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oftenderweapons · 3 years

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hello 👀 first of all i love your writing. second of all idk if you saw joon’s make up artist reaching up to him to fix his makeup on set but i could think about vixen bc we all know how volatile and jealous she may get.... so may i suggest a joon x vixen jealous sex drabble??? thank u!!!

Hello, dear reader. Thank you soooo much for the compliments. I couldn’t help but deliver, it literally wrote itself. There you go 💜✨

title: yours, truly

pairing: namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

wordcount: 2.7k

genre: smut, fluff, established relationship

rating: 18+, minors do not interact

synopsis: Vixen doesn't appreciate the imbalance between her belonging to Namjoon and his belonging to her, and although she understands the limits due to his job, at the same time she's uncomfortable about the way she feels. However, Namjoon is eager to reassure her.

trigger warnings: argument on jealousy and double standards. There is one very specific passage where Namjoon imposes himself physically on Vixen, grabbing her and pinning her while she's trying to get away from him. If this triggers you, please do not read further. On to sexual topics: mention of cunnilingus, masturbation (male and female receiving), unprotected sex (BE SMART!!!!!!), marking, power struggle, several occurrences of pinning and top-bottom shifts.

a/n: Hello people, here's the first of several drabbles I've been working on. Please, stay tuned cause HOPEFULLY Jimin and Princess should be next 💖

Here's my masterlist enjoy 💜✨

⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂

You stormed into the apartment, Namjoon hot on your heels.

“Vixen,” he called, watching you take off your shoes with a frown on your face. “Babylove.”

You lifted a finger, inviting him to keep quiet before you stood and headed to your room.

“Vixen?” he called, once more. He knew what had happened, and he knew you didn't mean to act like that. He knew you didn't like feeling jealous or possessive, but the footage of him wrapping an arm around his makeup artist — even if it was just to keep her from falling — had unsettled you more than you wanted to admit.

There were women who dried his sweat and helped him change his clothes and saw him half naked regularly, and they were out there doing so publicly, while you didn't even own a picture of him kissing you. After being together for six months. After him asking you to be his wife.

To anyone except his friends and family, you were nothing but a stranger to him.

“Vixen?”

You were his. Always. All the time. You wore his clothes and had his marks on you from Monday to Sunday, twenty-four seven, uninterruptedly ever since he'd first told you he loves you — with an unintended pause because of the tour.

But what about him? Did he even belong to you?

He called your name shyly, fearsomely. “Look at me, please.”

“I'm going to take a bath,” you announced dryly.

“I'm coming with you,” he replied, already taking off his clothes.

“I want to be alone.”

He inhaled and did the crudest, most animalistic thing he could think of. He grabbed your waist and made you face him. “Vixen. Look at me.”

You shook your head and tutted.

“Say 'no' and I'll let you go,” he said, his voice booming like thunder.

You stayed silent.

“Look at me,” he repeated, an arm around your waist, his free one coming up so he could grip your chin and force your eyes to meet his. “Like this.”

“I hate this!” you spat, looking away right before he forced you to meet his eyes again. “It's not fair!” You snarled before angrily pushing the heel of your foot against his toes.

He hissed and let you go, only to catch you once more half a second later, pinning you against the wall. “Talk to me.”

Your brow furrowed, your eyes like a dark storm, you looked at the floor as you admitted, “I have no right to feel jealous. And I hate it. It’s not fair.”

Namjoon hugged you to him, kissing your head as you pressed your forehead to his chest.

“I’m so sorry, I just… hate that you make me feel like this. It’s not you, it’s how I feel about what you do. That is, the position you’re in.” You bit your lip nervously, gripping his shirt in your fists.

Namjoon didn’t quite understand what you meant by that, but reversing the situation gave him a quite poignant point of view. The idea of you being chaperoned by other men at all time, of you being in his shoes, with people drooling over you at all times, being backstage and having no privacy with or without your clothes on, people imagining you as their partner, as their hot one night stand, as their one true love.

The thought of having to share you the same way you had to share him all the time made a shiver run down his spine. He knew he would never be able to tolerate all the things you went through for him without batting an eye. “I’m so sorry, love.” He ran his hands to the back of your thighs lowering himself to pick you up, your arms latching behind his neck as he did so. “I’m so, so sorry, little fox,” he repeated, his voice so deep and soothing.

“I’m okay, it’s just that…”

He kissed your cheek as he sat on the bed, placing you on top of him, straddling his hips. “You’re not okay, and that’s alright.” He waited for you to oppose as he let his lips linger one millimeter from yours.

Shyly, almost as if reluctantly, you pressed your mouth to his, feeling his hand on your nape, tangling in your hair, the other one pressed to the small of your back. “Take off your clothes, please,” you whispered in between kisses. Unquestioningly, he took off his undershirt, your body still on top of his while you undid the buttons of your blouse — actually, only a couple of them before you slipped it off from over your head. Namjoon’s hands went around your waist, lifting the lace and satin top you were wearing underneath, pressing his nose to your sternum once your torso was so enticingly naked, your body rising to your knees so he could reach your breastbone more comfortably, your arms hugging his head.

“You’re so precious, my babylove. So strong,” he murmured, “You’re so understanding and I’m so glad when you open up to me.” He inhaled you as he confessed some more of his worries, “I always fear that someday it will feel too much and you’ll leave.”

You shook your head, squishing his face in your palms before standing before him, taking off your jeans lightning-fast, watching him quickly remove his slacks and underwear in one go.

“Come claim it, babe,” he growled, extending his hands to you, making a come-hither motion.

You wiggled out of your panties and smiled sweetly, joining him, sitting on his lap and batting your eyelashes with a cute pout, Namjoon shaking his head at you with a knowing grin. And at that, you placed your hands on his shoulders and pushed him down. “You really thought?”

He licked his lips and rolled his eyes. “I, at least, hoped.” His hands landed on your ass before you could grab his wrists and pin them above his head while you made your way up, your naked fold glistening with wetness already in the unforgivingly bright light of your bedroom.

You knew he had a thing for keeping the lights on anyways.

“Come on, sit,” he said, his arms fighting you only playfully as he ached to grab your ass and make you ride his face.

“No.” Your reply was lapidary as your free hand began to tease the skin around your sex — not yet your folds, nor your clit,

“Vixen.” Your name sounded like a warning.

“Maybe you’ll learn I can do without you.”

“Enough,” he growled before his arms escaped your weak excuse of a grip, his jaw locked and his eyes stern in what would be nothing but his hard dom look. “You think you’re funny?”

The way he pushed you with your back to the mattress, your arms trying to save you from losing your balance, made your heartbeat flutter.

“You think I don’t know that already? You think that doesn’t scare me to the bone?” He hissed as he laid on top of you, holding back his weight only slightly. “We know who can do without who here,” he said, his eyes so tormented you wanted to comfort him. “I’m half a soul without you.”

You wrapped your legs around him, rubbing your pelvis against his hardening cock. “Stay with me, then. Remind me.” You placed your lips against his neck, licking up the curve of his throat before bringing your lips to his ear. “Are you mine, Joonie?”

His eyes rolled shut, his head moving in a nodding motion. “I only want to be yours. All the time. I wish we could be naked and alone every single second.”

You giggled and moved your hand between your bodies. “Can I stretch a little? I need you inside.”

“Do you want me to do that?” He asked, right before you shook your head. “Fuck, ____, you're fucking perfect,” he murmured, kissing down your body, licking your nipple, sucking it briefly. “I'm so in love.”

“Do you remember what I told you that night?” you asked him, purring as you pushed two fingers inside you.

“That you're gonna be my wife, someday?”

You chuckled and nodded. Sometimes it felt unreal that he had proposed to you. Already.

And that the ring around your right fourth finger was not your family ring.

“I told you I'm dedicating my life to you. That I want to live by your side for as long as we can. That I believe in you.”

He found solace in the crook of your neck, his lips searching for your collarbone before his teeth nibbled at it gently. “Don't stop. Ever.”

A third finger entered your hole, stretching your inner walls until you were comfortable. Still, you were too impatient to wait any longer, grabbing his cock and placing its tip against your folds. “I won't,” you promised, a loud gasp leaving your mouth as he sank in. “Fuck, too big.”

Namjoon backtracked as quickly as possible, but your hands stopped him just in time. “No, no, stay inside, please. I can get used to it.” Your nails sunk into his ass. “Don't go. Please.”

Namjoon inhaled, trying to keep his cool as much as possible. “I should have prepped you.” He groaned and pressed your face into his neck. “Hold tight, love. I need to shift just a little.”

You loved when he pampered you like that, when he treated you like his delicate porcelain doll. With a loud exhale, he fixed his position until he could rest more easily and resist your tight squeezes as you adjusted to him filling you to the brim. In maybe a minute, you shifted your hips, whispering, “Okay, move, please.”

“That's my good girl,” he replied, smiling at you before giving one slow, smooth stroke that made you purr and throw your head back, his tongue drawing the arch of your throat. “My jealous little thing, mh? You're so adorable.” He gave another deep, slow thrust, watching you writhe below him, legs shaking as they tensed up in pleasure. And then again, pulling out and pushing in making your toes curl, your entire mind malfunctioning into bliss.

“I love it when you're jealous,” he taunted you. “Makes me feel so wanted.” He drew the shell of your ear with his lips, your body drowning in sensations, too small to handle all he had to offer. “Almost as sexy and as desirable as you are. My little fox.”

“Joonie…” you almost sobbed, clawing at his shoulders before remembering you must absolutely not, throwing your hands off him and tugging at the sheets.

Namjoon nuzzled his nose against the side of your face. “Scratch, mark, bite. I don't care. I'm yours, Vixen.”

You whimpered and forced yourself not to. Maybe you just wanted to see who would cave first, maybe you were still feeling too petty about all the times you had been denied.

“Do it. I know you want it,” he tempted you. “Take what you want, little fox.”

You shook your head and brought yourself not only to pin your hands in place, but also turn your face away.

Namjoon rammed into you aggressively at your act of defiance, causing you to gasp and flinch. “Claim me. Do it, ____. I belong to you. Won't you acknowledge that?”

Lips sealed, eyes closed, you fought him, knowing you were absolutely hopeless the moment he pulled you on top of him. “See. This is what you do to me. Look at me. Look at the mess I become for you. For you, alone. No one else in the whole world, Vixen. Only you.” He led his hand on your belly, rubbing at your clit with his thumb, letting you grind on him with your own pace. He only wanted to make you feel good. “Vixen, please, baby. Look at me.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, your hands on his pectorals, your hips moving on him so naturally, so comfortably. He looked beautiful. Grandiose. Magnificent.

He looked like the only man you would ever look at. You knew there was no way you would look at anyone else if he was in the room.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked fondly, placing his hand atop of yours, lacing your fingers together.

“That you're the only one for me. That I need something of you that belongs to me alone.”

He shifted your hands slightly, his engulfing your own on top of his beating heart. “Here. Yours. All yours. Take it.”

You started going faster, needing for the messy ordeal to come to an end so you could sleep the afternoon away wrapped up in his arms.

With quick swivels of your hips, you changed your angle, making sure that he rubbed against your sweet spot, deep inside you.

“Guess what else is yours?” he teased, looking down, keeping his finger steady against your sensitive nub.

“Your exceedingly large dick?” you suggested with a gleam in your voice, sending the both of you into a tumble of laughs.

“Exactly,” he replied playfully. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” you replied quickly, feeling your high spiral out of control. “Cumming.”

“Let go,” he reassured you, catching you with his arm once your body collapsed, his thumb still teasing you while he started thrusting from below, making sure that your orgasm peaked and extinguished in pleasure before he finally climaxed, knowing all too well that your final squeezes would trigger his own ecstasy.

“Doesn't it feel good to cum on your favourite dick, mh?”

“My one and only,” you stated openly, watching him get increasingly worked up. “Show me who you belong to, Joon. You say you're mine? Then cum inside me.”

He shut his eyes tight. “Come on. Gimme all you've got,” you taunted him.

He grit his teeth and shook his head. He needed better leverage to go harder.

You understood that immediately. “Wanna get on top?”

He was conflicted, but in the end you found yourself with your back once more to the mattress, his cock pushing inside you so hard and fast that you were ready to start all over again if it weren't for the numbing sleepiness pulling at your mind.

“I'm yours,” he gritted out, in between strokes, like a mantra. “Get it into your pretty head that I'm yours. That I only want you. For the rest of my life,” he breathed out the final part. “I'm gonna—” and with a wildly erotic growl you felt him swell inside you before his release flowed into you, his body too sensitive to handle the high for too long.

Once he was done, there was nothing but spent, panting bodies, your hand in his hair as you helped him calm down.

“Are you feeling better, little fox?” he asked, taking your joined hands and bringing your knuckles to his lips. “If we swapped roles for a day, you the idol and I the normal person, I don't think I would be able to face it like you do.”

With your eyes closed, you waited for him to pull the two of you on your sides, your head on his chest, legs tangled together as he rubbed his feet against yours lazily and lasciviously.

“I know you don't like feeling jealous and I'm sorry that I made you feel that. You always say it's part of my job and you're understanding, but we both know it's hard to stop these emotions from happening.”

You nodded, inhaling his scent, so deeply mixed with yours. “It's worth it though. Because of the man you are, and what you mean to me.”

He kissed your head.

“I need to clean up. I want to sleep with you.”

He nodded. You were both more than happy to cancel the date and just sleep in, wrapped up in light sheets on the late September day.

Once washed and ready for sleep, Namjoon found your perfect position, your right hand in his left one as he toyed with your ring, pushing it around. Even though he had proposed, he knew the wait would be long. Still, he tried. “How much time left?” he asked, the question a cliché between the two of you by now. You always knew what it meant to him.

“A while,” you replied — your usual answer.

He nodded and pulled you closer. “Sleep tight, baby fox.”

“Sleep tight, big bear.”

#namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #namjoon x reader #namjoon drabble #kim namjoon fanfiction #namjoon x yn #namjoon x vixen #thebtswritersclub #houseofddaeng #thetruthuntoldnet #52hertz #bangtansorciere

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malfoys-demigod · 4 years

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Boy-Magnet - Draco Malfoy x Reader

Prompt: “Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”, “Thank you, it means a lot to me.”

Summary: Being the opposite of a chick-magnet, you attracted many single boys who always tried hitting on you or asking you on a date. These boys all had the wrong intentions, especially Cormac McLaggen who had to be the biggest problem of them all. Draco couldn’t stand seeing his friend/secret crush go through this all. Little did you know, he would give his last fend off, showing that he would be there for you at all times now.

Word count: 3.6k

Tagging @the--queen-of-hell

A/N: Ah!! It’s a bit scratchy but this oneshot should do it! Enjoy!

-- “Hey Y/N, you free this weekend?” asked a passerby whose friends started chuckling as they walked past you in the corridors.

“Nope,” you irritatingly answered and rolled your eyes as you were waiting for your friend Daphne to leave the classroom she just had classes in.

You checked the time from your antique chain watch, looking at how classes should have ended five minutes ago for Daphne. But then again, she was having Professor Binns’ History of Magic so he would have gone overtime without knowing.

“Silly old ghost,” you muttered to yourself as you placed the watch back into your sling bag. You were lucky you didn’t have to fill another class like Binn’s into your schedule unlike Daphne who was advised to take History of Magic if she wanted to become a professor.

“I can agree with you,” came the voice who replied to you. Looking up, you saw Cormac McLaggen walking towards you slowly with his hands in his robe pockets, smirking at you. “Too bad I still have him this year,” his hand pressed the wall, making his body closely face yours.

“How unfortunate,” you tried sounding as lively as possible.

The obnoxious boy let out a laugh, thinking you were interested in the conversation he started, pulled up his History of Magic book and waved it in front of you. “I was thinking,” he said looking at the book, “If you could tut-”

Daphne Greengrass was the first one to have forcefully brushed the doors of the classroom you were standing by open, storming out with a sigh of relief as she saw your figure waiting by.

“Merlin’s beard!,” she boomed, “Thank you so much for waiting, Y/N.” She looked tired as if she slept through the whole class time but seeing that she drew on her arms with her quill meant that she was wide awake, bored out of her mind as she did not want to write useful information from the class.

When she looked at the person who was closely in front of you, she knew what she had to do as she pulled you by the arm and said, “We have to go! Uh,” she looked down, left and right, thinking of a quick excuse, “The boys want to meet us!” She looked at Cormac who seemed uncomfortable hearing that there were boys who were more valued than his time. “Beat it, McLaggen.” she said as she dragged you away from the scene, going wherever was the farthest from him.

“The boys, huh? Very specific of you, Daph,” you laughed. Turning left and then turning right, the two of you had entered the Great Hall, the nearest place with the most people to use as a way to hide from ill men like Cormac.

“Right,” she exhaled from running so quickly. “We’re okay here?”

“I suppose,” you shrugged, “I actually would love a snack anyways.”

The two had gone to the ends of the Slytherin table which was the edge facing the professors’ table when they usually had their meals. While you were placing your bag by your side, Daphne had already asked for pumpkin juice and sandwiches from the elves.

When she was finished ordering, she looked at you with concerned eyes as she placed a hand on your shoulder. “Sorry class took long. I bet if Binns was aware of the time, you wouldn’t have encountered that slimy boy.”

“It’s alright, Daphne. I just hate how there are still so many ill-minded boys in this school who think they can just claim me as their own. I wish I wasn’t some magnet to them,” you sighed, laughing.

Daphne nudged your shoulder, shaking her head from left to right. “Don’t ever say that! You’re lucky boys go after a beautiful girl like you, but sadly they go after you in the wrong way. You just need to learn how to defend yourself without anyone helping you.”

“True, but I suppose having a boyfriend would be nice too,” you joked. Daphne rolled her eyes in a joking manner as she drank from her pumpkin juice.

“Sign me up too, Y/N,” she sighed, “Oh Merlin, why can’t you help me out!,” Daphne looked up to the ceiling, pretending to pray for a miracle.

While you were laughing your arse off, footsteps belonging to a group were walking towards your end of the table. You only noticed when a body slid into the table, sitting beside you.

“Gone nuts haven’t we, Greengrass?,” said the voice.

Daphne and you turned to the right, looking at Draco and his gang who had just arrived with a grand meal through the magic of the elves.

Your friend nodded, taking in another sip of her pumpkin juice. “Crazy times we live in, Malfoy.”

Draco gave a small nod in return, then looked at you, giving you a friendly warm smile. As he smiled from his mouth, it was also as if his gray eyes were smiling as well.

“Afternoon, Y/N,” he politely greeted you, “I would have assumed by your childish laugh that you had gone nuts as well, but then again, I can’t picture you going nuts, especially over someone trying to ask Merlin helplessly.”

The whining ‘Hey, I’m right here!’ from Daphne was ignored and spaced out as you were in the zone with Draco’s conversation.

You smiled as a result of hearing the smooth comment the platinum blonde had given you. Stroking a loose hair strand behind your ear, you shyly looked down.

“Well, Draco. I’m full of surprises. I could go nuts any minute by now.,” you replied, looking back up as if your confidence had just brought you back alive.

“Not on my watch, Y/L/N. Besides, what could possibly drive you nuts? You’re one of the most calm people around school. You don’t have annoying people such as saint Potter on your shoulder everyday.”

Scoffing, you shook your head, denying the things he had just said. That was by far the most untrue statement anyone had ever told you. Your whole life constantly revolved around people trying to hook up with you and trying to fend off those same people.

“Have you ever seen the countless mindless boys who try asking me on a date?,” you laughed. “It’s not fun to decline their offers.”

Draco’s face had hardened as he knew what you were talking about. The way he commented how he assumed you didn’t have people on your backs to fend off was all bluffs. He had seen the evil minded boys who had tried to get physically close to you, and he even heard many betting which one would claim you as theirs that he even threatened to hex most of them whenever you weren’t around.

“Why would you decline them? Surely you’d want to go on a date with someone.”

You tilted your head, “Yes, I would but most of these boys don’t have the right intentions. I can somehow feel it.”

Draco nodded, understanding what you meant. He took a lowkey angry bite off his sandwich, visualizing the many boys he would often overhear by the corridors.

“I can assure you that there’s only a few boys with the right mindset,” he stood up, causing his group to stand up as well. He looked at you with careful eyes, “You take care, Y/N. See you back at the common room. Excuse us.”

You waved goodbye, smiling pleasantly at Draco as he turned around, leading his group out of the Great Hall. Daphne could see the way you smiled at Draco, treating him differently from the rest of the other boys in school. She nudged you in the shoulder again, making you finally turn back to her with a dazed look.

“I know Malfoy’s.. Well Malfoy, but he’s quite nicer than the rest of the boys in school towards you.” she detected.

“He seems like it.” you agreed.

Potions class with the Slytherins was a joined class with the Gryffindors. This was one of the many classes that you had with other houses and one of the few that was shared with the Gryffindors. Today was promised by Professor Snape to be an interactive class.

So aside from the usual potion experiments, Snape informed everyone that today’s experiments would be done in the way wherein he would pick pre-made pairs from his list to do the experiment together.

While you were hoping to be paired with Daphne or anyone that was willing to let aside the ill-minded questions on their minds to focus on the experiment with you, Draco was hoping to be paired with you.

Being a table behind you, he didn’t have to look back at you and pray that he was going to be paired with you. He had the chance to look in front of him and watch your reaction when you finally get picked to be with him.

To kill the suspension throughout the whole classroom, Snape grabbed the list on his desk and stood in front of the class.

“Greengrass and Zabini.”

Draco watched as Daphne, your seatmate, pouted and waved goodbye as she moved out of her seat to be with Blaise. He felt like Merlin was in his side as the chances of being paired with you only grew higher.

“Potter and Granger.”

Draco rolled his eyes and wanted to throw his head back. ‘Nobody gives a damn!’ he impatiently said to himself.

“Y/L/N and McLaggen.”

Draco’s heart felt like stopping as he heard a name that was not his be paired with you. He looked at McLaggen who smirked to himself as he started moving his way to your table.

“Malfoy and Weasley.”

“Oh, come on!” Ron complained, only for Snape to smack him in the head with his list. Draco was too discontented to see Cormac take the spot he was yearning for that he didn’t even have the emotion to bark at Ron for being his partner.

Throughout the entire experiment, Draco’s eyes were on the table in front of him. As every second passed, he kept praying that Cormac would somehow get poisoned from inhaling whatever ingredients he could have misplaced, making him run to the Hospital Wing so he could stop looking at you with such puppy eyes.

Despite being the best potion student of the class, Draco was really off his game. He couldn’t stop paying attention to you that he would single-handedly make little mistakes throughout the whole experiment that Ron started getting annoyed by. Even if Ron wasn’t one of the best potions students, he had to fix the mistakes Draco kept filling in with.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy. I thought you were the top of our class!” Ron complained as he picked up the ingredients Draco had dropped, assuming that he placed it in the pot. “Why are you so lousy all of a sudden?”

Draco definitely did not hear a single word Ron had said as his eyes and ears were on you and McLaggen. He was listening to how you were trying your best to be patient with Cormac. He was a mess just like Draco, only to find out that he was always a mess in potions. He wasn’t as keen and smart as Draco in this class - he was far from that. He couldn’t tell which ingredient was which, which made you wonder how he’s been getting by with potions class.

“Why don’t I do the experiment for us?” you irritatingly suggested. “You can still experience the experiment by observing.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Y/N,” Cormac playfully pouted, “I’m such a mess when it comes to these things.”

Draco rolled his eyes, muttering to himself that Cormac was indeed a terrible mess in general. He then watched Cormac rest his head on the palms of his hand as he watched you continue with the experiment like a hopelessly in-love puppy. Draco wanted to smack the head of Cormac for being such an annoying person, not doing his job, and looking at you in the way he wanted to look at you.

“You know, Y/N,” Cormac said, “You’re really good at potions. I bet you do all sorts of talents with your hands.”

Draco narrowed his eyes in anger, holding the table with such grip as he was trying to compose himself from breaking out and hexing the life out of Cormac. How dare him have the audacity to say such a thing to you! Where were his manners? This was an outrage! Draco couldn’t take it anymore. He looked at you, heavily focused on the experiment that you did not hear the last thing Cormac said.

“Uh-huh.” was all you said.

“Do you think you could perhaps tutor me in potions?” Cormac asked, “I know a secluded spot for the two of us in the library.” He wriggled his eyes, expecting that you were going to turn to him and accept the offer gladly.

“No thanks, McLaggen.” you nonchalantly declined the offer as you were still focused on brewing the experiment. “Pass me the whisk, will you?”

As Cormac passed the whisk, there was a lingering touch from his hand as he tried feeling the smoothness of your hand for a little longer. You turned to look at a grinning McLaggen as you aggressively took the whisk away from him, removing his touch from you with a disgusted look.

“You’re welcome.” Cormac sounded as if he depended on the thanks he was waiting for. You just gave him a scoff as you didn’t even bother looking back at him.

Draco was furious from the inside. He asked himself, ‘How could Merlin bring such a badly behaved and disgusting person like Cormac McLaggen into this world?’ As he angrily chopped more ingredients, he couldn’t stand witnessing monstrosities like this. Then again, there were many boys that probably tried courting you without him there, so the unknown number of attempts that he wasn’t there to fend off made him grow more furious than he already was.

After class, you made your way to the one place where you could easily gather your thoughts.

The Black Lake.

If Draco Malfoy claimed the Astronomy Tower as ‘his place’, then the Black Lake was yours. You didn’t have to travel a flight of stairs to gather your thoughts. It only took you a good walk away from the castle to make it to the famous lake.

The Black Lake was the place where you could distress yourself from the immense workload your classes would give you. It was the place where you could talk to yourself, vent and rant to yourself about the things that bother you. It was the place you could be at for hours.

There were barely people who normally hung around the lake as they were scared of Merpeople dragging them into the water. It was nonsense. Of course there were merpeople but people had to understand that they lived in the bottom of the lake. Why would they swim to the top-most part of the lake and attempt dragging people down with them?

When you finally arrived at your favorite place, you rested your back on one of the massive rocks by the trees to get a perfect view of the lake. You opened up your Defense Against the Dark Arts book, attempting to learn more things in advance. This class may have not been your strongest class, but it wasn’t the weakest class either. But either way, you wanted to do some advance reading since you did not have anything else to do for the day.

“Now,” you said, turning to the next page, “Which spell should I learn today?” Your eyes were looking through familiar spells that you either have tried out before or did not interest you. You flipped to more pages, searching for more interesting spells but you ran out of luck. The ones you wanted would have caused mass destruction in a place such as the Black Lake. Also, extreme spells were not allowed to be practiced alone.

Feeling defeated, you closed your Defense Against the Dark Arts Book and sighed, placing it back on your bag. “I suppose watching the Lake for awhile would suffice,” you said to yourself as you hugged your knees, watching the body of water that the lake had embodied.

“Perhaps I could be of use for entertainment.” said a voice that had come out of nowhere.

Surprised by the voice, you had looked left and right to see where the voice might have come from. But there was nobody. Suddenly, hands covered your eyes, blocking your sight and turning everything you saw into darkness.

“Guess who.” said the same voice that had now whispered into your ear. The thrills that ran along your spine could only mean one thing. Cormac McLaggen. You furiously grabbed a hold of his hands and shoved it away from your eyes as you stood up, turning around to push the playful Gryffindor.

“What the hell, McLaggen!” you screamed, walking a few steps backwards.

Cormac cheekily smiled, walking a few steps towards you. “Come on, sweetcheeks. I know you’re just trying to play hard to get with silly old me.”

Your eyebrows narrowed in anger as you have heard the most ridiculous thing from his mouth. “You’re out of your mind. I despise boys like you who think they can just come up to me and act all playful with me. Why can’t you bark up another tree for once?!”

Cormac pulled you and forcefully pressed you against the nearest tree. He stroked your cheek with his left hand while his right hand was carefully holding you tightly in your waist. He leaned into your ear, whispering, “Because,” he said, “you are-”

“STUPEFY!” casted a voice.

Cormac’s body had flown off of you and into the ground, ten meters away from you. You exhaled in relief and saw that it was Draco Malfoy who had casted the spell. When he saw that Cormac was unconscious for a second, his eyes went to you. He ran towards you, placing his hands on your shoulder, looking up and down to see if you were hurt. “Are you okay, Y/N? Dammit, if only I had gotten here faster. Merlin’s beard I swear, I already threatened that asshole twice today. If he-”

“MALFOY” Cormac yelled as the Gryffindor tried properly standing on his own.

Draco saw that McLaggen was almost on his feet. To stall things, he had quickly casted a “Glisseo”, resulting in Cormac to slip and fall on his own bottom as the spell caused him to flatten steps into a slide. Once Cormac fell once again, Draco looked at you with concerned eyes, “My dear, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am now that you’re here.” you honestly told him. “He just happened to get in the way, honestly.”

“Right, well, it’s time I show you what I've been trying to do ever since vile gits like him have been trying to get on you.” Draco said, looking now at Cormac. “Oy!”

Cormac stood up, looking at Draco with sore eyes.

“Yeah, you great ugly brute! Come at me, Gryffindork!” Draco confidently opened himself.

McLaggen infuriatingly started dashing towards Draco as if he was a bull that saw Draco holding up a red flag. Before he could jump and tackle Draco onto the ground, Draco did the opposite of lowering his wand and casting, “Wingardium Leviosa!” on Cormac, who began levitating off the ground.

Your mouth opened with excitement as Cormac demanded that he be let down immediately. Draco’s wand then pointed at the Black Lake which dragged Cormac’s body above the cold-icy lake. When Cormac had realized where he was being placed, there was fear in his eyes as he started whimpering, apologizing and crying.

“Shall we drench him?” Draco shouted, pretending he was the ringleader of a carnival.

“No, no, please don’t!” Cormac begged.

“I think we should!” Draco sounded happy. “And into the water you go!” With that, Draco pointed his wand to the water, bringing Cormac in for a sweet drench. Then Draco abruptly brought him back on air, only for him to place him back on the water. The action of bringing Cormac back down and back up was done continuously for a good five minutes as Draco was amused and entertained by what he was seeing.

It was funny at first to watch, but five minutes was enough for you. You started to feel bad for Cormac even if he was an awful person to you.

“Draco?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

Draco scoffed and laughed. “Don’t you think he deserves extreme consequences?”

“True, but I think that should be enough.”

“In a minute, I’m nearly satisfied with my doings.”

Seeing that Draco was focused on the punishment he was giving Cormac, you thought of one way that could possibly prevent him from continuing his doings. You walked closer to him, slowly enveloping him with a soft hug.

Being unfamiliar with such actions from someone like you, Draco without delay, had lowered his wand, resulting in dropping Cormac into the water, possibly sinking him into the depths of the lake as the water that day was extremely cold.

The platinum blonde had surprisingly hugged you back even softer than expected as he brushed the strokes of your hair. He placed his chin on your head as he closed his eyes, taking in the fact that the two of you were hugging each other.

“Thank you, it means a lot to me.” you said.

“I promise you, Y/N, that I will always be there for you. Whether it be fending off jokes like McLaggen or comforting you in any possible way, I assure you, I will be there for you. I won’t let you off my sight.”

“That’s good,” you smiled, “I’m going to do the same thing for you.”

#Draco Malfoy x Reader #Harry Potter #Harry Potter x Reader #george weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader

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fortunaaamajor · 4 years

Text

Something in the Way (Fred Weasley)

Fred Weasley x Reader

The trope of everyone else knowing two people are in love before the two have figured it out is just so adorable to me, I love reading it so thought I’d try my hand at writing it...

Fem!Reader, no house mentioned, no specific physical features

Warnings: None I don’t think

Word Count: 1.6k

Although I am using the Harry Potter universe as a basis for this story I do not support JK Rowling or her views.

Fred and Y/N’s relationship was special, everyone knew that. What they shared was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. Fred and Y/N’s relationship was loving and tender, both always willing to put the other first whatever the cost. Fred and Y/N’s relationship was lasting, for the last three years they had been looking at each other like they were the sole reason for the stars in the sky, the mists on the mountains and the full, glowing moon.

Except Fred and Y/N’s relationship didn’t exist. The two had been dancing around each other all this time, never quite getting close enough to call it love.

This was why their family and friends were on high alert, overanalyzing every look, comment, or touch exchanged by the pair. Sometimes it was the glance thrown by Ginny to George as Fred adjusted Y/N’s scarf to keep her warmer. Sometimes it was Mr and Mrs Weasley whispering conspiracies about how they couldn’t pinpoint the look in Fred’s eyes when he stared at Y/N intently at dinner earlier. Sometimes it was the abrupt and secretive silence that engulfed Harry, Hermione and Ron when Y/N appeared in front of them, bringing an end to their discussion about how oblivious the two were.

Just the other day at the Burrow the twins had been helping to decorate the tree when Molly had piped up

“Will Y/N be visiting this Christmas?” Fred’s head whipped round to frown at his mother as he finished adjusting some of the shiny muggle ‘tinsel’ Arthur Weasley had gleefully presented to his family,

“Why would Y/N be visiting?” he had questioned, shaking his head slightly and looking towards George, who averted his eyes towards a particulary intriguing bewitched bauble.

“Oh no reason,” Molly’s face fell “I just wanted to make sure she had some plans is all, dear...”

“Yeah, she does. She’s away until the new year actually” Fred had huffed, confused as to why his mother seemed more keen to spend time with his best friend than with him.

It was a frosty Saturday in January that Y/N had sent an owl saying she was popping in that afternoon to check out the stock for the new year. The air was clean and crisp yet cold enough that not many shoppers were braving the chill to visit Diagon Alley. The boys leant against the counter, George fumbling with some packaging distractedly. Ron was also working that day, taking his sweet time stacking some Blaze Boxes in the corner. Fred’s eyes kept darting to the clock,

“When did she say she’d stop by again?” he asked nonchalantly, causing George to look up

“Eh, just said afternoon I think mate, don’t worry though I’m sure we won’t be too busy to have her in” he gestured to the empty shop.

Fred stayed silent. In the corner a loud bang erupted as Ron dropped one of the boxes. Bright sparks whizzed round the room, popping and fizzing as Ron stood swearing at the front of the shop. George began to laugh but was interrupted by his twin, fist was clenched and brow furrowed -

“Bloody hell Ron, save some stock for us to actually sell, would you?”

Fred’s tone was snarky and a comment that biting sounded so strange leaving his mouth that it took all three boys aback for a moment.

“I’m not sure who spiked your cereal this morning but you can lose that tone with me... maybe when Y/N gets here you’ll be a bit nicer!” Ron pouted.

“Y/N’s clearly forgotten about her plans for this afternoon, or she’d be here by now.” Fred muttered, pushing past George on his way to the stock room.

George and Ron exchanged familiar confused looks, over the three years Y/N had been in Fred’s life an entirely new language of bewildered or disbelieving stares had formed amongst the Weasleys. Fred didn’t emerge until the bell above the door rang and Y/N’s soft voice greeted them all joyfully. As if a weight had been lifted off his chest he bounded past the till and embraced her tightly.

“I missed you, loser.”

Only a week later, the twins were sitting opposite each other, both focusing on checking the shop’s accounts (or so Fred thought) George had been turning the last interaction between his brother and Y/N over and over in his mind, wondering how on earth Fred hadn’t connected his bad mood to the absence of his dearest ‘friend’. He coughed and sat up, straightening his back, but failed to make eye contact with his brother who was still hunched over the large leather-bound book.

“Why do you think Y/N is single?” he pondered aloud, noting the way Fred’s head flicked up at the mention of her name alone.

“That’s obvious - nobody we know is good enough for her.” Fred stated, as if George was silly for not considering such a simple explanation.

“Ah yeah... obviously,” George coughed, attempting to hide his laugh. He made eye contact with his twin “are you sure we don’t know anyone?” he asked slowly, hoping Fred might finally catch on.

“Listen, I don’t know what this is all about but if you’re thinking of trying anything I would advise you to check the mirror to confirm that you closely resemble a mountain troll.. and I know it’s been 2 days since you last showered, therefore Y/N would never even consider it, okay?” Fred snapped

George spluttered with laughter before managing to stammer out

“First off, we’re identical you absolute savage.”

Fred just shook his head, “Anyone with taste knows I’m the better looking twin.”

Fred wasn’t just fiercely protective of Y/N but he would also go to the ends of the earth for her, this much was clear to everyone...except her. It started with one, two, three butterbeers on him and developed into Y/N being able to attend plans with the twins without her purse. It was established that Fred would not allow her to part with as much as a knut whilst in his company. Nor would he allow her to spend it on his company, any product she showed interest in (or looked at for more than five seconds) was hastily put aside for her, sometimes with a shimmering ribbon clumsily knotted round it.

“As a gift, on the house, absolutely no need for your money darling” he would assure her every single time.

In fact, the only payment he would accept was if she came to work for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes - “you’d be amazing, Y/N you’re so good with kids, and I know you can really push sales - who could say no to you?” he had pleaded, whilst she flushed red and chuckled... “funnily enough Freddie, pretty much everyone apart from you can say no to me, you poor sod!”

This hypothesis was correct, and had been proven time and time again. When everyone gathered for dinner at Harry and Ginny’s house instead of apparating in Fred, Y/N and George had stood shivering on the doorstep, waiting for the door to be answered. When Ginny pulled it open all three of them bundled in to the warm hallway, slipping off coats and hats.

“Why didn’t you guys apparate? It’s bloody freezing out there tonight!” she had remarked, noting that all three had cheeks flushed with cold and pink shading the tips of their noses. George tutted and glared at Fred, speaking lowly so only Ginny could hear

“Because, my dear sister, Y/N doesn’t really like apparating so obviously Fred wouldn’t allow it!” At the same time Y/N piped up, not having heard his comment,

“We all fancied a walk I think didn’t we Freddie?... George?”

George rolled his eyes but nodded enthusiastically and Y/N beamed as Ginny led them through to the dining room as the feeling in their fingertips began to return.

The spread that had been prepared looked divine, the smell travelled through the whole house and made Fred’s mouth water.

Food was shared around and wine poured, everyone caught up on the excitement of Christmas and the New Year, and congratulated the twins on the soaring sales of the new launch. George took the chance to mention his new girlfriend, Guenevere, to the group - causing Ginny and Hermione to squeal with delight and Ron to lean over and smack him on the back in congratulations. Harry nodded along with the conversation, focused on the plate infront of him. That is, until he looked at Fred quizically

“When do you think you’ll meet someone, Fred?” he asked gently, with not a hint of malice in his voice, if anything he was trying to nudge Fred’s thoughts of the future towards Y/N, who sat on his left.

The atmosphere in the room felt a little like a joke that everyone except Fred and Y/N were in on, everyone waited with baited breath for Fred to talk. They gasped slightly when he turned to face Y/N... then George...

“Um, I don’t know, really, at the moment I’m alright just hanging out with George and Y/N, they’re all I really need just now... and you guys, of course, and the shop. But that all goes without saying”

The entire table let out a frustrated sigh, they had been so close but were once again disappointed with his answer, Fred was none the wiser.

‘Goes without saying my arse’ George (and the others) thought grumpily. All they wanted was Fred to say it, to say anything, to call it what it was.

The two had been dancing around each other almost four years, still never getting close enough to call it love.

A/N: Thought I’d give another bit of Fred writing a go, as my George one has been so much more popular than my last Fred one, give the boy a chance! Also this kind of invites a part two, so if anyone has any suggestions of scenarios in which these two finally get together, send em my way. Much love.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley fic #harry potter imagines #harry potter one shots #harry potter fic #fred weasley fluff #hp fic #hp imagine #hp one shot #fred weasley

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ppersonna · 4 years

Text

repentance - knj | m

now, let's imprint my name on that trophy and come back home - come back home, BTS

↳ summary- your boyfriend, Kim Namjoon, doesn’t like it when you flirt with other guys

↳ rating- explicit / 18+

↳ word count- 6k

↳ pairing- namjoon x reader

↳ genre- smut, this is all smut, there is nothing but smut here, there is no god in this chili’s tonight. this actively takes us further from the light.

↳ warnings- very hard BDSM, name calling, degradation, humiliation, spitting, caning/spanking, collaring, bondage, squirting, overstimulation, impreg kink lmfao, face fucking, Namjoon is a v sadistic dom but he is still sane, after care is important,

↳ a/n- well folks. here it is. The fic that pushed me past my comfort zone lmfafskadf. i am 100% grateful to @sombreboy for assisting me with this and being silly as fuck in the google doc. i could not have done it without his guidance lmfaooo. this was requested by anon and i hope i did it justice and i rly appreciate getting sent things that make me write things i normally wouldn’t! thank you for believing in me lmfao. pls feel free to interact with me however u want bc i love you all. Thanks for reading! namjoon if ur reading this pls forgive me

“I hope you had your fun, doll,“ Namjoon whispers harshly in your ear as you walk with him away from the dance studio. You’re covered in sweat, hot, and still you’re shaking like a leaf at the tone of your boyfriend’s voice.

So maybe you broke the rules. Maybe you danced with Jimin at practice a little too intensely, a little too provocatively. Maybe you grinded up against the blonde harder than you should, making the dancer sport a tent in his pants.

And maybe you did it in front of your boyfriend, that man who loved and dominated you.

Is it too late to say oops?

Namjoon is silent on the drive home. His face is expressionless, but his eyes give it away. He looks a touch angry, a touch excited, but he mostly radiates possession. If there’s something that Namjoon hates, it’s sharing you.

Your playful flirting with Jimin had been just that—playful. Jimin was your dance partner going on 10 years now, ranging from ballroom to jazz and tap, to contemporary and international. Jimin was always your go-to guy, best friend, and occasional fuck buddy. Namjoon knew this, knew the history between you two, but still allowed you your freedom in dancing and competing with the blonde. Sometimes it was just so easy to fall back on old habits, when you’d grind on Jimin so hard that he’d rip your shorts down and take you against the hardwood floor of the studio.

Even though you were quite happy in your relationship with Namjoon, it was hard to re-route the synapses that led elsewhere when you were dancing.

But you loved Namjoon, and you had for a long time. It was something you were working on, the flirting and the carelessness. Namjoon was supportive, loving, and a natural caretaker.

He was also a sadistic Dominant.

Where Namjoon was sensitive, sweet, communicative and giving in the streets, he was disgusting and filthy and downright heinous in the sheets.

And you loved every single aspect of it. There was nothing that thrilled you more than the control he wielded on you, the power in his gaze and in his hand, and the possession he took of you.

It was the reason none of your relationships worked out before him. Sure, there had been pleasant guys and excellent fucks like Jimin. But Namjoon was the entire package, plus some. You trusted him with your entire life, your whole being. He grew up alongside you, and you knew the man would rather injure himself than ever cause you harm.

It’s what made the punishments, the pain, even more delicious. He took you to your breaking point, sometimes even further, because he knew you could take it. And you trusted, loved and adored him for it.

But that didn’t mean it was easy.

No, while the punishments and pain were fun in the long run, they still sent a thrill of fear down your spine.

It’s been awhile since you got your boyfriend this worked up. Things had been pretty smooth sailing for the last few months. Sure, he was still a maniac in bed, but it was the scripted and practiced scenes you both knew by heart. Schoolgirl, nurse, secretary.

But this was real. Tangibly real. You could feel the tension rolling off his toned body, the heat of it ensnaring you, tying you up tight.

You want to apologize, open your mouth and begin the litany of sorry’s and I didn’t mean to’s, but your throat felt dry. You knew it was useless to try now, and the act might make him more upset.

The punishment he would inflict upon you would absolve you, baptize you of your sins. He’d sacrifice your flesh to be remade.

The car pulls into the garage of your shared home. Namjoon parks, closes the heavy door behind the car, then sits in the car staring straight ahead.

He’s silent for a moment. It puts your nerves on edge and he knows this, knows you hate the silence more than anything else.

“You are going to get naked. Right now.” He orders, still not facing you. He focuses his eyes on the wall of your garage. “You will leave your dirty clothes outside where they belong. And you will crawl from the car into the house.”

You nibble at your lip, waiting for more instructions. He turns and levels a look at you, and your body lights with fire.

“I want you to retrieve your collar and the handcuffs and bring them to me in the bedroom. You will get in position for me.”

He looks at you once more, seeking your eyes for any sign of fear, anything to tell him he’s going too far.

While your heart races, you nod and swallow tightly. You’re scared but not enough to stop him. You have a safe word for a reason but you haven’t needed to use it yet and you trust Namjoon more than you trust yourself.

He takes stock of your agreement and exits the car, leaving you alone as he trudged up the stairs leading to the house.

It takes one shuddering breath before you step out of the car, peel your sweaty workout clothes off, and slide down to your knees. There're cameras in the garage for security, and you know he’s watching them to ensure you’re listening to his orders.

The floor of the garage is dirty. You take one movement forward and look at your hands to find they’re already covered in black soot from the dirt and oils of the car tires driving in and out. You make a face but quickly pull out of it. This is your punishment.

You crawl up the steps and gingerly open the door, then make your way to your linen closet where your collar and handcuff remain when you’re not at home.

Namjoon gifted you with a home collar and a public collar. The public collar is a beautiful diamond circle pendant that hits right at the hollow of your throat.

The home collar, however, is made out of a study leather material, embedded with gorgeous diamonds. It’s heavy against your throat when you wear it. It’s a constant reminder of your subservient relationship to your Dom, your boyfriend.

The handcuffs hang from their specified hook. Black leather with chains connecting the cuffs. They’re strong, incredibly so, and the thought of being locked up makes your core tighten in excitement and fear.

With the items secure in your grasp, you return to your kneeling position and continue crawling towards the bedroom where your boyfriend awaits. Something inside you bubbles fiercely—what does he have planned for you? It’s been awhile since you’ve been quite literally at his mercy.

Namjoon is standing in front of the bed, arms crossed over his chest as you enter the room. You keep your eyes down, not making contact until he instructs for you to do so. You can feel the power and heat oozing off him, surrounding him like a cloud of authority. You approach and sit in front of him, knees spread wide and sat back on your heels. Your hands offer up the collar and the cuffs, palms up, as you avert his gaze.

“Look at you,” he tuts. “Filthy...” He removes the collar and cuffs off your hands and gazes at the black soot remaining from the dirty garage floor,

“But it suits you perfectly, doesn’t it?”, his voice was almost mocking you, ‘’A dirty slut.’’

Quite literally.

Namjoon sets aside your collar on the edge of the bed before crouching in front of you, a lopsided grin curling on his lips as he grabs your wrists as to inspect them,

‘’Even your pretty little hands are soiled, angel.’’ he tsked in disapproval, the mere sound of it making you feel smaller, eyes still fixed on the floor. After all, he hadn’t told you to look at him as of yet.

You don’t know why you thought he would ask you to wash your hands, but you quickly threw aside your anticipations as it catches you off guard with what he does next.

‘’Palms up, angel. Show me your hands.’’

A confused second passed, but you obliged nonetheless, raising both of your hands, palms up to him as if you were begging for something.

The mere sight was absolutely gorgeous to Namjoon.

Without a word, Namjoon collects enough saliva in his mouth, grabbing your wrists to pull your hands closer, letting his spit drip from his tongue down to pool in your hands. Your eyes widen as they stare at the floor, arms twitching instinctively at the foreign sensation.

His grasp around your wrists tightens, ‘’Stay still… Be a good girl, yeah?’’

You nod, relaxing your arms. However the muscles in them feel tired from holding them out for him like this. He knows, he can tell, but says nothing about it. He loves to watch you struggle, adamant to please him.

Besides, you deserve it, don’t you?

Once more, Namjoon spits in your hands. This time, it has a degrading intention; a harsh spitting sound as it lands in your hand. He stands up again, the angle even more delicious from above as he watches you obediently hold his pooled saliva like it was the most precious gift from him.

‘’Go on... Clean up.’’

You bite your lip as the slick saliva spreads in your hands. Your body thrums with humiliation and desire, mixing to make your legs quiver where they kneel before him. You clasp your hands together and rub your boyfriends spit in your hands, attempting to remove as much of the dirt as possible with what he’s given you. It’s messy—the spit is black from the soot. His eyes take you in, the image of you cleansing yourself with him, accepting his spit like the dirty whore you are, that he loves. It makes his cock throb in his jeans. Nothing gets him off quicker than putting you in your place, seeing you accept his degradation with pink cheeks and frightened eyes.

He pulls his shirt off his body and throws it to you carelessly.

“Use it to dry your hands,” he orders.

You comply, wiping the last off you with his shirt.

“Let me see.” You hold your hands up for him to inspect and he smirks, ‘’Good little slut.’’

His hands open the collar wide and you jerk slightly as you feel the pressure of it on your neck. Namjoon pulls it tight around you for a moment, cutting off your air supply, before he releases and secures the collar to sit high on your throat. The ‘O’ ring sits at the center proudly, a place he often uses to leash and drag you around like his pretty, perfect pet.

He moves away from you and towards the armoire at the side of your bedroom. Your heart gallops wildly. The armoire is full of his toys, punishment and reward alike. The unknowing of what he’s getting out to use on you has your cunt dripping with desire and fright.

There’s silence as he gathers his tools, then returns and places them on the nightstand.

“Look at me.” His voice is firm, unwavering.

You let your eyes flick up to his and your breath catches. He looks incredible. Shirtless, tight pants straining with the bulge of his cock, power exuding from his very pores. Your eyes dance on his chest for just a moment, soaking in the refined lines, then settle at his eyes. They’re darkened with lust, with intention. He looks at you like you are his next, and final, meal.

“I want you to bend over the bed. You will spread your legs and push out your pretty little ass. I’m going to cane you for what you’ve done today.”

Your eyes widen, and he relishes in the fright lingering. He hasn’t used the cane on you in a long time. It’s the most intense tools of impact you own—the one you’re most frightened of.

“You know your safe word, don’t you?” He asks.

You nod.

He tsks. “I asked you a question. Don’t make me open up that mouth for you. You won’t like what I’ll do.”

A shiver runs through you as you weakly open your mouth. “Yes, sir. My safe word is orange.”

He nods. “Good girl. Let’s hope we won’t need it and you’ll take what you are given, hm?” Another nod from you. “Now, do as you’re told.”

You hop up quickly, knees painfully red and sore now, and move towards the bed. You arch down, sticking your ass out towards your boyfriend and spreading your legs shoulder-length apart. He can see all of you, slick folds weeping with desire and anticipation, legs shaking in fear and arousal.

It’s intoxicating to Namjoon, the way you behave and listen. He loves the fright inside you, the way it soaks your cunt for him. He knows the cane is on the verge of being too much, he knows you’ll be weeping both from eyes and pussy at the end of it.

The wood is heavy in his hands. The cane is only a bit longer than a paddle, but it packs an even more intense blow.

“Tell me what you did today. Why do you deserve my cane?” He asks, allowing the cane to tap at your cheeks lightly. It makes you jerk and clutch at the blankets below you.

“I—I was dancing with Jimin, sir,” you murmur, voice tight with anxiety.

“Ah ah, you weren’t just dancing,” he corrects. “Don’t pretend to be innocent. You know what you did.”

As you open your mouth to speak, he brings the cane down at the tops of your thighs. It cracks heavily on the skin and makes your knees give out. The sting is like white, hot fire on your thighs. It burns, and makes your cunt clench around nothing. Tears spring at your eyes as you try to answer him.

“I was grinding on him!” you cry as your legs return to standing to accept the next blow.

“You were being a little. fucking. slut.” he intones, then punctuates his words with another whip of the cane—right at the center of your ass. The sound of it hitting your flesh echoes in the bedroom you share, and it makes you cry out in pain. Your knuckles were white from the grasp of the blankets—tears flooding you and spilling onto the duvet. “Say it!” He orders.

You whimper through your words. “I was being a slut, sir!”

‘’That’s right, you were being a filthy, horny cockslut.’’ He snarls, another whip echoing in the room as it falls harshly on your skin, ‘’Horny for Jimin’s cock with the way you were grinding on him, by the looks of it, isn’t that right?’’

He laughs mockingly, landing another whip on the same spot he previously caned, it would definitely bruise. But you didn’t care. And neither did he, he fucking loves your cries.

‘’Tell me, who’s cock are you really a whore for?!’’

He holds the cane high, anticipating your answer.

‘’Y-yours, daddy-- p-please!’’ You cry out, clawing at the sheets, legs quivering.

‘’That’s right, but apparently, you didn’t remember that today, angel.’’ He says with an awfully calm voice, cane still held high.

He ends his caning with one final blow, and it makes your vision black out with the intensity. You’re sobbing now, weeping into the blankets as your legs shake.

It’s the most intense pain you’ve ever felt, ever been dealt from your loving boyfriend. It forces you to understand just how upset you made him, just how angry watching you attempt to seduce another man makes him.

“You’re my little cumslut, you hear that? Mine!”

His hands smooth over your reddened ass, harsh burgundy lines marking where he punished you thoroughly. It makes you whimper through your cries, his warm hands simultaneously soothing and agitating the marks.

He only remains for a moment, ensuring the flare of pain is soothed. As sadistic as he is, he remains sane enough to ensure your safety. Your whimpers have slowed slightly, and he takes it as his opportunity to move on.

He reaches for the handcuffs and takes advantage of your prone position, bent over the bed. He works them around your wrists, tightening them just enough to leave you helpless. He pulls you up and presses his back against you, face at your ear.

“You took your first punishment well,” he encourages as he licks a stripe on your throat, right above the collar that symbolizes you as his. “But I’m not finished with you,” he sighs. “Little cock whores like you are never satisfied with just one little punishment, aren’t you?”

You sniffle and nod. “No sir, I n-need more.”

He chuckles—it’s dark and ominous.

“Dirty fucking slut.”

He turns you to face him and he kisses you roughly, no sign of the sweet and sensitive boyfriend. It’s the Jekyll to his Hyde; the sadistic Dom now kissing you cares only of getting off and making you take it.

His mouth is fiery—teeth biting at your lips and growling when he slips his tongue in your mouth.

“Gonna make you remember who the fuck you belong to, baby girl,” he warns as he pulls away. He urges you down to your knees and you’re easily complying.

His hands are at his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping and making your mouth salivate in anticipation.

He steps out of his jeans, and you’re rewarded with his thick cock springing free from the confines of his jeans. You should have expected your boyfriend to go without boxers, but it’s a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

“Look at you,” he notes. “So desperate for my cock.” He grips it and teases it in front of you. You want to lean forward, capture it in your lips but you refrain and wait for the order.

“You think you deserve this? You think I should let you suck my dick after that little show you put on today?” He gives his length a stroke and it makes you nearly whine with need. “Little fucking bitch wants any cock she can get, why should I let you have mine?”

Your eyes shine with tears, still lingering from your caning and refreshing now with wet, hot desire for him.

“Beg.” He orders, holding his dick in front of your face tauntingly.

“P-please, daddy. Let me suck your cock,” you blubber. “Let me show you that you’re the only cock I need.”

He hums and strokes himself. Watching you nearly weep with want and beg to suck him off has his head reeling. The power rushes through his veins like a drug.

“I think you can do better than that,” he sighs. “Why shouldn’t I just jerk myself off and cum on that pretty face of yours?”

Tears freely spill down your face now. “I want you to use me, I want to let you fuck my throat raw, please, sir!” You sound completely gone and Namjoon feels his impossibly hard cock flex at your needy tone. “Please fuck my throat like the cock whore I am!”

“That’s fucking right,” he grunts. “Open that fucking mouth for me.” Your mouth opens and he’s leaning down to spit harshly at your waiting tongue. It makes you jerk, but you reserve yourself and accept it. “Filthy little bitch.”

He moves forward and sets his cock on your tongue and almost groans at the feel of your hot mouth, swirling with his spit now.

“Make me cum with your mouth, you don’t get to use those hands today.”

He wastes no time on shoving his length into you and down your throat. He gives a few precursory thrusts and sighs as he feels your throat gagging around him and hears your desperate, wet sounds. Tears flow freely—your mascara is smearing down your face as you look up at him, mouth stuffed full. It’s the prettiest sight he thinks he’s ever seen. You’re desperate, absolutely fucked out for him. Saliva dribbles down your mouth and he fucking loves it when you become a mess on his cock.

“Pathetic.’’ He murmurs. But truly, he thinks it was beautiful—the way you desperately take his cock down your throat, the needy look in your teary eyes and the muffled whines vibrating in your throat at his fake disapproval. It makes you work harder, eager to make him feel good.

You bob your head, keeping your eyes locked on Namjoon—he loves it when you’re giving him your undivided attention. It’s sloppy, and you’re loud. Namjoon fucking lives for when all your inhibitions are gone and you’re wanton and horny like a porn star desperate for work.

“Fuck, such a good throat,” he drags a finger up it as he forces his cock to the back of your mouth. He can feel the ridge of his cock through your neck and he nearly cums from that alone. “Taking it so fucking good.” He grips your head and desperately fucks into your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut and will your gag reflex away, let him use you as he sees fit. You egg him in with licks of your tongue as he thrusts in and out, and by the filthy noises you make with each press.

Saliva is dropping out of your lips, and his it covers his cock. Namjoon feels his balls tighten impossibly and knows he’s close.

“Does my cockslut want daddy’s cum? You want me to coat that little throat with it?” He keeps his pace and you nod through your tears. He grunts his approval and picks up the pace, only to explode through his orgasm soon after. His cock pulses as he emptied himself into your mouth and throat, and you suck harder as if thirsty for it.

He pulls it out a moment later with a sated sigh. “My little cum dump,” he smirks as he runs a finger over your lips. “Swallow it all.” You nod and visibly swallow his load, then hold your tongue out to prove it.

“Shit—so good. You’re such a whore you could drink my cum all day, couldn’t you?”

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper. Your throat is rough and sore from his thrusts but you can’t find it in you to care, not even a little bit.

You remain on your knees and he puts a finger under your chin and lifts it higher. “Doing so good, angel. Making me proud.”

It makes your heart nearly implode. Namjoon is sadistic and thrills in your anguish, but loves you all the same. He knows you’re not just able to take it, but you’re desperate to take it. You trust him to never hurt you in a way you couldn’t handle.

“Still have more for you, little one. I don’t think you quite understand who this body belongs to.”

Your eyes shine with excitement and Namjoon can’t help but to smile at it. He uncuffs you and you look perplexed. He never lets you out early.

“Up on the bed, on your back,” he states as he ignores your questioning look. You know better than to deny his order, so you rub at your wrists as you move towards the bed. Your knees are still throbbing from the pressure and you heave a pleased sigh as you melt into the mattress.

“I wouldn’t feel too comfortable,” he chuckles. “It won’t last long.”

In Namjoon’s hands is red shibari rope. It makes your stomach flip. It’s been so long since he’s trussed you up and it thrills you to see the familiar smooth bindings.

“Thighs to your chest,” he orders. “Spread them wide, show me this needy little cunt.”

You do as he says, pulling your thighs up to meet your chest and spreading them open. He stares at your core, it’s dripping now. It drips down you and stains the comforter. Namjoon tuts. If you’re this wet already, he knows he will need to change the sheets after he’s done with you.

“Look at you,” he intones. “A dumb little slut, open and ready for any cock she can get.” He drags a finger up and down your thigh.

Namjoon gets to work. He loves the way he loses himself in the art of tying you up. He loves watching your chest rise and fall and the little squeaks that come out of your mouth as he knots you up. He loops the rope around the left thigh, then draws in your left calf to tie it in. You’ll be spread open, unable to stretch your legs out until he gives you permission.

He glances up at you every so often as he continues, checking to make sure he’s not cutting off any vital circulation. As cruel as he is, he doesn’t intend to actually maim you. You never show a sign of pain, just the glazed look you hold as your body gives in to your subservient intuition. It makes Joon smile and his heart clench in his chest. He really fucking loves you.

You’re soon tied up completely from the waist down, both legs tied together and spread open with pussy on display. Your hands are free and just as you’re about to relish in it, Namjoon is looping more rope to tie each wrist to a bedpost. He grins as you gasp. You’re completely tied up and at his will, and you’re embarrassed at how open you are in front of him, how dripping wet you get from being tied up and useless.

Namjoon is moving around and you suddenly hear a vibration and it gets closer as he approaches you.

“Gonna make you cum for me, babygirl... Gonna play with you until you fucking squirt everywhere.”

Your legs clench together as you notice he is holding a Hitachi wand in his hand. You know the power it wields. It brings you to your finish nearly instantaneously. Which means Namjoon has decided your next punishment will be denying you any orgasm and continually bringing you to the edge… or making you cum so much your cunt hurts. You don’t know which is worse.

He notices the look on your face and grins. “Yeah, you know what this is, don’t you?”

Namjoon places the bulbous head of the wand on your cunt and you cry out instantly. He drags it up and down your drenched slit and you’re already feeling so close to the edge.

“You better fucking scream, don’t hold back,” he orders. “Remind this whole fucking neighborhood who gets you off. Make sure Park fucking Jimin hears it.”

He stops rubbing it up and down and lets it sit right on your clit and watches your face contort as your tied legs struggle against the wrappings. It’s too much, it feels like you’ve been lit up. Namjoon gloats in your struggle. He sees your cunt dripping with increasing fervor, can tell you’re squeezing those walls around nothing. He can’t wait to bury himself inside you once and for all and coat your walls with his cum.

“You know you better fucking ask permission to cum,” he reminds you. “You better not cum unless I tell you.”

Your tear-streaked face is twisted in pleasure, in pain. You feel yourself unwinding, increasing towards your finish like a bullet.

“D-Daddy! Please! I need to cum! Please!” You’re begging harder than you’ve begged in your life, you’re certain. It feels like the string inside you will snap any second now and you’re holding off the orgasm as hard as you can. Without the use of your legs, you find yourself unable to slow the inevitable.

“No,” he states firmly. “Fucking take it. You can keep going.” He growls his words and watches as your cunt is helpless. “Little whores like you can fucking take it.”

It’s useless, you’re falling apart at the seams. You’re pleading with him to let you cum, legs now completely convulsing in their restraints. It snaps, the coil inside bursts and you’re careening towards the end. You whine and cry helplessly as your pussy pulsates around nothing and oozes out your arousal. Your face burns in shame as you come down-—you know exactly what you’ve done wrong.

“S-sorry! I’m so sorry, Daddy!” Tears fall harder and you’re gasping for his forgiveness, for his mercy. “I’m so sorry!”

‘‘Tsk, tsk.’’ Namjoon tuts. “My little slut couldn’t even follow her one and only instruction.’’ He removes the wand for just a moment. “You better fucking listen this time.”

Your body feels overstimulated. The pleasure is bordering on painful and you yelp as Namjoon places it back on your overworked clit.

“You can make up for it if you squirt for me,” he grits. “Maybe I’ll stick my fingers in this tight cunt. Always so desperate for Daddy’s help, aren’t you?”

You whine at the thought of him filling you, but it’s overtaken by the feeling of the wand back on you. It’s painful, but it feels so good. Your body is held back by one single tripwire, ready to snap at any moment. Namjoon knew that restraining your arms and legs left you completely helpless to slow your own orgasms. He wanted you to fail, wanted to punish you for cumming when he knew damn well you wouldn’t last a fucking second under the wand’s vibrations.

“P--please!” your whines are breathy. You feel as if you’ve just run a marathon and you’re desperate for air. Your entire body is singing with rapture, with pain. You feel a deep desperation to feel him inside you. “I need you! Need your fingers!”

Namjoon groans at the sound of your whines. It’s his favorite, when you’ve finally snapped past a breaking point and he pushes you beyond. The way you’re desperate, begging and crying for him is pathetic. He fucking loves it.

“Fuck, listen to yourself,” he comments. His cock is raging again, hard and ready to bury itself inside you. But he waits. He’s nothing but patient for you. “You sound like a little fucking whore. Are you Jimin’s whore?”

You blubber a cry and shake your head, feeling the oncoming orgasm approaching again. It feels even more intense.

“No! I’m yours! O-only yours, Daddy!” The simple crying is turning into sobs and you both can tell you’re nearly on the edge.

“That’s fucking right,” he snarls. “This pussy belongs to me. Not fucking Jimin. Not even you. I own you.” His words run cold through your body, it feels as if your veins have iced over. You’re absolutely under his spell and control, and you’ve never loved anyone more.

“Cum for me, filthy slut. Let me see you get Daddy nice and messy.” He shoves two fingers inside you, and curls them to reach the spot that has you reeling. He knows he’s made it when you’re arching on the bed and screaming through your sobs.

“G-gonna cum, oh god--” you’re gasping for air, greedy for it. “There, f-fuck!”

The orgasm that hits you is stronger than any before. It feels like your cunt turns into a vice and you’re squeezing around his fingers so hard it makes Namjoon hiss. Your body spasmed and trembled as you came, and finally Namjoon is rewarded when your cunt gushes all over his fingers, dripping down his hand.

“Holy shit,” he gapes as you finally return to earth from your skyhigh completion. “Dirty fucking slut. You did so good.”

Namjoon’s cock is pulsating. He’s sure if he doesn’t get inside you, now, he’ll shatter.

“Nasty whore is going to get one more. You’re gonna cum on Daddy’s cock, aren’t you?”

You’re nodding weakly. You’re far gone, mind so dizzyingly high and body exhausted. “P-please, need you.”

He takes no care to line himself up or take time. He’s pressing against your hole in one moment and is buried to the hilt the next. You’re so wet it feels like he’s drowning and he throws his head back in bliss. Even after two explosive orgasms you’re tight around him, molding around each ridge of his cock.

“Oh, god--” he groans. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever been in.” The praise doesn’t last long, so you soak it in while it lasts, ‘’Gonna pump you full of my cum, angel-- f-fuck..’’ You’re crying and whining as he pumps into you. It feels so good.

‘’Gonna have you nice and swollen with my child, so everybody knows just who the fuck this little whore belongs to.’’ His thrusts are so powerful that it’s almost as if he’s trying to fuse with you, he’s no longer holding back any reservations. His hips bump against you as he stuffs you full, chasing his end. He drops a hand to your clit, knowing it’s battered from the wand but can’t find it in him to care anyway. He wants you to orgasm again, and he’s going to get it. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To be so plump and pregnant that everyone will know what a depraved, little bitch in heat you are for me.”

Impossibly, you feel your belly tighten and tug and you’re edging closer and closer to yet another orgasm that Namjoon will wrench out of you. You’re crying out, only able to whine and sob his name. He’s fucked the ability to talk right out of you, and you can only think about Namjoon and his fat cock drilling into you and filling you up as if his life depended on it.

Namjoon loves it when you’re fucked out completely. He can tell he’s close, and nearing closer as he watches your sobbing face, smeared with mascara, cry and gasp for his cum. He could cum from watching you beg alone, and now as he pounds into your juicy cunt he’s surrounded in pleasure.

“I’m going to cum--fuck. Gonna fucking fill you,” he hisses as he thrusts so hard it’s nearly bruising. His grip on your hips tighten, blunt nails digging into your skin as he lets out a loud and guttural moan as his cock desperately throbs inside of you. He keeps his power, but the pace dies down with each thrust. He fucks his cum deep inside you, and rubs at your clit punishingly. His warm seed jammed inside you snaps everything and you’re crying pathetically as you reach your high, walls contracting and milking him. Your vision is black and you only hear the rush of your blood in your ears.

It takes a few stuttering breaths to finally come to, and your vision returns to normal. Namjoon remains buried inside you and he’s panting just as hard as you. You’re both dripping in sweat and covered in your combined juices. He cups a hand on the side of your face and smiles at you as you both attempt to return to normal.

“That was good, wasn’t it?” He asks with a chuckle. He slowly pulls out of you and you’re wincing at the loss. You’re sure you won’t be able to walk, let alone even stand.

You nod gingerly. “Really fucking good.” you whisper. Everything is sore, and it’s a feeling you can’t compare to anything. It’s a burning ache that reminds you of Namjoon, of your love, of the trust you willingly hand over to him and the bliss he gives in return.

“Let’s run a bath,” he states as he leans down to kiss you, pressing his lips on yours in a sweet kiss. The Namjoon you love is back, the sweet and compassionate lover who cares about every single aspect of you.

“I would love that,” you sigh. “But, could we maybe untie my legs before I lose any more circulation?”

The both of you erupt into laughter as his hands work over the intricate knots. He winks.

“Needy little whore.”

#bts fic #bts smut #bts imagine #bts namjoon #hyungsmutsociety #ksmutclub #bts rm #namjoon smut

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wallwriterstuff · 4 years

Text

Teeth || Demetri Volturi x Reader ||

A request from @volturidoll13 that is continued from this headcanon right here ——-> Demetri Reacting to a Stimming Reader <——-. I hope I’ve done you justice once more with this one chickadee :D </b>

Part 2: This fic

Part 3: Control (fic)

Warnings: TW for anxiety. Readers stimming will stem from anxiety, if you are having a rough time with yours right now be careful reading this one, and please know you’re not alone! I guess maybe a warning for biting to? There’s some biting going on.

Words: 2620

Summary: It’s been a little over two months since Demetri discovered your stimming. He’s remained vigilant ever since, keeping your anxiety at bay with a whole host of tips and tricks he’s learned over the course of your time together. The one thing he cannot stop is the march of time, and yours is running out fast…

You weren’t sure what had made you so nervous back then, why Demetri finding about your autism was such a big deal, why you were so afraid your stimming would be an issue between you both, that your anxiety and it’s side effects would somehow ruin his perception of you. In reality, telling Demetri the whole truth had been the best thing you had ever done. His sensitivity was astounding to you, because he really was diligent in checking in with you and keeping things as calm as possible in your now shared room – your baths had become a now weekly occurrence. He never treated you like you were made of porcelain either despite all his little interventions, no, he whole-heartedly encouraged your every attempt to explore and integrate yourself into the Volturi with your new found confidence, but when you needed the support he was always prepared.

Your newfound confidence came with a price.

After just a week of venturing out of your shared room you had been called to the throne room, a terrifying moment in itself given you had met them only once before to explain why you hadn’t been bleeding out with the rest of your tour group on the floor, and Aro had taken your hand with a sickly smile before joyfully exclaiming something in Italian you had had no idea how to go about translating. That was two months ago, and now you had only a single month left to live before you joined them in their immortality, perpetually frozen as you were, never moving forward, never evolving. The concept was terrifying given the stories you’d heard of newborns. You didn’t want to hurt people or be that volatile little newborn who became violent on a whim. You didn’t want to feel the inferno in your throat begging you to commit unspeakable acts of cruelty against a race you were currently still apart of.

A month left of mortality.

A month left before you became someone entirely new.

Felix’s sudden grunt snapped you out of that particular reverie, and you blinked at the bright sunlight invading your eyes despite the shade you had situated yourself in under a twisted old red maple, planted in Didyme’s honour oh so long ago and still going strong thanks to Aro’s tender loving care. They had chosen to sit beneath the branches simply because it made their skin sparkle less, which was far easier on your eyes and far less distracting since you had a tendency to try and rub off Demetri’s sparkles, like they were glitter on his skin you could just remove. Jane was smiling at your giant friend, whose teeth were clenched tight before he suddenly relaxed and shot her a glare.

“Now now children play nicely.” Demetri chided from beside you. He’d been sat a while, smoothly redirecting conversation from you when he saw your attention falter. You had been zoning in and out a lot the past few days, your mind clearly elsewhere. He’d kept half an eye on you as the twins debated a book they’d been reading the past week, Felix teasing them as was his usual manner until Jane caved to the temptation to cripple him with her trademarked glare. You clearly were not okay, but you hadn’t come to him to say as such just yet, so he’d not pressured you into talking. Perhaps after this afternoon he should? You usually jumped at any chance you got to spend time with them all, enjoying the social interaction after the long days you spent either studying Italian or with them absent performing duties you would soon help them undertake.

“What do you think Y/N? You said you’d read The Hunger Games before, what do you think of the idea that the death of Primrose is symbolic of the death of the last of Katniss’s innocence?” Alec questioned. The boy was equally as perceptive as Demetri, having found himself insatiably curious since the day Demetri had quietly spoken with them about it to ensure they didn’t harass you, and consequently had gone on to read everything he could get his hands on about your condition. It was painfully obvious to all of them your head wasn’t in the conversation but none of them brought it up, instead finding ways to lead you seamlessly back into the group when you wandered off. Your brows furrowed as you tried to think over Alec’s question, but your mind was pulled in too many directions at once. You were so focused on the dark thoughts swirling around your future immortality that your mind struggled to conjure the image of the book cover, never mind its contents.

“Erm…I don’t really…she lost it way before that.” You stumbled your way through the answer and it was audible to everyone there the way your teeth clanked together when your jaw clenched. You did your best not to flinch as Demetri cast you a concerned glance. You’d been doing that a lot, your teeth gnashing and grinding as you clenched your jaw over and over. It was a tic he had seen before, though not quite as frequently as this, and it set alarm bells ringing in his head as a thousand articles and memories hit him full force. Alec hummed, not looking entirely like he agreed with you while Jane grinned, triumph in her eyes.

“Ha! See brother, I told you!” she didn’t seemingly notice the way you flinched, teeth gnashing audibly once more at her exclamation. Alec’s face was immediately taken over by a scowl, and the pair were bickering once more while Felix watched on with obvious amusement. Demetri had given you his sole attention instead, tuning out their argument to instead take notice of the way the muscles in your jaw moved, your gaze distant and entirely unfocused as you lost yourself to your thoughts again. He didn’t actually think you were aware of the way your hand moved until he gently snatched it mid-air. You blinked, staring uncomprehendingly at the frozen fingers clasped around your wrist, centimetres from your open mouth that you quickly snapped closed. Demetri made no comment after that, sliding his hand up to intertwine your fingers together and squeeze your palm lightly.

You squeezed back with a weak smile, mentally already berating yourself for your behaviour. You hadn’t even noticed you were about to bite yourself but now you had you could feel the way your jaw ached, the entire lower part of your jaw tense from the amount your stimming had overworked it that afternoon. Demetri soothingly ran his thumb in circles over your knuckles but even his cool touch wasn’t enough to drag you from your misery today. You had less than a month to live and there was so much you wouldn’t get to do after that. You had always wanted to travel to try some of your favourite foods in their home contexts – you could only imagine how good authentic Chinese food would taste. You wanted to sleep in a five-star hotel just to see what a memory foam mattress might do to improve your sleep.

It was all trivial stuff (you were painfully aware since Caius had told you so when you’d brought it up) but they were simple things for your bucket list, you dared not even consider the big dreams you had because they would be impossible once you were-

“Ah ah ah.” Demetri caught your hand again. He still held one in his grip but the other had whipped up to make it’s way into your mouth. You completely disregarded his warning, a burning need inside of you driving your head forward in an effort to clamp your teeth around your finger, sure in the knowledge it would bring some relief if you could manage it. Demetri didn’t let you, and your head quickly turned for his hand instead. He didn’t comment when your teeth almost broke trying to break through his skin. You immediately recoiled, both horrified and mortified at what you had done, but despite the fact you wouldn’t meet his eyes, Demetri pulled you close to his chest and kissed the top of your head.

“I’m sorry, I-“

“What have I told you about apologising to me about this?” he tutted, lifting your chin with one of his index fingers. He quickly had to let go when your hand flashed up to your mouth again, desperate to chew down on something.

“To stop apologising. Sor-er…I…” you cringed, the apology ready to fall from your lips but your fear of disappointing him latching it’s claws into you and making you bite down on your tongue instead.

“You never need to apologise to me for this my love, I love every part of you, even the parts of you you struggle to love yourself.” Demetri assured you quietly. Your teeth began to grind once more because what if he didn’t see you that same way after your change? What if your crimson eyes and still heart were abhorrent to him since he revered your human-self so much?

“Can we go?” you mumbled, your head spinning with all the worrisome thoughts tumbling about it. Demetri searched your face briefly as he nodded, very well aware that this wasn’t something he could encourage you to keep fighting and you needed to tap out now and recover.

“Of course. Excuse us you three.” He glanced to them briefly, knowing they’d have heard your quiet conversation anyway so to lie would be pointless. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at them, too embarrassed by your stimming today to meet their eyes. You’d bitten your vampire mate in front of them, after all.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, keeping your head down as you walked along beside him. Demetri hadn’t let go of one of your hands, squeezing gently every now and then to try and encourage you to channel your anxiety into your hand instead of your mouth. Perhaps he ought to buy you a stressball? You’d liked the last one, though it had disappeared somewhere around the castle and sadly, his gift only worked on people and not tracking down inanimate objects.

“Don’t thank me yet, might I give you some advice?” he enquired. You looked up at him, your expression inviting him warily to speak, though you weren’t sure what he could add since this was your lived experience, and one he had only read about. “As you go to bite down open your mouth a fraction wider, it will allow you to clamp your teeth into a wider surface area and hold your prey stiller.” He advised, half a smirk dancing on his lips. He was failing abysmally at trying to hide it.

“I – excuse me?” you were somewhat astonished he’d given you advice on how to bite yourself better. What happened to your caring mate? The one who did his best to help you calm your anxiety. The one who held your hand on nights it felt like you couldn’t breathe?

“I thought it would be sound advice,” he said, giving up on his efforts now to fight back his smirk, “As my little vampire in training, you need to know how to bite down properly. If I had been your prey just now I would have easily escaped, and you would be left hungry.” You stopped stock still, eyes bugging a bit in your head as your brain just…stopped working.

“What…did you just call me?” you asked. Demetri had walked on ahead as if nothing was wrong, but he paused to turn back towards you now with a shit-eating grin on his face, crimson eyes sparkling.

“My little vampire in training. Unless of course, you would prefer puppy? They chew on things to, no?” he tilted his head at you while your jaw dropped. Just for a brief moment there was clarity in your head, the sheer absurdity of his comment punching through all your anxious thoughts. You felt you should be insulted, was it an insult? Coming from someone other than Demetri maybe it would be but this was the man who listened to every little thought in your head, wiped away every tear and held you while you cried. No, Demetri could never do you harm, whether it was with words or fists he was bound to protect you always, he was incapable of insulting you meaningfully.

“Your little – Demetri!” you scolded. God did your jaw ache. He chuckled.

“Alright alright forgive me…though can I say, I feared your bite far more than Felix’s.” he held out his hand to you and you automatically sidled up to slip your palm against his, Demetri turning you both back in the direction of your shared room before you began to walk once more.

“Felix’s has bitten you?” you asked, your curiosity sparked.

“Oh yes. You see, when I first joined the Guard Felix was assigned to my combat training. He won every round. I, however, am a quick learner, and once I began to pick up his teachings I won my first spar against him quite easily…and the one after that, and the one after that…he gets bitey when he loses.” He revealed. You bit your lip, fighting back a smile as you imagine the hulking man tossed onto his back by your own, lithe tracker. It was a funny enough sight in itself, but adding the image of him lunging with teeth barred to gnaw on your mate was even funnier. It should have been frightening but you knew the gentle giant too well to think he would ever attack his comrades with any malicious intent.

“Alec best watch his back then, he’s getting close to Felix’s high score on Crash Bandicoot.” You mused. Demetri snorted briefly.

“Yet another fun story…Alec once locked himself in his room for three whole days when Jane picked up one of his games and completed a level he’d been stuck on for weeks on her first try.” He told you. Your smile grew a little wider, stretching across your face as you imagined the calmer witch twin throwing said hissy fit. Demetri continued his stories long after you entered your room, laying on his side with you opposite him as he regaled you with one story after another. Aro had once dropped a book on his foot after a late night of studying, looked around to ensure nobody had seen, and stuffed it back on the shelf so fast he had placed it back upside down. Jane had a beautiful singing voice but had been startled so badly by Felix interrupting her once she’d slipped right up the scale on the last word and tortured poor Felix for a whole hour straight for ruining her song.

Story after story you listened, enraptured by his smooth baritone while he played with your hair, soothing your turbulent mind as you focused on his words and his words alone. You might wake up tomorrow and find you were once more trapped in the cycle of anxiety that you were hard-pressed to escape one it got you in it’s clutches, or maybe this blessed moment of relief would last and tomorrow you would be free once more for a little bit longer until the next moment something you felt was too big too manage came along. For today, Demetri had lulled you to sleep against his side, your breathing slow and even for the first time that day. Whatever you had to face next, whatever challenges might come your way, you knew on your worst days Demetri would always be with you to help you overcome them, armed with all the latest mummyblog advice for you to rebuke.

#demetri volturi #tw anxiety #tw biting #demetri volturi x reader #jane volturi #alec volturi #felix volturi #volturi guard #twilight #twilight fanfiction #stimming #i gave my flatmate an aneurysm with this one haha #she studies english literature #she was not impressed with my hottake on katniss #I digress #I imagined Felix looking like puss in boots when his eyes go big when I wrote that bit about him biting demetri #it's been a long week

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

The marriage pact - Old faces

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

Part 1 Old faces | Part 2 >

Disclaimer: none, (re)meet-cute

Author’s note: It’s romcom weekend, okay? 😘

Word count: 1.682

(Link to my Masterlist)

[ Alice.in.writing.land ]

Dear readers.

I’d like to share with you some old wisdom from my nan on how to make: The perfect cake.

First of all: you always make sure you grease up the tin - ‘gotta make it slide right in, slide right out.’ She’d say with a grin so wide that my 12-year-old-self thought she’d tear her face in half. Her eyes would glitter mischievously as her hands moved with those swift and precise movements, leaving no inch of the inner cake tin unbuttered.

‘And! Make sure you always fully preheat the oven, because there’s no shortcuts to the perfect cake.’ She’d tut, pointing at the oven, to which I’d nod most dutifully, preheating the oven as she requested while she’d utter something about making sure you get yourself a good size baking pan; ‘He’s gotta be right for the job and most definitely don’t try to double the recipe. Focus on one good cake, and do NOT overdo it. Nobody likes a dense, overworked cake.’

Then, her hand lightly beating through the cake battery, she’d turn to me and give me a knowing look. ‘If you don’t know what kind of cake you want, you’ll only be in for a disappointment, you know.’ - To which I would start bouncing up and down, eagerly requesting chocolate cake. There was no doubt in my mind what kind of cake I wanted. It always was chocolate cake.

Those were good Sundays. Perfect cake baking Sundays.

And do you know what? Only now, 25 years later, do I realise she was never truly talking about cake. Or baking tins. Ha..no. Silly me. My frisky nan was talking about men. Partners. Love. And perhaps sex, but that leaves you some space for interpretation.

Now, my nan was a great baker. She had five kids. Buns of joy, really.

I, on the other hand, not so much. Despite knowing full well what kind of chocolate cake I want, I just happen to be a very bad baker. And perhaps.. it’s time that I start to learn, because her last advise still rings true in my ears:

‘And timing, my dear, listens more closely than you think.’ She’d wink, kissing grandpa on his cheek, to which he’d grumble some indiscernible acknowledgement, the glimmer in his eyes not hiding the fact he still loved her dearly.

Yes. I’m going to try harder and bake myself the best - birthday - cake, with a bit of nan’s advice. Meanwhile I hope you get all your cake wishes fulfilled, too.

Have a good, single Pringle Friday my dear readers.

A just turned 37,

Ali

A scorching hot September sun washed over the zoo entrance, the Durrell challenge just finished but the media circus far from over.

I yawned, stretching myself out as I watched my fellow journalists and reporters hover like a dark cloud around the person I would be interviewing in some ten minutes from now.

The poor guy hadn’t had a moments rest since he crossed the finish line of the Durrell challenge run and I felt my heart pang with guilt for taking another snippet of his precious time.

Then again, I had a job to fulfil and stupid as it was, I kind of enjoyed writing for the local newspaper. Writing was my thing, and currently I was in charge of writing one of the most beloved blurbs in the paper; Old Faces.

Every week I interviewed a well known inhabitant of the island. George the butcher and his famous spicy sausages, Henriette and her fourteen dogs, Ilias the swimmer - an old man swimming an astounding 10k a day. And a tiny highlight being todays interviewee; Henry, the movie star, back on our beloved Jersey Island to show his support for the local zoo.

Meanwhile for me, he was just Henry, my childhood neighbour, a friend.

—

‘Alice! You’re on!’ A familiar voice startled me and I quickly scrambled up from the little stone wall I had been lounging on, my hands grabbing for my notes and voice recorder as I started making my way through the paparazzi mayhem.

‘Sorry…sorry! Excuse me..Coming through.’ I said, pushing myself past the crowd until I reached the shade of a dark blue canopy, finding that strangely familiar face before me, resting in a chair, his running gear sticking to his muscular physique.

Henry.

He stood up from his chair, reaching out his hand to ..eh...introduce himself? I felt a sour taste in the back of my throat as I realised he didn’t recognise me, his lips pulled up into a friendly, yet professional smile.

Yaiks..Okay.

Don’t mind it, Ali, the poor guy can’t help it.

‘Hi..’ I awkwardly moved my stuff to one arm so I could shake his hand. ‘I’m Alice, local newspaper.’ I greeted, to which he nodded, his smile growing ever so slightly. He pointed at another chair, gesturing me to sit.

‘Please take a..-’ My voice recorder slipped out of my arm as I tried to take my seat, my eyes barely registering as Henry moved with lightning speed to grab onto the cord of the device mid-air. I gasped.

‘Oooph..that could have gone wrong.’ He chuckled, winking at me before he put the recorder back in my hand.

‘Sorry.’ I sniffled, feeling the slightest of blushes creeping over my cheeks. ‘Thanks Hen.’ I muttered without overthinking my words, my eyes already averted to a woman that appeared on my right - his left.

‘Hey!’ She smiled - Samantha, a chubby and bubbly lady I had known since my toddler years.

‘Hi Sam.’ I smiled in turn, seeing she held onto a sort of timing-device.

‘Okay, so..we’re a bit busy as you see. You’ve got four minutes..starting..eh..’ She clicked a button. ‘..now! Have fun!’ She cheered, winking cheekily at Henry.

‘Oh.. yea yea. Okay thanks.’ I nodded, my brow furrowing ever so slightly as Sam sauntered off again. Quickly I straightened my back, my sweaty fingers fumbling with that darn voice recorder - I really should get a new one.

‘So. Eh Henry! Hi! Welcome back!’ I started, offering him a smile, my fingers still trying to get the tiny buttons to cooperate.

Click. Set. Start.

Okay, here goes.

Henry smiled his most warm, Henry-esque smile in return. ‘Thank you..Alice.’ He hesitated a moment, as if deciding what to make of my name. Perhaps because he started to recognise me..or...perhaps he was just tired, trying to memorise all these three million names that wished for his attention today.

Yea..probably that was just me, wishfully thinking.

He didn’t seem to recognise me, and that was..okay.

I swallowed. ‘Okay. So. To give you a short insight in this interview. I write the Old Faces blurb in the paper and I must say that we mostly entertain older readers so ..you know..keep the “young folk language” to a minimum.’ I winked, clicking my pen. Henry shrugged. ‘That shouldn’t be to hard. So what would you like to know, Alice?’

This time my name escaped his lips far more fluently, naturally. I looked at him, our eyes meeting for a few silent, peaceful seconds.

‘I’m curious. What do you miss most from your time living here?’ Our eyes remained locked together as he licked his lips. ‘Hmm.’ He broke our gaze, thinking. ‘..Many things. I had a most wonderful childhood here. The beautiful nature, the ..zoo.’ He nodded at the zoo entrance behind us. ‘..the closeness of the community.’

I nodded, quickly interrupting him as time was sparse. ‘And what particular elements of that community do you miss the most?’

‘The simplicity of it.’ He started, then furrowed his brows. ‘No scratch that. That doesn’t quite capture it. Hmm..I think I mostly really enjoyed how natural it was to be around one another, care about fellows and neighbours, without there being any hidden agendas. You see my life is quite different now. I reside in circles that live and breath fame, fortune, wealth. Which sounds great for outsiders, but for insiders it can be exhausting at times too. For me at least, it can be. Being back here just makes me realise that not all people are like that. And, I enjoy the breath of fresh air it brings.’

‘And the great exercise too.’ I tease, making him chuckle in delight.

‘Yes, and great exercise. That last hill sure was a..challenge.’

‘And how are you going to spend your time here? How long are you staying?’ My pen still hadn’t touched the paper to make notes, our eyes sharing that same deep look again. Deep browns looking into fresh water blues.

He had aged well.

‘Only for the weekend unfortunately. But I’ll use the time to visit family, reacquaint with..old friends..friendly faces.’ His lip tugged in a half smile, near shy. Did he recognise me now? I wasn’t so sure, and perhaps I could have asked, but it wasn’t so - our little interaction was abruptly stopped as Sam reappeared.

‘And... that’s it! Thank you so much for coming Ali!’ She spoke, practically squeezing herself between me and Henry. I blinked away from Henry’s gaze and quickly looked up, realising this was it. This was all I’d get to see of Henry.

Alright then.

‘Thanks Sam.’ I smiled, quickly grasped my things and stopping my voice recording before thanking Henry.

‘Enjoy your stay!’ I laughed as he watched me grasp onto the voice recorder for dear life.

‘Thanks..eh..Ali.’

Once again that unnecessary hesitation before saying my name - though this time it was even more stomach-flutter-worthy, because he used my nickname. My childhood nickname.

I could only shoot him the quickest glance over my shoulder before Sam wrapped an arm around my shoulder, her voice muttering some sappy gossip into my unhearing ear.

I didn’t hear a word she said, because my mind was racing.

Did he recognise me? Did he recognise me? I couldn’t tell, his mouth slightly agape as if he were to ask something, but Sam had already coached me away.

And there I went. Back to my failing, cake baking life.

General tagsquad: @harrysthiccthighss @tumblnewby @magdelen69

Fluff lovers squad: @star017 @perhaps2remember @pterodactylterrace @witchersqueen @desperate-and-broken @toomanyfandomsshreya @deliciouslysassyarcade @pamacs-macs @cavilladdict @scorpionchild81 @lebguardians @sofiebstar @amberbabem @mis-lil-red @aestheticqueenb

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#henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill meet cute #henry cavill x author #henry cavill x writer #fanfiction #the marriage pact #jersey islands #kal #henry bear #fluff #romcom

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rovewritesit · 4 years

Text

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 2) John Deacon x Reader Series

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, duh. Feelings of anxiety.

Chapter Notes: A wild Deacy appears! Reader was supposed to meet him in this chapter but it got a bit long. I may have awkwardly stuffed in some backstory as well, but I wanted to get through it before we start having more interactions with the members of Queen. I’m a hoe for Hot Space and Cool Cat is such a vibe so I had to throw it in here. If you haven’t heard the original demo with Bowie you should take a listen. The music video concept was sparked loosely by Mitski’s “Happy” video (it’s gory af, be forewarned). I’m aware that the MTV of the 80s definitely would’ve banned anything like that, but it’ll come back around in the plot later on.

Songs Mentioned:

Heart of the Night - Juice Newton

More Than A Feeling - Boston

My Best Friend’s Girl - The Cars

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute

- - - - - - -

February 1982 - Orpheum Theater, Boston

It’s noisy in the cramped green room backstage at the Orpheum Theater in Boston. Gone were the days of grand arenas while tagging along with Hall and Oates. Now only around 2,000 bodies lined the seats out in the house, but you still feel that familiar bubble of nerves as Dawn busies herself around your hair.

Dawn, your best friend from your two short years at NYU, had agreed to tag along for the short tour to help with your “look.” Not that you ever really had a problem with your usual jeans and t-shirts, but this rock type of glam proved to be a different beast, and Dawn certainly had an eye for style. Her voluminous hair always streaked blonde and crimped to perfection. She’d tried to convince you many times to do something chemical with yours but you held firm to your virgin hair, causing your pre-show routine to run well into an hour and a half to get the desired popular style. You smile up at her as she curls part of your bangs away from your face, truly grateful to have another woman around.

“Babes, please stop moving your head. I’ve had to do the same piece 3 times already.” She tuts at you. “And Eds, I’ve asked you how many times to watch your elbows, jesus christ.”

Eddie tries to cram in even tighter against the wall, keeping to the five tiny spots you’d all wrangled against the mirror. “Ay, I’m trying over here. It takes some effort to get all this together.” He smirks, running his fingers through his already perfectly coiffed hair. A shame really, that it would be utterly destroyed within 15 minutes of being on stage.

“Have we picked a city song for tonight yet? I want to go over it in my head a few times before we go on.” Lawrence calls out, trying to tug on a pair of pants that look a size or two too small for him.

The Limbs had taken to playing one song per show by a famous local artist from the city they were in. Since they only had the one album out, it was a chance to get the audience singing and moving together; to change up the pace. A modified tip from a certain mustached rock legend that the band had started to implement.

“I thought we decided on More Than A Feeling?” Eddie says as he tears his eyes away from his own reflection.

“That’ll be what they expect. I think Bun sounds better on My Best Friend’s Girl,” Rich says simply. He’s attempting some form of stretching routine in the back corner of the room, his extremities bumping up against the walls.

“So Y/N’s taking this one?” Steve asks, lounging across a small loveseat against the wall, his legs dangling off of it delicately. He looks up from whatever song he’s been working on.

“You heard what the label said. They want Y/N more center stage, so to speak, for marketing reasons.” Rich tries folding his body into some sort of pretzel shape. A light “oof,” escapes his lips as he falls backward slightly.

“Ah yes, we need to give the public what they want,” you huff, wanting to roll your eyes if not for Dawn covering your head in a cloud of Aqua Net.

Eddie starts pacing, or at least tries to, “I just don’t get why they’re trying to make her into some Debbie Harry.” He scoffs, “Like that’s ever gonna happen.”

Dawn glares at him. It was a bit of a low blow, but Eddie was still getting used to sharing the spotlight with you, with him singing lead on almost every other song.

You were still struggling to find your presence on stage and were more than happy to take a back seat to the boys for the most part. And while some of the band’s other singles were gaining traction, none were close to catching up to Heart of the Night, which was now getting steady airplay and record sales thanks to the absurd music video that hit TV screens everywhere a few weeks back.

“That’s true, Y/N’s much more of a Linda Ronstadt type if we’re throwing out names,” Lawrence grunts out. Finally able to close the button on his skin-tight pants.

A cold laugh erupts from Eddie. “Exactly. It’s the Eighties now if you haven’t noticed. It’s all about edgy sex appeal, and let’s be honest, even Steve has a better chance of-”

“Enough!” Dawn’s voice sliced through the air, the daggers thrown from her eyes flying towards him. She leans down to your level to examine her masterpiece. “You look as sexy as a goddamn playboy bunny, hun. No pun intended.” Her voice softens as she pinches your cheeks.

The room goes mostly quiet for the next few minutes as the local opening band starts to close out their set with their last two songs. Only Rich’s deep breathing, fitting in time to the beat.

You chew your cherry painted lips, mulling over Eddie’s words. You knew full well that you weren’t exactly the frontwoman the label or the public dreamed of. Hell, you weren’t even supposed to be a frontwoman at all. When you’d finally given in to Rich’s insistent pestering to come have some fun with the boys, you’d been at NYU for two years. You loved your film classes but felt the hole that was left from the absence of playing any type of music. In high school, you’d all show up to a party with a variety of instruments in your grasps. It almost always resulted in a crowd gathering around to listen, joining in with your voices, clicking their beer bottles in time with the beat. It was when you had felt most carefree, and you had ached for that feeling again.

But playing locally turned into recording an album, for which you wrote a song for some dream of a man that only existed in your thoughts. Next thing you knew you were scooped up by Columbia Records, missing classes to attend photoshoots or album release parties. People were listening to your voice, your song, and wanting more. You dropped out of college to the dismay of your parents but were immediately enveloped in your friends' glee, finally reaching the precipice of something they’d only dreamed of. You hated the thought of letting them down in any way but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all a fluke, that you had nothing else to give. Destined to fade out as a one-hit-wonder and a disappointment to your best friends in the world. The weight hit your shoulders as you slumped in your seat.

None of this was supposed to happen, you tell yourself. It never happens like this.

You’re broken out of your daze when there’s a rap at the door and a muffled “5 minutes” from the stage manager behind it. You all stand, waiting for Rich to spread his wings and engulf you in your usual pre-show pow wow. You slide Dawn in next to you in the now group of 6, needing someone steady as an anchor.

“If you’d please, Reverend.” Steve probes, cheekily.

“We’re gathered here today” Rich begins and Dawn giggles. “To bring immense joy to those 2,000 idiots out there, who so willingly sold out our show for us. They deserve a performance played to 200,000, so that’s what we’re going to give them. In the name of our fathers, John, George, Paul, and Ringo. Let’s go give em’ hell.”

“Amen!” you all shout and disband.

As you follow the boys into the dingy hallway leading to the stage, Eddie catches your wrist. He looks at you through his long lashes with an uncharacteristically shy smile that almost never sees the light of day.

“I’m sorry for being a prick, Bun. I shouldn’t have said all that,” he mutters as you continue to walk, not wanting to miss your cue.

“No worries, Eds. You were right though. I’m definitely no Debbie,” you force a chuckle at yourself while a roadie slips your guitar strap onto your shoulders.

“It’s not alright. And no, you’re not,” he says catching your downturned eyes. “You’re Y/N fucking L/N, and you’re just gettin’ started, baby. All you gotta do is take a little bit of the love we all have for you and give some to yourself once in a while, alright?” A grin forms, showing his adorably asymmetrical teeth as he reaches out a hand to ruffle your painstakingly perfected hair. “That’s better. Now let's get out there so you can show the world exactly what kind of frontwoman you are. And don’t be scared to show them a hint of Bunny while you’re at it.” You move your guitar out of the way to pull him in for a close hug. You hear Steve start banging his snare and pull Eddie on to the stage with you, feeling a bit lighter than you had been minutes ago.

You approach your mic and take a look out at the packed, hazy theater.

“Well hello, Bawston!’ Your accent rings out to the faceless figures before you. “Aren’t you all looking fuckin’ fabulous tonight!”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Musicland Studios, Munich

“No, I didn’t say it’s bad, just that it sounds tinny,” Brian argues, crossing his spidery arms over his chest as he leans against the doorframe.

“And it’s as if you’ve shoehorned Bowie in there just to mumble in the background incoherently. A waste, really.” Roger tacks on from beside him.

John sighs and leans his head against the back of the couch in the studio. “Just because it’s not your precious red special or your own magic fingers at work, doesn’t mean it’s tinny,” he counters calmly. Trying his best to keep the annoyance from seeping into his voice, knowing that Brian already had anger stemming from John’s earlier composition for the album.

It was the first time this week that all four men were in the studio together. Finishing up Hot Space was proving to be a strain on all of them and the growing rift had caused the men to nearly finish their songs separately instead of in their usual group dynamic. John’s experimentation into different styles, such as funk and disco, had not been willingly received thus far.

“Well, I sound rather fabulous, if I do say so myself. I’m very proud of us, Deacy.” Freddie states, getting up from his own place on the couch and stretching.

“It’s not that, Fred. It just doesn’t sound like us.” Brian sighs, already sensing the escalation of a row coming along.

“Oh please. Not this again...” Freddie huffs.

“That’s because it’s not us. It’s me and Freddie.” John cuts in with a roll of his eyes, landing them on Mack, their producer, who just shrugs and trains his gaze back to the board.

“That’s for sure.” Roger murmurs out. Now it’s John’s turn to cross his arms as he levels their pointed gazes. He’d worked with Fred for days putting together “Cool Cat,” hoping that the additional vocals from David Bowie would be a selling point for the other two.

With a clap of his hands, Freddie moves about the room. “Why don’t we take a quick break and then give it another listen?” Roger groans. Freddie pats his shoulder as he makes his way over to a radio beside Mack.

John rubs his tired eyes before pushing himself off the couch, eager for a break from the energy in the stale room. “I’m grabbing a coffee,” not offering one to the others as he brushes past Brian on his way out, quickly retreating down the hallway as fast as his legs will carry him.

The remaining three startle a bit as Freddie flips on the radio, Lo & The Limbs hit single pours from it, louder than expected.

“Oh! Oh, yes! Simply marvelous,” he exclaims, jumping up and down lightly. Roger and Brian raise their eyebrows in silent questioning. “This is the band of rascals I was telling you about the other week. They must’ve just broken out here.”

“The yanks you met while in the States?” Roger questions, turning his attention to the song, eager to judge any brimming competition.

“Yes, yes, the wild young lady who swears like the devil and her band of merry giant trees.”

“We have one of those!” Rog nods in Brian’s direction, voice muffled by a cigarette now dangling from his lips.

“Hm, Brain’s more of a willowy spruce, if you will. These ones are giant redwoods. You know American’s. And they have these thick New York accents. I could barely understand a word they were saying at first. What a riot they were.” he remembers fondly.

“I feel as if I’ve heard this before, but I can’t place it.” Brian ponders, almost to himself.

John appears in the doorway, blowing lightly on a steaming mug.

“Probably from that shocking video of theirs, darling,” Freddie waves his hands about. “Oh, you must’ve seen it. They’re all dressed up like they're in Grease or something, and this square of a girl is pinning after the bad boy. But he’s with this slutty little thing. And oh, I can’t recall the details, but in the end, she ends up murdering the slut!” He slaps the table for effect. “But for some odd reason the boy is okay with it all and they run off into the night together, covered in blood.”

“Sounds… spooky?” Roger shrugs. John stifles a chuckle.

“It’s dramatic! And sexy. And obviously working for them.” The wheels already turning in his head.

John tunes out their chatter and trains his ears to said song, which is about halfway through. The instrumentals seem a bit basic for his taste. The soft strum of an acoustic guitar, a slightly heavier electric over it, with a simple bass line. A female voice flits in.

Cool city moon lays its touch on the room,

Your eyes reach to me

It has a rasp to it. Akin to Stevie Nicks, he thinks.

Two shadows fall saying nothing at all,

We know what we need

No, not quite. It’s entirely it's own if he’s being honest. He can feel the soul pulsating through words and the power that’s beneath it. One that could probably fit with any genre it should choose. His interest peaked.

In the release, two prisoners are free from the darkness

One more escape surviving the heartache and madness

The raw emotion erupting from the speakers and the lyrics start to paint a picture in his mind, scrambling to fill in the faceless voice.

In the heart of the night

The chorus starts and picks up steam quickly. Male voices begin to fill in on background vocals, blending together seamlessly.

We run like bandits

Two hungry hearts under the gun

Her voice cracks a bit, in a charming way. It must be radiant when heard live.

In the heart of the night

When we find each other

Were stealing love on the run

In the heart of the night,

Heart of the night

A small smile plays on John’s lips as the song fades out. They’re good, he muses to himself, a bit intrigued by the song and Fred’s colorful description of the accompanying video.

“A great voice indeed. They’ve got a strong sound going.” Brian chirps up.

“That’s her first swing at writing, too. Wish it had been that bloody easy for us.”

“Is she a looker, Fred?” Roger wags his brows.

“Oh please, they’re practically babies! Although that drummer of theirs is certainly something to write home about… Even with the head of hair he has. A bit like a mushroom. A cute one.” Freddie ponders, stroking his full mustache.

John reaches up and pats the tight curls atop his own head, wondering how it would look if he ceased from trimming his current short perm.

“I do hope they catch on here. What fun that would be.” John readily nods along without realizing it.

Freddie switches off the radio and turns back to the other three men. “Alright back to it then. Queue it up, Mac,” placing a hand on the man’s shoulder and raising his eyebrows. “Shall we?”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Columbia Records, New York City

“Why are the undersides of my knees sweaty? I’m not a back of the knee sweat kind of guy, alright?” Lawrence fidgets, adjusting his collar for the fourth time in two minutes.

You casually gulp down your third glass of water while staring at the wood-paneled walls of the office. Attempting to avoid the gazes of a number of gold discs lining the walls, the echoes of your musical idols. They seem to be laughing at you.

Steve partakes in his trademark bouncing routine, the chair underneath him squeaking in a violent rhythm. “Do you think it’s the video? It has to be the video or we wouldn’t be in this office. I knew we shouldn’t have taken that big of a risk right out of the gate.”

“You gotta be kidding me. You basically doused yourself in the blood when Eddie pitched it!” Rich cuts in, his usual calm demeanor nowhere to be found.

“What! It was your idea for the--”

The door behind where the group is gathered swings open and in strides a stocky man with a full beard and tinted aviator sunglasses still covering his eyes.

“What are we all standing around for? Sit, sit, sit, c’mon.” His gruff Brooklyn accent ringing out as he moves to sit behind a large mahogany desk.

The Limbs scramble to fit on the couch across from him, with you ending up perched on the armrest, gripping Rich’s bicep for support.

The man, Walter Yetnikoff, CEO and Chairman of Columbia Records, grunts as he eases into a leather chair, finally removing his glasses, revealing surprisingly kind eyes, “Jeez louise, look at you kids. You look as if a nun just caught you all playing with each other’s junk. What’s with the faces?”

“Mr. Yetnikoff, we’d like to sincerely apologize for the backlash that has come from our video. We should’ve known better than that. We could’ve toned it down… a lot.” Eddie rushes out. He wipes his hand over his too-snug tailored pants, probably leftover from days of youth choir.

Walter barks out a laugh. “I’ll admit I was a little shocked to find out that’s what you needed a high school gym for, but relax a little, will ya? You’re not here to be scolded. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have fought so hard to get it airtime.”

The Limbs visibly relax- a tad, but their eyes all stay wide.

“Well aren’t ya gonna ask why you’re all here then?”

“W-why are we here?” Rich asks quietly. “Sir.” He adds.

“It seems that the slight PR crisis of a video you made has made its way across the pond,” Walter smirks.

“You mean…” Steve trails off in a voice two octaves higher than usual.

“You kids better like air travel because there’s gonna be a lot of it in your near future. The hit has broken into the London airwaves and they’re not as god fearing as viewers here seem to be. We’re sending you over there next week now that you’ve wrapped up the tour.”

“Holy shit!” Lawrence yells. You feel yourself falling back off your perch as your large friends all jump to their feet. Rich’s gangly arm luckily catches you and pulls you immediately into a suffocating hug. “You did this, Bunny!” He screams in your ear. “You did this!”

“Alright, alright, you can all go celebrate and drink your faces off in a second,” Walter calls out over the group who immediately shut their mouths. “We have a few details to iron out but I’m hoping to send you over there for a full press tour. Photoshoots, interviews, talk show appearances. The works, you got it.”

Steve lets out a squeal of delight, his voice not yet returning to its usual bass.

“You.” He points a stubby finger in your direction. “I’m waiting to hear back about a last-minute cancelation on some game show out there. We’re gonna try to get you in. You know your shit?”

“W-what kind of shit, sir?” You ask from the bear hug that Rich still holds you in.

He holds up his hands, gesturing to the gold discs that surround him. “Music, my dear.”

All you can do is nod, not wanting to think about what that even entails.

“That’s what I like to see. Now get outta here so you can all combust somewhere outside of my office. We’ll call you in a few days. Get those bags ready, you hear me?” He waves you all off.

Before you have a chance to say anything, the boys are sweeping you out of the room. And off to the start of whatever comes next, you guess.

#queen fic #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon series #deaky fic #deaky x reader #deacy fic #deacy x reader #angelofmydreams

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cwartsyswritingblog · 6 years

Text

Cute. (A Hazbin Hotel Fanfic with Alastor and Baxter, again)

Alastor peeked around the door to Baxter’s room. He didn’t have a key. He didn’t need one and he didn’t need Baxter’s permission to enter. He knew he was more than welcome here.

To his delight, his lover was in. He was sitting with his feet up on his sofa reading a book. Alastor immediately sat beside him. His arms wrapping around Baxter’s waist. His head resting on his shoulder.

Baxter didn’t look his way but Alastor did see him smile. He reached straight for the sweet spot behind Alastor’s ear that made him melt when touched and gave it a good scratch. Alastor instantly settled and curled up on Baxter’s lap with a huge smile on his face.

That went on for a while. Baxter, still reading, kept the book upright and occasionally turned the pages with one hand and kept scratching Alastor’s ear with the other. The receiver of said head scratch in total bliss. At least he was, until he started to feel something that utterly confused him.

Alastor was dissatisfied with something. But with what? He was struggling to find an answer. It definitely wasn’t the head scratch, Baxter could keep that up all day. Certainly, the affection he was receiving was most satisfactory. But what wasn’t? Could it be how little they had spoken? It occurred to him that he and Baxter hadn’t spoken a single word to each other the whole time Alastor had been here. He looked at Baxter. His eyes were still on the book. Observant of only the words on the page. He hadn’t even looked at him in the whole time he had been here. Not once.

Now Alastor knew what was dissatisfying. It wasn’t like Baxter was ignoring him, far from it, but Alastor just wanted him to look at him. He wanted him to put the book down and look at him. Talk to him. Engage with him in a nice conversation. He wanted his attention and sought about how he was going to get it.

Getting Baxter’s attention was easy as pie. A simple kiss on the cheek would have done. But while Alastor planned on leaving lots of kisses on Baxter’s cheeks, he knew he could be more creative than that. Just then he noticed the light hanging above his head. The light belonged to Baxter and it was a part of his illicium. But it was much more fun to call that his little fishing rod. After looking it up, he discovered the light was called an esca. A pretty name for a pretty light. He focused on it until it blurred spreading a golden glow across his vision. So pretty.

It gave him an idea.

He rolled over onto his back and very gently tapped the light so that it swung slowly back and forth. He felt Baxter pause for a moment. Alastor looked up at him in anticipation but then Baxter just went back to reading.

Disappointed but not deterred, he kept at it.

Tap tap tap, it took a few good tries before he succeeded.

Baxter set his book aside and finally looked at him, smiling.

“What are you doing?” He asked playfully.

Alastor put on his best charming smile and just as playfully continued to paw at Baxter’s delightful esca.

Baxter chuckled. “Come here, Cheshire Kitten.” he laughed, tugging him upwards.

Eager to comply, Alastor sat upright and scooted back onto Baxter’s lap. If this cat thing was making Baxter laugh and smile then he’d play it up for all it was worth. He bumped his head lightly against Baxter’s chin the way he had seen Mimzy’s cats do when they showed affection which made Baxter laugh even more.

He cupped Alastor’s face in his hands and asked in a playful tone of sarcasm, “Is it just me? Or are you after my attention?”

Alastor nodded. Making a point to put the book out of Baxter’s reach before draping his arms around him.

“Honestly. I’ve never had a partner demand so much.” Baxter tutted. But it was obvious from the way he looked at Alastor, the way he said it and the way he was caressing his cheeks with both hands that he didn’t mind at all.

“You’re exes didn’t know what they were missing.” Alastor purred, lavishing the affection.

“If you say so,” Baxter said, “That might be why they are my exes and you are very, very, very unlikely to end up joining them.”

Alastor pouted. “Very, very, very unlikely? Not impossible?”

“Well, you might get fed up with me.” Baxter sweetly bantered back.

“That is never going to happen.” Alastor said so seriously that it made Baxter giggle like he was flattered.

“As if I’d be foolish enough to give up all this.” Alastor said placing his hands on him. Baxter huffed. Maybe he thought he was going to trace his hands over his body. But he kept them on his face.

At that, Baxter smiled warmer than Alastor had seen him smile all day and Alastor caressed his cheeks, stroked the precious little fins on his face and ran his fingers through his hair.

The feel of it instantly told him that Baxter had not used any gel or hair mousse today. Hooray for that. Alastor hated the stuff. They completely masked the lovely smell and feel of Baxter’s natural hair. It really was a crime to let Baxter use either of them.

Wait a minute. If Baxter wasn’t using gel or mousse, that could only mean one thing.

“Alastor. Don’t.” Baxter said firmly. He knew his partner all to well. He knew exactly what his partner was thinking before he even reached for his hair tie.

It was no use, Alastor couldn’t resist. He would never be able to resist.

“Alastor.” Baxter warned.

Yoink! Poof!

Strands of hair went flying in every direction from Baxter’s head in an explosion of such force it made Baxter’s hat fall off. It bounced off the arm of the sofa before falling to the floor. Neither Alastor or Baxter noticed it. Instead, they looked at each other. Baxter had this ridiculously cute expression that was somewhere between a pout and a glare. Then he closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and visually decided he was above this petty nonsense. He gave Alastor a disinterested but very unamused look. Alastor couldn’t hide that he was pleased with what he had done. He sat back and admired the sight he tragically didn’t often get to see. This insanely voluminous, unruly, imperfect and therefore in every way perfect, flyaway mess was Baxter’s natural hair.

“Why must you do this?” Baxter deadpanned.

“Because it’s adorable.” Alastor chuckled while gently pulling a strand down flat and taking joy in letting it go and watching it spring back into place.

He’d never forget the first time he saw Baxter’s true hair. It was sometime after they had stopped merely interacting with each other when necessary, or when Alastor felt like picking on Baxter, or when Baxter felt like getting revenge against Alastor for being such a nuisance, and gave each other a chance. Alastor was in Baxter’s room, not quite so welcome at this time, pestering Baxter for entertainment as usual. Just as he was considering listening to Baxter’s fifth or sixth demand for him to get out, it occurred to him that he had never seen Baxter with his hair down. Baxter’s defensive grab for his hair tie and desperate attempts to evade him only made Alastor determined to see it, And when he wrestled the hair tie out of Baxter’s grip and hair and saw it, he couldn’t help but laugh. That was when he discovered Baxter’s cheeks glowed, literally glowed, when he blushed. He was yelling at Alastor when his cheeks shone the same lovely colour as his cute freckles, maybe just a shade darker. It instantly became Alastor’s new favourite colour. He was too shy and afraid to tell Baxter at the time, but his blushing face was the most adorable thing Alastor had ever seen. Instead, he just assured Baxter that he liked the way his hair looked and insisted he shouldn’t be embarrassed by it. And no, he wasn’t just saying that to humour him. He really meant it.

Of course, he was being honest back then but only partially. A lot of things had changed since then. For one they were together now. And now that they were together, it was only right that Baxter knew the whole truth. He told Baxter what he had really thought that night.

"I know that.” Baxter said smiling, “You told me during our first week as a couple. You’ve told me this quite a few times actually.”

He turned his face away from Alastor as he said this. Averting eye contact but still smiling. Then Alastor saw it. The faint glimmer of blue across Baxter’s cheeks.

Alastor let out an ecstatic gasp when he saw it. He could see Baxter blush every day for the rest of eternity and it would never be any less wonderful than seeing it for the first time.

“What?” Baxter asked, somehow still surprised at this point.

“I think you know what.” Alastor beamed before going in for a kiss attack.

“What are you doing?” Baxter laughed trying to dodge Alastor’s lips, “Stop it. You’re making me blush.”

“That’s the idea.” Alastor hummed, kissing Baxter on every part of his face he could reach until Baxter was truly glowing. His cheeks shone like jewels. Beautiful.

“I have to capture this.” Alastor announced spontaneously pulling out his phone and snapping a picture of Baxter and his glowing cheeks.

Baxter quickly tried to cover his face with his hands. Too late.

“Don’t post it online.” Baxter squeaked, blushing even more at the very thought of anyone else seeing him like this.

“I won’t.” Alastor assured. Lies. The first chance he got, this was going straight on his Instagram page. Which was really just a virtual shrine to his beloved little fishy. He couldn’t wait to caption it.

His photographic masterpiece taken, Alastor turned his attention back to where it should be. On Baxter. He caressed Baxter’s cheek, smoothing his thumb over the glow, and spoke his mind the moment it had the thought he never hesitated to share.

“You are so beautiful.” He told his beloved, looking him straight in the eye. The way he always made sure to do when he made him a promise. “You really are."

Baxter leaned as closely into Alastor’s touch as he could.

"I know you think so.” he said positively. Or at least, tried to say it positively. But it sounded false and he didn’t look Alastor in the eye.

“I know so.” Alastor insisted.

Baxter didn’t respond and Alastor couldn’t help but sigh at that. Sadly, Baxter didn’t know he was beautiful. He didn’t even think it. Alastor knew that Baxter didn’t really like the way he looked at all. There were many parts of the body he was in that he straight up hated. Saying they looked absolutely stupid. He said that it was no wonder no one took him seriously because he looked so ridiculous.

Well, Alastor was having none of that. He told Baxter every day what he thought of all these features he was so insecure about. Determined to make him feel better about them. Maybe one day, Baxter would even like them as much as Alastor did.

“Darl, you know I love the way you look.” He persisted putting his arms around his lover, “I don’t care what you say, you do not look ridiculous. Ridiculously cute, yes. But not ridiculous.”

Baxter let out a small chuckle before he embraced Alastor as well.

“I love everything about you.” Alastor whispered to the person he loved more than anything in existence like it was a secret. Now that was ridiculous because he would shout it to the world.

“No, you don’t!” Baxter giggled, “You don’t love how cranky, closed off and secretive I can be.”

“Alright smartass, you’ve pointed out you have flaws like every other human being. Well done.” Alastor joked back before getting serious,“But all the good things about you outweigh the bad things by a ton.”

“Well, my love. You will be pleased to know that I can say the exact same thing about you.” Baxter said, tightening his embrace and planting several sweet lingering kisses on Alastor’s cheek. “I love you so.”

“I love you too.” Alastor said right back, returning Baxter’s soft squeeze, “And you really are ridiculously cute.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Baxter said in a positive tone that sounded genuine this time. Alastor was sure he was smiling.

“You’d better.” He grinned before he resumed the kiss attack he’d launched earlier.

He had better believe he was cute because Baxter was cute. His eyes were cute. His smile was cute. His freckles were cute. His hair was cute. His little built-in fishing rod was cute and good god, his blush was cute. Everything about him was cute and much more. He was charming, he was attractive, he was handsome and indeed he was beautiful. And Alastor didn’t care what he had done to end up here, Baxter was beautiful on the inside too.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #baxter #fanfic

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thechocoboos · 7 years

Text

Headcannons: Chocobros on Animal Crossing

(I can’t believe this is the subject of my first writing piece on here fml)

***the bros share a town

Prompto

Boi’s been playing it since the original on the gamecube, it always made him feel less lonely (#relatable)

Now he just plays it to chill

Not as big of a fan for New Leaf as he was with previous games, but still plays it cause it’s the only one the bros like

His favorite aspect is interacting with the villagers. He attends every single birthday in town, sends more letters and presents than you and I ever did, and oh jeez god help the other bros when his favorite villager leaves

Gets way too attached to villagers and takes what they say to heart. The Grumpy villagers on the gamecube version once made him cry

L O V E S the dogs, you bet your bottom bell this boi bought every single dog amiibo card

The soul reason he plays New Leaf? Isabelle.

Lowkey has PTSD from Tom Nook; this boi here never fully paid off his loans

Struggles with making money ingame, can’t afford half the furniture he wants

“428,000 BELLS FOR A BASEMENT?!”

Hands the game to Noctis when he needs money (Noct is king of the bell bringers)

Is scared of Resetti (once made Prom cry)

Bones moved out without telling Prom. He cried for 3 weeks.

Admittedly likes dressing his character up in goofy costumes, his favorites are the hero outfits

Not so great at decorating or designing the town but he tries

Prefers leaving his towns more natural with loads of trees and flowers spread out randomly (pfft not with Ignis around tho)

Sends presents and cute lil letters to the bros

Saves literally every single letter he gets

This boy LIVES for the holidays, he makes notes about what the villagers want from Jingle, what they’re scared of for Halloween, and he collects things way in advance for Thanksgiving

Noctis

Saw Prom playing it one night, got curious and stole it for a few days

“Hey Noct, have you seen my 3DS?”

“No, maybe it fell in the Regalia?” Noct you asshole

At first, he didn’t see the appeal, but once he found out about fishing, the boy became obsessed

Got sick of playing as Prom’s character, so he made his own

Doesn’t care much for decorating his house, but that’s where he displays his fish. Only upgrades it to hold more fish.

What little furniture he has is mismatched and thrown down in the most random ways

“Hey Noct, what’s up with the flower chair facing the wall?”

“I dunno.”

Noctis single handedly supplies the museum fish, but nothing else

He somehow paid off all his loans and became a bellionaire in a week (Prom thinks he used the duplication glitch (he did) but can’t prove it)

Basic clothing except one thing; he wears the crown nonstop

Usually ignores any requests the villagers give him, unless it involves fishing

Actually, he usually ignores the villagers, too

Sometimes sends Prom items that he really wants in letters

“Dear Blondie, Here From Noctis”

Whenever Prom wants money, Noctis takes over as Prom’s character and badaboom badabing Poor Prom is a Rich Prom

Ignores letters for the most part and deletes them; except the ones from mom and dad, he saves every single one (they make him smile and feel warm and fuzzy and sometimes sad)

Whenever he misses his parents he likes to look at the letters from his character’s ingame parents

Lowkey likes to dick around on the other bro’s files; once fucked up Ignis’ house so bad the man was practically a frozen brick to Noct for a week

“Hey Specs, what’s for dinner?”

“There might have been memory cake, but it appears my kitchen has disappeared.” the bros had to make their own ramen that night

Ignis

No one expected him to like it so much

Or at least, the bros think he likes it?

Tutted at how bad Prom was with being mayor, and ended up playing “merely to correct the town’s issues”

Next thing ya know, he’s playing as Mayor Prompto more often than Prom, boi basically stole Prom’s character (Prom made a new one)

At first he was just fixing up the town: weeding, changing the flag, adding public works projects…

Then he became obsessed. He made paths, gardens, clothing, umbrellas… This man donated every single missing bug, painting, sculpture, and fossil to the museum

He continually said “I’m merely returning the town to decency”

Yeah no

Boi upgraded his house, furnished it and turned it into a legit house with a kitchen, living room, couple of bedrooms, a flippin’ bathroom, he even turned the basement into a rumpus room

Needless to say, he got the highest HHA score out of all the bros

You know those really nice, aesthetically pleasing AC towns you see on tumblr? Yeah, his is one of them. That’s right, it’s his town now. Even Noct’s crown can’t deny who really cares for the place

Sneakily moves out villagers and brings in the food related ones (Prom cries every time)

Outside of decorating and mayor-ing and creating cool af clothes, the man doesn’t do too much

He only ever really talked to the animals to get PWPs and change his nickname to Ignis

His overarching goal is to get every single achievement badge (help the poor bb)

Gladiolus

??????

???????

He has no idea what he’s doing

His thumbs are a bit too big to rest comfortably on the buttons, so he always presses the wrong ones and picks up Ignis’ flowers and paths (Ignis is never happy)

His character clumsily runs around town, destroying Ignis’ flowers and wearing down the grass

Never really pays attention to much in game, is just confused most of the time

Didn’t even pay the down payment until Prom said something

“Haven’t you paid Nook yet?”

“Done what to who?”

Once he finally gets the hang of things, he furnishes his house and turns it into a massive gym

Is lowkey a dick to most of the villagers, he always hits them with nets and tells them the most negative things he can (which isn’t much considering it’s animal crossing)

Whenever Iris is around, he likes to let her play on his file; she always fills his house with lovely furniture and teddy bears then dresses his character up as a girl, just to bug him

Sometimes he keeps it like that

Honestly he plays the game the least, he never sees the overarching point of it but says it’s sometimes relaxing (yea pal that’s the point)

Makes his character look as tough and badass as possible

Sometimes, when the other bros pull a prank or a being lil shits, he plays their characters and changes their outfits into the dumbest things ever or moves things around in their houses (he also steals Noct’s fish and puts them in storage)

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #headcannons #noctis #animal crossing #noctis lucis caelum #prompto #gladiolus #gladio #ignis

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chocolatequeennk · 8 years

Text

Taking Time, 2/5

Summary: Their year with the Master left wounds deeper than they wanted to admit, but now, the Doctor and Rose are ready to take the time necessary to heal.

This is part of the Being to Timelessness ‘verse, falling in between Voyage of the Damned and S4. There’s a lot of emotional hurt/comfort as they work through the trauma caused by the Year That Never Was.

Also, more than any other piece in the series, this one assumes you have read everything that came before it. Chapter 2 references (in order) chapter 34 of Time is Still A-Flying, chapter 25 of To Make Much of Time, and chapter 21 of TISAF.

AO3 | FF.NET | TSP | Ch 1

Chapter Two: Celebrating the Good Times

The freedom to travel without the pressure to fix the universe made their trip to 1969 a holiday to remember. After parking the TARDIS in London so the younger Rose could benefit from her presence, the Doctor and Rose set out to cover as much ground in Britain as they could in a single month. Rose dug out the camera she’d given the Doctor for their first anniversary, and they took hundreds of pictures of all the sites Rose had never gotten to see as a child. They even went to Wales and saw the investiture of the Prince of Wales.

On their final weekend in the past, they went back to the Isle of Wight and stayed in a similar holiday cottage to the one they’d rented almost two years before. They were lounging on the beach on their last evening there, just like they had on their first evening months and months ago, when Rose started laughing.

The Doctor looked at her over the rim of his sunglasses. “What’s so funny?”

“I was thinking, what must we look like to the locals? Some posh couple with too much money who can afford to take a holiday every other weekend, I suppose.”

He blinked, then laughed along with her. Because of course, none of the locals could possibly know that nearly a year and a half had passed between these two weekends.

Rose shifted on their blanket until she was sitting in between his legs, and the Doctor automatically wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close. She laced their fingers together, then stared at their joined hands for a long moment. The Doctor bit back his question and waited for her to tell him what she was thinking, unprompted.

“Did you really not know how much I fancied you back then?”

He nuzzled the spot where her neck met her shoulder, blessing the halter top that left her shoulders bare. “I’m pretty sure you more than fancied me the last time we were here, love.” He chose one particularly vivid memory and shared it with her, then watched in delight as her skin turned pink. He got flustered so easily, but Rose really didn’t. Making her blush with an innuendo was a victory.

“I mean, back when you were the other you. Before you regenerated.” She twisted her neck so she could look up at him. “You really didn’t know?”

It still took the Doctor a moment to track with her conversation, then he remembered that the last time they’d sat on this beach, he’d called himself her “grumpy alien chauffeur.”

He chuckled, then bent his head and pressed another kiss to her neck. “I assure you, Rose, I had no idea.” He kissed her again, just below her ear, and she shivered in his arms. “If anything, I thought maybe you were intrigued by me—the alien with the space ship and the weird, short wand.”

Rose snorted. “Nothing short about your wand.”

The Doctor laughed and tickled her ribs. “Well, I don’t know what humans think of the sonic screwdriver the first time they see it, do I?”

“Silver tube thingy that saved our lives,” Rose supplied. “But back to my point—you seemed so insulted that I didn’t think you were impressive; I figured you knew how impressive you really were.”

“Well, I thought you weren’t impressed, so I was desperate to impress you,” he countered.

“But you know now?” she pressed.

“What’s this about, Rose?”

Rose sighed, then turned to kneel in between his legs, facing him. “Your dream last night.”

He sucked in a breath. When she hadn’t woken up with him in the middle of the night and hadn’t said anything that morning, he’d assumed she hadn’t noticed his dream. He should have known better.

“It was only a dream,” he said quickly.

“Doctor.” Rose pursed her lips, and he knew she wasn’t going to let it go. “You dreamed that I got mad at you because we kept landing in dangerous or difficult places. In your dream, I told you that I was going to stay on Earth, and you could come pick me up when you’d learned how to drive.”

His throat ached, and he clenched his jaw against the tears that threatened. Watching Rose walk away from him had been agonising, because he hadn’t been able to argue with her. Rose deserved someone who didn’t constantly drop her into danger, and if she’d finally realised that…

When he’d woken up, tears streaming down his face, Rose had shifted in her sleep until they were barely touching. The Doctor had wanted to wrap himself around her so she couldn’t leave him, but he’d settled for rolling onto his side and resting his hand on her shoulder. Even that touch had seemed presumptuous, but it was the only way he’d been able to slow his racing hearts.

Rose reached out and stroked his cheek before cupping his jaw. “And I need you to know that there’s never been a time when I would have wanted you to drop me off.” She sighed. “There was that week after our trip to the parallel world, when I realised that I could go on without you if I needed to, but from the moment I met you, I never wanted to be without you.”

The Doctor stared down at Rose, then he crushed her to him. He floated on light relief and didn’t bother to check the tears he felt welling up in his eyes. Thank you, he told her as he kissed her softly.

Rose shifted as they kissed, encouraging him to lie back and roll onto his side. She wanted to hold him, but it was hard to embrace when she was kneeling between his legs.

His tears didn’t surprise her; she’d wanted to cry herself when she’d remembered his nightmare this morning, and realised she hadn’t woken up to comfort him. No matter where the TARDIS took them, being with the Doctor was the best part of her life, and her heart ached knowing he was so uncertain about that.

I love you, she told the Doctor once they were lying back on the beach with his head resting on her breast. She ran her hands through his hair. I love being with you—I’ve always loved being with you.

She reached for the hand he’d draped over her hip and laced their fingers together. Better with two, remember? It’s not about the life or the travelling; it’s about being with you. How else could I stand in the basement of a Cardiff morgue and tell you I was glad I’d met you?

A new thought occurred to her, and the hand in his hair paused momentarily, until his head pushed into it, silently asking her to keep stroking him.

What’s bothering you, Rose?

She hesitated. If he said yes, it would mean changing a huge part of the way they interacted on a daily basis. But it would also mean she’d been hurting him all this time, and in that case, she was willing to retrain herself.

Does it… Rose bit her lip. Does it bother you when I poke fun at your driving? she asked quickly.

The Doctor shook his head vehemently, accidentally brushing his lips against the swell of her breast as he did so. Absolutely not. I know you’re only teasing.

Rose nodded, slightly reassured. Still… If I ever hurt you accidentally, promise me you’ll say something.

His answer didn’t come right away, and she prodded him over the bond until he sighed. All right. I’ll tell you.

An older couple walking by looked pointedly at them before tutting and looking away. Rose glanced down at the way the Doctor had wrapped himself around her and sighed when she realised it really didn’t look decent, by contemporary standards. He’d tangled his legs with hers, and his head rested between her breasts, his lips millimetres from kissing bare skin.

She nudged him gently and smiled when he lifted his head to look up at her. “We’re getting a bit of attention,” she said, nodding at the crowd on the beach who were all purposely ignoring them. “Why don’t we get up and walk along the water to our cottage?”

He sighed, but stood up and brushed the sand off his trousers before offering her a hand. Together, they folded up the blanket they’d been lying on. Rose shoved it back in the bag and slung the bag over her shoulder, then reached for his hand.

“So, any brilliant plans after we pack up the flat in London tomorrow?” she asked. She knew he had plans; he’d been carefully keeping something from her all week.

The Doctor swung their hands between them and skipped a little. “Oh, yes! Well, first, I thought we could spend a few days at home, floating in the Vortex.”

“A break from relaxing?” Rose’s tongue poked out from the corner of her mouth.

“Something like that.” He tugged on his ear. “Also, time to run a few maintenance routines I don’t usually get around to. We’ve done well so far, but if we want to continue hitting the destinations we’re looking for, I need to stay on top of her repairs.”

“Oh, then let’s definitely spend some time at home,” Rose agreed. She shot him a sidelong glance. “Now, are you going to tell me what you’ve got planned, or are you going to keep me in suspense?”

The Doctor looked up at the sky and pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth. “I don’t know… are you sure you really want to know?”

Her impatience spiked, then disappeared as suddenly. “Nah. I mean, I’ll find out when we get there, right?”

She held her hand up to shield her eyes, and the Doctor squinted into the sun, trying to see what she’d spotted. Ah. A ferry.

“Do you think Ryde has ever used “Ticket to Ride” as a tourism slogan?” Rose asked, referring to the ferry port town.

The Doctor looked down at her, feeling some of his excitement dwindle. Then he caught the way she kept looking over at him, and figured out her game.

Oh no, Rose Tyler. If you want to know where we’re going, you’ll have to ask.

He let go of her hand and shoved both of his into his pockets, then stared out at the ferry, pretending to be deep in thought. “I think they do during the twenty-second century. Beatles mania enjoys a resurgence in the 2120s, and if memory serves, Ryde finally takes advantage of the song.”

They stood side by side at the water’s edge for ten minutes, both of them waiting for the other to give. The Doctor was on the verge of caving when Rose exhaled loudly.

“Oh, my God, Doctor—would you just tell me where we’re going?”

The Doctor threw his head back and laughed. “If you wanted to know, you only had to ask.” He laughed again when she growled his name. “Do you know what next week is?”

Rose’s irritation disappeared and an adorable furrow appeared on her forehead as she tried to work it out. “My birthday is still two months away,” she mumbled, ticking dates off on her fingers. “And we bonded for the first time only a week or so before that…”

She gasped, and he knew she had it. “Five years,” she said, disbelievingly. “Next week will be five years since we met.”

The Doctor grabbed her hand and waggled his eyebrows. “Run!” he ordered gleefully, then took off for their cottage, hearing her footsteps pound into the sand beside him.

Ten minutes later, they collapsed, breathless, onto the steps of their cottage. “Okay,” Rose gasped. “So it’s the anniversary of the day we met. But where are we going?”

The Doctor leaned against the door. “Glaurus.” Her mouth fell open, and he tugged at his ear. “I know Henrik’s has been rebuilt, but we couldn’t really find the spot where I first took your hand, since it was blown up less than an hour later. And you said, once, that you’d like to holiday on Glaurus. This seemed like a good time to take that trip.”

Rose chuckled. “Yeah, Henrik’s never was known for being a romantic destination anyway. I suppose Glaurus will do instead.”

oOoOoOoOo

A holiday on Glaurus was as lovely as Rose had imagined it would be three years ago. Instead of landing in the resort town with their favourite restaurant, the Doctor took them to the countryside first. Away from the sea, the ever-present perfume of lemon and lavender hung in the air, reminding Rose of the fields of Provence.

On their fifth anniversary, they moved the TARDIS to the city so they could make their dinner reservations. The Doctor smiled at Rose as they stepped out into the balmy summer evening and held out his hand to her. “Ready to go?”

She took it readily, but the sly smile on her face told him to prepare for teasing. “You’re not going to offer me your arm this time, Doctor?”

He groaned and shook his head. “I really debated that particular piece of advice,” he told her. “Everything else the article said made sense, but we alway held hands. It seemed odd, holding you at a distance like that.”

They reached the restaurant and were seated immediately once he gave his name. Rose smiled at the Doctor once the host had their drink orders and left them alone. “Did you ask for the same table we sat at for our first date?”

“Maybe,” he drawled.

“Do you know what I remember most about that night?”

The Doctor reached for her hand. “You mean something is more memorable than the way I bungled things?”

“You didn’t!” Rose protested. “It was sweet that you cared enough about our first date to try that hard.” The Doctor raised an eyebrow, and Rose shook her head. “I mean it, Doctor. And Mum thought so, too. I told her about our date when I called her right before we ran into the Weeping Angels, and it was the first time I felt like she really understood how much you love me.”

The Doctor rubbed his thumb over Rose’s pulse point. His comment had been more in jest than anything, but her staunch defence was still touching. “Thank you. Now… I think you were going to tell me what you remember most about our first date.”

Rose’s eyes went soft. “Yeah. It seems appropriate to remember tonight. I told you that I never thought we’d be doing this, and you said—”

“Oh, I think this has been inevitable since run, Rose Tyler.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, shivering along with her at the contact.

Then he turned to the server, who was patiently waiting with their wine and crab cakes. “Thank you,” he told the young woman as he let go of Rose’s hand and sat back so the server could pour the wine.

“Not a problem, sir,” she said cheerfully. “You looked too happy to interrupt.”

Rose turned and smiled at her. “It’s our anniversary,” she explained. “We met five years ago today.”

The woman’s eyes lit up. “Oh, congratulations!” Her mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “My girlfriend and I have known each other about that long, too, but I can’t tell if our relationship is ever gonna move forward.”

The Doctor tugged at his ear. “Well, without knowing anything about either of you, I can say that some of us simply move slower than others.”

Rose took his free hand and squeezed. “And I can say it’s worth the wait.”

Their server smiled brightly. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised, then took out her notepad. “Now, are you ready to order?”

Over dinner, the Doctor and Rose reminisced about that first adventure they’d shared. “Were you really surprised when you saw my face through the cat flap?” Rose asked.

The Doctor nodded. “It was a good surprise—I started thinking about ways I could meet you again before I even left Henrik’s—but it was definitely a surprise.”

Rose narrowed her eyes. “Hang on. You told me to forget you.”

“Wellllll…” The Doctor scratched at his cheek. “I wanted to get to know you, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think you’d be better off without me.”

“Oh, my God, Doctor!” Rose buried her face in her hands to hide her snort of laughter. The whole idea that he’d been working out ways to run into her again, but then had run from her the moment it happened… it was so typical of the Doctor back then.

“But you, though!” The Doctor pointed at her. “You looked me up online, you said. So I wasn’t the only one who was intrigued from the start, at least.”

Rose ran her finger around the lip of her glass. “Well, this brooding, Byronic hero had just stared at me with blue eyes that could look straight into your soul, and he told me to forget him. So, yeah—of course I looked you up.” She smiled at him, her tongue peeking out. “And now here we are, five years later.”

The Doctor reached for her over the bond, pulling her into a telepathic embrace. Here we are, indeed.

Rose’s eyes drifted shut. Did you imagine we’d be like this?

He shook his head. Even as I explained bonding to you, I barely let myself hope you’d be interested in sharing a bond with me. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. When you told me you’d love to live with me in your head… I can’t tell you how much that meant to me, Rose.

She smiled, and a moment later, her touch on the bond deepened. I meant it. I’m so grateful you found the courage to ask. I love you, my Doctor.

After dinner, the Doctor led Rose up to the cliff walk. The sun was reaching the horizon when they got to the viewpoint, and they stopped to watch the sky turned pink and gold. The Doctor was holding Rose close, with his arms wrapped around her waist just like he’d done the last time they were here. Then, the intimacy of the embrace had been new and almost overwhelming, but now it was as natural as breathing.

“Thank you for bringing us here,” Rose told him quietly as she played with his fingers where they rested on her stomach. “It’s been nice, remembering our first date at the same time as we celebrated our first meeting.”

This time, when Rose sighed and leaned her head back against his shoulder, the Doctor didn’t ignore the invitation. Instead, he turned slightly and pressed his lips to hers for three quick kisses before she carded her fingers through his hair and held him in place to deepen the kiss.

I love you, he told her as he moved to embrace her fully. From the day we met, for as long as our forever lasts.

oOoOoOoOo

After their week on Glaurus, the Doctor hesitantly started taking them on occasional day trips with minimal planning. The first time they stepped out of the TARDIS on one of these trips, they both nearly turned right around and flew away. How many times had they thought they’d landed someplace safe, only to end up in the middle of a revolution or palace coup?

But the TARDIS hummed, urging them to explore, so they did. And the market the visited was peaceful—well, it was bustling with activity, but politically speaking, it was peaceful, with no danger lurking beneath the surface.

Following that success, they both threw themselves into their new life as travellers. Rose spent evenings in the library, researching new places to visit, and the Doctor kept a constant eye on the state of the TARDIS’ engines, making sure to keep the ship in tip-top shape.

Rose tried not to count the days down to her birthday. She’d never been the type before, but she knew the Doctor was planning something, and she was dying to know what it was. Somehow, she held back her questions, and simply waited for him to tell her.

When she entered the console room after breakfast the day before her birthday and spotted a packed bag waiting by the door, Rose spun to look at the Doctor, biting her lip in anticipation. “Where are we going?”

The Doctor threw the dematerialisation lever, then leaned against the console as they flew through the Vortex. “Someplace I promised to take you two years ago, and then never followed through.”

A few possibilities occurred to Rose, but they landed before she could start throwing out ideas. The Doctor took her hand, then raised his eyebrows and looked at the door.

“Allons-y, Rose Tyler,” he told her, and she opened the door.

The Doctor stood back with his hands in his pockets, watching as Rose stepped out onto the stretch of deserted beach. In a few minutes, they’d move into the nearby resort town and check into the suite he’d booked for the week, but he’d wanted this to be her first glimpse of the planet.

Rose bent down and picked up a handful of the iridescent sand, then let it trickle between her fingers. “It sparkles, like there’s glitter in it.”

The Doctor could feel her trying to figure out where they were, and he waited patiently for the memories to come together.

The last of the sand fell back to the beach and Rose dusted her hands off. “It reminds me of… Oh! This is where you got the incredible turquoise pigment you gave me for my birthday two years ago.”

“Yep!” He bounced on his toes. “This is Ekbrilon. And if my lady would care to step back inside our carriage, it’s only a short trip into town and to our lodgings.”

oOoOoOoOo

Rose studied the furnishings in their room as they unpacked their bag. The duvet cover had a gossamer, mother-of-pearl sheen to it, and the light caught and reflected off the textured walls, casting rainbows on the floor and the ceiling.

It wasn’t until they were outside again, walking towards the shopping district, that she noticed the clothes. “Doctor,” she murmured.

He squeezed her hand. “I know. Ekbrilon means ‘the one that shines.’ Phosphorescence typically wears off after a short while and needs to be recharged by exposure to the sun. But a unique element in the soil of Ekbrilon allows it to hold the charge longer. As you saw on the beach, the ground itself shimmers, but also, certain things will pick up that trait when exposed to the element. That extends to a particular variety of cotton.” He nodded at a passing woman whose hair was wrapped in a turban made of sparkling fabric. “The natives always wear at least one piece of clothing made from Ekbrilon cotton, as a symbol of their connection to the planet.”

“I like it,” Rose declared. “I’ll have to get something for myself before we leave.”

The Doctor grinned down at her. “I thought you might. And I’m sure we can find something for you this afternoon, if you like. But first, there’s someplace I know you’ll enjoy, and it’s right around the corner.”

A moment later, Rose stepped into an airy shop, with big windows that let in plenty of natural light. The scent of oil paints hit her, and she clenched her hands into fists. The Doctor brought you here because he thought you’d love it, she reminded herself fiercely. He doesn’t know…

The Doctor turned to look at her, his brows knit together in confusion. “Rose? This is where I bought that pigment for you. I thought you’d want…”

“Yeah,” she managed. She picked up the closest thing to her, which happened to be a palette. “They’ve got really nice stuff here. Thanks, Doctor.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head, and Rose drew a shuddering breath as she set the palette back down. She’d known he wouldn’t be fooled by her act, but she’d really wanted to get out of the shop before she broke down. Tears welled up in her eyes and she tried to blink them back, but after a second, she spun around and ran out of the shop.

The Doctor found her around the corner in an alley, crouched on the ground and pressing her hands to her eyes. As soon as she’d run out of the store, he’d cottoned onto something, and seeing how much his obliviousness had hurt her made his stomach churn.

She needs you now, not your self-recrimination, he reminded himself sharply. Taking a deep breath, he sat down beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“You haven’t painted since we’ve been home,” he said when she was done crying. “I didn’t really realise that until now.”

Rose nodded and hiccupped. “The Master liked to ridicule me for not having any A-levels. ‘And even if you had gone on for further education, Rose Tyler, you were only planning to study English, French, and art?’” She mangled the tissue he’d given her, and little bits of torn paper landed on his leg. “So it seemed kinda silly to paint. I’ve been trying to study more too; the TARDIS has given me some books to read.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” the Doctor asked quietly.

Rose shrugged. “Didn’t seem important, really. I mean, he was right in a way. Art doesn’t matter as much as science.”

The wistfulness in her voice made his hearts ache. “Do you remember what you told Donna?” he asked her. Rose frowned up at him. “How about we don’t start any more sentences with, ‘The Master was right.’ Because even when he came close, he still got it so wrong, Rose.” The Doctor took her hand and held it up. “That gorgeous painting of Makuyu in our bedroom was done by this hand.” He tapped her temple. “The vision came from this mind.” He kissed her. “I look at that painting every day and marvel at your extraordinary talent and creativity. Don’t ever let anyone tell you art doesn’t matter.”

Rose sniffed and brushed tears away. “I’ve missed it,” she admitted. “It’s been a year and a half since I’ve done more than simple sketches, and it feels like part of me is just… shrivelling up.”

The Doctor jumped to his feet and held his hands out. “Then I think I know what we’re doing for the rest of the afternoon.”

A light he hadn’t known was missing entered Rose’s eyes, and this time, she nearly dragged him into the art supply shop. The Doctor stood by the counter and watched as she tore through the shop like a whirlwind, making selections and adding them to the growing pile before diving back in.

“Your wife must love to paint,” the shopkeeper observed.

“She does, and it’s been a while.”

Rose picked up two tubes of similarly coloured paint and bit her lip as she looked from one to the other. The Doctor recognised her indecision, and nodded from the shopkeeper to Rose.

“Can you make sure she finds the absolute best quality possible of everything she wants?”

Half an hour later, they were on their way to the beach, the Doctor carrying the easel and small canvas Rose had purchased, while she had a bag with all of the paints and brushes she’d chosen for her newest project.

“Sit over there,” she ordered as she set up her easel. “I don’t want you to see it until I’m done.”

The Doctor obediently shook out his coat and sat down on the sand, facing Rose. The colours she’d chosen were mostly shades of blue, and he wondered what she had in mind.

He’d never watched her work before, and the concentration on her face entranced him. After working quickly with a large brush, she bit her lip and picked up a smaller brush, eyeing the canvas as if she were trying to imagine the idea in her head had already come to life.

Finally, she dipped her brush in another colour, and he sighed in relief as happy confidence spread across her face. They were gradually putting their lives back together, and even though he knew this wouldn’t magically make everything better, it was still a major step in the right direction.

The wind kept blowing a piece of hair into her eyes, and every time she brushed it back, she smeared paint on her cheek. “I do not look gorgeous,” she said absently. “I’m sweaty, my hair is a mess, and I’ve got paint all over my face.”

The Doctor put his arms behind him and leaned backwards. “You’re happy,” he countered. “You keep looking at me and smiling, and your eyes are glowing. I hate to contradict you, love, but you’re definitely gorgeous right now.”

Rose rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade. Thirty minutes later, she dropped her brush into the jar of water and straightened her back. “I think it’s done.”

She was biting her lip again, so the Doctor pushed a wave of encouragement her way as he stood up and came around to stand beside her.

Then he saw her painting, and he was stunned. The dark blues she’d selected had created a nighttime landscape. A couple walked hand in hand through the darkness, from the nearly pitch black bottom left corner towards the lightest point on the canvas on the far right. She’d used one of Ekbrilon’s special phosphorescent paints to make the sky twinkle with stars.

But it was the couple that commanded his attention. A tall man with brown spiky hair walked hand-in-hand with a blonde woman. They were in mid-stride, and there seemed to be some invisible force making their progress difficult. But as they leaned on each other, the Doctor got the feeling that they would make it, as long as they were together.

“I call it Finding Our Way Home,” Rose said quietly. “Because we still are, even though we’re back in the TARDIS. Figuring out how to pick up the pieces of our old life after a year away… it’s not easy. But you give me the strength to keep trying, when it would be easier to give up and think that this is as good as it’s going to get.”

The Doctor’s throat worked, but he couldn’t get words past the lump there. Instead, he reached for Rose and pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers.

We are going to find our way home, he promised her. I haven’t told you, but I’m so grateful you’re with me right now. I don’t know how I could piece myself back together after the Year That Never Was if I had to do it alone. You give me strength every day, and I love you.

Rose sighed, and he adjusted his hold so she could rest her head on his chest. I love you, too, Doctor. Thank you for pushing me to get back into art today. I feel more like me than I have in months.

The Doctor looked over the top of her head at the painting. “Shall we put it in the study, do you think?” he suggested in a low voice.

Rose nodded. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I was thinking. It’s part of the reason I wanted to do something in blues—so it would match the room.”

She sighed again, and this time, he could feel her weariness.

“I know you probably had some kind of plan for dinner, but would you mind if we went back to our room for the night?” she asked. “This was amazing, but it was draining to create something so fast, after not doing anything in ages.”

“Of course.” The Doctor helped her pack up her paints and brushes. “We could order room service and watch telly, or sit and read.”

Rose pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He winked down at her. “Well, I want you well-rested for the birthday festivities tomorrow.”

oOoOoOoOo

“Birthday festivities” turned out to be more shopping, then playing in the sea for a few hours. When Rose got hungry, they dried themselves off and went to an open air cafe for sandwiches.

After they ate, Rose rested her elbows on the table and leaned towards the Doctor. “So…” she drawled. “Do we have special plans for dinner tonight?”

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “It’s your twenty-fifth birthday. Of course I have plans for dinner tonight. We have reservations at a restaurant that sits right on the water.” He waved at the expanse of sand surrounding them. “You were too tired last night to experience the full wonder of an Ekbrilon night. I can’t wait for you to see it, Rose.”

She twirled the umbrella from her drink between her fingers. “Since it’s my birthday, would you mind if I spent the afternoon at the spa? I could use some pampering, and then we could meet at the restaurant.”

The Doctor only hesitated for a moment. It was Rose’s birthday after all, and Ekbrilon was perfectly safe. He had no legitimate reason to insist she stayed by his side. And besides… “Well, that gives me time to shop…”

Rose held up her hand. “I don’t need any more gifts, Doctor. You gave me back my art yesterday. That’s the best gift I’ve gotten in years.”

He reached for her hand. I just want you to be happy.

Rose brushed her thumb over his. I am. Thank you.

After a quick shower, Rose headed out for her appointment. She smirked when she remembered how astonished the Doctor had been when he’d realised she’d actually already made plans. It’s good for him to know that he doesn’t catch everything, she thought, though she still didn’t know how she’d slipped in and out of the spa that morning without the Doctor being aware of her absence.

Rose had chosen the salon specifically because it was full-service, including a personal shopping assistant who would select outfits for you to try on while you were in your massage. She told the assistant where the Doctor was taking her, and gave her only one further instruction: “I want him to be speechless.”

oOoOoOoOo

The Doctor paced in front of the restaurant, waiting for Rose to appear. She wasn’t late, but her excitement for the evening had only grown since they’d parted for the afternoon. It was a very specific kind of anticipation that he recognised from other times she’d stunned him with her beauty, and he braced himself at the same time as he eagerly watched the sidewalk.

Nothing could have prepared him for the vision Rose was tonight, though. From the navy blue at the top of the bodice down to the turquoise skirt swirling around her legs, her dress evoked the changing colours of the Ekbrilon sea. And like most things on Ekbrilon, the silk was iridescent—meaning for once, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say she was radiant.

The silky fabric draped over her body, and for a few minutes, he was entranced by the outline of her legs as the skirt shifted around them. He could make out the familiar shape of her left thigh for a second, even though she was fully clothed. Then she took another step, highlighting her right calf, and he forced himself to look away.

Moving his gaze upward, the Doctor swallowed hard when he realised how revealing this dress was. Even though the skirt brushed along the ground as she walked, the bodice was cut almost to her navel. The fabric gathered in wide straps at her shoulders, and as he watched, she did a quick twirl, revealing that the back was equally low-cut.

Rose’s loose curls settled back around her shoulders when she faced him again. There was an alluring smile on her face, but the Doctor didn’t care if the way he was staring at her gave his thoughts away. She looked magical tonight, and she deserved to know that.

The Doctor’s slack-jawed expression and the awe she felt from him over the bond encouraged Rose to take another step, so she was just out of his reach. “Cat got your tongue, love?”

His eyes wandered over her figure. “I think…” He tugged on his tie. “That our reservation is coming up soon, so we should get inside before they give our table away.”

Rose pouted and grabbed his lapel, blessing the heels that added three inches to her height. “Is that all you have to say about my lovely dress?”

She held her breath when the Doctor reached out and traced the neckline of the dress. A moment later, Rose felt him open up the bond so she could tell exactly how much he appreciated her dress. She put her hand on his shoulder to hold herself steady and reflected the same love and desire back to him.

His gaze drifted to her mouth, but as he leaned towards her, someone called their names from the door. Hold that thought, love, he told her as he ushered her into the restaurant.

Consider it held, she returned with a cheeky wink.

They were led through the restaurant to a table on the patio. When Rose stepped onto the wooden planks and felt them move beneath her feet, she realised what she’d thought was a deck was actually a dock. The establishment was built right at the water’s edge, and their outside seating floated on the water on pontoons.

“I like the way they did this,” Rose told the Doctor once the server had left. Each table floated on its own section of dock, separated from the others by water on three sides. It provided a sense of privacy and intimacy that was usually missing in outdoor seating, where the tables were all piled on top of each other.

“This is the absolute best way for you to experience the full glory of the Ekbrilon sea at night,” he explained.

Dinner turned out to be one of the most torturous meals the Doctor had ever sat through. Every time Rose moved, her dress caught the light differently, drawing his eyes to her again and again. It wasn’t like he was ever very good at looking away from her, but tonight he literally could not take his eyes off her.

And she was so enraptured by the setting sun that he would have thought she hadn’t noticed how captivated he was, except for the Mona Lisa smile on her face and the buzz of anticipated pleasure coursing over the bond.

As their empty plates were taken away, Rose squeezed his hand suddenly and looked up at him. “I didn’t really think about it, but we had a year of touches to make up for, didn’t we?”

The Doctor swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he said, his voice raspy. Touch-starved didn’t even begin to express how he’d felt when they’d left the Valiant. The loss of Rose’s telepathic presence in his mind had been excruciating, but a year without touching her, without holding her in his arms, had been its own kind of hell.

“I know,” she murmured. “I felt exactly the same way, but I’d never really thought of it like that.”

He nodded, then directed her attention to the water, grateful he could distract her from the painful topic.

The sun had just sank beneath the horizon, leaving the sky awash in purples and deep blues. But for once, the sunset wasn’t the grand finale. Now that the sky was dark, the water put on a show.

“Is the ocean glowing?” Rose asked. She leaned over, reaching out to touch the water.

“It’s the seaweed,” the Doctor told her. “Remember I told you the pigment I gave you two years ago was made from ground seaweed? Well…”

He pointed at the ocean. Tendrils of light danced beneath the surface as the seaweed swayed with the ocean currents. Like a Van Gogh painting, the water nearest the light was bright turquoise, deepening to cerulean and midnight blue until it brightened again as the next strand of seaweed floated nearby and lit the water up.

Their server appeared again, distracting the Doctor from the babbling lecture he’d been about to give. “Can I interest you in any dessert tonight?” the young man asked. “Our specialty is a miniature chocolate torte served with berries. One cake is enough for two, if you would like to share.”

Rose’s face lit up, and a tiny hum escaped her lips. The Doctor chuckled and nodded at the server. “I think the birthday girl has spoken. And coffee for both of us,” he added, suspecting they’d want something to cut the richness of the desert.

Five minutes later, their server put the cake down in front of them with a flourish. Looking at the mountain of chocolate decadence, the Doctor could understand why he played up the presentation. The double layer torte had a thick layer of ganache on top and between the layers. A pile of berries had been artfully arranged on top of the cake and allowed to spill over one edge, as if the cake itself wasn’t big enough to contain all the flavours.

“You first, love,” the Doctor said, gesturing for her to pick up one of the forks. “It’s your birthday cake, after all.”

Rose stabbed through the layers of cake, making sure to catch some of the ganache and one of the raspberries before bringing the fork to her mouth. Her eyes closed in sheer bliss when the first taste hit her tongue, and the Doctor’s hands flexed with the need to touch her.

Rose’s eyes darkened when she caught the direction his thoughts had taken, and a moment later, she loaded the fork with another bite of the cake, but this time, she held it out for him. “We’re supposed to be sharing, aren’t we, Doctor?”

Sharing that chocolate cake with Rose was possibly the most sensual moment of the Doctor’s life, and when the plate was clean, he was more than ready to go back to their room. But when they left the restaurant, Rose caught a glimpse of one aspect of Ekbrilon’s phosphorescence that she still hadn’t seen yet.

“The sand,” she murmured, staring out at the blue light spider-webbing its way across the beach. A wave washed up on shore, and for a moment, they could see the combination of the shimmering sand and the glowing water. “How is it doing that?”

“All those particles that make it look like glitter during the day make it glow in the dark at night,” the Doctor explained.

“It’s gorgeous. I just want…” Rose bit her lip and looked up at the Doctor. “Can we walk along the water for a ways?”

“There’s no reason we can’t get to our hotel by walking on the beach, instead of the streets.”

Rose stepped into the sand, and the heels of her shoes sank, nearly tipping her forward. “Bloody hell,” she muttered. She flailed a bit, and the Doctor stepped close enough that she could grab onto his arm. “Thanks. Hold still. Yeah—like that,” she ordered, and he watched as she slipped her shoes off, then handed them to him. “You’ve got room in your pockets, right?”

“Of course.”

Shoes taken care of, they set out across the sand. There was something familiar about the image of the two of them walking through an iridescent night together, and the Doctor poked around in his memories until he figured out where he’d seen this before.

“I know,” Rose whispered, squeezing his hand. “It’s like my painting.”

They were almost to the path that would lead up to their hotel when Rose stopped on the water’s edge. The Doctor followed her line of vision to where the moonlight reflected out over the water, adding another layer of colour to the turquoise and blues.

“I want to wade out into it a bit,” she said suddenly. “I just… I know it’s the same water we swam in this morning, but I’ve never stood in the middle of an ocean that glowed in the dark.”

The Doctor stood back a few steps and watched Rose as she waded into the water. The twin moons of Ekbrilon shone down on her, catching the iridescent quality of her dress and making it shine. The navy bodice blended into the night sky behind her, but the turquoise skirt floated on the midnight water.

Rose looked back at him over her shoulder, a mysterious smile playing with the corners of mouth. Her hair caught in the wind and trailed behind her as she walked toward him, holding her skirts slightly out of the water.

It was too late, though. They’d already gotten wet before she’d picked them up, and when she dropped them and the Doctor saw the way the damp fabric clung to her legs, the tenuous control he’d maintained all night disappeared, scattered on the sea breeze.

To his frustration, Rose picked up on his sudden shift in mood and stopped to look at him, her head tilted as she tried to follow what he was thinking. The Doctor shook his head and held out his hand. “Come here, love.”

Rose’s eyes widened at the rough quality of his voice. She took a step towards him, then another, and then she was close enough for him to reach out and wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her snugly against him.

She bit her lip and looked up at him through her eyelashes. Now that she was in his arms, he could see the way the moonlight danced over her features. “You look like a goddess, Rose.”

“Fortuna?” she guessed as she slid her hands over his chest to link them loosely behind his neck.

The Doctor shook his head. “Tonight, you are Selene, goddess of the moon.”

Her lips turned up in a beguiling smile. “Then the goddess has a command for her devoted follower,” she murmured and leaned into him.

He moved his hands, shifting one so he was touching her bare back, eliciting shivers from her. The other moved down to rest above the curve of her bum. “Your wish is my command, goddess.”

“Kiss me,” she whispered, and she was so close, he could feel her lips move to form the words.

The Doctor lowered his mouth the few millimetres necessary to follow her command. As soon as their lips touched, the desire that had been building all night went up like dry tinder.

“Rose,” he groaned when he released her lips just long enough to adjust the angle and deepen the kiss.

She arched into him and parted her lips so his tongue could sweep into her mouth. Tasting the rich chocolate they’d shared for dessert straight from her tongue was even more arousing than having her feed it to him had been.

The Doctor kept trying to throw up barriers for himself, reminders that even though it was late and the beach appeared to be deserted, they were still in a public place, not far off the beaten path. But not even his logical Time Lord brain could get ahead of the utter need sweeping through his body. The reminder that they’d gone a year without any touch at all had made him desperate to make up for lost time.

Of its own accord, one of his hands skimmed around to Rose’s chest, following a path he’d mapped out hundreds of times before. Her pale skin gleamed in the moonlight, and like he had earlier, he traced his index finger along the deep v neckline. A light caress over her ribs pulled the same hitch in her breathing it had always elicited, but he was after more tonight. The low neckline of her bodice made it easy to slip his hand inside the dress to cup her breast.

Rose moaned loudly in his arms when his fingers touched her sensitive skin. Doctor. Oh, God—don’t stop. She scratched at his back, then grabbed his bum and rubbed herself against him, completely wanton and completely unaware of where they were.

The Doctor released her lips with a pop, but immediately trailed kisses along her jaw line. “Rose,” he grunted in her ear when the way she moved against him sent a jolt of pleasure down his spine.

“Yes, Doctor.”

The permission implicit in her words tested the Doctor’s resolve, and for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to make love to Rose on the beach. Would the sound of the waves crashing onto the sand be enough to disguise her moans of pleasure? Or would the moons provide enough light for anyone passing by to see what they were doing?

That was the thought that stopped him, in the end. Teasing and flirtation were acceptable in public, but he drew the line at letting strangers see Rose in all her glory. He swallowed and pulled his hand out of her dress. Rose’s eyes fluttered and she looked up at him, the question obvious.

The sight of her lips, glistening and kiss-swollen, tested the Doctor’s restraint, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear. She shivered when his sideburn brushed against her cheek, and he couldn’t resist nipping at her earlobe first.

“Doctor…”

He closed his eyes and took a breath, then whispered, “If we don’t go back to our room right now, I’m going to forget all the reasons I don’t want to make love to you in a public place.”

“Oh!”

Her little gasp tempted him, but he held firm. A moment later, he was rewarded when she grabbed his hand and laced her fingers through his.

“Well then, Doctor,” she said, her voice husky. “Allons-y.”

#ficandchips #ten x rose #dwfic #cq's fic: taking time #hurt/comfort #fluff #lots of romantic walks on the beach #seriously this whole chapter takes place at various seaside resorts #also the master is a bastard #but this is not news #fic by Nancy

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