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tetrakys · 4 years

Note

(1) I LOVE YOUR MINI FANFIC!!!!! I never knew I need read a fanfic about one night stand between Candy and Ethan(Maybe a threesome with Beliath too? 👀) until today. You are such talented writer ❤ Do you how MUCH I ADMIRE YOU???? Q///Q Your fic was amazing but let me so thirsty. Praying for some caritative soul will write a fic about it.

Anon you must know I’m susceptible to compliments! ❤❤❤ thank you!

You said such nice words about such a small drabble it took me literally five minutes to write, that I had to continue it for you. Hope you like it.

—

I stormed back in the Moondance after my confrontation with Kentin.

Was it really over between us? I couldn’t believe it, after all we’d been through… But I was tired of being sidelined whenever Evan was around, and his words… I’d never seen him so cold towards me.

I felt goosebumps on my skin just remembering his irate look. I didn’t want to feel like this anymore, I needed a lifeline. I needed distraction.

“Are you sure I can’t offer you anything to drink?” a soothing voice said to my ear, and I turned around to find the guy from before. The really handsome one, with icy blue eyes that seemed to look deep into my soul.

“Just a drink” he added raising his arms in a seemingly innocent gesture that did nothing to hide his cocky, crooked smile.

“I bet I can make you forget whatever it is that’s making that pretty face of yours look so somber right now. Believe me, I can be really entertaining when I want to.”

I looked at him for a few moments, there was something in those eyes… fascinating. Picking my phone, I sent a quick text to my friends saying I wouldn’t be coming home with them.

“One drink. Sure, why not?”

Then followed him to the bar.

—

The low, dark beat vibrated through me as I moved my body slowly against his. His hands on my hips, my back against his front, he hugged me from behind, his lips lightly drawing a path from my shoulder to my ear.

His featherlike touch was almost too much of a tease and I raised one arm behind me, my fingers in his soft hair, pushing his head closer, wanting to feel more.

A low chuckle came from him, “maybe we could move this to a more private place? I have a room upstairs…”

This gave me pause. Was I really that pissed I’d been dumped that I was going sleep with a stranger? Albeit a really hot one that, from the way he moved his body and mine on the dancefloor, I bet knew exactly what to do with both in other circumstances.

“I don’t even know who you are,” I replied unsure.

“And…? It’s not like you want to. From what you said at the bar, you’re in love with someone. I’m not suggesting anything serious. You could use the distraction, and girl… I’m the perfect kind of distraction around here.”

I was so damn tempted, even with my eyes closed, his breath on my skin was giving me goosebumps and the touch of his hands was burning through my dress. But most of all, feeling his strong body behind me, enveloping me. I wanted him to devour me.

For one blessed night I didn’t want to be myself. But was it worth it? The consequences…

“If you’re worried of regretting it in the morning, I can promise you, you will spend the best night of your life and not remember one thing.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“It’s not alcohol, nor drugs, I promise you. Let’s just say I’m a very persuasive person.”

I turned around, finally looking at him, sceptically.

“What, you’re going to hypnotise me or something?”

“Or something, yes.” He replied in his crooked smile.

This guy was crazy, but you know what? So was I. No good girl Candy, tonight I wanted to be reckless.

“Lead the way.”

—

“What a pretty sound,” he purred while holding my wrists above my head, a nipple between his lips, “let me hear it again.”

I was lying on the bed, in a room just above the Moondance, naked and shivering, but not because I felt cold. He was still completely dressed, even wearing his jacket and gloves. I wanted to feel his sculpted chest and his muscular arms directly with my fingertips, but this somehow made it more… impersonal? Which was good with me. And, I had to admit, also kinda kinky.

His tongue swiped again on my nipple, sucking and biting. He was a little more aggressive than expected, but I liked it, this mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Mmm… fuck you’re wet.” He said moaning approvingly.

“How would you even know?” what an arrogant prick.

“I can smell it, sweetheart,” he replied cocky and I felt myself blush all over. “You’re dying for it, and who am I to deny such a lovely lady.”

Without stopping his exploration of my chest, he pinned my wrists with one hand and moved the other to my thigh, raising it to hook my leg around his hips. A moment later I felt something slipping between my folds. Something smooth and impossibly large and I tensed immediately.

“Ouch… ow…”

“Fuck!” he stopped mid-movement. “You are… you didn’t tell me you are…”

“What?” I asked irritated, it wasn’t his business if I was a virgin. I could do whatever I wanted with my body, if the guy I loved didn’t want anything to do with me, I was free to have sex with a random guy picked up in a club.

“Don’t tell me it matters to you. Go on, I don’t care.”

My own words stirred something in me. I didn’t care, right? He’d made his choice when he’d left me on the sidewalk like yesterday’s trash, and now I’d made mine. It was fine.

The boy… Ethan was his name? Looked conflicted. He stared for a moment at the spot where our two bodies joined, and I could tell he was one second away from one final push, ready to sheathe himself completely inside me.

“Damn it.”

Closing his eyes, like to conjure strength and patience, he stepped away, freeing my wrists and letting my leg fall back onto the bed.

“W-what…?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, but it does to you.” He raised his lather clad hand to wipe at a tear on my cheek that I had no idea had been there in the first place. “I am many bad things, and opportunist is one these, but only when the girl really wants it.”

Was… was that relief that I was feeling? He’d come so close, I could feel a tiny rivulet of blood between my thighs. Just a tiny bit.

“Thank you…” I whispered, letting my head fall back to the pillow. “You’re a good guy,” I added closing my eyes.

“Mmm…” he said pensive, distracted. I opened my eyes to see him staring hungrily between my legs.

“Not really, I’m not.” He grabbed my thighs again, “I think I should make you feel good anyway. That’s why you came here in the first place, afterall.”

“You mean…”

Before I could add another word, he kneeled and buried his head between my thighs. At the first swept of his tongue between my folds, I grabbed the sheets of the bed and arched my back in pleasure. He moaned appreciatively, lapping at me with so much thirst, like a starved man.

Fuck, he was good. While he was sucking and licking from my entrance to my clit over and over again, my head was completely void of any thought but for the pleasure he was giving me. The moment I was sure I couldn’t take it any longer, his lips shifted to my inner thigh and a piercing sensation, like of something sharp sinking into my flesh, sent me off the cliff.

It was… I had no word to describe what it felt like. The first small moment of pain gave space to such pure bliss, like I’d never experienced before. I could only feel his lips against my skin and his strong hold of my thigh and hips, and him sucking, deeper and deeper, as if he wanted to consume me whole. As if a part of me was permanently leaving me to become his.

A warmth spread through my body and I cried out in surprise and delight as newer waves of pleasure ran through me one after the other.

It could have lasted a minute, or an hour or a lifetime, but when he was done, he crawled over my spent body, something red at the corner of his lips.

“You taste like honey, sweetheart.” Leaving a small kiss on my cheek, he added, “Thank you.”

The last thing I saw, were his striking blue eyes, as he whispered to me words that I couldn’t understand.

—

I jumped into my bed, startled.

My heart beating crazy, I looked around my room. It was dark, still the middle of the night, I hastily grabbed my phone and saw it was 4:30 am.

What had just happened? Was that a dream…?

I looked down at my body. I was wearing my pyjama.

I didn’t remember coming back home from the club. What I did remember was the discussion with Kentin, and my heart sunk at the thought. But then… there had been a boy, hadn’t it? A few drinks, a dance and… I had no idea. What a strange dream, but a pleasing sensation ran through my body, as if I was feeling lighter, stronger, ready to deal with everything. As if I’d had a really encouraging pep talk that had chased away my despair and made me see reason, ready to conquer the world.

I lay again in bed and closed my eyes, ready to sleep away the rest of the night.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would fight again and make him see reason.

It wasn’t over. It would never be over.

#moonlight lovers #ml #ml ethan #my candy love #mcl #amour sucré #lemon #my writing #writeblr

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kittensjonsa · 5 years

Text

Otherwise, Engaged

The Proposal AU

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

---

Chapter 4

Part of Sansa had hoped it was all just an elaborate prank, some sick joke Jon was playing just for the sheer torture of seeing her squirm. She wouldn’t put it past him, though he probably didn’t care enough about her to come up with such a thing.

But no, there he was, standing in his usual grey trench and three piece suit, waiting for her at the departure gates.

Dammit Jon.

“You didn't think I'd show up did you?”

Sansa sighed. “Can we just go?”

Sansa took the liberty of booking first class seats on the flight to White Harbour, on Jon's credit card no less and made sure she ticked all the add-ons for herself for the three hour flight. If she couldn't bear the thought of Jon breathing next to her, at least she'd have a nice eye mask and ear plugs to shut him away. Some respite before the storm heading her way in Winterfell.

“By the way, this is for you,” Sansa handed him a binder, twenty pages full of all the information she had to share with Jon, of herself for the questioning awaiting them once they got back to the capital. She had spent all night researching the questions Qyburn might ask and figured it would just be so much easier getting all the answers for Jon. She didn't need anything on him, three years were enough - from what he liked to eat and drink, right down to his favourite pizza topping. Living together? Well, they didn’t and she’d rather not, to be honest, but she did own a spare key to his apartment, if that question ever came up. Perhaps, Sansa figured the neighbours wouldn't be an issue, they were familiar with her enough, though they probably assumed she was his housekeeper instead, with the amount of groceries she lugged to his house not to mention the dry cleaning, almost every week for three years.

“You studied Political Science? Who knew,” Jon leafed through the pages.

“Well, there is a lot you don't know about me so this will help. We have to convince Qyburn, remember? You know, since I don't want to end up in jail and all.”

“And you know everything to all these questions about me?”

Sansa nodded. “Scary isn't it?”

Actually no, Jon thought. In fact, it was comforting. That he shared his life with someone in some way, that he'd be remembered as a person.

“Any tattoos? Well, that's easy, none. Even I know this. I didn't peg you for the tattooed kind,” Jon chortled, going through the questions one by one.

“Well, don't be so smug. I'm pretty sure you have one.”

“Oh? How would you know that?”

“Your dermatologist called last week to confirm but you cancelled a session for Q- switch laser. So I googled it and found out it was for removing tattoos. So that means, you have one,” Sansa explained. It wasn't strange that she knew intimate details about Jon's personal life, it was strange that she was comfortable with it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be landing in White Harbour airport shortly. Kindly return to your seats and fasten your seat belts,” the announcement came at the perfect time. Sansa could not stand another session of question and answers with Jon. She had a more important Q & A session to handle - with her family.

“I thought we're going to Winterfell?”

Sansa took a deep breath. “We are.”

Jon had never stepped foot in White Harbour before, hell, he had never been this far up North ever. The first thing that struck him was how cold it was and the trench coat along with the three piece suit he had on were worryingly inadequate. He had packed more of the same apart from some shirts and jeans. Besides Sansa didn't quite inform him to prepare, she wasn't really interested in talking to him, he gathered. But Jon took it in stride. Just two days to make it through. Two days.

“We're headed that way. I think my dad is picking us up. And please Jon … act normal.”

Jon put his hands up in defense. “When have I not been normal?”

“Can you not just.. be you? You're going to meet my family and all. So.. I don't know.. be nice maybe? For me at least?”

“I'm concerned that you don't think I'm nice. I am, you know. I just... don't show it very often.”

“Mmhmm. Sure.” You don't show it at all. Not to me.

It stung a little, oddly, hearing that from Sansa. Jon didn't really think of himself as the sensitive type; he was always dismissive of his own feelings, especially when they didn't make sense - but the plea from Sansa, her earnestness stirred something in him.

“Okay. All right. I promise to be the sweet doting dream fiancé. The best one, ever.”

Good lord, help us.

“There she is! Sansa!” excited voices called out in the midst of the crowd gathered at the arrival gates.

“Daddy! Gramps!” Sansa squealed and waved eagerly as she saw them.

“Oh, my girl! You're here! So good to see you!” an older gentleman held out his arms that Sansa leapt into. Jon figured this was Gramps. The birthday man. Another dark haired man stood next to him, a solemn but kind face joining in the hug. And that must be the father, Jon thought. Taking a deep breath, Jon stepped forward. Awkward meeting in three.. two.. one..

“Ah, and this must be-”

“Jon. Pleasure,” Jon stuck out his hand for a handshake. Their faces changed in seconds the moment they laid eyes on him. And they both looked at each other, then Sansa. Awkward was an understatement.

“So, Gramps, Dad.. this is Jon. My... fiance. You know the one I told you about yesterday.”

Silence. It lasted probably three seconds but to Jon it was the worst three seconds of his life. He was so out of his element here. How to act like a fiancé? Jon had absolutely zero idea.

“Well! Nice to finally meet you, Jon. Congratulations. I'm Ned, Sansa's dad.”

Sansa almost wanted to cry there and then. What a relief. Thanks, Dad.

“So this is who you were talking about? That someone who's coming along? Aww, my Sansa's all grown up now! A fiancé? What a great birthday present! I love it.” Gramps beamed as he gave Jon a friendly pat on the back.

Sansa was quietly relieved how well the first introductions were going. It was a good start so far. Two down, seven more to go.

“Let's go, everyone is waiting at home. They can't wait to see you, Sansa.”

“Aww, I miss everyone so much! I can't wait,” Sansa linked her arm with Ned as he grabbed her backpack and made their way to the parking lot.

It was a quaint little town, with small brownstones lining every street and avenue, shops with their open doors and everyone greeting everyone on every corner. It was so different from the hustle and bustle of the city. Despite the weather, it was warm, welcoming and cozy. And it was pleasant, to Jon's surprise.

The gentle folksy music playing on the radio almost lulled him to sleep as well as watching the streets pass by. However, Jon noticed something strange. Every shop they passed, at every corner had a Stark name on it. Stark Hardware, Stark Supermarket, Stark Auto; it went on and on as Jon peered from his window. Weird.

Jon looked over to Sansa who like him, was enjoying the scenery, seemingly oblivious to the town's obsession with the Stark name. Unless..

“So, Sansa? When were you going to tell me about all these family businesses?” Jon whispered to her.

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him. “You didn't ask.” You never ask me anything about me.

“The Starks have been in the North for a long time. The Starks used to live here many years ago. But now, White Harbour are where our relatives stay now. the Karstarks mostly,” Ned jumped in, overhearing the conversation.

“So, you still own all of them?” Jon was now more than curious. Sweet Sansa was more than just organising skills and impeccable timing. Jon realised there really was nothing else he knew of his assistant other than her name and her mobile number.

“Major shareholders, really.”

“Right. I see.” Jon turned to his side of the window and looked out again as they stopped at a red light. The Stark name was everywhere. Who are you people?

“Right here we are.” Ned announced as he pulled into a garage next to a dock. Jon didn't see any building in sight. Surely the hotel was around here somewhere.

“Thank you Ned. Let me just check where the hotel is real quick,” Jon fished out his phone to check the address of the hotel he had asked Sansa to book last minute. He was quite exhausted, cold and hungry. Some hot soup and a warm bed was perfect to end the day.

“Oh no, I'm so sorry we forgot to tell you but we cancelled your reservation. We do miss Sansa and we insisted that she come back home to stay. With us. And I suppose that includes you too, Jack. Besides.. you're family now." Ned chuckled. City people are so strange, he thought.

“Yeah, Jack. Hope you don't mind,” Gramps chipped in.

“It's Jon-”

“Come along now, our ride is just over here.”

“It's.. Jon,” Jon corrected - to no one in particular. Never mind. He had plenty of time to get to know the family.

White Harbour had been nice but Winterfell was nowhere in sight and there wasn't another airport they were getting to either. Where the hell are we?

Looking down where Gramps and Ned headed to - how he wished he had kept his mouth shut.

Sansa handed him her backpack. “Here you go, honey.”

“Wait.. what-”

“Come on sweetie! We've got a long day ahead of us,” Sansa taunted as she skipped over to Ned and Gramps, leaving Jon to deal with a couple of luggages and a large backpack.

Ned watched as Jon struggled towards them. “You sure he doesn't need help with that, sweetheart?”

“Nah, he doesn't let me do anything. That's just how he is.” Sansa giggled. This was going to be fun.

“Whoa.. hold on. Are we taking that?”

A sudden panic rose in him as Jon discovered what the 'ride' was - a tiny speedboat bobbing up and down the creaky dock.

“Sansa.. I-I think I have to tell you.. I'm not good on water.. I mean.. I- I can't.” Jon stopped as Sansa climbed down a rickety ladder.

“Can't what? Swim?”

Jon gulped, nodding.

“Well.. okay. Hence.. the boat? We're not actually swimming there to Winterfell you know. The water's freezing.”

She's enjoying this, Jon thought. There was no winning anything with her the next couple of days. Jon had to get ready to face that, in not getting his way. Just get through it, you wuss.

“All right. Fine.”

“Here. You can wear my life jacket,” Gramps offered a tired looking life vest as Jon steadied himself and inched his way to the boat.

The boat ride was smooth enough though Jon had to hold on for dear life despite being well seated in the middle and not at all near the edge. It brought back memories of a time, when he was twelve and fell into a lake and cried, when he thought what felt like a lake monster nipping at his legs. His mother had assured him it really was just old tree vines. He still cried nonetheless. It wasn't so much of being afraid of water that bothered him. It was more of what was underneath that scared him more.

“See? That wasn't so bad was it?” Sansa tapped his shoulder as the boat slowed down to a stop.

She has no idea.

“All right folks! Welcome to Winterfell,” Ned said as a large stately mansion drifted into view. Jon's jaw dropped, watching how the vista never seemed to end. It was a castle.

“So.. you're rich.”

Sansa gave a dismissal wave. “I'm not rich. My parents are.”

“Uh huh. That's the kind of thing only rich people would say.”

“Ugh Jon, whatever. Move it will you? My grandpa is faster than you are.” Sansa elbowed him as they got out of the boat.

“You know, I really do miss you calling me Mr Snow.”

Sansa frowned. “Nope. It's weird calling my fiance that. Besides, you're on my turf now. I can call you whatever I like. Poo-poo head.”

You little..

It was proving to be a trying time for Jon. And it was just the beginning.

“So sweetie, I have to tell you - now that you're back and all, your Mom wanted to put together a welcoming party."

Sansa opened her mouth to object. “Oh no, Dad-”

“I know, I know.. I said no but you know her. And now that you're bringing a guest and all,” Ned readied them as they all made their way to the house.

Sansa wanted to throw up. Oh my god. Everyone in Winterfell is going to be there. Turn back!

All Sansa wanted to do was turn back around and fly back to the capital. This was not in the plan at all.

“But Dad, you guys didn't have to.. I mean a welcoming party? A bit much isn't it?”

Lying to her family was one thing. She was preparing herself for that. But lying to the whole town? No.

Oh no, Jon thought the same. A welcoming party?

Ready they were not. They hadn’t even hashed out their own little story yet; maybe he could win them over with a bit of charm, but Jon still wasn't certain if he could convince Sansa's entire village that he was her fiance.

Jon pulled on his vest, it had suddenly become very hot and uncomfortable. Right now, he thought, being deported and retiring early doesn’t seem like a bad thing at all.

This was going to be a very tough weekend indeed.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #the proposal au #fave movies au #modern jonsa au #jon and sansa figuring things out #fake engagement au #chapter 4

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matildazq · 5 years

Text

Write the Year 2019: Week 1

So. I’m going to try to write something every week this year. I don’t want to set up too many rules about what, because I can feel the failure nipping at my heels. I also don’t know that I’m going to keep it here on Tumblr, though I can’t think of a better place for it. For this week, I just grabbed a prompt and ran with it. Mia Botha at https://writerswrite.co.za/31-writing-prompts-for-january-2019/ has provided 31 prompts for January. I took the one from January 5, because I was going to try to do this yesterday.

Tape

WC: 1000

Somewhere in the depths of an upstairs closet, there’s a miniature wooden crate I keep not throwing away. It holds tapes—audio cassettes, which are things of a so-distant past that autocorrect can’t decide if that’s one word or two. It doesn’t hold many at the moment. Only two that I can think of, in fact.

One has the audio of a couple of episodes of He-Man (and the Masters of the Universe, of course), because I was the kind of 11-year-old who risked maternal wrath by piling things up in front of the cabinet television in our front room to place the microphone of a tape recorder in the perfect position to catch every single household noise and the occasional distant snatch of He-Man audio.

The other is a bootleg of Roxette’s Look Sharp that I bought at an open-air market in Arequipa, Peru.

I’d never been out of the US when I settled on the Andes for my area of specialization. I’d never been on a plane when I got on my first, bound for Lima (by way of Newark, then Miami), then on to a much smaller city on the south coast.

You’ll cry every day, someone told me. A well-meaning voice of experience, but I didn’t believe her. You’ll cry.

I didn’t cry.

I left Chicago in the middle of a punishing, terrible heat wave. I navigated the Lima airport for a 3-hour layover that turned into a 17-hour layover. And in nothing short of a miracle, I actually connected in Lima with people I’d met only once, who took me to the house I’d be staying in for the next three months.

I worked hard on two different digs. One planned, one salvage. I figured out how to get permission and materials and transport from point A to point Q when it turned out that point Q was where I needed to be and things needed to be.

I spent long days in a tiny room at the back of the house taking measurements and recording data. I watched Malicia and Time Traxx and Equiiiiiiissssss Meeeeeennnn on the 7-inch black-and-white TV in our house and laughed until I had to sit down in the street when my friend Erika saw an X-Men comic in a shop and said in disbelieving tones, “Beast no es azul! Beast es gris!”

I went out dancing. I don’t dance, but I went out dancing. I drank good beer and bad beer and terrible Peruvian wine. I drank pisco and leche de monja, even though no one would tell me how it was made until afterward.

I slept. I have never in my life slept well. In Peru I slept soundly, regularly, consistently. For short siestas during the day if I felt like it. All the way through the night. Night after night after night, and when I look back at these few paragraphs, I don’t know how I could have and still done all the things I absolutely did.

I read, constantly and voraciously. At breakfast and over lunch and after hours when there was, quite literally, nothing on television. King of the Confessors and The Difference Engine and Dune in English, along with a dozen forgettable Dean Koontz and Dean Koontz–knock-off mysteries from a beat-up metal locker in the house’s kitchen. Relato de un náufrago and Bien años de soledad in Spanish. Also The Book of Mormon in Spanish, because I had well and truly run out of things to read.

And things to listen to. I know I had the soundtrack to The Little Mermaid when I started out, but someone made off with that pretty early on. And I had Webb Wilder’s Hybrid Vigor, taped off a CD, which I listened to over and over and over until I was suddenly in auditory Book of Mormon territory. That’s where Roxette comes in.

Why Roxette? I truly have no idea. I can tell you everything about the tape itself. The physical thing: It’s a clear-case Memorex 90-minute tape with pink and yellow brand marks and yellow reels. It’s still in its mini-crate somewhere upstairs. It would take me a while to lay hands on it, but I can picture it perfectly and still feel the way the reels’ teeth would bite into my pinky finger when I had to manually wind up the slack that eternally got caught inside the cheap knock-off Walkman I’d brought with me into the field.

But why Roxette? Honestly, I had a moment while I let this prompt worm its way through my mind when I thought it might’ve been Love and Rockets. I had more than a moment when I could not, for the life of me, recall the title of a single Roxette song, and so I cheated. I googled and the song titles knocked the dust off of everything. They came back to me in all their cheesy glory, “The Look,” “Musta Been Love,” “Dangerous,” “Listen to Your Heat.”

I can hear them now in all their cheesy glory with disco-salsaed hits on Rrrrraaaaddddddio Iiiiiiilo bleeding right through them. But there’s still no real answer to the trenchant question “Why Roxette?” other than “I didn’t cry.”

I was never homesick like that well-meaning person promised I would be. I was busy. I was curious and able to satisfy my curiosity most of the time. I was frustrated and often out of my depth. I was sneezy and headache-y and altitude sick sometimes. I was shy and awkward in the wrong clothes because who knew I would suddenly be invited to a huge, elaborate, unending Peruvian wedding?

I was out of books and sick of the music that would keep me company in my little back room, so I read the Book of Mormon in Spanish. I bought a bootleg Roxette tape. And I never once cried.

#Writing #Amwriting #Write the Year 2019

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