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lost-between-letters · 2 years

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Spell Work And Angels

Pairing: Castiel X Witch!Reader (he/him)

Requested by: @mother-dragon-and-her-hatchlings

Written for: my 300 follower celebration (open)

Warnings: talk of dimension jumping, magic

Word Count: 872

Summary: a powerful spell left Y/N exhausted - especially when pulled back out of it without warning. Cas was right there with him

A/N: look, if I get the opportunity to write happy cuddling, I won't pass it up. Also this one is part of Wings Wednesday (let's give the angels the love they deserve!)

Y/N had been working on the hex for most of the day. It was a tricky relocation spell, specifically constructed to retrieve a long lost book on Lucifer. The problem wasn't the book, no, his life was never that easy. Finding it had been a matter of minutes.

No, what the majority of his power was being needed for, was the moving part. Usually, Y/N could use his standard spell with which he reached through the tissue of the world and pulled. But Lucifer wasn't a complete moron; he had guarded the spicy information with just about every warding Y/N knew and a few that he didn't.

With all of his attention pulled taut on the string that was jumping dimensions, Y/N didn't notice the disturbance inside his own wardings until it was too late.

On the outside, he was uncomfortably vulnerable in his current position - his soul was drifting while his body was sitting on his couch, sweat pants clad legs crossed on the cushions with no way of protecting himself whatsoever. But his wardings were powerful enough to expel any being that wanted to cause him harm.

So when a hand on his knee pulled him back into his flat (Y/N's head felt like a yoyo snapping back into the cruel hand of the child playing with his mind), he allowed himself to merely gasp as he opened his eyes and not pull a knife on the person.

He came face to face with Castiel's deep blue eyes. His eyebrows were furrowed in concern as the angel watched his partner startle back into their reality. "Did I interrupt something critical?"

"It's all good," Y/N assured and gestured for Cas to get up from his knees and on the sofa next to him, "just a little abrupt the jump from Nigeria to over here."

"I apologize," Cas said sincerely; his eyes followed Y/N's hands while they were moving between them restlessly, "is there something I can do to ease the whiplash?"

His brain felt like coughed up jello and all of his bones were vibrating distantly so the offer sounded heaven sent. Which - if he took it literally - it was. Y/N decided that he could indulge himself a little bit. He was doing a significant part for the good side so why not reap a few of the advantages?

"Some comfort would be nice."

The words had not yet completely been spoken when Cas was already readjusting them gently, his arms wrapped around Y/N's middle to pull him closer. For once, he let it happen without trying to give something back, he simply let Cas offer him the safety of his body and dropped his head on the angel's shoulder. A moment later, Y/N was all but buried in the hug, one knee pulled up over Castiel's thighs.

He could feel Cas taking a deliberate breath before the words physically vibrated through him. "What were you working on this time?"

"Finding Lucifer's handbook and getting it back," he didn't raise his head to talk so his voice was muffled by the trenchcoat in his mouth, "damn thing is buried in enochian spell work I can't get through. I didn't even know that you guys used witch magic back then."

"It was and is really rare among the angels," Cas amended and pushed one hand under his shirt to draw slow circled on his exposed back, "but all the more powerful if combined with grace. We can have a look at it together later?"

"That would be perfect."

Castiel nodded silently and returned his attention to the cramping muscles under his fingers. With a few simple touches he pushed the tension out of them and only left a trace of a warmth Y/N could only compare to an evening fallen asleep next to the fireplace. Probably a trace of grace.

While they were lying there, enjoying the company of the other, Y/N's mind was drifting again. Back to all the times Cas was right there for him, be it a spell that drained him completely like now or a subtle touch whenever the Winchesters got too much and Y/N felt like hiding some of the nastier hex bags in the Impala. Always at his side, always with a half smile that would transform into a full blown grin whenever Y/N returned his affections.

He tipped his head to the side and pressed kisses to Castiel's jaw until he tilted his head to look down at Y/N in question.

"You're the best thing to ever happen to me, you know that?" Y/N said and kissed the side of his chin.

With his lips still lingering, he could feel the smile curling Cas' mouth upwards. "And you are to me."

"It's good that I love you then," Y/N joked and shuffled up into a sitting position.

Not that he was giving up any of the physical contact though. He simply pulled Castiel with him until he was the one leaning onto Y/N. Angels weren't plagued with back pain so Y/N decided to use that fact in favour of his own and stretched until his joints cracked.

Castiel chuckled and raised his chin. "Now that we established that, may I kiss you?"

"Please do."

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#castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x male reader #castiel x witch!reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction

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colorfulcheshire · 8 months

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WIP - Beel/MC Voyeurism [Rated: M]

Trying to get more comfortable posting WIPs, and while this is one that's been cleaned-up-but-not-finished, I still really want to post, considering how long I've been sitting on this one. and my horny beel brain won't stop going brrr but my adhd says it is Time To Stop Writing Today.

anywho, Beel/MC, MC can't stop staring at Beel while he works out. Will turn into a nice helping of oral and a main course later

hopefully will finish but idk enjoy in the meantime.

You really should feel bad for staring, or at least you keep telling yourself that despite making little to no effort to peel your eyes away from sharp outline of Beel’s pecs peeking out from the too-loose fabric of his gym tank. His skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat, small droplets running down thick, muscular arms, and all you can think about following the same path with your finger tips, and maybe also your lips and you haven’t even started your own workout yet, but gods are you feeling thirsty.

For his part, Beel seems to be entirely oblivious to the fact that he’s being ogled the way he might a fresh stack of his favorite cheeseburgers and only pauses in chugging back half his water bottle in order to wipe himself down with a cooling towel, which your eyes also take as open season to follow, if he’s going to do you the favor leading them.

“Drink.” Beel’s voice startles you out of your dazed staring just in time to catch a water bottle gently tossed your way, which you fumble for a moment, thankfully without spilling anything, before looking back up at him from your spot on the floor in flustered confusion. “Your face is red,” he adds simply.

Looking now, you can see concern evident in the knit of his eyebrows, but you don’t have the heart nor the guts to explain that he’s gotten the wrong idea, so instead, you nod a quiet thanks and uncork the lid of your water to take some rather generous gulps, glad for the cool water as well as Beel’s relieved expression when you glance at him from the corner of your eyes. Satisfied, he chugs back a few more gulps of his own water before moving to his weight bench, and you take that as your queue to set your water aside and actually start on your stretches.

Really, you’re hopeless. You’ve seen the man naked more times than anyone would be bothered to count, yet you can’t stop staring long enough to get through a single gym day with him. You fold yourself over one leg, trying hard not to think about the slight burn in your calf as you catch your flexed foot, and you wonder, perhaps, if that’s where your guilt is coming from – the fact that you simply don’t want to interrupt his workout, the workout that you’re supposed to be a part of, actually, after you finish up your stretches. You’ve been slacking, as you’re want to do in the topic of exercise, but your last text from him had been to say he missed you as his workout partner and how could you say no to that? As much as you hate all the sweating and sore muscles (and with no orgasms to make up for it, at that), working out is Beel’s second-favorite pastime next to eating, and especially compared to his brothers, it’s not like he ever asks for much outside of his bottomless food cravings at least.

So you won’t interrupt him just because you prefer to burn calories in what you might call less-productive and less-structured methods, no matter how ridiculously sexy he is dripping with sweat.

You’re just about done with your floor stretches when a strangled grunt from Beel draws your eyes upward, first, to the straining muscles in his forearms where he’s lifting a bar with a cartoonishly-thick stack of weights on either end, then to the tension in his calves where his feet are pressed flat against the floor on either side of his bench, and then, suddenly, to your surprise, to the clear shape of Beel’s cock through the too-wide hem of blue basketball shorts. Whatever you were doing or thinking before are gone now, replaced by the awareness of your tongue, heavy in your mouth, and how much you want to taste Beel’s dick.

“You’re hungry.” It’s the loud clank of weights being set back into place, rather than his voice, that startles you enough to flinch out of your now half-assed stretch, and you find that Beel’s lifted himself up from the bench to stare at you …. staring at his cock through his gym shorts.

You freeze, unable to break his stare until the sudden wave of heat radiating from your shoulders up makes your eyes water and you blink away, trying now to return shaking hands to your stretching in an attempt to act casual, because what else are you supposed to do in this situation? Even with your head ducked, however, you know your neck is burning bright red in embarrassment, and you can still feel Beel’s steady gaze on you, just making matters worse.

“Sorry,” you mumble at first, and then repeat again, more clearly. “I’m sorry, I got distracted. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. I’ll be more careful.”

There’s a beat of silence during which you expect Beel’s returned to his workout, as he’s not really one for teasing or lectures, but he surprises you with a question, sounding confused himself.

“Do you not want to?”

Risking a glance upward, he still hasn’t done anything about his overly-exposing manspread or shorts, but you force your eyes up to his to find a contemplative expression awaiting your answer, and why is it always Beel doing this to you?

“I mean–” It’s always so hard to be as honest as he is about his desires, the Avatar of Gluttony seeming to have zero filter in that regard, but you try for him, if only because it’s fair, “–I almost always want to.” Saying so out loud to Beel honestly feels dirtier than anything Asmo could get out of you, and you have to look away again, if only not to implode from heat. “I just don’t want to be a nuisance. You love working out.”

“I love filling you up even more.” He says it so matter-of-factly, but the note of hunger in his voice drops right into the pit of your stomach and pulls your every nerve to the attention of his presence and suddenly you’re downright desperate for him and you’d hate how easily he can do this to you if you didn’t also love it so much.

He catches your eyes, and for the briefest moment, you see a flash of Belphie in the way he smirks down at you before reclining back against the bench. For one confused moment, you think he’s going to return to his routine when, instead of reaching up towards the bar, his hands reach for the hem of his shorts as he lifts his hips from the bench, shimmying them just low to free his half erect cock to bob in the air as he drops his toned ass back down to the bench.

“Eat up.”

#obey me #obey me beelzebub #obey me fic #obey me wip #colorfulwip

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cookiewrites · 2 years

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as per this video

https://hoesheez.tumblr.com/post/678998500919427072

thoughts on bang chan oral fication?? like hes be REALLY good at giving head?!?! 🥴 the way he gets into it 🥵

facts though, like chan is good with his mouth, no matter what he's working with i swear i will write chan giving a blowjob one day, his lips around a cock, please and thanks. but yeah he prides himself on knowing how to use his mouth, thanks to his years of rapping and his obsession with being between your legs.

also yes oral fixation, like he always has to be chewing something or having something in his mouth, especially when he works - he started painting his nails to help prevent him from biting them as he works because he can't stand to have his mouth empty. the almost calming weight of something, anything, between his lips drives him crazy.

chan, also, is 100% the kind of guy to eat you out after sex. like he may be spent but he's not done with you yet, determined to see you cum a few more times as he gets ready for another round. he'd always act like you were delicious too, addicted to the taste, even if it was something you were insecure about.

also, really sorry it's taken me literally months to reply to this, but here we are

cleaning up

wc: 0.6k

cw: dom!chan x afab sub!reader, oral sex (reader receiving), cum play/cum eating, mentioned creampie, suggested penetrative sex but doesn't actually happen, little bit of dirty talk, pet name for reader (baby), overstimulation

'let me clean you up' chan offered, in-between tired kisses across sweaty skin. you groan in response, something near a yes, expecting him to get up and get a towel. chris had other ideas, getting back up onto his knees, smirking down at you, before crawling down the bed. spreading your shaking legs, his hands grab at your thighs, rough and demanding, pulling your core closer to his face.

'wait, chris, you don't need t-' you begin to protest, your fuzzy brain finally catching up to what he was trying to do as he leant forward - nose almost brushing your bundle of nerves.

'baby, as pretty as my cum looks inside of you...' he pauses, pulling back to look at the mess you both had made; '...we should tidy you back up before i ruin you again.'. his voice gruff, worn out through every groan and filthy whispered comment, breath warm across your core.

diving in, beginning with broad flat licks, tasting you and him mixed together - humming at the way the two of you mixed, always mix. and suddenly you're reminded of the way chan always found himself like this; head between your thighs, exploring the ways to make you cry. his mouth always finding its task in making you feel good, whether that be sucking on your thumb, chest, or clit - his lips either full of words or of you.

'c-chris, s-sensitive, f-fuck' you begin to say, words overflowing your lips as his tongue switches from these gentle strokes to attacking your clit. drawing tight figure-eights with the tip, winding you up after you'd cum not that long ago - always surprising you with how willing your body was to cum over and over, only for him. chan was switching between sucking on your clit, and dancing his tongue across it, breaking up the almost burning intensity.

the best part, though, was the way he'd almost use his tongue to scoop his cum out of you - like he was trying to clean it off of your walls, humming at its taste, the way he had almost stained you. the slight penetration dizzying.

the small hums and groans chan makes when his mouth is full are almost the tipping point, even just when he's eating there are these little noises of pleasure that shoot straight down your spine - even dirtier when the thing in his mouth is your clit.

your end approaching quickly in the overstimulation of it all, the little downtime chan gave your body showing as your grab at his curls a little harder, thighs threatening to close as he grips them a little harder, your moaned begs getting a little louder - before it all comes crashing down, your hole spasming as you feel chan smile against you.

slowly he switches back to the broad flat licks that began this whole cycle, pretending like he was truly, earnestly trying to clean you up. you shiver, trying to simultaneously push him closer, to ride out that high, and pull him away, stopping the overstimulation, the almost painful little electric shocks of pleasure. eventually, he relents, pulling back to look at you, licking his lips, trying to catch every drop of the two of you.

'all cleaned up now, my love' he says, climbing his way back between your legs, mouth dipping down to brush your ear; 'such a pity that i prefer you messy, ruined so perfectly for me.'. he laughs slightly, before moving back to kiss you, the taste of the two of you dancing on his tongue.

#stray kids chan #stray kids #skz imagine #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids drabble #stray kids smut #skz hard thoughts #bang chan #bang chan smut #chan smut

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5lazarus · 3 years

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Prompt: Snape needs an ingredient for a potion that is a complete pain in the ass to obtain. He can't buy it--he has to find it himself, and it's not going to be easy.

thank you my friend! it took me awhile, but I did it, and this one made me laugh. trying an oilier Snape in this one. Maleficari’s Mutinous Munitions: Sprout grew the wrong kind of mandrakes--mandragora, rather than English mandrakes, and no one knew that there actually was an infinitesimal difference--so Severus needs to save the day before Lockhart can. A little of Slytherin cunning, a willingness to embezzle, and a sense of spite wins the day. Read on AO3 here.

Pomona planted the wrong kind of mandrake--a mandragora, not a proper English mandrake--though none of them knew it would be the wrong kind when they reviewed the syllabus. The faculty is stunned. Severus leans back in his chair and rubs the bridge of his nose. The headache is not building yet, but he knows it will. Sure enough, Gilderoy Lockhart begins to speak. “Well, no matter,” he flourishes. Severus’ expression tightens, and he exchanges a glance with Minerva. Lockhart continues, “Now, with my fast-growing Miracle-Gro I concocted on a swift trip to the American South, asked by the natives of the colony of New Georgia to battle kudzu, their offshoot of Devil’s Snare--” “Kudzu and Devil’s Snare are completely unrelated,” Pomona says repressively, “and not to mention that you would want the opposite of growth with--” Lockhart barrels on, “My unique fertilizer will win the day for us. Never fear, colleagues! I am not just the five-times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile award--there are brains a plenty to back up the beauty.” “Brains,” Severus says, “so that is the secret to the shellac of your hair. I assumed you used a dingbat.” Minerva does not elbow him, and she does not laugh, but she does wink. Severus, of course, does not smirk back--that is his customary grimace crossing his face. Before Lockhart can offer to share hair care tips, for the price of a single smile, Severus turns to Pomona. “I will consult my suppliers in Diurn Alley. Mandrake, rather than mandragora--who wants to tell Granger there is an infinitesimal difference?” Lockhart says, “Man drakes, woman drakes, what does it matter? With my Miracle-Gro compound, your potion will hardly know the difference!”

Pomona puts her head in her hands, and the staff meeting adjourns before Severus can get nasty. Fuming, he billows down the corridor. Lockhart infuriates him. Anyone would have been better than him, anyone--the most notorious pureblood fake on both sides of the Atlantic. Surely Dumbledore could have begged Emmeline Vance to come back, or even had the staff rotate the lessons so the curse would be watered down. At least he can take some satisfaction that something nastily embarrassing will happen to Lockhart by the end of the year. Severus hopes it’s the fatal kind of embarrassing. He hopes his teeth fall out as he attempts to skewer a teenage mandrake, his earmuffs going askew as he panics, and as the mandrake screams in rage and pain Lockhart is knocked unconscious and slams his head against a wall, dying instantly. Severus smiles grimly to himself at the fantasy: but fate is not that good to him. Footsteps patter up to him, and he whirls around to see Minerva staring at him. “You need to get those mandrakes, Severus,” she says. “I will...keep Professor Lockhart entertained.” “Truly the long-suffering Gryffindor,” he returns. “I should think it’s only right we volunteer Albus for the job.” Minerva snorts. “Diabolical. He’s already left for the Ministry, to request us a permit. It’s too late.” Severus says, “The man should’ve been a Slytherin. Bastard. You take Lockhart, and I’ll have those mandrakes found, cut, and stewed by daybreak.” He beats a retreat before she can change her mind. Dumbledore will get him the permit, so Severus Floos to his flat in Diurn Alley and walks quickly and unabashedly to Knockturn Alley, where he’ll get better prices. It is always better to ask forgiveness rather than permission, he feels--every time he has asked, he has been told no, and the school cannot wait for him to scheme his way into the Ministry’s good graces. Besides, he can breathe here. The usual snarling denizens of the darker side of town eye him. A hag attempts to sell him some bile, he flicks her back and she spits at him, so he spits back. He can always use an excuse to fight, since he cannot blast Lockhart to eternity. He enters Maleficari’s Mutinous Munitions with a sneer fixed on his face and the goal to spend no more than two galleons for the whole lot. Pomona is too easily distracted by the wares, and Minerva too prone to refusing to bargain in a self-righteous huff. Only he has the mixture of silky disdain and oily flattery that can win them this--and a flagrant disrespect for the law, but that is neither here nor dare. Dumbledore is taking care of that bit, and Dumbledore never fails a promise. People, yes, he’ll perpetually disappoint, but an iron-clad vow? That Dumbledore will never break. The shopkeeper looks up and says, “Professor Snape. How good of you to peruse my wares. Might I interest you in a drink?” The drink will be poisoned, of course, that is part of the fun of Maleficari’s Munitions. Severus keeps a bezoar on his person for trips such as these. He bows slightly. “Alas,” he drawls, “I am here for business, not pleasure. You have heard of the trouble at the school?” He casts the line and waits for Maleficari to be hooked. Maleficari’s strange jeweled eyes glitter. He deals in ingredients, yes, but who doesn’t also love a bit of gossip? “Witch Weekly’s Walking Smile causing complaints?” Maleficari offers. He pours himself a steaming green shot of what seems to be wormwood liqueur mixed with ground doxy wings. Severus’ nostrils flare: but he assures himself the effects are negligible. “Professor Lockhart performs adequately by his own standards,” Severus says neutrally. “He has only deboned one student, who has no living parents to complain, and thus meets the bare minimum standard of Hogwarts classroom etiquette. But no,” he draws closer, looming over Maleficari and drinking in the scent, “I have come for other trouble. A favor for the faculty at large.” “Extracurricular?” Maleficari whispers, tongue darting quick over his lips. Severus smiles grimly. “No,” he says. “Some old magic has wakened in the school. At least two students have been found petrified solid--but their vitals in status. Old, interesting magic.” Maleficari says, “And an enigma too. You don’t know what it is yet, do you?” “The school is requisitioning five teenage mandrakes from the Ministry,” Severu says archly. “I thought I would save you the paperwork and come to you directly.” Maleficari laughs. He stares at him with his refracting diamond eyes and Severus Occludes hurriedly. He feels the Legilimancy probe, and offers up an old memory of leafing through paperwork with Albus, Minerva pacing in the background. Maleficari withdraws, and Severus looks at him expressionlessly. Most know that he is a Potions Master, some know he is an expert Legilimens, but he keeps his mastery of Occlumency to himself. “Living or dead?” Maleficari says. “I’m certain we can arrange something before the Ministry raids my stores.” Severus smirks, pays two galleons, and writes off five in his expenses. If Dumbledore knows he certainly never asks.

#snapefic #severus snape #harry potter fanfic #pro-snape #fanfic #masaotheheckindog

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laynavile · 4 years

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Hi! Heard prompts were open and I'm a bit obsessed with spideypool and their dynamics and your writing is sooo good, so I was wondering if you could write about them with maybe some roleplaying?) it can be any kind you want, make it as kinky as you want to, just pls with Peter as a bottom (I honestly can't see him as anything but) thank you so much for taking the time to take request!

First of thank you so much for the prompt, secondly 🥺🥺 thank you so much for thinking my writing is sooo good.

As soon as I read "roleplay" my brain said doctor/patient 🤷 I wrote over 2k for this prompt then scrapped it--I still have it for another time, maybe--and I rewrote it all.

Warnings : Doctor/Patient Roleplay, Size Kink (only a dash though), Come Eating (kinda? Like Wade licks Peter clean after)

Also posted on ao3 - Dr. Wilson will see you now

Enjoy 😌

"The doctor will see you now." Peter resists the urge to giggle at the silly voice Wade uses--this isn't supposed to be silly, it's supposed to be sexy.

Peter stands up from the sofa and walks down the hallway towards their bedroom, the door is open and everything looks so bright inside. The blankets have been stripped from the bed, all that's left is a single pillow--Peter had requested it be Wade's pillow so he could smell him--in a white pillowcase and a soft white fitted sheet and top sheet. If it weren't for the fact that the bed is king sized or the dresser and bedside tables--Peter could believe it was an exam room, maybe.

Wade isn't in the room, having ducked into the bathroom before Peter started down the hall, "Change into the gown and sit on the bed please, and the doctor will be in shortly." Wade half yells in that silly voice again.

Peter strips out of his jeans and t-shirt, leaving his boxers and socks on before pulling the hospital gown on, he feel a little weird--part of him is nervous, he's never really liked hospitals or doctors, another part feels silly because this all seems a little ridiculous, but mostly there is a nervous excitement pooling in his belly. He sits on the edge of the bed and waits for Dr. Wilson.

He sits there for maybe two minutes before Wade walks in. He has on a long white lab coat, a pair of dark red scrubs complete with a stethoscope around his neck--it's real too, Wade has instead on getting the real deal no matter the cost.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Parker, how are you doing today?" No more silly voice, just his normal voice if not a smidge deeper though.

"Hello, Dr. Wilson, I'm doing okay, just need my sports physical done for school, I really want to run track this year."

Wade puts on a pair of blue nitrile gloves, "Let's get to it then." He places the stethoscope onto Peter's back, "Take a couple deep breaths for me."

Peter breathes in and out a few times before Wade moves the stethoscope around on his back then to his chest. "Lungs and heart sound good."

Wade had purchased a whole set of doctors tools--a percussion hammer, an otoscope, laryngeal mirror, an opthalmoscope, a thermometer and a sphygmomanometer. Peter had asked how and why the hell he had purchased all of them and didn't even want to know how much Wade had paid for them to play. Wade had assured him the cost didn't matter and he wanted everything to be authentic.

Wade checks Peter's temperature next, then looks into his eyes--the whole time Peter can't stop thinking about how Wade has no fucking clue what he's even looking for--he checks Peter's ears and then his throat. "Hmm, I think I'm going to need to perform another test on your throat, seems a little tight in there, need to make sure nothing is swollen." Peter almost laughs.

Gloved fingers trail up Peter's calf and onto his thigh, before moving back down to his knee, "I need you to stay still for me, so I can check your reflexes." Wade picks up the percussion hammer and when Peter least expects it taps his knee, "Excellent." He does the same to the other knee.

Wade takes Peter's blood pressure and he almost complains then--those fucking cuffs get tight.

"I need you to remove your underwear now please, I need to perform a testicular exam as well as a prostate exam."

"Are those necessary for a sports physical?" They'd talked about this, about how it would become sexual and how Wade wanted Peter to ask questions and be apprehensive about the below the belt portion of the exam.

"Absolutely, we need to be sure there are no abnormalities, an unhealthy prostate can lead to urinary issues." And Peter knows that's actually true, he also knows that there is nothing wrong with any part of his body--another perk from the radioactive spider bite, he doesn't get sick.

"You are the doctor and you know best so I guess it's okay." Wade steps back and let's Peter stand. He pulls his underwear down, letting them slip down his legs onto the floor.

"Thank you, now if you would I need you to lie down on your back."

Peter's stomach churns as he lays down, he can smell Wade on the pillow and that comforts him. "Like this?" He asks softly.

"Just like that." Wade's gloved fingers touch his thigh first, sliding upward towards his soft cock. The gloves feel strange--foreign against the skin of his balls, Wade holds them between his fingers, pressing softly, rolling them in his hand. "Feels normal."

He traces the head of Peter's cock with one finger tip and hums.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, no need to worry, I just need to see." He lifts the gown, folding it up and over onto Peter's belly when the cool air of the apartment touches his cock, he shivers.

Wade takes Peter's soft shaft into his hand, fingers wrapped around it, "Tell me, Mr. Parker, have you experienced any difficulty in getting an erection?"

"No, not at all, but Dr. Wilson, what does that have to do with running track?"

"Sexual health is important, you're young, still developing, we need to make sure everything is working." Wade pauses, looks into Peter's eyes, silently asking if he's okay, Peter nods and Wade continues, "I'm going to need a semen sample."

"Y-you want me to jerk off?" He feigns confusion.

"If you'd rather, otherwise I can stimulate you and collect the sample that way."

"You want to do that? I-is that something you can do?" Peter's cock twitches in Wade's hand.

"After the prostate exam, if you'd like me too."

Peter blushes--he's not embarrassed to be doing this with Wade, he's embarrassed because they sound like a cheesy, bad porno. "Thank you, Dr. Wilson, that would be very helpful."

Wade smiles, and reaches over to the bedside table to grab something Peter hadn't noticed before, a white and blue tube of surgical lube. "I need you to bend your knees, feet flat onto the bed, and let your legs fall open naturally."

Peter moves, he feels so exposed to Wade, it excites him.

He squirts a small amount of the lube onto one of his gloved fingers, he rubs the lube against Peter's hole, before applying more lube to two of his fingers. "Try to relax, breathe slowly and evenly." He presses the tip of one finger inside Peter's tight hole.

He tries so hard to relax, but it feels so good and Wade has barely even penetrated him yet. His cock instantly begins to fill.

"Perfectly natural reaction." Wade says as he slides his finger further into Peter--he knows how much Peter can take and how quickly--after a few moments of adjusting Wade begins to work his second finger inside Peter.

He whines, totally involuntarily. "Tell me, Mr. Parker, are turned on by anal penetration?"

"Yes." He whispers.

“Can I tell you a secret, Mr. Parker?”

“Uh, sure.” He says, voice cracking slightly when Wade touches his prostate.

“It turns me on too, especially when I’ve got a gorgeous twink like you beneath me.”

Peter gasps, in fake shock but more so from the pressure Wade is applying to his prostate, his thumb pressing against Peter’s perineum. “Dr. Wilson, i-is that an appropriate thing to say to your patient?”

“Probably not, no, but I think you like it. Just look at how hard you are.” He picks the lube up with his free hand popping the flip cap and squeezing it directly onto Peter’s throbbing, drooling cock. He wraps his gloved fingers around Peter’s shaft--Peter’s hips jerk up chasing friction.

Wade pumps his fingers in and out, alternating between applying lighter and harder pressure against his prostate. Peter gets progressively louder the longer Wade strokes his cock, and fucks him with his fingers. “Mr. Parker I think we need to find a way to occupy your mouth, you’re getting a bit loud, we wouldn’t want to draw anyone’s attention, now would we? You’re liking this too much to stop now.”

Peter bears down on Wade’s fingers, hips jerking, “No, no, please don’t stop, Dr. Wilson. I can be quiet, I promise.” Peter begs, he doesn’t want Wade to stop.

“Next time you get loud, I’m gonna have to shove something in your mouth, Mr. Parker.”

This too is something they’d talked about, they both love when the other gets loud, they want to hear all the noises, but in this specific scene, Wade had suggested maybe they keep quieter, pretend there were other people in the office that could hear them and catch them--Peter had never really thought of himself as an exhibitionist, but the simple idea of other people hearing them, seeing them, catching them, turned him on more than he thought possible.

“I’ll be good, I promise, Dr. Wilson, oh, oh, fuck.” Peter tries so hard to stay quiet, but Wade is just too good, he knows exactly how to touch Peter to get him off. Peter practically writhes. He loses it when Wade pushes a third finger into him, his rim stretches and it burns a little, but the pressure of three fingers inside of him feels incredible. He wants more, and he wants it now, but he doesn’t want to upset Wade by ending this too quickly.

“Mr. Parker, what did I say?” Wade releases his cock, and pulls his fingers out of Peter, his hole clenches over and over trying to close onto something solid again.

“No, no, I’m sorry.”

Wade pulls the gloves off and tosses them, they land somewhere on the floor. He pulls his scrub pants down just enough that his cock springs free, Peter practically drools at the sight--Wade is big, like so fucking big that the first time they fucked Peter was convinced it was never going to fit, now he can get Wade’s entire cock down his throat. But it’s not just Wade’s size that makes Peter drool--a lot of people are turned off by Wade’s scars and while Peter isn’t fetishizing them, he finds them sexy, and it’s not just the way they make his skin look so unique, it’s the feeling of them, everyone always seems to think Wade’s scars will be rough and flaky or whatever, and yeah there are days where his skin gets extra dry and can crack and bleed and hurt really bad, but most days his skin is so soft, like silky almost, they’re raised up enough that Peter feels them constantly when they’re having sex and he loves it. Wade is always so self-conscious about them, Peter always tells him how beautiful he is, how handsome, how incredibly sexy.

Wade climbs onto the bed with Peter, next to his head, he nudges his cock head against Peter’s lips, leaving pearlescent smudges. “Open up, Mr. Parker.”

Peter’s lips part, Wade feeds his cock into Peter’s willing mouth. His tongue swirls around the head as it passes over his tongue.

When the head of his cock touches the back of Peter’s throat and he doesn’t gag, Wade praises him, “Good, very good, Mr. Parker. I don’t know why I was ever worried there might be something wrong with your mouth or throat.”

Peter doesn’t want to stop this, he really doesn’t but he’s getting impatient--he wants dicked down, and he wants it now.

Peter pushes Wade back, his cock pops out of Peter’s mouth--a string of saliva connects his lip to the tip. “Fuck, fuck, Wade, I’m sorry, chicken salad.”

They’d agreed on an outrageous safe word for this specific scene, normally they just used the colors, but for this they’d decided to have a different word as well to signify that they wanted to end the specific scenario but not end the sex.

Wade backs off, “No, baby boy, no need to apologize. That’s what the word is for, you okay though? Color?”

“Green, Wade, so fucking green. I need you to fuck me now.”

Wade kisses him before moving to strip, Peter grabs his wrist, stopping him.

“What are you doing, get your cock back here and fuck me.”

“Lemme get naked, Webs.”

“Nuh-uh. Just because I wanted to stop, doesn’t mean I want you to take the outfit off, it’s hot on you, besides, I sorta really wanna ruin it.”

“Say no more, baby boy.” Wade climbs between Peter’s legs, kneeling with his thighs on his calves, he pulls Peter down to him, lifting his legs up over Wade’s thighs to wrap around his hips. He grabs the surgical lube, spreading it over his spit slick cock.

“Hurry up.”

“Don’t rush perfection, baby boy.” Wade pushes inside and both moan.

Peter immediately starts trying to fuck himself down onto Wade’s cock, Wade grabs his hips, pulling him and pushing him--rhythm the opposite of his thrusts so that he never truly pulls out of Peter.

“Fuck, Wade.” Peter grabs at Wade, blunt fingernails bite into the muscular flesh of Wade’s biceps.

Wade’s thrusts become a bit erratic--he’s going to come, Peter’s sure of it.

“Come on, Wade, gimme your cum, fill me up.” He bears down. One of Peter’s hands leaves Wade’s bicep, to wrap around his neglected cock, his strokes are lazy and slow, he wants to feel Wade’s cum, hot inside of him before he orgams.

One, two, three, five, six, seven, ten, eleven, twelve, on the thirteenth thrust, Wade pushes in deep--he’s coming. Peter can feel it, hot and wet inside of him. Wade moans out a mixture of Peter’s name and fuck.

Peter starts stroking faster, Wade stills for a moment before picking up speed again, fucking into Peter quick and hard.

“Ah, ah, Wade, ‘m gonna come, fuck.” Peter’s thumb swipes across the head of his cock, he squeezes lightly, the first spurt makes it all the way to his chest. When all is said and done his hand and lower belly are quite messy. Wade hasn’t stopped thrusting, though now the movements are very small, he takes Peter’s messy hand into his own and begins licking it clean. Once his hand is sufficiently cleaned off, Wade slowly slides out of Peter, then down onto the bed, licking Peter’s chest and belly clean. He moves lower, gentle little kitten licks on the head of Peter’s spent cock, then lower still to Peter’s aching, puffy, hole--he laps hungrily at his spunk as it leaks out of Peter. He eases his tongue inside, making sure to get it all. Peter trembles beneath him, moaning half pleasured, half pained.

Wade sits up, looks at Peter, licks his lips, “Love you, baby boy.”

“Love you too, Wade, now get naked, and cuddle me.” Peter is somewhat grateful the hospital gown Wade had purchased was one with just ties on the back, he slips out of it easily.

Wade climbs off the bed, nearly falling flat on his face, he drops the lab coat to the floor, pulls the scrub top over his head and tosses it, he pushes the scrub pants down his legs and steps out of them. He crosses the room and pulls open one of the dresser drawers and pulls out a fleece blanket, he grabs Peter’s pillow from the chair in the corner and goes back to the bed, he lays Peter’s pillow next to his own, he lays down and drapes the blanket over them both. Peter snuggles up to him laying his head on Wade’s chest and yawns.

“Aw, did I tucker you out, Webs?”

Peter laughs, and yawns again. “I think so, doctor.”

Wade laughs before kissing the top of Peter’s head. “Get some rest, baby boy. Doctor’s orders.”

He’s just starting to fall asleep when suddenly, “Oh, shit, Wade, did I pass my sports physical?”

"Sure, baby, you passed."

"Good, oh and next time, I get be the doctor." Peter laughs, sleepily.

Wanna send me a prompt? Check my pinned post for details.

One more thing if anyone can figure out where the safe word came from, I will love you forever 😂

And a word of warning, I know fuck all about medical stuff so like quite inaccurate on that front, though all the tools mentioned are real, I did a little research.

#alayna answers #anon answered #alayna writes #spideypool #doctor/patient #roleplay #size kink #come eating #nff #alayna is taking prompts #will be posted on ao3 once i think of a title #as always no beta so all mistakes are my own

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 5 years

Link

Ok. So I did something. I completed this fic last month but there were some scenes that I couldn’t stop thinking about, that I’d outlined but had not completely written out. So I ended up writing them out as one shots, just to get them out of my brain. I had such a good time being back in this AU I decided to go ahead and post this to share it with you. So here’s the “deleted scene” of Baz convincing Simon to move into his flat. My thanks to all of you who have been so supportive and encouraging about this fic!

Chapter 17

Baz

I pick up Simon directly from the care home.

He’s pleasantly disheveled. Shirt untucked. Bronze curls drooping over his forehead. A bright spot of paint on his cheek that I can imagine licking off.

Fuck. Where did that thought come from?

Simon slides into the passenger seat and his bright grin brings a flare of heat to my chest. He’s the sun and I can’t keep myself from crashing into him.

I’m leaning towards him before I even think it through and he meets me halfway over the center console, lips sliding against my own, his breath sighing against my skin.

Fingertips trail heat along my jaw as he pulls back and that stray spot of paint folds into one of his dimples as he smiles at me. “Where are we going? You didn’t say.”

“Thought we’d head to your place. Let you get changed.”

“Being mysterious, are we?”

I arch a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know my nefarious plans for you, Snow?”

Simon shoves my arm. “Shut up, you barmy git. It’s only nefarious if you don’t plan on taking me out to eat. I’m starved.”

“You’re always starved, Simon.” I regret the words the minute they come out of my mouth. Because they’re true. They always have been true, but I know the background far better now than I did at Watford.

I know why he was always so painfully thin at the start of term. Why he’d be the first in the dining hall and the last to leave. Why it took weeks for him to fill out again, to lose the gauntness that haunted him in the early days of autumn.

Fucking care homes.

The touch of his hand on my forearm brings me back to the present. “You’re right, I am.” His fingers squeeze through the fabric of my coat. “Stop thinking so hard, Baz.” Simon pats his stomach with his other hand and laughs. “I’ve gained enough weight these past few weeks I should probably back off the snacks a bit. I’ll not fit in my clothes and I can’t be wearing trackies to work all the time.”

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. It comes so effortlessly to him, setting others at ease. Setting me at ease

We drive in silence, Simon’s hand still resting lightly on my forearm. I shift gears and navigate through the busy traffic to get to his flat.

I’ve spent the afternoon at my place. I tidied up the spare room, made it look more like a bedroom and less like an office. The desk is clean. The bed is made. The wardrobe has ample space and the contents of the chest of drawers have been parceled out to other locations.

There are two large, empty suitcases stashed away in the boot of my car. The backseat of the Jag should accommodate the rest of his meagre belongings.

I’ve not been sleeping well since we’ve come back. The time change is the likeliest culprit but my looming departure isn’t helping matters any.

Neither is Simon’s living situation.

I’d spent half the night pacing in my room, formulating this plan and rehearsing the words to convince him to agree to it. I still don’t know if he will. If Simon Snow is anything, it’s stubborn.

I miraculously find a parking spot near his building again. That in itself says more about the dodginess of this neighbourhood than the boarded-up buildings or piles of rubbish by the bins.

Simon’s already on his way to the front door when he realizes I’m not following. I’ve flipped the boot open and I’m hauling out the two large cases I retrieved from storage earlier today.

“What’re you doing? Moving in?” He looks amused but puzzled.

Here we go.

“Moving you out.”

“What?”

“I’m moving you out of here.”

“You most certainly are not.”

“Can we discuss this upstairs please, Simon? Preferably while we pack?”

“You can’t be serious, Baz.”

I slam the boot of the car shut and extend the handles of the suitcases, bumping them along the cracked sidewalk past him. He trails after me, hands in his coat pockets and that mutinous expression I know so well on his face.

He unlocks the front door and stomps up the steps, leaving me alone to navigate the cramped staircase with the two unwieldy bags thumping and knocking along behind me.

I’m panting by the time I reach his floor, sweat rolling off my forehead. And the bags are empty at the moment, not as heavy as they’ll surely be once they’re filled with his belongings.

If they’re filled with his belongings, my brain reminds me. He’s not agreed to anything yet.

I drag myself in and set the cases aside. Simon shuts the door behind me and then leans against it, arms crossed, brow creased. He looks at me expectantly. “Care to clarify this for me?”

I close my eyes. My well-thought-out midnight speeches have abandoned me. All that comes out is “I think you should stay at my place.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” He looks genuinely perplexed.

“Because you can’t stay here.”

“I jolly well can stay here. I’ve lived here for six months, Baz. It’s fine.”

“It most certainly is not fine. I can’t stand the thought of you living here, Simon.” His expression darkens and I know I need to choose my words wisely. Now is not the time to use the word ‘squalid’ even if it is the most appropriate one to come to mind. I shove my hands in my pockets so he can’t see me clench my fists. I need to try a different approach.

“My flat is empty. There’s no one there.”

“I can’t stay at your flat, Baz!”

“And why not?

Simon splutters and blusters. “I just . . . I can’t do that.” His face flushes. “I’ve got a lease here. I can’t afford to leave this place.”

“It’s not about the money.”

Error, my brain shouts at me. Way to fuck it up, Basilton.

Simon pushes off the wall, eyes flashing. “It most certainly is about the money.” His eyes narrow. “I know this might be hard for you to understand, considering your background and all, but I’ve got finite resources. A limited budget. This fits my needs and I can’t just go buggering off to live in Chelsea on a fucking whim, Baz. I can’t do that.” Simon’s chin juts out and he looks away, his voice dropping. “I can’t afford that.”

“I don’t expect you to have to afford it. I told you—it’s sitting empty.”

He’s drawing himself up now, as tall and straight as he can, fists clenched at his sides. His chin juts out even more, and fuck it all, I know this expression. Why is he being so bloody stubborn?

“I’m not taking charity from you, Baz. I’ll not do that.” That’s why he’s being so fucking stubborn. I predicted this, I thought this out last night and I’ve made a bollocks of the whole proceeding.

My shoulders slump. “Please, Simon. Just do it for me. If I have to be away, at least this way I’d know you were somewhere safe.”

The fire goes out of his eyes but he’s still taut and rigid in his stance.

I keep going. “You’d be doing me a favour, looking after my place.”

The skeptical look is back. “Didn’t you tell me Fiona takes care of your place?”

I curl my lip. “Poorly. You’ve met her. How good an idea do you think it is, having her be responsible?”

He shakes his head. “You’re just saying that. You wouldn’t have let her do it in the first place, if you didn’t trust her.”

He’s right and it’s bloody irritating.

This day is getting away from me and I never intended to spend it arguing with Simon. My plans had focused more on snogging than snark.

Desperation is creeping in. “I’ll tell Bunce where you live.”

He scoffs. “She already knows.”

“Has she visited you here?”

Silence.

“Has she?”

“No.”

“I’ll send her photos of the rats and the rubbish bins, shall I?”

“You wouldn’t.”

I tap a finger to my lip. “To be honest, a Google street view would likely suffice. She’ll terrify someone into flying her over to move you out of here.”

“You don’t even know how to get in touch with her, Baz. Stop bluffing.”

“All it would take is a call to Watford to request her contact information. The alumni department is quite accommodating.”

“You bloody arsehole.” His fists are tightly clenched and his face is red. I can practically feel the heat radiating off Simon from here. “Why are you doing this?”

I step across the space between us and put my hands over his fisted ones. I lower my head, just a breath between our faces now. I rub his knuckles with my thumb and then gently rest my forehead against his. “Please.” It’s just a whisper. “I’ll never survive in New York if I know you’re in this manky flat all alone.” My hands slide up his arms, to his shoulders, to his face, cupping his cheeks as I gaze into the intense blue of his eyes. “Please, Simon.”

I can feel the tension in him, the tautness of his shoulders, his posture rigid. I don’t know how to break through that. I stroke his cheekbone with my thumb and tilt my head down. “Please.” I whisper that word as I bring my mouth to his, slide my lips along the chapped contours of his own, sink into the warmth of his touch, his tongue, his taste.

Simon’s arms slip around me, pulling me closer, tracing their way up my back. His mouth moves on mine, his breath catching, my fingers tangling in his hair.

He pulls back a moment later to breathe words into the space between us. “Why do you have to be so fucking persuasive, you twat?”

I bury my face in his hair, breathe in the scent of him, closing my eyes so he can’t see the depth of emotion in me. The glimmer of hope that he’s actually going to let me do this.

But, being Simon, he can’t help arguing the point. I should have known.

“I don’t want to mess up your flat, Baz.”

“You’re not going to mess up my flat.”

“You like things neat. You know I’m a disaster.”

“Ah, but now you’re my disaster, aren’t you, Simon?” His lips find mine again and my day is finally on track, as far as the snogging is concerned.

It unfortunately can’t last, as we have a flat to pack up.

Simon keeps bickering with me, even as I fold his clothes into neat piles and he sorts through the detritus on his desk and nightstand.

“You should at least let me pay you rent.”

“Why would I have you pay me rent? The whole point is having a place you can afford, that’s safe and sanitary.”

“I do clean, you know.”

I groan. “I know you do. How about we compromise on tastefully decorated and not in a dodgy neighbourhood? Is that better?”

Simon just grunts in response, but he starts placing his clothes in the empty suitcases so I know I’ve won this round.

“I’ll call Father’s solicitor Monday. It shouldn’t be problem to get you out of this lease.”

“I can’t afford a solicitor, Baz.”

“It’s just Percy. He’s Father’s cousin. He doesn’t charge for family business.”

“This isn’t family business!”

I glare at him. “If you’re moving into my flat, to house-sit for me while I’m in America, it damn well is family business.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“And you’re exasperating, Simon, not to mention exceedingly stubborn. Now come on, we’ve not got all night and I seem to remember you whinging about needing to eat.”

His stomach audibly rumbles at my words. I can’t help but laugh.

Simon shakes his head, face flushing, but he doesn’t fuss at me this time. He picks up another heap of t-shirts and tosses them into the open suitcase.

Good.

It doesn’t take us long to sort his belongings. Simon really doesn’t have much. There are a few rickety cast-offs from when he lived with Bunce. I offer to put the items in storage for him but he scoffs at the suggestion. The rest of the furniture came with the flat.

We trundle down the stairs, the suitcases banging and bumping along behind us. I get them loaded in the car and then we go up to fill some boxes—books and personal items, shampoos and soaps and such.

I take a last look around his bedroom. It’s bare and stark, all the colourful items that made it Simon’s stowed away. All that’s left is a cracked mug on the nightstand and a thick candle set by it.

Simon comes in to do one last sweep of the wardrobe and chest of drawers. His finger reaches out to touch the candle. It’s half burned down, not really worth the effort to bring it along, but he picks it up and gently wraps it and the stand it was sitting on in a bit of newspaper, before carefully tucking it in the last box.

Odd.

He shuts the door behind us and exhales. His eyes find mine. “You’re sure about this, Baz? You’re not just doing this to be kind? I mean, I know you’re doing it to be kind, but . . . you know what I mean?” He’s headed for a bluster again.

I raise my eyebrows and smirk. “Now when have I ever been known to show any signs of kindness, Simon? I’m desperately in need of a reliable house-sitter. No kindness to it at all. You’re the one doing me a favour.”

“You are such a terrible liar.” Simon knocks his shoulder into mine. “You’re going to let me pay for the utilities or the deal is off.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. But for the love of God, don’t keep the thermostat down to save money.”

“Why not? I can always just throw another jumper or hoodie on, if it gets cold.”

“You’re truly impossible.”

“You like me anyway.”

“That I do, Simon. That I do.”

I feel as if I’m leaving a weight behind me as we pull away from the kerb and Simon’s old neighbourhood fades away in the dimming light.

“So do you want to go out to eat or should we just get kebabs from the corner shop?”

“Kebabs sound brilliant. I’m famished.”

Of course he is.

Simon’s hand finds mine where it sits on the gear shift. His warm fingers rest against the back of my hand and it feels like something clicks into place.

It’s going to be an awful wrench leaving him behind.

I’ll likely be up all night thinking of ways to let myself stay, even though I know that’s wildly unrealistic. I’ll be on that flight two days from now, whether I want to be or not.

And he’ll be here.

Surrounded by my things. And somehow that brings me a spot of comfort.

Simon

I don’t know why I let him convince me. I know it’s not like I’ll be living with him but it feels more intimate than simply house-sitting.

I can’t say my heart didn’t leap when he suggested it. That the thought of moving into a place imbued with Baz didn’t hold a significant appeal.

That it would be the closest thing to being with him, when he was so far away.

But I don’t hold with charity. I’ve made my own way since I was a kid. I don’t need handouts from anyone, particularly not Baz.

Not because he’s posh or well-off or any of that. That’s part of it. But mostly because I’m strict about doing things on my own.

We’re embarking on something here and I don’t want that clouded with obligation or debt. Or a sense of duty.

One thing I can say about Baz—he’s impossible to argue with when he has his mind set on something. We wrangled about it for long enough at my flat. And he’s right. I don’t really have a good reason other than I don’t want to feel indebted and I don’t want this to make things weird with us.

Or with his family. He called Fiona from the bloody car, to tell her I’d be moving in and she wouldn’t have to come round and check on the flat for him anymore.

He had her on speaker which was excruciating.

“I’ll not have to come around? Are you daft, Baz? Who’s going to check on Snow?”

“I don’t need checking on,” I whisper-hiss at Baz.

“Shut up, Snow. I can hear you. Of course you need checking on, you absolute numpty. You’ll never figure out Baz’s coffee machine without me.”

“Don’t drink coffee,” I mutter.

“You will once you try this machine. Does the whole frothy cappuccino thing, it does.”

Baz interrupts her. “Fiona, would you stop nattering on about the coffeemaker, for Christ’s sake. I’m telling you Simon is going to be house-sitting. I’ll leave your number with him, in case he needs anything or something goes balls up at the flat. But other than that, you are off the hook. Freed of responsibility for the place.”

“No loud parties or orgies, Snow. The neighbours are all stodgy old blue-hairs. Leave it to Baz to move to Chelsea and find the most geriatric and bland living establishment in the whole place.”

“Shut up, you hag. Not all of us are pretentious enough to think we’re hip and trendy just by virtue of living in Notting Hill.”

“I swear I don’t know how you turned out to be such a boring twat, Baz. All my effort come to naught.” She grumbles inaudibly for a moment and then resumes. “Call me when you get back home tonight, you besotted knob-head. Ta ta, Snow. I’ll see you around. Don’t run out of coffee. You never know when I’ll show up. That’s a warning and a promise.”

“Fiona. I swear by all that’s holy . . .” Baz starts but she’s already rung off. He turns to me. “Don’t worry about her. She’ll be traveling for work half the time or out at the clubs with her chavvy boyfriend and his mates. She won’t bother you.”

“You’re sure?” I think Fiona may be the most daunting thing about this move into Baz’s place.

“I’m sure. She barely went around when it was her job, she’ll be damned unlikely to do it if she knows someone’s doing the work for her. Trust me. She’ll be glad to be relieved of any latent responsibility.”

I hope he’s right.

Baz

It’s an odd paradox, having Simon in my flat, seeing his clothes hanging in the wardrobe, his shoes by the door, his toiletry bag on the bathroom counter. The feeling of having him around is so familiar, even if the surroundings have changed.

It may not be our old room at Watford but somehow, he fits here just the same.

#carry on #travel AU #can't find my way home #simon snow #baz pitch #my writing

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hoopdiddies · 5 years

Text

I'm Not Over You // Ben Hardy x Reader (Part 5)

A/N: Oh gosh, my stomach hurts. Question: Was it unlawful of me to pour the milk in before the cereal?

Anyway, enjoy part 5, I'll get to writing 6 by the time the bacteria in my digestive tract stop roughhousing uwu

Summary: You had always loved Ben ever since you two met in university and became the best of friends. That feeling went out like a candle flame when the two of you parted ways until he re-entered your life...but this time with someone who has already occupied his heart.

Warnings: Mentions of drinking and alcohol, angst, fluff and (jealousy?)

Word count: 3177 (oops?)

Tags: @mickmoon @ziggyspurplehaze I honestly need more people to permanently tag in this series, please let me know 😁

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

"What the hell, Y/N? Did you lose your way into the place?" One of your colleagues snigger at your delay in finding them. Eager to get this night done, you brush off his comment and pull out a seat next to him, finding yourself looking over where Ben is seated. Not a text or a call from him that would have 'warned' you that he'd be out for a drink in the exact same place you thought would help you eradicate 'that' problem. In hopes he wouldn't catch you or take heed of your presence, you turn away and participate in ordering your drinks, suppressing the urge to glance over your shoulder and blow your cover.

The waiter arrives with your orders and the rest holler in satisfaction as he distributes your drinks. You've ordered a martini but just because you decided to start with something light doesn't mean you'll stick with it in the following hours. It's just one night anyway, what have you got to lose?

Later on, Joe arrives at the pub alone, scrutinizing the place from top to bottom before marching in, straightening the collar of his button up shirt as his eyes rove every occupied table just to find you. To your demise, a large hand rests upon Joe's shoulder and spins him around, the hand belonging to an astonished Ben with a glass of whiskey in hand. "Mate! You're here!"

Joe's nonchalant expression flits into a surprised one at that, a little concerned on the inside since he knows you're here as well and he hasn't found you yet. "Ben, buddy! Great to see you again. " He throws an arm around Ben and pats his chest.

"You're back in London, what brings you here?" Ben asks, raising a thick, disheveled brow at him. Joe trails his bottom lip subtly with his finger as he debates on telling the truth or not, taking in account that you're here with your colleagues and nowhere did you mention anything about being with Ben.

But he just doesn't feel like lying to him, and so with a sincere apology reserved for you, he replies, "Y/N invited me over."

The crinkles under Ben's eyes fade out and he allows a stiffened sigh to slip past his lips with almost nothing more to add. "She's here?"

Joe nods as a matter of fact

"You two on a date?" The question sounds forced coming from Ben and Joe did not see that coming. He had forgotten that you had projected a fake relationship with him during Ben's birthday and now it came back hitting him like a mallet. He scratches the bridge of his nose awkwardly, avoiding Ben's scouring gaze. "Y-yeah, I gotta go find her, bud. We'll catch you later." In utter haste, Joe firmly pats Ben's shoulder before whisking past him to continue his search for you, leaving Ben standing a feet away from his own table, chewing over his thoughts. He snaps out and returns to his own circle, prompted to turn his head around the place to find you.

"Yes, I need another one of this!" You demand bluntly, slamming the seventh shot glass you've drunk from on the table but not hard enough to shatter it. You really stuck to your thoughts about intending to subject yourself to intoxication. Although it's not the best way to let go of everything that's bugging you, it was tempting. And besides, a little fun wouldn't harm you entirely, right?

Three out of six of you have indeed succumb to the influence of alcohol, and the sober half is trying to get you momentary drunkards upright, one of which is you who is getting real squirmy. "Y/N, I think you've had enough." Debbie, one of your sober colleagues, stop you from getting another shot.

"I think nooot." Your speech is becoming slurred as you prop your elbows on the table, grinning mindlessly.

"Please, this isn't becoming-"

"Let me handle her." A certain redhead volunteers from behind you, making Debbie's brows perk up as she suddenly recognizes Joe.

"Hey. Um, sure. She's had too much already and it's concerning."

Joe nods with a crooked smile and peeks at you over your shoulder with his hands positioned on either side of your arms. "Y/N, hey. You alright? "

You whip your head at Joe too quickly and end up headbutting him by accident. The both of you yelp at the impact but you recover easily, your droopy eyes widening a little as you recognize Joe, who's rubbing and squinching from the bump. "Heyyy, you're late." You giggle and pinch his pale cheek, leaving a faint mark.

Joe chuckles softly yet briefly and he sweeps your ends of your hair off your shoulder. "I'm sorry, got stuck in traffic."

"That's not nice."

"Look, Y/N, you're drunk. I think I may have to skip joining your 'party' and take you out of here." He says, worry filling his eyes but you whine childishly and slump on your seat, a pout on your lips. "I just want one more shot, just one more, no more no less."

"Y/N, come on," he looks down at you in all seriousness and is not taking any of that drunken stubbornness tonight. You angle your head to one side, eyes heavy and skin flushed from the heat produced by all the drinking, staring plainly at Joe whose expression could serve as a plea to you.

You sigh inwardly. "Nope."

To your inconvenience, your adamancy would now lead to something unwanted, something Joe reluctantly just thought of. "Okay, I might not get you to budge. Your boyfriend can't make you, right?" Joe presses his lips together and his brows arch teasingly. You shoot a rather lazy yet baffled smirk at him and he shrugs apologetically. "But your best friend might." He turns around and marches to get Ben but of course, being drunk, it takes a good minute for Joe's plan to sink in to your brain.

Not a minute later, he returns true to his word with Ben looking uneasy from worrying. He had to willingly excuse himself from Rosy and his friends to come to Joe's 'rescue'. Ben asks politely if the chair next to you is taken and Debbie shakes her head, gesturing for Ben to sit down. He does yet despite with him and Joe flanking you, you remain hard-headed, snapping your squint at Ben who's got his arm positioned on your shoulder. "Oh. What are you doing here?" You put a mean emphasis on your words.

"I didn't know you were here as well, but regardless, you're sozzled."

"So? That's my problem." The drunk sass could never be any clearer.

Ben sighs and glances shortly at Joe who responds with a clueless shrug.

"I don't want to comment on that but please, you need to rest. You've had too much. " Squeezing the side of your arm gently, Ben tries to reason out with you. You roll your eyes at him deliberately, sniffling as you flick a finger at him. "This is just one night. Don't act like you-" you trail off for split second, feeling your stomach boil as nauseatic feeling hits you like an omen. Joe takes notice of the abrupt discomfort on your face and asks. "Y/N, is everything alright-" Restricting him from finishing his question, you push Joe and Ben aside and sprint to the lavatory, miraculously pinpointing it in spite of your current incapability to make a beeline. Fortunately, the stalls are flat-out empty and you shove one open, flipping the toilet seat up and vomiting into it.

Joe and Ben excuse themselves from your table and scurry to the women's room, considering to look away in advance in case the room is jam packed with girls which is not the case as of now.

"Anyone here?" With his head turned away, Joe asks indecisively to which he doesn't get a reply, affirming the bathroom's lack of users, except for you. He and Ben saunter in and call out for you. You've slumped up against the door after regurgitating, overcome with fatigue and sweat. You hear their murmurs but you don't bother to fish for their attention, however your heavy breathing would give you away, which it has.

Ben knocks on the door you're against, cooing your name before falling quiet and hearing your uncontrolled breathing pattern. He nods at Joe and slowly swings it open, your tired body following the movement of the door as it creaks ajar to reveal you. Joe scoops you up on your feet as Ben drapes your other arm around his neck, allowing your weight to be equally distributed. "That's it, we're really taking you home." Peering down at you, Ben softly reprimands. In his eyes, you were never one to have this kind of excess overwhelm you. He always knew you for occasionally turning down invitations to drinks and now you've got him wondering what goaded you to drink heavily.

"I think I should take it from here, buddy." Joe suggests, shifting your body closer to his.

"Mate, she's really limp. I need to-"

"Temporarily. You need to get back to your table and your girl. She must be wondering why you've taken so long."

Ben mulls over it and the redemption he would have had for not finding the time to hang out with you. He's conflicted between leaving to accompany his fiancee and staying to take care of you. But Joe's the 'boyfriend' and to him it would be unfair. And so with a sad sigh, he removes your arm from his shoulder and tips your head back to clear your flushed face of hair, nearly planting a kiss on your mouth by mistake– however agonizingly tempting for a moment– and wincing as he draws back to kiss your forehead, hoping Joe didn't notice which of course he did, and he's trying his best to prevent a smile from twitching on his lips.

"Take care of her, mate. I just wish she'd tell me what's wrong." He frowns, smoothing his hair back with his fingers.

"She'll tell you on her own terms."

"I suppose."

Joe displaces you from your weak stance and you let out an incoherent mumble as he lifts you up bridal style in his arms. He hands Ben a small smile before exiting the bathroom and briefly approaching your colleagues to tell them he's going to be taking you home. Debbie nods and wishes him luck, allowing Joe to leave.

He sets you down in the passenger seat of his car and buckles you in, at the same time making sure you're comfortable. Meanwhile, Ben makes it out just in time for Rosy to interrogate him. "Where have you been? And whatever you did, what took you so long?"

He closes his eyes for a mere fraction of a second and shakes his head, the jerking motion loosening the strands of hair he had combed back. He tugs his seat out, wishing to not feel obligated to answer for once. "I was just helping Joe with Y/N."

"She's here?" Rosy asks snappishly.

"For a supposed date with Joe." He exhales disappointingly, nodding at one of his mates as he takes his glass up to his lips to drink away.

Rosy rolls her eyes at Ben's sudden change of demeanor, oblivious to the reason he's discouraged.

With you curled up in his arms, Joe struggles to grab a hold onto the knob of your door. He teeters aimlessly in a desperate attempt to clip onto his balance, you being quite fidgety in his arms making it uneasy for him. "Okay Y/N, we're here. Let me just get the d-door." He finally lays his hands on the knob and twists the door open, nudging it wider with his shoulder and stumbling in with you. You're pretty much still conscious albeit it's not your own, self-controlled state of mind. You're just getting there.

Joe pauses in his tracks as he feels you yank on his collar. "What?" He asks, voiceless.

"Where's...Ben?"

"Probably still at the pub. Let's get you on the couch. I'm gonna get you a cup of...something." Between each suppressed grunt, Joe lays you down carefully on the fabric, adjusting his waistband and excusing himself to get you something to drink. You drop dead on your side and curl into a fetal position, your eyes bleary and fluttering shut at the beckon of sleep. Shortly after whipping up a glass of lukewarm water and some Aspirin to relieve you of a headache to come, Joe comes back with the items on a tray, finding you on your side, dozing off.

A mildly satisfied smile lingers upon his lips and he lays the tray on the coffee table before you, going back to the kitchen to prepare a towel to dry your face of sweat. He returns once again with a basin and just in time for a knock on the door to catch his ear. Placing the basin next to the tray, he dusts his hands together and slides them downwards his shirt in the act of drying them, answering the door and finding Ben with arms crossed impatiently behind it.

"What are you doing here?" Joe leans against the frame, making out his visit to be utterly unexpected.

"I just...is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fallen asleep."

Ben hangs his head low for a brief pause before shifting on his footing. "Mind if I get in?" Half expecting Joe to decline, he does otherwise, stepping aside for Ben to enter. He thanks Joe quietly and proceeds to find you knocked out real good on the couch. Softened by how angelic you look in your drunken slumber, Ben gets down on his knees before you, laying the back of his hand on your forehead to check whether you've caught the flu or something. Joe approaches his side with arms crossed. "She's alright, Ben. Might get a hangover tomorrow but really, she's okay."

Ben falls silent for a while as he continues to observe you, your delicate features causing a smile to pull on his plump lips. "It's crazy. I had to leave ahead of Rosy and the guys just to check on her."

"You're making it sound like a bad thing, bud."

"No," Ben heaves out an audible exhale, taking the free space at the end of the couch, "well, maybe. But my point is that I've been too busy for a week that I haven't been completely in touch with Y/N. I want to make it up to her. You wouldn't mind that, would you?"

Joe descends on the chair opposite of Ben, throwing his right leg over his left. "What do you mean?"

"You wouldn't mind me hanging out with her, for possibly a whole day, right? "

And with that, Joe gets the point. Once again, for the second time tonight, he forgets about the charade you both are still up to and it just really dawns on him oftentimes that you're in this pretend relationship with him to compensate for what you mistakenly said to Ben the other night. "Yeah, no. I wouldn't mind. But let me ask you a question. It may be personal but don't take it as an offense from me," Joe shifts on his seat, resting his hands firm on the armrest, "was there ever a time you felt something different towards her?"

As if looking back on something lost, Ben sighs and chuckles to himself, a chuckle enigmatic in feeling. "Mate, chill, okay? I'm just her friend."

"I'm not jealous. Just curious. In the time you've known each other, have you ever felt something for her at one point?"

Uncertain but obliged to answer, Ben interlaces his fingers together and talks just loud enough for Joe to make out. "Homecoming."

"Homecoming?"

"Yeah," he breathes out, stealing a quick glimpse of you and remembering how similar you look during that night, "I had another a girl with me that night but when Y/N entered the room...something just snapped in me. She looked...divine." Chuckling to himself, he blinks rapidly and continues. "I easily wondered why I didn't ask her in the first place."

"Well you should've, you clueless bastard." Joe grumbles inaudibly enough to go unheard and he's got a hand for that skill. Ben shifts on his end and presses his lips together, doing his very best not to stare at you long enough to anger Joe.

"By the way, mate. You're invited to my wedding." With the words coming unanticipated from Ben himself, Joe coughs harshly as a reaction, his eyes growing wider by the minute at the news. "Wedding- you've proposed?" He's trying his hardest not to shriek and wake you up.

"Yeah? I thought you- I thought Y/N had already told you."

"No she did nothing of the sort!" To make it more effective, Joe yells voiclessly, gesticulating at the same time. It stuns Ben for a second that you didn't tell him– Joe being your 'new confidant' and all– but recovers soon enough to make it more clearer. "Well now you know."

In Joe's mind, that's probably the reason why you've gone heavy tonight at the pub, and he's correct. It affected you the most, second being your departure for medical school. He was right for gaining the prospect that Ben was going to go for it the night you two had left his birthday early. Joe regains his composure and rises from his seat, ruffling Ben's golden locks which have been at their floppiest tonight, also finding it hard to utter the words in his head. "That's great, buddy. That's just...amazing." He couldn't even articulate 'amazing' without thinking of your reaction when you had known first.

Ben nods, his mouth twitching a tad, his voice cutting deeper and hoarser. "Thanks, mate."

Remembering that you haven't had dinner yet, Joe decides to have Ben look after you as he goes out to buy you something to eat by the time you wake up. Ben inclines to it, even if it takes Joe the entire night to get you food. Trusting you in his temporary care, Joe rubs Ben's shoulder and leaves him to it for half an hour at max.

By the second Joe closes the door, Ben gets up with the incentive and takes the damp cloth from the basin on the coffee table, tenderly sweeping strands of hair away from your face, his refined touch making you sensitive and shudder lightly on the couch.

He wipes your forehead and the warm contact of the cloth elicits a quick groan from your throat, the pout forming on your lips prompting Ben to grin ridiculously. He swallows and dares to lower his forehead onto yours with the cloth still in his clutch, the warm touch of his skin on yours sending a sensation through your unconscious body, bringing a lone tear to trickle down your cheek. He whispers to you in the frailest tone he hasn't spoken in in a while, squeezing his eyes shut in the process.

"Please, tell me what's hurting you..."

#queen #borhap #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #borhap cast #borhap cast x reader #borhap imagine

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eversoslinky · 5 years

Text

The "Marilyn" effect

I've been wanting to write a Marilyn blog for a long time, on several occasions I've attempted to and the blog may have been jumped on seconds after it was posted with people wanting to correct and criticise what I've written. So for this blog I will discuss what Marilyn means to me personally and you can not dispute this... no historical inaccuracies. This is my opinion and what this woman means to me and seeing as the chances are you don't know me you can't argue with what it felt like being a fourteen year old girl seeing Niagara for the first time or being a twenty nine year old woman and being about to relate to her even more now. I model and post pictures of myself nude or in lingerie I'm mainly inspired by Bettie Page or Marylin. Any girl can look like Marilyn put on some red lipstick and bleach your hair blonde and there you go! You might even put on a white dress and draw in that cute little beauty mark. Would Marylin be disappointed that she is remembered in this way? She's been reduced to a hair colour and a lipstick shade. Probably. Did she want to be remembered as a serious actress? Definitely. As a fourteen year old girl I wanted to look like her so much I bought my first red lipstick, at sixteen I saved up my money to bleach my mousey hair a bright platinum blonde at seventeen I remember looking in a full length mirror and crying cause someone said I looked like a "flat chested Marilyn Monroe." (I had the tiny twenty inch waist and curvaceous backside but my 30AA bra size didn't exactly scream "sexy") at twenty nine I know I'll never look like Marilyn and that's ok. She was so incredibly beautiful but I'll never have her gorgeous measurements, I can however be like her in other ways...

Marilyn (Norma Jean) was an intelligent and ambitious woman. She was smart and that is the inspiration I take from her. The more I learnt about her the more I see parts of myself reflected back at me, not just the fact that our horroscopes are so alike it's uncanny . (A Gemini with a Leo rising) but as an adult I'm feeling the frustration she possibly once felt wanting to challenge herself as an actress in a world where she was strictly typecast. In my pictures I post on my Instagram I'm teasing - not overly sexual I'm in lingerie, stockings, heels, sometimes even nude but very carefully posed. It's like a burlesque show ; you can see EVERYTHING but at the same time you can see NOTHING at all. The parts that are maybe considered the most sexually exciting are covered up. It's all about the power of suggestion.

Of course what I'm wearing (or not wearing as is often the case) is irrelevant. It's not important at all. It's all just a ploy to get you to read what I write. I'm just like anyone who knows they've got some important stories to share. I know I've got to share them to the masses and what gets people's attention more than anything? Sex. Nudity. and pretty much anything that can be conveyed as a "fetish" now a days. I don't mind people following me after all that is one more person who is reading what I have to say. But there are some people who miss the point of what I stand for completely. They think I'm laying on a bed in stockings and suspenders permanently, arching my back in pleasure and pouting. I don't eat, sleep or have any family or friends. I'm a "thing" and I just LOVE talking to strange men online, I'm there for them and only them. I must reply back to every single one of their mind numbing messages. No, no, no, no! I HAVE A BRAIN!!! Marilyn had to deal with this crap back in the 1950s! She was treated as a "thing" and she resented it. Men are fine with me being "sexy" but when I want to write about my health problems I get so much abuse. One guy even messaging me to tell me to "cheer up" and "A girl who looked like me could never be suicidal" Actually... someone who looks like me can quite easily be, I wish I was overweight and my skin would break out in spots. I want someone to look at me and think "I'll bet she's a really funny, kind hearted person." Or "I'd love to marry that woman and have children with her." Instead I get creeps telling me about their fetishes and getting angry with me when I tell them I don't have any. My number one fantasy is honestly falling in love and making a nice home with my husband. (I've just literally shoved them all in an ice cold shower!)

Some people (mainly woman) may say "I'm asking for it" by posing in a sexual way. They might even tell me I should be flattered that I get attention of this kind. Let me put it this way : someone telling you they like your picture and they think you look sexy is extremely flattering no matter who it is. You say "Thank you for the compliment" and move on. Someone constantly messaging you sending you naked photos of themselves and demanding some photos of you in return is harassment. I believe this only happens to me cause some women have such a low opinion of themselves they put up with it. I won't and I don't think Marilyn would either.

Marilyn was not her bleach blonde hair or full red pouting lips, she was not her twenty inch waist or voluptuous chest. She was a person who thought and felt deeply. One of her biggest goals in life was to be a mother, she absolutely adored children and miscarried many times throughout her short life. What gets talked about alot is her supposed affairs... which is in itself a contradiction. The most beautiful women in the world would not need to take another woman's man off her. She could have any man she wanted, she wouldn't stoop so low as to share a man with any woman. Just like Marilyn I've been shoved into a category and told who I am, told that I can't be both sexy and smart. Laughed at when I speak about something I believe in and told to take my clothes off instead of write. The best thing I can do to honour Marilyn's memory and pay respect to her isn't getting a boob job, bleaching my hair or wearing a bright red lip (as my sixteen year old self would have thought) it's using what I've got to make people sit up, take notice and challenge people's stereotypes as often as possible. I'll always wonder what Marilyn would have achieved had she of lived a longer life...

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punkscowardschampions · 5 years

Text

Jimmy & Janis

Planning a romantic weekend away

Jimmy: Gracie came at me earlier. There was mistletoe up and I near fully hit the floor 😎 Jimmy: Hold fire though. She only wanted to tell me to convince you of summat. Pretty sure you already know what it is Janis: Erm...Father Christmas is really real? That her weave isn't from dead Brazilian hookers? Janis: Enlighten me or I'll tell her she's got a holiday free pass on you 😈 Jimmy: Double date. Need I say more 😡 Janis: FUCK. I DIDN'T THINK IT'D ACTUALLY HAPPEN. Janis: How far does she expect the season of goodwill to extend, like? Already got some poor cunt being a charitable home for her arse so she don't freeze Janis: Single tear. Janis: Question is, can we make it worth it enough for us to endure that shite? Hmm Jimmy: I almost got my arse to church so it wouldn't. Shoulda sucked off that priest when he asked. Too late? Jimmy: You better get me a top notch pressie, baby 😏 Janis: You know you ain't on the nice list 😉 Janis: So, Santa might be dissing but you'll be getting something extra special from me Janis: As for God, and his holly jolly perverted following, I reckon we're both shit out of 🍀 there, no matter how good our head game is, such is life Janis: Grah, I hear she does shoutouts now...want that 'influencer' clout, baby? Not double entendre my end but might be for GracieGuru 🙊😂 Jimmy: what the fuck we going to do then? No way I'm hanging with her and her latest 'boo boy' Jimmy: Even if I was getting paid, which is likely since she just loves common grounds Janis: Preaching to the choir, dickhead, ain't my idea of a good time either, or hers let's be fucking real. She just wants to dry-hump a slab of boy in front of you on the off chance that really gets you going for her Janis: You wouldn't call her brainy, bless Janis: Idk, don't worry about it, Jim. Just avoid her/the flat whites like the plague and I'll have to literally run away like I'm an angsty 12 year old so we can't be located, even with friend finder or whatever they stalk each other with Janis: Oooh! Just call me brains, we should pretend to have a romantic weekend away planned, that'll send her over the edge, that is her everything goals Janis: Like I said, I can hide from a hoe Jimmy: I knew there was a reason I kept you about Jimmy: Let's do it though. Easier to take than fake the 'gram Jimmy: Any ideas? 🤔 Jimmy: Most of my boltholes are far from yours and not very enviable for that crowd #it'sgrimupnorth Janis: Yeah, why do you tbh? Janis: Now its clear my sister has got no respect for anyone on her hunt for dick/self-esteem Janis: She's hoping its a twofer like Janis: I don't know if I can stand you for that long, darling Janis: But I SUPPOSE your the lesser of two evils here 😉 Jimmy: It's love 💕 Jimmy: Come on, it'll be a laff. I'll get the beers in Jimmy: You can try harder to beat me at darts and pool Janis: As far as the adoring fans/salty haterz are concerned Janis: and that's all that matters Janis: bitch i don't have to try! 😤 you put me off last time with ur mooning 😍 Janis: we don't need to convince the old fellas in the boozer Jimmy: Fuck off I was getting practice in! Jimmy: If you're ready to fake a break up say the word but until then, it takes a lot of work to give you the puppy dog eyes. I'm not Twix Janis: Sure you was 😂 Janis: N'awwh but you do it so well! Janis: Audition for the School play whilst ur at it, soft lad Jimmy: I do enough fake snogging without signing myself up for that bollocks Jimmy: You coming away with me then or not? Jimmy: You know your sister'll be in again nagging before shift's end Janis: Well, when you put it like that Janis: 😒 Janis: I ain't got nothing better to do, and I certainly ain't third wheeling her fake date Janis: My grandparents got a place down skerries Janis: we can crash there Jimmy: How many rooms they got? My dad's working so I'll have to bring the ramble with Jimmy: #goals I know Janis: Fucking hell, my pissing sister! She owes you more than she's spending on coffee for the hassle she's causing Janis: If you really can't, don't worry, I'll sort her. She'll be unbearable when she finds out it was all for a laugh but it was at her expense so how much of a mug can she actually make me feel? 😑 Janis: That said, there's 3 rooms, its only a caravan don't get excited but the kids would probably be buzzin', it is pretty nice down there Janis: I'll even let you have the double bed to yourself Janis: ol Janis: l Jimmy: It'll stop them nagging me about going somewhere other than the park that'll do me Jimmy: Cass talks big but she isn't even really so doable Jimmy: Don't be getting any ideas though 😍😉 my brother hasn't slept well since we moved. I'll be sharing that double like it or not Jimmy: What a way to spend my first proper time off since I started #blessed Janis: Yeah, fish and chips on the beach even tho its fucking baltic, chasing Twix will keep 'em warm, you'll earn major big brother points as well as bae ones Janis: What a mighty fine man Janis: Same here, Cass. Shh about it though Janis: Like you said, it'll be a laugh, we can make it one Janis: You'd really rather be making pinkity drinkidies or whatever the fuck they are? Jimmy: Nope. But your 1st romantic break usually is. Any talent there is in all grans playing bingo? Jimmy: Be nice to get something off the 'gram 💋 Janis: I ain't been since I was about 9 Janis: I wasn't after bitches then and I ain't now Janis: I wish you luck, 2 kids hanging on your arm and a woman back home, like Janis: Does it for some. Jimmy: I'd do some talking first to get things clear I'm not tall Tammy 😂 Jimmy: Bet you were a right cute kid, weren't you? Aww Janis: Again, have fun explaining that one, mate. I'd struggle with the concept and I'm in on it. Janis: Adorable. What happened? Jimmy: Shut up you know what you look like, mate Janis: A butch lezza? Janis: So I've been told 👍 Jimmy: That's not what they are saying anymore. Check my comments sometime. The lads are gagging for you now Janis: Goody gumdrops. Janis: I'll leave my knickers at the door, like Jimmy: You could like. I've been waiting for you to drop me as your fake bf since this whole thing started Janis: I'm not interested in any of them. Janis: Would your world be set alight by Aaron O'Reilly from form? Janis: If you wanna cop off with some of your fans don't let me stop you Jimmy: You aren't. They're not my type anymore than Aaron's yours. I'm just saying you take a crackin pic and I should know since I'm the one takin 'em. So you don't need to spout that crap. They're just jealous of how much of a butch lezza you aren't Janis: Alright. Well, you're not half bad at taking snaps, and not in the bullshit way every hoe thinks they know their angles and magic lighting these days, you're actually decent. Janis: It don't feel like crap when Janis: blah, meant to delete that, ignore it Jimmy: 🤐 Jimmy: Wanna help me with my art project while we're away then? Kill all the birds (hopefully not with my flash) Jimmy: I'll owe you again Janis: I won't even joke on you for being a swot 🤓🤞 Janis: What've you got planned? Jimmy: I haven't had any time to think yet beyond film being the medium but Jimmy: #workinprogress Jimmy: with a muse like you m'dear how could I go wrong 💕 Janis: 😜 Janis: just so you know, i ain't bringing any homework but put my name or yours, yeah? 😘 not even in art but might count for something Janis: clue me in tho, brainiac, what do the kiddos like? i'll get 'em something Jimmy: Rookie mistake mate, art's an easy A Jimmy: They'll take anything covered in sugar. Can't say I'll love you for it when they crash mid journey though Janis: Only 'cos you're good at it. With my genes I should be but I can barely draw a stickman. Janis: I'll stick with double sports, sports science and science 👌 Janis: I'll keep sweets in stock for bribery, goes without sayin'! Different pocket to Twix' fish treats, though Janis: I'll have a look down town Jimmy: 😂 did you see that article doin the rounds about the mum who bought her kid a cat's advent calendar Janis: 😂 Yes! Shame catnip don't work like on us like it does cats, that kid would be pingin' Janis: Might get meself some, like Jimmy: What gets dogs off their heads? I'll keep Twix well clear Jimmy: She's high enough on your 😍 Janis: I don't know, actually...telling them they're good bois? Janis: Works for you boo 😘 Jimmy: I prefer being called a very bad boy 😎 Janis: You clown 😂 Janis: Good to know, suppose. Dirty weekend away though it ain't Jimmy: what our fans don't know won't break their jealous hearts Jimmy: you coming in for your freebies today or shall I do a delivery your way once Grace is home? 😉 Janis: Kick it really cliche and be my sexy delivery boy Janis: Try and bring something with sausage in so I can come at you with the quality porn writing Jimmy: Live your fantasies as well as your sister's if you want, my name tag says Jonathon today Janis: Ooh, spicing it up with some roleplay like we're middle-aged okay Janis: How boring are you that you've picked a name so similar to your own...this is why we've hit a dry patch, Jimothy! Jimmy: What would you seriously pick? Janis: For you? Janis: Who's a fittie... Janis: Anthony Joshua could get it Janis: You don't want to be in the play but reckon you can stretch to that? Jimmy: Next time I lose my name tag I'll insist on that. For the bae 💕 Jimmy: About as close as I'll get I think Janis: Who do you want? Janis: I wanna know your type Janis: Bar Tall Tammy Jimmy: Your sister obviously Janis: Fuck off, not even funny Janis: If that were true, you know where she lives bitch, I ain't stopping ya, she's practically shoe-horning you in 🤢 Jimmy: I meant the fit older one 😉 Janis: Ohhh Janis: Still, do one 🖕 I'm not pretending to be my sister you freak Jimmy: That's one pretense too far. Got it 😂 Janis: Yeah, in this hypothetical you've really shit the bed, pal. Jimmy: I only half read that because #customers and thought you called me shit in bed mate Janis: well... 😏 Jimmy: I fake rocked your world Janis Cavante! 😂 Janis: you know we faked it so i didn't have to fake it 💅 Jimmy: Aaron O'Reilly's walking through the door want me to slip him your number and end this? 😝 Janis: I will murder you. Janis: also he might think your trying to set up a threeway for YOUR benefit, so if you wanna take over the gay rumours that bad, go for it 💋🍆 Jimmy: I've seen you with a pool cue I think I'm safe Jimmy: Give a shit. At least I actually am butch Janis: Psh, you're all show no grow Janis: We're arm wrestling, then you'll see Jimmy: 💪 I'll beat you at that too then, shall I? 🏆 Janis: Bring it on. I won't make you cry too hard, save face in front of the kiddos. Janis: 'Let' them kick your arse too 😜 Jimmy: Try it, baby girl 😝 Jimmy: Cass probs could no lie. Scrappy af that one Janis: Good girl 👍 Janis: Gotta keep you in check Jimmy: Doubt you'll be calling her that when she's shadowed you all weekend Jimmy: She loves you. Who knows why? Janis: I keep telling you I'm a delight Janis: Has this...how long has it been? Month, 2? Of SHEER BLISS taught you nothing Janis: Ruuuuude. Jimmy: Nope. I'm with Team Bobby. You're a gross meanie Jimmy: As all girls are 😂 Janis: Well I'm winning Bobby 'round this weekend by hook or by crook Janis: then you can please yourself, billy no mates Janis: Team Janis 💪 Jimmy: Every bro knows you can't be friends with your girl Jimmy: DUH Janis: Oh yeah, all straight couples HATE each other and that's #goals Janis: If I can't be chatting shit on you, how will I get to talk about you constantly to my gals? Janis: Singing your praises? I THINK NOT Jimmy: Speaking of, Gracie and co are back on the premise that Tall Tammy left her....something. I wasn't listening. Should I break the news we won't be here for date night or do you want to do the honors Janis: Dignity? That's long gone, honey. Janis: Ooh, lemme do it, you're coming round with the sausage anyway Janis: We can do it together baby Jimmy: awhhh Jimmy: I've hidden the mistletoe but she can see the top of the highest counters!! I'm on borrowed time what do I do? Janis: Headbutt her in the teeth Janis: 'Accidentally' Janis: Can't help being a normal-sized human Jimmy: #customerservice Jimmy: then recommend her our chewy cookies 😂 Janis: You can see why I'm not trying to be your work wifey too, yeah? 😂 Janis: If you can convince any of those girls to break their diet, I'll be impressed Janis: Don't count if they go vom in the bogs after tho Jimmy: Gracie might be on her way already. One of her posse asked what you were getting me for Christmas and I didn't hold back Janis: Oh no, am I about to get slut-shamed? 😲 Janis: Or, heaven forfend, tips Janis: I will die Jimmy: Damn I didn't think of that. Sorry Janis: Its cool Janis: She's all mouth anyway, not in a beneficial to the cause way Janis: Be interesting hearing what she thinks you want, keep ya posted lol Jimmy: 🙌 Can't wait Janis: that's what you're meant to say about my present! Jimmy: I did, swear 🤞 Janis: what do you actually want Jimmy: Don't worry about it Janis: Oh, is it? If I'm not fucking your brains out you're not interested Janis: Fine then, save my reddies. 👍 Jimmy: That's what I was thinking. Stage a break up before 🎄 for max drama and min spends Janis: Cool. If you wanna. Janis: Just don't tell everyone you chucked me 'cos I wouldn't give it up. Already a frigit. Janis: What's the story then? Jimmy: Obviously not. We've been hooking up for ages got to keep it #goals Jimmy: I don't know haven't thought that far ahead it just makes sense to get out before gifting Janis: Yeah. Fair. Janis: Think on and let me know Jimmy: You too. We can brainstorm at the weekend. Nothing but time then Jimmy: Can't break up right after the break though Janis: Would look sus, yeah. Janis: Maybe I'll whup you one too many times, your fragile male ego can't hack it, eh? Jimmy: Grace'd be smug 😩 Jimmy: Can't even fake that, babe Jimmy: Nobody'd believe the story Janis: She's gonna be regardless Janis: I got the shitty end of the stick here like but ain't nowt we can do about it now Janis: 🙄 Jimmy: No we're goals we just burned too bright that's all 😂 Jimmy: You've got way more time served with me than she does any of her boos she doesn't win Janis: Mhmm. Calm down, Icarus. Sure you'll be comparing some other bint on a balcony to the sun in no time. 😘 Janis: Suppose so. Least hers are real, if not short-lived, and, well, shit. Janis: She won't know the difference anyway Jimmy: There's nobody like you 💕 Jimmy: Exactly I'm not going to tell her we weren't real Janis: Bullshit 💕 Janis: True enough, I'll take it. Jimmy: Shit gotta go the boss is back Jimmy: Love you 💕 Janis: Love you too, Jonathon 💕

#mad he wanna end it #hmm i wonder why bitch #this was good

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fluxherbaria · 7 years

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It's me! Quasi from Archive of our own. I believe I had tumblr at some point, but I was quite frankly not cool enough, and my whole page was pretty awful. That is why now I'm in your ask me anything box as an anonymous person. I think my brain didn't let me try to login to my account again because the cringe level would probably kill me. Anyway (sorry for always rambling) I would actually honored if you sent me a snippet of the next chapter. However, I completely understand if you can't. Thanks

hahahahaha I understand, I haven’t touched or edited mine for ages. Sure! I’d like to share some conversation snippets, ideas, because it’s not a coherent piece yet - but I’m sure you’d appreciate nonsense. (Seriously, good chance this will all confuse you). It’s been an odd month, and my mind is all over the place at the moment, so it’s not a problem of writing, more of knowing if something I’ve written feels ‘good’ or ‘not good enough’. If you have feedback, thoughts, that would be cool to hear. Would you like to be addressed with a particular name, or is Quasi all right?

Well, what do I have - fair warning, this is all subject to change and not final. I was thinking of calling it ‘Joue’

Hermioneserved something for dinner, and when she propped down four plates Draco staredat the table and his hands came down, slow, on the back of a chair. “What areyou doing here,�� he said, airy and blank, “apart from trespassing.”

Hermionefrowned at him, sitting down, for a while. “It’s holidays.”

Harry andDraco exchanged a look.

“Of course,”Harry said.

He found hecouldn’t hold Ron or Hermione’s gaze while they ate, watching Draco’s wrists instead,pluck at food, childish, as if they would see something he didn’t want them to.It didn’t matter – they shifted closer and closer together in conversation,chairs angled. Harry got restless enough to need to stand, and walked andtalked wide berths around them.

Dracoreplaced his seat, at the head of the table and Harry plucked the cigarettefrom his hand.

“Harry’ssmoking,” Draco said to Hermione, “do you know what that means?”

“Cancer?” shesaid without looking up.

“Displacement,”Draco nodded scholarly. “He’s thinking, seriously. You’ve made himuncomfortable. He doesn’t know how to be. Who to be.”

“Draco,” saidHarry.

Hermioneseemed to hesitate, before levering her hands ceremoniously on the table edge,and angled towards Harry. He flicked ash off, the way Draco taught him. “Youknow your parents hated Sirius’ smoking.”

“No hedoesn’t,” Draco said. “He didn’t know his parents.”

“Draco.”

Hermione heldDraco’s gaze, her eyebrows slowly knitting together.

Ron sighed, “Whatdo you know, Malfoy,” he grumbled.Draco stared at him, wide and curious, utterly still, and his throat made acluck noise, audible – before he threw back his head and laughed like a fox.

Harry cameover and slid a hand down his arm, taking his hand, to pull him away and stopthe yipping. “Come on.”

Draco movedand smiled sloppily, getting up. “Excursion?”

“Sex,” Harrysaid, once out of earshot, “Just – something, we’ll get drunk. You come up withsomething –”

Draco consideredhim, eyes darting, and laughed, “What have I done.” He moved in front to lead.

“Hey – and this,” Harrystuck the cigarette back in Draco’s mouth, “I thought it meant that you’re thelover, and this is the bad habit.”

“No,” Draco laughedagain, “I’m the bad habit.”

Ron andHermione stayed overnight. Harry liked the low hum of voices, and what waited aroundcorners and down hallways. He suspected that Hermione did something magicalwith Lou, who she coddled like a baby, because he was happy to stay and nuzzlelegs, pawing through the mansion of trash. He unearthed a Weasley jumper in thetwin bedroom, and a large grey-streaked feather, surprised he hadn’t noticedthem before and wondered if all this time he had been following a roundaboutroute, some redouble back to his past.

In theirpresence, Draco didn’t seem to know how to be, so he just played.

He found aneasel, cracked down the middle and paint brushes as long as his arm, their hairtips hardened, in a “servant’s quarters” wherever that was and sat on Harry’sfeet, forcing him to lie flat on the drawing room floor.

“I wantsomeone to play with,” he announced. He chewed the ends to splinters, andsmiled like a joke.

So hepainted, over some long-deceased patrons on the wall, a nightmarish face withstriking green eyes, and used the charcoal from a chimney to scratch on mophair, and Harry watched, a patient subject, at the little creases in Draco’sface as he concentrated, at what thought they carved in his face.

Harry hadgrown accustom to walking around at night, when everything seemed asleep andeerier, gloomy portraits and shrunken heads watching. He got lost easily.

Harry raninto Hermione on the first landing, and in the stifling shadows she lookedsmaller. He copied her unconscious step into the darkness, against the wall, closeenough to taste her breath.

Her eyes werecat bright and brazen. “Hermione,” he said, in quiet anticipation.

“You’redropping out, aren’t you,” she said in a full, harsh whisper, that putsomething to words that Harry hadn’t yet.

“It’sdifferent,” he said, “Hogwarts.”

“Maybe it’syou.”

“How – thewhole thing is different,” he felt tired, bled out, all the sudden, “it’s likerehab, not home. I’m not –”

“No,”Hermione argued. “I mean, maybe it’s you. That expected it to be the same.”

She lookedtired and miscoloured somewhat, a little less, and Harry felt something rise inhim. He took hold of her small, determined fingers, “sleep in my room,” hewhispered. “I don’t know.”

Harry glancedbehind him at Sirius’ door, where he had been sleeping, and could hear Dracosmashing things in the attic sporadically. He pulled her into the room, “Ron’s–” she looked behind her, out of shadow and he closed the door behind him.

“Who cares,”Harry pulled her down to the bed, and could already feel the tug of young, heavysleep, from the crimson cover of the Gryffindor room and the lamp glow on herface, warming her gold. And from the slip of moth-ruined blankets that heburied them under, just like their tent canvas, that winter forever ago hespent with just her and a tent.

She blinkedneatly up at him, and he locked her arms under his, her elbow digging into hisside. Her familiar, warm motherly smell like library books and quilts. “I missyou,” he shifted, getting comfortable.

“You’redifferent,” she whispered into his jumper.

“Who cares,”he repeated, and closed his eyes. “Sleep.”

He woke up toher hair, a bush in his face as she had spun around in the night. He lay still,watching the rise and fall of her slow breathing, his wrist clamped in hergrip. He climbed out before light, even though he wanted to stay, and foundDraco in a frosty corner of an underground storage, playing the Artist againand carving icicles with a pick, the sound travelling.

He turned,wet hair clinging to his face. “Is that my insomniac?”

Harry led himout, to the first window he found. “I slept,” he propped Draco on the ledge,and climbed on him to watch the sun rise, “with Hermione.”

Draco lookedup at him, a flash of shock in his face, but said, “I knew it.”

Harry huffed,“Don’t be stupid.”

He looked atsilhouettes of buildings against a tan sky. Draco played with him too, so hejabbed Harry’s waist, “pet,” he said, his voice clear and creeping, “My pet.You’ll cook and clean for me, I’ll dress and booze you up and send you out toflirt with all the girls and all the boys,” Draco’s hands were wet on hischeeks. “You’ll report back and record your sexual escapades; we’ll recount andreplay it together –”

“I don’t wantthat,” Harry said, but he wasn’t really listening. He felt tired again, and heldDraco’s hands there.

“That’sright,” Draco coddled. “You don’t want to be anonymous.”

“You know me,”he mumbled, climbing in Draco’s neck to sleep; he smelled like lilac perfume,and said,

“I don’t knowanything anymore,” like a fact, well-worn, and Harry wondered when thatstarted.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and closed his eyes. “Youknow me,” he said again.

Draco movedaround, light and quick, like a startled mouse; Harry found he couldn’t sitdown for long.

He foundDraco again, hanging off a banister. He glanced at Harry with a wooden face, asif he expected him.

“You’re makingsure I don’t fly away again,” he said over the banister.

Harry grabbedhis outstretched wrist, in air. “You won’t.”

“You don’tknow that.”

Harry settlednext to him, and Draco slid out of grip, slipping to sit, fluid, on the carpet. I don’t. “I trust you.”

Draco smiled upat him. “Bastard.”

Harry bitback his grin, roughly, and could almost feel his hand squeezing through thecage of Draco’s ribs to take a bloody hold of his centre. “Tell me about yourparents,” he said, because then his hand would be locked onto Draco forever.

Draco’s lipsunstuck in a click.

“Please,”Harry said.

“I can’t.”

Harry camebehind Draco and slid his hands down his front, into the warmth of his pants.Draco’s head turned, slow. “Harry Potter,” he said.

“Are youhappy here?”

“Everything Iown is in here,” Draco’s hand came around, and slipped in Harry’s jean pocket. “Youfeed and bathe me – nourish me,provide,” his voice glided. “You’re the little house I can climb into.”

“And whatabout me – what do I get?”

Dracolaughed. “What do you get, yes,” he said, “that’s the question. The blindleading the blind.”

Me again, so it’s looking to be about three times the length of any other chapter. And these are all sketches, rather than scenes, for the most part.

#woah this is highly unreadable on my page #paste into a document?#ask

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