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snarkywrites · 3 years

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July Horoscopes: Fixed Drama

Saturn, Mars, and Uranus are all forming a T-Square at the beginning of the month. Things will ease a little a few weeks in as Mars breaks free from the aspect. Everyone will feel this energy since it has made us angry, go at a slow pace and we may feel like we have not accomplished what we would like. However, this month has a lot of changes and movement in store for everyone. The New Moon in Cancer on the 9th is going to serve as an awakening for most of the signs, especially Water signs, as we tune back into our emotions since this is the transition from Air to Water season. Venus and Mars will be moving into Virgo later in the month on the 21st and 29th respectively. A transit that is going to make Earth signs feel more energized. The Sun and Mercury will enter the sign of Leo, a positive feat for Fire signs and Jupiter will return to Aquarius (28th) and the Full Moon in Aquarius on the 23rd will allow Air signs to feel like they are back in the game. There is a lot happening and while it all moves slowly, the shifts will be more prominent once the summer ends. For now, be patient and go slow because rushing will get you nowhere.

Aries – The Sun entering Leo on the 22nd and the Full Moon in Aquarius on the 23rd are going to allow you to focus on major transformations in your social circles. This is also a good transit to switch up your creative styles and try something new if you are an artist. Get ready to feel the intensity of your emotions with the New Moon in Cancer in the 9th as you find the balance between home and career. Mercury entering the same sign on the 11th giving you the plan needed to make some good interior decorating decisions or just strike a deal for a raise at work. For the next four weeks you are going to prioritize self-care and opt to stay and hang with family or close friends. Venus in Virgo also sends a reminder to add a little self-love into your routine when the transit begins on the 21st. Mercury will be in Leo on the 27th, so use this transit to write up a storm, draw, get into photography, sing, anything, really. Jupiter will finally go back into the sign of Aquarius on the 28th and you might expect the unexpected (good) surprises and recognition you deserve.

Taurus – Rebuilding your relationship with your creative side is the theme for the month. When the New Moon in Cancer appears on the 9th, you will be fueled with inspiration. Another plus is that Mercury will be in Cancer on the 11th, motivating and allowing you to be more confident in your self-expression. Venus enters earthy Virgo on the 21st and this trine to your sign is going to add more excitement to your social circles. The Sun enters the sign of Leo on the 22nd, a time for you to take a little breather and focus on home and roots for the next month. When the Full Moon in Aquarius happens on the 23rd, you are going to feel the impact the last six months have had on your career. You will finally see your hard work paying off (assuming you put in the effort). With Mercury in Leo n the 27th, you are going to feel more comfortable in your surroundings and once again, the topics relating to home and your roots take center stage. You might feel compelled to dig deeper into your family history during this transit. The Jupiter Retrograde in Aquarius on the 28th will bring more questions about work and your drive and goals for the future so this is your reminder to stay focused. On the 29th, Mars enters Virgo, expect more excitement with your new (or current) romantic partner as you find new ways to express your love.

Gemini – July is bringing you familiarity. While you find new ways to adjust your finances, the New Moon in Cancer on the 9th, will add some good tactics for growth. Budgeting will come to play with Mercury entering Cancer on the 11th. During the Sun’s entry in Leo, you are going to feel once more in your element, focused on what you have to say and write. Venus enters Virgo on the 21st, a good opportunity to make some renovations at home if you have been thinking about it for a while. Things intensify for you with the Full Moon in Aquarius on the 23rd as you feel more in command with yourself during this time. An opportunity to learn from a new course, class or book has presented itself in the last six months, so now will be your time to be tested on your knowledge. Are you ready? Mercury joins the sun on the 27th, bringing you new insights and a joy for the work you have created. Jupiter returns to the sign of Aquarius on the 28th with more lessons and questions about your path and inner growth. If you want to learn more, Saturn will still be there teaching you to evolve. Mars will enter Virgo on the 29th, closing the month but this will be an interesting transit, offering more opportunities to perfect and learn more through the comforts of your home.

Cancer – We are officially in Cancer Season and the New Moon in your sign on the 9th will redirect your goals as the focus is brought back to you, so treat yourself. Mercury in your sign on the 11th will initiate a period of confidence and it will be easy for you to steal the spotlight since everyone will notice how sharp you are during this transit. On the 21st, Venus will be in Virgo, adding a touch of romance to your mind and the way you communicate. You command everyone’s attention now and Venus gives you more magnetism. The Sun will be in Leo on the 22nd bringing a shift to your spending habits. With the Full Moon on the 23rd, you might be more aware than before about where you are planning to see yourself financially for the future. With Mercury in Leo on the 27th, this is all about making plans and being wiser about your purse. You might also be more intrigued to dive deeper and learn about the mystical. Jupiter will move from Pisces to Aquarius, bringing you back down to Earth but adding more optimism in your life. Mars enters Virgo on the 29th, more of the themes Venus brought in but you now must be more aware of how you say things. This transit can make you speak without a filter, so try focus on being more polite if you are compelled to yell.

Leo – A month of guidance and meditation with the New Moon in Cancer on the 9th and Mercury following suit on the 11th. Journaling and meditating will help ease the tension during this transit. It could feel nostalgic, thinking about the past and focusing on the present as Mars and Venus are still in your sign for most of the month. Get ready for excitement as the Sun will be in your sign on the 22nd and the Full Moon in Aquarius will occur on the 23rd. Your relationships come to focus once again, a cycle that began only six months ago will bring you more clarity to answers you may have had earlier this year. As Saturn still make waves in Aquarius, you are noticing your dynamics with others shifting and the Full Moon may highlight this. Mercury will be in your sign on the 27th, giving you that additional star power and energy you have craved since Saturn might have made things a little gloomy. Jupiter will return to Aquarius on the 28th a good transit, even if it is in opposition to your sign. Once more, you will feel that abundant energy showing you much needed love and support. Appreciate it now since it will remain there until the end of the year.

Virgo – Venus will be in your sign on the 21st and this transit will feel a bit like an awakening as you are able to shine. The month starts with the New Moon in Cancer on the 9th which will be extremely different from last year. No longer is Saturn in Capricorn, so the Moon now can be vibrant and bring you joy and fun opportunities, even if it is in a water sign. Mercury will be in Cancer on the 11th, adding more of the same themes from the New Moon so if you have felt alone or isolated, you will be in good company now as your friends give you some much needed support. The Full Moon in Aquarius on the 23rd will allow you to focus on yourself and goals for the next six months and with Jupiter entering Aquarius once again on the 28th, you will feel a lot more optimistic about your career plans and the choices you have made for the future. On the 29th, Mars enters your sign, adding more energy and drive. Those dreams you have had might seem more practical now. The month closes with you going full speed ahead and confident.

Libra – Full speed ahead for Libras during the month of July. The New Moon in Cancer is powerful for you since this is going to highlight your career and goals for the next six months. This is your time to make some moves along with the rest of the Cardinal signs. With Saturn no longer in Capricorn, you can see your dreams manifesting. Mercury will enter the same sign on the 11th, giving you insight and motivation to plan. Venus be in Virgo on the 21st, magic, love and romance are highlighted as this occurs in your 12th house. You are embarking on a time where you are focused on your sense of happiness, even if you are single. Prioritize yourself. On the 22nd, Leo season begins, getting you in the mood to meet and greet friends and family in lavish settings. The Full Moon in Aquarius on the 23rd will bring you back to topics from six months ago, perhaps a relationship you ended may be rekindled or you have learned to move on and set your sights on better things. Mercury will be in Leo on the 27th, sparking your more dramatic side, just try and not to stir things up. With Jupiter back in Aquarius on the 28th, you are ready to explore your creative side, or this could be a time of reflection for you. The Mars transit in Virgo on the 29th might make you feel irritable. A reminder to focus on some meditation and breathing exercises if things just feel stressful around you.

Scorpio – Nothing sparks changes like a New Moon in a water sign. On the 9th, the New Moon in Cancer is going to make you feel restless and impulsive. Try not to act too out of character. While you may feel the urge to get away, try and focus on channeling that energy into a new project that can be fruitful in the long run. Mercury follows the Moon on the 11th, which will inspire you to begin a new course or study something you have been curious about. Venus enters Virgo on the 21st a good transit to hang with friends. Who know, you could meet someone new through your friends if you are single. Leo season begins on the 22nd, an important transit since this will be the time where your focus shifts on career goals. The Full Moon on the 23rd adds a need to bring some balance to home and work, you are going to be reminded of events from six months ago, so this can be an introspective time for you. With Mercury in the sign of Leo beginning on the 27th, this is a promising transit for you, as you can push forward with your dreams and goals. Have lots of faith in what you want, and you can see that your superiors may even help you get there. Your hard work is paying off. Jupiter will retrograde back in Aquarius on the 28th, more introspection, more analyzing and more plans as Jupiter allows you to rework and change your game plan. An interesting Mars shift in Virgo closes the month on the 29th. Once again, group dynamics come back to play, and you get to meet some interesting people during this time.

Sagittarius – What an interesting month this promises to be for you, Sagittarius. Jupiter, your ruler will go back to the sign of Aquarius on the 28th. This transit will be quite favorable to you since Jupiter will once again make a sextile to your sign and boosting your mind and creative energy until December. This is also a good time to reconnect with friends and family. A New Moon in Cancer on the 9th will allow you to dive deep into your memories and find new ways to let go of the past. Find your source of power during this transit so you can move forward with confidence. Venus enters Virgo on the 21st, a very important time for you since you are going to turn heads and be in the spotlight. Venus will give you some motivation but since the transit might feel calm and lethargic, make sure not to slack off. The Sun enters Leo on the 22nd, which is going to make things a lot easier to manage during the next month. This is your time for inspiration, knowledge, and some creative ventures. The Full Moon in Aquarius will happen on the 23rd, a chance to look back and make some changes to your pending projects. This is your time to revise, edit and redo things if needed. Mercury will enter the sign of Leo on the 27th, making you feel sharp, empowered by your words, and motivated to speak up. Just make sure not to be too preachy here with others and take the time to listen to their views. New career moves will be made when Mars enters Virgo on the 29th, more of a good thing as you get focused to make a lasting and positive impression to those in charge. A reminder to not explode when you feel stressed and to practice some diplomacy from time to time.

Capricorn – Your ruler Saturn continues making challenges in the sign of Aquarius. The energy for this month is a little rough but you always find a way to keep powering through. A notable transit is the New Moon in Cancer on the 9th, a time to reexamine your relationships and maybe even start a new one if you are single. Then Mercury in Cancer begins on the 11th, more relationship topics on your mind and this transit can even make you more emotional communicating with your partner (or a potential new one). Earth signs will be thrilled to see that Venus will be in Virgo on the 21st, adding excitement and grounding energy to your routine. You are here to work, get things done and learn while Venus has some strategies to keep you focused and driven. The Sun will be in Leo on the 22nd, and the Full Moon in Aquarius is on the 23rd adding some eye-opening news when it comes to your finances. Try to buckle down and not splurge too much or you might regret it. Expect a boost with Mercury in Leo beginning on the 27th, if you feel like you are slacking with savings and investment, you may consider learning new ways to stay financially fit. Jupiter will retrograde back in Aquarius on the 28th, adding more optimism to the way you view yourself and the material things in life. You will see more shifts happening when Mars enters Virgo on the 29th, a guiding light that will push you forward now if you have stopped believing in your dreams.

Aquarius – The Full Moon in your sign on the 23rd is going to be a notable event for you since it adds onto the responsibility and hard work you have dealt with this year. But before that happens, the New Moon will be in the sign of Cancer on the 9th which is going to bring some familiar themes from the current Saturn transit. Your work ethic will be highlighted now, and your bosses or teachers may see you in a favorable light; this Moon is a reminder that hard work and results come with patience and focus. While Mercury is also in Cancer on the 11th, you are going to see how you can prioritize and plan in a more efficient way. Things might have felt scattered for you, but you find grounding energy now as you are able to focus and get things done. The Sun enters Leo on the 22nd, allowing you to focus on healing your relationships and when Mercury enters the same sign on the 27th, the energy this transit brings will be promising for your relationship. Jupiter enters your sign again on the 28th, giving you more optimism and if you needed the positive energy, this transit is going to work wonders for you. Mars will change signs on the 29th, entering the realm of Virgo. Here you might feel a little uncomfortable, as Mars will have you churning through the past, but you will find new ways to break free from any thoughts that might be bringing you down.

Pisces – Water energy can be favorable for you with the New Moon in Cancer on the 9th bringing some positive trines to your sign. Mercury will also add flare to water signs beginning on the 11th, so if you are a creative, this energy can boost your imagination. This month can bring a lot of excitement especially if you are single. Venus will ingress in Virgo on the 21st, making an opposition to your sign but still bringing all its lovable Venusian qualities to the table. If you have thought about the prospects of love, this transit will make your heart flutter and make you daydream more than usual. The next day, the Sun enters Leo, and the Full Moon in Aquarius will occur right after that on the 23rd. You are going to be diving deep into your subconscious, reflecting on topics from earlier in the year. This is your moment for some grounding and optimism, even if things feel a little harsh. Jupiter will return to the sign of Aquarius on the 28th, enhancing the prospect of hope and joy in your life. While in your sign, Jupiter showed us our potential and we will experience more of the abundance and joy later in the year. Finally, Mars enters the sign of Virgo on the 29th, initiating a period where you are going to feel much more motivated to accomplish many things. Just remember not to lose your temper on others.

#Astrology #Horoscopes #Aries #Taurus #Gemini #Cancer #Leo #Virgo #Libra #Scorpio #Sagittarius #Capricorn #Aquarius #Pisces

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meat--grindr · 3 years

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NFSW with Yandere Harry Warden.

Finally, after like, ten thousand years, it’s here! I’m so sorry this took so long. Both the Christmas break and the 46-page essay I wrote just before really swallowed my routine and motivation whole. But! I think I’ve found my words again, which means it’s back to the grind, baby!

Just some notes before we get going: as with the previous Yandere ask featuring best-boy Brahms, I feel I should give out a little warning. In general, I am not really a fan of the whole yandere thing, and I have some real issues with it when it comes to NSFW scenarios. I’m not judging if that’s your thing, I’m just saying it isn’t mine. That being said, I find the more possessive/protective aspect of the yandere troupe fits really well with slashers (possibly because I find it attractive on the lowest of keys asdkaskah). As was the case with that previous ask, I have taken some liberties that tend more toward ‘possessive’ than properly ‘yandere.’ As always, if this isn’t at all what you were hoping for, my DMs are open. Perhaps we could figure something else out together!

Under the cut you will find two different scenarios which follow a similar premise—you were flirting with someone else at a bar to make Harry jealous. When you get home, he takes matters into his own hands. Honestly, this is just borne out of my deeply held belief that our Valentines’ Slasher is a switch ;)

Jealousy: A Double Feature (Yandere [?]) Harry Warden (Gender Neutral Reader) – NSFW

The Set-Up:

· Harry had been with you all night, that much you knew, though you had only caught sight of him once. He was tucked away in a dark corner of the bar, the brim of his hat pulled down low over his eyes. You spotted him over the shoulder of the friend of a friend—a stranger really, though that hadn’t stopped the pair of you from orbiting one another all night. You knew he was the perfect choice from the moment you set eyes on him. He was tall, broad shouldered, cut rough around the edges, but he had a sweet smile and an open face. It was one that said there would be no hard feelings at the end of the night if he didn’t end up going home with you. It almost made you feel bad, leading him on as you were. Almost.

· The way you smiled and laughed at his (admittedly quite funny) jokes, the proximity of your hand to his on the table, the way you pressed your cheek to his, feeling the scrape of stubble along his jaw—none of it meant anything. You knew it and you were pretty sure Bradley (Braden?) knew it too. Harry Warden definitely knew it, but as you peaked over a flannel clad shoulder, you could see, even from a distance, the tight set of his jaw, and the tension in his shoulders. You smirked at him and leaned in to whisper into the stranger’s ear.

· It was something utterly trivial—a compliment about his jacket, or a comment on how badly you needed another drink if your friend was going to play that song on the jukebox—nothing of substance, but you knew it would make Harry’s blood boil all the same.

· When Happy calls last orders, you stand, exchanging lengthy Maritime goodbyes with close friends and friendly-for-the-night-strangers alike. Casting a glance around, you can’t find Harry. He must have slipped out already, not wishing to be spotted as the crowd thins. Coming out at all had been quite the risk for him and had taken more than a little convincing on your part.

· You expect to meet him in the lot, but his face was not among those still milling about their cars, stuffing drunken friends into backseats or beginning tottering journeys down the street.

· You count the alleys on Atlantic Street as you pass them, sure you’ll catch him in your peripherals, but you find each unoccupied, save for one. A pair of rats fight over a scrap of bread, their beady little eyes and slimy coats catching the dim light of the streetlamps in a greasy fashion that makes you almost ache for a shower.

· Your eyes scan the streets as you walk, senses on high-alert for any sign of his presence—the puffed clouds of his breath in the cold or a late-night smoke curling up toward the streetlamps in the distance, a kicked pebble scraping across the pavement, anything. You find yourself jumping the gun and mistaking familiar landmarks for a more welcome shape in the darkness—the saplings you’d helped Mr. Hastings plant in his front yard in the summer, the devotional cross behind the hedges at St. Andrews Presbyterian, the statue of the town’s founder in the square. Even with each disappointment, your mind jumps to the next place he could be waiting for you: the grocer’s lot, the schoolyard, the ballfield—all empty.

· It isn’t until you turn into your driveway that he materializes, as if from the darkness itself. His face is bathed in shadow, his shoulders hunched against the cool breeze. He follows you up the drive, hands dug deep in his pockets. He’s utterly silent, but you’re relieved to see him anyway. He slouches up the steps, bracing a shoulder against the weather-worn siding. It creaks beneath the pressure.

· “Well, you sure got here quick. I didn’t see you leave.”

· He makes no attempt to respond, merely waiting for you to produce your keys and let him inside. While his silence is not wholly unusual, this one feels…pointed. Perhaps you had upset him more than you had intended.

· You chew your lower lip as you contemplate this, fishing your keys from your pocket and turning them in the lock. The grating screech of rusty door hinges proclaims your late-night return into the silence. You cringe as the sound carries, echoing around the enclosed back porch. You hope your neighbours are heavy sleepers, as if not there would surely be some comment made in the morning. The folks around here are nice enough that you doubt there would be any legitimate animosity in it, but sometimes their friendly commentary comes off more passive-aggressive than not, and their interest in your life more condescending than genuine. You know they mean no harm, but that doesn’t stop them from getting on your nerves now and again.

· Fixing the hinges would have been a quick and easy thing, sure—a drop or two of WD-40 and a filthy rag were enough to work a quick miracle around these parts, but you knew they would only rust again when the heavy snow came in a few months time. And despite the optimistic predictions of a mild winter folks were spouting around town, come you knew they would.

· The snow would drift in, creeping up the porch as it always did. First just a dusting, thin and powdery as icing sugar, easier to remove with a broom than a shovel. Then, almost overnight, the heavy snow would come, whipped by the wind as it howls across the harbour into great peaked dunes, waist-deep and packed tight against your door. On more than one occasion, you had found yourself climbing out through a first-floor window to dig a tunnel just to get the damn thing open.

· No, it would be far less of a hassle to simply leave the hinges as they were—at least until the spring. By that time, there would hardly be a scrap of metal in the whole damn town that wasn’t oxidized nearly past the point of usefulness. Let the neighbours complain then, as if their hinges wouldn’t be squeaking just as badly.

· Pushing through the second screen door, you stumble into the kitchen, already in the process of kicking off your boots. Your companion slips in behind you, allowing the screen to bang against the doorframe as it closed. The noise echoes around the tiled kitchen, battering your ears. You wince, but at least it wasn’t quite as piercing as the protesting hinges.

Part One—Domination or Mine, Mine, Mine:

· The metallic music of jangling coat-hangers greets you as you throw open the closet and hang your jacket. Your fingers smooth over the wrinkled denim in a vain attempt to make it look even a smidge more presentable for the next time it’s worn. Deep down you know what it really needs is a good pressing. But you hated pressing clothes and would probably put it off until it couldn’t wait a moment longer.

· Behind you, you hear the screen door woosh open again—probably Harry going out for a smoke, you think. Then the scream of the hinges pierces the night, and the resounding SLAM of the outer door shakes the house. You hear the lock click into place, a quieter sound, though it’s no less forceful. You whirl around, equal parts frightened by the noise and irritated by the man who had caused it.

· “For Chrissake, Harry! It’s late, would it kill you to be more qu—!” You don’t get the chance to finish your reprimand before Harry’s strong hands catch you around the waist. He swings you about, storming forward to slam you against the door. The wood shudders with the impact, the flexible mesh of the screen warping around you; a thin net between the rough wood and your shoulder blades. Your head cracks against the door, white light bursting across your vision, blotting out the dark kitchen and the even darker shadow of the man who stood before you.

· Even as the blinding brightness behind your eyes dissipates, you struggle to make out his features in the darkness despite your proximity. Then, his lips press against yours and the breath stills in your chest, unable, or simply unwilling to rise beyond the catch in your throat. They are warm and wet, tasting of bitter liquor and a recent cigarette—du MAURIER’s, you thought. You’d never seen more than the very tip of a pack peaking from a denim pocket or the rolled cuff of a shirtsleeve, but the red box was distinctive. He must have smoked it on the way home. The thought comes to you sluggishly, stuttering through the few sparking neural pathways that hadn’t shut down entirely when he’d first grabbed you. Dimly, you are aware that it’s an utterly absurd thought to have in this moment. How can you think of anything at all when Harry’s got you pinned against a door and he’s kissing you like a man starved? Maybe you’d knocked your head harder than you’d thought.

· You try to clear your mind, directing your focus away from cigarettes and packaging and back to the matter at hand—Harry Warden.

· You can almost feel the anger rolling off of him. It’s in the tightness of his jaw, the rough press of his hands against your hipbones, and the strength with which he keeps you pinned against the door. It thrums through his lips where they press against you and jolts through you when his teeth clash against yours, or his fingernails dig into the sensitive flesh just above the waistband of your jeans.

· You reach for him with trembling hands to cup his jaw and kiss him harder, to wrap around his neck and pull him even closer, to feel in your hands somehow, anyhow, solid, and warm. But he catches your hands, pinning them roughly against the door, his grip so tight it’s nearly painful.

· A keen, stinging pain blossoms on your lower lip as his teeth sink into your flesh, hard and sharp. Then he’s gone, melting into the shadows of the dark kitchen. You’re left there, back braced against the door, breathing coming in short, ragged gasps. Quite suddenly, you realize you’ve gone hot all over, as though a fever had dug its claws deep into you in a manner of seconds. Your brain struggles to restart its thinking processes through a fog of unsavoury thoughts and debauched imagery. So, this was to be the consequence of your actions. I can live with that.

· With a shaking hand, you feel your way up the wall to your left, groping along in the darkness, until you find the light switch. With a muted click the kitchen is bathed in a soft glow. After so much time spent in the darkness, the light, low as it is, is dazzling where it bounces off the white tile floor. You raise a hand to shield your eyes but catch a quick glimpse of Harry. He’s standing over by the table, a hand on the arched back of a white-washed chair. His head snaps to the side, dark eyes fixing upon you, unwavering.

· His voice is low, a gravely growl that rumbles from deep within his chest, “Turn it off.”

· You blink at him, stupidly, one hand still hovering over the switch. He wrenches the chair from its place at the table, swinging it around and slamming it down before him with a BANG. He takes a menacing step toward you, never once taking his eyes from yours. “Turn. It. Off.”

· You jump, rushing to do as you were told, flicking the switch again. As the darkness settles over the room like a blanket, your eyes, now more accustomed to the light, struggle to pick out his shape in the gloom. A small patch of sodium-orange light streams through the window above the sink, staining a patch of floor before the chair. Beyond that pool of light, you can see nothing.

· Your ears, however, do not fail you as your eyes have. You can hear him rifling through a drawer. From the rattling, you assume it’s the junk drawer—a messy collection of odds and ends that seemed to have no other place in the house. You were always saying you’d get around to cleaning it out one of these days, but it only ever seems to accumulate more junk.

· You peer into the darkness and find, if you squint, you can just make out what you think is Harry’s form. He’s hunched over the drawer, picking through the bits and bobs, looking for…something. Maybe if you had cleaned the drawer out, he’d have an easier time of it. Alas.

· Then, he stills, the drawer slams shut, and the room goes silent. The hazy smudge retreats further into the gloom, and you lose him again.

· For a long moment, the silence fills the room, pressing against you, an almost tangible force. Then, with a single word, it is shattered, “Strip.”

· Despite the bright bolt of heat that single syllable sends thrumming through your gut, you almost laugh aloud. “I-In the kitchen?” Your incredulous tone does little to mitigate the warmth rising to your cheeks, nor the desire that flutters to life within your chest.

· Harry does not respond. You can feel the command hanging in the air, and with it, the weight of what he has asked of you—a display of willing vulnerability. Your gaze is once again drawn over to the kitchen window. Set above the sink it faces out onto the street. The blinds are raised, as you had left them after dinner, and the lacey white curtains do very little to obscure the view in either direction. Usually, you see this as a blessing, watching the comings and goings of the world as you eat breakfast or dry the dishes, but now it makes you squirm in discomfort, “I don’t know, baby…the window’s open. Someone could see us…”

· You peer into the darkness again, craning your neck, hoping to catch another glimpse of him, but everything beyond that smudgy patch of orange light remains lost to your eyes.

· Harry’s voice rings out from the opposite side of the kitchen, much closer than you had realized. You hadn’t even heard him move. He was so quiet you’re sure the neighbourhood cats would swat at his boots in a jealous rage as he passed…if they could hear him coming that was.

· “You didn’t seem to care who saw you with that fuck in the bar.” His tone is even, but there is a tightness about it that betrays him. “You know this town. You know how people talk. It’ll be all over by tomorrow. ‘That lonely soul from 214 out on the town. With a man no less. Could be the start of something.’ They’ll ask all about it, I’m sure. And you’ll just brush it off like you always do, but they’ll speculate all the same. Little do they know; I’ve already got my stamp all over you.” There’s a short pause, “Now, strip. I won’t ask you a third time.”

· You turn your head to face him, but are met with nothing but the seemingly endless, empty void. Usually, you wouldn’t have any qualms about pushing back against his commands. You both got off on it in fact—you know just how much he likes putting you back in your place, though sometimes he lets you get away with misbehaving. But you could usually see his face. You knew by the set of his jaw, or the narrowing of his eyes, just how much harder you could push him. Now, however, you could hardly place him in the room, let alone determine how much pushing he was willing to tolerate. If the sharp, impatience of his commands was anything to go by, you could tell the answer this time around was little. Very little.

· You eye the window again, weighing the risk. Sure, someone could pass by and see you, but it was late—so late it was almost early. Plus, it was dark enough inside someone would have to press their nose up against the glass to get much of a look, and if that was the case, you likely had a much bigger problem on your hands. And you cannot deny the thrill that shudders through you at the thought of stripping down for Harry when he gets like this: all demands and possessiveness. Then there are the thoughts of what he might do to you once you have. Those come quick and easy: his lips on your throat as he hoists you up onto the counter, strong hands on your thighs as he sets to work on your most intimate spots with his tongue, his cock stretching you open as he takes you in that chair, bent over the table, spread out on the floor. You feel a damp patch beginning to form in your underwear, a heat spreading between your legs that wants and wants and wants.

· Fuck the risk.

· You fumble with the button of your jeans, fingers trembling with a jangly mixture of excitement and trepidation. You peel them down your thighs, the thick denim seams scraping against your skin. You kick them off and into the darkness, not caring where they land. Your shirt quickly joins the pile, a rumpled ball of coloured cotton. It’s only as your fingers dip below the waistband of your underwear that you meet resistance from Harry.

· “No.” The command echoes, again, from a new spot—this time somewhere behind the chair. “Leave them on.” You frown a little, but obey, leaving the cotton garment alone…for now. “Sit.”

· You edge forward, socked feet sliding against the tile. Your legs are trembling, something you hadn’t noticed with the door against your back, assisting in keeping you upright. You knew it had nothing to do with the night’s boozy beginnings. When you’d left the bar, you could feel the pleasant hum of alcohol buzzing at the base of your skull, but now, in all honesty ever since that kiss, you would swear you were stone cold sober. No, this shaking has nothing to do with the drink, and everything to do with the man who waited for you in the darkness, and the promise of what he was going to do to you.

· Not wanting to push your luck, you slip around the patch of light on the floor. If you caught so much as a glimpse of someone through that window before you had even started, you knew you would lose your nerve and that would be that.

· When at last you plant yourself firmly in the chair, you jolt, squawking in surprise, knees reflexively shooting up to your chest. “It’s freezing!” You curl in on yourself, wanting as a little of your bare flesh touching the chair as physically possible. You hear him chuckle, a dark, rich sound that makes you shiver almost as much as the sudden chill. “Poor baby.”

· You wrinkle your nose at him, huffing in indignation. You were no baby. It was just cold. Still, you take a grounding breath or two before you can find the courage to press your temperature-sensitive flesh back against the cool surface of the chair. You know the wood will warm beneath your skin in no time, but your muscles jump and twitch regardless, making their opposition known. It’s not an unbearable chill, despite the wave of goosebumps slowly spreading across your exposed skin; perhaps a touch uncomfortable, but it will pass.

· Your ears prick up as you hear Harry approaching from behind. “Hands behind your back.” He says, his breath stirring the little hairs at the nape of your neck as he bends over you.

· When you comply, he grasps your wrists roughly, winding something coarse around them—it feels like a length of cord, old and fraying at the edges. You squirm in your seat, rolling your shoulders and wriggling your hips, not quite fighting against Harry, but not making it easy for him either. Still, he manages to wrangle the rope around you and pull the final knot tight. He pushes two fingers beneath the cord, exploring the space between it and your skin. Clearly satisfied with his handiwork, he withdraws, sweeping around the chair to face you.

· Dropping to one knee, he forces your legs together and binds them at the ankles in a similar fashion. You notice, however, that he does not tie your ankles to the chair itself, merely to one another. With a little squirming and tugging, you discover the same to be true of your wrists. Again, he ties the final knot, and eases a finger between your skin and the cord. He looks up at you, his handsome face only semi-visible in the gloom. You realize, after a long moment, that he’s waiting on your approval. You give the ropes a little pull each, and nod.

· Harry is on his feet in an instant, looming above you. “‘magine my surprise,” he says, voice low and dangerous, “When I see my baby making eyes at some other cocksucker in a bar.”

· You supress a smirk. You’ll play along with his game, sure, but that doesn’t mean you won’t have your own fun along the way, “Some other cocksucker? You really are a man of many talents, huh?”

· His hand is around your throat in seconds, pressing you back against the chair, but not squeezing enough to cut off your airflow, “Keep mouthing off, see where that gets you.”

· You roll your eyes, though you’re not sure he can see it in the dark, “C’mon, Harry. You know it didn’t mean anything. We were just talking.”

· His hand snaps upward, abandoning your throat in favour of your jaw, blunt fingernails digging into the soft flesh beneath. His face comes into focus, mere inches from your own. You can see him clearly for the first time: the sneer on his lips, his eyes alight with jealousy. “Yeah, you’re real good at that ain’tcha? Had him hanging off your every word.”

· You swallow hard. The waver in your voice is only half-forced, as most of your bravado evaporates in the face of Harry’s dominating presence. He’s a small fellow—short and slender—but somehow, he’s able to fill out the meager space his physical body takes up as though he’s twice his size. It’s in the way he holds himself, coiled like a snake about to strike, like he’s used to throwing and dodging punches alike. He’s rough around the edges, scrappy, and though you knew he’d never lay a hand on you that you don’t want, it doesn’t make him any less intimidating when he looms like this. “Doesn’t mean I was interested, Harry, you know I’m yours and—"

· Your words are squeezed into a premature silence as Harry squishes your cheeks together, pushing your lips into a pronounced pout. His thumb sweeps soothingly across your cheek. “I know that,” His grip tightens as he leans in closer, his lips a hair’s breadth from your own, “I think you might need a little reminder of jus’ who ya’ belong to.” His eyes flicker down to your lips, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s going to kiss you. But he simply releases your jaw and melts back into the shadows.

· From further back in the kitchen, you hear him say, “Can you be good for me and let me remind you?”

· You swallow thickly, feeling the heat pooling in your gut with every word he speaks. God you want nothing more than to be good for him. You nod emphatically, then with a jolt, you realize that if you can’t see him, he likely can’t see you either. You croak out a wavering, “Yes,” through a throat that’s suddenly far too dry.

· “Yes, what?” You can hear him rummaging around again, though by the sounds, you’d wager he’s searching the countertops this time. For what you couldn’t say, but that pronounced clink was certainly something bumping up against your sugar jar.

· “Yes, Sir.” What could possibly be on that counter that was more important than you, bound and promising him your good behaviour? Nothing obvious springs to mind, and yet he keeps searching all the same.

· “Good.” A shudder passes through you, and you know you’d do almost anything to hear him say that again. At this point, the impact that word had on you was damn near Pavlovian, especially when he said it like that, with a smirk on his lips and a rumble in his chest.

· The room falls silent again as Harry puts hands on whatever it is he’s looking for. In the quiet, you get the distinct impression that he’s looking at you, even if he is unable to make out your form in the dark. Maybe he can see you, maybe he can’t. Either way you know he can hear you just fine. Why not give him a little show?

· You whine, long and low into the darkness, struggling against the bonds and rubbing your thighs together, seeking any sort of stimulation that might abet the growing heat between your legs. As expected, you’re sorely disappointed with the results. Huffing your displeasure in what you hope is Harry’s general direction, you hurl a desperate plea out into the kitchen, “It’s so cold, Sir. Please come touch me. Please.”

· You hear him let out a shaky breath. You know how much he likes to hear you beg and frequently use it to your advantage. Harry wasn’t one for poetry—the point of pretty words was mostly lost on him—but a blunt statement of exactly what you wanted from him—how deep, how fast, how hard—tinged with the desperation of needing him and needing him now? Well. That was a different story altogether. Begging was usually an easy way to get exactly what you wanted out of Harry Warden. This time however, much to your personal frustration, he manages to collect himself in record time.

· He tuts softly as he strides past you, visible for only the briefest of moments as he passes through the patch of light. “What have you done to deserve my touch?” He stops behind you, “An’ no, flirtin’ all night wit’ a stranger don’t count.”

· You throw your head back to look up at him, a pout on your lips, “Wasn’t flirting.”

· “G’way witcha. You were so.” His hand whips out and grasps your chin. “I can’t have that. See, you’re mine.” He’s wearing his gloves, though not the soft leather pair you’d bought him for Christmas last year. Those, in all likelihood were stuffed into his coat pocket. No, these were his old work gloves. The tough leather was cracked and torn in places, exposing the cotton padding. They smelled heavy—like dust, like the depths of the mines. You didn’t even know he still had these.

· “You know what I think?” He leans forward, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin just below your ear, relishing in the shiver it elicits, “I think you was doin’ it on purpose.” He trails a line of searing, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, murmuring against your skin, “Trying to make me jealous. Well, guess what?” He sinks his teeth deep into the meat between your neck and shoulder, “It fucking worked.”

· You cry out, the mix of pleasure and pain stirring up the heat that had been steadily blooming inside of you. Sharp and bright, it spreads up through your gut, filling your chest and seeping out into your limbs. You can’t help but smirk up at him, “Good.”

· He presses his lips into a thin line to keep from smiling too, “Uh-uh. That’s bad. You’ve been real bad, haven’tcha?”

· You chew your lower lip, pretending to mull it over, “Maybe…”

· “I think you have.” He trails a gloved hand down and over your shoulder, pressing into the bitemark he’d made. The shredded fingertips of the glove burrow into the indentations left in the wake of his incisors. A dull ache pulses to life beneath the skin, forcing a pained hiss of air between teeth clenched tightly together.

· “Aww, does it hurt, baby?” Condescension drips sweet and thick from his words as he digs his fingers in harder, you nod frantically, face scrunched up in discomfort, a gasp tearing from your lips as you attempt to flinch away from his touch. “Poor little thing.” A second, gloved hand joins the first, trailing down the other side of your neck. The texture of the old leather ignites a new wave of goosebumps, spreading with the shivers that race across your skin. His fingers trace the tendons in your neck, lingering over your pulse points, scraping gently against the sensitive spots he knows so well just to watch you squirm, “Mine.”

· The chair creaks as Harry leans over your shoulder, reaching further down your body. He lavishes your collarbone with gentle touches, exploring the dips and hollows he finds there with a rare patience—one you see in him only when he is well and truly set on teasing you. He drags his fingers down, ghosting across your chest, circling your nipples, and tracing your ribs. You shudder beneath the cool leather. It isn’t right. Harry’s hands should be warm and calloused, two points of bright heat against your chilled flesh. That’s what you really crave: the felling of his skin, bare and burning against yours. You open your mouth to ask him, beg him to take the gloves off and touch you properly, but your mind goes fuzzy and blank as his lips find their way to your neck, leaving soft kisses and pressing the points of his teeth into the skin above your pulse.

· His narrow chest presses hard against your shoulder as his hands roam even further down, trailing across your stomach. You can feel his heartbeat. A little thrill jitters through your chest when you realize that despite his calm outwards demeanor, all steady hands and cocky words, his heart is racing—jackhammering against his ribs so hard it must be painful. A giddy wave washes over you then, knowing he wants you with the same mad desperation. Of course, you had known that from the start, from before that even, still it made your heart shake and your lips twist into a dopey grin.

· Deft fingers press against your sides, teasing the ticklish spots that make you squeak, and wriggle beneath his hands. A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest, though he decides to take mercy on you, sliding his hands down to caress your hips and the tops of your thighs. “All mine.”

· One hand drifts, pressing against the seam where thigh and hip join. The pressure feels strange, the muscle jittering beneath his touch, though it doesn’t hurt. His fingers follow the natural curve of your body, pressing into the space between your thighs. You try to part your legs for him, but the cord binding your ankles only lets you go so far. Still, it’s enough for Harry to slot his slender hand into place, fingers pressed tight against the wet spot that’s been steadily spreading across the cotton fabric of your underwear.

· His tongue flickers over your neck, a snicker bubbling up in his throat, “Well, well, well. Aren’t you just a little fucking slut for me tonight?”

· You whimper, the sound sitting high in the back of your throat, “Take the gloves off and touch me.” What was meant to be a command comes more as a cracked plea, half-whisper, half-sob.

· The bark of his laughter is muffled against your skin. His fingers remain pressed against you, but they stay frustratingly still. The pressure is delicious, sparking your touch-desperate nerves, but not providing the stimulation you so desperately crave—you need him to move. “Who said I was gonna keep touchin’ ya’ ‘t’all?”

· “Please!”

· Deaf to your pleading, he remains utterly motionless, and you feel something inside of you shatter. Perhaps it was your patience, perhaps it was the last of your inhibitions. Whatever the case, Harry had chipped away at it, cracking it piece by piece with his teasing. Now it lays in shards within you, and you know the only way to get what you want is to take matters into your own hands.

· You buck against his fingers and for a moment, the pleasure swallows you whole. Your head falls back against the hard wooden back of the chair, a moan tearing itself free from your throat unbidden. Your toes curl as you begin to move your hips, grinding against his fingers, glassy eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

· Behind you, Harry growls. Dimly, through the fog of pleasure clouding your mind you realize you may have made a mistake. A split second later, his fingers disappear. Your hips jerk forward, desperately trying to follow. You thrash in the seat, a sob wracking your chest, as the pleasure deflates into a dull throbbing. “No!”

· You feel the smile slide onto Harry’s face, more teeth than lip, “Oh no, no, no, Sweetheart. You’ve gotta earn that.”

· The simpering edge to his voice has you bucking into the empty air again, “Then let me.” Your struggle to catch your breath, craning your head to look at him. “Let me earn it.” The silence stretches on in the darkness. Was he considering it? Would he refuse? Not if you could help it, “Please, Harry. Please.”

· A soft sound leaves him then—when you say his name like that, a prayer—a sound like he’s been punched, a rush of air accompanied by a soft groan. Though he’d never admit it, your voice had such an impact on him. Especially when you sound like this, husky and wrecked. Desperate. It takes him nearly a minute to find his voice again, and when he does, it’s rough, a rocky rasp caught low in his throat, “Maybe I will.”

· He slides back up your body, his weight lifting from your shoulder. You give the joint a quick roll, working out the stiffness you’d failed to notice growing beneath the pleasant weight and warmth of his body. Quick as a flash and silent as a shadow, he sweeps around the chair, appearing before you.

· With strong, sure hands, he seizes you by the arms, dragging you to your feet. He kicks the chair back, sending it sliding across the floor with the screech of wood against tile. In the darkness you hear the snick of a switchblade. You still, a prick of fear piercing your chest despite yourself. Harry drops to the floor. In a matter of moments, your ankles are freed from their restraints. Though you expect him to do the same for your wrists, he flicks the knife closed, leaving you partially bound. You hear something land nearby on the floor, though for all your squinting, you cannot make it out.

· He reaches for you then; with a gentleness usually reserved for after your more…strenuous encounters. He strokes the back of his hand down your cheek, and you jolt against his touch, realizing it’s the touch of bare skin. You attempt to lean into it, but he’s already pulling away. His other hand snakes up, fisting roughly into the hair at the nape of your neck. Instinctively, you arch your back, craning your head and bowing against him to lessen the sting.

· He presses down, forcing you to bend toward the ground until you lose your balance and collapse, bare knees colliding with the cold tile. Your arms jerk against the cord, as you attempt to catch yourself, but the knots hold firm. You wobble, momentarily thrown off balance by the sudden change in position but manage to remain at least partially upright.

· Even before you hear the jangle of his belt buckle hitting the floor you know just what he wants from you. You readjust yourself, sitting higher on your haunches. The rustle of his jeans hitting the floor makes your heart flutter with excitement.

· Harry looms before you, a great dark shape. Though he isn’t overly tall or broad, he towers over you when you’re on your knees for him. The pad of his thumb traces your lower lip, the rough skin dragging against your flesh. Your tongue flickers out to meet it and he stills. He hooks the digit into the corner of your mouth, pressing it into the soft meat of your cheek. You press your tongue against it, sucking gently and he groans. “I think my baby can handle somethin’ bigger, yeah? You want something bigger?”

· You whimper your affirmation, letting him slip his thumb from your mouth, waiting patiently as he pulls his cock from his underwear. He presses the tip against your lips, hissing as your tongue slides wet and warm against it.

· “That’s a good pet. Open up.” You open your mouth, pushing your lips down over your teeth as he presses into you. “That’s it, baby. Take it all. Show me how good ya’ can be for me.”

· Breathing deeply through your nose, you try to remain as still as possible as his cock slides into you inch by inch. Your jaw is already beginning to ache from the stretch, but a sore jaw will certainly be worth the reward if you can be good for Harry now.

· The tip bumps against the back of your throat and you have to fight not to gag. “Fuuuck.” He presses in further, hips canting forward as you choke around him. The tip slips down into your throat, and you panic. The sensation is entirely new, never having taken him so deep before. You jerk back, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the head of his cock. You gag, doubling over in a fit of coughing that wracks your body. Harry’s hand is in your hair again, tugging gently. You look up, vision blurry, and the tugging becomes a gentle petting, his fingers carding through your hair soothingly, “Are you okay?”

· You take a shuddering breath, but nod. Your voice comes out in a shredded whisper, “Just s-scared myself is all.” You draw yourself back up onto your knees and take his cock into your hands.

· “Take your time, pet.” He groans as you begin pumping his length slowly, but you can hear the grin in his voice, like he knows he’ll get what he wants from you sooner or later. “I’m in no rush.” Cocky bastard.

· You trace the vein on the underside with a finger and he pulses in your hand, a bead of precum dripping down his length and onto the floor. You dip your head to kiss along the shaft, following the thin wet trail as you work up the courage to take him into your mouth again.

· You take a deep breath and sink down onto him, relishing in the growl that rips through the air above you, “Mmm! Mind the fuckin’ teeth, Sweetheart!”

· Your legs begin to cramp beneath you, but you press forward, swallowing around the length in your mouth. He bucks into you, the tight heat drawing him deeper in, the tip once again bumping against the back of your throat. This time, however, you’re ready and manage to keep control over your gag reflex. You swallow around him again, and the hand in your hair tightens, dragging your head back. His cock almost begins to slip from your lips, before he pushes his hips forward again. “Let me fuck your mouth, yeah?” You moan around him, letting the slackness of your jaw speak your permission for you.

· Curses tumble from his mouth as he rolls his hips into your waiting mouth again and again—a litany of ‘fucks,’ and ‘Christs’ and disjointed praise mixed with a constant stream of ‘Mine, mine, mine.’ The sound of his voice and the drag of his cock over your tongue is nearly hypnotizing. You flatten it against him, hollowing your cheeks as you do, and his hips stutter, your name suddenly the only thing on his lips. It makes you throb. You just need a little friction to take the edge off, to ease the dull ache between your thighs. You squirm, twisting your wrists against the bonds. Harry makes a sound above you, and for a moment, you freeze. Had you been caught? You glance up at him, but you find his head tilted back in pleasure, eyes cast to the ceiling.

· Feeling a little braver, you begin to bob your head along with his thrusts. His grip on your hair tightens in response, and he moans long and low in the back of his throat. He seems far too occupied with your mouth to take any notice of your hands.

· You twist your wrists again, feeling the knot beginning to loosen. So, you keep at it, working the cord further and further up your hand until it pops free. Your body jerks with the momentum, momentarily thrown off balance, but you recover quickly, forcing yourself to choke, as though Harry had pushed too far into your throat again.

· The ruse appears to work, as Harry’s hips buck forward and still, lost in the tight squeeze of your throat. You ease your thighs apart and slip your fingers between them. The cotton of your underwear is soaked, likely to the point of transparency. You can’t help but moan long and low around Harry’s cock as you brush your fingers against the drenched fabric. The wave of pleasure that rolls through you is heady and electrifying. You want more. Right now. Your fingers press harder and your hips jerk up against your hand.

· Even in his pleasure, this gets Harry’s attention. Looking down at you, he almost laughs, the sound caught somewhere between a snicker and a moan. You feel your cheeks heat with the shame of being caught, though by this point you’re so tightly wound you can barely find the brain space to care. You can practically hear the cocksure grin on his face, “You greedy little whore.”

· You try to pull your hand away, but Harry’s boot comes down over top of it. He doesn’t press down hard, but you can feel the thick treads grinding against your flesh, indenting the pattern into it. Your fingers are trapped right where you wanted them: pressed against the damp fabric of your underwear and the sensitive nerves beneath. They spark and throb against your fingers, begging for more stimulation and you can do nothing.

· You sob around Harry’s cock as he begins to thrust into your mouth again. “You wanna touch it so bad, baby, I know,” He presses down harder with his boot, and you whine around him, “But’cha can’t.” He’s pushing deeper into your throat now with every thrust, “You can’t touch what doesn’t belong to you.” His hips begin to stutter now, losing their rhythm as he picks up the pace chasing his release. His voice has gone taught, shaking with both the pleasure and the exertion, “You’re all mine, Sweetheart. All mine.”

· His cock throbs against your tongue. He pushes to the back of your throat one final time, and he’s cumming, letting it fill your mouth and leak down your throat. You sputter, swallowing around him in a desperate bid not to choke. His thrusts have gone shallow and lazy, but he doesn’t stop. Groaning, he grips your jaw, “All fuckin’ mine.”

· You swallow a final time, and he pulls out. You cough, gasping for breath. Dimly, you’re aware of the rustle of denim and the metallic chirp of a zipper being done up. Regaining control of your breathing, turn, cleaning your drool covered chin on your shoulder. You inspect the wrist of your free hand. The skin feels tight and raw but doesn’t appear to be broken. You assume the same is true of the other, where it remains trapped under Harry’s boot. “Fuck, baby. You take it so well for me.”

· You tilt your face up toward Harry, chest tightening with the praise. “Harry,” Your voice is raw, your throat aching from the fucking it had just endured, but you beg him anyway, “Please, I was good. Touch me…or let me do it myself. I-I’ll put on a good show for you!” You buck up against his boot, throwing your head back and whimpering.

· He grinds his boot down against your hand, and your vision fills with white spots. You jerk against him, unable to still your hips. His voice floats down to you through the fog of pleasure, as though from far away, “I’m not so sure you’ve learned your lesson.”

· You sob, bucking against both boot and hand alike, until he presses down harder, and the blinding pleasure becomes a crushing pain that sucks the breath from your lungs, “Harry! Harry, you promised! Fuuck, please! Please! Ow! You said If I was good—"

· The pressure lessens, “Now, now, baby. Don’t get so worked up. I said I might let you cum. Never said when.” He laughs at your devastated expression. “We’re just getting started.”

Part Two—Submission or Yours, Yours, Yours:

· The metal hangers burst into a jangling song as you fling the coat-closet open to hang your jacket. The padded denim will probably see you through another month if you layer properly beneath it. Too much longer than that and you’ll be pushing your luck. Perhaps tomorrow you would go through the ‘winter clothes bin’ and bust out the ole’ windbreaker. Of course, to do that you’d have to spend an hour sifting through the assorted piles of junk in your basement to actually find the ‘winter clothes bin.’ Now that you think of it, despite the numerous trips you’d taken down into the dark and dingy space, you haven’t actually laid eyes on the bin since you had put it into storage last spring. Ugh.

· Though, maybe Harry had seen it. Three days ago, you’d woken up and stumbled to the bathroom to find a steady stream of water pouring from the cabinet space below the sink. It must have been leaking for a good long while before you found it, because the floor was soaked—the bathmat was so saturated with water it had actually squelched underfoot.

· Luckily, it had only taken Harry around five minutes to fix the problem—a loose ring nut of all things—but he’d spent a good deal longer than that tearing the basement apart in his mad hunt for the toolbox. After a great deal of shuffling, banging about, and swearing, he’d found it wedged between the wall and a cardboard box of assorted holiday decorations. He’d rushed up the stairs, breathless and wild-eyed, “Christ, but it’s a mess down there. This?” He’d said, brandishing the toolbox in his left hand, “stays in the porch from now on.” He’d swept passed you then, leaving no room for argument as he marched off to save your bathroom from any further water damage.

· Point is, Harry’s ‘leave no stone unturned’ approach to impromptu basement reorganization may just free up your afternoon and save you a headache—he’d probably seen the bin and with any luck would remember where he’d moved it. If not, finding the damn thing would be tomorrow’s problem. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask while you were thinking of it.

· “Hey, Harry? When you were down in the basement the other day, did you see the—” Turning to face him, you’re shocked to find that he isn’t standing behind you anymore. You could have sworn you’d felt him there with you right up until you’d turned around. You call his name out into the darkness but receive no response. You roll your eyes, sometimes he got like this when he was in a mood—preferring silence to a solution.

· Your left hand finds the wall, feeling your way along the cool plaster until your fingers find the switch. Light floods the kitchen momentarily flaring too bright against your retinas, and you realize he’s not even in the room anymore. You hadn’t heard him leave, but he’s certainly not still here, unless he’s somehow managed to master the art of invisibility without telling you. He’s a remarkable man, you’ll give him that, but you highly doubt he’s that remarkable. In all likelihood, he’d just popped out for a smoke. Though you’d love to know how he managed to sweettalk the squealing hinges into silence.

· Crossing the room, you pull the screen door open, bracing it against your hip to keep it from banging closed on you. You crack the main door open just enough to poke your head out. You go slowly, easing it open bit by bit—the hinges whine high and thin into the night, but it’s nothing compared to the fuss they’d made when you first came in. peering out into the darkness, you don’t see Harry in his usual late-night smoking spot—leaning out over the porch railing, one hand curled around a cigarette, the other cradling his chin as he stares out into the relative seclusion of your back garden.

· Around this time of year, it wasn’t much to look at—the leaves mostly gone from the trees, the shrivelled corpses of your flowers littering the rapidly browning grass—but in the spring, it was a sight, bursting with blossoms and buzzing insects alike.

· You suppose it doesn’t matter though, Harry never gets to see the butterflies and bees anyway. Not when he only comes out to smoke at night. On the bad days when he’s stressed, or tired and really croaking for a smoke before the sun dips down into the harbour, he usually retreats to the basement, cracking one of the tiny windows that looks out onto the street. But otherwise, he’s an exclusively nocturnal smoker.

· One night in the summer, when it had been far too muggy to do anything but lay in bed and sweat, you’d given up on sleep to sit out with him. Outside, the air was no less close, but even the pitiful, sporadic gasps the breeze offered had felt so good against your feverish skin you couldn’t bring yourself to complain. He’d stood there, leaned out over the railing, the cherry of his cigarette flaring red-hot in the darkness. You had hopped up onto the railing beside him, dangling your legs out over a bed of wilting marigolds—even they were flagging in this heat, not that you could blame them.

· For a long while, neither of you spoke, content to simply inhabit the same space at the same time. It wasn’t long before you were lost in thought; staring up at the stars and marvelling at how the scent of your little lavender bushes almost covered the stink of the harbour. Almost. Then, Harry blew a cloud of smoke out into the darkness, which drifted sluggishly across your vision, bringing you back to the present moment. To this day, you don’t quite know why you’d asked the question, nor where it had come from, “So…you only smoke at night, huh?”

· He’d frowned a little, his eyebrows pulling together as though he was only realizing this for the first time. He’d maneuvered the dart into the corner of his mouth so he could speak around it, “I s’pose so…”

· “What’s up with that?”

· He chewed on the end of the cigarette, jaw working as he thought, “Probably got somethin’ t’do with spendin’ so much time in…” He raked a suddenly shaky hand through his hair, “…the pit.”

· “You were a miner?” You had known so little about him in those days.

· Again, he ran a trembling hand through his hair, the silence stretching long into the humid night. “It…uh…fucks your sense of time real good. Y’get used to it bein’ dark all the time.” He takes a deep drag, letting the smoke curl about in his lungs for a good long while before letting it go with a heavy, rushing sigh. “‘N ya’ get to like it better that way.” With a practiced flick of the wrist, he taps the ash from the end of his cigarette, scattering in on the wooden deck-boards beneath his boots. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

· And so, you’d let it go. But the pieces had begun to fall into place: Why he never went out with you, why he was so hesitant to talk about where he’d come from or what he’d been running from the night you found him shivering and soaked to the skin at the end of your street, why he’d asked you to keep quiet about him, why he hadn’t told you his last name—a name everyone in town both knew and feared.

· He’d told you half the truth then you suppose. After all, he is a night-owl, and that probably did have something to do with his previous profession. However, you think his late-night smoking habit likely also has something to do with risk. You know now who he is and what he did. If anyone knew he was back in town, there would be trouble no doubt. Of course, the rumours that would start flying about if a strange man were spotted hanging around your place would also be trouble, just the type you were more accustomed to handling. There had been jaw about you in town before and there would likely be again. You could deal with a few stray comments from old folks with nothing better to do than gossip and young folks who did but wasted their time on it anyway. You knew for certain that you could not handle the sight of Harry beaten and dragged off to God-knows-where by a mob of angry townsfolk or worse, the police. No, if it came down to it, you’d take the rumours.

· Shuddering, you close the door, locking the knob and sliding the deadbolt home. You lock the screen door as well, something Harry always teased you about. You could picture him now, leaning against the counter, hands in his pockets. An easy grin slides across his face as he watches you, ‘Now what’cha lockin’ that for? S’not gonna stop nobody from comin’ in if they really wanna.’ But you always locked it anyway—it made you feel safer. Sometimes you’d tell him so, but that smile would only grow as he pushes off from the counter and scoops you up into his arms. He is really quite strong despite his small stature. ‘Don’t need locks for that no more, Sweetheart. You got me.’

· But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know you’d never locked your doors before he came along. Not once. There was never any need to. The community was small and tightly knit. With only one notable exception—the cause of which now shared your bed on the regular—the crime rate was so low hardly anyone locked their doors at all. But since Harry, you had felt compelled to do so. Not out of obligation to the town, rather an obligation to Harry. They didn’t need to be kept safe from him—they had already paid for their mistakes. If they were smart, they’d never give him reason to shed blood again—no you locked the doors to keep Harry safe from them.

· Though there was a memorial plaque dedicated to the lives lost in the mining accident right there in the middle of town, it was something the residents rarely spoke about. Most were content to forget it—and the grisly murders that followed—entirely. But when February rolled around again, an oppressive tension swept through the streets. Even as people pretended to carry on with their lives like nothing was wrong, their hushed whispers and conspiratorial glances spoke the truth plainly—they hadn’t forgotten at all. They couldn’t forget. Harry Warden had stained their community, perhaps forever, and they hated him for it. Many would rather see him dead than locked up and you could think of one or two who might actually try if given the chance.

· Maybe there was a time when you would have let them, out of fear or some misguided sense of morality. But now that you knew him, everything was different. That night, when he’d finally told you the truth about who he was, what he’d done, the place he’d escaped from, he had seemed so small—trembling on the floor of your living room, fingers digging hard into his arms, unable to look at you for fear of your reaction—and you’d decided then and there you would stand between him and that hatred. You would keep him safe. Locking that door was just one of the thousands of small ways you had found to do so. Maybe a part of him knew that. Maybe not. Still, that door stayed locked at night.

· Now, if he wasn’t outside and he wasn’t in the kitchen, where else could he be? You pad quickly through the kitchen, your thin socks only able to protect you so much from the chilly tiles. On your way by, you pop your head into the den, wondering if he’d decided to curl up on the sofa in front of the TV—a favoured spot for a deep sulk. If his attitude in the driveway told you anything, this had been be a pretty good guess, but the room is as dark and empty as the kitchen. Strange.

· Rounding the corner at the end of the hall, four doors stand before you: the bathroom, the office, the guestroom and your bedroom. The bathroom door is closed, and through the crack beneath, you can see the light is turned off. The same can be said for the office, and upon closer inspection, the guestroom as well. You suppose he could be in any of the three rooms, but if that’s the case, it’s safe to assume he really wants to be left alone.

· Perhaps you really had hurt him in your silly attempt to make him jealous. You both knew it was dangerous for him to go out, but you’d pushed him anyway, and he’d said ‘yes,’ because he trusts you and he loves you. And what had you done? You cuddled up to a stranger all night and let him watch. When you think about it like that, a hot wave of shame rolls through your gut. You feel nauseous.

· You stand there in the hall, chewing your cheek and wondering what you should do. You could knock, calling his name softly and apologize. Maybe he’d open the door and come to bed with you, maybe he’d choose to sleep on the sofa and send you to bed alone. Either way he’d know you were sorry. But trying to force a conversation Harry wasn’t ready to have was often like talking to a brick wall—a brick wall which could get up and leave the room. Perhaps it would be better to let him come to you when he was ready. But if you leave him alone, he might think you don’t care. But if you push him, he might not take you seriously. As you weigh your options, a flicker of movement from further down the hall catches your attention.

· Your bedroom door is open just a crack, and through it a quavering light pools on the carpet. At once confused and curious, you creep down the hallway. Pressing your ear to the door, you don’t hear anything out of the ordinary. In fact, it doesn’t sound like anyone is in there at all, and yet the light from within flickers as though something is moving in front of it. Curiosity burning in the pit of your stomach, you press your palm against the faded wooden door and give it a push.

· Candlelight spills out into the hallway, its warm glow washing gently over you. There must be a hundred candles in the room, as every available surface from the dresser to the desk is covered with votives and pillars, tapers and tealights. Were these all yours? You can’t recall ever buying so many, yet here they are. The air is filled with their mingling scents: apples, beeswax, and fresh linen, but beneath that the smell of smoke and the sulfurous scent of the matches he’d used to light them all linger in the air. It can’t have been long since he’s finished lighting them.

· Harry himself kneels on the floor at the foot of your bed, thighs spread wide. Though he’s facing the door, he hadn’t looked up when the it opened. His eyes remain trained on the carpet before him. His hands though firmly clasped behind his back can’t have been there for long—both the button and zipper of his jeans are fully undone, the fabric stretched wide and slung low across his hips. Beneath the jeans, his boxers have been pulled low, exposing his cock, already hard and drooling precum onto the carpet beneath him.

· Stunned by the unexpected sight before you, you can do little more than stand there in the doorway, gaping. Harry had certainly never done this before—he’d knelt for you on occasion, sure, but never without being asked first. A tight heat begins to stir within you as the blood rushes from your head to much more…important areas. Feeling a little lightheaded, you find yourself leaning against the doorjamb for support. Though your legs feel as though they’ve turned to jelly, you find your words again with your shoulder braced firmly against a solid surface, “What’s all this then, baby?”

· He makes no attempt to look at you as he answers, his eyes glued to the floor in a clear sign of submission, though his tone is anything but. There’s bite in his voice, an anger that thrums through his every word, and vibrates through you even from your spot in the doorway, “Jus’ wanna show ya’ I’m good.” He clenches his jaw, eyes burning holes into the carpet, “Make you forget all about him.” He spits out the word like a mouthful of rotten fruit.

· You grinned. So, he is just jealous after all. Good.

· “Look at me, Harry.” His eyes flash in the low light, still blazing with anger even as they find yours. His while body is tense with that rage, every muscle coiled and ready to strike, through he remains still, head bowed, arms folded behind his back. His voice is tight, enunciating very clearly, his usual industrial drawl combed into something smoother, “I want to show you I can be just as good for you. Better even.”

· You smirk down at him, “Oh really?”

· “I can—” He begins to shift, the movement dragging his shaft against the rough denim of his jeans. He shudders, the words momentarily dying on his tongue. His fingers sink into the carpet at his sides, knuckles going white as he struggles not to roll his hips, bucking into that coarse pleasure. His cock pulses and another bead of precum oozes from the tip. “Fuck,” He takes a shuddering breath, his eyes squeezing closed for a brief moment, “I…I can prove it.” There is a pause, his jaw working as he struggles to force the next word out, “Please.”

· Oh, he really is wound up. Begging doesn’t come easily for Harry Warden, but that just makes it all the sweeter to hear when he does.

· “Please, let me prove it to you.”

· You can’t help the grin that slides across your face. “And just how do you intend to do that, baby?”

· He goes still for a moment, eyes narrowing, still angry but acknowledging the challenge. His gaze slides down your body, dark eyes drinking in your form, coming to rest on the carpet at your feet. “I’ll do anything.”

· Your grin widens, “Anything?”

· He swallows thickly, nodding.

· “Anything?” You’re just teasing him now.

· “Yes.” His voice is tight and there’s tension building in his shoulders, but you think you can push him a little further.

· “Anyyyything?”

· His head snaps up, eyes boring into yours, ablaze with frustration, “Yes for Chrissake! Anything. Just,” He sighs through his nose, bowing his head again, “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

· You push off from the doorjamb, managing to wobble only a little, as you saunter into the room to stand before him, “Shirt off.”

· It takes him less than a second to respond, pealing the white cotton shirt over his head, exposing the hard planes of his chest and stomach. “Mm, good boy.” You flop down on the bed, tucking your legs up beneath yourself. “Now, touch yourself.” He reaches for his cock, “Ah, ah, ah. I didn’t say ‘touch your cock,’ Harry. I said, ‘touch yourself.’”

· Harry makes a noise caught halfway between a sigh and a whine but does as he’s told. He sits up straighter, his neglected cock bobbing against his stomach. His hands trail up his sides, pressing against toned muscle and bone alike. He shivers as his fingers brush against the scars that litter his chest, remnants of the accident that nearly took his life. “Feel good, baby?”

· He wrinkles his nose a little, “Not…really? They’re numb kinda…”

· “Keep going then, you can’t stop until it starts to feel good.” He swallows and brushes his fingers across his nipples. His jaw goes tight, fingers stilling for a moment. You know he doesn’t get much out of touching himself like this, much preferring to fist his cock fast and hard until he finds his release. This is mostly for you—he cuts a lovely figure half-undressed, hands roaming across his body—but if it’s the only stimulation he’s allowed, you figure he’ll find some enjoyment in it. And this hypothesis seems to be correct thus far, as he continues to play far more attention to his chest than he usually would, the fingers of one hand digging into the flesh of his pectoral as his thumb rubs a slow circle around his nipple. His other hand is trailing up his neck, pressing against the sensitive spots just beneath his jaw.

· His breath is coming harder now, and he’s making lovely little sounds at the back of his throat. His hips press forward, seeking stimulation. “A little lower now, baby.”

· As commanded, his hands slip down across his ribs, over his stomach. His hands hover about his hips, hesitating, waiting for your instructions. “Oooh, there’s a good boy. Let’s test your self control, shall we? How close can you get to it before you can’t keep still anymore?”

· He heaves a shaky breath. His fingers dip below the waist of his jeans, tracing the bones of his hips and the tops of his thighs.

· “You can do better than that. Closer.”

· You can see his thighs beginning to shake as his fingers slip ever closer to his cock, teasing the inner most spots on his thighs and the seams of his hips, spots you know he loves and hates to find your mouth in equal measure.

· It isn't until his fingers brush against the sensitive flesh just above his cock that his hips stutter forward and a soft cry tears free from his lips.

· You slip from the bed to kneel before him, pressing your face close to his, crooning praises into his ear. “Is it too much for my good boy? That’s okay, you follow orders so well.” You can feel his cheeks heating us as he flushes a deep red in the low light.

· Cupping his face, you tilt his chin up, forcing him to look up at you. “Good boys deserve rewards, don’t you think.” Despite the deepening blush, his haughty expression tells you he’ll get you back for this someday. Every word of simpering praise, every degrading kindness will be repaid in full. You can hardly wait. You tilt his head up and down in answer to your own question, “Yes they do. So, let’s give that cock some attention, hmm?”

· In that moment, Harry forgets himself. His hands shoot out, reaching down to wrap around his length. “Stop!” You bark the order, and he freezes, fingers curling against the air, rather than his throbbing length as he so desperately wants. “Not with your hands.”

· A long breath hisses out through his teeth. His tone is petulant, “Then how am I supposed to—”

· “Is that backtalk I’m hearing? Because if it is—”

· “No!” And just like that the attitude is gone, replacing with a stumbling apology, “I-I’m sorry, I’ll do what you asked. I was just…just clarifyin’. How do you want me to…get off?”

· “No one said anything about getting off.” You press a finger against his chest, slowly dragging it down over his pecks, his sternum, his stomach, until you find his cock. Your touch merely ghosts over his sensitive flesh, but he trembles beneath it, moaning low in the back of his throat.

· Your finger finds the tip of his cock, and slips to the underside, stroking roughly against his frenulum—the most sensitive spot on his body. In an instant he’s bucking against you, your name tumbling from his lips along with a litany of trembling pleas for more. While it’s tempting to indulge him, you don’t want this to be over quite so quickly. With a lopsided grin, you withdraw your hand. Harry whines in frustration at the loss, his hips stuttering against the air.

· His cock drags against the rough denim of his jeans, and he sucks in a sharp breath. He hesitates for only a moment as he looks at you for permission. You nod and his shoulders slump forward, his hands shooting forward to catch himself. His fingers sink into the carpet before his knees, and his thighs slide further apart to accommodate this change is posture.

· The drag of coarse denim against the over-sensitive flesh of his cock can’t have been the most comfortable sensation in the world, but one wouldn’t get that impression from watching Harry’s expression. Though his head is tipped forward, you can see still his eyes, screwed shut in pleasure. His teeth catch his lower lip tightly. It’s really such a pity, because you know he’d make such lovely noises if he would just open his mouth. You suppose you could just order him to let you hear him, but it was always so much more satisfying to pull the sounds from him yourself.

· Dipping your head, you press your lips into the column of Harry’s exposed throat. For a moment he goes utterly still, shuddering beneath your mouth. In between peppering every available inch with little kisses, you murmur, “Keep going baby,” against his skin. It takes him a moment to process your command. His lust-fogged mind is able to focus on only a few things at a time, and your lips are taking precedence over everything else. But when it finally clicks, his hips jerk back into motion

· You graze your teeth along his jaw, catching the spots his fingers had toyed with earlier. Like a latch clicking open, his teeth release his lip, and he moans—a soft sound, almost a sigh. Beautiful. You fall into that spot, nipping and sucking at it until the sounds—moans, whimpers, and curses alike—are tumbling from Harry’s lips one after another.

· You dig your teeth in hard, and his hips slam forward, a gasp on his lips. The force of his movement pushes his cock further through the opening of his jeans, and the teeth of the zipper drag across his flesh. He hisses, sharp and sibilant, as the sting overtakes the pleasure. God you wish you could see his face—the pleasure swiftly transforming into agony then back again. Though you’re sure your imagination pales in comparison to the real thing, the pictures your mind conjures are enough to send a throbbing wave of want through you. The tortured mix of pleasure and agony on his face is a sight, second only to the beauty of Harry’s expression when he cums for you.

· As though he could read your thoughts, Harry’s hips jerk down, rutting against the fabric from a different angle. His pace becomes quicker, more frantic as his orgasm looms large on the horizon. You grin against his throat. “Are you close baby?”

· Harry doesn’t speak, but you can feel him nodding, his bony jaw bumping against the top of your head. “That didn’t take very long. Were you playing without me earlier?”

· Of course, you know the answer is ‘yes.’ He’d likely been kneeling right there, bucking into his fist while you were locking still the doors. But you wanted to hear him admit it. “Answer me, Harry.”

· His voice is trembling when he replies, speech lust-slurred and sluggish “Yesss, Ssweetheart”

· Tsk, tsk. Maybe I shouldn’t let you cum after all.” You place a hand on his hip, stalling his movement. He’s strong enough he could just shake you off, keep going until he finds his release, but he doesn’t. That’s not the game you play. Instead, he shudders under you hand, trembling as his release slips away from him, the pleasure fading to a dull throb between his legs.

· “No!” His cock pulses, the precum shiny and wet against the tip. “Please, I-I’m sorry. I jus’ wanted to be ready for ya’, I didn’t mean to break the rules.”

· “I know.” You pat his cheek affectionately. “I understand. It’s hard to be a good boy when it’s in your nature to be a filthy little whore.”

· Harry’s chest heaves as he comes back down from the edge. His ego chafes under your degradation, but his body shudders with the thrill of it. He rolls his head back, shooting you a sideways glance, “You’re so mean, you know that?” Though his words are anything but, both his expression and his tone are utterly adoring.

· You peck his cheek, “You love it.”

· “I do.”

· You stroke his cheek gently with the back of your hand “Can you start again?”

· Harry rolls his hips forward, experimentally. His teeth fix into his lower lip almost instantly, but he nods. You can tell the break wasn’t quite long enough, but that’s okay. You’ll just need to keep a closer eye on him to make sure he doesn’t slip over the edge before you’re ready to let him.

· Your hand finds his hip again, slowing him to a stop. “I think we’ll play a different game this time. Wouldn’t want you getting bored.” You glance down at the rough denim, “Or chaffed up.”

· Your hand slips into his jeans and grips his cock firmly around the base. He cants up into your hand almost reflexively, heating flesh sliding against your palm. You smile, “Oh no. None of that. You’ve gotta stay still this time, baby. In fact,” You give his cock a gentle pump, causing him to buck into your hand despite your instructions. You pull you hand away. “If you move, I’ll stop. Understand?”

· Harry’s knuckles go white in the carpet as he struggles to keep himself under control, but he nods. “Good. Now,” You wrap your hand around him once again. “I won’t make this easy on you.”

· He grins, “Wouldn’t be any fun if ya’ did.”

· You can’t help but grin back, an expression of your adoration for the man before you as you begin to move your hand. As promised, you set a brutal pace, your grip tight around his feverish flesh.

· His head falls back, eyes going wide, “Ohh, fuuck!” His hands are shaking where they’re dug into the carpet and his thighs tremble with the tremendous effort of keeping still. And though he takes a near herculean stab at following your instructions, when your thumb swipes gently over the tip of his cock at the end of a stroke, he falls apart. His hips jerking forward into you hand

· “Ah, ah,” You say, pulling your hand away despite the high whine at the back of Harry’s throat. “I said don’t move.”

· His breath is coming in ragged gasps, “Let…Let me try again. I’ll be good!”

· You purse your lips, as though to say, ‘I’m not sure you will be.” But he leans in, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and whimpering, “Please,’ against your skin, and you’re almost convinced.

· Your pulse jumps as his lips press against your skin. The need to put hands on him again bubbles up within your chest until you cannot fight it a second longer. You hand finds his cock again, sliding against his skin which is now positively radiating heat and slick with precum. He’s really enjoying this. You squeeze your fingers around him a little tighter as he twitches in your hand, “Look at you! Taking it so well for me.” He whimpers in repose, the sound vibrating against your throat as his mouth works against your skin.

· Swiping your thumb over the head of his cock again, his voice breaks, climbing higher into the back of his throat. Yet his hips remain still. So, you do it again, thumb spreading the slick precum gathering at the tip of his cock across the head. He shudders against you, sinking his teeth deep into your neck. He’s putting up a good fight, but you can tell he isn’t far from breaking. You begin to move you hand more quickly, squeezing your fist tightly around his shaft.

· “You’re doing so well, baby. But I wonder…” Your other hand hovers just above the tip of his cock. “What would happen if I…” You touch his tip gently, ghosting your fingers over. The combined sensation of the rough pace of your hand and the gentle touch of your fingers makes his thighs tremble. He’s cursing now, a steady stream of ‘fucks’ and half-coherent pleas tumble forth into the hollow spaces between your collarbones.

· You press a little harder, rubbing a gentle circle around the head of his cock, and he bucks into your hand, pressing the tip hard against your fingers, desperate for more. Through clenched teeth you can hear him chanting, “No, no, no” over and over, clearly frustrated by the betrayal of his own body.

· You smirk down at him, “Looks like you’re really sensitive here huh, baby?”

· Harry doesn’t respond, merely shuddering against you, his head still buried in the crook of your neck. “It’s not your fault though.” You release his cock, stroking you hands soothingly against his trembling thighs. “You know, I think it’s partially my own fault for not touching you enough. But I can fix that.” You can feel the confused frown pulling against his handsome features, one that begins to melt into a look of shocked horror as he realizes what you’re about to do.

· He pulls away from your neck just a moment before you set upon the tip of his cock. Your fingers making a tight little ring, you squeeze around him. His head jerks back, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. You stroke your thumb against the tip, rubbing tight quick circles against his weeping slit. He finds his voice, broken and wavering and cries out your name, begging you for more and to stop in the same breath.

· His hips buck into your hand wildly, but this time you don’t stop, squeezing tighter, as your fingers slip beneath the head, rubbing relentless circles against his frenulum. His body seizes up, his voice momentarily dying in this throat. When it returns, he’s babbling, nearly sobbing with the pleasure, “Need t’stop…” He whines, “Neet’sssstop or I’ll cum,” His speech is slurred, punctuated with sharp moans and deep gasps for breath.

· “But I thought you wanted to cum, Harry.”

· His chest is heaving now, sweat slicking his sandy hair to his temples, “I do, fuuuck, IdoIdoIdo, pleassse, but…” He swallows hard, struggling to grind out the words around the white-hot pressure building in his stomach, “Wanna...wanna be good for ya’, don’t wanna…c-c-cum until you let me.” Despite his words, he grinds down against your fingers, unable to stop himself. “Please lemme be good, FUCK! Please, babyssstop! I’m gonna cum,”

· For just a moment, you consider letting him. But the beseeching look in his eyes tells you even if you did, though the release would be satisfying, it wouldn’t be good enough. Harry wanted, no, needed to be good for you. Taking pity on him now wouldn’t help.

· You pull your hands back, and despite himself, Harry sobs, a fat droplet of precum spilling down his pulsing length. Harry shudders as it rolls down his flesh, over-sensitive as though he’d just cum. You realize then, just how close he’d actually been.

· You take him into your arms, pulling him close and petting his hair gently as he struggles to get his breathing under control. He jitters against you, a low whimper in his throat as your repositioning causes his cock to rub against you.

· “Christ, I’m sorry,” He says, voice a cracked whisper, “It’s been so long since we’ve…”

· You shush him, “I know baby, take your time.” His head falls against your shoulder, the weight of his shuddering body a welcome pleasure. He presses soft kisses into your neck, trailing up to your jaw, your cheek, your lips.

· He kisses you softly, his lips sluggish against your own, but still no less adoring. He pulls back enough to whisper, “I’m yours.” And you smile.

· “I know.” You run your fingers down his back, ghosting over exposed skin and he shudders.

· “No one else will ever belong to you like I do.” Despite Harry’s fragile state, it isn’t a question, rather a statement that isn’t to be questioned.

· “No one else.”

· He melts against you, “Then touch me. I can take it.”

· You push him back, searching his dark eyes. What you find there is the same lust that’s driven you since the beginning of the night. You tug him to his feet, gripping his arms tightly as he wobbles on stiff and tired legs.

· “Get yourself out of those jeans, and get on the bed. We aren’t finished.”

#harry warden x reader #harry warden imagines #slasher x reader #my bloody valentine #OKAY SO #this wasnt supposed to be 13719 words but here we are #also i really fudged the map at the start but who cares about geographical consistancies in slasher smut #i mean me but whatever #the bar they filmed in really was on atlantic street though #ripper fics

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mageofseven · 3 years

Note

What about the brothers reaction to MC wanting a baby? Like, how they would respond to it, feel about it, deal with all the intricacies that comes with a planned pregnancy and think when they see their children for the first time?

Okay, so I've obviously written about the Brothers becoming parents before, but it was always more of an accident.

Planned pregnancy though? Coming right up!

Oh! And I kept the pronouns gender neutral for this, but since it involves pregnancy, MC is afab, I guess the term is? Not fully sure.

Also, unlike my main series for this, there are no complications for these pregnancies so the brothers don't have to worry about MC as much.

Lucifer:

Honestly...the anxiety this man feels is hard for even him to hide.

He loves MC; his Heart is everything to him and the only one that he's ever felt he could lean on emotionally. They are there for him when he'd usually have no one and because of that, he doesn't want to deny them anything as long as he can help it.

However...parenthood is a daunting thing to him. He is already a father, regardless of whether he or Satan acknowledges it, and with the direction his relationship with his son has gone, he honestly feels like a failure as a father

So to have another child to risk hurting in the same way he has with Satan? The man doesn't feel okay with the risk.

It takes a lot of comfort from MC to get him to agree to it

And from then on, he prepares.

To start with, he takes some time off of work and RAD for them both.

It's not just for the baby-making activity, though of course they do plenty of that while his brothers are at school.

It's also time for the two of them to just be together and enjoy themselves. He takes them out for lunch, watches any movie they wish, cuddles with them on the couch or bed, even dances with MC in the music room to one of his safer records.

This free time is not just to start the path of parenthood for them; it's a romantic time to enjoy themselves and express their love for each other more openly and freely without worry of his brothers interupting or Luce needing to get back to work.

When they offically discover that MC was pregnant, the anxiety crept back up in him, but his Love's excitement and smiles were enough to push it back.

Despite always having a heavy work load, the oldest made it a priority to have the nursery done very early on and stocking up certain things like diapers, clothes, and toys.

His anxiety pushed him to make sure everything was perfect, but MC had to pull him aside a few times because Luce, they are only three months along, chill dude, you have time.

With time and more reassurance from MC, his anxiety really did fall, though didn't completely disappear and hovered over her as much as his work allowed.

When MC went into labor, he had everything under control. He called the doctor and kept calm as he watched over his Love.

When he held his daughter for the first time...it was as if everything shifted inside of him. He was less worried about failing her and more concerned with making sure he doesn't.

He vowed to make sure Ksenia always feels safe, valued, and loved.

Mammon:

Um...have you seen his bank account, MC?

Y'all are nowhere ready for children, financially speaking.

In truth, Mammon does want kids; he's a very family oriented demon, even if his family doesn't see him that way.

But damn, he really has to get his shit together in order to be a good dad.

After hearing this Human beg for it though, how could the second brother say no?

Before they actually start the whole baby-making process though, the man has a debt to deal with now that he can no longer justify staving it off.

He managed to pay off a huge chunk of it by stealing from the demon lord's castle but after getting punished by Lucifer and facing a disappointed MC, he decided to pay off the rest and start saving up in a more honest way.

Honestly, it wasn't his preferred way of making his Grimm, but MC went on and on about morals and what they'd be teaching their child if they found out their dad was selling other people's shit so they could have him or her, and a lot of other guilt-tripping that the Avatar of Greed gave into. Man, they haven't even made the freaking kid yet and he already has to get his act together...

Debt gone and a decent start to his savings later, the fun part actually begins--making the kid! The demon couldn't help but gloat to his brothers about much he was getting laid, which was embarrassing to MC but hey, it's cute seeing the human's cheeks all red so no drawbacks for the Greed demon.

Once discovering MC is pregnant...well, Mammon is one of the brothers who hovers over his human, though he denies it the whole pregnancy.

When his Human went into labor, it was the kind of thing where the man pretended to be calm, but was obviously freaking out and eventually he fainted.

He woke up though and just in time for his Human to push out their daughter.

Cassia...just one look at his little girl and he knew that all of his hard work before and the self-improvement he's been trying to do...he knew it was all worth it.

Leviathan:

Boy choked on his chips when MC asked him for a baby.

Like what did he just hear???

His Henry wants a baby--with him of all people??

Yeah, I mean, he is their boyfriend, but still, the Avatar of Envy felt like this must be bad judgement on the human's part.

I mean, he's a dirty otaku. The demon doesn't even understand why they'd date him, but wanting a kid with him?

There's also the fact that...well, what it means to be an otaku. Having a kid doesn't exactly fit in with his shut-in lifestyle.

Basically, it left him feeling as if he doesn't deserve to have a kid with his Henry and that he wouldn't be good as a dad anyway; being a shut-in otaku is all he knows at this point and since being dad kinda requires you to, ya know, not be that and putting your kid first, he really has no faith in himself.

But MC did and honestly, that meant a lot to the Envy demon.

Things weren't decided in that moment. Knowing that their boyfriend was overwhelmed, the human simply asked him to give it some thought and told him that they'll love him regardless.

The man let it sit with him for a couple weeks and everytime he saw a kid in an anime or saw a commercial for some kind of toy, the otaku wondered 'what if'. What would it really be like to be a dad?

It was anime that finally made him cave. Seeing families and parents interacting with their children in them, it really did tempt the man. He recognized that it was fiction and being a parent wouldn't be exactly like that, but still; it made him wanna try.

Seeing MC's face light up when he told them he'd do it honestly made the man feel good about himself.

When MC becomes pregnant, he doesn't necessarily hover; he doesn't feel the need to always be around them or limit what they can do. He's simply more touchy-feely, surprisingly enough. Not in any inappropriate way; just more hugs, hand holding, cuddles. He just insists on more closeness than before, which MC has no complaints about.

When MC went into labor, he was a bit panicky, but pulled through. Unlike Mammon, he never fainted and was able to give support to his Henry through the process.

Holding his son just felt...surreal. Like, how the hell did this happen??? I mean yeah, he knows how, but still, it's just unbelievable. He has a son. He's a dad.

Levi honestly never thought his life would be brought to this point, but looking down at Kai, he was glad it was. In that moment, he was anxiously optimistic about their future.

Satan:

....

Yeah, MC, sweetheart, this man doesn't particularly like kids...

It's not necessarily a hard 'no' though.

After all, Satan doesn't like saying no to his sweet Kitten if he can help it.

The two spend a while discussing it, going over all the prep work they'd need to do, the finances of the situation (like, both in regards to their own finances and literally showing them statistics of how much Grimm demon parents have to spend on average for their children from birth to adulthood), and about how their life will change if they take this step. About the sacrifices they'll have to make and the new responsibilities. After all, the couple won't be able to just focus on each other anymore; their routines will have to change, their be energy put towards caring for the child. Their whole lives will have to revolve around them.

The human accepted all of it though and was ready for the change.

So the blonde agreed, despite his own feelings on the matter, feelings he never thought to speak up about before and after hearing MC's request, doesn't want to.

The couple didn't really set time aside with baby-making in mind and try to rush things. They simply slept with each whenever they just happened to be in the mood for it, like always, but stopped using the runes on they commonly put on MC for birth control.

Essentially, they just went through their days as normal and just let things happen at their own pace.

When MC became pregnant, the Wrath demon had to admit, their excitment was contagious. Seeing them happy...it really felt good to the blonde, despite his own feelings on it all.

Satan wasn't the type to hover, not really. He looked after them, giving little reminders of what they can and cannot eat in this condition as well as when they needed to take certain vitamins, but otherwise, things continued on as usual between the two.

Though his feelings about becoming a parent never completely changed during the pregnancy, seeing his Kitten's belly grow and them look forward to this child more and more as time went on, it did give him the feeling that he made the right choice

And when he felt his child kick inside MC for the first time, the realness of it all really put a crack in his mentality.

Their baby...this was a being who sparked such joy in his Kitten and that was enough for the Avatar of Wrath to start to love his child, though he didn't recognize that fact at the time.

When MC went into labor, he kept them calm and comfortable. Walked with them when they wanted to walk, which he read was good for helping labor along, and gave encouragement whenever his Kitten needed it.

When his daughter was born and he watched his Kitten hold her close, crying happy tears, the man couldn't even describe what he was feeling within himself.

When MC asked if he wanted to hold their daughter, Satan declined. Not out of rejection for Amelie but...was it really safe for him to hold a being so delicate?

"Satan..."

With his Kitten insisting with such a cute, sad face though, how could he not?

Extra carefully, he took his daughter into his arms, causing the small baby to whine and reach up her little hands at him.

This. This was the moment that he realized that despite his original bias that he really did love his daughter.

Amelie was a gift that he never knew he wanted; knew he needed. Thanks to MC though, she's here and with two parents that her more than anything in the three realms.

Asmodeus:

Asmo is a brother that I can honestly see things happening either way: with MC bringing up the idea to him or Azzy bringing the idea up to them.

Asmo loves babies--at least, I see him as someone whose mostly good with them and likes the idea of them. He can't handle things like diaper changes or anything gross like that, but he finds them adorable.

And what would be even cuter than a baby? His baby. I mean, how can you carry genetics from this man and not be gorgeous?

Luckily, MC agrees. The two don't stop to talk about anything practical with the subject. They want a baby so Azzy has the two of them start making them right then and there (well, after Lucifer scolds Asmo for trying to do so on the living room couch and the couple retreats to his room).

The first of the brothers to be genuinely excited when MC ends up pregnant and not be overshadowed by anxiety.

Very touchy-feely during his Dolly's pregnancy, more than usual. Especially once MC starts to develop their cute little belly.

Lots of kisses and talking to their belly, even long before the baby has developed enough to hear him.

This man just has too much love for his child and can't contain it all till they're born.

When MC goes into labor, he's not too anxious, but he feels bad that his Dolly has to through such pain.

Very good at comforting the human during this time. Gives lots of kisses and encouraging words, telling them how well they're doing and how their baby just can't wait to meet them.

Cries when he first holds his son. Sees Liam as the most perfect and sweet being to exist, only tied with himself and MC.

Beelzebub:

Let's face it; Beel was the one who brought the topic up. This family man got baby fever and immediately ran to Muffin for help with it.

Like, I can literally see him rushing into the kitchen while they're on cooking duty and MC smiling and asking if he'd like to taste test, only for him to blurt out that he wants a baby, as if it was something as simple a cookie or a new shirt.

After MC gets over the shock of such a request, they sit down with Beel and actually discuss such a big step.

Regardless of whether MC had thought about it before this moment, how could they say no to this big sweet man who has an endless amount of love to give?

After agreeing, MC has to coax the man away because he gets a little too excited and wants to start right then, but the human still has to finish dinner.

After dinner though! Baby making time!

Becomes insanely happy when his Muffin ends up pregnant. This man literally couldn't stop smiling his cute freaking smile even if he wanted to.

Doesn't really hover over them while they're pregnant; there's honestly little to no anxiety in this man over his child or worry about the pregnancy.

He does, however, do practically everything for them. Let him carry that bag. It's fine. They don't need to be carrying something so heavy. Tired? It's okay, go rest; he'll cook dinner instead. Feet hurt? He'll carry them home so they don't need to walk anymore.

Just a reminder that this is all done out of love though and not anxiety. He's not worried about anything going wrong; he just loves his Muffin so much and is so grateful that they're willing to have his baby.

Finding out that MC was carrying twins just made him even happier. MC had no chance of breaking free of his bear hug (which of course, he was very careful not to squeeze their belly so it was more a side hug).

Spent a lot of time during the pregnancy snuggling up to MC's belly. Anytime the two of them laid down together, he did it. Whether on the couch as they watched a movie together, or in bed together at the end of their day or as he laid with the human as they took a nap. He'd nuzzle their belly and speak soft, sweet words to their babies.

The only time this man shows any negativity about this pregnancy is when his Muffin goes into labor. As it progressed, part of him felt guilty since they were in this pain because of him. He loved their twins and wanted them to be born, but hated that MC had to cry and scream and writhe in pain to make it happen.

When it was finally over and his girls were in the world, being fed by his Muffin, this man couldn't stop watching them. His daughters. Daughters. Devil, they were so perfect to him.

And that was the day where he felt his life could never get any better. His Muffin had just perfected his life with their loving heart and hardwork and the man honestly couldn't be happier. Arsenia and Anais are exactly what he's been missing in his life and his love for them is immeasurable.

Belphegor:

MC...sweetie...this man doesn't like kids at all 😔

After having to deal with Satan as a kid, he has long decided that he doesn't wanna deal with them anymore.

So when MC brings it up to him and asks their boyfriend for a baby, he honestly will not be able to understand why they'd want one.

Yeah, Belphie loves MC, but this would still be a very hard 'no' from him.

Honestly, the only way MC would be able to get a baby from him would be by reminding him of the Incident™️, of him murdering them, and essentially being like 'a life for a life'.

Belphie holds a lot of guilt within him for killing them and whether he realizes it or not, a part of him has been desperately searching for a way to atone so he doesn't have to feel bad about it anymore.

So if this is the way to do it... he guesses that he has no choice.

It's honestly sad. MC really wants him to want a baby too, but can only hope his feelings will change down the line.

When MC becomes pregnant, he understands even less about why they'd want this. Each day, he hears his human in the bathroom, dealing with their morning sickness, and wonders why they want a baby so bad even when they're making them puke their guts out every morning.

Still, he takes care of them. Belphie is a lot of things, but an asshole isn't one of them. He wasn't just gonna knock them up and let MC suffer through it alone. Even if they wanted this, it doesn't change the fact that they're still his Human and that little gremlin making them puke was his kid so he's gotta take care of them.

Doesn't sleep as much as he used to while MC is pregnant. Tries his hardest to stay awake and help them out when needed.

Mostly only naps when they nap and as MC gets farther along, they need plenty of naps.

Finding out MC was pregnant with twins...devil, the man felt like he had the worst luck. He groaned and with it, he hurt his Human's feelings on accident.

He wasn't trying to ruin this for them. He wanted MC to be happy, really he did; all he could think about when he heard the news was how much extra work it was gonna be though. I mean, one baby already demands a lot of time and energy to take care of, but two? Ugh...

Kinda hovered over them during the pregnancy. He just wanted to make them as comfortable as he could, despite the fact that he still for the life of him couldn't understand why they'd choose this for themself. Puking, back pain, exhaustion, weird ass cravings. How was this worth it to the human?

He wanted to understand, but he couldn't and since he couldn't, all he could do was accept it and try to lighten it all for them, if he can.

When his kids kicked for the first time, MC's eyes lit up before they quickly stopped and grabbed their boyfriend's hand.

"Belphie! They kicked! They--" He watched the light drain from their eyes as they deflated. "Oh...sorry, I forgot for a second..."

God, this was the last thing he wanted. The seventh brother put so much effort into trying to make them happy, but they still think he cares so little about something that made them happy, just because it's about their kids?

"Show me."

MC raised an eyebrow.

"Are your sure?"

Belphie sighed.

"Just let me feel it, Butthead."

The human brought his hand to their belly, watching him closely. When he felt a kick, the man's eyes widened.

He didn't really say or do anything at first.

"Belphie?"

He took his hand off their belly, but never let MC's hand leave his. He squeezed it.

"You don't have to avoid things like that with me, Dummy. I'm glad they're healthy enough to do that."

And that was the truth. Belphie was glad his kids seemed to be doing fine. I mean, they're strong enough that he can feel their kicks so that must be a good sign

And most importantly, he wanted his Human to share with him the moments that make them happy because that's the point of all of this; to make them happy.

Devil, was this man anxious when they went into labor. Not that he let MC see that, of course. Like he tends to do with a lot of his emotions, he bottles them up and just focuses on helping his Human.

When his children were born and he watched MC hold them so close, so lovingly...he honestly didn't know what he was feeling, not fully.

All he knew for sure was that these three were depending on him and always would.

It took him a year or two, but he did end up bonding with his kids. Judas and Lilith...being their dad was different than he thought it would be. It wasn't always easy, especially with how much Lilith misbehaves at times, but these are his kids and they love him without limit. The Sloth demon had to admit, such love was just contagious.

The four of them were actually happy. This wasn't just some obligation he had to fulfill anymore; this was a life he enjoyed living and he honestly couldn't remember the last time he could say that before his twins.

#obey me #obey me otome #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me mc

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readerinsertfanfiction · 4 years

Note

Hi! How are you? Remember that fuu and neji scene? Where she wants to be friends with him and holds his hand? And he is so uncomfortable? Well could you write when neji's s/o arrives at the very moment when fuu is all about to kiss neji and she misunderstands the situation and leaves mad at neji, she is hard head so well won't hear him. I need angst in my life. Thank you so much! If it's boring it's ok ignore me! Thanks!

Heya Anons, I have been well. Originally I had you guys separated as two requests, but seeing as I have been procrastinating so much I realised it is more effective to merge them! (by now I have added another request in as well, haha, hello third anon!)

Fandom: Naruto

Character: Neji Hyuuga

Perhaps the two of you were too young to truly understand the hardships of love, or the meaning thereof. The romance that had sparked between two, the attraction you felt to the other, they were just the feelings on which it had started. However, with the distance between your villages, the borders dividing your countries, there was little opportunity for you to meet one another, subjecting you only to a longing, a yearning, a missing of something that might have only been an ideal, a dream of your own.

Neji never had been the most expressive. Nor were you the most forgiving. The missing, the longing, the letters exchanged, you realised that it had cultivated unrealistic expectations, perhaps. The tangle in which you found yourself, the crossroad in which Neji saw himself, there was so much that the two of you passed by, thinking of the other, but never expressed.

“[Name]!”

The male was quick to pull his hands out of the other. A young woman with starry eyes, obviously infatuated with the beauty Neji carried. It was undeniable, even after all this time, you found that you were blinded by his appearance, as radiant as he was, blinded, but also poisoned as you felt a dagger to your heart. When had you held his hands last? When did you have the pleasure of his company and his warmth? The memories wouldn’t budge, the image of the woman holding Neji’s hands so intently, her love declared so loudly, it stung.

“Am I interrupting?”

You knew better than to take that accusatory tone, but the words already slipped past you and your voice had already unmistakably lowered into that icy tone in which you had put many men down before.

“No, you’re not, [Name],” Neji tried to assure you, though it only served for you to feel even worse about yourself, the bile within you building up, spiralling out of control.

“Who are you?” the female that had clung onto Neji questioned, her eyes bright and lively, as if she held no understanding at all to read the mood of the situation. Somewhere a nagging voice told you that of course she couldn’t. After all, someone like Neji had first pick in the herd, who would ever think that his choice of a partner would be you?

“[Name] [Surname], we’re friends,” you introduced yourself, ignoring the way Neji flinched at your words, a frown of his own settling on his face.

You knew you were being unfair and petty towards Neji. Your insecurities were your own and you shouldn’t unleash them on the man, you knew. However, the deed had been done, you couldn’t reverse them and with a pained heart you joined him and the stranger called Fuu.

“[Name], I wish to train with you!”

Hyped as ever the male approached you, eyes brimming and legs positively hopping from side to side as he stared at you in anticipation. “I must observe your special taijutsu more and make it my own!” Lee continued, beaming at you.

Missing your sullen mood entirely the male had reached out to you as soon as you entered the camp, his excitement greater than his ability to sense that something wasn’t quite right between you and his comrade, Neji.

“Don’t think you can do it,” you mused, shifting yourself into a more optimistic mood. Faking a smile you put a hand on your hip, giving the male a challenging look before waving him over to come at you. “After all, you don’t have any sense for rhythm, or a graceful limb,” you continued to tease.

Perhaps a good fight was exactly what you needed. If only to let go of some steam, but mostly to get away from Neji. Taking your position you waited for Lee to charge, your feet swiftly carrying you over into a spin as you evaded the Leaf ninja.

From a distance Neji sat with a blank expression, displeased himself as he watched you spar with his friend. He knew that Lee was safe, that his friend meant nothing by it other than to improve himself. However, the knowledge that the first person you exchanged pleasant words with was with the one that had declared himself Neji’s greatest rival stung.

“Neji?” Tenten questioned, observant as ever as she glanced over to the male. Worry was clear in her eyes as she turned her attention to Fuu, who was oblivious as ever to the damage she had done through her own excitement. Not that the woman was truly to blame, this was a matter between you and Neji alone.

“Hey Fuu, do you want to see something cool?” Tenten proposed, giving her friend a nudge with her elbow as she crawled up. Gesturing for the other to follow, Tenten deftly led Fuu away from Neji, leaving the male alone in his thoughts.

Lee’s attacks were getting more ferocious, his speed catching up to your dance as he started to figure out the patterns in your technique. Fists and feet replaced each other in quick succession, with the idea to throw you out of balance. A goal that he almost met when he finally landed a hit, forcing you into a pause and thus throwing you off your game.

“Enough.”

Warm arms snuck around your stumbling figure as Neji easily caught you, taking a characteristic spin himself to return you to your balance. Lee froze, his leg in mid-air, blinking owlishly at the interference of Neji, whilst you glared up at the male, ready to give the male a piece of your mind.

“Neji, I’m not a dam--”

“I know, but we need to talk.”

His voice had been clipped as he cut you off, his tone curt as he straightened up. “I want to talk, but you decide if that happens now.”

His words were final, and you understood that it was fruitless to continue the petty cold war that went down between the two of you. Heaving a sigh you thus nodded, following the male some distance away from the camp where the two of you could talk proper.

Maybe the two of you were indeed too young to truly understand what it was like to love, especially from a distance as great as two villages in two different countries. Your jealousy, borne from insecurity and from distance. His own anguish, unexpressed, but always lingering. It was a lot to bear and even more to share. There was but one thing you could do, and you were glad that Neji had chosen to do the same for the special bond shared.

#naruto #naruto x reader #neji hyuga #neji #neji x reader #neji hyuuga #neji hyūga

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thanksjro · 4 years

Text

Spotlight: Hoist - This One’s About the Guy I Keep Mistaking for Hound.

It’s time to focus on the straight man. Not, like, straight as in hetero. Don’t get it twisted, Hoist is queer by default just like every Cybertronian in IDW, not that that’s been established in-canon just yet. No, Hoist is the straight man because he’s the grounding line in this issue.

Hoist, as established during Spotlight: Trailcutter, is off the Lost Light currently on a mission. At this exact moment, he’s running from something.

Well, it was nice knowing you, Hoist!

No, he manages to escape Tarn’s grasp by doing some sweet grappling hook drifting using his tow line, and books it for the crashed shuttle that all his fellow mission-goers are hiding out in. Missionaries, if you will. Looks like Swerve left right after Trailcutter hung up on him, so it’s probably for the best that he didn’t get that forcefield around his voice box. Can’t imagine it working at that long a range. Sunstreaker’s here, along with his pet, Bob. Sunstreaker’s feeling a little salty right now, probably because he’s supposed to be the handsome one, and instead he’s got some sort of face thing going on in this issue.

Yeah, nobody looks quite right in Spotlight: Hoist. Then again, maybe I just don’t get Cybertronian beauty standards.

On that note, let’s take a real quick look at our interior artist for this issue, Agustin Padilla. Padilla doesn’t have a ton of work within the Transformers franchise, but he’s worked on some iconic pieces- specifically, MTMTE #16, The Gloaming.

Yeah, THAT one. We’ll get more into his work when we hit that issue, I promise.

Back to the story at hand: Hoist puts on the cloaking device for the ship, hiding them from Tarn, then gripes to Swerve about the scanner scope being a huge friggin’ liar, because it said that there wasn’t a gotdang thing out there, because there clearly is. Swerve is less than thrilled by the prospect of having Tarn in the general vicinity, to the point that he forgets how to talk for a solid .5 seconds. Swerve’s seen the DJD in action, and it’s not pretty.

They’ve got six hours before the cloaking shields drain the power, then it’s goodbye Safetytown, hello Murderville. So, what better way to spend their final hours than by sniping at one another over things like fault and who’s gotten the shortest end of the stick here?

Looks like Perceptor has a pretty strong lead on all the other guys, seeing as his legs have become one with the ship. Hoist’s busy trying to get in touch with the Lost Light, though no one’s picking up. Gee, wonder why.

Swerve is really in a needling mood, as he asks Sunstreaker where his apology is, seeing as he was the one piloting the ship when they crashed. Sunstreaker blows a gasket for a second over the fact that all he seems to do these days is apologize. Hoist manages to calm the situation and change the topic pretty smoothly, as he fiddles around with the internals of the shuttle to try and get the Lost Light’s attention.

Good at multitasking, Hoist is.

We get the backstory on Bob, who Sunstreaker found after Metroplex woke up and decimated the local Insecticon population on Cybertron, almost certainly upsetting the balance of the ecosystem and traumatizing poor Bob. Yes, even our dog stand-ins have trauma in MTMTE. Sunstreaker, in true pet-owner fashion, baby-talks Bob, saying that he’ll bite that big, nasty Tarn if he gets near them, won’t he? Oh yes he will! Yes he will! What a good boy, yes you are!

Swerve isn’t so optimistic.

Well, that’s certainly a sentence I just read with my own two eyes. Really hoping this is a bit of hyperbole, because I’d hate to think just what sort of life Swerve’s led that resulted in him watching a guy triple his size give himself an enema.

Sunstreaker, who knows that Swerve is kind of a massive baby, isn’t terribly impressed with how scared the DJD made Swerve, accidentally strokes the guy’s ego for a moment.

Swerve, completely on the defensive now, lists off the five things he’s afraid of. Hoist butts in to point out the implausibility of Swerve’s fears.

Smash cut to four hours later, and Swerve hasn’t slowed down a bit, having talked to the point that he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it anymore. Sunstreaker’s about had it with this marathon bashing he’s receiving, and suggests that Swerve pick on Hoist for a change. Swerve declines, saying that there just isn’t enough material to work with, because Hoist is boring.

Fun fact, this is his character quote for his introductory paragraph on the Wiki article. He had so little characterization up to this point, this is what they went with. Such is the fate of many of the Transformers who didn’t enter the original 80s cartoon until the second season. Roberts decided to run with it and take the rare opportunity to NOT give someone mental illness so severe and unchecked it’s simultaneously sad and hilarious. Hoist is probably the only dude in the entirety of the IDW run to just be a regular person.

After Swerve confirms that he does in fact know his colors, we blow past another hour, to find Hoist hard at work cutting Perceptor off of the ceiling/floor- Hoist, like most everyone on the Lost Light, is a doctor- as Sunstreaker and Swerve discuss previous scrapes they’ve gotten through. Apparently Sunstreaker fell off a bridge forever ago that was named after a biblical reference, because it doesn’t matter how little you believe in a higher power, you CANNOT escape the pull of the 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜.

Swerve asks Hoist if he has anything to contribute to the discussion, and while Hoist does have experience in near-death situations, he’d really rather not talk about it. Swerve respects his privacy.

Well, he tries.

Hoist indulges our little red and white idiot, because it’ll get everyone the Swerve-equivalent of peace and quiet, and begins his tale.

Long story short, it looks like another hotshot pilot had the same idea as Hoist’s, and things got a little crashy-explodey-everyone’s-deady. Hoist was the only survivor, and had to walk his sorry butt back to civilization. Then the exhaustion set in, and he was forced to sit there, fully convinced that he would die alone in the middle of nowhere.

Once he’s finished with his story, Hoist makes the horrific discovery that Swerve’s been bleeding to death over the last five hours, and failed to mention it.

No, Sunstreaker, he’s honestly just like that all the time.

Swerve’s spark casing has ruptured, which I can only imagine is somewhat similar to having a hole poked in your heart. A problem, to put it lightly. Sunstreaker and Hoist decide that, to keep Swerve from biting it, they’ll take the fight to the DJD, in an attempt to get some sort of transport back to the Lost Light and all the tasty medical equipment on board.

Man, it really is unfortunate that Rung’s still not got a head at this point in the timeline, because Swerve is like a jelly donut filled with self-loathing. God just took a jumbo-sized bakery syringe and jammed it right in there.

Hoist and Sunstreaker ignore Swerve’s protests/pained screaming, and gear up for a fight with what they can find. Hoist manages to make two working crossbows and a butt-ton of arrows, not to mention a couple bowie knives in about five minutes, and they head out to kick some tushie.

The lads split up, keeping in touch via communicators, and Sunstreaker manages to get found by Tarn. He gets his ass kicked, because of course he does- the DJD aren’t famous for their macramé and pies, they’re famous for super-murder and being horny for the Decepticause. As Sunstreaker has the realization that he’s leaving his beloved Bob behind, Hoist finds him. Sunstreaker’s in quite the pickle, because he’s had his chest blown in, and Tarn’s been replaced by Shockwave, Megatron, Sixshot, and Overlord.

This just gets better and better doesn’t it?

Then this happens:

Welp.

Swerve’s theory may hold some water, but we can’t worry about that right now, because Hoist is going to try and fight this bastard. Good luck with that, Hoist.

Yeah, that went about as well as it could have.

Hoist is about to get stomped like a bug, when the Con-biner suddenly phases out of existence. Weird.

Hoist runs back to the shuttle, I guess just leaving Sunstreaker in the middle of that clearing, even though he literally is a tow truck. He returns to find that Swerve’s passed out from blood loss, but Perceptor’s still awake, which is good, because there’s some grade-A bullshit going on on this planet, and we need the smart guy to info-dump for the sake of the plot.

Man, this is such a cool plot device, and I’m so mad it never comes up again after this Spotlight.

So, Tarn and all the big bads that Hoist ran into weren’t real, but projections of his and his team’s worst fears. It was feeding off of Swerve, but now that he’s down for the count, it’ll probably go for either Hoist or Perceptor next.

Then there’s what feels like an earthquake, one so powerful it finally removes Perceptor from the ceiling, letting what’s left of his body fall. Hoist runs outside to see just what the hell’s happening now, only to find Metroplex outside and closing in.

The phobia shields work on sub-sentient creatures too? Good lord, this thing just never stops, does it?

Thinking quickly, Hoist scoops up Swerve and the upper half of Perceptor and bolts for the edge of the cliff their ship is sitting next to. He must have been training for the Robot Olympics or something, because he makes the leap by a large margin, even when weighed down by two limp bodies.

Then he punches Perceptor in the face, knocking him out cold.

Then he commits an act of animal abuse as he knocks Bob out with his tow hook.

Our hero, folks! Let’s give him a hand!

As Metroplex fades out of existence, Hoist remembers that he is not immune to trauma, as he’s forced to sit there, completely alone, until help arrives.

No wonder he got that massive Rodimus Star. What a trooper.

Thus ends Spotlight: Hoist, as well as the Spotlight series as a whole.

So, Swerve may not have much of a read on Hoist, but I figure I can try and take a stab at it. Hoist is… helpful. The entire issue, he’s the one who never stops doing things. If he’s not trying to repair the shuttle, he’s cutting Perceptor out of the floor, or he’s patrolling the perimeter, or trying to defuse the tension between his crewmates, or building weaponry, or punching people in the face for the greater good.

The folks he’s surrounded with for his Spotlight accent the characteristics he lacks- he’s not insanely smart like Perceptor, or strikingly handsome like Sunstreaker is intended to be, or capable of holding a conversation like Swerve. He blends into the background, always has and always will, both within canon and as a character.

He’s just a guy. He’s the guy, a jack of all trades, master of none. And that’s okay.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #spotlight #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing #overthinking about robots

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peter-parcoeur · 4 years

Text

“When you’re gone” - part 3

Post Thanos snap, Peter has to live in a world where Tony Stark is gone. But what happens when Tony’s daughter enters his life...?

Summary + Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Going back to school felt weird.

Though Peter always seemed to struggle to find a balance between his ordinary teenager life and being an Avenger, this time, the wake-up call was hitting harder. His body was definitely walking across the High-School Hall, but his head was somewhere else.

All around him were familiar faces, some looked obviously different after what they all called “the blip” but most of his school seemed back to normal, which was harder to digest as he felt like nothing would ever be the same now that his mentor was gone.

How could he live in a world without Tony Stark?

Luckily, his best-friend was there to show some support and bring random chit-chats back into his routine. Even MJ had given him a hug as she seemed genuinely happy to see him back, but when it should have been the most amazing, unexpected moment of his day, Peter had felt nothing but comfort from catching up with a friend. No tingles at the pit of his stomach, no burning red cheeks, not the usual stiffness down his abdomen. Nothing.

It was like a part of him had died too.

They were all sat in history class when Ned tapped him on the shoulder from behind, his voice filled with some unusual excitement.

“Wow mate, check out the new girl!”

Peter had to roll his eyes and smile at his friend’s typical enthusiasm over the opposite gender. Every time a remotely ‘hot’ girl walked by, Ned turned into a little kid on Christmas Day with a massive sugar rush.

His smile faded as soon as he locked eyes with the girl sitting at the back of the class.

“God” Ned moaned “I would gladly let her step on my face, who’s she?”

“That’s Y/N Stark.” Peter stated as she looked away as soon as their eyes met.

“What do you mean--- Stark? As in...?

- As in Tony’s only daughter.”

Ned was left gobsmacked at this new revelation, quite oblivious to his friend’s sudden change of attitude. Peter looked like he had seen a ghost, writhing on his seat with complete nervousness. He could tell her anger was still running through her blood from the way she avoided his look, but for some obscure reason, he also felt relieved. Now that they had to spend an entire year in the same room, maybe they would get to talk at some point.

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When the bell rang, Peter wisely waited for Y/N to exit the room before he made any move. It had been the longest hour of his entire school experience and he had been sat in chemistry before, listening to Mr. Wyatt spreading bullshits about things Peter himself could teach better.

“You should talk to her” Ned said after being quiet for longer than anyone would expect him.

“I’m not sure she wants me to…

- When was the last time you spoke?

- Her dad’s funeral?

- Yeahhhh…. Ned winced, maybe not the perfect time to have a chat?

- I know, but she seemed so upset

- Dude, her father died, you think she’s gonna give you a lapdance?”

Peter rolled his eyes at Ned’s obvious answer. He couldn’t quite process how he felt about Y/N. Part of him wanted to avoid her at all costs to save himself the embarrassment, but mostly, he wanted to walk down the hallway as confident as possible and just… talk to her. There was this weird attraction between them that made it seems like, somehow, this reunion was meant to be.

“Alright, I’m gonna talk to her” Peter sighed as he caught a glimpse of Y/N grabbing a few books from her locker across the hallway.

His palms were sweaty as he tried his best to brush them to the sides of his pants, air caught in his throat like he was about to give an inspiring speech to a bored audience. Nobody had ever made him feel this way, not even his high-school crush, MJ.

“Hi, Y/N!”

Y/N turned around to see Peter standing there awkwardly, both his hands buried in his pockets.

For a second, it seems like she was about to speak, her eyes daunting him from head to toes. As he stood closer to her face, Peter realized just how much she looked like Tony. She had his eyes, his cocky expression but her slim nose and perky lips were definitely Pepper’s. Her long brown hair was tamed on a sid braid and her ankle boots made her seem taller than him, which was embarrassing enough if she had chosen not to talk to him.

But with the snap of her locker door, she simply turned her back and walked away, leaving him speechless and embarrassed once again.

“Well done, Don Juan!” MJ teased as she walked past him.

On the other side of the corridor, Peter saw Ned biting his lip so he wouldn’t laugh at his misery.

Things were going to be tougher than he had thought.

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Economics was the worst.

Peter and Ned usually discussed any other topic that didn’t involve money and budget throughout the whole course, but today, Peter was just lost in his own daydream, looking out the window with his chin buried into his palm. It was a nice autumnal day, the kind that brought him back to better times where he and his Aunt would start decorating their apartment with Halloween/spooky stuff, their favorite time of the year. It was hard to think that life would go on after the blip but Peter was willing to be an optimistic. Happier days would come.

“Alright, today’s class will be sorely about your final assignment… I want you to pay close attention because this will be half of your grade for the exam.” Mr. Andersen spoke louder so the distracted students could hear.

At least half of the class moaned in complete despair. Mr. Andersen’s assignments were known as chaotic and frankly awful. This one was no exception.

“You will be working as a pair”

Ned smiled brightly at Peter, knowing they would definitely team-up, as usual.

At least it would make it less horrible to be working as a team.

“But don’t get too excited” Mr. Andersen added abruptly as he watched his students stare at each other, building up the usual team partners. “I have written half of the class’s names on papers. These papers I have folded and put in this box so the rest of you can draw”.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” Ned burped out.

“Mr. Leeds, since you seem so pleased, we’ll start with you!”

Mr. Andersen walked closer to Ned and offered him a chance to pick a name inside the tiny white box he was holding. Ned reluctantly picked a piece of paper and pulled a worried face.

“Betty Brant…”

Sitting at the front of the class, Betty Brant looked over her shoulder and gave him an unenthusiastic thumbs up. At least, she was smart, but her good looks would definitely make it hard for Ned to focus on their homework. Shivers ran down his spine at the thought of having a girl in his bedroom, his temple, the architectural equivalent of a Jedi farting the Game of Thrones theme song, aka the shameful natural habitat of the biggest geek.

Things went on as everyone picked a team partner with more or less enthusiasm and soon enough, it was Y/N’s time to draw a name into the box.

She quite obviously hesitated before she composed herself and spoke.

“Mr. Andersen, is there any way I can switch partner?”

“Well, Ms. Stark, what would be the point if anyone just decided who they’d like to collaborate with? I’m sorry you didn’t pick your crush’s name but I’m afraid things are what it is. Now, would you be kind enough to share your designated partner?”

There was a silence before she spoke again, her hand fiddling with the piece of paper.

“Peter Parker”

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“Dude, what are the odds???” Ned squealed as he sat next to Peter at the cafeteria.

It was lunch time and the whole room was buzzing with chatty students and cutlery grazes.

“Yeah, wow, I’m the luckiest guy in the world, am I?” Peter mumbled, still baffled at the complete humiliation he had been given in front of the entire class. The second one that day.

“Now she has no other option than talk to you, think positive!”

“Amazing, it must be as pleasant as being held at gunpoint somehow, I mean… did you hear what she said?” he sighed “Mr. Andersen, can I switch partners?” Peter was mimicking her disgusted tone when Ned gave him the big eyes, nodding towards a point behind him.

“Brilliant, why wasting your time here when you could have a one-man show?” Y/N bluntly stated. Her arms were crossed against her chest, her eyes glued to his face like she was trying to read his soul for some reason.

“Shit, Y/N, I’m sorry I didn’t mean—it’s just—

- Let’s spare us both this conversation, alright? It seems like we’ll have to do this assignment, so… your place or mine?”

Ned couldn’t help but chuckle at the ambiguous comment, but as Peter gave him the dead eye, it was definitely too late to take his nervous laughter back.

“What are you, 12?” Y/N pulled an unimpressed look, eyeballing Ned until he went slightly red. This time, it was Peter’s turn to contain his laugh. Her attitude and comebacks definitely reminded him of the great Tony Stark. In a weird way, it was comforting, like wrapping yourself into a warm blanket in a cold morning. She irradiated with that famous Spark Confidence.

“Whatever suits you best” Peter finally said after what seemed like an eternity of quietness.

“What suits me best is to not be doing this with you but it seems like this isn’t an option, so…”

“Okay, my place then? Peter blurted out all of a sudden

- What time?

- Six thirty

- Good” she turned to Ned “You got a pen?”

Ned fiddled with his backpack and handed her a black ballpoint pen.

“Text me your address” she simply said, writing down her number on a napkin.

She walked away without further word, leaving both Ned and Peter speechless for a while. Peter watched her sit at a table with a bunch of fellow classmates and for a minute, it felt like his brain had stopped to frame-freeze the scene in front of him. Everyone around her seemed captivated, whatever she was talking about. She had inherited that charisma from her father, that ability to catch everyone’s attention in the blink of an eye.

As he stared at her for a couple more minutes, Peter realized this weird, tingly feeling was back at the pit of his stomach.

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@eternaleviee

#tom holland #spiderman #peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland x reader #fanfiction #imagine #tony stark #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman fanfiction #tom holland fanfiction

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soul-music-is-life · 4 years

Note

Imagine if like one of the girls probably spencer is still next door neighbour to em and Ali and Ali is alone when she goes into labor with Sam em is out with the twins or somethin and like she knxoxks on Spencer’s door and she’s like whats up and Ali is like baby coming now I need a drive lol, maybe even ending up having the baby in the car jajajaj

I’ve had a few requests for a Spalison prompt and one very sweet person who offered to even pay me for it. I’m not really great when it comes to exchanging fics for cash, so I’m actually doing this free of charge unless people feel like donating to my Ko-fi.

It’s an Emison within a Spalison within an Emison…AU future-ish prompt? It’s insanely long, so I am posting the full length prompt on Fanfiction instead, but the first snippet is here. Link will be at the end of the snippet.

The “Read More” tag is there for a reason (rating). Just a fair warning. Also, if you’re on mobile, I don’t think the “Read More” works, so if you’re a follower, but not a PLL fanfic reader just scroll past and ignore. :-)

*****

Alison couldn’t move. Her entire body was drenched in sweat. She was panting so hard that she thought she might pass out. She gripped the sheets and cried out, her back arching and her muscles tensing.

She tried to remember her Lamaze exercises as she worked to regain control of her lung functions. Another one hit her and she was right back where she started. She was seeing stars.

She finally got her bearings after a few minutes. Her body relaxed against the mattress.

Emily crawled up from under the covers, a huge smile on her face. She saw the serene look on Alison’s face. She moved up to kiss her, their lips gently meeting for a soft peck. Alison could feel the smugness radiating off of her wife.

“Don’t you fucking gloat.” Alison warned her.

“I told you I could make it a trifecta.” Emily winked at her. She threaded her fingers into Alison’s hair.

When Emily looked at her with such soft affection Alison felt like she was melting. Every time Alison looked into Emily’s eyes she could see her wife falling even more deeply in love with her, and it made Alison feel the same.

Emily had a way about her. She had the biggest heart that Alison had ever seen. She looked at the world in a bright and peculiar way, which is what Alison loved about her. She loved her sunny optimist. The brunette had her dark days, but at her core Emily wanted to believe in the good in the world. It’s one of the qualities that made her such an amazing mother and partner.

“How are you feeling?” Emily kissed the side of Alison’s jaw.

She moved her hand down to Alison’s swollen belly. The baby was a week overdue, and Alison had about had it with their son overstaying his welcome in her uterus. Emily had taken the week off of work because she knew he could come at any moment. And she wanted to make sure they had everything ready for him. She also wanted to make sure her wife’s every need was attended to.

“Normally I’d appreciate all this attention, but I’ve only got so much stamina.” Alison touched Emily’s bare waist.

“I know. But the doctor said that stimulation could help induce the labor.”

“She also said that I should eat spicy foods and walk around a lot, and that just gave me heartburn and made my feet swell.” She pushed her lips out in a pout. They felt bruised and swollen.

“Luckily this comes with minimal side effects.” Emily winked. “Ready to go again?”

“I never thought I’d say this, but my vagina needs a break. I need to recharge my battery. Just plug me in and let me power up.” Alison splayed her arms out and huffed out a sigh.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her head was still spinning. It was amazing that after over ten years of marriage Emily still knew how to take her breath away.

The bed shuffled. Something warm tickled her stomach. Emily’s lips were so tender against her skin that Alison could feel the love in her motions. Alison opened her eyes and smiled down at her.

Emily loved kissing her belly. She loved feeling connected to their son. Emily gently kissed her baby bump again and put an open palm against Alison’s stomach. She peered up at the blonde.

“I can’t wait to meet him.” She rubbed circles against Alison’s skin.

Alison loved how nurturing she was. She had such an unwavering amount of love in her heart, especially when it came to their children. She watched quietly as Emily spoke softly to their baby boy. He usually came to life when he heard his Mama. Alison loved feeling him dance around in excitement, because she felt the same way about her wife. She felt like dancing every time she was in Emily’s orbit.

“Do me a favor and tell your son he needs to vacate these premises immediately.” Alison laid her palm on the other side of her belly. It was hard and tight and still gleaming with sweat.

“You heard your mother.” Emily spoke softly to her unborn son. “It’s time to come out.”

They felt a flutter of movement as the baby moved around. After a few seconds, he was still.

“Now he’s just mocking me.” Alison sat up.

No matter what position she was in she was uncomfortable. The baby felt like he was taking up every inch of her body. She looked down at her stomach. She was retaining water. She frowned.

“I look like a balloon.” She pouted.

“A beautiful shiny balloon.” Emily rolled over and propped herself up on her elbow. “One I must say that I enjoy playing with.”

“Seriously, I’m hideous. How can you find me attractive right now?” Alison poked her belly.

The insecurity had gotten harder for her once the mood swings had started, but Emily never once faltered in her stride. She had watched Alison’s body change and grow, and she was in awe of it.

“Because you’re carrying our son. You’re giving him life.” Emily slowly sat up. She cupped Alison’s cheek. “You…” She pecked her lips, “…are the most beautiful mother…” Another kiss, “…and lover I could have ever asked for.”

Blood rushed to Alison’s cheeks. Her entire body flashed in heat. No matter how low her mood seemed to get, Emily always knew exactly what to say to make her feel better. It was the magic of her wife.

“You’re just saying that so I don’t get sad and eat my weight in pickles and ice cream.” She’d started craving weird things in her seventh month of pregnancy.

“If you want pickles and ice cream I will go out and buy every carton of Ben & Jerry’s and all the Gherkins in the store. You just say the word.”

Alison smiled at Emily’s determination. She knew how lucky she was to have the brunette. Emily had been the calming center in the middle of the chaos of pregnancy. But even before then, Emily had always been sensitive to her needs. She was the most nurturing person Alison had ever met. And she was lucky enough to have her every day for the rest of their lives.

Alison grasped Emily’s cheeks and pulled her in for a kiss. She gently held Emily’s face as their eyes met.

“You’re so sweet.” Alison’s nose brushed Emily’s.

“And you are…” Emily took her time eyeing Alison’s body, “…very aesthetically pleasing.”

“Oh my God, you dork.” Alison fell back against the headboard in laughter. “Who says that kind of thing?”

The teasing smile on Emily’s face slowly faded into a genuine look of adoration. Alison loved seeing the subtle changes in her eyes. Her eyes told the full story of what was going on in her head.

Emily splayed her hand against Alison’s stomach and slowly moved it up against her body. She took her time appreciating her curves. Her palm landed against the side of her neck. Her fingertips curled against the top of her spine. Alison felt sparks of pleasure shooting throughout her entire body.

When Emily touched her Alison could tell that it wasn’t just hormones or pheromones or that they constantly craved one another. It was that her pregnancy had opened Emily’s eyes further to her inner beauty, something Alison had trouble sharing, because it made her vulnerable. But over the years she’d learned to let Emily in. The vulnerabilities that had come with marriage, and especially pregnancy, had brought an additional layer of intimacy between them.

“I mean it, Alison.” Emily reached for Alison’s hand, threading their fingers together. “All I see when I look at you is your strength and your endurance and your sensual prowess. And it’s the sexiest thing in the world. You are always beautiful in my eyes. Always.”

When Emily told her she was beautiful, Alison believed it. She knew that once she was holding her son in her arms, Emily’s son…it would prove to be worth it.

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” Alison put her palm against Emily’s neck.

“I think I heard you shout it a few times in the middle of the first time…”

Alison playfully smacked her. Emily was being so cocky, which she loved. And truthfully, she’d earned the right to be cocky. Because she was amazing in all aspects.

“I’m serious.” Alison slid her hand up against Emily’s jaw, tracing her fingers against her strong jaw line. “You’re so wonderful. I really love you, Emily. I wasted so much time not telling you that. But I want you to know how much you mean to me. I wouldn’t be the woman I am today without you…without your love. You…” She felt a knot in her throat, but she managed to swallow it, “You never gave up on me. After everything I did…you’re still here.”

She blinked back her tears. She’d spent years thinking she wasn’t worthy of love, least of all Emily’s love. But Emily was determined to love her, and because of that Alison was able to open herself up to her love...and she’d been able to return that love to her wife tenfold.

“We’re not kids anymore.” Emily reminded her. “You’re not that person anymore. I’m not who I used to be either.” She reached up and wiped away a trace of a tear underneath Alison’s right eye. “My dad taught me a long time ago that relationships require work, and that when two people are truly in love…” She cradled Alison’s cheek, “There is no such thing as giving up.” She smiled warmly at her wife. “I will always be there for you.”

“Me too.” Alison nodded in agreement. She sighed happily. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You deserve the whole world.”

“I’ve got it.” Emily’s entire world was Alison.

They met for a kiss. It started out innocent. It was slowly becoming something more when an alarm pierced the air and startled them.

Emily rolled over and reached out to grab her phone. Her eyes widened when she saw the time.

“Crap.” She sat up, wrapping the sheet around her body. “I’ve got to pick the girls up from soccer practice.”

“We should make them walk. It builds character.” Alison reached for Emily, trying to pull her back into their embrace.

Emily sat up and leaned over, grabbing her pants off of the floor. She quickly threw her shirt on. She twisted back around and gave Alison a kiss on the forehead.

“To be continued.” She touched her cheek. She put her hands on Alison’s stomach and pressed her lips against her baby bump. “Don’t you dare make your big debut without me.” She ordered her unborn son, not knowing at the time just how foreshadowing those words would be. She looked at Alison. “I’ll be back in half an hour.”

Emily rushed out to go pick up their twins. Alison couldn’t get comfortable in bed. Her back was killing her. She hadn’t slept in days. Emily stayed up with her a lot, giving her massages and trying to help with her discomfort. Alison really felt her absence when she wasn’t around.

She got up and put on a nightgown. She stopped and peered at herself in the mirror. She held her stomach in her hands, observing her side profile. She really couldn’t see what Emily saw in her. She looked bloated, blotchy, and tired. She rubbed her back, quietly deciding that making herself some tea might help with the stiff muscles.

She made the mistake of leaving her phone on her nightstand.

....CON’T BELOW

FANFIC LINK

#Pretty Little Liars #Emison #PLL #Spalison

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nat-writer · 4 years

Text

Hey, there. I need to say that English it's not my first language. I hope I write it the best I could. Hope you enjoy it!. (Follow me in fanfiction: natydont)

It was a moonless night and she could easily see the stars across the sky. She was leaning on the roof of the base. Her eyes were still sore from crying over the Sonny and Bean murders. Because that was it, homicides. She sighed heavily feeling the urge to cry again, although her eyes were already dry from having done so much during the day. Moblit was concerned, but he knew the difference between the "leave me alone" with a tantrum and the "I need time" when she really didn't feel like talking to anyone. Living in a world full of ignorance, fear and hatred were not easy for her, but she hadn't thought about the bad things that were happening around her for a long time. Indeed, they had just suffered from Titans attacks very recently, but having captured those two 'friends' to study their class had given her a spark of hope. Erwin had also placed her trust in the search for some clue that would lead them to the path of truth. Where the Titans came from and how to kill them.

Her eyes, supposedly already dry from crying, became wet again as the pain in her chest deepened. She could hear her mother's voice in the distance.

You have to live, Zoe.

“Hey, four eyes”.

Hanji held her breath when she heard the voice of the leader of the best squad and looked away from where the voice came to quickly wipe his tears. She wasn't in the mood for him to scold her for crying over Titans, not now, when she thought that with Eren alongside with the possibility of becoming a Titan, she might understand them better and finally have a new clue. Something. Whatever. Why was the world taking away her hopes again?

“Levi, what are you doing up at this time? You should prepare for the expedition of a few days and rest as much as you can” –she said while hiding her voice hoarse from crying.

The shorter young man looked at her, assessing the situation. It was obvious that she had been crying, and from what he had managed to investigate with Moblit, she was being careless. She wasn't eating well and was staying away from groups. Mike was worried too, he had said something that her scent was not the same cheerful that he emanated before.

He decided to ignore the question and sit next to her. Hanji still couldn't see his face, she couldn't, she assumed and feared a reprimand for crying over those two monsters she had named it. If you name a monster, you will immediately feel something for it, he thought to himself. He took out a loaf of bread and placed it on her stomach.

"That Moblit can't keep his mouth shut" the scientist mumbled, taking a small bite.

She was very hungry, but every time she thought that someone inside the cafeteria had finished with her dreams, she would get a lump in her throat and immediately left the place.

“Stop being an idiot and eat well. I'm not your father to be taking care of you”.

“And yet, here you are”.

Hanji smiled at him while Levi looked away. As much as people feared him, she knew what a good and sweet person he was. His coldness was just an iron shell so that nothing and no one could affect him, but; After so many years of knowing each other, the young man had opened up to both, Erwin and her and a little to his squad. She was proud of him, so she patted him on the head that Levi quickly slapped away.

“Fuck you, four fucking eyes, I'm not a child and less a dog, don't do that again unless you want me to break your arm”.

She laughed at that and when she took another bite of the bread, the hunger left again. Her gaze was losing brightness and fatigue was taking hold of her again. He immediately noticed and pursed his lips, concerned. They had killed other Titans, but it had never affected her more than now.

“Hanji”.

“Do you think it's worth it?”

Levi looked at her silently. It was the first time in all this time that she had questioned something like this. She looked so lost and hurt. The boy's chest felt like invisible ropes tightening his heart.

"I mean, it's hard to stay optimistic when your own teammates don't believe in you and decide what's best for them in the short term, instead of thinking ahead." She cackled bitterly.

Her partner didn't know what to say. Was it crazy to experiment with titans? Of course, he thought, especially when the scientist took foolish risks, it seemed like more of a game to her than an investigation, and that used to embitter him when she made dangerous decisions. But it was all worth it when she tormented him with her discoveries or when her hypotheses were correct. She loved what she did and had never cared what other people thought as long as she could investigate.

Hanji clenched her hands on her shirt tightly until her fists lost color on her fingers.

“I know it doesn't make sense to many, then why am I so obsessed with the titans? They are so amazing, but I say that and they look at me like I've lost my mind. Some people are obsessed with power and cause much more damage than the Titans. There are those who enjoy torturing or live at the expense of others. It's true that it is dangerous, I never doubted it for a second. That is why I am the one who takes the most risk. I don't force anyone to stay or agree with me. But I thought my peers and subordinates understood that I was doing it to help humanity. I don't deny that it was also to answer my own questions and understand what is happening around me, but someone had to do it. Someone must take risks. We must learn from them or we will die of our own ignorance. But… But they… Sonny and Bean…”. —Tears began to fall down her cheeks, she smiled looking up at the sky. She was pathetic.

“You're right”.

“Eh?”

Levi's response had surprised her. She watched him in amazement. He was looking at the sky too as he wiped his hands from the dust that was still on the ceiling.

“You know very well what I think. I don't agree with having titans alive, every one of them should die... But you're right, you can't fight an enemy that you hardly know. We know their weakness, yes. However, now that we have Eren with us, we realized that you were always right, Hanji. We don't know anything, we are ignorant. And the only person who can get us out of this problem to know what exactly we are fighting against is you”.

Hanji couldn't believe what she was hearing. Levi, the one who had always been against taking risks to capture Titans. The one who got mad at his inventions. He, who thought he would be the last person to bother him something like that. But there he was, agreeing with her. Not only that, but he was also giving her the responsibility of liberating humanity from ignorance. Her heart felt warm and she rose from the ground to hug him. When she felt that he didn't object, she kissed his cheek gently. She broke away and began to eat the bread like a beast devouring its prey.

“Hey, eat slowly. Didn't anyone teach you manners?”

She laughed and continued eating like nothing. She was happy and had just regained her energy. Levi opened his mouth but closed it quickly again. Hanji realized that and knew what he meant.

“I know it wasn't you, Levi”.

He stared at her in amazement. Sure, it wasn't him, but he could feel the stares. After all, he had made it clear how much he hated risking lives unnecessarily with investigations of these titans. Of course, he was a suspect, so why wasn't she suspicious of him?

"It's easy," she said as if she had read his mind. Hanji took his hand smiling at him- “You would never do anything to harm me, less behind my back... You've always known how much they mean to me, and; As much as you have been against, you've never meddled because you trust what I do, you trust in my work”.

Levi was speechless. How could she read him so easily? Erwin; his closest friend still had a hard time deciphering it a few times. But there she was, this crazy woman, reading him as if it were an open book, easy to read. He squeezed her hand and then raised it and kissed it very gently.

“I swear you'll have justice… He or she won't get away with it. Less when it has made you cry”.

Hanji rested his forehead on Levi's head, smiling. She knew that if he said so, he would never surrender until he fulfilled his oath. He was the person she trusted the most.

#levi x hange #levi and hanji #levihan #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #fanfic #hange zöe #shingeki no kyoujin levi

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snarkywrites · 4 years

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Full Moon in Aries: Renewal

The Full Moon in Aries will grace us on October 1st, 2020. It is in the sign of Aries, making it much more memorable and filled with the passion that rules the sign. We are once again prompted to control our temper and to relax a little bit while Mars still does its thing. The benefit of having this transit is that we will be empowered to let go and to accept that changes are not usually all that bad. Courage is a major theme now, so feel the strength building inside but remember not to lash out on others since Mars is also in this sigh. Even though the Full Moon and Mars are not in a tight conjunction, we have the fire of Aries still in full force. This point in the month is a good time to feel bold and experience the bravery of this fire sign because even if the world feels challenging, a little faith in ourselves can truly help us get just a little further. That spark of optimism and courage can truly help us navigate even the darkest of times.

Aries — A new more mature version of yourself will arise during this transit. With this Full Moon in your sign you are seeing the outcome of the work you have put in for the last six months and Mars is making sure to make that happen. There are parts of you that might have made you feel doubt as you witnessed a loss of confidence, but the tides are changing. You see things with new and clearer eyes, a goal that is not muddled and renewed faith in yourself.

Taurus — This will be a transit that keeps you focused and driven to achieve behind the scenes. You feel awakened now with the Full Moon, getting ready to finish the final touches on your projects in order to share it with the world before the next Full Moon in your sign at the end of the month. Use the passion and fuel that will surface in you to get work done. You can create lots of magic now if you structure your time and maintain patience.

Gemini — This month will have things going in a more favorable position with the sun in fellow air sign, Libra. This Full Moon transit is going to make you the center of attention and you will not mind at all. One of the interesting things that can manifest now will be the impact your circle has on your success. Achieving things can come with much more ease here, with Mars putting you on overdrive mode. You will be noticed for your ideas and it will be much easier for you to get plans into action with the help of others.

Cancer — A very important transit with this Full Moon in Aries allowing to see where you are going. If you have success on your mind, this is the time to really see the patterns and the outcome of your efforts. The more you hustled earlier this year, the more credit and recognition you can see now. However, this does not mean it’s time to lounge, there is still work to be done, especially with Mars Retrograde and Saturn direct. The pressure eases next month, but for now you are being noticed and praised.

Leo — You get insight and inspiration now with this Full Moon transit in Aries. There is a renewal of confidence in yourself and what you stand for. Any doubts you felt regarding your path will seem clearer now. Leos will be driven to succeed now, especially with Saturn direct as you notice those obstacles are no longer as scary as they used to be. Although you have experienced some of the upheavals and changes with career and goals, you can use this transit to get onto a new journey.

Virgo — It will be an intense transit for you, as you struggle to try to establish peace with folks you have pushed away. This can also manifest in settling those memories from the past and allowing yourself to break free and move forward. With the Full Moon you can also reach a breakthrough with finances as you find new methods to take care of debt and gain the knowledge needed to make lasting changes. It is also the perfect time to recharge through rest and get yourself feeling renewed.

Libra — One of the more important things that this Full Moon in Aries transit will bring involves getting in touch with who you are as well as those who surround you. This is your time to step out and shine before your New Moon transit. You have the support of friends to root for you now. Abandon what is holding you back. Mars Retrograde is making you come to terms with your potential and your ability to be independent and successful. This has been a tough year but you are noticing the wonderful things you have accomplished and this will help you understand your purpose.

Scorpio — These transits will have you feeling as if you’re in the shadows, but things are flowing for you and your patience will keep you motivated and hungry for success. The Full Moon highlights your routines, and this can be fulfilling since you will be noticed and receive the recognition you deserve for the hard work you have continuously put through. One of the things you have to remember during this transit will be to practice patience. If others frustrate you in the workplace or school, relax and breathe before lashing out.

Sagittarius — Exciting things can happen to you during this month. You can begin to see things in a more optimistic light since you have several fire planets on your side. One of the major things now will be that you are able to analyze yourself as well as those past relationships. The Full Moon will have you producing meaningful content, setting your eyes on greater dreams, and shifting your path for much more success. This can be admitting what you want for relationships and learning from past romantic liaisons as you set your sights for more.

Capricorn — Peaceful moments, however brief they might be will be much appreciated during this Full Moon transit. You are settled in, embarking on a more diplomatic approach with others. When the influence of Mars gets a little hectic, you can channel your energy into creating, building, and preparing from home or work. This Full Moon transit will have you focused on maintaining control and stability as you become the grounding force in your home and career sector. A lot can be produced now but we all must remember to keep our cool since the passion of Aries can make us explode.

Aquarius — With the Full Moon in Aries you are feeling confident in your relationships and will feel a stronger connection with others during this transit. There is renewed optimism in your outlook with Saturn and Jupiter now direct. This sense of freedom will help build your confidence in whatever you choose to embark on. You will even feel inspired to go expand your horizons by learning more about things you were too afraid to before. If you are pursuing romantic changes, the Full Moon can give you the courage to pursue a new relationship or to make declarations of love if you are currently in one.

Pisces — Here you have a wonderful upcoming transit that will alleviate some of the stressors and pressures in your life. You gain insight and courage during this Full Moon. There will be a lot of recognition with what you do now, and it can really help boost your energy since the ambitious side will have you reaching the top. Be patient, plan carefully and continue to show others who is the boss. 2020 has thrown some challenges to you but it has only helped reshape and empower you.

#Astrology #Aries #Taurus #Gemini #Cancer #Leo #Virgo #Libra #Scorpio #Sagittarius #Capricorn #Aquarius #Pisces #Full Moon in Aries

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mageicalwishes · 4 years

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Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (On Tumblr): here

Summary: “I’m egging your house for a dare, but you’re parent is a cop and now they’re yelling at me, so I told them you were my ex and you wronged me, and now you’re coming outside, so please just go along with this, I really don’t want to go to jail” AU.

When Simon Snow agreed to egg some posho’s house, he never thought he’d find himself here - The only thing standing between himself and a criminal charge, the word of a handsome stranger.

Chapter: 6/7

Words: 7,418

Finally done with Chapter 6! Sorry for such a long wait, this chapter was a pain. A lot goes down, though - So, I hope you feel as though it was worth the wait :)

Baz

Staring into my reflection, I fiddle with my hair, desperately trying to smooth out a particularly disobedient wave. Realistically, it doesn’t matter (From the persistent tangle of Snow’s curls, it’s fairly apparent that he doesn’t mind the messy, untamed look), but it feels important.

Clicking my phone, I check the time once more. 11:07 - Seven minutes late, typical.

We haven't met up since whatever happened last time, and I’m anxious to get the potential awkwardness of seeing him again over with, as soon as possible. We completely ignored it over text (Since he never brought it up, and I wasn’t exactly thirsting to accidentally expose my idiotic crush), but I'm not sure when can do the same face-to-face. I mean, surely it'll be more difficult to just pretend it never happened, confronted with the face of the memory, in real life. Although, despite the optimistic spark of hope buried deep within my gut, I doubt it really meant anything to him - So, maybe it won’t.

Either way, I just wish that he’d get here soon. The anticipation is killing me.

————————————————————————————

Just as I’m about to call and berate him, the doorbell rings.

Scrambling over to the door, I swing it open, pitifully enthusiastic.

“What time do you call this then?”

“Dunno,” he smiles, stepping inside. “I bought scones, though. So I think I’m worthy of forgiveness.”

My pulse slows at the sight of him, the trepidation thrumming throughout my body cooling. Bright and smiling, he’s the same Snow as always. So, it seems that, despite it all, nothing is weird. Just as I suspected. Which is good, obviously (I mean, I didn’t want to ruin what we have), although, somehow … Mildly disappointing, too.

Risking a lingering glance, I take him in, appraisingly. It’s immediately apparent that he’s made an effort with his appearance today - Although, I consciously avoid thinking too deeply about why that is, knowing that my love-plagued mind would only lead me down the dangerous path of wishful thinking. He’s obviously attempted to brush his hair, which, going by it’s strangely loose, fluffy appearance, was a remarkably stupid idea. And he’s sporting a simple, white shirt. Objectively speaking, it’s a little too tight for him, the fabric pulling obscenely against the swell of his chest (Although, personally, I can’t say I object).

He’s a sight to behold - A little dishevelled, perhaps, but no less wondrous. I'd lavish in it all day if I could, although, conscious of getting caught, I tear my eyes away from him, reluctantly, and stare down at the floor, instead.

“Now that … Is entirely up to me, Snow,” I drawl. “And, I’m not convinced that a packet of scones is enough to earn you my forgiveness, especially considering that this isn’t your first offence.”

“Offence,” he snickers, bitterly. “I’m ten minutes late, at worst!”

Showily, I lift my wrist to glimpse at my watch (It’s set at the wrong time, so is, in reality, useless - Although, I won’t tell him that).

“Twenty three, actually.”

He glares at me, and murmurs something incoherent under his breath (Probably a swear word. He always resorts to those, when he’s frustrated), so I decide to ease off. He's only been here a minute - And there really is no need to do all of our bickering now.

“Come on up, though,” I call, biting back a laugh, and padding up the stairs - The heavy clunk of Simon’s stomping, following behind me, momentarily. “I’m sure you can make it up to me somehow.”

————————————————————————————

“Just to let you know, I like talking while I’m watching movies.”

“Oh god,” I groan. “I should've known, you’re one of those people. Why didn’t you warn me?!”

“I just did, you pillock!”

“Yes - As I’m putting the bloody disc in! That doesn’t give me enough time to mentally prepare for your onslaught of meaningless commentary, Snow!”

“Hey! It’s not meaningless! I’ll have you know that I’m very perceptive ... I’m sure that my commentary will only enrich your movie-watching experience.”

I raise my brow, entirely unconvinced. If he was really so perceptive, I doubt that we’d be spending the day watching Pride and Prejudice - Considering that there are many other things I’d rather be doing with him, right now.

“You're such a liar,” I tease. “You best not just sit there spouting a bunch of useless crap, and claim your being insightful. If your chatter gets to be too much, I retain the right to clobber you, you know - So be warned!”

Apparently at a loss for words, he sticks his tongue out at me - His nose scrunching up, sweetly, as he does. Oh god. I even find that pathetically childish display endearing. Clearly, I’m disturbed - I mean, poking his tongue out, seriously? I'm in need of some serious correction.

Sucking in a breath, I try to push Snow out of my mind - Which is an undeniably big ask, considering that he’s sat barely a metre behind me, laid out on my sofa, grinning to himself, boyishly. So it’s no surprise that, I fail - My mind trailing off into thoughts of whether Snow’s chest is as freckly as the rest of him.

I sigh, frustrated. I’ve had crushes before, obviously (I mean, Rhys from Year Eleven Maths was an absolute God), but none have been quite as virulent as what I have for Snow. Nobody else has ever consumed my thoughts, so entirely. Nobody else has ever made my heart stutter, so dangerously. Nobody else has ever …

I seriously need to stop. He’s barely been here half an hour, and I’m already subsiding into a hormone-fuelled madness. If I keep this up, it's going to be an insufferably long two days.

————————————————————————————

True to his word, Snow has managed to ramble over pretty much every scene, so far (With an unhelpful 'He sounds like Snape!' here, and a 'Her legs must be super tired, if she walked all that way!' there).

The urge to throttle him (or shut him up another way) was certainly growing. Although, beneath the seething anger, I must admit that his menial observations were somewhat winsome.

We’re about three-quarters of the way through the movie, when Snow flops down onto my leg, with a dramatic puff - His cheek pressing against my thigh, heavily.

Suddenly tense, I clench my hands into fists by my side, and try to refocus on the movie.

“He’s cute isn’t he? I like that guy,” he mumbles, his voice slightly muffled against the fabric of my jeans.

I glance down at him. He’s staring up at me, his blue eyes bright, and his lips curved into a soft smile.

“Really?” I ask, my tone laced with judgement.

“Yeah? You don’t think?” He asks, his brow furrowed deeply. His forehead folds into small crinkles, and for a mad moment, I imagine reaching out and smoothing them out with my fingertips. I don’t. Obviously. But, I could. He’s right there - Within my reach. It wouldn’t take much (Except a level of confidence I simply don’t have).

Pathetically, I look away, unable to hold his gaze any longer (My treacherous face, already flushing with heat).

“No. I never said that-” I scoff.

I didn’t say that, because it’s objectively untrue. He is, as Snow so eloquently put it,'cute' - His hair ruffled excellently, and the hint of a dimple popping each time he smiles (Just like somebody else, I know). And while he is, undoubtedly, a blithering idiot, somehow, on him it’s charming. So ... It would be unfair to call him unattractive.

“- He’s … fine. But this is a very emotional scene, Snow. I thought you might have more to say than 'He’s cute'. I pity your English teacher, if that is your level of analysis!”

“Oi nah! I got a B in English. And my teacher loved me! She gave me a homemade cookie on the last day, and everything - Only a few people got that! So don’t be a bellend!”

“Sure she did,” I taunt. “I mean a B … That certainly is impressive. I got an A star, but -”

I’m interrupted by Snow jabbing his fist into my thigh, as hard as he possibly can, his knuckles digging into the muscle, sharply.

“Fuck off, you arrogant tosser!” He gruffs.

I laugh, despite myself - Embarrassingly loud and cackling.

“Ow, dick! You didn’t have to hit me so fucking hard,” I whine, snapping my head down towards him, and swatting at his arm, teasingly.

“You deserved it.”

“I know, I know,” I laugh. “I’m only winding you up though - A B is a perfectly good grade. It’s just funny to watch you pout ... If it’s any consolation, I only got a C in DT. My shitty attempt at a table fell apart before it was graded, so the coursework sort of tanked my grade. It’s my greatest shame. I told everybody else I got an A, so you're the only one who knows the truth.”

He beams over at me, his tongue pressed against his front teeth, goofily.

“Really? Well … That is unfortunate. I got an A star. But I guess we can’t all be so talented.”

I glare down at him, my face twisted into the cruellest scowl I can muster (It’s a fairly weak effort, though, but, in my defence, he does look adorably happy when he’s pleased with himself).

“Oh ha ha. So hilarious,” I drone. “Just shut up and watch the film, you numpty!”

With an over-exaggerated huff, he rolls his head back towards the screen, his weight shifting against my leg, warmly.

Unobserved, I smile down at him, the movie significantly less appealing than the sight of him beneath me - His curls swept to one side, and his face smushed slightly where it’s pressed against me.

He doesn’t look back up at me after that.

I try not to let it bother me.

————————————————————————————

I leave Simon playing Fortnite alone, to go to fetch our dinner (He’s better at it than me, anyway).

“Hello, you,” Daphne smiles, scooping a mush of baby-food off of one of the twin’s chins (I find it impossible to tell them apart when they’re not in their colour-coordinated clothing, although she always manages to, somehow). “Your dinner is in the oven- I wasn’t sure how long you’d be, so I thought I’d keep it warm. There’s dessert in there, too … If you’d like. Your favourite.”

I scrunch up my face, awkwardly.

“Cheers.”

“No problem. So … How is it going? How's Simon?”

“Good,” I drawl, suspiciously. “We’re only playing on the PS.”

“Okay,” she shrugs. "I was just wondering.”

I turn, scrambling with the casserole dishes, and hurrying over to the door, hoping to nip this mortifying line of conversation in the bud.

“Hey what!” Mordelia shouts, finally looking up from her plate. “How come he gets to eat in his room? That’s not fair! If he gets to, why don’t I?”

I falter, my hand on the door - Freedom laying tantalisingly close.

“Because,” I spit. “I have a friend over. When you have friends over, I’m sure Mum will let you, too.”

Daphne nods in confirmation. “Let Basil get on with his dinner, Mordie.”

She crumples up her face, angrily, apparently dissatisfied with the idea. Oh, Christ, here we go!

“Does Dad know about your friend?” She presses, an sinful tinge to her voice.

My shoulders drop, instantly. Shit. Of fucking course.

“Don’t tell him,” I command, sternly.

“Why not?”

I press a fist to my forehead, in irritation.

“He doesn’t like my friend. Okay?”

“Why?” she coaxes. “Are they a girl.”

“No,” I sigh. “Obviously not. Look, I really don’t have time for this. Just … What will it take for you to keep your mouth shut?”

She grins, manically. Even though she’s just a child, she’s already worryingly devious (I suppose, in that respect, she takes after me).

“You … Have to help me with my violin practice, this week,” she chirps.

I think of her horrifically, screechy 'playing' with dread, and look over to Daphne for help - Her perfectly painted lips, pulled taut, into a poorly suppressed smile. For God’s sake!

While I do enjoy spending time with her, I’d really rather skip the whole violin tutorial element of her bargain. Although, I suppose, a short-term earache, is a small price to pay for avoiding Father’s acrid disapproval.

So, loathfully, I agree - Storming out of the kitchen, and jogging back upstairs, in a rush.

————————————————————————————

Simon

I peek a glance around Baz’s head, staring over at the casserole dish on his dresser.

“Do you normally have dessert?” I ask, innocently, shovelling the final spoonful of Shepherd's pie into my mouth.

“Not normally, no,” he laughs. “Although, I made sure that Daphne made one, especially for you. Which I think you may have suspected, given that you’ve been gawping over at it for the last five minutes."

I scrub the back of my neck, and chuckle awkwardly, embarrassingly exposed.

He flashes me a smile, mercifully free of mocking.

“I can get you a serving now, if you’d like?”

I definitely would like. Although, Baz still hasn’t finished his main - So, I should probably wait (Penny said it’s rude to make people feel like they have to rush their meal).

“Oh no. It’s alright,” I murmur. “I’d rather wait a minute.”

A knowing smirk spreads across his face, and an eyebrow raises, suspiciously.

I wish that I could do that - The eyebrow, thing. I tried practising it in the mirror the other day, but I didn’t look all cool, and elegant like him … I just looked like a constipated twit.

“You don’t have to wait for me to finish, Snow,” he beams, his voice alluring velvety. “If you’re hungry now, then I’ll serve you up a bowl - It tastes better warm, anyway.”

“Okay,” I chirp, contented. “That’ll be perfect. Thanks.”

Siding his plate off of his lap, he stands, treading over to the dresser, and spooning the pudding into a bowl for me.

I try not to stare at him (I’ve been trying all day), but it’s proving increasingly difficult.

He hasn’t tied his hair up today - Leaving it free, draped in loose waves against his face. And, he’s dressed more casually than I’m used to - Having opted for a navy-blue T-shirt (Rather than his usual boxy button-ups). But, in spite of his more dressed-down style, he still looks ridiculously expensive - His jeans dark, and perfectly fitted, and a thin, silver watch glimmering against his thin wrist.

“Here you go,” he says, thrusting the bowl into my hand.

Excitedly, I snatch it out of his hand, and peer down into it. The look of it catches me off guard - The bowl filled to the brim with a mildly peculiar looking, light brown, slush.

Confused, I scrunch my face up.

Baz sighs, rolling his eyes upwards, exaggeratedly.

Fuck. That was definitely rude of me.

“It’s nothing sinister, Snow,” he assures. “Don’t worry. If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn’t waste a perfectly good dessert, on it. I’d just spike one of your scones, or something.”

I school my face back into an uncertain smile. God, I’m such a dick.

“No, no, sorry,” I stumble. “I didn’t mean to do that. It’s not bad. I mean … There’s nothing wrong with it. It smells delicious. I just … Don’t know what it is. That’s all.”

“Om Ali,” he shrugs.

I still have legitimately no idea what he’s talking about, but I decide to just drop it. I wasn’t lying, it really does smell nice - So I suppose that it hardly matters what it actually is.

Clearly, he sees right through me, though - Rolling his head backwards, and scoffing, dramatically.

“It’s sort of like … A Bread and butter pudding. Just with proper flavour ... It’s Egyptian.”

“Oh, I see,” I say, smiling, and digging my spoon into it. “Are your family like … Egyptian then?”

“Yes, Snow. My family are 'like' Egyptian,” he drones. “Well, my Mother’s side are, anyway.”

I really am excelling at making a twat of myself, today.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean for it to sound … I was just - Sorry. Is that your mum, then?” I ask, pointing over to the field of photo frames. “The lady in the pictures?”

“It’s fine,” he laughs, his gaze following my finger. “And, yes … That’s her.”

“She’s pretty.”

He raises his eyebrows, smirking suggestively.

“Not like that!” I splutter. “Ew, no! I just mean ... You look like her.”

“Yes, well, funny that - That is how genetics tend to work, Snow”

“Sod off!” I grunt. “You know what I mean. You look nothing like your dad.”

“I know, thank the merciful gods! Could you imagine if I'd inherited those non-existent cheekbones … That would be a tragedy of unparalleled proportions!”

I beam over at him, my eyes scrunching half-shut, as my cheeks force themselves upwards. He’s being completely ridiculous, but I still find myself stupidly endeared.

He looks up at me, then, and catches me smiling.

“Just get eating, you divvy,” he chastises, scowling at me fiercely. “You barely breathed between mouthfuls, earlier, and now, suddenly, you’re Mr. Chatterbox ... It really is nicer warm, you know.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice - Plunging my spoon into the bowl, I scoop up the largest mouthful possible, and take a bite. It’s slightly unusual (And much crunchier than I was initially expecting), but so, so good - Filled with intoxicatingly sweet coconut and raisin.

“Oh my god,” I moan, unable to find the words to convey how fucking delicious it is.

He simpers over at me, clearly pleased with himself (Even though he didn't make it).

“I know. I did tell you it was good … It was actually my favourite dessert, as a kid. My mum used to make it for me every Saturday, as a treat.”

“Does she still make it for you?” I ask, the words slurring in my food-stuffed mouth.

Something awful flashes across his eyes, the smug look wiped clean from his face, immediately. Oh, God. What have I done now?

“Uh no. Not anymore,” he mumbles, staring down at his bedsheets, blankly. “My mum, she ... Passed away when I was around five. Car accident.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m such a moron. I’d just assumed his parents were divorced, and that his mum lived in some other mansion, down the road, or something. Not that. I never even considered that.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe.

“It’s alright. You weren’t to know.”

“I know, but still … I really am sorry.”

“Hey. Come on now, Snow. There’s no need to get all gloomy,” he smiles. It’s a shadow of his proper smile, hollow and painted-on - Although, I can hardly fault him for that. “I didn’t 'go all awkward' on you, the other day, so don’t do it to me. That would just be terribly hypocritical, of you!”

“Okay. I won’t. Promise.”

We sit in silence for a while after that.

I occupy myself with the dessert, while he just sits there, scraping his fork over the top of his mash, aimlessly. Regretfully, I think that my line of questioning may have killed his appetite. But, I’ve still got some scones left, so if he gets hungry again, later, we can just share those.

I snatch a glance at him, in my periphery vision. He’s got his brow tugged down, and he's scrunching his lips up on either side of his face, alternatively.

I’m pretty sure he’s thinking, so I just sit there munching, quietly - Patiently, waiting for him to speak (I've learned my lesson. Anything I could say, would probably just make matters worse).

He clears his throat, with a stifled cough, and then he’s talking again - His voice, barely a whisper.

“When Daphne found out about it (The dessert thing, I mean), she bought herself some Egyptian cookbook, and taught herself how to make it. It’s not quite the same, since my Mother used some family recipe she had memorised, but … It still reminds me of her. It was lovely of her, really, but, when I was little, I used to get so mad at her for making it. I’d always pretend that I didn’t want it, but when I thought everybody was asleep, I’d always sneak downstairs and steal myself a bowl. It makes no sense, but I just - Always thought that she was … Trying to replace her, or something. And, you know, nobody could replace her. Not ever.”

He looks at me then, his grey eyes stormy, and flooded with tears. His lips pulled into a hard, stony frown, and his jaw taut with tension.

I gulp, miserably. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t mean to upset him - I’d never mean to upset him. I just … Wish I’d never said anything.

Leaning forwards, I grab his hand - Slotting our fingers together, and squeezing lightly, in an attempt to comfort him. I’ve never really been the best at physical affection (Being unused to it, it always made me feel clumsy, and weird. Sort of like my skin didn’t fit right), but it’s easier with him. Everything is easier with him.

He smiles, meekly, clenching my hand back, and pressing on with what he has to say.

“One day, when I was around fourteen, I confronted her about it. I was properly awful, screaming at her in the kitchen like some spoiled brat, throwing it all right back in her face. But, you know, I was … Well, I don’t know what I was. Just … Not good. I hadn’t been for a long time, either, so I just - Snapped. Accusing her of trying to replace Mother, and yelling at her for even daring to make it. I went so far as to say that she did it on purpose, just to upset me. I mean, can you imagine?”

He snickers, mirthlessly - Wounded, and weak.

“I probably deserved a slap, to be honest, but she didn’t even raise her voice. She just hugged me - Even after I tried to fight her off ... Eventually, I just gave up, and sobbed against her chest. It was all very dramatic, and I can’t imagine how pitiful I must’ve looked. But, afterwards, I felt … Better. Not fixed. I don’t think I can ever be fixed. Something like that, I don’t think that it ever goes away - Not fully, anyway. But, I think that … At that moment, that's what I needed the most - To just … Let go. It had been a long time coming.”

I nod my head, affirmatively, just to let him know that I was still listening.

“Later on, when I’d calmed down a little, she told me that she knew that I used to eat it, secretly - That she’d always known. She apologised (Even though she really had no reason to), and explained to me that she was only trying to help. I think that, deep down, I’d always known that ... I just wanted somebody to be angry at. And you know what’s funny?” He asks.

I shake my head.

“Nobody else in the house even likes the bloody thing! She used to just throw a few portions in the bin, so that I’d feel safe to go and steal mine (Under the impression that, nobody would notice a little bit extra going missing).”

I smile, cautiously, tracing a finger against the inside of his palm.

“I was so cruel, Snow. So bitter, and broken, that I’d torn her apart, when all she wanted to do was help me. I didn’t speak to her for days, after that. I mean, how could I, after I’d been so awful to her? And, I stopped eating the Om Ali, all together. I didn’t deserve it, anymore - Didn’t deserve the joy that it brought me. I thought … If my Mother could’ve seen me, she’d have been so ashamed of what I’d become - Of who I’d become. Like I said, it was always intended as a treat - And ... Bad people don’t deserve good things -”

I interrupt him then, unable to listen to him berate himself, further.

“Please don’t say that, Baz,” I plead. “I know, I don’t know her, but … It’s obvious she loved you, dearly. She would’ve understood. It was a mistake. You’re not a bad person, you were just … Hurting.”

He nods, wordlessly. I don’t know if that means he agrees, or he’s just acknowledging what I said, but he clearly doesn’t want to speak - So, I don’t ask.

“She still made it, every few weeks or so, in that hopes that I’d crack. She even still threw half of it away! And then, you know, on my mum’s birthday she snuck one up into my bedroom, for me. She looked so hopeful, and I just wanted to make her happy, again - So ... I took it. I gorged myself that night - Ate the whole thing, in one sitting (I’m surprised I didn’t hurl, to be honest).”

He lets out a watery laugh, then, his eyes damp, but a slight, genuine smile breaking across his face. Hesitantly, I mirror him, grinning back, shyly.

He huffs in a shaky breath, and grips my palm tighter.

“It was amazing. I'd denied myself it for so long, as a sort of penance. And I still wasn’t sure that I actually deserved it, but it was so, so good to finally have it back. To have a piece of her back.”

I stare at him, unsure of what to say.

“Anyway,” he laughs, his voice splintered. “I don’t even know why I’m even telling you all of this … There’s me lecturing you about getting gloomy, and then I go and start bloody weeping! Do forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I shrug. “I like … Knowing about you. I want to know things about you.”

“I see … Well, I promise you that the rest isn’t so dreary.”

“Even if it was, I’d still want to hear it. It’s still you.”

He smiles properly then, the reddened skin surrounding his eyes crinkling, slightly.

“Yes, well,” he murmurs, tearing his hand from mine, and reaching up to scrub at his eyes. “We’ll save all of that for another day. Want to play some FIFA, or something? I fancy beating you again.”

Truthfully, I don't, and I don't think that he does either - But, I can tell that he needs the distraction, so I agree.

I mean, there are definitely worse things to do.

————————————————————————————

We’ve been playing for about two hours, when Baz flops back against the sofa, dragging his hands down his face, tiredly.

“I’m going to go and get ready for bed,” he sighs, his voice still a little rough from earlier.

Despite my initial reluctance, I don't want to stop playing. I mean, it’s only just gone Ten, and I’m finally winning - Four matches to two (I may, or may not have, forced the lads to play with me everyday, since I last saw him, as practice).

“But I-”

“Hey,” he interrupts. “Quit complaining. I saw you yawning, Snow. We can play more tomorrow.”

Displeased, but unwilling to argue, I nod my head. I suppose that, as long as he doesn’t actually intend to go to sleep right now, it doesn’t really matter - Mostly, I just want to talk to him (Beating him at his own game while doing so is just a nice, little bonus).

“I’ll be fifteen minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” I sing.

I don’t trust that timescale, for a second - But, I’ll tease him about that later.

————————————————————————————

Unsurprisingly, he takes ages in the bathroom (Even though all he really needs to do is brush his teeth).

When he eventually reemerges, the familiar scent of Cedar and Bergamot fills the room, although that is not what I pay attention to. What I pay attention to, is what he’s wearing - A set of long, silky, maroon pyjamas, decorated with a deep blue piping.

I let out a wild cackle, clapping a hand over my mouth, in a failed attempt to try and contain it.

“What?” He asks, indignantly. “What the fuck are you laughing at?”

I pause, still desperately trying to stifle my laughter.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

“Pyjamas,” he deadpans, scowling slightly.

I laugh, gesturing toward him vaguely.

“But I mean … Really?”

“Yes really, Snow. Why? What do you wear that’s so much better?”

“Boxers,” I shrug.

He snaps his head down towards the floor, clearly embarrassed.

Whoops. I sort of forgot about that, to be honest. It probably would’ve been polite to bring a pair of trackies to sleep in, or something (Even though, they'd only make me overheat).

“Right well … I get cold. So, I wear clothes, like a normal person … Now quit being a prick, and go and brush your teeth.”

“Okay, grandpa” I giggle.

He shoots me a warning look, his eyes piercing into me, fiercely.

Alarmed, I dart towards the safety of the en-suite, slamming the door behind me, and guffawing absurdly.

“Stop laughing right now, you nightmare!" He shouts, bashing against the door, angrily. "Or else, I’ll make you sleep in the garden!”

————————————————————————————

Luckily for me, Baz didn’t actually make me sleep outside. Although, the spare room he does put me in, is hardly any better.

It’s bitterly cold, and the bed is covered in these horrific, carved gargoyles, whose eyes stalk me around the room (Well, maybe not, really - But it definitely feels like they do!).

I thought he was having me on, at first, but one look at his stupid, smug face, showed me that he was (Unfortunately) deadly serious.

I’m just about to text him to voice my complaints (Manners be damned!), when I hear it - An awful, shivering wail. Because, of course, out of all of the rooms in this shithole, Baz just had to put me in the one that's fucking haunted!

Petrified, I bury my head beneath the starchy, old duvet, and pray for safety.

————————————————————————————

Baz

It’s barely twenty minutes before there is a timid knock at my door. My little plot having, seemingly, worked perfectly.

Smiling to myself, I pad over to the door and pull it open as quietly as I can manage (It still creaks, gratingly, but I at least tried).

And there he his - Simon Snow. Standing on my doorstep, his hair mussed, and a blanket pulled over his shoulders like a cloak (Apparently, he wasn't kidding about the boxers thing, then).

He looks a little ridiculous, to be honest, but that doesn’t stop the swelling in my chest.

“Your house is haunted,” he whines.

“No it isn’t, Snow. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just old.”

“Nu-uh … It’s haunted. There were all these creepy wailing sounds.”

“That’ll be the pipes,” I deadpan. “Somebody probably just ... Used a tap, or something.”

“Well … It’s weirdly cold in there - Like there is a ghostly presence.”

I shake my head, amused.

“Yeah, that's down to the practically non-existent central heating. Like I said … The house is old.”

“Whatever,” he huffs. “Can I just … Sleep in here, with you. I’m too creeped out to go back in there, alone!”

I roll my eyes in faux displeasure, and step to the side.

“Come on in then, coward. I’ll protect you from that dastardly pipework.”

“Just shut up,” he mumbles, shuffling into the room, and plopping himself down onto my bed.

He stares down at his hands, picking at his nails, savagely.

“Do you - Do you want me to sleep on the sofa, or something?”

My throat constricts, purposelessly, as I swallow down a nervous lump. I definitely didn’t think this through, properly.

“Up to you,” I drone, moulding my voice into a cool, nonchalance.

“It might ... Be warmer if we’re both in your bed,” he breathes, his voice so quiet that it’s barely audible.

“Sure. That makes sense,” I shrug. “Just get in, then.”

Tip-toeing across the room, I slide into bed besides him, and stare up at my canopy, expressionless.

“Baz,” he whispers, turning his body to face mine.

I mimic him, immediately - Rolling onto my side, to face him. His eyes are wide, with barely a slither of blue still visible - His pupils fully dilated in the dimness of the room.

“Hmmm,” I hum.

“Do you like ... Anybody?”

I puff out a breath, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Yes, Snow. Obviously, I like some people.” I answer, tartly.

“No, you dick. You know what I mean! Do you … 'Like like' anyone?”

“Oh wow,” I sneer. “'Like like', Really? What are we twelve? I can go and fetch Mordelia, if you’d like. I’m sure she’d be very interested in this conversation.”

“Just answer the question, you knob,” he groans, shoving the hell of his palm into my shoulder blade, painfully.

“Alright, alright,” I laugh. “Yes, Snow. I 'Like like' someone … How about you?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, his eyes fluttering shut, and a soft smile gracing his face.

My stomach twists uncomfortably, as bitter jealousy pulls at my gut.

“What’s he like, then? - The guy you like.”

I scan my eyes across his face, taking him in properly - His stubby, bronze lashes, the slight rosy tinge of his full cheeks, the perfect constellation of moles that adorn practically every inch of skin. He’s perfect. Indescribably perfect.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, my voice pinched.

He opens his eyes then, beaming over at me, cheerfully. My chest swells, pitifully, at the sight of him. Drenched in moonlight, he’s the Sun - Bright, and warm, and beautiful. And, painfully untouchable.

“You must know,” he titters.

“Well, yes. Obviously. They’re just - It’s just hard to put into words.”

“Oh wow! The great Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch speechless, they must be special!”

“They are,” I reply, thoughtlessly.

His eyebrows jump upwards, clearly shocked by my earnestness.

“I see,” he drawls. “And have you known Mr. Special long?”

My heart stutters within my chest. I'm walking on dangerously thin ice, here.

“No. Not really. How about you? Have you known your person long?”

“Guy,” He rushes, his tone urgent. “They’re a guy,”

“Okay,” I whisper. “Have you known your guy long?”

“Nope. But, that doesn’t really matter … Does it?”

“Not really, no … I don’t think so, anyway.”

He smiles softly, then, but his brow quickly follows, furrowing conflictingly. He looks - Well, I don’t know how he looks. Disappointed? Pained? Worrying his lip, he screws his eyes shut, firmly.

My eyes dart across his face, madly, desperately trying to read him.

“Snow,” I call, poking a finger to the inside of his wrist. “Are you alright?”

Opening his eyes slowly, he sucks in a breath, and lifts his lips, weakly.

“I’m good. It’s good. I’m just -”

He sighs, frustrated, tugging at the curls that lay over his forehead, roughly.

“I don’t know. I just … Don’t know how to say it.”

I nod slightly, my pillow crinkling beneath me.

“Okay. Just take your time.”

"I don't think - I mean, I don't think that rushing is what's wrong. I can ... Maybe try and show you, instead. If you'd like?"

“Sure?” I answer, my voice creeping with uncertainty. “Whatever is easiest for you.”

Trembling slightly, he reaches forwards, timidly, and carefully tucks a wave of hair behind my ear.

My breath stills, as my treacherous body tenses up, defensively.

“Okay?” he whispers.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

He huffs out a breath, relieved, and reaches up, laying his hand against my cheek, properly. Tracing his thumb along the high-point of my cheekbone, softly.

His eyes trail downwards, tantalisingly slow - His gaze, impossibly hot, as it lands on my lips.

My heart skips a beat - A momentary break, from the insistent careening of my pulse.

I don’t really know what I’m thinking anymore, my mind trapped in a useless haze.

It’s completely overwhelming - Being looked at like this, being held like this. Like I’m something precious. Like I’m something worthy. Like I’m something … Loveable.

He must know - Surely, he must see it. His touch rendering my utterly defenceless, it must be written all over me, the truth of my affections tattooed across my skin, clear as day.

He’s right there, his face mere inches from mine. His hand resting against me, warm and reassuring.

I think I might do it. Just forget words, forget an explanation, forget caution, and just do it. Just end this exhausting charade and kiss him.

“Simon, I -”

And then he kisses me. Surging forwards, and crashing our lips together desperately.

For a moment, I freeze, stunned into stillness by the newness of it all. But then, instinct takes over, and I’m kissing him back - Sliding my lips against his, hungrily.

I have no idea what I’m doing, but doesn’t seem to mind - Humming against my lips, contentedly, his hands clasping at my hair.

He just his chin forwards, confidently, and I feel it everywhere - My body thrumming with his fire, from my tingling lips, to the white-hot heat, stirring deep within my stomach. It’s a wild push and pull, and I take everything he has to give me, willingly - Savouring each and every spark, greedily.

Utterly blissed out, and unstoppably happy, I smile against his lips, helplessly.

He pulls away, giggling breathlessly - Grinning down at me, his hair hassled, and his cheeks flushed.

Pushing my shoulder lightly, he presses me down into the mattress, and clambers on top of me, clumsily. Holding himself up above me, before leaning down and pushing his face into the crook of my neck - Nipping at the skin there, teasingly.

“I cant keep doing it if you keep smiling, idiot” he sing-songs, the deep gruff of his voice vibrating against my neck. “As much as I like you, I don’t really wanna kiss your teeth.”

Still floating, I laugh openly, my heart squeezing within my chest.

“It’s not my fault,” I mumble, leaning upwards, and pressing a chaste kiss to his exposed collarbone.

“Hmmm,” he hums, cradling the back of my head in his hands. “Whose fault is it, then?”

Refusing to answer, I stare at him - His eyes sparkling, and a wicked smirk, plastered across his face.

“Shut up,” I smile, rolling my eyes jokingly.

“You’re gonna have to make me.”

I raise my eyebrows, suggestively, reaching up and tugging him down towards me by the back of his neck. Our lips mere millimetres apart, I whisper against him, coquettishly.

“Oh. I will. Rest assured, when I’m finished with you, you’ll barely be able to string a sentence together.”

Puffing out a shaky breath, he trembles against me - A needy whine escaping his lips, as he does so.

I did that to him. Me. Fucking marvellous.

Wonderfully pleased, I snake my arms up his body, pulling him forwards, minimally, and claiming his lips with mine once more.

————————————————————————————

I’m sat propped up against the headboard, now (Snow pulled me up a while ago, grumbling about how I was 'Too far away'). He’s seated himself atop my thighs, our hands laced together between us, and his mouth working against mine, insistently.

I don’t know how long we’ve been wrapped up in each other (Long enough that my leg is prickling through lack of movement), but I’m certainly not complaining.

Shifting backwards, he beams over at me, a playful glint, sparkling in his eyes.

Enraptured, I trail my eyes over him, appreciatively, my gaze falling on his neck. Reaching a hand upwards, I circle a thumb over the small, red mark, blooming against the fair skin, a strange sense of pride welling up within me, as I do so. I hadn't set out to do it (Starting off with completely innocent intentions, I'd only hoped to press a kiss to a particularly appealing mole), but I’d quickly gotten carried away, his breathy huffs urging me ever onwards.

With a chaste kiss to my brown bone, he rolls his hips down against mine, just-so - The friction eliciting a pathetically needy moan, from me. I grip his hips, tightly - Pressing my fingers into the softness of his side.

Humiliated, I thunk my head down against his shoulder, hiding my face away, as it fills with a burning heat.

“Eager,” he giggles, his lips moving upwards, brushing against the peak of my forehead.

I pinch his thigh, lightly, in retaliation - Simon yelping against me, in surprise.

“Unless you want to discuss what’s currently pressed against my thigh, I suggest that you shut up! Otherwise, you can sleep alone,” I threaten.

“No, Baz,” he cries, throwing himself down onto the bed besides me. “You can’t do that to me. I’ve been proper nice to you, all night!”

I flip onto my side, so that I’m facing him, again - Apparently incapable of keeping my eyes off of him, for even a minute.

“I'm pretty sure that I can.”

His shoulders drop slightly, as his hand pats along the bed in search of mine.

“Yeah, but ... You wouldn’t, though. Would you?”

“No, Snow,” I breathe, weaving our hands together. “I wouldn't.”

Harumphing, he pouts his lips outwards, sulkily.

“What?” I chuckle, pushing myself up onto my arm, and leaning over him. “I thought you didn’t want me to.”

“Yeah but - You called me Simon before.”

I press out foreheads together, helplessly charmed.

“No, I never,” I argue - Because, despite all my unforgivable softness this evening, I’m still me. Irritatingly petty, to a fault.

“You definitely did.”

“Hmmm,” I hum, airly. “Well … I have no memory of it.”

He scoffs then, rolling his eyes, and peppering a flurry of kisses against my jaw.

“You definitely did. But ... No worry - Deny it all you want. I’ll get you to say it again, soon enough. I just need to soften you up,” he shrugs. “And that is easy, enough - A couple of snogs here and there, and hey presto ... I’ll get myself another 'Simon'”

I wince at his awful imitation of my accent. I don't know why he even bothers trying, with it - He always just ends up sounding like a drunken Prince Charles impersonator.

He chortles, bright and joyous, but is interrupted by a long, gasping yawn.

“Tired, Snow?” I goad.

He nods, smiling lopsidedly.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Why ever not?” I pry.

“Nervous … You know - About this,” he murmurs, stroking the pad of his thumb against my lower lip.

My chest swoops joyfully, an unbridled grin breaking across my face.

Pursing my lips, and kissing his thumb, quickly, I reach down, and slot my hand into his. Interlocking our fingers, I drag our joined hands down, underneath the duvet, and spread his palm flat against my left breast.

He giggles lightly, pushing upwards, and pecking the tip of my nose.

“Your heart’s going super fast,” he breathes.

“Yes, well. You are aware of what we’ve been doing for the past … I don’t know how long.”

“Uh huh, I’m aware,” he affirms, the smugness plain in his voice. “It’s okay - Mine is, too.”

“Is that so?”

He nods, driving forwards, and pressing our lips together, once more. It’s slower this time, although no less exhilarating, his lips moving against mine, languidly - Our frantic desperation, replaced by a slower, sweeter indulgence.

I sigh, joyfully, luxuriating in the feeling of him against me. Melting into his touch, I’m putty in his hands - Open and relaxed. My heart feels exposed - Beating proudly, unprotected outside of the walls of my chest. But, I’m not afraid. I know he’ll treat it tenderly.

Snaking his free hand upwards, he tugs against my hair, enticingly. Moaning against his lips quietly, my stomach sparks with heat, once again.

Despite my eagerness to continue, I'm increasingly conscious of the hours slipping away from us, and so pull backwards, mournfully - Lifting my hips away from his, to remove temptation.

“Enough of that, you insatiable thing,” I chide, twisting a bronze curl around my finger, absentmindedly. “We’re going to have to wake up early, to put you back in the right bed, in case Daphne decides to check. And, if we don’t stop now, I’m not sure we’ll ever get to sleep.”

He huffs petulantly, his eyebrows pinched, and his lips pulling into a deep frown. I shake my head at him, unimpressed.

“Fine,” he whines. “Just - Roll over then.”

“What?” I cough, flustered.

“I said - Roll over. I wanna cuddle you.”

“Oh my god. 'Wanna cuddle you',” I groan, disdainfully. “Seriously?”

“Yes seriously, you wanker. Don’t pretend you don’t want to. It’s definitely a too late for you to start playing hard to get, Baz.”

Called out, I abandon my false protests, twisting onto my side, and wordlessly surrendering to what I want.

Wrapping a strong arm around my waist, he pulls me backwards slightly, and tucks me against his body, neatly.

With my face hidden from view, I smile, privately - The simple innocence of having him besides me, embarrassingly thrilling.

“G’night, Baz,” he mumbles, drowsily, blessing my shoulder with a feather-light kiss.

Uncontrollably lovestruck, I decide to indulge him (And, if I’m being honest, myself).

“Goodnight, Simon,” I coo.“Sleep well.”

With his smile against my skin, I flutter my eyes shut, and snuggle against him. Unfamiliarly content, I succumb to sleep, quickly - My mind blissfully quiet, and my heart seeped in love.

#carry on #wayward son #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch

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