pauses, thinking, finally settling on, “she was wearing heaps of dark shit, had black hair, maybe that’s why I thought of you. I don’t know who she is though, didn’t recognize her from anywhere.” She adds, and Nikki hums thoughtfully, nodding. With his free hand, he snatches her pen out of her grip, despite her yelp of protest, and begins doodling pentagrams on the back cover of her notebook.

“You free tomorrow night?”

“I’d rather die than date you.”

“Charlie, you’re not my type -”

“Nikki, your type is tits and a heartbeat.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d fuck you, but I’d rather be castrated than date you,” Nikki responds flatly, and Charlotte quickly shuts up, scowling, “but my band has a gig at a place that doesn’t card, so if you and that overgrown Labrador you call a cousin can sneak away from mommy and daddy for the night, you’re more than welcome to come party with the big kids.” He smirked, flicking Charlotte’s pen back at her. Charlotte’s annoyance has simmered down at his offer, considering his words.

“Nikki Sixx inviting me to see his band,” she mused, sly smile curling at the corners of her lips, mischief glinting in her eyes, “you like me, don’t you? You like Miss Everyone’s Best Friend. Soon I’m going to be your best friend too!” At least she was self aware enough about her people-pleasing tendencies to poke fun at his scorn.

“I like that you’re cousin’s obsessed with me, so bring him too,” Nikki’s quick to correct, but his heart’s not fully in it, if the smile he’s failing to repress is anything to go by, “I’m just in it for the ego trip, sweetheart.”

Charlotte gags at the pet name; the bell rings.

“She smells like an ash tray,” is the first thing Charlotte hears when she sits herself with the rest of the cheer squad at lunch, and she’s terrified for a moment that Heather, the Vice Captain of the squad, is talking about her. Discretely, Charlotte sniffs at her hair, worried that the perfume she’d spritzed to hide any of Nikki’s lingering smoke had worn off quickly. Heather’s not even looking at her, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially to the other gathered girls.

“Heather, half the people at this school smell like smoke,” Eileen cuts in as the voice of reason, taking a dainty bite of her food to punctuate her point. Heather’s expression sours.

“Yeah, but she’s pretty, why would she smoke?”

“Heather, you smoke,” Eileen rolls her eyes, and Heather sits back, crossing her arms, long, dainty fingers resting on her perfectly tanned and toned biceps.

“Yeah, but at least I have the decency not to smell like the bottom of an ashtray,” Heather raises an eyebrow, as if offering some form of challenge, and Charlotte watches Eileen bite back on a scathing retort, simply offering a withering smile, and continuing on with her lunch, “anyway,” Heather rolls her eyes, and starts up a new conversation with the girls on her other side, who were hanging onto her every word like it was gospel.

It’s quite possible that the tensions between Heather and Eileen may never actually die down, Charlotte considers, fiddling with the plastic-wrapped straw of her juice box. The thing is that Heather had only scored the position of Vice Captain of the cheerleading squad after Eileen, practically a shoe-in after two years on the squad and a pretty impressive acrobatic repertoire, publicly turned down the offer, quit, and joined the swim team the very next day, refusing to give a reason for any of her actions. A vicious joke circled the school about Heather being sloppy seconds, and despite Eileen never actually contributing to the joke in any way, or even acknowledging it, part of Heather still obviously resented her. The fact that Eileen still chose to sit with the cheerleaders despite not being one anymore, might also play into that, like she’s rubbing it in Heather’s face, even though she never would intend to do that.

Charlotte’s known Eileen for what feels like forever, since Summer camp in Grade School, living close enough to maintain a friendship, but not close enough that they were in the same district for Grade or Middle School. Both academically and socially minded young women, they’d found themselves in a number of clubs in those years that brought them face to face at meet or competitions, and thankfully, their local high school drew from a wider range of districts, finally bringing them together as allies, rather than competitors.

“Who were they talking about?” Charlotte asks quietly, stabbing her straw into her juice box, trying to keep their conversation discrete.

“A girl transferred into our grade -”

“On a Thursday?” Charlotte scoffs a little, “with three weeks left to go before Winter break?” And Eileen makes a noise in the back of her throat, an I know, it’s weird, right? Without saying any actual words.

“Something Fields; we just had French with her,” Eileen nods to where Heather’s now happily chattering with the other cheerleaders, earlier disagreement seemingly forgotten.

“Something?” Charlotte asked wryly, and Eileen gave her an amused look.

“Madame Laurent’s accent would butcher the name Sally, I’m surprised I managed to understand Fields,” and okay, she has a point, Madame Laurent’s French accent was half the reason any of the students studied the language, if only to understand her, because her English, while technically good, was sometimes incomprehensible.

“The girl didn’t correct her?”

“Nah, just kept quiet, embarrassed, I think,” Eileen mused, and Charlotte hummed thoughtfully, “though she did sit herself right next to Heather; bold move, I’ll applaud her for that.”

“Bet Heather didn’t like that,” Charlotte snickered quietly, and Eileen’s smile stretched into a full grin.

“She straight up moved the moment the girl put her bag down.”

“The poor girl,” Charlotte shook her head with a sigh, before clarifying, “not Heather, obviously.” Eileen snorted a laugh.

“What’s the new girl like?” Charlotte finds herself asking, intrigued.

“Quiet,” is Eileen’s immediate answer, “couldn’t get a good read on her, but she knows a decent amount of French.” But she deliberates for a moment, “looks kind of mean.” And for the barest moment, Charlotte frowns, mind flashing to the girl she’d seen at the gas station yesterday... it couldn’t be.

“Black hair?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I saw a girl at the gas station yesterday, black hair, kind of mean looking, Mick didn’t know her,” that was the big tip; Mick seemed to know all the gas station regulars, so she must be new. Eileen catalogued this information in her mind, but had no comment on it beyond a shrug, before reminding Charlotte that they had debate after school, and asking if Tommy would be sticking around to give her a lift home.

“He will be, he’s got practice until four too,” Charlotte said with a half smile, “and yes, he can give you a lift home too... Will Peach be needing one too?” She asked, referring to Eileen’s younger sister, but Eileen shook her head.

“She’s staying back until five every day this week to finish her science fair project, mom’s happy to pick her up - something about magnets this year - but I don’t want to wait around.”

“Wait, how long until the science fair?” Last year, Eileen, Charlotte, Tommy, and Vince Neil, who they’d still considered something of a friend at the time, had all come to support Peach in both her first year of high school, and her first science fair. Peach had come third, with a rather impressive display about which various household liquids killed plants fastest, and all three had cheered when she’d been given her ribbon, and Tommy and Vince spent the entire ride in the back of Peach and Eileen’s mom’s station wagon ranting about how she should have won, and scheming about how to best put a dead houseplant in their science teacher’s bed, like some low budget, home depot Scarface. Tommy may have become their friends via his place as a constant fixture in Charlotte’s life, and Vince simply because he had grown up as something of her neighbour and Tommy’s close friend, but their loyalty was absolute. Well, almost absolute. Vince was noticeably absent from their current roster of friends however, the then-four of them how vowed to make it a habit, and they could all tell Peach had been touched by the gesture, and Eileen, Charlotte, and Tommy were, at the very least, going to uphold that promise. A small smile plays on Eileen’s face.

“Next Tuesday, she’s so excited.”

if you put your mind to it, you can do anything. but you won’t.

So according to Eileen, Vince Neil is throwing a party on Saturday, and seeing as Charlotte’s parents still think the world of Vince after he’d been so kind of her after everything happened with her ex at the start of the year, she’s allowed to go. They went to middle school together, though he was always a year younger than her, in Tommy’s grade, and their parents were passive-aggressive PTA friends for a few years there, and, as mentioned before, he’d been genuinely sweet when she was at her lowest. Her parents don’t know that a week and a half into Summer break, right after he’d taken her to prom and promised to key her ex’s car if she asked, he started surfing, starting hanging out at the beach with the rest of the pretty, mean jocks spending their Summer in the sun, and had turned into a vain asshole. Or, well, more of a vain asshole than he already was.

Vince’s family was well off, and his parties were legendary, which is what made her parents agreeing to let her go so strange.

What they didn’t, and would never agree to, was letting her go to Nikki’s gig, so she didn’t even bother to ask. Instead, she asked to spend the weekend with Tommy and Athena. Her mother calls to confirm that that would be okay, Charlotte packs a duffle bag with outfits for the weekend, and her mother reminds her to take care of herself at the party the following night, kissing her on both cheeks when Tommy turns up in his beat up Vista Cruiser.

“Why are you hanging out with us tonight?” Tommy asks, frowning, still in the clothes he’d worn to school. Charlotte’s grip tightens on her duffle bag.

“Because we’re going out tonight.”

Immediately, Tommy’s posture straightens, and his expression lights up; he was delightfully easy to excite. Suddenly he was brimming with questions as he drove, fighting to keep his eyes on the road, and Charlotte let herself relax a little, glad to see he was onboard.

“Nikki Sixx’s band -”

“- is playing tonight!” Tommy finishes her sentence, his voice breaking on the last word out of excitement, though Charlotte kindly doesn’t comment, and it doesn’t stop Tommy’s eyes from sparkling, “he wrote it in sharpie in pretty much every bathroom in the school; you want to go?” Yeah, that sounds about par for the course for Nikki Sixx’s brand of advertising.

“You’re half in love with the guy,” Charlotte ignored Tommy’s spluttered protests, “so I wanna see what the hype is about,” she lied easily. She wasn’t a fan of lying to Tommy, he deserved better than that, but he also might crash if he knows that Nikki had personally invited them.

Tommy begs his mom to let them go, promising to be safe and be back by midnight, and the moment Charlotte vouches for him, his mother’s concern melts into agreement, and Athena complains that she’s never allowed to go anywhere. Tommy sticks his tongue out at her, and she kicks him in the shins, scowling, until Charlotte asks her to help her get ready, and Athena brightens considerably.

“Charlie you look like a badass!” Tommy delights when he steps out of the bathroom, hair all teased up, eyeliner expertly applied his waterline, wearing an outrageous outfit. He was going to fit in easily.

“Holy shit, dude, so do you -”

“Tommy! That’s my shirt!” Athena accused, storming over to him, trying to pull the tight, black tank top with the hot pink diamante lightning bolt off of him, despite his jacket over it, while he tried to slap her away.

“It looks better on me!” Tommy snapped, escaping her grasp and trying to hide in the bathroom.

“Dude, she’s thirteen, give her the shirt back, you can borrow one of mine,” Charlotte sighed, standing back from it all.

“Never!”

His mother called out if everything’s okay, and while Athena yelled that Tommy was stealing from her, Charlotte called back that she’d take care of it.

“Charlie, please,” Athena sulked, leaning against the closed bathroom door, while Tommy told his sister to piss off. Charlotte sighed, before giving the young girl an evaluative look.

“Would you let him wear it for five bucks?”

Athena squinted at her, seriously considering the offer; if Tommy had made it, there would be no way she would have accepted, but she knew Charlotte was good for it.

“Fine, but if he stretches it, I’m telling mom about his stash of Playboys,” she threatened, to which both Tommy and Charlotte made noises of surprise, Charlotte because she hadn’t known about that, and Tommy because he clearly didn’t think Athena knew about it either.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Tommy hisses, wrenching the door open. Athena turns arms crossed, smile smug, and gives him her best try me look. Tommy wrinkles his nose, but stalks into his room, grabbing a five ones from his wallet and giving them to Athena, who Charlotte had never seen so pleased before.

“I hate her,” Tommy seethed, and Charlotte petted his shoulder in solidarity.

“I know,” and then, “aren’t you going to be cold?”

“I’ve got another jacket.”

The pub, Kings’ Hotel, sits on the border between suburbia and the CBD, and Charlotte’s been past it a million times, has spent a considerable amount of time idly staring out the window of MacCready’s Diner across the road, but never actually been inside. Speaking of MacCready’s, there’s a ton of scaffolding around it that Charlotte definitely doesn’t remember, and the sign’s been taken down, so it appears Tommy’s gossip about it being under new management was true.

There’s no bouncer, but high schoolers and music were already spilling from the building by the time Charlotte and Tommy showed up. The music is decent, if a little heavy, but Charlotte knows she could definitely get into it if she wanted to. When she approaches the building, she notices a gaggle of vaguely recognizable people all in a cluster, huddle together while they smoked to keep warm in the cold night air.

“Hi Heather,” Tommy calls out to one, putting on his most winning smile, and when Charlotte gets a proper look, yeah she can see Heather with her hair sprayed up and lipstick shiny, give her cousin a sceptical look. She does, however, notice Charlotte, and her expression shifts to something faux sweet and coy, a show of being amicable to someone obviously associated with a fellow cheerleader, and she gives them both a wave.

“I thought you had a thing for Pam,” Charlotte asks quietly as they push their way into the pub.

“Charlie, I’m into any and every cheerleader I’m not related to, why should I deprive any of the other lovely young ladies by only focusing on one girl?”

“Gross,” was Charlotte’s only comment. Tommy ignored her.

It was kind of overwhelming at first, between the loud music, the crush of people she half-knew, the fact that the bartender didn’t even blink when Tommy ordered a beer, or the fact that Nikki Sixx was on stage in skin tight leather pants, playing bass like it was his God given mission in life.

Her ex and his best friend had also been kind of obsessed with Nikki and his band, and she was coming to understand the hype. Between the swirling lights, the people on the dancefloor, and the heat of the crowd, it was almost hypnotizing to be a part of.

“You should get a drink,” Tommy urges, and Charlotte hesitates. She’s had spiked punch before, half a glass of wine at a family get together when her mom had been tipsy and feeling indulgent, and a couple of sips of beer that her ex had offered her when they’d gone to parties together, but she’d never really...

“I don’t know what to order,” she admits, hesitant, but still raising her voice over the music. Tommy offers her his beer to taste, but Charlotte was already well aware of the fact that beer tasted like piss, and she turns him down. She tries to think back to what people order in TV shows and movies, and tentatively approaches the bar.

“Could I get a jack and coke?” She asks, just thankful that her voice doesn’t shake. The bartender looks her up and down, checking her out without a hint of subtlety, and Charlotte fights the urge to pull her jacket tighter around herself.

“Of course, honey, that’ll be five-fifty,” the bartender smirks, and Charlotte gives an uncertain smile back, thanking him and passing over a ten dollar note. He gives her a five change, along with her drink and a wink. Gross.

“What’d you get?” Tommy asks, when she finds him again, standing against the opposite wall, already halfway through his drink. Charlotte’s holding hers in her fingertips, nervous, taking a sip and scrunching up her whole face at the taste.

“Jack and coke,” she hisses as the alcohol burns. Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up at her bold choice, and asks if he can try it. She offers it easily, and he too makes a face as he drinks, but pretends like it’s great.

They see more people they recognize, people confused but glad to see them out. They’re almost immediately accosted by Keanu, yet another face Charlotte hadn’t been expecting to see, and he wraps them both up in a hug; he’s all dark hair and wide, easy smiles, somehow everyone’s friend in a way that’s so different from how Charlotte seems to be everybody’s friend, but he and Tommy get on like a house on fire. There’s a resilience they both seem to have, and a shared enthusiasm, despite the fact that Keanu was a Senior, a year above Charlotte, and a full two above Tommy, but his good nature seemed to override these boundaries; the moment Tommy mentions he’d been thinking of heading to the dancefloor, Keanu’s more than happy to join him.

Immediately Tommy gulps down the last mouthful and beer and the pair of boys see fit to start cutting shapes on the dance floor with wild abandon, and so Charlotte finds herself at a table at the back of the room with Heather, a few other cheerleaders and their boyfriends, and surprisingly, Vince. He’s in white leather pants, and they look cool as hell, but also it’s Vince, and Charlotte’s fighting back the urge to laugh.

“Charlotte Lee, you’re looking fine tonight,” Vince slide into the space beside her, and Charlotte doesn’t roll her eyes, or make a comment about how he looks like a greasy snowman, no matter how much she wants to.

“Surprised to see you here, Vince, where’s all your popular little surfer pals?” She asks sweetly, and Vince raises his eyebrows at her, a retort on the tip of his tongue.

“I forgot you two knew each other,” Heather says, and she pauses, clearly deliberating, something dangerous in her eyes, “didn’t you used to date?”

“No,” Charlotte blurts quickly, though Vince is just as quick to deny it, “we’re friends- we were friends; not anymore. We went to prom together, yes, but we never dated.” She clarifies quickly, body language all tight and uncomfortable, which manages to go all the way over Vince’s head, and his hand comes to rest on his heart, expression reading betrayal.

“How long have been known each other, Charlie, for you to say we’re not even friends -”

And maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the alcohol, but Charlotte snapped.

“We were friends for years, Vinny, then six months ago you decided to spend all your time with a bunch of tools and bragged about taking me to prom because I was a cheerleader, and also - oh yeah, remember this? - made one of your best friends cry,” Charlotte hissed venomously, shoulders still tense, fingers gripping the edge of the table. Vince scowled.

“Peach wasn’t-” the words spill from him automatically, but there’s a flicker of something that may just be shame in his eyes, so he drops his gaze and starts again; “my friends are not tools -”

“The Vince who was my friend wouldn’t skip school three days a week to get high and fuck on the beach!”

“It sounds like you two have a lot to work out...” Heather seems genuinely surprised, and while she’d been fishing for gossip, this was too much, and she graciously backed out of the conversation, pulling one of her friends over to the bar. Charlotte was suddenly aware of how hot it was in the bar, how sweaty and oppressive it all felt.

“People can fucking change, Charlotte,” Vince scowled.

“You didn’t change for the better, Vince, whatever the opposite of character growth is, it’s what happened to you.” Charlotte spat, and turned on her heel before he can respond. She didn’t want to stand on the side side of the road out the front, so she heads for the door labelled Beer Garden, and steps into the cool night air.

Once outside, she realises how quiet it is, and when she sees Nikki Sixx at one of the tables with a blonde girl giggling in his lap, she comes to the conclusion that the band must be on break. The Beer Garden is mostly populated by smokers, the people around Nikki being the cool, intimidating, stoner punk rockers that she’d figured would be here, but that she can’t bring herself to approach. It’s nice to take a moment to be alone, she finds, breathing in the crisp night air, head feeling clearer for it, looking up at the stars glittering overhead.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Vince is a fucking tool. He’d made Peach cry the week they got back to school, and Charlotte had vowed to never forgive him for it.

After a few minutes, Charlotte takes the time to really look at the people milling around, wondering if she actually recognised anyone. Much to her surprise, in the back corner of the courtyard area, she did.

Side by side, Mick from the gas station, and the mysterious girl who’d bought cigarettes from him, sitting on the edge of a planter full of dead shrubs, both smoking, neither speaking, reading one magazine between the two of them.

Charlotte’s not quite sure who’s more likely to stab her, between Mick and the girl, and Nikki’s band of misfits, but she hedges her bets and heads to the pair at the back.

“Having a good night, Mick?” Charlotte asks tentatively, before giving pause. They’re reading a ratty old copy of Hustler. Mick looks up, and lets go of his side of the magazine, letting the girl take it, to keep flipping idly through.

“The band’s okay,” Mick muses, and seems to realise that his cigarette has gone out when he tries to take a drag on it, and he pulls out a lighter and relights it, “how’s your night been?”

“It’s been alright, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Charlotte gives an awkward laugh, looking to the magazine, which Mick seems to either have forgotten about, or not realise that he’s reading porn in public, but finally the girl looks up.

“Someone cut out all the tits,” she’s got an accent Charlotte hadn’t noticed back at the gas station, and still can’t quite place, but that’s not the part she focuses on.

“What?”

The girl flips the magazine around to show a Farrah Fawcett look-alike posing suggestively, with her entire torso cut from the magazine, just leaving a hole where the cologne ad on the next page can be seen.

“Found it on the side of the road on the way here,” Mick says, like it suffices for an entire explanation. Instead of elaborating, he offers Charlotte a cigarette.

“No thanks, I don’t smoke,” an awkward silence follows, Charlotte with her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, while the girl close the magazine with a resounding slap and threw it over her shoulder into the dead shrubs, “I’m Charlotte.” Charlotte offers her hand. The girl looks at it, then to Charlotte’s face.

“From the gas station, the cheerleader” she says, tone unreadable, giving Charlotte a scrutinizing look, like she’s waiting for the blonde to shirk under it’s intensity. Charlotte doesn’t back down, and the girl finally gives her a firm handshake, “Lola.”

Silence followers, chatter filters over from the various other groups, Nikki’s laugh, loud and clear, above the rest. Neither Mick nor Lola makes room for Charlotte, so she sways idly from side to side, people watching the rest of the courtyard.

“Didn’t pick you for this type of scene,” Mick muses finally, crossing his ankles and fixing Charlotte with a strangely neutral expression, cigarette almost burned down to the butt where it’s poised between his lips, “that over-eager cousin of yours, sure, but this doesn’t seem like it’s your style.”

“Oh, Tommy is here,” Charlotte’s quick to clarify, looking around as if he were about to jump out of the bushes and irritate the rarely amicable Mick, “but, I don’t know,” she shrugged like coming out tonight wasn’t her idea, “I’m more than happy to give anything a go at least once; people at my school are kind of weirdly obsessed with the bass player, so I guess I wanted to see what the hype was about.”

Mick finished his cigarette as he considered her words, giving a pensive look to the bass player himself, still surrounded by a gaggle of fans, and eventually stubbed the last of the ash out against the edge of the planter he was sitting on, letting the butt fall, crumpled, to the ground.

“He’s the only one with any ounce of talent,” voice gruff, Mick’s approval comes as a surprise to both Charlotte, who’s eyes go wide at the statement, and Lola, who barks an unexpected laugh, that ends with her choking on the smoke in her lungs. Mick thumps her on the back, and she roughly when her breathing clears, tears watering in her eyes.

“Whoever writes their songs is half decent,” Lola points out, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, after which she dropped her own mostly burnt-out cigarette, crushing it under the heel of her boot. Yes, she has a point, but Charlotte’s curiosity gets the better of her.

“Can I ask...?” At her tentative tone, Lola immediately tenses, growing defensive, “are you Lola Fields?”

“Why?” Lola immediately snaps, and Charlotte raises her hands in surrender. Mick’s arms are crossed, looking with interest between the two girls.

“I think you go to my school,” Charlotte quickly clarifies, but Lola’s scowl deepens, as if wondering how she knew that, “do you take AP French with a tall, ginger girl?”

“I don’t really know who else is in the class,” Lola slowly tells her, but it’s not a no, which is all that matters. Charlotte nods, but doesn’t press the subject, “it’s weird that you know that much about me.” Lola adds.

“It’s barely anything,” Charlotte points out, baffled at the sudden defensiveness.

“You know my last name and that I do AP French,” Lola says, and her gaze shifts from Charlotte to the gaggle of fans surrounding Nikki, as they all started to head inside.

“Well,” Charlotte doesn’t let her resolve falter, smiling, “my name’s Charlotte Lee, and --”

“Oi, Cheerleader, you coming inside? We’ve got another set to go!” Nikki Sixx’s voice rings out through the courtyard area, and Charlotte visibly cringes at the sound of it, turning slowly on her heel, still wincing when she faces him.

And yes, he was talking to her, his hands are still cupped around his mouth like a megaphone, a tunnel showing off his smug and toothy grin. She hadn’t realised he’d even noticed her, but he had, and he needed her to know he had.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you,” she calls back, irritated. Nikki lowers his hands, and even from this distance she can see him raising his eyebrows.

“But you’re here, aren’t you?” He leaves the because I invited to you as an implication only she would hear, knowing she would hear it nonetheless. Charlotte sighs deeply, shoulders sagging with resignation, and Nikki, feeling as though he’d won, turns sharply on his heel and marches inside.

“I hate him,” Charlotte groaned.

“You know him?” Mick seems rather surprised, enough that the emotion could be heard in his voice. Charlotte turns back, not quite sure what to expect when she faced them. Mick is watching Charlotte with actual interest. Lola was watching the spot where Nikki had been, expression carefully blank.

“He’s a pain,” Charlotte says, defeated, and Lola’s gaze flicks to her, expression turning amused, but before she can get a word in -

“There you are!” The door to the now mostly-empty beer garden bursts open, and Tommy makes himself known. He’s left Keanu somewhere inside, apparently, now that he was on the hunt for his cousin. Mick sighs so heavily that it’s all he can do to lean back into the planter, arms crossed over his chest like a vampire, as if the very sight of the kid exhausts him. From this position, the packet of cigarettes in his pocket is exposed, and Lola steals one.

“I’ll owe you,” is all she says, as Tommy approaches, in less of a beeline, and more of an unsteady wave, more than a little tipsy. Christ, his mom is gonna kill them both.

“I was looking everywhere for you,” his wide eyes betrayed his concern, despite his current state, but his concern turns to joy, upon seeing her company, “hi, Mick!” Mick does not answer, laying with his eyes closed, in the shrubs.

“He’s dead,” Lola supplies without missing a beat, pulling out her lighter and lighting the stolen cigarette, and Tommy’s expression falls.

“We should help him -”

“I can help him, don’t worry,” Lola assures, with faux seriousness, before her tone shifts to something light, easily distracting the tipsy boy, “you were in the gas station the other day with this one, weren’t you?” She gestures with her lighter towards Charlotte; Tommy looks to his cousin before looking to Lola.

“I- yeah, oh, shit, you’re- hi,” suddenly flustered as he finally remembered where he knew her from, he offers his hand, “Tommy.”

“Lola,” there’s a new edge to her smile, sparkling in her eyes as she taking in Tommy and his whole look, which has something strangely protective flare up in Charlotte’s chest. But then Lola catches the slight frown on Charlotte’s face, and it’s like she knows exactly what she’s thinking, because she lets go of Tommy’s hand and her expression betrays on the faintest hint of amusement.

“Lola,” Tommy nods very seriously, as if committing the name to his memory in his current state was quite the task, but he persisted nonetheless. After a moment, however, he seemed to remember his original mission, “Vince thought you’d headed home -”

“Fuck Vince,” Charlotte spits automatically, venomously, a knee-jerk response, and Tommy’s stunned into silence.

“Do you want to go home?” Tommy’s far too earnest and concerned for his current state, and Charlotte feels momentarily guilty for her outburst, hanging her head and letting herself breathe for a moment.

“No, the music’s good, we just got into a fight -”

“You guys used to actually be good friends,” Tommy hesitates, confused, and Charlotte gives him a rueful smile when she looks back at him.

“Then he decided that being nice to the people who have been friends with him for years was lame.”

“He’s nice to me,” Tommy says, sounding a little put out, and Charlotte shrugged, crossing her arms.

“And he’s still nice to me, doesn’t mean he’s not a tool; I’m a cheerleader, and you’re a guy, of course he’s still going to be nice to us.”

Tommy still doesn’t get it, but Charlotte decides to head back into the pub with him, throwing over her shoulder that it was nice to meet Lola. She could almost swear she heard a muttered ‘fuckin’ teenagers’ from Mick, all of nineteen years old himself, which just has Charlotte rolling her eyes. Mick taps Lola’s arm when Charlotte glances over her shoulder, while the rest of him still lays flat in the dirt, and Lola passes him the cigarette obligingly, crossing one leg over the other and smirking at him.

it doesn’t matter if the glass is half full or half empty. i am gonna drink it through this crazy straw!

“Vince is on the warpath,” Eileen’s always been able to remain composed while unreasonably drunk better than any person Charlotte’s ever known, and the following night, while Vince’s house party rages around them in the living room of his house, is no exception. She won’t say how many vodka sodas she’s had, or who supplied her with the vodka, but the way she was unable to suppress the amused twist of her lips was a dead giveaway that she was a little more than tipsy.

“Oh?” Charlotte’s eyes were roaming from face to face at the party, never sticking to just one, hands clutching a red solo cup full of cheap wine.

“Someone told him the person who keyed his car was here,” Eileen’s close to laughter, and Charlotte’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Does he -”

“No,” Eileen shakes her head, taking another delicate sip of her own drink, “he thinks it’s one of Duff’s friends.” She says, before her eyes going wide, and she slaps her free hand over her mouth - “sorry.” Charlotte, who’s too tipsy to care about the mention of her ex, is more confused than anything else.

“Because of me?” She actually snorts, skeptical, “as if Duff or any of his friends cared about who took me to prom after everything happened, enough to key Vince’s car.” It’s been long enough now that she can laugh at it, and the warped logic of it all, knowing full well that the girl sitting beside her was the real vandal of Vince’s shiny, red car.

“Can you believe Vince asked me to invite Peach? After all that shit he pulled on her after Summer? I almost clocked him in the middle of the carpark!” Eileen’s movements were relaxed and uncomplicated, so unlike her usual demeanour, so easy-going, so honest, sometimes drunk-Eileen’s openness caught Charlotte by surprise, “told him to invite her himself if he wanted her there so bad.”

“I’m in awe of your restraint,” Charlotte mused, leaning into Eileen, letting her eyes fall closed in an attempt to keep the room from spinning in her vision, “he’s such an ass; I’m surprised you’re even here.”

“The nerve on him, acting like he’s too good to be seen with her because he’s got new friends,” Eileen shook her head, wrapping her free arm around Charlotte’s shoulders, securing her, still people watching, “I should have keyed him,” for a moment, she hiccups, and when Charlotte cracks her eye open for a moment to guage her friend’s current state, she sees Eileen glaring into her mostly-empty cup.

“I’m still deciding if I should pee on something he cares about,” Eileen says, tone so serious that Charlotte can’t help but dissolve into giggles.

“What?”

“‘s why I’m here,” Eileen was so earnest in her declaration that Charlotte was a little nervous, if only because drunk-Eileen would absolutely do something as undignified as pee on something of Vince’s in an act of revenge.

“Would you key Duff’s car for me?” Charlotte asked to change the topic, all soft and teasing, and she can hear rare, unrestrained the smile in Eileen’s voice when she assured Charlotte she would in a heartbeat, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

Despite it still being early in the night, Charlotte knew that if she seemed drunk when she got back to Tommy’s house, her Aunt would tell her mom, and that’s the exact opposite of what she needs. Tommy can get legless if he wants, he only has to face the wrath of his weirdly supportive parents; if Charlotte comes home obviously drunk, she won’t be allowed out of the house until college. So she decides to get water.

There’s bodies everywhere, and Charlotte’s struggling to move through them, even with Eileen guiding her to the kitchen.

Charlotte’s been in and around this house so many times, it should be second nature to her; she and Tommy had spent what felt like half their childhoods in this house, within it’s pristine, white walls, and expensive, leather furniture, playing pretend trying to imagine what their future would turn out to be. None of them would have pictured this, of Charlotte, of Charlotte hating Vince and still stumbling, drunk through his house, nor had they seen Vince, playing pretend with popularity, tossing them all aside for a set of conceited fair-weather friends. Tommy’s never been able to predict his own future, too willing to go with the flow to be too certain of anything.

Away from the living room, and the record player, the music is muffled, and the chatter is quieter, as people are here for drinks, or snacks, while most were choosing to dance in the crush in the living room, or making regrettable, teenage decision upstairs.

Eileen tops up her drink with obviously spiked punch. Half vodka and soda, half spiked fruit punch. Gross. Charlotte looks on in disgust as she sips water, and Eileen acts like there’s no difference between taste, but she interrupts her own performance of stoicism when her eyes widen.

“Fields.”

“What?” Charlotte asks, confused as all hell, following Eileen’s gaze to where the kitchen opens up onto the patio, only to see Lola, in a full face of makeup, hair sprayed to high heavens, wearing all sorts of black, ripped, mesh and denim layers, looking like an intimidating cross between glam rock and crust punk. She was straddling someone’s lap, looking at them intently, what looked to be a black, eyeliner pencil in her hand.

“That’s the girl from my French class,” Eileen sounds a little surprised to see her, and Charlotte smiles a little.

“Her name’s Lola -” but her mouth drops open when Lola, in the dim light spilling from the kitchen, leans in and kisses whoever she’s sitting on. After a beat, both Charlotte and Eileen burst in fits of unsubtle laughter, not having anticipated this turn of events. They’re holding each other for support in their drunken amusement, laughing like this is somehow the funniest thing they’ve ever encountered, thankfully aware enough to set aside their cups.

“I- we’re intruding right? This is- we should leave-” they’re not even the only ones in the kitchen when Charlotte says this, gasping for breaths between her laughs, but they seem to be the only ones who have noticed what’s happening, or at least the only ones who halfway care.

Until there comes a shout of ‘yeah, get some, Tommy!’ from the bonfire about thirty yards from the patio, and Charlotte very clearly and distinctly thinks ‘oh no’.

Vince is silhouetted by the fire, bleach blonde hair catching the light, but Charlotte can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Shut up, Vince!” Lola’s partner, who is now unmistakably Tommy, calls back, flustered, as Lola hides her grin against his shoulder. Vince and his cronies, none of whom Charlotte knows by name, jeer in response. Then Lola’s leaning back and saying something that Charlotte doesn’t catch, but suddenly Tommy looks inside, his expression turning from flustered and pleased to horrified as his gaze locks with Charlotte’s and they both know that she knows.

Eileen is wheezing with laughter beside her.

Charlotte sees Tommy’s now lipstick-stained mouth mutter ‘shit’. Lola follows his gaze, and waves awkwardly at Charlotte. Charlotte also mutters ‘shit’.

Charlotte tips out her water and gets herself another cup of wine from the back of Vince’s refrigerator. A lot has happened in thirty seconds, she thinks she deserves one more drink for the night.

#mick mars #tommy lee #vince neil #nikki sixx #motley crue #the pack #charlotte & lola #lola&charlotte #the angry lizard writes

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what-big-teeth · 4 years

Text

Soothe (Male Naga ; Fic Raffle)

A quick re-upload of this fic requested by @gothglamonenightstand featuring a Black female reader and a male naga. A slight misunderstanding leads to more and a happy ending. Hope you enjoy!

tw: animal attack, animal death

Female Reader (POV) x Male Naga The cottage is everything you dreamed of.

It’s cozy with two floors, but not overly spacious with a welcoming guest room. Its clean hearth is large enough to warm the whole house during the heavy winters. But for now, during these mid-summer months, you’ll be drawn to the window of the master bedroom, which showcases a spectacular view of the forest just beyond the property’s edge.

Your new home is a wonder, one that was purchased with little coin per the last owner’s request. This, and the kindness of the elderly Mr. Adley, is why you’re more than happy to accommodate him until his son returns from the village to shepherd the older man to his new home.

“I’m glad everything’s to your liking, my dear. I was somewhat worried when you first arrived to see what this old shell had to offer.”

You tuck a thick lock of curly, black hair behind your brown ear with a smile and pour him another cup of soothing chamomile tea, finishing it with a dollop of honey.

“You had nothing to worry about, sir. This place is lovely and has a charm all its own. It carries the feeling of home all throughout.”

Mr. Adley chuckles, his wizened, light brown hand lifting his handcrafted cup with a slight tremble.

“Then may I also suggest the pathway from the back garden into the forest? I used the walk to clear my head and relax when life became overwhelming. I hope it can offer you the same if you need a reprieve from your apprenticeship.”

You respond with a brief smile then hide your growing frown behind your teacup.

The fact you were chosen as Madam Irene Bastien’s apprentice was a miracle all its own. Known for her reticence as much as her natural genius, people from far and wide sought her out for the chance to glean any knowledge from her. But every time, she rejected all potential students. Word of her refusals spread far and wide to the point that the number of hopeful potentials gathering at her manor dwindled to nothing.

You had heard the stories about the elusive apothecary and hearing was more than enough.You were comfortable in your little hometown, aiding your mother with selling her wares at the market. But a chance encounter in late spring with a carefully disguised Madam changed your life forever.

You had merely suggested to her a list of ingredients for a healing tonic and accompanied her around the market, helping her find the items. All without realizing that you helping out a supposed ‘visitor’ was a secret test of sorts. That very night, Madam Bastien revealed her true identity after finding your home and offered you an apprenticeship.

You’re still not yet sure what she sees in you, a mere beginner apothecary. But your family refused to let such a wonderful opportunity pass by. With their blessing, you gathered your belongings and made the three day move to the outskirts of the country’s capital, promising to never let doubt make you look back.

“Miss?”

You startle, your forearm bumping into the half-filled metal kettle beside you. Thankfully, the water inside has cooled to a lukewarm temperature.

“Sorry,” you say, “I got lost in my thoughts.”

“That’s alright, dear. A lot has happened today.”

Thankful for Mr. Adley’s kindness, you actively listen to his stories about how he built the cottage as a gift to his late wife. How his son grew up here as a rambunctious child. How so many friends and visitors from the capital would stop by during the yearly equinox festivals.

When his son arrives, you happily help him gather Mr. Adley’s belongings and place them beside the wagon to be packed. A few hours later, as you bid the men goodbye with a wave, a sense of warm contentment settles over you. You hope to run into Mr. Adley again one day, to share another cup of tea and to hear more of his stories.

But for now, there’s unpacking to be done.

First your clothing, which was packed by your mother in a sturdy trunk. Then, the wooden statuettes carved by your father. The bed linens, pillows, blankets, and your other personal belongings. Once everything is secured in its proper place, you light the hearth and reheat the stew cooked for you by Mr. Adley’s son.

Your stomach full, you think about the path Mr. Adley mentioned, wanting to at least see it before night fell. But no such luck.

“Ah well,” you murmur to yourself. “There’s always tomorrow.”

Your stomach full, you heat up some water drawn from the backyard well and scrub the day’s accumulated dirt from your body. Dressed in a long gown and with a silent yawn, you climb the stairs to retire to your bedroom.

Tomorrow will be a busy day and you can’t afford any lethargy. Safely tucked in bed, you close your eyes and drift to sleep.

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

The horse-drawn coach hits a slight bump on the gravel road, rocking you and your filled satchel. You had asked to sit up front beside the driver when he first arrived in the early morning. Mainly to talk and to calm your addled nerves.

Unfortunately, he declined, stating that he had strict orders from Madam Bastien to keep his distance. His words saddened you somewhat, but you complied, not wanting to threaten his standing with the Madam.

One drive past the capital’s city gates on the cobblestoned road and into the business district, the coach arrives at the Madam’s workshop. It’s small but sturdy, a much more humble place than the manor she’s known to live in. Once the coach slows to a stop, you gather your satchel and climb out.

A woman with deep skin the color of a starless, night sky stands before the workshop’s door. Her gaze is stalwart as she watches your approach, her hands tucked behind her back. Once you’re close enough, she gives you a warm smile that stretches the crow’s feet gathered at the corner of her eyes.

“Welcome,” she says. “Have you already had breakfast?”

The cheerful manner in which she greets you is nothing like how she first met you. You swiftly remember your manners and reply before she can attribute your silence to rudeness.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then the bread and pastries inside will serve as a later brunch.”

Madam Bastien turns around, her long, gray beaded braids shifting against her back. She opens the door with a wrinkled hand and glances at you with a sharp, deep brown gaze.

“Let’s get started,” she says. “We have much to cover.”

And cover much you did. The pages of your new journal were soon stained with notes detailing a variety of topics. Types of animal fats, herbs, plants. Which salves, tinctures, and ointments work best. Potions for pain, conception, and contraceptive measures. The apothecaries’ system for measurement.

She then has you mix together a common tincture after you memorize the ingredient list. The first time, the mix isn’t properly done. Not enough potency. How she can tell just by the scent alone is astounding. So you try again. And again. And again, until finally, you get it right.

By the time brunch rolls around, a number of failed tinctures sit on the table before you and your journal is halfway filled. You’ll have to purchase another before the next lesson.

“I think a break is needed,” Madam Bastien says. “You must be getting hungry.”

You’re about to politely refute her claim, but your empty stomach answers in reply, refusing to be ignored. With a chuckle, Madam Bastien stokes a fire in her hearth and uses the heat to warm up the chilled bread and pastries. They go wonderfully well with some tea and herbed butter, as you soon learn. You happily eat your fill, humming at the mesh of flavors coating your tongue. Madam Bastien, however, sits across from you and takes the time to flip through your journal. She nods as she reads along, smiling.

“I was right,” she says. “You’ll be a wonderful choice for the position of Royal Apothecary once I retire.”

Your fork clatters against your plate.

“W-what?” Madam Bastien simply picks up a pastry and spreads a little butter onto the flakey crust.

“Word got out about my imminent retirement, no doubt thanks to those damned gossips at Court. That’s why so many would-be apprentices swarmed my estate. Of course, I wasn’t going to simply choose some hopeful unknown to take my place as the Royal Family’s apothecary.”

She sips at her cooling tea before continuing.

“I decided to find my apprentice after the throngs died down. So the King allowed me to travel to the smaller pockets of the country while keeping the reason behind my absence a secret.”

“...Which is how you met me.”

She nods.

“A choice, I must say, I’m glad to have made. You show immense potential with your gift yet remain grounded. Both skills will be needed to survive the Royal Court and everything it entails. But that will be years from now.” She taps a loose fist against her opposite shoulder with a chuckle.

“I won’t be going anywhere any time soon. After all, there is still much to teach you. But for now, sate your hunger. Once you’re finished, you can leave for the market then get settled at home. We’ll reconvene tomorrow at the same time.”

You finish your portion, drain your cup of tea, and bid Madam Bastien a good day. The food weighs heavily in your belly and your temples pound as you gather foodstuffs from the large market. You honestly don’t know if you could’ve handled the task without the help of the coach driver. You’re thankful, but know he’s only aiding you due to the Madam’s order. And as before, he keeps to himself on the trip to your cottage.

Your nerves tense and heighten to a peak once you arrive home. The sensation only grows stronger as you place your items in their proper places. Soon enough, you drop down into a chair at the dining table, your fingers tangling and pulling at your hair almost to the point of pain.

You can deal with and adapt to a sudden apprenticeship. But the assured role of Royal Apothecary? That is something you nor your family foresaw. What would they say if they could see you now?

With so many hypotheticals running through your mind, you honestly want to forget Madam Bastien’s words for a short time. Forget that tomorrow is coming and with it, a greater sense of responsibility you never expected.

Your downcast gaze lifts towards the back door as Mr. Adley’s words resound in your mind. With the sun still visible in the sky, you won’t have to worry about nightfall and what it will bring. Now is a good time as any to see what his handmade path has to offer.

You press to your feet and slip outside, closing the door softly with a tight grip. Taking a deep breath, you force your fingers to relax and glance down. Flat, gray stones form a simple trail before your feet, leading towards the forest. Blades of grass stick up in the gaps between each rock, a reminder that nature can easily overtake this area if it so chooses. It’s a charming sight, one that makes taking the first step easy.

Your steady gait slows to a more eased pace as a gathering of clouds blocks the sun’s light. A gentle breeze carrying the raw, earthy scent of the forest brushes against your heated skin. You welcome the sensation with a pleased, quiet sigh and press onward.

There’s nothing but a sea of rolling grass between your cottage and the outskirts of the forest. It’s easy to see why Mr. Adley suggested this, and you’re highly thankful. It’ll be another thing you’ll talk to him about when you see him again. As you near the edge of the forest, your heart starts to sink. Turning around means having to face the reality of your apprenticeship; something you’d rather not do until absolutely necessary.

In a way, your wish is granted. But not through normal means.

Just a stone’s throw, in a sunlit clearing, a large, dark burly shape presses itself further onto the ground. You hear an odd, splashing sound that is soon followed with violent crunching. As the shape shifts, you’re able to see the scene before you with clarity. A massive, black bear tears its maw into the fresh remains of a stag. One that it, without a doubt, took down itself.

You take a silent breath and begin to slowly back away. Something brittle snaps underneath your foot. You freeze. So does the bear up ahead.

Your heart pounds in your chest as it lifts its head, searching for the source of the sound. Its dark eyes bore into yours, grunts emanating from its mouth. With a shrill roar, it barrels towards you, sharp teeth bared. You can’t move, no matter how much you beg your body to act.

All you can do is shut your eyes and hope for a swift end. But there’s no impact.

No sound of a beast eager to tear into you; only the soft whisper of a passing breeze. Carefully and slowly, as you mentally take stock of your intact self, your eyes open.

The bear lies on the ground, nothing more than a motionless heap. The green grass underneath its form is slowly dyed a dark color, a deep red that the sun’s rays catch. But the shade is nothing compared to the ink-black braid belonging to the being calmly extracting their long claws from the carcass. Piercing gold eyes meet yours, framed by rich, brown skin and a full nose bearing a long scar. In fact, the majority of the stranger’s bare torso is littered with old injuries, both small and large. The only part of his body that remains untouched is his black, serpentine tail.

Your legs decide then and there to lose their remaining strength. Your body sinks to the ground, the thick grass taking the brunt of your fall as your lungs cry out for air. You fill them, holding your hands over your throbbing chest.

“Are you alright?”

Your gaze darts up. The naga extends a bloodless, clawed hand towards you; the other he keeps behind his back. Pushing aside your nervousness, you take it and he effortlessly pulls you to your feet. But his grip on your hand remains; perhaps to keep steadying you.

“T-thank you.” Your eyes flit from his claws, which barely touch your skin, to the fallen bear behind him. “I owe you my life.”

He releases his grip on your hand after a few minutes of silence. No doubt after assuring you can stand on your own two feet without aid.

“You must be the new owner of the cottage, then?”

You startle at his words.

“Yes, but how did…”

“The Adleys told me about the upcoming changes weeks ago. I just didn’t expect to meet you so soon...maybe not at all.”

You let out a soft chuckle, not quite aware of where the urge came from. But it acts as a crack in the dam holding back your feelings all the same.

Without warning, everything spills out from your lips. Meeting Madam Bastien, your apprenticeship, the move to the capital from your only home. Your eyes burn and your chest heaves while you speak, but you can’t stop the release. Not until everything is out in the open, including your near-death experience. As your sobs quiet, a cool sensation brushes against your wet cheeks. Your rescuer gives you a soft, understanding smile as he gently wipes away your tears with the back of his claw.

“I-I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I must be taking up your time. And I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Anil,” he says. “And honestly? I was debating whether to take a nap in my favorite tree or grab a snack from the river. But I have to say this change in routine is more than welcome.”

His relaxed tone pulls a true laugh from you, which by the look of his own fanged smile, was his goal.

“Much better,” he murmurs.

Somehow, that one comment and your emotional release has you feeling much lighter than before. You’re able to take a deep, calming breath and give him your name. All while returning Anil’s smile. He repeats it, as if committing it to memory. But a part of you wonders why he looks so thrilled to know such a simple thing.

“Thank you again,” you say. “I should head back. I’m expected to meet with Madam Bastien tomorrow morning.”

Anil nods then clears his throat.

“If you’re in need of a willing ear, please feel free to return,” he says. “That is, if you’d like to.”

Your eyes take him in: the way he deftly skims a claw over one of his cheeks while attempting to meet your gaze, but failing to hold it. The sight is endearing and rather sweet.

“I would, as long as I don’t disturb you.” You purse your lips together and decide to take a chance. “In fact, if you’re available tomorrow…”

“I am,” he says, in what you think is an excited tone. But you don’t want to assume.

So you simply smile and bid him a good day, telling him “until tomorrow.”

Anil repeats your words and you two go your separate ways.

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

The following day, Madam Bastien proves to be quite the taskmaster. Your new journal is nearly filled like its predecessor, prompting another visit to the market. And another venture to the forest’s edge.

But this time, you plan to go bearing gifts. At first, you expect to wait at the previous meeting spot until Anil arrives. Instead, you find a guide of sorts without any signs of yesterday’s bear. Makeshift stakes stick up from the tall grass, the tops marked with a vivid red dye. It doesn’t take long for your curiosity to get the better of you.

You follow the marked path to a larger clearing where a massive tree towers overhead. Dappled sunlight shines through the gaps of the leaves and on a familiar, dozing naga. Anil is cradled among the thick yet lower branches of the tree. His dark tail is coiled underneath his upper body, providing a makeshift bed of sorts. His features are soft, the serene sight bringing a smile to your face. So you seat yourself at the tree’s base and turn to your attention to your wickered basket.

You push back the lid and remove the linen keeping the food warm. The delicious, mingling scents make your mouth water. And cause a groan from up above. Anil shifts, blinking down at you with bleary eyes, a few stray leaves clinging to his mussed hair. You giggle.

“Good afternoon, Anil. Did you sleep well?” Anil yawns widely, his fangs unsheathing themselves from the action.

“Very, thank you. By chance, is that venison I smell?” You nod.

“It’s for you. I purchased it from the market as a surprise. Come have some.”

You think you see Anil’s body tense for a few moments.

“Are...are you sure?” he asks with a hesitant tone.

You huff out a light laugh and smile.

“Of course I am!”

Seconds later, he takes you up on your offer and slithers his way down. Soon he’s beside you, happily partaking of the meat, bread, cheese, and fruit you’ve brought along. He finishes his portion with a satisfied sigh, licking his claws with a forked tongue while you tuck your leftovers back into the basket for dinner.

“I wasn’t sure what to get originally, but I figured venison would be a safe bet. Was I right?”

Anil glances your way then down to his hands.

“You were, and then some. It’s actually my favorite.”

He fidgets, the motion traveling down to his curled tail. It reminds you of how a ripple affects an entire pond.

You reach out with a tentative hand and touch his shoulder. His deep inhale doesn’t escape your notice. “Is everything alright?”

“Y-yes! I’m just thinking, that’s all. But that can wait. How was your time at Madam Bastien’s?”

You tell him how your first foray with creating a decoction from memory went. Better than expected, but with some bumps along the way. You also mention the need for another journal and how you expect to have a miniature library soon.

Anil listens intently to you, smiling all the while. But it’s the light in his golden eyes that give you pause. They’re warm, almost molten, and full of...fondness? You’re quick to dismiss the thought and prompt him to tell you about his day, which he readily does.

When Anil asks to see you again, you both agree to the following day. It’s from that point onward that you notice some odd things.

One day, as you accompany Anil to the river, he stays close by your side. During one instance, he places his clawed hand against the small of your back. You don’t think much of it, especially when you both come across some gnarled roots jutting from the ground. He carefully and gently guides you over the obstacles, but his touch lingers before he pulls away.

Then, at the river, he catches a large haul of fish. But instead of placing them all into his own personal satchel, he reveals a second bag. He fills it with the majority of his catch and presents it to you with a shy smile on his lips. You accept it with genuine thanks and he looks away, grinning with pleasure.

After that, Anil keeps close to you in various ways. But more so as he tells you about his family, him leaving the den before his other siblings, and meeting the Adleys. Still, whether it’s to guide you by holding your hand, to show you some of his favorite areas in the forest, or to present you with more food, he’s always near. In fact, your personal stock of meat is nearly overflowing and you’d hate for it to go to waste.

Early that morning, you smoke the meat (with the wood Anil happily volunteered to chop for you) and bring the bundle to your next meeting with the Madam. She hums with pleasure as she tucks into the food and calls her coachman to receive a portion.

“This fish is considered a rare delicacy here in the capital,” she says, dabbing at her lips with a thick napkin. “Last I checked, the fishmonger was unsure if he would have any this season. How did you come across it?”

You sip at your water, unable to hide your smile.

“A friend of mine gave me a part of his catch.”

Madam Bastien gives you a look. It reminds you of the knowing way your mother would look at you when a young boy caught your attention.

“Just a friend? Are you sure of that?”

You’re about to refute her claim but pause. Your mind recalls just how close Anil has grown towards you over the last few weeks. You’ve also learned more about him and have come to greatly enjoy his company. But there’s...something more.

“It seems,” Madam Bastien begins, pulling you from your thoughts, “that your friend wishes to impress you. If I may ask, what has he done for you so far?”

You explain everything. And when she asks how it all began, you mention the picnic you prepared as thanks for saving your life from a raging bear. Confusion colors her face, but when you mention Anil being a naga…

The Madam nearly chokes on her wine. She swiftly places her napkin against her mouth as she coughs, clearing her throat.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you say standing up, hands raised and ready to help.

But she holds up her own hand in reply, making you pause. She gestures for you to sit and you do.

“Since that is the case,” she says after a deep swallow, “I should explain a bit about the naga and their courting habits…”

She starts at the beginning, aligning what you and he have done so far with the start of naga courtship behavior. The interested party provides food without prompting, letting the other know their interest in them as a possible mate. As she provides more detail into what may happen—including copulation—a burning heat floods your cheeks. But you find that it isn’t unwelcomed.

“So then,” she concludes, “That is what you should expect. I just hope that your new paramour won’t distract you from your studies, yes?”

“Of course not.” You’re stunned to find that you mean every word and that you agree with Anil being more than a friend. “But, if it’s alright with you, may I be excused early today? There are some things I need to take care of.”

The Madam calls for her coachman, gives you a knowing smile and winks.

“Good luck, dearest.”

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

You can barely contain yourself as the coach coasts to a stop before your cottage. In fact, you take the initiative and leap out before the coachman is able to open the door for you.

You quickly circle around back and follow the stone pathway towards the edge of the forest. Your heart swells at the sight nearing closer with each stride.

Anil holds a bundle of makeshift markers, the tips dyed that familiar shade of red. Before he’s able to spear the next stick into the ground, you shout his name. He pauses, straightening his body and saying your name as you dash towards him.

He manages to catch you as you leap towards him, your arms winding around his neck and your cheek nestling against his own. He shudders, him own grip tightens around your body, secure and warm.

“I’m guessing something good happened today?”

You hum in reply, pulling back so you can see him face to face. Then, you gently press your lips against his.

Anil tenses, and for a moment, doubt begins to seep in. But it’s quickly swept away as he kisses you back, his fangs pressing against your mouth and the tips of his claws gently teasing the nape of your neck. All while as his other arm holds you close. Your hand taps his back, a reminder of your need to breathe. He tapers off the kiss, taking in a few deep breaths of his own. His golden eyes glitter as they take in your breathless expression.

“I didn’t...I wasn’t sure...so you are interested in me as I am in you?”

“I am,” you say, cupping his cheek in your palm. “It just took me some time to realize it.”

He nuzzles against your warmth, with a large grin.

“How so?”

“It’s a bit of a long story,” you say. “One that may take up most of the day.”

“I want to know,” Anil says. “As long as I can be right next to you.”

You can’t help but silently agree. “The cottage is large enough for the both of us, if that’s alright with you?”

Anil presses his forehead against yours, his eyes drinking you in.

“More than,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

#monster boyfriend #monster/human #monster romance #exophilia #naga boyfriend #naga #400 follower raffle #I hope you all enjoy!#female reader #fem reader

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solarishashernoseinabook · 3 years

Text

Just a random RA drabble (which may or may not be over 100 words idk yet)

(No romance, G)

Horace shrugged his pack higher up on his shoulder. One more step and he would officially have left the Ward to go on to his apprenticeship. He took one look back at the large, reddish stone of Castle Redmont. Suddenly saying goodbye to everyone had been harder than he thought.

With all his determination Horace turned back along the path and walked down the small cabin near the forest. The cabin looked like it was perhaps three rooms in total, with an attached barn and a verandah out front. Some wildflowers were in a vase in the window.

Horace stumbled going up the steps and hit his head on the low overhanging roof of the verandah. He rubbed his head and went to knock on the door, but before his hand made contact it opened and he was confronted with the much shorter ranger.

Horace, still nervous in the company of someone who held so much power in the kingdom, could only stare.

‘Well this is going to go well,’ Halt said. ‘With how much noise you made there, I thought for sure a hoard of Skandians was invading.’

Horace ducked his head. ‘Sorry, Ranger,’ he mumbled.

After a moment, Halt sighed. ‘Well, you might as well come inside. There’s a lot of cleaning to do.’

‘Cleaning?’ Horace followed him in. ‘I was rather hoping for lunch...’

Halt looked askance at him. Much as Horace was still nervous around the ranger, the fact that Halt had to look upwards to do it rather ruined the effect. ‘Then I hope you know how to polish pots, boy.’

‘We don’t use black magic to keep ourselves hidden,’ Halt explained. It was a month into Horace’s apprenticeship now and he thought he was getting a handle on things - notably, Halt was actually explaining things now instead of having him practice archery day in and day out. Instead, for the past few days, he had been teaching him forestry.

Now Halt explained that the patterns on his own cloak, patches of green, grey, and brown, broke up his outline. It seemed to shimmer before Horace’s eyes, making him wonder if there wasn’t just a bit of magic in it after all.

Finally, Halt demonstrated its power by hiding against the trees, and Horace’s jaw dropped. He had been looking at Halt the entire time, but all of a sudden it was like he had disappeared, and Horace had to strain to make him out.

'Is that mine, then?' He looked at the bundle Halt had with him, sitting on the verandah and tucked under one of the chairs.

'Ah,' Halt said, but before he could say anything Horace grabbed the bundle, pulled out the cloak, and swung it around his shoulders.

'Well? What do you think?'

'I was right,' Halt said, biting his thumbnail.

Horace looked down at himself. '...Oh.'

'You're a bit taller than the average ranger. Broader, too. We'll have to make some adjustments.'

Horace tried futilely to close the cloak over his chest, but it wasn't working. Most of his torso and legs were completely visible, and the cloak stopped just short of his knees.

'Well, I can at least teach you the principle behind hiding,' Halt said, waving away a problem that would have to be dealt with later. 'Step one: stay still.'

It was a few weeks before Horace got a cloak that fit, and he was grateful to have it. At least by that point he had mastered the basics of the technique behind unseen movement.

'You ready?' Halt called.

'Almost!' Horace’s deep voice came to him from his room. It was the third year of his apprenticeship and he had started growing facial hair, which he shaved with exaggerated care every morning. He had worn the patchy tufts of hair on his chin with pride, not caring how silly he looked, until Halt, thoroughly exasperated, had pulled a leaf from his father's book and said shaving it would make it grow in faster. Ever since Horace had insisted on being clean-shaven - if only, Halt reflected, he wasn't so careful about catching every last hair.

He had just come back from spending a few weeks with Gilan in Merric, only getting back late the night before, and Halt was putting the finishing touches on a large breakfast.

Finally he heard the door open and turned to see his apprentice come down the hall. 'Took you long eno--Oh.'

'Whats for breakfast?' Horace asked.

'Horace,' Halt said, 'are your legs feeling a bit cold?'

'My legs? What? Why--Oh.' For now Horace had looked down as well. Once again, his cloak, already larger than was standard for rangers, was dangling around his knees and was open around his middle.

Halt sighed. 'Well, I had planned on going on a short mission to the more rural parts of Redmont, but it looks like that'll have to wait.'

#ra #rangers apprentice #rangers apprentice drabbles #horace altman #halt ocarrick

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writtenonreceipts · 3 years

Text

The idea of this came quick and haphazardly. I meant to have it ready on thanksgiving, but then didn’t, haha...enjoy a last little slice of thanksgiving fic...

About 2K. Planning on doing a Christmas and/or new years addition with this one too.

Thanks so much for reading!

Friends Like These

Aelin cursed as she stared at the pan of green beans she pulled from her oven. Frowning she glared at the mess of crispy fried onions on top and the edges that were most certainly black instead of golden brown.

“Well this was a terrible idea.”

She didn't even like green bean casserole but Lysandra had insisted they needed green beans of some sort and Aelin was a mess of uncertainty. She wanted to bring an extra chocolate pie but Lys refused that front citing that she had all her pie bases covered.

Aelin did not believe her. For as much as she loved her best friend, Lys did not understand Aelin’s desires for chocolate and pie in general.

Back to the green beans however, Aelin was certain they were burned. Who the hell liked green beans anyways?

“A real, real terrible idea.”

Talking to herself wasn't going to fix anything, so Aelin grabbed her oven mitts and made for the door of her apartment. By some twist of fate and intense insistence, Aelin lived across the hall from her best friend and cousin. Lysandra and Aedion had only been married a few months and they were already intent on being the go-to couple for holidays and other occasions. As long as it meant Aelin didn't have to clean her place, she didn't care.

She left her apartment door open and crossed the hall to Lysandra’s.

"Open up bitch,” she called and kicked the door. Too late did she think that the neighbors would not appreciate her antics. She received far too many looks of exasperation from them anyways.

Despite how much she really didn’t care, she glanced down the hall. Maybe she could ditch this poorly made casserole on some unsuspecting soul. As she glanced down towards the elevators, she caught sight of a ridiculously good-looking man coming up the hall and he had most definitely heard her.

His silvery hair was stark compared to his bronze skin and his button up shirt strained against his obvious muscles. Oh he was very attractive. Aelin had quite often found herself fondling over the likes of Rowan Whitethorn.

It was highly unfortunate that he was already here, considering Aelin was still in yoga pants and an oversized cardigan stained with bleach from a misadventure in cleaning. Not to mention her hair was a failing top knot and she hadn’t even put on a coat of chapstick today. Oh hell, she was most definitely staring at him.

“Galathynius,” Rowan said, giving her a long, penetrating look. His generous mouth tilted into something akin to a sneer.

“Whitehorn,” she replied. She prided herself at least on the fact that she managed not to lick her lips while checking him out. Because holy hell it should be illegal for him to look so well put together. She wasn’t sure if she preferred him in this almost professional style as compared to the dark grunge that he was usually found in. Or both. Definitely both.

Aelin was saved from saying or doing anything else as Lysandra opened the door to her apartment.

“You actually brought something other than chocolate,” Lysandra said with an amused sort of expression

“Bite me,” Aelin snapped and swerved past into the apartment.

She missed whatever Lysandra said to Rowan, but it was clearly filled with more love and appreciation than what was extended to Aelin.

Aelin entered the kitchen and was immediately greeted by the scents of cooking turkey, stuffing, and rolls. It was wonderful. She stuck her still hot pan on the edge of the counter while she dug out another hotpad from where Lysandra usually kept them.

Aedion was busy setting things up in the small living room where he’d dragged out their table and an extra foldable one. It looked like there were far more place settings than Aelin had been expecting.

“Hey Aelin,” Aedion said as he settled a floral arrangement on the table. It was a cheapish plastic one—but it reminded Aelin of years growing up with him and tossing the abused decoration around the table to use it as a means of hiding from Aunt Maeve.

“Hey, where d’you want this,” she asked, holding up the green beans.

“Wherever should be good,” Aedion said with a shrug. He looked the pan over and frowned. “You burned the green beans?”

“No one even likes green beans Ashryver,” Aelin fired back. She slapped down the hotpad and the casserole and tried to pretend she didn’t care.

Truth was, she’d actually tried on the casserole. But she wouldn’t admit that. It would just make the end product all the more pathetic.

“Thanks so much for bringing pie, Rowan,” Lysandra was saying from the kitchen. “I tried asking Lorcan, but he was staunchly against it.”

“Nah, the bastard would never make such a commitment,” Rowan. Aelin glanced at him to see a crooked smile that did not help her feel any better about herself. “He will bring plenty of booze though.”

“At least he’s good for something,” Lysandra laughed. Her laugh was short lived though as she looked between Aelin and Rowan. It was no secret the two had nothing short of a hostile relationship. No matter how long their friend groups had been integrated for—they always found a way to be at each other’s throats.

Lysandra took the bag of pie from Rowan and smiled gratefully. “Also, I appreciate everything you’ve done in the shop, too. I don’t know what I wouldn’t do without the help.”

Just across the street, Lysandra was opening a clothing boutique that would hopefully expand into a makeup and hair styling salon as well. While Aedion was finishing his law degree and working full time in an apprenticeship, Lysandra had bitten the bullet to fulfill her dream of owning her own business. Even if it was a slightly inconvenient time to be an entrepreneur. Aelin couldn’t have been prouder of her best friend.

“Oh, until everyone else gets here, Rowan can help you move that dresser Aelin,” Lysandra said suddenly. Aelin froze in a sudden wave of panic. “She’s getting rid of that tiny little dresser she has and got a new one. You’ve been complaining about it all week.”

Rolling her eyes, Aelin brushed a few loose bits of hair from her forehead. “It hasn’t been all week.”

“Right, just the hours we’ve been together,” Lysandra said with an ironic sort of expression. In truth, the two had spent nearly every waking minute together in the hopes of getting the shop ready to open.

Scowling, Aelin made her way back to the door of the apartment. “Can’t believe you married her Aedion. C’mon, buzzard. I need help, apparently.”

“You can’t move a damn dresser by yourself?” Rowan groused. But he followed after her, shooting irritated looks over his shoulder no doubt.

“Be nice to each other!” Aedion called after. “It’s Thanksgiving.”

The door closed softly behind them. The hall was silent as they crossed the short distance to Aelin’s place. She was muttering under her breath the entire time about how annoying it was to have him in her apartment.

As soon as they entered Aelin’s apartment, Fleetfoot was on them. The dog, despite loving her mother to no end, went to Rowan with an excited flap of her tail. Rowan glared down at Fleetfoot in exasperation.

“Don’t you give your dog any attention?” He asked.

Aelin gave him the finger over her shoulder as she went to her room. “Get your ass in here and help me.”

Rowan cursed under his breath and followed. “Why do you need a new dresser anyways. The old one was fine.”

“Well someone told me it was too small. And someone said that how could a substantial amount of clothing even fit in the drawers I had. And that same someone told me that something had to change.” She leaned against her bedroom door and glared at him. “And that, dumbass, was you. So now I have a giant dresser that I don’t know what to do with. So really, this is all your fault.”

Rowan quirked a brow and looked down at her, but he said nothing.

For the past three months since Rowan had begun helping Lysandra in her shop, the two had started something. Something that neither knew how to define or explain. It involved quite a bit of kissing, sex, and staying over at one another’s apartments. And no one else in their friend group knew.

The previous week Rowan had made a comment about never having enough space for his things in Aelin’s place which had resulted in an uncomfortable conversation of defining what it was exactly they were doing together. It promptly led to ignored texts and phone calls.

“You got a new dresser,” Rowan said, finally.

Aelin dropped her eyes from his and turned slightly so she was leaning against the wall instead of the doorjamb. She looked into her room where the new dresser was standing at an awkward angle. She hadn’t quite known what to do with it so she’d left it half up against one wall and half blocking her closet. Rowan wasn’t supposed to find out about the dresser this way. Mostly because she didn’t want for it to be a big deal, even though it was...they’d danced around the idea of each other and being more than friends with benefits for so long that this—giving up space and a little bit of independence was huge.

Especially for Aelin.

“I just wanted some more space,” she said dismissively.

Rowan’s eyes were still on her. She could feel them burning into her. If she looked at him now, she was certain she would combust. There was always something about Rowan that made her feel different. That made her feel complete. It was strange to say. Especially after being on her own for so long. But being with him, even for the few short months, had given her a new sense of purpose and self that Aelin had never had before.

“More space?” Rowan asked, stepping closer to her.

Aelin chewed on her bottom lip and finally looked up. “Less space?”

Rowan grinned down at her, his body heat completely enveloping her as he pulled her to him.

Aelin went willingly, wrapping her arms around him and clinging to him tightly. It was slightly embarrassing how much she’d missed him. Even in this one week of being apart and not even texting had been unbearable.

With gentle hands, Rowan cupped her face and ran his calloused fingers over her cheeks. The feel of it caused Aelin to shiver and immediately want to burrow into him again. Rowan had other plans as he tilted her chin up and captured her lips with his.

Sighing happily, Aelin melted into his touch. She curled her fingers in his hair and pressed herself harder against him. Every other plan for the day went right out her head. None of it mattered when he was so close.

A loud knock sounded on the front door and Fenrys’ voice called out from the kitchen. “Have you two killed each other or what? Come on! Turkey’s getting cold.”

“We’re coming,” Rowan called out as Aelin pressed her lips into his neck, in part to suppress her grin and also because she wasn’t ready to let him go. “Galathynius can’t make up her mind.”

Aelin nipped at his skin with her teeth and his hands tightened on her hips.

“Finish after turkey, I didn’t spend all morning making yams for them to go to waste,” Fenrys yelled back. The front door slammed shut as he left.

Aelin couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her as she kissed her way back to Rowan’s lips. “I don’t want to go.”

Rowan pressed his forehead against hers, breath slightly uneven. “Unless you want to tell everyone about us.”

Shaking her head, Aelin sighed. “I’m not ready to share you.”

She of course already did share him with everyone, but Rowan seemed to grasp the underlying meaning of her words as he captured her mouth once more. The kiss was hot and deep and Aelin was ready to lock the door to her apartment and feign death or illness if it meant she could spend the day wrapped up in Rowan.

“Fireheart,” he whispered.

“Buzzard,” she replied.

He smiled against her lips before pulling back and running his thumb over her cheek. “Beautiful.”

“I look like hell,” she complained.

Rowan shook his head. “Beautiful,” he repeated before regretfully pulling away.

Aelin sighed before running her hands down his chest and interlocking he fingers with his, just for a moment.

“Stay the night?” she asked quietly.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “You just need help with that dresser.”

“True,” she admitted, “but I also missed you.”

Rowan nodded once before giving her a quick, chaste kiss. “C’mon or else we’ll really have to tell everyone about us.”

Sighing, Aelin pulled away completely. She left her room and made sure Fleetfoot was settled on the couch, and episode of “The Office” playing on the tv to keep the dog company.

Before they let her apartment, she looked back at Rowan with a determined gleam in her eyes. “Soon.”

“Soon,” Rowan agreed.

And they went back to being somewhat tolerable friends.

thanks for reading dears, i so appreciate the support and comments and everything!

tags: if i missed you let me know, by inbox/asks are always open

@tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowow

#aelin and rowan #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin au #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass #the fanfic no one asked for continues #aelin galathynius

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neverdoingmuch · 3 years

Note

I’m here for the ‘swords not as pets’ agenda. Swords as cars: solid, get you from place to place, potentially dangerous, customizable, something people name. Wwx losing his license taking the fall for a mistake jc made (idk, dui maybe?) and just choosing to mod the hell out of a self-balancing scooter or segway or something so it goes dangerously fast. Alternatively: spending 3 months inventing the first functional actual levitating hoverboard, with an insane top speed. 3 months in the (1/2)

sawdfert this is delightful!! i saw segway and i immediately started wheezing,, there was no time for laughing i went straight to the wheezing. i think it would make more sense if wwx lost his car and got a motorcycle? like hoverboards and segways are cool but motorcycles have that big reputation of being dangerous and there’s the whole ‘rebellious teen gets a motorcycle and becomes a delinquent’ thing? like motorcycles are fast and if you crash it’s so much worse than if you were in a car and there’s no airbags or anything. but also?? wwx rocking up to school on a segway while playing his flute like the shittiest entrance ever? iconic. but let’s stick with chenqing as a motorcycle/scooter (motorcycle-esque scooter not the ones that try and take out your ankles).

okay so all the major sects are super rich so in a modern au it would make sense for all the sect heirs to get cars. i’m not saying that jc and wwx complain about jzx being stuck-up bc he was given a porsche for his birthday even though they were also given cars for their birthdays,,, but i am. at first it would have been this major point of contention between yzy and jfm bc wwx isn’t even their son so why is he getting a car too but wwx is like ah it’s so i can drive jc and jyl to school! you wouldn’t want their cars being left outside the school all day would you? someone in my maths class had their car get keyed and it was super expensive to fix,, and yzy is like yes wwx may have a car only to protect my children from parking hassles,, also wwx must pay for his own parking. so wwx and jc both get given cars for their bdays.

now wwx gets bored easily,, so you could translate him being a cultivation genius to him being really good at driving. im talking that jc is still getting the hang of switching gears and wwx is out there casually drifting around corners. (this does mean he has to get new tyres really frequently but he’s friends with wen ning, whose family runs the mechanics that wwx likes to go to so he just helps around the shop for a bit and gets a discount (yes its the family discount)). anyway wwx really enjoys driving, also! he just rocks up to wen ning’s place one day and is like dude, i wanna pimp my ride, wanna help and wen ning is like heck yeah. so wwx pays for some upgrades with his own money and he spends hours doing some custom work to make it look cool,,

it’s all going well until wwx and jc go to wen chao’s party one night and jc gets absolutely sloshed,,, like completely hammered. wwx had walked in, grabbed a cup of lemonade or something and was gonna hang with his friends but lwj was there for some reason so he spent the entire night talking to him in the back garden. which means that when jc wanted to leave he saw wwx hanging out with lwj and went ew gross and just decided to drive home himself. he crashes and when wwx comes home the next day jc gets super pissed at him bc he was meant to be the designated driver and if he hadnt been screwing around with lwj jc wouldnt have tried to drive home and now his parents will be super pissed and wwx is like woah chill my grandmother is a mechanic and she can fix this up just give me a couple of days.

so wwx goes to baoshan sanren mechanics (which is just the back entrance to the wen sibling’s mechanics) and spends the next three days getting rid of all of his customisations and mods so his car looks exactly like jc’s. does he cry when he has to spend like five mins spraying the inside of the car with axe body spray to get the jc stench going on? maybe a little. but he does it and returns the car to jc! and jc is like oh wow my car is fixed, your grandma is a miracle worker and wwx is like haha yeah (:

anyway wwx mysteriously and suddenly discovers a passion for public transport,, it’s a good way to stay humble jiang cheng, he says, also i used all my petrol money buying porn from nhs or whatever. anyway wwx is doing the whole pt to school thing but then one afternoon wen chao and wzh find him and idk maybe the party got too rowdy so the cops came and wc got in trouble with his dad? he assumes wwx called the cops on him so he shoves wwx into his car and drives him out to the middle of no where and dumps him in the burial mounds scrap metal recycling place or whatever.

the train line isn’t running that day and there’s no phone service either so wwx is stuck there overnight. he gets super bored. so what does he do? he finds an abandoned scooter and starts scavenging for parts. he’s not expecting it to actually work but by the time the sun rises he’s found some actually decent parts and he thinks that he could get it working. tbh he kinda forgets to go back home and just walks into town to buy some food and then goes back and continues fiddling with the scooter. he doesnt live there for the three months but the people in yiling just accept that this random teenager has all but moved into their scrap heap and adopt him anyway. so he goes and visits the burial mounds every day after school so none of his friends or family really see him anymore.

until! one day he rocks up to school on his scooter. scooters,, are kinda like sad pathetic motorcycles,, but wwx mods his scooter with like a powerful engine and new steering and everything so people see it and go oh! a motorcycle! even though it’s not actually (can you do that with a scooter? idk but suspend your disbelief pls). so lwj is like hnnngg wwx in a leather jacket on a motorcycle but also wei ying, stop riding a motorcycle, *enter statistics about motorcycle crashes here* and wwx is like no! you cant take chenqing away from me. and jc is pissed bc they were meant to be brothers and have matching cars and be able to work on them and give them cool paint jobs together! but now wwx has this bike which has been modded to hell and back and refuses to drive his car bc it’s not as cool as his bike. so we get to have the whole ‘everyone thinks wwx is doing something dumb and dangerous’ bc he has a motorcycle and why isnt he just driving his car anymore? but we also get to keep some of the nuance of the demonic cultivation bc yeah it’s more dangerous than driving in a car but wwx doesnt have a car anymore and scooters are a loottt safer than motorcycles (if my two seconds of research is correct).

so! wwx won’t abandon chenqing and he did most of his work using scrap parts so he goes back to the wens and is like wen ning my best bro check her out and he’s like oooooooh and they start modding chenqing together. wen qing doesnt know why wwx is constantly over at their shop all the time but jc keeps arguing with wwx and wwx grows more distant with his family and friends bc he’s making ~bad decisions~ and a motorcycle is a gateway to idk teen delinquent shenanigans like smoking and doing graffiti so he’s kinda ousted from respectable rich people society and wen qing is like i have two (2) brothers now and they’re adorable not that i’ll ever tell them that. and wwx modding chenqing got him a reputation in yiling like everyone saw him walk in one day and then drive out with this sexy sexy bike so people start coming to him for mods and stuff and wwx earns the title yiling patriarch and wen ning, his trusted best friend and helper, gets called the ghost general bc idk he helps a lot but the customers never meet him. so they become some dynamic duo for car and bike mods!

anyway,, yzy delivers him an ultimatum one day: the car or the bike (or more accurately: the family or the bike) but wwx can’t drive the car anymore so he just gets quietly disowned and drops out of school. (we’ll save jzxuan the suffering in this au he can keep his car). he goes to the wens and theyre like hey whats up? wait no you cant live in a scrap heap,, not even if you buy a tent,,, just live with us please. and then wwx gets adopted by the wens and idk i want them to have a happy ending so wwx and wn go off and do some actual mechanic and modding training with some expert (sqdcfgt imagine if it was the real baoshan sanren who just happened to be in the market for some apprentices and saw wwx and wn’s work and was like them and then later realised it was her grandson). so they get their apprenticeship and they disappear off somewhere for a year or two - when wwx had been disowned he’d deleted everyone’s contacts and was like if they text me i’ll add them back but im not gonna have a contact list cemetery. (no one contacts him).

eventually the 13 years pass and wwx has been helping the wens raise their little nephew a-yuan who is showing a real aptitude for being a mechanic even though he’s just a kid and just generally enjoying the quiet life of being a mechanic while doing fun mods and lil baby projects. then one day lwj’s car breaks down while he’s driving through the area and he calls up the local mechanic and guess who rocks up? it’s wwx. and then we get to have them dance around each other and wwx being like lwj doesnt trust me, he’s just sitting here and watching me work all day ): and lwj is like dont let him go dont let him go dont let him go,, and eventually they get their romance but this is way too long already so im im gonna end this here

i didnt mean to make this an entire au but i adored your idea so much anon so i kinda had to!!

#mdzs #modao zushi #wei wuxian #wangxian #lan wangji #wen ning #wen qing #my aus #asks #cql #the untamed #i might come and add a read more later but i dont have time now sorry!#Anonymous

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sergeantsporks · 3 years

Text

Swapped

Ch 5/5

TW: Blood

Ao3

Or read under the cut

The question of how Douxie would know when Merlin had come back was answered very easily. His magical presence swept into town like a hurricane of arcane energy, old and powerful. Douxie dropped the books he was shelving. “He’s here. Archie—”

“I felt it, too,” Archie murmured, “Douxie—”

Douxie didn’t wait to hear whatever it was. He bolted, following the source of magic until he came to… Jim’s house. Of course. The trollhunter. Merlin’s champion. Why wouldn’t he be there?

Still, Douxie felt enraged on the real Hisirdoux’s behalf. Shouldn’t Merlin have come to his apprentice first?!

There was nothing for it. He couldn’t approach Merlin with Jim around. He trudged back to the bookstore, silently seething. The hell. He’d been waiting, waiting for CENTURIES, and Merlin couldn’t even bother to check in on his apprentice?! What kind of master was he?!

Douxie slammed the bookstore door shut. “He’s staying with the trollhunter,” he snarled, “What was the point of opening up this store if he wasn’t even going to—”

“I think you ought to call in for work at the café tonight,” Archie said mildly.

“What?!”

Archie nodded to a cuckoo clock on the wall. It was going nuts and bananas. “I think Merlin’s trying to get us a message.”

Night fell all too quickly, and suddenly, Douxie wasn’t too sure about this whole mission. He’d never studied how Hisirdoux had interacted with his master—he couldn’t have. What if he messed it up?

The bell to the shop tinkled.

An old man in armor strode through.

Douxie took a step forward to greet Merlin.

And a pulse of magic immediately sent him flying backwards and into a bookshelf.

Douxie lay there, stunned, wondering what had just hit him. Archie hissed and flapped down to stand next to him, his back arched. “Who are you?!” the familiar demanded, “Why do you look like Merlin?!”

The old man pushed through the room and towards Douxie. “Move aside, Archibald, this is not your familiar!”

Douxie struggled to push himself up, mind racing. He didn’t know—he couldn’t! This was a test, right?! “Master—”

Another blast of magic caught him, throwing him across the room again, this time so hard the books fell off of the shelf, burying him. “You are not my apprentice!”

Archie dive-bombed Merlin, clawing at his metal-plated head. “What is the matter with you?!”

Merlin pushed him aside. “Nothing is wrong with me, now move aside and let me handle this!”

Douxie blasted his way out of the books, burning with rage. Fine! Merlin wanted a fight?! He’d get a fight! He threw spell after spell at Merlin, but the wizard just kept approaching. Douxie threw up a hasty shield as Merlin sent another magic blast, but Merlin’s magic overcame his own, and he was pushed back again. He struggled back to his feet.

“If it’s a fight you want, it’s a fight you’ll get,” he yelled, pulling on the fire in the grate and hurling it towards Merlin with a scream.

Merlin caught the flames and dismissed them in a puff of smoke, his eyes blazing as chains shot from his hands and wrapped around Douxie. “Where is my apprentice?!” he shouted.

Archie pushed in-between them. “Both of you, stop it!” he yowled, “Merlin, it’s Douxie! Can’t you recognize your own apprentice?!”

“I think the better question is why you can’t recognize an imposter,” Merlin growled. He held up an iron horseshoe. “Let’s see who you really are, hm?”

“This is ridiculous!” Archie snarled, “Nine centuries napping addled your mind, Merlin!”

“Then it won’t hurt anything.”

Douxie struggled to get out of the magical chains. “Don’t you get near me! Leave me alone!”

Wrong move. Archie paused, looking back at him. “Douxie?”

“Arch—don’t let him get me, you know it’s me!”

Archie shook his head, “It… it can’t hurt, right?”

The door was pushed open, and Zoe gaped. “… Douxie?!” She ran towards them, but Archie flew up.

“Wait,” he said in a resigned voice, “Something’s… not right.”

Merlin brandished the horseshoe as Douxie thrashed desperately against his bonds. “Last chance,” he thundered, “Tell the truth now, creature!”

Douxie flinched away from the iron held inches from his skin. “Fine!” he howled, “Fine, I—I’m—I’m not—” He couldn’t finish.

Merlin set down the horseshoe. “Where. Is my. Apprentice.”

Archie fell to the ground, like his wings couldn’t support him anymore. “Douxie—no, you’re not—”

“I’m sorry, Archie,” Douxie pleaded, “I never meant—I know I…”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Merlin growled, “Where. Is. The real. Hisirdoux.”

“I don’t know.”

Merlin grabbed him by the shirt collar. “Yes you do! You’re lying! Where have you stashed him?!”

“He’s not lying,” Zoe interjected, “He doesn’t know. He tips his head and widens his eyes when he lies.” She wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “How long?”

Douxie stared at the ground. He couldn’t look any of them in the eye either. Every dream of rescuing his parents and then continuing with Zoe and Archie was crashing down around his ears, seeming to mock him for thinking he could EVER have gotten away with it. “Eight centuries.”

Archie’s claws went in and out. “Eight centuries. I didn’t notice you were an imposter for eight centuries.”

“It was a clever enchantment,” Merlin said softly, “It bonded him to Hisirdoux as a familiar, giving you and he the same attachment—there was no way for you to tell through your familiar’s bond. The same holds true for my apprenticeship bond. I only knew because I am familiar with Morgana’s magic on a much deeper level, and he reeks of her enchantment.”

“I still should have noticed.”

Merlin tilted Douxie’s face up. “What dark purpose were you sent for, creature?”

“I was supposed to spy on you,” Douxie muttered, tearing his face away, “I was supposed to report your plans to Gunmar.”

Archie shook his head. “How could you?!” he hissed, his ears flattened, “Why—”

All of the rage and confusion that had been building up over the last few months—at Merlin, at the Order, at Morgana, at himself, finally broke loose. “It’s not like I ASKED to be a changeling,” he shouted, “It’s not like I ASKED for every single thing about me to be ripped to shreds and pieced back together! I didn’t ASK to be born in the Darklands, and I didn’t ASK to be a wizard troll, and I didn’t ASK to get torn away from my family and be told I couldn’t see them or even think about them ever again, and I didn’t ASK to be a replacement for some wizard who’s somehow oh-so-better than me in every way!” Tears dripped down his face, and he HATED it, and he hated them all looking at him. “I didn’t ask for any of this! But when the Pale Lady says she’s picked you, and you’re living in the darklands where everything is a living nightmare and Gunmar has control over everything you don’t exactly get to say ‘no thank you! I’d rather not be a changeling if it’s all the same to you!’ No one ever ASKED me if I wanted to do it, but you all act like I had any CHOICE in ANY OF THIS!”

The chains disappeared, and he thumped to the floor, wiping at his eyes, “I don’t know where Hisirdoux is,” he said in a small, broken voice, “I don’t know what Morgana is planning.”

“Do you know anything?” Archie begged, “Even the slightest hint of how he is? Is he safe?”

Douxie felt like his heart was being ripped into shreds. He sounded so worried, and Douxie knew he wouldn’t ever sound like that for him again. It didn’t matter how much time they’d spent together, how many centuries he’d been away from the real Hisirdoux. He still preferred the company of someone he’d lost long ago.

Zoe had asked why he wanted to go back to Merlin so bad when the time he’d had with her and Archie was more real.

Now he could ask her the same question.

He sniffed, looking up at Merlin. “You know how changelings’ bonds with their familiars work?” he croaked. At a nod from the old wizard, he peeled his jacket off, revealing the blue lines of stone in his flesh. He took off his shirt, too, and stared bleakly at his skin, which almost seemed more blue than pink. Archie hissed in, and Douxie shivered. “I can’t help you find him. I’m sorry.”

“Get out,” Merlin growled, “Get out of my shop.”

Douxie wriggled back into his shirt, clutching his jacket like a lifeline. “Where am I going to go?”

“I don’t care. Hopefully you’ll wander into a patch of sunlight as a troll and get turned to stone. I’m getting my apprentice back one way or another.” He leaned in, yanking Douxie up by the shirt front and pushing him out the door. “And you tell Morgana that it doesn’t matter what she is planning. After what she did to my apprentice, I will kill her myself.”

He released Douxie, pushing him away, and slamming the door in his face. Douxie felt the sun start to burn on the exposed stone lines and he slipped back into his jacket, tears running down his face. Archie hated him. Zoe didn’t even want to look at him. His mission was in shambles. He’d somehow managed to lose everyone.

Well. He could still get his parents—maybe he couldn’t live happily ever after with Zoe and Archie anymore. But he still could at least have his family. He just had to get into trollmarket. And he knew just the person.

Douxie jogged to the Nunez house, throwing rocks at the window he knew was Claire’s. Morgana wasn’t there anymore—that was good. He didn’t need her slithering around in his mind right now.

Claire opened the window, her mouth open wide. “Douxie?!” she hissed.

“I know everything,” he said in a rush, “Claire, I know you’re a shadow magician. I know about Gunmar and Morgana and Merlin and Jim. And I need you to get me into trollmarket. Please.”

Claire slid out the window. “How long…?”

“The whole time,” he confessed, “I’m a wizard, Claire. And…” she didn’t need to know about the changeling thing. “I just need one favor. One portal in. I’ll find my own way out.”

“It’s going to be crazy dangerous in there, Douxie!”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised, “Claire, please. And. Uh. Don’t tell Jim.”

She drew back. “Why?”

Douxie shifted from one foot to another. “Mmmmm Merlin wouldn’t be too pleased if he found out. Just… keep this one secret. Please?”

She hesitated, then summoned her staff to her. “Okay. Be careful, alright? I’m counting on crushing you in Battle of the Bands.”

“Heh. Okay.” Not something he’d be doing anymore, but he appreciated the sentiment.

Claire opened the portal. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, fair Claire.”

Douxie slipped through the portal and into troll market, snatching up a key that he saw. There. Way out, taken care of. He was pretty sure Dictatious would let him go if he told him the mission was going well, but just in case…

He made his way to the Hero’s Forge, where Gunmar was making Gum-Gums. In a cage in the corner was… the real Hisirdoux. Douxie’s familiar was limp on the floor of his cage, still bleeding from several recent wounds. Douxie traced the blue lines on his skin he knew matched up with the injuries. This wasn’t right. They should have known better than to harm a familiar, and besides, how could they… was this the fate in store for Zoe? “Where’s Dictatious?” he blurted.

Gunmar whirled around. “Dictatious is a traitor and a worm,” he snarled, “Tell me who you are before I rip your head off!”

Douxie held his hands up. “I’m a changeling! I was the Pale Lady’s special assignment?”

Gunmar regarded him for a moment, then growled. “I remember. Speak.”

“Dictatious promised that—that my parents would be taken care of,” Douxie stammered, “I—I wanted to see—”

“They’re dead,” Gunmar said dismissively, “Died a few years after you were sent out. Couldn’t survive in the Darklands. They were weak.”

A surge of rage swept over Douxie, and his magic responded, sending out a pulse that sent Gunmar flying backwards, and blasted open the cage in the corner. Douxie ran across the room, ripping the door of the cage off of its hinges. He picked up his unconscious familiar and slung him over one shoulder. Archie might hate him now. But he could still do this for him.

“TRAITOR!” Gunmar howled.

“You go back on your word, I go back on mine!” Douxie hissed, and he ran. Hisirdoux was heavy, but not unbearably so, and he made it to the gyre station, using the key he’d picked up earlier to escape into the sewers. Heavy stone feet pounded after him, but he had one advantage they didn’t, and the first chance he got, he surged into sunlight. Enraged howls echoed behind him, but he ignored them, charging through the streets of Arcadia.

He hesitated outside of the bookshop. They’d made it quite clear that they’d never wanted to see him again. Even if he brought back their lost friend, would they even start to forgive him?

He was about to just set Hisirdoux down, ring the doorbell, and run away, when the door was pulled open, and Zoe’s shocking blue eyes met his. “Douxie?” she asked, her voice faltering slightly.

“Hey,” he responded. He tried for his usual bravado, but his voice cracked, and he looked away. “I, uh. I found him. Gunmar brought him back from the Darklands, and… can we come in?”

She wordlessly stepped aside, and he walked in, gently putting his familiar down on a desk. Merlin was glaring at him, but moved towards his unconscious apprentice.

“DOUXIE!” Archie yowled, diving down and nudging his face.

Douxie stepped back as they crowded around the real Hisirdoux, shrinking into a corner. Why did doing the right thing feel so awful?!

When Zoe saw the injuries Hisirdoux had sustained, her hands clenched into fists, and thunder boomed outside. Rain came not long after.

“About your mission…” she started.

Hisirdoux woke up, quailing away from the hands trying to bandage his wounds. Zoe turned back to him. He flinched at the light, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Douxie?” Archie asked quietly, his voice cracking.

Hisirdoux reached a trembling hand out and clumsily pat the cat, his eyes still squeezed tightly shut. Merlin got the hint and dimmed the lights.

Slowly, carefully, Hisirdoux opened his eyes. They fell on Douxie.

And he started to scream.

“What is it?” Archie asked frantically, “What’s wrong?”

To everyone’s surprise, especially Merlin’s, Hisirdoux launched himself at the wizard, burying his face in Merlin’s armor, babbling about “his face but not his face and he got me.” Merlin patted his back, picked him up, and took him into a back room, presumably where he wouldn’t have to look at his changeling self anymore.

The sick, horrible feeling in Douxie’s stomach got worse as Archie gave him a tortured look and fled to the back room after Hisirdoux. Merlin emerged a few moments later, glaring. “I’m removing the bond between you and my apprentice,” he said stiffly, “After which you will leave and never come back. I… appreciate your rescuing of him, but you cannot stay around. It would cause him far too much distress, and recovery from his ordeal will be difficult enough as is without a visual reminder of the one who put him there in the first place.”

“I—”

Merlin waved a hand, and something seemed to go snap inside of Douxie, like a line being broken.

And fire broke out inside his veins.

When he’d been turned into a changeling, it had felt like he was being ripped apart and thrown back together. This transformation, it was different. Everything was stretching and elongating. His shoes fell off as his feet shrank, and the rest of his clothes got tight and uncomfortable as he got taller. The skin on his head split and dripped blood down his face as his horns erupted back. Douxie curled in a ball on the ground, blind with pain as his bones shifted and popped and moved in ways that human bones weren’t supposed to move. His canines popped out of his mouth of their own accord, heavy, sharp teeth meant for biting and tearing forcing their way out. He gagged on the blood, spitting it out with a whine. His feet felt like they were compressing and shrinking, like they were being shoved in too-tight shoes if those shoes were ten sizes too small and hardening all the time.

He hadn’t thought he’d miss crying, but the pain made him want to, and he just couldn’t, because his body didn’t work that way anymore and it hurt!

And then it was over, just leaving him sore and achy and clumsy and too heavy and with his body all rearranged and strange. The rain was pouring down even harder now, like Zoe had completely lost control of all her magic. She looked horrified, and he had to stop looking at her, because it hurt too much in a way that the transformation hadn’t.

Merlin waved a hand, and the door opened. “Leave. The rain will keep you from being burned by the sun.”

Douxie struggled to his feet—no, hooves, and they slipped and slid under him. He fell, and he knew if his troll body was capable of it, tears would have pricked his eyes as he tried and failed again to walk.

“GO!” Merlin yelled, and Douxie scrambled away, pulling his hood up to hide his face. He slipped and slid in the rain, half crawling and stumbling along the ground.

Where was he supposed to go?

Xxx

Merlin reentered the back room, dusting off his hands. “I’ve taken care of the changeling. How’s Hisirdoux?”

Archie shuddered. Douxie—the real Douxie—had fallen asleep, thank goodness. “Taken care of? Did you…”

“He’s alive. I’ve permanently returned him to his troll form, and he’s gone. He’ll survive.”

Archie told himself that he shouldn’t feel bad for the changeling. He’d kidnapped Douxie. He’d impersonated him for years. He’d tricked them all.

But he still felt… something. It was complicated. And hearing him scream and whimper from the other room…

No. He had his Hisirdoux back, the real one. That was what mattered.

Archie kneaded the ground with his claws anxiously. “Merlin… I’ve changed, over the last eight-hundred years since he was replaced. I’m sure he’s changed, too. What if… what if we’ve changed in different directions? And I didn’t even realize it wasn’t him with us. What if…”

“I expect getting back to some semblance of normal will take work,” Merlin responded gruffly, “You will both have to adapt to get used to this new reality. I expect I haven’t changed much at all, being asleep.”

“I think that will help. To have some kind of constant. I’m just worried…”

“Archibald. You are his familiar, and he is yours. You are linked in a way that is unexplainable, and your bond with him goes deeper than a superficial friendship. It may take some doing, but I think the two of you will be just fine. Can’t say the same for that other wizard. She’s long gone—took off after the changeling.”

Archie’s ears pricked up. “Zoe?”

“Is that her name? Yes, she left not long after, calling for him.”

Some part of Archie felt… relieved. His place was here, with the real Douxie. But the changeling… Archie had grown to love him, too, even if it had been a lie.

At least he won’t be alone.

Xxx

Douxie pulled his hoodie drawstrings tighter. He was hiding under a street, in a ditch tunnel. It was wet, and cold, and miserable.

Perfect for how he already felt.

He couldn’t even walk properly—how was he supposed to live the rest of his life in this form?

A shadow approached in the rain, and Zoe ducked under the concrete tunnel entrance, soaking wet. “Hey. You picked a hell of a place to camp out.”

Douxie hugged his knees to his chest. “I can’t go back.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Zoe shifted from one foot to the other. “Hey, uh. What I was trying to ask earlier, about your mission… was I a part of it? Was that first date on the belltower part of some plan? Was our relationship…”

“No,” Douxie replied immediately, “It wasn’t part of the plan, it was… it was the one thing I DID ask for. The one part of this stupid situation that I chose.”

“Okay. Good. I was hoping you’d say that. So… I’m thinking small-town Arcadia kind of blows. Where’s our next adventure?”

Douxie lifted his head. “What?”

“Where do you want to go next? I’ve heard Yellowstone is nice. Or the redwoods—those are even pretty close!”

Douxie’s brain short-circuited. “Wait. You… you don’t want to stay with the real Hisirdoux?”

She snorted. “I only knew him for like. Two weeks before you swapped with him. I don’t know the real Hisirdoux. I know you. I spent eight centuries with you. I fell in love with you. I’m not in love with the real Hisirdoux—I’m in love with you.”

“But I thought—all the rain—you’re not mad at me?”

“What? No! I—I was scared. I came in, and Merlin was attacking you, and Archie was taking his side, and—I was mad. I was mad because Merlin hurt you, and I was scared because you were hurting so bad and there wasn’t anything I could DO, and… I wasn’t mad at you. You can be… frustrating, sometimes, but this time… I was just scared for you.”

“So…”

She sat down next to him, lacing her hand in his much larger one. “So… what’s your real name?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I… I don’t remember. I’ve been Douxie for so long, I don’t know who I started out as.”

“K. I’ll just keep calling you Douxie, then. Where to next?”

“Isn’t it… I mean, I can’t travel in daylight now. We’d have to travel at night, or in the rain, or—”

Zoe shut him up by pulling him down by his collar and kissing him. “Good thing I like the rain.”

Douxie blinked, relatively certain that if he’d had his human form, he would be bright scarlet. “Uh. Heh.”

Zoe grinned. “So. Where to next?”

(Yay, ending! Thanks for reading, it was fun!)

#toa #tales of arcadia #douxie #zoe #archie #merlin #dalmar #swapped #toa fanfic #my fanfiction #my oc #changeling!douxie au

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