#If you reached out for his cheekbone he’d press against the touch happy to have any and all your affection | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rukkiya · 1 year

Note

I think I'm into Belphie's horns. It's large, roundy, curly and makes me rolling on the floory. How about a built-up relationship with a hint of spice and everything nice with Belphegor who became a touch starved mess ever since you tried to touch his horns out of curiosity ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) and over time continuously seeks for it and craves for u to touch it again

Thank youuu and sending my bag of love (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤ - a slave for fictional men 🥐anon

can’t help it

(belphagor x reader)

It was unnatural for Belphogor to have sleepless nights. His mind has been racing nonstop, one thing replaying over and over.

A few days ago while Belphie and you were having your hour nap break while studying, you happened to wake up before he did.

Over time he gradually grew more comfortable with being in his demon for around you. Of course he asked you if it was ok at first as to not scare you or bring back bad memories but you’ve assured him you’re more than comfortable with him being in that form whenever he’d like to. So he had the tendency to let his demon form come out when you sleept next to each other since he claimed it was most comfortable not because he wanted to wrap his tail around you to make sure you stay close to him not at all.

You just so happened to wake up a bit before he did and couldn’t help but admire the round horns that sat on top of his head. The curve and texture were fascinating always fascinated you every time you’d look them.

His face was just about a foot from yours. His cheeks were puffed out due to being pressed against the pillow, his long eyelashes sat upon his cheekbones and his soft breathing put you at ease. You couldn’t help the smile that made its way onto your lips. You’ve both been through a lot and built up a strong relationship as time went on so you were happy to be close enough to be comfortable to sleep around and close with eachother like so.

You couldn’t help let curiosity get the best of you. You hesitate for a second as you bring your hands up to his face, brushing his bangs away then slowly reaching for his horns. You’ve always been curious as to how they felt.

Your touch is feather light as you touch the bottom that’s connected to his scalp, the scaly like texture felt oddly soft on your fingertips. You couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what the whole thing felt like, so you let your hand wander higher. Lightly touching around until you reached the very curve of the horn.

“Is the end sharp?” You wonder as you reach and softly press your finger against it only to feel a hand clasp around your wrist making you yelp.

You look down at Belphie with wide eyes and meet his who’s were just as wide, pupils dilated.

“Y/n? What’re you doing?” He asks, slightly out of breath. His face feels hot. He should’ve warned you before.

“I’m sorry belphie! I shouldn’t have I touch you! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or hurt you! Are you ok?” You ask, feeling guilty for touching him without permission. You should know not to, you don’t like it when others do it to you.

He sees your worried expression and feels bad for scaring you suddenly. He just hadn’t expected you to touch his horns, especially since it’s one of the most sensitive parts of him. You didn’t hurt him in any way, but how his blood was pumping and he wants you to touch them more. It made him burn all over. In all honesty he didn’t want to stop you but he was afraid he’d make an embarrassing sound if he didn’t stop you now.

“It’s not that. I’m sorry,” He lets go of ur wrist, sitting up as he sat you up along with him. “I didn’t mean to startle you by suddenly grabbing you it’s just, my horns…….” He makes himself took away, the look on your face was driving him mad. “They’re sensitive.” He feels his face burn even more at your confused expression. You were so close to him, your smell was intoxicating making him want to be closer to you. Your parted lips looked more enticing than normal. He needs to calm down.

You furrow your brows but the longer he stared at you, you notice his flushed face and it hits you.

“Oh my! Belphie I didn’t know I swear! That wasn’t my intention I-it just I-!” You jump up, feeling your face start to burn too and he stands up not a second later.

“No need to worry, I know.” He holds his arms out, giving your am a squeeze before you start to freak out. “I better get to bed it’s late.” He lets out a small laugh, he couldn’t look you in the eye. You made him feel anything but uncomfortable, he actually wanted more of your touch but he didn’t want to push your boundaries.

“Already?” You ask, voice small feeling guilty. He stills for a second but he has to stop himself from saying otherwise. If he could he would want your hands all over him and have you all to himself but he knows he can’t make you do things he isn’t even sure you’d like to do, he needs to be careful with you.

“It’s late y/n, get some rest ok?” He smiles, hand falling ontop of your head as you try not to pout. You felt bad for waking him up like that, touching something so sensitive was something you’d never meant to do, at least not so suddenly when you didn’t know. You didn’t want him to think you were some creep.

“You too Belph, I’m sorry I ruined your nap.” You laugh, giving his hand a small squeeze as he pulls back turning to leave. You felt bad for waking him up and now you felt nervous as well thinking you somehow made him not want to be around you.

Now a few days later, it’s 12pm and Belphie’s tossing and turning for the hundredth time. He just can’t bring his mind to stop running. He wants to be in your room, on your bed. Wake up to you touching him again because your hands are so warm and gentle. He battles himself though, he knows you’re sleeping and doesn’t want to wake you, but you wouldn’t mind, right?

So without a second though he sits up fast, waiting no time as he grabs his pillow and tucks it under his arm heading straight for the one room in this house that he feels himself at. Your room.

He comes to a complete stop in front of your door and lifts his hand to knock, tapping his knuckles four times.

“I’ll be there in a second.” Your sleepy voice calls out and he smiles.

He hears your footsteps nearing the door and stands tall, squeezing the pillow in his hold somewhat tighter.

“Sorry I was sleepi-“

You open the door barley a foot wide, stepping out into the hallway before you’re gently moved back into your room in an instant. Your sleepiness now long gone at the sudden movement.

Now you were faced with Belphie’s back who was just casually locking your room door behind him.

“Belphie? Are you alright?” You question, he isn’t usually up this late. Was something wrong?

He turns around sending you a sheepish smile, taking a few steps closer to you.

“Cant sleep.” He laughs, giving you a fake pout. You reach your hand up to brush his bangs aside, checking for a fever.

It was rare for demons to catch a cold but you’ve seen them get sick, it’s nothing compared to catching a cold for a human, it’s much worst and lasts a bit longer than a regular flu.

“Are you feeling sick? Have you eaten? Drank enough water?” You ask, brows furrowed. Concern lacing your tone. Once again his blood rushes to his face.

These small things you do, the things you ask. You care so much just by doing these small gestures and it drives him mad. He’s not the embodiment of greed but he feels the greediest when it comes to you. He has to stop himself from bringing you closer, pulling you in, leaning in closer.

“No, it’s not. I,” his hand wraps around your wirst and he looks away. Your warm hands already making his racing mind ease a bit. “I just wanted to sleep here tonight, next to you.” He admits, the soft pink dusting his cheeks makes your face burn too, but you only smile up at him.

He isn’t the most shy when showing his affection he’ll say what’s on his mind even if he gets embarrassed but he has to, so no one else will tell you first. He needs you to know how he feels.

“Ok, let’s go to bed. I know your sleepy. We’ll both be grumpy without proper rest.” You laugh and waste no time. Turning and pulling him along with you as you do so.

You turn back to him to tell him to climb in first and see him already in his demon form, beautiful horns and long tail on display.

He steps forward, pulling you with him as he sits himself on the edge of your bed. Bringing you in between his legs, holding you in front of him as he leans his head to on your shoulder, sigh of relief escaping his lips.

“Bephie I know I’ve asked this probably too many times but is everything alright? You know you can talk to me right?” You whisper, hands wrapping around him im seconds. His long arms snake around your waist pulling you closer.

“This,” he feels his eyes getting heavy already. “Your touch is what I’ve missed. The other day you just caught me by surprise when you touched my horns but truth is I didn’t want you to stop, it just feels nice.” He admits, placing a small kiss on your collar bone making you let out a small surprised gasp. You fe him smile against your skin.

“Thank goodness, I was afraid you got uncomfortable.” You bring your hands up, running your fingers through his hair hearing him sigh.

“Your horns are just so beautiful Belp, sorry I didn’t ask you before but I’ll make sure I ask before I do touch them next time.” You assure him and he gives your waist a small squeeze.

“You don’t need to ask.” He pulls away, sleepy smile gracing his features.

“If you want to touch them, please do. There’s no need to feel shy.” His hands grab yours, bringing them down to his lips as he places a light kiss, then placing them back ontop of his head near his horns.

“You have me, all of me. I’ve missed your touch and honestly I don’t think I can go without it now, it’s all your fault.” He slowly stands and his hands find their way back to your waist.

“Wait, what do you mean my faul-“

His sleepy smile turns into a mischievous one as he brings you close your chest to his. Not a second later you feel your feet sweep off the ground as he falls back onto your bed making you let out a small scream. He wastes no time getting the covers over you both getting ready to finally sleep. Your thrown into a fit of laughter at his actions, hand coming over your eyes to wipe your watery eyes. You feel the bed dip right next to you, warmth flooding your side.

“Hey,” you hear him chuckle, his hand moving your arm away for your face. You open your eyes and see him smiling down at you as he leaned on one arm, making sure you were both under the covers. “It’s no fair.” He moves his hand from you arm and up to your face, brushing your hair away.

“Sorry Belph, you just caught me by surprise you big baby.” You giggle, lifting your hand to pinch his cheek. He stays quiet, sleepy eyes taking in your sleepy state and he can’t get enough. His body moves before he does, he leans forward placing a kiss on your forehead and one on your nose making your giggles subside. Now your face was burning, pink dusting both your cheekbones and ears. He gives you one last shit eating grin as he takes in your reaction, your red face making him proud. He then shifts down a bit, gently laying his head on your chest, careful not to poke you in or hurt you in any way. You say nothing else, though you don’t need to. Insead your hands lay gently on his head as you slowly grace your fingers along the shape of his horns. He doesn’t need you to say anything else, that action alone gave him all the answers he needs. Not even five minute pass and Belphie’s soft snores are heard. His racing mind no longer keeping him up as he was with the one person who truly helps him sleep better.

_________________

authors note: helloo loves!! ꒰´꒳`∗꒱ I didn’t plan on posting this week but I got this ask and started writing it SO FAST!! I LOVE THIS PROMPT SO MUCH SNHSSJ! seriously Belphie is my close second, Mammon has my heart out of the brothers but Belphie was really close to him on the podium so yesyesyesyes let’s gooo! sorry it took me a while to write but I do hope you all enjoy hehe please take care and stay safe!^~^<33

authors note: jsjzjz

#obey me #obey me x reader #obey me fluff #belphieobeyme #obey me belphegor #belphie x mc #belphie x y/n #fluff #obey me oneshot #obey me headcanons

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emmyspov · 1 year

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Here at home (Haldir x reader)

author's note: i never thought i'd be writing for haldir, but here we are! :D i'm so soft for this elf & cannot wait to share this softness. i'm a bit out of practice & as always: english isn't my first language, bear with me <3 gn!reader, but reader has hair that's being brushed; no other descriptions of looks

warnings: none that i'm aware of, just fluff!

word count: 1k

edit is my own :)

“You know, I prefer my nights when you are here at home with me”, you whispered as you leaned back against your husband’s shins.

Haldir was sitting on your bed with a brush in his hand, carefully parting your hair while you were kneeling in front of him, your back to the elf.

“And why is that, meleth?”

After centuries of being together, you could make out the teasing tone in his question and a smile spread over your face.

“Hal”, you whined. “Don’t make me say it out loud.”

He didn’t reply – not yet, at least, but you knew he was smiling.

Carefully, he grabbed a strand of your hair and began to remove the knots from your ends, slowly working his way up until he reached the roots.

The fact that he took the time to sit down and care for a part of you that you neglected far too easily – and way too often – made your heart flutter in your chest. Goosebumps spread over your skin at his gentle actions and you shivered.

“It seems like someone still isn’t used to my displays of affection”, the marchwarden mused and you smiled yet again.

“Maybe someone isn’t home often enough for me to get used to them.”

There was no harshness in your words. You knew Haldir loved you and the time you did have together, you used wisely. Plus, you’d still have many centuries left with each other.

However, that didn’t change the fact that you were absolutely enjoying these quiet moments with your love.

And so did the elf himself. He had turned his attention to your head again and was repeating his actions until he could brush his fingers through your hair without meeting any resistance. Only then did he grab a small bottle of oil, poured a tiny amount into his hands and warmed it up before applying it to your hair.

“All done, my love”, he murmured once he was done with everything and leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

Before he could sit up again, you turned around and brought a hand to the nape of his neck, meeting his eyes.

“May I kiss you, melethron nîn?”

You had to hide your amused grin as the tips of Haldir’s ears turned pink. Softly, you let your fingertips ghost over them and giggled at the sharp inhale of your husband.

Even after so many years together, he still felt like this – you – couldn’t be real. You looked like an angel, sitting there in front of him like it was the most natural thing in middle earth, asking him of all people for a kiss.

He was convinced that he didn’t need a relationship, didn’t need to be touched and loved and cared for – until you came into his life.

Since then, he never wanted to go without any of these things ever again. He’d never deny you an act of affection, no, he was craving whatever you were willing to give him.

And right now, you wanted to kiss him, he reminded himself as he took in your flushed cheeks and big eyes. He leaned down for a kiss without even answering your question.

Haldir swallowed the sweet sigh that left your lips as he pressed his own against them and he swore to whomever was listening that he’d always return home to you. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – let you go. You were one of the few good things in his life, someone he never had to doubt. You were there and you were his and he’d spend the rest of eternity trying to make you happy.

“You think too much”, you breathed out in-between kisses and cupped his jaw, caressing his cheekbones.

“Only about you”, he answered and it was the truth.

The smile that graced your features in return would get him through his next patrol, he was sure of that.

When you woke up the next morning, Haldir was still fast asleep next to you.

It was one of his rare days off and you wanted to make sure he could soak up all the love you wanted to give him. Turning onto your side, you watched his blond hair flowing down his shoulders while the blanket was pooling around his waist.

The first rays of sun in the morning were shining down onto his bare back and you carefully lifted your fingers to gently touch the exposed skin.

He was warm, he was always warm and as on instinct, you shifted closer into his side.

Even in his sleep, your husband leaned into your touch and you smiled, leaning down to press your lips against his shoulder blade after brushing some of his hair out of the way. Slowly, you let your lips trail down his spine.

It wasn’t your goal to wake him up. It took many years, but by now, Haldir didn’t even stir anymore when it was you who touched him in his sleep. Yet, you were so in tune with one another that you immediately noticed when his breathing changed as he woke up.

“Good morning, my beloved”, you whispered which turned into a squeal as the elf was pulling you on top of him, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I believe it is not yet time to start the day”, the marchwarden mumbled before he buried his face in the crook of your neck, brushing his lips against the junction where it met your shoulder.

“Hal, hat tickles”, you giggled at the sensation and tried to wiggle free, but that only resulted in him tightening his grip around you.

“You don’t say”, he mused and you could hear the smile in his voice.

After a while, you gave up and simply accepted the small kisses, relaxing in Haldir’s arms and melting into his touch. Being with him was easy, you realised once again, like breathing.

The two of you were basking in happiness until your husband broke the silence while his fingers were dancing up and down your back.

“You know”, he spoke in a soft voice, “I prefer my mornings when I am here at home with you.”

meleth = love

melethron nîn = my beloved

taglist: @shadowhuntyi - you told me to tag you in everything, so here you go! thank you again for your nice words on my aragorn fic :')

#haldir #haldir x reader #haldir imagine #lord of the rings #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings imagine #lotr #lotr x reader #lotr imagine #haldir of lorien #elves #lothlorien #the fellowship of the ring #the two towers #🏹

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berriweb · 10 months

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╰┈➤ ❝ IRREPLACEABLE ❞

: ̗̀➛ ft. miguel o’hara x gn! reader

: ̗̀➛ synopsis. in a system of infinite universe with infinite variants, miguel will always choose you

: ̗̀➛ a/n. okay i literally have sm other stuff i could be writing but this idea popped up in my head after that one request i did the other day and now i have this lil thought i wanted to write :D random side note: i listened to the mordecai and spongebob version of golden hour while writing this

The lights in the room were dimmed, almost to the point where the place could’ve been considered pitch dark if not for the glowing buttons. The multitude of screens surrounding him were the only thing that lit up his face and what would’ve been a serene silence was ruined by the audio from the video that played in front of him echoing across the room. He sat hunched over, growing tired of standing long ago, glued to the holographic pictures that played.

Miguel’s eyes were dry and likely would’ve made a sound had a blinked, but his gaze was too focused on the video to worry about the fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he looked away. How could he? Not when he looked so happy on screen, stomping around with his daughter on his shoulders, making jokes that he could now only reminisce and wish he could relive. He’d seen it so many times he began to memorize every detail both from memory and the screen, down to the second the soccer ball came into view. How could he look away from that?

He didn’t. Not when Lyla tried to remind him of the members he’d planned to meet earlier that day (and ultimately stood up), not when his watch buzzed as many made attempts to contact him, he ended up turning it off to avoid being interrupted, and not when the sound of the doors to the room sliding open filled the room. He had no reason to worry or concern himself with why they opened or who was trying so hard to bother him, there was only one person who he allowed to always enter unannounced, hence why Lyla let you in.

Miguel didn’t need any spider sense to know it was you, not when he was so familiar with your presence that he instantly recognized the pace of your footsteps, the spaces between every breathe you took, the pattern of your movements as you swung up on his platform. He was used to your touch, but made no move to return the affection when your hands ran up his hunched over back, tracing over every visible definition of his muscle before your arms wrapped around his neck, hoisting yourself up and pressing your cheek against his shoulder.

“It’s late.”

Miguel, for the first time in what was likely hours, broke free from the trance his past memories had hooked him into, but only long enough to let out a small hum in response to your statement.

He felt a hand snake up from his shoulder to his cheek, unconsciously leaning into your touch when your thumb ran over his defined cheekbones. He reached up to intertwine his fingers with your own as your hand cupped his jaw, but made no attempt to acknowledge your presence or pull his attention away from the footage.

His posture was lacking; his shoulders hung low and his neck was stretched forward and his head hung low. With eye bags that looked as though they could rival grocery bags in terms of which could carry more items and the stiffness of his body it was clear that Miguel was exhausted, and while he could’ve just up and left at any time you knew better than to hope for such a thing and you had a feeling he did too, he didn’t really have a choice. He just needed a push.

“You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

You both were aware of that. You remained silent for a long moment, allowing him to have his moment that he so desperately.

“You can’t keep yourself up dwelling on the past, I’m sure that’s not what she would’ve wanted.”

For what was likely the first time all day, Miguel looked away from the screen. His eyes seemed to drift yet they eventually met your own, and the sympathy you couldn’t hide in your own gaze almost made him feel bad for staying in so long with no warning, he must have kept you up waiting.

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re right, but I know if it were me I wouldn’t want you acting like this.”

There was a long, and you could see the calculating look in his eyes as he thought through every word that left his mouth.

“It wouldn’t be you.”

With his attention finally on you, you brought your other hand to cup the other side of his face and turned his head, maneuvering his head around to look him over and he surprisingly let you do so. Stilling, you looked him in the eyes once more.

“Do you think she can wait until tomorrow?”

It was your indirect way of telling him it’d gone on for long enough. You could never understand the pain he was going through or relate to the grief he must’ve felt every time you’d find him on his platform rewatching the footage of his days with his daughter, nor would you claim to, but you could try to reel him back in to keep him from holding himself back when he’d indulge for too long. You wanted him back, you wanted to help him, you wanted to sleep, and you refused to do it alone.

A soft exhale left his nose and he looked away, seemingly contemplating your invitation hidden in the form of a question. With a defeated voice, he mumbled for Lyla to stop the video and shut it all down for the rest of the night. Without a word, she obliged and the screens went dark while at the same time the lights came back on.

Unbeknownst to him, a small relieved smile crossed your face as you pulled back enough bury your face into his back. Your legs wrapped around his waist and you clung to his figure as Miguel stood and the platform lowered, feeling him relax under you before he suddenly spoke again, uttering a small apology for keeping you up that you hardly caught. He must’ve noticed the time displayed on the last screen before it shut down.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You wanted to take his mind off things, but that was easier said than done and any attempts would only momentarily turn his focus rather than aid his aching heart. Instead you thought back to his prior statement. It wouldn’t be you. You prayed your curiosity wouldn’t be considered inconsiderate.

“Miguel…” he gave no response to your starter, but you knew he was listening. “If it were us, and I was gone, had there been another universe where you-”

“Out of the question.”

He cut you off before you could finish and he could entertain the idea, and you let him. “You’re irreplaceable.”

Miguel felt the strength of your arms around him tighten and a small breathe leave your lips.

“Promise?”

“Swear.”

“You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

The ground was littered with trash. Miguel couldn’t remember the last time he’d turned on the lights, let alone seen daylight. Most of the other members of the spider society hadn’t seen him in weeks, and while a few attempts were made to reach out and see if he was okay, most kept their distance after hearing of your tragic fate by the hands of an anomaly during a duo mission gone wrong. Most related to the pain he must’ve felt.

His eyes were sunken, every inch he moved would cause a joint to pop due to how little action he’s had. Hours that used to be spent on missions or reminiscing with footage of Gabriella was now spent replaying every moment of his relationship caught on camera.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

As he watched the movements on screen, Miguel’s hands moved up to grasp his shoulders, ghosting over the area where your hands should’ve been, where you should’ve been holding him, where he should’ve felt your comforting warmth.

“Out of the question.”

Instead, he only felt more alone than ever.

“Promise?” “Swear.”

It may have only been for a split second, just a sparing moment, but that was more than enough time for the thought to cross his mind that Miguel’s mind hadn’t brought up since the day you mentioned it.

It felt wrong, it was like a betrayal. Comparing the idea to moving on after the death of a spouse wasn’t enough to do the depravity of it justice. He would’ve let you down, or worse, had to live with the guilt of knowing that it’s not what you wanted for the rest of his life, not only risking his conscience but the lives of others as well.

It was a twisted idea in his mind. But, whether it be the grief convincing him that it’s what he needed or the desperation to have you back; this time Miguel caved. Again.

“Lyla.”

The screens lit up almost immediately, flashing as an indicator that she was all ears as the video he had been watching paused and disappeared. Miguel stood up to face them all, a tired yet wanting expression plastered on his face.

“Show me every universe that has a variant of Y/N L/N, every single one.”

Likely due to the tension in the air, Lyla remained quiet, but complied as a hologram formed from every screen, connected to show an web with various scenes playing at once, the only thing tying them all together being that you were in every single one. They weren’t all the same, in some your appearance was off, changed or altered to match the events of the universe, and in others the way you acted heavily contrasted his memory of you, he couldn’t focus on just one.

“Go through them, run through them all and show me the earth with the Y/N that has the most similarities with mine.”

There was no explanation needed for her to understand what Miguel did by that, and one could only hope that he wasn’t trying to pull what would’ve been assumed, but the way a small spark caught in his eye when she presented him with live footage from another universe, seeing you idly going about your day in the city as a regular citizen, left no room for debate.

Miguel was moving before he could think, silently thanking himself for already being in civilian clothes as he typed in the coordinates for the Earth he’d been shown before, only to be interrupted as Lyla suddenly flashed into view in front of him, her small avatar blocking his view of the watch.

“Miguel-” “Move.”

He didn’t even bother to hear her out, swatting away the virtual figure only to let out an irritated grunt when she just reappeared closer to his face, arms crossed and tapping her foot before raising a finger to his nosr. “In case you forgot, it’s in the rules of the society that we don’t-”

“I made the rules!” He walked straight through her, trying to tune out her voice as he got right back to work on his watch, but the program seemed persistent and hellbent on getting in his way, forming right in front of his face nearly making him jump back. Lyla held up her hands and a holographic X formed in front of her.

“It’s against protocol. You’re risking far too many lives!” Miguel swatted away her image again, gritting his teeth as the watch beeped in confirmation and a portal began to open.

Almost as a last desperate attempt, a holographic recreation of the earth she’d just showcased formed around him, the most prominent figure in it being the you he’d just seen, walking down the street with a smile on your face and a pep in your step before stopping when you noticed the panic. People started running, knocking into her and nearly pushing her down to the hard cement. When she turned around, horror settled on her face at the sight of building glitching out and disappearing before her very eyes. She was stuck in place, unable to move as she watched her world disintegrate before her very eyes, and while she could’ve chosen to run with the others, the end seemed unavoidable and running seemed futile. In a matter of seconds, she was gone too.

“Lyla…”

Even for a program, the expression on Miguel’s face was unreadable by the AI.

“In order to avoid things like this happening you yourself said-”

“I know what I said you think I don’t remember my own words?! Forget what I said!”

A petty argument consisting of the avatar trying to sway Miguel’s mind and him talking over every sentence she said and therefore giving her no chance to speak ensued.

“I really do recommend that-”

“Run more tests on the probability of breaking the canon depending on how long I stay.”

“Even though-”

“You know, I don’t remember programming you to be this annoying.”

“You programmed me to caution anyone tempted to make a bad decision and risk another universe collapsing for the sake of your own desire, this would apply to you more than anyone else. We both know this Miguel.”

Lyla formed in front of the portal, frantically waving her hands to mimic being stressed out and bring a finger to her throat. “Do you really want to take that chance again? Think about this-”

Miguel pressed a button on her watch and her avatar fizzled away as he shut her down before walked up to the portal and stepping through it. A few seconds spent falling later, he was standing in a hidden alley far enough to avoid being seen or gaining attention. Stepping out onto the street, he looked around but found himself trying to sort out the crowd.

It didn’t take too long before he spotted the familiar sight of your hair that he missed so much it hurt, and he began shoving through the crowd, ignoring the complaints and angry curses thrown his way as he attempted to keep up with you. Just as he watched you enter a cafe, Miguel paused and looked through the glass window, the familiar feeling of being unable to look away crossing him as you stood at the counter, ordering with a small smile on your face and no knowledge of the man who’s now set his sights on getting back someone who never belonged to him.

“I just want one more chance. I’ll do it right this time.”

#across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv #atsv fanfiction #atsv x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #spider man #miguel x you #spiderman 2099

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scifrey · 1 year

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Cling Fast: Chapter Three

By Losyark

The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon, and Gaiman Cinematic Universe canon)

Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus)

Unfinished

PG-13 (for now)

Unbeta’d

It's a diary. It's Eleanor's diary. Hob hadn't even known El had kept a diary.

Though this is the Dreaming and Hob doesn’t strictly need to breathe if he doesn’t want to, he feels all the air punch out of his lungs in a soft, wounded noise. Hob staggers and clutches at the shelf beside him to stay upright, but Lucienne must have turned up the gravity because his legs suddenly buckle. Hob slides down the shelf and lands in a cloud of cloth-of-gold and disbelief.

“It’s her handwriting,” is the first shaky thing he says, flipping open the cover. “I… I never thought I’d see it again, I never…” the rest of the sentence is lost in an ugly, phlegmy hiccough.

Morpheus folds himself into a more human shape, sinking to sit on the floor beside Hob. He presses his arm and leg against Hob’s, and places his hand palm up on Hob’s knee. Hob takes it and squeezes hard.

“And it exists?” Hob asks shakily, pressing the dream-book to his heart. “It’s on this shelf, so it still exists, right?”

“It exists in the Waking world, yes,” Morpheus says gently.

“God’s teeth,” Hob whuffs out. “I… I can’t believe… thank you. Thank you, my friend!”

Hob turns his face to Morpheus, intent on meeting his eyes and making it clear how much this means to him. But Morpheus is already looking at him, sky-dark eyes pinned to Hob’s expression, a thin line of mercury along his own lashes.

“Why are you crying?” Hob sniffles.

“Your joy is palpable,” Morpheus says. “It is moving.”

Hob places the book gently in his lap and then, with his free hand, he reaches up and places his palm against one of Morpheus’ gaunt cheeks. He brushes the cheekbone tenderly, noting that there’s more substance to Morpheus’ physical incarnation of late–the work of the spanakopita, and tapas, and wine that Hob has been laying before him, an offering to the God of Sleep, Hob hopes. He’d just looked so thin after Tawny Rig, and while Hob is aware that Morpheus’ chosen corporation can change to suit Morpheus’ whims, he hated seeing his friend look so… hungry.

Hungry for touch, and conversation, and companionship, and kindness and, Hob hoped, maybe one specific immortal human’s devotion. Morpheus is looking more content, more fulfilled, more satisfied lately. Hob likes to tell himself that his one-man-campaign to repair the damage that the Burgess bastards had done was succeeding.

Morpheus raises his own free hand, and cups Hob’s where it rests against his cheek. His eyes slip shut, and Hob allows himself a split second to look down at Morpheus’ mouth. His lips are parted slightly, petal-pink and enticing.

Instead of pressing his own against them, he rests his forehead against Morpheus’, content in the intimacy of their shared breath and understanding. Hob is happy to have this much of his Stranger. He has no right to press for more, not when Morpheus has never given him any indication that he would be receptive to any sexual advances from his pet human.

Hob’s not even that sure that Morpheus engages in physical demonstrations of love like that, anyway. Morpheus had told him, in spare detail, of his ex-wife Calliope and their doomed son Orpheus. And he’d only done so when he’d had to miss a Tuesday hang to rescue her. Hob figures his own grief has kept him from bringing up the lad before then.

So while Hob knows that the ancient Greek and Roman gods were a horny bunch, Hob’s not certain that this means that, you know, Morpheus fucks. Zeus got people pregnant in the shape of golden showers and swans, after all. Who knows how cosmic beings intermingle their essences to procreate.

So Hob’s not about to push it. Not without a clear sign from his Stranger than anything more that what they already have would be welcome. And if it never is, well… Hob can live with that. He’ll have to.

Morpheus releases a shaky sigh, and squeezes their intertwined hands once more before letting go and sitting back. Hob, feeling significantly more settled, retreats enough to lean back against the bookshelf. When he does, he’s startled to find a carpet of small, pink diamond-petalled flowers have grown up around their legs.

“What are these?”

“Camellias,” Morpheus offers, but doesn’t explain further.

Hob lets it go, and turns his attention back to the diary. He flips the pages gently, as if this version of the book is as fragile as the one he’s going to have to track down in the Waking will be. In the way of dreams, Hob can’t read it here. But he knows, innately, what the pages contain.

The first dozen or so pages contain music notations, lyrics, little ditties El had obviously heard and wanted to record. But around the time that she meets Hob for the first time, the diary becomes a confessional. Out of respect of Eleanor’s privacy, he skips those entries. If she’d wanted him to know her first, intimate thoughts of him, she would have shared the book with her husband. Still, again in the way that one knows things in dreams, without ingesting the details Hob knows that the prose becomes a full-on Twilight-esque hearthrob angstfest romance.

He doesn’t recall their courtship being that fraught, but her father had disapproved of the match. He’d wanted a son-in-law a few more rungs up the social ladder. But El had known her own mind and heart and wasn’t to be talked out of Hob, even if he had bought his knighthood and title instead of inheriting it like a good courtier ought. For which Hob had been grateful, everyday of their marriage.

After the tumultuous entries come steamy ones that detail the exploits of their honeymoon. Hob quickly pages past those ones, ears burning. Hob had three centuries of experience to impart on his lovely new wife, and she hadn’t exactly been a blushing virgin herself, but there’s no need to expose Morpheus (who is reading over his shoulder) to all that.

After that come the entries that Hob had really hoped for: lists and recountings of the daily running of the household. There’s still some steamy bits, El’s satisfaction and desire purring up off the pages at them, but mostly the latter pages are filled with the gold mine of daily mundanities.

“This is incredible,” Hob breathes, and Morpheus makes a humming noise of agreement. "This is absolutely what I need to bring to the first meeting with the writing team."

He gestures into the air, and a moment later Lucienne is rounding the end of the row.

“You have need of me, My Lord?” she asks, and then freezes when she catches sight of the flowers crawling all around the pooled fabric of their respective cloaks. “Oh, my.”

“Yeah, we look like something CLAMP studios spat up, I know,” Hob says, climbing to his feet and shaking the loose petals off his banyan.

Morpheus flows to his feet far more elegantly, and says: “Hob needs to locate a book in the Waking world. Could you please assist him in mapping it?”

“Of… of course, my Lord,” Lucienne agrees, her professional composure only slightly ruffled. She keeps glancing back down at the flowers as if they’re about to leap into the air and choke her.

Well, if Hob was the librarian around here and his master and just dumped a bunch of vegetation all over the place, Hob would be annoyed too. He doesn’t blame her for the sideways glances.

“This way, Master Gadling,” she says, gesturing him to follow.

“See you tomorrow night?” Hob asks Morpheus, in parting.

“No,” Morpheus says. “But perhaps the one after that.”

“Gotchya,” Hob says. “And thank you again, my friend. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Sweet dreams!”

With that, he races after Lucienne, who’s already half a gallery ahead of him. As Hob kicks up the petals, they dissolve into a fine pink cloud that smell deliciously of cotton candy.

A.Z. Fell and Co. has the most obtuse opening hours imaginable, and Hob knows for a fact that it’s on purpose.

He times it right and catches the shop just after opening the next afternoon. He pushes in the door and delights in the scent of old paper and ink, the tinkle of the little antique bell, and the warm of the sunshine cutting in through the glass dome at its center. The place is, as the youth would say, “very aesthetic”. Dark Academica crossed with Discombobulated Professor, and just a dash of Don’t Touch My Mess I Know Where Everything Is.

“Nooooo,” comes floating out of the shadows to the eastern side of the shop, where Hob knows the Bookseller’s heaped-upon desk sits beside the great curved windows facing the street.

But it’s not the Bookseller’s voice.

Hob sticks his head around the end of a shelf, and cannot believe what he sees: the Bentley Snake. He’s lounging indolently battered armchair set beside a desk, in that boneless way he has There's a martini in hand at 2pm and an extremely unimpressed look on his face.

The Snake and the Bookseller? In one place? Hob looks around to see if Joanna Constantine is lounging on another chair with a cuppa and a ciggy. Maybe the Maquis de Carabas is in the backroom helping the Bookseller make tea, and Ditchwater Sal is perusing the YA section. Christ, has he stumbled into some sort of Legion of Otherfolk without realizing it? He sure as hell hopes not. He’s got shit to do.

“No,” the Snake says again. “Whatever it is you’re looking to buy, he’s not–oh, it’s you.”

“Hello to you too, I suppose,” Hob says graciously. “How’ve you been?”

“Sssssince good old Harold Wilson's facial? You know, things to do, mischief to cause.”

“That still wasn’t my fault,” Hob reminds the Snake. “I only sold that boy those eggs.”

The snake snickers, and peers up at Hob from behind his glasses, gauging Hob’s reaction to this whole pageant, his eyes flash yellow.

He’s going to have to try a lot harder to intimidate Hob now, if that’s what he’s going for. Decades ago, Hob had been cautious around the Bentley Snake, not knowing what he was and not wanting to find himself on the wrong end of a situation that a human–immortal or not–would find unpleasant. Now, Hob is drinking buddies with a talking Raven, and close friend to an actual god-slash-anthropormorphic personification of a cosmic concept. Whatever fey creatures the Bookseller and the Snake are, they wouldn’t dare try to harm him now. Besides that, he’s never given them reason to want to.

“Ah! Hello dear fellow!” the Bookseller says from behind Hob, making him startle.

"God'sblood!" Hob cries, clutching at his heart and spinning to face the man-shaped creature.

"She hasn't got any," the Snake says contrarily, as if Hob is supposed to have any idea what he means by that.

"Someone ought to put a bell on you, friend," Hob says jovially, and holds out his hand to shake, because he has learned over the centuries that manners matter, no matter what kind of entity you're treating with.

"I already have my wings," the Bookseller chuckles, again, as if Hob had any bloody idea what he was talking about. "Are you here to sell or buy, old chap?"

"Buy, I suppose," Hob admits, quailing only a little at the way the sun above the shop is suddenly lost behind clouds. "Or… or borrow, if you'd prefer?"

The syrupy golden sunlight returns.

"Borrowing we can arrange," the Bookseller—who, as far as Hob is aware, has never actually sold a tome in his long life—says with glee. "Anything to support our fine institutions of learning."

"Anything, he says," the Snake snorts.

"Hush, dearest." And then, to Hob: "What are you after?"

Hob hands over the letter that Lucienne had written for him. She'd cautioned him not to break the seal, not to attempt to read it himself, and not to look the Bookseller in the face while he read it either. Hob had found it then next morning on the empty pillow beside him. Well, almost empty—he'd had to carefully maneuver it into the bathroom to tip the lingering dream sand into the tub so he didn't accidentally fall asleep again.

As the Bookseller peruses the missive, Hob admires the first editions of Crompton's Just William series in pride of place on the windowsill. There are a few titles there that he doesn't remember having seen before, and he wonders if the Bookseller might let him come back sometime to read them (carefully!) from the safety of the sagging sofa in the shop's reading nook.

"Well, how delightful!" the Bookseller says at last, which Hob takes to mean that he's done reading. "Isn't it a miracle? I happen to have that very box of documents in my back room. I was just cataloging all of the Gadlen estate’s papers in preparation for the move. Don't move, I'll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

With that he hands the letter to the Snake, who runs his eyes over it quickly. Then, before Hob can wonder if they'll give it back to him so he can read what Lucienne wrote, the letter goes up in a quick, incandescent flash of unnaturally red fire. The burning paper doesn't seem to bother the man holding it. The Snake doesn't even blow on his fingers once the letter is reduced to ash.

“And here we are, Hob Gadling!” the Bookseller says, coming out of the back with a massive wooden crate. It’s filthy with dust, and must only be half-filled, because it’s far too large for any one man to move alone.

“You actually gonna let him walk outta here with ‘em, angel? S'unusual.”

“Oh, well,” the Bookseller fusses at the Snake, indulgent and affectionate. “Can’t take everything to South Downs, now can we, dear boy?”

The Snake ripples more than shrugs, but a flush flags across his nose and cheeks at the casual endearment.

Ah, Hob thinks to himself. That explains a lot.

"Thank you for loaning them to me," Hob says instead of the observation he wants to make.

"No loan, sir, no loan. I'm only returning what is rightfully yours. I was only too happy to keep them safe for you after that awful business with the lake. Now, which way to your car, my good man?" the Bookseller asks, and chivvies the Snake into holding open the door for them as he traipses down the sidewalk.

They part with more handshakes and kind words, and absolutely empty promises to see one another again. It’s only when he gets it back to The New Inn and tries to heft the crate out of the trunk of his Honda Civic that he remembers that the Bookseller, whatever he is, is definitely not human. There’s no way Hob’s going to be able to carry the damn thing up the stairs as-is.

Also, he realizes later, as he recounts the experience to Matthew over beers in the back garden, the Bookseller had called him by his name. His real name.

“You found it in the family storage vault?” Glenn Davies says, staring in awe at the delicate sheafs of age-spotted papers and crumbling tomes arranged on the preservationist’s table at the Victoria and Albert museum three days later.

Like the portrait of Robyn, Hob desperately wanted to keep all of this for himself. But the truth is, he’s not set up for the kind of intense restoration and preservation that an absolute crate-full of fragile and ancient documents both require, and deserve. Even though it’s a bit strange to consider anything with his own handwriting on it 'ancient.' You’d think he’d be used to it by now.

The Bookseller did a splendid job of storing the documents–not a single bloom of mold or mouse nest has been found amid the papers–but that doesn’t mean Hob can (or should) do the same. Besides, what is he going to do with old recipe books written in old Signior Francatelli's hand, his old steward's ledgers, estate accounts, a bundle of frankly ribald love letters that passed between his kitchen maid and groom, and all manner of other little snips and slips of paper.

The only thinks Hob had kept back were Eleanor's diary, and Robyn's sketchbook. The lad had fancied himself a painter at one time in his late teens, more in love with the idea of the romanticism of art and the ability to get into a lady's salon than he had with the discipline of practice. His work was childish and flat, despite the drawing master that Hob had hired for his son, but the sketches were drawn by Robyn's own warm and noble fingers. Hob will not part with it.

Besides, it seemed the drawing master had a bit of a crush on his pupil—the back pages of the book were filled with depictions of Robyn's laughing eyes, his pouting mouth, his wild hair and long fingers. The man's been dead long enough that Hob isn't angry at him for his admiration. Rob was old enough to play at love and more than experienced in bedsport by the time the master had joined the household, and the man hadn't been too much older than his son. If they'd frittered away their time in bed instead of at the easel, then Hob can only be thankful for it.

It means Rob had a few lazy afternoons of happiness, and Hob now has page after page of drawings of his son's face.

He's already picked his favorite, plus one of Eleanor drawn as she scowled down at her lute while tuning it, and taken them to a specialists shop for framing behind archivist-quality glass.

“I’d been meaning to get down there to clean it out,” Hob lies to Glenn as they carefully prise up the lid of the crate for a small crew of a camerawoman, an assistant director, and a sound tech. “There wasn’t a good list of everything in it, you know. Dad chucked his old TV in there, took me and a buddy to dig through a few centuries worth of discarded furniture. But I remember grandpa talking about the old estate box, and voila.”

Glenn Davies pulls on a pair of white gloves again, because the camera didn't catch it the first time, and says "Voila indeed!"

Glenn is a man in his early forties, dark-haired and light eyed, expressively handsome in the manner of most of his Welsh countrymen. He’s got the most gawdawful furrow between his eyebrows though, from a lifetime of squinting at archeological sieves and down holes, and at tiny pieces of shattered pottery and old bone.

Hob dons his own gloves, and then carefully they begin to unpack and itemize the contents. A curator and a few assistants from the museum guide them in laying out the documents, setting aside the books, and carefully unfurling the scrolls.

Hob resists the urge to tug on his ear—don't want to get any makeup on the pristine fabric—every time he sees his own signature on something. Has he changed it enough from the one he signed his contract with the production house with? Too late to worry about that, now.

It takes hours to properly unload the crate, and to catalog everything in it, noting what condition and the contents of each piece of paper are. The museum staffers do most of the work while Glenn, Hob, and the curator point out interesting bits of information and human-interest moments that they come across on the pages. It'll be cut down to one ten-minute segment for the show, if that much, and Hob feels a bit disappointed that it can't all go in.

But the V&A will be keeping and digitizing the whole collection, so people can read the romance between Eliza the maid and Will the groom, or try to recreate Francatelli's delicious roast tongue, or remix Eleanor's favorite tunes on TikTok.

Finally, there's just one lambskin roll of documents left. Hob lets Glenn do the honors, his shoulders aching from reaching awkwardly into the crate perched on the table all afternoon. Glenn withdraws it and lays it lovingly on the backlit table, plucking gently at the leather laces.

He peels back the fronting to reveal the press-printed title page.

He goes absolutely, eerily still as he reads.

Then:

“Is this a folio of Cardenio?” Glenn screeches.

He jumps back as if the missing Shakespeare masterpiece is about to jump up from the table to dance a jig. The camerawoman lurches forward to capture the look of slowly-morphing glee on the curator's face.

“Probably,” Hob sighs, pulling off his gloves to scrub at his face. “Gods can sometimes be so petty.”

The assistant director makes him repeat himself three times, just because the line is great, and the first take was ruined by the sound of a bird cawing uproariously from a tree outside.

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aphroditestummyrolls · 10 months

Note

Hey! Could you do a snippet from the engagement series? I loved the last post you made about that one :D

I am LOVING all the people asking for the engagement series— I’m having a blast with it ❤️ here’s a little bit of a longer chunk, because I got carried away.

The first nip of autumn could be felt on the night air over Ketterdam— the breeze was crisp and light. The steep roofs and crumbling gables of the Barrel rolled out before them. It was its own type of beauty, even with no stars and the clouds of city smog leaving a soft purple haze in the streets below. Street lamps glowed amber and gold, the light catching on Jesper’s profile as he looked out over the city.

It was their city. Their home. Even now, with a fancy estate on the other side of town with their portrait over the mantle, and a mercher black suit hanging on Wylan’s side of the wardrobe.

The Crow Club was home.

“Kruge for your thoughts?”

Jes sighed out a long breath, frosty with the cold, but his smile was genuine the moment he heard his voice, and he turned to Wylan. “Just thinking.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” He chuckled, stepping in closer.

Jesper leaned against the stone ledge of the roof and watched him watching him, his eyes a warm flare of streetlamp gold and gunmetal grey. His hands were tucked into his trouser pockets, shoulders drawn in a little. He shrugged.

“Getting a little air, I suppose.”

Wylan hummed, noticing he’d not put on his jacket and his hair was curly and wild, free of his hat.

“Maybe a little more than you ought to— aren’t you cold?”

He was answered with a familiar, knowing smirk that simmered in his chest as soon as he saw it. Jesper took his hands from his pockets only to reach out for Wylan. “Why don’t you keep me warm, then?”

Wylan let himself be reeled in, happy to be pressed flush to his lover’s chest and smell the bright, woodsy smell of his cologne. Feel that heart beating against his own. He couldn’t have helped his grin if he tried, and why would he?

In an optimal position, he nuzzled the tip of his cold, rosy nose into the crook of Jesper’s collar, soothing it with a kiss when he got a squirm in response.

He kept the touch of his lips lush and soft, suffusing heat all the way up his throat to the underside of his jaw. Jesper hummed, with head tilted back and his broad hands resting heavily around the small of Wylan’s back. He simply let Wylan do what he liked, just enjoyed the moment. His short, fluttery eyelashes brushed the very tops of his cheekbones with his eyes shut, closed blissfully, with a smile on his face.

Saints, he was the most beautiful thing Wylan had ever seen.

In his own pocket, the simple band of engraved gold felt like it was about to burn a hole in his trousers.

He kissed Jesper one more time, just for good measure. He needed it. He cupped his cheeks with his hands, and held him there, just to warm up the chilled skin. As he rolled up to his tip toes, he tilted Jes’s face down to do the job properly, pressing their lips together until he could taste the hint of Kaelish whiskey still on his tongue.

Those hands smoothed across his back, under his jacket to grip the fabric of his shirt.

They didn’t stop until they had to. Until the calls and cries and laughter of the Barrel had faded to nothing but their heartbeats in their ears.

It was more feeling than sound, when Jesper broke the hush. His lips still brushed his cheek, feather light, as he said the words. “I really have been, y’know— thinking, that is.”

Wylan pulled back enough to see him plainly, fixing his eyes on him like there was something he needed to study in his face.

“Hm,” Jepser’s fingers were fiddling absently with his braces against his back, and there was something tense in the corners of his eyes. They made his smile look tight. Nervous. “What have you been thinking about, then?”

“You.” He was smiling, he was looking over Wylan’s face like he was trying to commit him to memory. “Us.”

He thought about the ring in his pocket again, looking at the golden halo of lamplight outlining his lover’s curls. And the smile on his perfect lips, and the nervous fidget of his hands.

“Oh?”

Thanks for playing! If you like this, or want to know more, feel free to hit up my inbox, or keep playing ❤️❤️

#wesper #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #six of crows #crooked kingdom #shadow and bone netflix #ask games #thanks for playing!

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dreamqueenkala · 2 years

Text

KINKTOBER 2022

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED

Day ii. || Praise

Lenivy, Dylan w/ Female Reader

SYNOPSIS: It’s the first time you and Dylan have settled down for some peace and intimacy since you started dating. Part way through he discovers just how deep your love for affirmation and praise goes, and he’s more than happy to shower you in it.

The first thing you notice is how soft his lips are. Pressed against yours they’re pillowy and gentle, exuding all the love Dylan holds for you. They dance slow with yours, soft exhales between you every time they pry apart, only to come back just as passionately as if drunk on the feeling. They’re warm and sweet, tasting of the cherry pie you two had shared only 30 minutes ago at the diner down the street.

Second, you become aware of the gentle caress of his thumbs on your cheeks and over the thin skin beneath your eyes. His hands were cold, a welcome contrast to the warmth of his lips, likely due to the vanilla milkshake he’d held whilst you were out. They made your skin feel warmer under his touch, the gentleness of his caress warming your heart.

The final thing you noticed, though, happened to be the words he murmured against your skin. As his lips began to maneuver along your cheekbone, down your jaw and to your neck, each breathe was followed by sweet words whispered against your skin.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Precious.”

“So soft.”

“I love you.”

“You’re perfect.”

“An Angel.”

“Sweetheart.”

“My baby girl.”

Those words, as familiar to you coming from him as they’d always been throughout your relationship, seemed to spark something new in you now that your body was flooded with a tingling warmth in the privacy of your bedroom. Your lips had parted and breathless gasps had escaped them, an almost silent expression of the heat that pooled in your belly at his voice.

Your heart hammered in a way that had your blood warming faster, your hips coming up to buck against Dylan’s when he guided you onto your back against the mattress. A sweet mewl left your lips and the brunette paused, his fingers now placed on your hips. When your eyes fluttered open, he was towering over you with parted lips and a cute blush on his face, panting almost as heavily as you.

“You like that?” He mumbled, tracing patterns into your hips beneath your shirt. “Like when I praise you? Call you a good girl?” Your hitched breathing and the slight buck of your hips gave him an answer, his lips curling to form that playful smirk he wore sometimes. “So cute. Such a good girl for me, and so so needy.”

One hand reached up to toy with your hair, petting it back lightly whilst his free hand caressed the soft skin of your stomach beneath the hem of your top. “D-Dylan—“

“Shhhh, baby girl. Just lay back and let me take care of you, yeah?” His gaze never leaves your face as he moves down your body, warm breath causing goose flesh to raise along the bare skin of your thighs. His fingers tugged lightly at your shorts, guiding them down your legs as you raised your hips. Nosing gently at the wet patch already forming in your underwear, he inhaled and hummed deeply.

“You’re so amazing, sweetheart. Smell so good for me.” His tongue circled the little bundle of nerves hidden beneath the damp cotton fabric. A sharp gasp of pleasure left you, back arching and a chuckle from your boyfriend causing your cheeks to flush further. “So beautiful, laid out for me like this.”

“D-Dylan, please!” Gazing down at him with hazy eyes and blown pupils, slightly concealed by the needy tears forming beneath your eyelids, your kiss swollen lips parted, chest heaving and thighs quivering—Dylan just couldn’t deny you when you looked so damn precious.

He didn’t hesitate, using his index finger to slide your panties down, his tongue met your clit with slow, languid licks. A sharp cry escaped you, urging him on. The brunette closed his eyes and reveled in the sweet sounds that left you, suckling lightly. Two fingers prodded at your entrance, slipping through the slick and burying themselves to the second knuckle within your quivering walls.

One of your hands wormed into his hair and tugged, urging him up to meet your lips with his own as he fingered you. Teeth clashed and tongues danced, a messy wet ensemble accented by the moist sounds of his fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt. “Fuck, you’re so wet. All for me, my beautiful girl.” He moaned against your tongue. The feeling of your walls clenching around his fingers had him grinning, hazel eyes gazing into your lidded ones with lust blown and love-filled pupils. “Yeah? You like being all wet and messy just for me? Make me so fucking hard when you act like this. Such a good girl.”

Word after word, praise after praise, your heart hammered faster and faster in tune with the pacing of his fingers curling and twisting and slipping inside you. Your fingers dug into his shoulder as he lay on his side to your left, gaze fixated on his expression whilst his ministrations continued. Your teeth dug into your lip, your eyes watering again as the bundle in your belly grew tighter and tighter.

“You close, baby? Huh?” The nod you gave him had him peppering wet, open mouthed kisses over your neck, a third finger joining the first two and stretching you wider. “Go ahead. Cum for me, my sweet Angel.” Your vision flooded with white and a sharp squeal left you, back arching as you clamped tight around his digits still slipping into you. Thighs quivering, lungs burning and cheeks dampened with pleasured tears, you slumped to the mattress, burying your face in Dylan’s shoulder.

He peppered soft kisses to your temple, working you through your high before withdrawing his hand. He cradled you close and murmured sweet words in your ear, praising you for doing so well, for listening and making him feel so good just to touch you. It was your first with him, but it wouldn’t be the last, you thought as he cradled you, smiles on both of your faces.

#kinktober #kinktober 2022 #2022 #the quarry #the quarry x reader #Dylan Lenivy #Dylan Lenivy x reader #female reader #smut #oneshot #request #day 2 #my stuff #apocalypticnova #fluff

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lordofwaffless · 8 months

Text

12. Kisses

Stu kissed him once, softly, his lips gently pressed to his own. “Happy Birthday, Wesley,” he whispered.

“Stu, I-” and then Stu was kissing him again, more forcefully now, his lips parting as he tangled his hands in Wesley’s hair; and Wesley was kissing him back, because of course he was kissing him back, and it was warm and wet and sweet (he really does taste like strawberries, Wesley thought), and the next thing he knew, he was suppressing a moan as Stu’s hands moved out of his hair and along his shoulders. Stu’s lips were moving too, away from Wesley's mouth, moving up to press a kiss to his sharp, sculpted cheekbone, to the corner of his soft, full lips, to his perfect jawline, travelling downwards along with his hands. Wesley was only partially aware of where they were even moving to, only certain that he hoped they never stopped moving; he didn’t know what he’d do if they ever stopped moving.

Stu paused for a moment at the base of his neck, hands grasping the collar of Wesley’s shirt, teeth biting just above his collarbone; Wesley actually did moan, now, his own hand winding through the soft brown curls brushing against his cheek, as Stu ran his tongue over the

mark he’d left. He realised, with a start, that he was crying. This, I suppose, is what I’d do if he ever stopped moving, he thought.

“Goddess, I’m a mess,” he muttered aloud. Stu looked up, startled.

“Hey,” Stu breathed against his cheek. He kissed the tears streaming down his face. “Hey,” he whispered again, hoping someone would bonk him over the head and explain to him why the guy he’d been kissing blissfully twenty seconds ago was now crying silently into his hair. “It’s ok.”

“I’m sorry,” Wesley muttered, sounding absolutely miserable.

“You don’t have to apologise. Don’t apologise, please don’t,” Stu whispered. He slid his hand back into Wesley’s longish, almost-purple hair, letting his fingers run through the soft waves. “I’m sorry, Wes,” he murmured into it. The satyr was practically sitting in Wesley’s lap at this point (though he was more kneeling than sitting, as he’d otherwise be too short to reach Wesley’s face). Wesley’s hands were resting on the backs of Stu’s thighs. He started, quite suddenly, to laugh.

“What?” Stu wondered, even more confused now that Wesley was laughing than he’d been when he was crying.

“Your legs are so soft,” Wesley chuckled. Stu blushed. “And now you’re blushing. You were sticking your tongue in my mouth a minute ago without blushing at all, but I comment on your legs and you turn bright red. You’re very strange, Stewart.”

“Well, I- it’s- you- it’s-” Stu sighed. (It really was a dramatic sound, coming from someone who rarely did anything other than giggle, though he had been sighing a lot lately.) “I’ve kissed plenty of people. Most people I kiss do not start crying, and then start laughing as they stroke the fur on my legs: that’s just you.” (Stu decided not to mention that there was no one else he’d have allowed to touch his legs this way.) Wesley chuckled again, sniffling a bit as he wiped his tears on his shoulder. He was, in fact, now running the palms of his hands up and down Stu’s thighs. Stu sighed again and sat down properly, sliding his legs out from under him, which disturbed the movement of Wesley’s hands (pity, Stu thought). Wes slid one arm around Stu and let his other hand rest again on the satyr’s thigh.

“You’re sitting in my lap.”

“Mmm-hmm. That’s a bit obvious,” mumbled Stu, happily curled up against him (although not quite so happy as he’d been kissing him).

“And a few moments ago, you were kissing me,” whispered Wesley, still in disbelief (pointing out the obvious was ordinarily Stu’s thing), “and apparently that’s a thing you do. You kiss people. Plenty of people. How many people is plenty, anyway? Do you bite all of their necks, too, or is that also just me?” he wondered, tugging at a particularly long curl in Stu’s bangs.

Stu peered up at him, running a hand along Wesley’s chest through the worn black fabric of his tank top. “Does it really matter?”

Wesley shook his head, shivering. “No,” he whispered, burying his face in Stu’s neck. “No, love,” he pressed a kiss there, in the same place that Stu had bitten him. “It doesn’t matter at all.” He pulled away. “You’re very strange, Stewart,” he said again, still shaking his head as he kissed him, more softly than they’d been kissing before. He pulled away again. “You’re-” “I get it, I’m very strange,” Stu rolled his eyes.

“Actually, I was going to say that you’re beautiful. But you are very strange,” Wesley chuckled.

Stu sat up. “How am I strange?”

Wesley laughed again, more bitterly now. “You blush at the slightest hint of affection, and stare at me in confusion when I do something like rest a hand on your shoulder, or kiss your face, but then I tell you it’s my birthday and you’re shoving your tongue down my throat (which is a thing you do, apparently) like it’s nothing,” Wesley stated, nearly shouting, entirely without meaning to.

“First, that’s not accurate. I’ve kissed you plenty! Secondly, it’s not nothing! I never said it was nothing, and either way, you said it didn’t matter that this is a thing that I do. Clearly, it matters to you, Wesley,” Stu noted, somewhat irritated, but at a much more reasonable volume.

“I don’t- it’s not-” and Wesley was crying again. He felt like a complete idiot. How many times had he not kissed Stu because he didn’t think Stu would react well, only to now be the one sobbing because, as it turned out, Stu had, presumably, done this more times than Wesley had even thought to? (Not actually that many, but enough.) He wanted to believe he didn’t care, and that it didn’t matter, but he did care. It did matter to him that this entire mess was the first time he’d ever really kissed anyone, and that this did matter to him; and Stu had kissed plenty of people, and this probably didn’t matter to him at all. He didn’t know why he’d initially been crying, when Stu had licked his neck, but he knew why he was crying now; he was crying

because he was in love with the fluffy little satyr on his lap, who kissed people, apparently, and who probably couldn’t care less about kissing him.

The irony of the situation was not lost on him.

Stu was kneeling on his lap again. “Wesley,” he whispered, “please look at me.” Wes continued his resolute glaring in the direction of the doorway, still crying. “Please, Wes,” he whispered. Wesley could see, from the corner of his eye, that Stu’s eyes were filling with tears as well. “Wesley,” he murmured again, kissing his cheek. “Wes. Please look at me.”

He did.

“It’s not nothing, Wes. I don’t go around kissing people in their bedrooms all the time. The last person who kissed me was-” he paused, actually crying now. “He wasn’t- it wasn’t- I didn’t-” he shook his head, sobbing.

In an instant, Wesley understood.

…and then he realised, as Stu cried, that he was being a dick. Worse than a dick. Of course it wasn’t nothing. Of course Stu cared. Stu wasn’t suddenly an entirely different sort of person just because kissing people was a thing he maybe did sometimes; he was

still the same blushing satyr who genuinely did not notice when Wesley stared at him and who turned bright red whenever he flirted with him. (Even if Wesley also didn’t notice basic, obvious things: Goddess, I’m an idiot, he thought.) If Stu was kissing him, it wasn’t because he didn’t care; it was because he cared quite a bit, and, as Wesley was beginning to realise, it was because he had trusted him enough to care.

A trust he'd betrayed repeatedly in the past four minutes.

Wesley was seriously considering turning himself into a tree. He actually might’ve, if he hadn’t been so acutely aware of the fact that doing so would have been running away from the problem he had created. Instead, he held his friend (...boyfriend? …lover?) as he sobbed, apologising to him as he rubbed his back and pressed kisses to his hair.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered, kissing his ear. “I’ve been a complete jackass. I’m so sorry, Stewart.”

Stu sobbed for a fairly long time. He really didn’t do this very often, and he would never have dared to if he had known he’d end up sobbing on Wesley’s lap. He had kissed Wesley because he had wanted to kiss Wesley, and because Wesley had looked handsome as he’d laughed about his birthday, and because Wesley’s getting older had been the perfect excuse to

kiss him. Everything about Wesley had been the perfect excuse to kiss him, in Stu’s opinion. If Wesley had asked him why he’d kissed him, he wouldn’t have been able to give a proper response; he would have just kissed him again. Good golly, he’d have done more than kiss him if given half the chance. So much more, he thought to himself, beginning to giggle. “Are you giggling, Stewart?” asked Wesley, perplexed.

Stu giggled. “No. Of course not.” He kissed a surprised Wesley. “I’m not giggling,” he whispered, before kissing him again, “Because I'm not happy. I’m very upset, actually, and also I hate you,�� he murmured, before returning to Wesley’s lips.

“Mmm- wait,” Wesley replied, pulling away. “Why are you kissing me if you hate me?”

“Because you’re pretty, and it’s your birthday, and I love you, and-” he paused, frustrated. “Because I want to. I’m kissing you because I want to. Now shut up,” he demanded, but Wesley had already sat up, causing Stu to tumble back down onto his lap.

“You love me?” he asked, wonderment sketched across his face.

“No, I hate you. Were you not paying attention?” cried the frustrated satyr, attempting to get back up to Wesley’s lips. He found himself pinned in place by the taller boy’s arms.

“I’m not going to let you kiss me if you hate me,” Wesley teased, smirking down at Stu.

“Hmph. Maybe I don’t want to kiss you. Maybe I don’t want to do more than kiss you. Maybe I don’t want to do anything with you at all,” Stu pouted, squirming against Wesley in his attempt to free himself from his grip and return to kissing him.

“Mmhmm. I’m sure.” Wesley laughed, deciding to give him what he wanted. Stu was pleased to be kissing him again, although he wished he could move his arms; then again, he didn’t particularly want Wesley to start crying again. He realised, as he kissed him, that he should probably stop kissing him long enough to talk about what had happened the first time that he’d kissed him.

“Wesley,” he whispered breathlessly against his cheek.

“Hmmm?”

“Why were you crying? I mean, I get why you were crying when we were talking earlier, but when I kissed you-?”

Wesley pulled back. He unwrapped his arms from the satyr’s body, letting him move around again. Stu immediately stood up and hugged him from behind, earning himself half a smile and another short kiss.

Wesley sighed, content to sit on the couch and be held by Stu, but figuring he should probably attempt to answer the question. “Which time when you kissed me specifically?” Stu startled at the question, not having remembered that Wesley had, in fact, cried a few times. Well, so have I, he thought. “The first time. When I bit you.”

Wesley sighed again. “I don’t know. It was… surprising, I guess, and a bit overwhelming. I’ve never- nobody has ever-”

Stu nodded against his head. “I get that.”

Wesley looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Stu asked, surprised.

“For crying. And being a dick. And probably also a disappointment.” Sigh. “So much for being literally the most amazing person you know.”

Stu shook his head. “You are. You don’t need to apologise for crying, Wes. And you’ve already apologised for being a d-word.” He leaned over and kissed him. “Not that you were too much of one to begin with, anyway.” He kissed him again. “You haven’t disappointed me, Wesley. It’s ok.”

Wesley loved the feeling of being kissed by Stu as much as Stu loved kissing him. He never wanted to stop kissing Stu, and being kissed by Stu, and being as close to him as possible; he had no idea how he was going to get through his classes tomorrow, sitting right next to Stu for hours and not kissing him at all.

“I don’t know how I’m going to get through my classes tomorrow,” he whispered.

“What?”

“I don’t know how I’m going to get through my classes tomorrow.”

“You said that already. That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to get through my classes without kissing you,” he elaborated, laughing.

“You could always kiss me now,” suggested the satyr, who very much wanted to be kissed.

“That’s true. You’re standing behind me, though, Stewart, which makes you quite difficult to kiss.”

Stu laughed. Wesley lifted his arms behind him, and, grabbing Stu around the waist, flipped him over his shoulder onto the couch.

“No fair,” Stu pouted. “I’m tiny. I can’t flip you over my shoulder while sitting down. I can’t flip you over my shoulder at all.”

“I know. It’s great. What an excellent advantage I have, Stewart,” Wesley grinned. He slid down a bit, letting his head lie against the armrest. Stu shook his head, pleased with the current situation (he was straddling Wesley’s torso, with his head directly above Wesley’s), but still a bit annoyed by the ease with which people carried him around. He didn’t care too much when it was Wesley moving him about (and especially not when the result was perfect access to Wesley’s perfect lips), but Ezra in particular had an unfortunate habit of tossing him over her shoulder and setting him down wherever she wanted him.

He figured it was probably best not to think about Ezra right now. It was too late, though; Wesley had already noticed the shift in his expression. He sat up again.

“Love, what’s wrong?” he asked Stu gently, cradling his face with his hand. “Nothing,” Stu mumbled. “Ezra.”

“What about Ezra, babe?” Wesley questioned, too concerned to care about the sudden surge in pet name usage.

“Nothing,” Stu mumbled again, blushing. “I don’t want to talk about Ezra right now.”

“Ok,” Wesley nodded. “Ok.” He kissed Stu, softly at first, and then more deeply after a few moments. They went more slowly than they had the first time, with Stu keeping his hands more to himself.

“Is this ok, love?” Wesley asked, when the satyr pulled away for air.

“Mmhmm,” Stu replied, tugging Wesley down on top of him. “Very ok.” He went back to kissing him, still just kissing him, keeping his hands tangled in the silky raven locks of Wesley’s hair. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re hesitating,” Wesley whispered.

“Hmmm. Well, that is a problem, isn’t it?” Stu giggled, softly, reaching up to nip the tip of Wesley’s nose. Wesley rolled his eyes.

“You can touch me, you know,” he noted against Stu’s ear. “Clearly, I won’t break.” “I want to,” Stu whispered. “I want to touch every part of your body. Every inch of your skin.”

“Do that, then,” Wesley replied, cheeks turning silver. “Do whatever you want.”

“What if it’s too much? What if it’s too overwhelming, and you start crying again-” Stu murmured. “I don’t want to upset you.”

“You won’t, love, it’s ok,” he whispered, echoing Stu’s own reassurances. “It’s ok, Stu.” He kissed the smaller boy’s neck. “Do whatever you want.”

……….

Stu wondered if there was anything more delicious than waking up in the arms of a tall, unreasonably beautiful boy who loved him.

Breakfast brought the answer to his wonderings: eating strawberry souffle pancakes off of Wesley’s fork was even more delicious than waking up next to him. He decided not to tell Wesley that, though. (Honestly, he figured Wesley already knew. Wesley was definitely aware of his love for strawberry covered breakfast foods; he’d made the pancakes, hadn’t he?)

Wesley knew exactly what was going through Stu’s mind as he ate. The face he made in the throes of other forms of bliss was really just a watered-down version of the face he made when eating anything covered in strawberry syrup. Maybe that’s why he never notices when I look at him like that, he mused. He’s always been too preoccupied with whatever he’s eating. Either way, Wesley was content to watch him scarf down plate after plate of pancakes. One would assume he’d savour them, since he clearly enjoyed eating them, but he seemed to be more interested in eating as many as possible before they had to get dressed for school; they were currently both in their pyjama bottoms, which had taken them quite some time to find that morning.

Stu’s jammies were pink-and-white striped with little strawberries on them. “Defilement,” Wesley muttered with a shake of his head, echoing what Ezra had said just a few days before.

“What?” Stu questioned, though it was difficult to understand him since his mouth was full of pancakes.

“Goddess, Stewart, don’t speak with your mouth open,” Wesley spluttered. He threw one of his mother’s carefully embroidered, hand sewn napkins at him; it landed, open all the way, directly on Stu’s face.

Stu grabbed it and laughed, this time covering his mouth with his hand. He scooted his chair over to Wesley’s and laid his head on Wesley’s bare shoulder. Wes wrapped his arm around

him with a smile and kissed his fluffy morning bangs. “Are the pancakes good?” he asked, even though the answer was obvious.

“So good,” the satyr moaned in reply. “These are delicious. I could marry these pancakes.”

“Well, yes, but then you’d eat them all and be out of pancakes, Stewart,” Wesley said, with mock seriousness.

Stu considered this for a moment. “Hmmm. That’s true.” He looked up at Wesley. “What do you propose?”

Wesley grinned into Stu’s head. “Marry me, obviously, and I’ll make pancakes for you every morning.”

“Hey,” giggled Stu, “I didn’t mean you should literally propose.” He pressed a syrupy kiss to Wesley’s cheek.

“Stu,” Wes groaned, with faux exasperation. He couldn’t really bring himself to care about the syrup on his face.

“Are you going to finish your breakfast?” Stu asked. Wes’s plate was still mostly full, apart from the half-eaten pancakes he’d been feeding to Stu.

“In a second. Are you done?” he asked. His boyfriend nodded. (Because that’s what Stu was now, officially. His boyfriend. Wesley thought he might actually die of happiness, though he found that entire sentiment unbearably cheesy.)

“Go get dressed, then,” Wesley replied. Stu exhaled melodramatically.

“Better idea,” he began, walking his fingers up Wesley’s bare chest with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “We could just-”

Wesley cocked an eyebrow. “Clothes, Stu. Go put some on.”

Stu sighed again, but went to go get dressed. Wesley knew exactly what Stu’s better idea had been. (It was extremely obvious what he’d been thinking. It was always obvious what Stu was thinking.) He agreed that it was better (anybody who’d spent the past night so enjoyably would agree that it was better), but it was certainly less conducive towards a perfect attendance record. Although he did appreciate the confidence Stu seemed to have around him now; he’d stopped blushing and mumbling (in conjunction; he still blushed separately from the mumbling) at some point since they’d kissed last night, and the change was astounding. Wesley finished

clearing up the table (shaking his head and smiling all the while), and followed Stu back up to the bedroom.

He found Stu half dressed, struggling with a turtleneck.

“Stewart, how do you manage to look so good every day if you can’t even dress yourself properly?” wondered Wesley, staring in amazement as the satyr attempted to put his head through a sleeve.

Stu mumbled something inaudible.

“Darling,” Wesley murmured, helping his boyfriend find the neck hole with some difficulty. “This should not be this complicated.”

Stu kissed him once his head was out. “I make everything complicated,” he mourned. “I made my relationship with Ezra complicated,” he whispered, sniffling. “Most mornings we’d be driving to school right now.”

“Stewart, look at me.” Stu shook his head, looking instead at the floor. We really have a problem with eye contact, thought Wesley with a sigh. He laid his hand on Stu’s cheek, drawing his attention to him. “Stu, Ezra made your relationship with Ezra complicated. None of what has happened is your fault, which even Ezra would tell you if she were here.” He gave Stu a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. “Ezra loves you, Stu. Things are just a little, well- complicated right now.”

Stu shook his head again, still on the verge of tears. He collapsed on the edge of the bed. “I’m so tired, Wesley,” he mumbled, picking at a loose thread on Wesley’s coverlet. “I just-”

Wesley sat on the edge of the bed and lifted Stu’s head onto his lap. “You just what, love? What do you need?”

“I don’t know,” he cried, curling up into a ball against Wesley.

Wesley sighed. “Stewart, love, we have to start walking to school in five minutes. Can you do that?”

Stu nodded, sobbing into his lap.

“So that’s a no, then.” Wesley sighed, stroking Stu’s hair. He didn’t really mind that his perfect attendance record was about to be ruined; it was, at least, one less thing for Fiona to mock him about. He would have preferred for it to be ruined because of Stu’s better idea, rather than Stu’s depressive episode, but really, either one was preferable to sitting in his maths class next to Stu, barely being able to look at him, or speak to him, or touch him…

“Oh, Stewart,” he sighed, and then, just because he wanted to (even though it didn’t make much sense at the moment), he whispered down at him, “I love you, Stu.” “I know,” sobbed Stu. It was a pitiful sight. The fluffy little satyr was in his dark green turtleneck and green-and-cream plaid miniskirt, clutching the T-shirt he’d been intending to wear and sobbing all over the crotch of Wesley’s faded black pyjama bottoms. It was a bit awkward; Welsey figured he’d probably have to put on clean pyjama bottoms when Stu finished crying. (He hoped that would be soon; his bottoms were beginning to be soaked through.)

After quite a while, Stu finally noticed the damp (mostly because the wet of the fabric was beginning to irritate his nose), and sat up. He was still weeping a bit, but he was not, at least, still sobbing on Wesley’s pyjamas. Wesley rubbed his back with his knuckles. “Wes-”

“Hmm?”

Stu sniffled. “You should really take your own advice.”

Wesley decided to ignore his comment. “Why don’t you lie down, babe?” The satyr shook his head, blushing. “We have school.”

“We’re already late, and either way, Stewart, do you honestly think you could sit through more than a few minutes of maths class right now without crying?”

“Yes.” He considered for another moment. “No.”

“Go lie down, love.”

Stu did. He really was exhausted, and Wesley’s massive bed was piled high with soft, fluffy pillows and comfy blankets (Wesley had really magicked them all out of the closet last night just for him; he ordinarily slept with just a sheet. Not that Stu was properly aware of that). Wesley joined him after a few moments, having put on some non-tear-soaked pants (he’d been too lazy to try and find any proper bottoms). He wrapped his arms around the satyr. “Stu?” he asked in a whisper.

“Hmmm?”

He was silent for a moment, before deciding that there really wasn’t a good time to ask what he’d been wondering since Stu had kissed him last night. “Do you love me?” Stu sat back up and stared at him. “You’re an idiot.”

Wesley blinked. “Is that a yes, or-?”

“Yes! Of course I love you. I’m very stupid, but even I’m pretty sure that that’s extremely obvious.” He flopped back down on top of Wesley. “You’re such an idiot,” he whispered.

“Goddess, Stu, I get it. I’m an idiot for not being absolutely certain that the person who spent a solid five minutes last night telling me he hated me loves me.”

“I spent a lot longer than that doing very not hateful things! And anyway, I told you I loved you-”

“On accident-”

Stu kissed him. “Shut up,” he demanded. He kissed him again, and then remembered- “We should probably go to school.”

Wesley rolled on top of Stu and kissed Stu’s lips, then his face, and then tugged the collar of his stupid turtleneck down to nibble at his neck. “No.”

Neither of them mentioned school again after that.

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a-snowpoff · 2 years

Text

Papyrus is usually the one to do the cleaning but today you had the sudden urge to help out and surprise him by tidying up! You just didn’t expect the genuine compliment~

#Ah man… I just needed me a bit more of Papyrus being cutesy #A Papyrus that wears oversized sweaters and loves to take care of you uwu #Absolutely pamper you with home cooked meals and special desserts #He gets easily flustered and overwhelmed #Your dating power is off the charts after all and it just kept sky rocketing as you continued life as date mates #This Papyrus melts when offered hugs and snuggles and cuddles #If you reached out for his cheekbone he’d press against the touch happy to have any and all your affection #=/////= brainrotting some soft boi Papyrus and my heart is here for it #papyrus #papyrus with fangs #undertale #my art #a-snowpoff #gif #animated

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gaysimpsstuff · 3 years

Text

Accidental Turn-Ons; Hawks x Dom! Reader

Genre: angst to fluff to smut

Type: Oneshot

Summary: Hawks returns home from a mission, clearly exhausted, and you take the time to give him a little massage! However, it doesn’t quite have the effects you expected.

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: minor dub-con (Y/n doesn't know that what they're doing is sexual for Hawks), stress, minor injuries, Keigo's adorable bird tendencies, sexual innuendo, dom y/n, wing play, feather play, nicknames, edging, dacryphilia, handjobs, aftercare

Other: Yo this might actually be my best smut yet

Inspiration: This was actually inspired by my own piece of work, MHA Characters + Their Biggest Kinks where I spoke about Hawks’ wing and back kink and how it relates to his avian traits.

Taglist: @smolchildfangirl @mandalorian-baby-bird @waffleareniceandfluffy @catcherisvibin @thesubtlewhore @popcatx0

You paced the living room, glancing between the TV and the door. The news station had cut away from the fight five minutes ago, which meant your boyfriend was either in the hospital getting treated for any injuries he might have sustained, dealing with fans, dealing with paperwork, or on his way home.

Your phone buzzed and you raced to grab it off the couch, fearing an incoming call from the hospital, or a news alert about the well-being of the man you loved.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you realized it was just an email from work, not even marked important. You tossed your phone back onto the couch with a groan.

Wasted build-up. Your mind grumbled

Your eyes flicked back to the TV, watching as the reporter rambled on about yet another stupid thing America had going on as you waited for something, anything to happen. Right when you were getting ready to pick your phone back up from the couch cushions when you heard a light tap tap tappity tap against the thick glass of the sliding glass door that led to your balcony.

You dashed across the living room, accidentally knocking a chair over as you raced to reach the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. You'd recognize his special knock any day, even if he changed it all the time whenever he forgot it. You always had patience with him, you knew he had too many things on his mind with Hero Work to always remember a random knock.

You grabbed the handle, yanking the door open with a wide grin, finally laying eyes on your bird boy. He had a hand stuffed in his pocket, the other rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Hey, Y/n. So sorry I'm late, been flying all day so naturally I'm a little sore. No excuse for missing movie night but-"

"I'm just so glad you're here!" You exclaimed, taking his cheeks in your hands and rubbing at his cheekbones. "I'm so sorry you're hurting, come inside I'll get a heating pack, or a cooling pack, maybe some lotion and I could give you a massage." You babbled, tugging him inside.

"A massage and some cuddles sound great," he sighed, eyes tired. You never liked the fact that Keigo was a hero. He worked too hard, too much, and for so long. He was still young, he should be appreciating life and spending time on himself and with his lover and not with the commission. "Oh I uh, I found this for you."

He took one of your hands off his face, taking his other hand out of his pocket and pressing something cold and smooth into your palm. You opened your fingers, a soft smile growing on your face at the sight of a smooth pretty white rock with grey and black speckles.

"Oh, Kei, this is beautiful. I love it~" you pressed a kiss to Keigo's cheek, loving the way he trilled. He was always so excited to pick up random items he found pretty or interesting, and he'd always give them right to you. It was truly adorable, you loved his gifts. His wings fluttered in happiness for a moment before he winced slightly in pain, happiness vanished in a reminder of his stress from the day.

"Ouch, okay, sitting down time," he muttered, stumbling past you to flop down on the couch. You grabbed the lotion from the kitchen counter (you kept it there for whenever he came home with sore muscles). You set the stone down on the coffee table, tapping it twice in a small show of affection before sitting next to Keigo.

"Shirt off Birdie," you said, squirting some lotion into your palm before rubbing them together.

"Hey, at least buy me a drink first," he chuckled, tugging his jacket off and peeling off his tight hero shirt. You sighed, deciding not to comment on his tacky flirting, knowing you'd been dating for almost a year now.

He turned his back to you, crossing his legs. He folded his wings, lowering them to give you access to his shoulders and shoulder blades. You pressed your fingers against one of his shoulders, finding a large knot almost immediately. You heard him hiss, and your frown increased.

"I know it hurts but it will hurt a lot less when I'm finished," you told him, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck. The hair there rose against your skin, a shiver shooting down his spine. You blinked, confused at his reaction. Maybe it was uncomfortable for him. You resolved not to kiss there again.

You continued to rub against his tightened muscles, listening to his soft hisses and groans. You pulled away after about six minutes, picking up the lotion bottle and squirted some more into your palms.

"Hey, when you finish with mm~ when you finish with that shoulder could you do around my wing joints? Down my spine, y'know?"

"Are there muscles there?" you asked, most people didn't have muscles down their spines, usually it was just the ridges of said bones.

"Yeah, I do," he explained quickly. You nodded pressing into his knot, slowly working down when it eased up. You moved your fingers downwards, feeling his shoulder blades and spine before reaching his wings joints. He shuddered, similar to when you kissed his neck, but a little larger. You hummed, pressing your fingers down and finding another knot, right where his skin turned to bright red feathers.

"Oh, yeah, yeah right there that's perfect." You glanced back up at him, confused, he didn't usually speak when you massaged him, he'd also never asked for a massage so close to his wings, he was usually very cautious about having his wings touched. Maybe he'd just gotten tired of dealing with wing pains by himself, it was probably a lot different from other knots.

"I'm so sorry you have to deal with this," you cooed. "You really deserve a break, it's not healthy to work this hard all the time."

"I know, Little Feather, but it's nng- n-not my fault. The citizens need me." he panted. You sighed, moving your other hand to work out both wings' knots at the same time.

Keigo's head flopped forward, and his hand flew up to slap over his mouth, holding back a soft whine. You lifted an eyebrow in suspicion, there were only a few times when you heard him make noises like that.

Slowly, you pressed your fingers down closer to the underside, right over a few of his downy feathers.

"Oh fuck~" he hissed.

"Okay, that's it." you lifted your hands away from them, holding them in the air. "What the hell's going on with you?" His head whipped around so fast you were surprised it was still attached to his neck. His golden eyes widened, pupils blowing out, nearly completely covering the honey iris.

"W-what?" he exclaimed, feathers puffing up.

"I'm sorry if I seem mad, I'm not, I'm just- very confused. You're literally moaning. I am giving you a massage and you're moaning. Explain."

His cheeks dusted over in pink, and his eyes fell down to his lap.

"Okay uh- fuck I- this was not how I planned on telling you, erm- I promise I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable-"

"Keigo, it's alright, I'm not uncomfortable, just confused. Take a breath darling,"

"Okay, okay, okay." he took a deep breath. "My wings and back are... sensitive, like- in a sexual way. It's why I never let you touch them, I didn't want you to get uncomfortable with that."

"Oh Keigo, you should have just told me, it's perfectly alright, you know I love you, and I love your bird traits. I'm not uncomfortable with this." you smiled sweetly, pressing a hand to his cheek.

"You're- you're not?" he glanced back up at you, golden eyes filled with hope.

"Not in the slightest. To be honest, I don't see why anyone would be uncomfortable with it. It's just another erogenous zone, like someone's neck, ears, or nipples would be. And lots of people keep those bits on display."

"Thanks," he murmured, rubbing his nose against yours. "That does make me feel better, but uh- there's something else.." he trailed off, nervous.

"Your obvious boner? I was gonna leave you to take care of that yourself, but I'll gladly do it for you if you'd like."

"Oh uh-" his cheeks brightened as if attempting to match the tone of his wings. "I would very much like that," he admitted, offering you a slightly nervous smile.

"Anytime, Birdie~" you stood up, hands landing on either side of his waist as you pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "But I would very much like to experiment with those wings of yours, see what we can do with them. Just how far can we go?" You smirked at him, tongue darting out to moisturize your lips. Keigo let out a soft breath, shifting against the couch to make room for the tent in his pants.

"I- I have thought about using them before- my feathers can move fast, so they can act as a vibrator if I focus, but I could never use it on myself. I know I'd get distracted, then the feather would stop moving, then I'd have to start all over again. I'd basically just be edging myself all night. I know I'd just give up and jerk off."

"I can work with that~" you pressed your lips against his, surprising him. He whined into the kiss, hands flying up to fist your shirt.

Unfair. He thought, he already had his shirt off, and he knew he'd be naked in just a few minutes, but you hadn't taken anything off yet. Knowing you, you would stay clothed just to tease him. The most you would do was lift your shirt a little to show him your stomach before quickly covering it again. That was what you usually did when you dommed. At least for the foreplay.

You pressed the tip of your tongue against his lips, pushing past his defensive barrier of shiny white teeth, perfect for the press, and you licked along the top of his mouth. His whole body shuddered against yours, his hips jerking upwards.

You grabbed his thigh with one hand, squeezing. A warning, he knew, against bucking up again, against disobeying. He tasted your saliva, feeling it pool onto his tongue. His eyes finally drooped closed, enjoying the taste of leftover's from last night's dinner on your tongue.

He whined against the back of your mouth, feeling you move your other hand up towards his back. He already knew what you were going to do. Without pulling away from the kiss, you plucked a feather about the size of his hand from his wings, running a finger down the stem, brushing it against the little red bristles. Soft against your finger, yet forcing Keigo's restrained cock to grow even harder than he ever thought possible.

You slowly pulled back from the kiss, taking his lower lip hostage between your teeth, tugging it as far as it could go before finally releasing it. You felt Keigo's hot breaths fanning out across your face, and your grin only grew. You loved breaking him apart, the strong, well-put-together Hawks was an act only for the cameras, only you could ever know the real him, the horny, whiny, needy baby he truly was.

"Look at you, falling apart already? I've barely done shit to you."

"Fuck- that's just 'cause it's you~" he purred

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, doll." Your shit-eating smirk only grew, and Keigo could feel himself melting into the couch cushions. "C'mon, take 'em off, you're a big boy, I'm sure you can do it yourself."

He nodded, hands flying away from your shirt and grappling with his belt buckle faster than you could say 'Hawks.' He tossed his belt behind the couch, not caring if it hit anything, and quickly shimmied out of his pants and underwear, letting them pool around his ankles. His cock slapped against his stomach, six inches and throbbing.

Looks like his prediction was correct. He was naked. You were not. You didn't look like you were planning on undressing anytime soon, which left Keigo feeling slightly disappointed. However, any negative emotions vanished the second you ran his bright red feather down his nose, over his lips, then under his chin. He knew immediately you were trying to lift his face with the feather, despite the single feather not being strong enough by itself, not unless it was under his control. But he was not in control, you were, and fuck it if that wasn't the best part.

"Good boy~" you praised him, sliding a hand up his bare thigh, brushing it carelessly close to his dick. He bit his lip, eyes flicking between your hand and your eyes.

"Please, please touch me," he whispered, slightly embarrassed by the situation. It had been a long while since you'd last had sex, and an even longer while since you had been the dom. He'd all but forgotten how to properly beg. You could tell.

"Come on, doll, I know you can ask me nicely, or at least better than that." He groaned, hands gripping your hips and attempting to tug you into his lap, a plan formulating in his head that ended in an amazing thighjob. But his plans never worked, not at least with you involved. No, you were too stubborn, one of the many things he loved about you. But not really in this precise situation.

"Nah ah ah~ hands off the merchandise." Your hand squeezed his thigh again, twice this time. That was all he needed to let go. He found purchase in a nearby pillow, moving it behind him and tugging on the little dangly bits on the corners. He forgot what they were called but he was ninety-five percent sure it started with a 'D' or something.

"Fuck, please, I need it, you know I need it, I-I've been nothing but good all day, please touch me, please~" He whined, eyebrows furrowing. That plus his reddened cheeks made just the cutest face. You couldn't wait to make his eyes go crooked and for him to drool.

"That's it, good boy~" You ran the tip of the feather up his cock, circling the tip. He shivered in response, biting back a loud moan. "Come on, don't make me mad, vibrate yourself with your feather~" you cooed, teasing tone making his stomach churn in the best way possible.

He bit his lip, looking down at the feather slowly circling the tip of his dick. It had already nudged his foreskin downwards, leaving the red skin fully exposed. He took a deep breath, trying to block out your presence, and how hard he was, just focusing on the single red feather, twirling around in loops.

He felt it twitch against his skin, before finally starting to shake, then at last it was vibrating. He twitched it away from his dick, slightly nervous about how it might feel. You sighed, pressing it directly onto the little hole at the tip.

"Ghhh- oh fuckkkkk~" he moaned, pressing his head against the couch cushions. It felt better than he ever possibly could have imagined. Feeling the feather on his dick, his dick against his feather, it was double the pleasure. He whined loudly when the vibrations suddenly stopped. "Nooooo I want it, bring it back, please," he begged, looking up at you with wide eyes.

"Doll I didn't even do anything. You lost focus. You gotta try a little harder." you said, tapping the feather against him again. Pre-cum stuck to it, making red glisten with a little bit of white. He cursed at the sight (and feeling) of his own pre on his feather.

Soon enough, it started to buzz again. And you put it back on him. This time, you traced it up and down his base, running it over the tip again. One of his hands flew up to his mouth, knuckles pressing against his lips. His hips bucked up against the vibrating feather.

"Ooooohhhhhh fuckfuckfuckfuck so goooood~" he moaned loudly. Again, the buzzing stopped without warning. "Nooo fuck no! I need it please fuck!" He looked like he was on the verge of tears- no way it was really that good. You'd have to ask him to use his feathers on you sometime.

"I know baby, I know," you ran your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. His breath hitched, golden eyes filling with tears of pleasure. "But you gotta focus to get it done, okay?" he nodded, wiping his tears, but he only managed to spread the warm, salty liquid over his face, making him appear even more debauched.

How cute

You wrapped your hand around his dick when it started to vibrate again, the feather curled up between your palm and his dick. Slowly, you began to jerk him off, feeling the feather vibrate faster than you'd felt any toy vibrate, and his dick throbbing and pulsing against you left you feeling like you just might cum in your pants.

"FUCK!" he shouted, back arching off the couch. One of his legs flew upwards, toes curling around the air. He was shaking at this point, looking like he was just on the verge of cumming. "Oh, Godddd fuckkkmeeeee~" he wailed, tears overflowing and falling down his flushed cheeks.

"No god's gonna fuck you, darling, only I will because you belong to me. Isn't that right?" You pulled on his hair and his moans grew louder, the vibrations intensifying, which you thought was impossible at the rate it had been buzzing against your skin and his.

"Youuuuu fuck- I- I belong to youuuu~" he moaned, hiccuping a little.

"Fuck, you're so fucking cute like this, so adorable when you fall apart beneath me, gonna break soon?" He sniffed loudly, nodding. His moan broke out into a disappointed wail when the vibrations stopped again. He tried to get it to move but it just wasn't going to. You opened your palm, revealing the feather, the stem bent awkwardly. Hawks sighed, sadness filling his eyes.

"I was just 'bout to cum too..." he whimpered.

"Oh, you'll still cum. We don't need anything else between us anymore~" you tossed the feather aside before spitting into your palm, beginning to jerk him off again. It certainly didn't feel nearly as good as it did with the feather, but at this point, he was so close he just couldn't give two fucks about how good it felt, just that it would get him where he needs.

"Oh yes yes yes fuck yes more more- gonna cum gonna cum ooooh fuck baby you're gonna make me cum!" He cried out, bucking up into your hand, sobbing as pre ran down the sides of his dick and onto your fingers.

You pulled him to you by his hair, loving the loud moan he let out from the pain. You pressed your lips right up against his ear.

"Then fucking cum, my baby boy~" you purred seductively. Moments later, his whole body spasmed, legs shaking violently and wings flaring outwards. He wailed, screaming as he finally came into your hand, white ribbons landing on his legs, stomach, and even a little on the couch. Subconsciously, he knew he'd have to clean that up later, but he was not about to worry about that right now.

"Godamn! If that wasn't the hottest thing I've ever seen!" you exclaimed, truly in awe at just how good his orgasm looked. He had gone limp, flopped back against the couch, and panting. You pulled your hand away from his dick, licking away the bits of cum from your skin before sitting down next to him, tugging his body closer to you.

"Unf, that was the best damn orgasm of my life," he murmured, voice a little hoarse.

"Looked like it, you alright darling? Can I get you anything? Water, blankets, bath?" You worried a little, hoping you didn't completely brain-fuck him.

"Jus' some cuddles." his head flopped down on your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as he yawned.

"Hey birdie, don't fall asleep on me," you chuckled. "We still gotta get you all cleaned up and put in bed."

"Not... a problem..." he whispered, breath tickling your skin as he nodded off.

"Heh, that's a problem," you smiled affectionately. He deserved his rest. You resolved to stay still for a little while, then clean him up as gently as you could before carrying him to bed. He wasn't that heavy, after all. "I love you, my darling Keigo~" you whispered, resting your head on top of his and closing your eyes.

Maybe the mess could be cleaned tomorrow, you were also very tired.

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zensharks · 3 years

Text

genshin boys - how they hug you

summary: how six of the genshin men would give hugs ^^

characters: diluc, childe, albedo, kaeya, zhongli, venti

a/n: veeery happy with this one!! especially kaeya and venti ehe

warnings: swearing, maybe a little angst for zhongli if you squint a little

wc: 1.5k

diluc

before diluc can consider himself close with someone, any physical touch is very stiff and regulated; he’s known for his rigid, pat-on-the-back hugs

he’ll furrow his brow in an attempt to remain composed, despite how uncomfortable physical affection is with most people

when diluc is close with you, though, expect the warmest hugs ^^

he’ll practically envelop you in his arms, one wrapped around the middle of your back and the other holding the back of your head near his neck, combing his hands through your hair

he keeps you held tight into his chest so you can feel his breathing slow as you relax into his touch

if the quiet allows for it you may be able to hear his heartbeat; it’s a comforting sound, a very slow rhythm with a deep sort of tone to it

diluc’s hugs are tight but never suffocating, he always holds you with a sort of gentle nature about him

he also lingers slightly - very rarely in an overly persistent manner - you can often feel his fingertips lightly brush against you when you pull away from him

he also tolerates cuddles (okay maybe more than tolerates)

most of the time, diluc prefers to be the big spoon

you can feel the heat from his chest as he holds your back pressed against his chest, one arm resting on top of yours as he strokes the back of your hand with his thumb

with his face laying on the pillow just behind yours, you swear you can feel the corners of his mouth turning up as his eyes fall closed

(very soft smiles when your eyes are turned away from him ehe)

he loves to feel you near him, the fact that he can physically know your closeness makes diluc feel safe with you

childe

enthusiastic.

he pulls you in so quickly that before you can take a second to think, childe already has you tight up against him

he hugs you with his arms hooked under your shoulders and his hands resting on your shoulder blades, maybe one reaching up to hold the back of your neck right where your hairline ends

he’ll often shoot you some snide remark like “glad to see you’re finally back, you sure took your time” with a smirk hiding at the corner of his mouth, but he continues to hold you as if, in his arms, you are right where you belong

his hugs are tight. i mean very tight

sometimes to the extent that you have to remind childe that, yes, you will in fact need to breathe at some point

he also hugs you from behind ,, like all the time

you can be doing anything - cleaning, looking for something on a shelf, doing the dishes, even just walking from one spot to another when you feel a pair of arms snake around you

he’s got you in his grasp hehehhehe >:)

his back hugs are more gentle, but his brazenness is still very much obvious in the way that he brings his head down to where his nose slightly brushes against the corner of your jaw and softly whispers next to your ear

(“hm, do tell, where were you going just now?”)

there’s that mf smirk again.

albedo

albedo still struggles to master the formula to hugs, hopeless little alchemist </3

he often finds himself stuck between too gentle and too rigid

(as in he either holds you as if you are a thin sheet of glass, or as if his joints had suddenly become locked in place)

he was wary at first, not knowing the appropriate times for a hug let alone if he was doing it right; over time though, he learned from you and you came to find that he’s very gentle in his affections

he’s the type to let his arms rest under yours, wrapped around the middle of your back, often nestling his head into the crook of your neck

he lets his breathing relax a little when he realizes that you aren’t pulling away

pet his hair ……..

comb your hands through his hair or even just rest your hand on the back of his head to hold him closer, he’ll melt

as he became more comfortable with you, albedo realized that maybe, just maybe he can stand a hug or two :)

however.

in public, don’t expect much - any pda, if not nonexistent, is very chaste

he hugs you so quickly that it almost seems like he sets a time limit - if you blink you’ll miss it

if the room is empty, though, albedo will let you rest your head on his shoulder as he works, sometimes holding you closer to him with an arm around your back while still keeping his eyes fixed on the materials in front of him

(he’ll also often try to explain his process to you if he sees your expression turn slightly confused, doing his best to help you understand)

in short, albedo appears quite distant, but gaining his trust opens up a new side of him that he keeps away from most others

kaeya

in a comparable manner to childe, kaeya is very clingy

depending on the day, he either falls apart under your touch, or he decides to be the one to make you fall

in the first case, he’ll keep himself pressed close against you with his arms under yours and wrapped around your middle, his hands placed just above the small of your back to keep himself as near to you as possible

he keeps his face settled into the crook of your neck, and if you were to brush a hand through his hair or trace your thumb along the nape of his neck he would simply melt ^^

no. more. cryo!!

in the latter situation though, kaeya becomes very forward and bold in his actions

he’d still have one hand at the small of your back, but the other would be holding the back of your neck or resting on the side of your face, softly tracing your jawline

contrary to the prior, kaeya often wants to be able to see you directly in moments like this

he’ll tip your face up so your eyes meet his, letting out a slight chuckle at your expression

“do you always look at me like that?”

get that mf smile off your face kaeya

despite his brash attitude he’ll still shower you with affection, placing soft kisses at your temple to your cheekbone, down your jawline and neck, and finally to your lips

of course, he has to follow it up with some sort of remark - “oh? was that not enough?”

i said stop smirkING U DUMBASS

tl;dr: either way, kaeya gets what he wants

zhongli

at first, zhongli kept up a very professional and respectful nature in your company

it took a lot of time to break through his layer of formality, starting slowly with smaller gestures of affection

over time, as he became more comfortable, he grew to appreciate being able to hold you so close to him

zhongli’s touch is very gentle, almost reverent

his movements are slow - not calculated but rather gentle

his hugs are heavy but soft; you can feel one hand resting on the back of your shoulder opposite it and the weight of the other pressed flat into the middle of your back, keeping you tight to his chest with your arms wrapped around his torso

he’ll most likely be the last to let go

his touch always lingers; zhongli, more than most, understands the fleeting nature of human life, so he is sure to make his moments with you last

after you try to pull away, he would pull you back up against him with his hands at your waist before placing a chaste kiss on your forehead and smoothing his hand over your hair

every touch lasts slightly longer than the one before, but zhongli still feels a pang of loss when he can no longer feel you near

he tries to distract himself from the thought that keeps pushing through, the thought that someday he won’t be able to hold you as he does now, but when you leave his reach it often persists

venti

puuuuuure adoration for you from this man

venti definitely gives the over-the-shoulders type of hugs, crossing his arms up by your neck and resting his chin near the crook of your neck

(reaching slightly, if necessary lmaooo)

as an almost involuntary reaction, his eyes drift closed and he lightens a little under your touch

venti, like zhongli, makes his moments with you last

his hugs are long and drawn out, looking at you with pleading eyes when you say that you need to go

“pleeeeeeease? a little longer?”

venti is very gentle and is never forceful with you, always having a very light touch

he’ll often pull his head away from yours just to meet your eyes, a wide smile spreading across his face and an expression brimming with admiration and warmth

“what…?” you would ask, quizzically, not sure why the bard can’t seem to take his eyes away from you

expect some straight mf poetry as this man’s reply. he gets all sappy when you hold him ^^

you’d laugh and pull him back against you, the smile not leaving his face

basically just a sucker for physical affection, he loves to feel wrapped up in your arms like a blanket

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hereforhalstead · 3 years

Text

Period Pains

*Gif not mine, credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader.

• Requested: Nope! Just fancied some soft!Jay

• Warnings: pure fluff besties

• Summary: Jay looks after you as you experience a rough period, unlike anything you’ve felt before.

• Words: 2482.

• A/N : When I tell you this is the ugliest thing I’ve ever written lmao. I’m so weak for soft!Jay at the moment and had just came on my period when i started this a few weeks ago.. I have a few ongoing requests at the moment that I’m working on, promise I’m not ignoring them but I just don’t want to post them until I’m happy with them!

Hope you enjoy!

You notice the bed beside you dip with Jay’s weight as he joins you, fresh from the shower as you feel the heat radiating from him. You attempt to shift and face him, craving the feeling of having your head against his chest with the rhythm of his heartbeat soothing you to sleep. You wince as a cramp hits your stomach, slinging your arm across your stomach as a natural reflex for when the wave of pain arises.

Jay places a hand on the edge of your shoulder, gripping round your skin as he moves your hair to one side to place a delicate kiss to the exposed shoulder blade “Stay facing that way, I’ll be able to rub your stomach” he whispers into the nape of your neck and causing a shiver to run down your spine at the softness of his words.

You happily do as you’re told, still in somewhat of a half consciousness as you doze in and out of sleep with the thought of knowing he was there beside you helping the pain drift away.

“Life your hips for me baby” he softly demands, encouraging you to lift your side for just a few seconds to allow him to slip his arm under you to rest a hand on your stomach “You’re burning up” he tuts, removing the hot water bottle you had pressed against you and placing it on the the other side of the bed “Don’t want you getting too warm, you’ll make yourself ill”.

His firm tone made your heart flutter, he always had your best interests at heart and made the smallest of actions seem natural to him. You’d happily let yourself curl up under a blanket with a hot water bottle until you were burning hot but it would always leave you feeling faint and you’d end up cooling off in a cold bath or shower which really defeated the object..

You laid in a comfortable silence with Jay, cursing under your breath as another wave of pain hit "Why am I a girl” you mocked, digging your head further into your pillow as some form of distraction. Jay would take it in his stride, dropping a kiss to your back and chuckling as you swear under your breath to take your mind off the intense cramps.

The motion of Jay rubbing his hand softly over your stomach didn’t stop, you expected it to after a while but it never did. He was constantly tracing shapes across your skin, running his fingernails back and forth under your shirt and laughing as you occasionally flinched if it tickled. Whether it was a placebo affect or not, the cramps would ease under his touch and helped you get a brief moment of sleep.

You awoke just under an hour later to an empty bed, turning over to see the covers thrown back and Jay’s side of the bed vacant made your heart sink. He was the one helping you through this and even though the painkillers had kicked in, you still missed him just being beside you.

You would often be the first one up in the mornings, heading to the gym before work or just wanting to be awake to make him a morning coffee meant you weren’t used to being in bed alone. He was always there with you, even when you teased him for how long the pair of you would spend in bed on your days off, you loved it and wouldn’t want it any other way.

In replacement of Jay’s hand, you must’ve reached for the hot water bottle in your sleep and that was a mistake. You were now sweating, the clothes clinging to your skin as it glistens with sweat, feeling clamy and gross wasn’t what you needed right now.

Trudging over to the bathroom and catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror was an instant regret, you were hunched to try and relieve the cramps, hair disheveled and your body was covered in red blotches from the hot water bottle. If you didn’t feel horrendous before, you did now.

You always worried in your relationship that you weren’t good enough for Jay, he woke up and looked perfect, would finish an intense workout and look like a sports model or even concentrating on some paperwork he would look flawless and here you were looking the complete opposite.

You let out a deep sigh, running your fingers through your hair in some attempt to regain a sense of decency but there was no point. Your feelings were being intensified from your period and leaving you feeling worse than ever, wanting to curl up in bed and cry was seeming most appealing but before you can enjoy a good ole pity cry you hear the keys turning in the lock.

Quickly wiping the tears from your face and using Jay’s tshirt that you were currently wearing to try and remove the stains from your cheek was useless, you panicked. Jay seemed to have unnatural ability to tell when you’re not feeling yourself, and this is no exception. Just from taking one look at you he’d be able to tell you were upset and you didn’t want that to be the case, you’d already had a pity day and the last thing he needed was to see you were feeling worse.

You chugged some water that he had left on the side and took another glance at yourself in the mirror, the red blotches had made their way to your neck so were now much more visible and your normal cheery smile was no where to be seen.

“Baby?” you hear Jay call out, rustling around with some bags in the kitchen before making his way over to the room you shared. You were sat on the edge of the bed with your arms folded across your stomach, leant forward in pain as you rested your head on your knees.

His heart pulled at the sight, you were in pain and there was nothing he could do about it. He prided himself on always doing whatever he could to help you in any given situation and not being able to take away the hurt was killing him. He’d helped you through many periods in the past but this was the worst one by far, you’d be able to take some paracetamol and carry on but this was defeating you.

You barely had a chance to respond before you heard the footsteps getting louder as he made his way towards you, letting out a deep sigh as he sees you scrunched over in pain. The noise of bags rustling comes to a stop as he crouches down in front of you, resting his hand on the back of your neck and the other on your knee to hold himself steady as he balances.

“What happened baby?” his smooth voice was music to your ears, he didn’t even have to do anything and he was already soothing you more than you ever could. You sniffed before bringing your attention onto him, watching as his eyes soften when he see’s the redness in your cheeks and the hurt in your gaze.

“Nothing” you lie through your teeth, already knowing he won’t fall for it but thinking it was worth a shot. Instead of giving you the normal ‘are you forgetting how well I know you?’ speech, he simply tilted his head to the side and lifted his hand to rest on the side of your face with a doting look “We’ll talk about it later”.

You were grateful for how well he knew you, knowing not to push you and that you weren’t in the mood to be interviewed like a suspect. Normally you loved it, thinking it was cute how he always craved to prove how well he knew you and could tell you were off just by a simple look but in doing this he knew best to leave it until you were ready.

“Did you have to go back to work?” you question, still absentmindidly leaning into Jay’s touch as he gently moves his thumb back and forth to caress your cheekbone. A simple shake of his head made you smile, you were secretly hoping you’d have him to yourself so when you awoke to the empty bed you just assumed he’d been called in.

You couldn’t hide the frown that formed as he removed his hand and stood in front of you, reaching for something on the bed as you stayed hunched over below him. “I got your favourite ice cream” he comments, holding the tub out to you with a grin spreading on his face as your eyes light up “I thought they stopped selling it?” you questioned, already peeling off the plastic from the lid.

“They did in our local, I asked around and drove to the only place they said still sells it” the pride in his voice was unlike anything you’d heard before as he carried on rummaging around the bag before pulling out 3 more tubs “Didn’t know how many you wanted so I stocked up” he chuckled, placing the tubs back into the bag and watching as you nibble round the edge of the container, too impatient to wait for a spoon.

“You don’t want these then?” you looked round to see him holding a family size bag of crisps, a handful of candy bars and even a box of your favourite instant hot chocolate that you used to have as a child. “How did you know” you probe, reaching for the box and examining the text.

Struggling to remember the last time you saw the packaging in a shop, let alone holding it in your hands. The box feeling so much smaller than it used to from when you were young, bounding to the cashier with 5 or 6 boxes to buy with your pocket money.

“On our first date we passed a shop that sold them and I’ll never forget the look on your face. You told me how your mum would always make you one if you were having a bad day and they’d always make you feel better” he smiled and could feel the tears brimming in your eyes.

You and Jay had been together nearly 8 months and he still remembered the tinist detail from your first date, something you had even forgotten about. A little remark you made as you passed the shop on the way back to the car park, not thinking much of it as who would remember about a box of instant hot chocolate that probably didn’t even taste good? Jay did.

“Get into bed and I’ll get some bowls for these” he collects the items and puts them back into the bag, his tone still gentle despite the excitement you knew he had inside from presenting you with everything you needed without being asked.

You shook your head, standing to wrap your arms around his torso. Nestling your head into his chest as you feel it vibrate from a silent laugh “I told you to get into bed baby” you felt the shivers run down your spine as he rested his hand on the back of your head, allowing his hand to roam up and down your back in a soft motion.

“What did I do to deserve you” you mumble into his chest, feeling him rest his head on top of yours as his hand settled on your lower back to push you further into him “So I did good?” you could practically hear the smirk on his lips, pulling back to examine the glowing grin peering back at you as his eyes glistened.

You reached to place a light kiss to his lips, a soft kiss that told him everything he needed to know “Are you gonna make me tell you to get into bed again?” he joked, tapping your back to retract yourself from him. Begrugingly you did so, already feeling the slight cold from the lack of contact you now craved from him.

Picking the bags up from the bed to pull back the blanket, you felt the weight of something still in the bottom. You opened the carriers to see what must’ve been atleast 5 boxes of different sanitary products rolling around in the bags “What’s this?” you asked, confused as to why he went out of his way to buy you the snacks but you never would’ve expected him to know what products to buy you, or atleast try and guess as you always joked about how little men knew about the whole thing.

“I didn’t know if you needed any” his voice was timid, reaching to rub the back of his neck with his hand which was a sign of nervousness you’d picked up on over the past few months . “Jay, how much do you think I bleed?” you were grateful to see the corners of his lips lift in a smile “Well, I realised I’ve never bought you any so I wanted to get a few so I had more of a chance of getting the right ones” he admitted, your hands falling to your sides as you allowed the bag to drop to the floor.

Your feet were bounding over to him before you could even think, all you wanted to do was throw your arms around him as you had no words for everything he had done. “I can’t believe how much I love you” your voice slightly cracked as you felt the lump rise to your throat, as much as Jay loved to care for you, you never would've expected this.

“I’m sorry I can’t take the pain away” you felt him plant a kiss to the top of your head, another one of his small guestures that made you week at the knees without him even knowing. “You’ve helped more than you’ll ever know” you smiled into him, cringing at your cheesy confession but knowing he loves to hear these things from you, adding to his ego of how well he looks after you.

You both stood in a comfortable silence, basking in each other presence with the simplicity of the background noises coming from the streets below. From someone looking on, the way you were standing probably didn’t look very comfortable. The way you were entangled together, your arms hanging from his neck as his moved around your body to press his fingertips in the various parts he knew you were probably feeling pain. When Jay finally breaks the silence, he mutters the words that at the moment sounded better than ‘i love you’ when they fell from his lips “Do you want some ice cream, baby?”

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samstree · 3 years

Text

A Study in Blushing

In which Jaskier makes a surprising discovery and decides to test it out.

(tooth rotting fluff, blushing geralt, soft jaskier, love confessions, kissing, winter at kaer morhen, rated teen, 3000 words)

Also, I know witchers can't blush in canon but seriously we should all know better.

read on AO3

“Gods damn it, bard! I know Geralt tolerates all your shit because he’s in love with you, but you gotta put things back where they belong!”

Lambert grumbles something more all the while putting the training swords back on the shelf, and Jaskier’s mind stops.

The world zeroes in on the words he’s in love with you and suddenly Jaskier can’t form words.

“W...What did you—”

“I said—” Lambert throws down the last one with a clunk. “—the swords go back on the shelf!”

“Geralt...is in love with me?” Jaskier breathes, unbelieving.

Lambert pauses, “Don’t you know?”

“No...?”

“Fuck. Pretty boy can’t get his head out of his ass and now I have to suffer.”

With that, Lambert tries to shoulder past Jaskier but the bard is having none of it. “No!” he puts a hand on Lambert’s chest. “Don’t even think about it. How? Since when? And how do you know?”

Lambert mumbles something unintelligible, before sighing long-sufferingly. “It’s too obvious, Buttercup.”

“How is it obvious? Does Geralt walk around with the words ‘I’m smitten with my bard and all the grumpy face is faked’ written on his forehead? How, pray tell, is it obvious?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Lambert, the bastard, raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Did you truly not know?”

“No!”

Jaskier is so close to grabbing Lambert by the collar just to shake some answers out of him, and finally, the youngest wolf takes pity on him.

“He looks at you differently when he thinks you are doing something cute. He trips over his words after you call him sweet names. The worst of it all—he blushes any time you are close. Blushes, like a fucking maiden. Urgh, I’m gonna throw up.”

“Oh,” Jaskier deflates, “Witchers blush?”

“See for yourself.” Lambert rolls his eyes, walking past Jaskier with a few long strides. “And put the swords back!”

Jaskier decides to test it out, because there’s no way Geralt is in love with him.

Loving him as a friend, sure, why not? Despite what ignorant folks claim about witchers, Jaskier knows by experience that Geralt has a heart bigger and more capable of love than most. But Geralt being in love with Jaskier? Like, he-wants-to-kiss-him in love with him? No way.

Blushing because of him? Ha! More like in Jaskier’s wildest dreams.

Although that would be really cute.

“Pass me the salt, honey?” Jaskier reaches out a hand to the other end of the table, and Geralt passes the salt without thinking.

Hmm.

No tripping over words.

“Thank you, dear heart.”

He’s putting as much sweetness in his voice as possible and Geralt is…normal. His eyebrows are raised to the roof, and there’s a faint smile by the corners of his eyes. But that’s just how Geralt is…right? He’s home and he’s relaxed, he smiles with his eyes rather than his lips, and it’s got nothing to do with Jaskier.

Jaskier chews, staring at Geralt subtly.

Not subtle enough.

“Something on my face?”

“No—” Jaskier chokes, hacking like a fool and tipping sideways. “Just—too much salt.”

Geralt scoffs, the faint smile turning into a brief grin, and hands over a cup of water.

Jaskier wants the ground to swallow him whole.

The snow is terrible.

The whole keep is freezing like an ice cube, and Jaskier has to blow on his hands from time to time just to function in the library. He’s the lucky one, in the grand scheme of things. The witchers still need to go outside to fix up the walls and tend to the animals.

Geralt hasn’t been back in a while.

Jaskier puts down the quill he’s been chewing anxiously and rushes out the door—

And bumps right into Geralt’s chest.

“Sweet Melitele, that’s a lot of snow!” Jaskier spits out the snow knocked into his mouth, before looking at Geralt properly. “Oh, you’re hurt.”

The cut on Geralt’s eyebrow is a small one, but Jaskier worries nonetheless. Geralt doesn’t look impressed, only walks straight towards the small medkit sitting on a shelf.

“Repairment has to wait. The wind is bad.” Geralt grunts, trying to touch the wound and missing by a mile.

“Here, let me.”

Jaskier takes the salve from Geralt’s slightly shaking hands and pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket. Geralt is frowning so hard he can crack a walnut with those eyebrows.

“Relax,” Jaskier murmurs, blowing gently at the cut while dabbing at the blood. Upon deeming it clean enough, he applies a scoop of the salve that smells of celandine and mint. “Don’t move. It’ll only hurt a bit.”

Geralt keeps shying away from Jaskier’s ministration so he has no choice but to wrap his other hand around Geralt’s jaw, which manages to still him instantly.

“There,” Jaskier smiles. “Shouldn’t need anything more. Your witcher healing will kick in soon.”

Geralt tilts his head with that soft look in his eyes. “My thanks. Wouldn’t have survived without you.”

“No shit! Who goes out in a storm like this one? If you ask me, Vesemir is too tough on you. Look at you…” Jaskier coos, taking Geralt’s hands. “You are like a popsicle, dear heart.”

He tries to rub some heat back into Geralt’s freezing hands, his skin dry and rough. There’s still some hand cream left in Jaskier’s room. Maybe he can fetch it later. Geralt needs to take care of his hands better when his living depends on them.

Geralt groans, looking away. The frames of his ears are beet red too; he must have been outside without a hat for all this time. Jaskier wants to cover them with his warm palms, only to have his hands batted away.

“No, there’s—I’m fine,” Geralt mumbles. If Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d think the way Geralt avoids his eyes is a result of shyness. The bard can snort at the ridiculous idea and stubbornly presses his hands over Geralt’s ears.

Oh.

His ears are red because they are so warm, not cold

Now that they are standing so close, only a hand’s breadth away, Geralt looks stunned, his eyes dilating, only leaving a ring of gold around those dark pupils. There’s even a layer of pink dusting over his pale cheeks.

A blushing witcher.

Oh, this is interesting.

“Geralt, sweetie?” Jaskier husks, lowering his voice especially on the pet name. “Are you warm enough?”

“Um, sure…not cold.”

And he watches as Geralt’s mind ceases to work in front of his eyes, the blush deepening. It’s still a subtle thing. No wonder Jaskier has missed it all this time. Calloused hands wrap around Jaskier’s wrists, and the bard finally relents, letting go.

If he spends the rest of the day sitting at the desk with a quill in hand, thinking about the way Geralt’s skin feels against his and the warmth of his cheeks, nobody needs to know.

Jaskier doesn’t know what to do with this piece of new information.

Geralt does blush.

Because of him.

He tries to repeat the experiment. Just to be sure, he tells himself. And every time it yields the same results. As soon as he gets into Geralt’s space, the witcher either stumbles through his words or gets all flustered all over. The fondness is there too, just in a very Geralt and very unnoticeable manner, soft and almost smiling.

Jaskier is so drunk on power.

The only thing left is to tell Geralt that he loves him too. That he’s also in love in love with him, as in an I-also-want-to-kiss-you kind of way, and then… they can finally kiss!

Oh, just inwardly rehearsing the scene makes Jaskier dizzy, and somehow he ends up smiling to himself when he’s so deep in thoughts planning the conversation, once even in front of company.

Lambert throws him a side-eye and a disgusted grunt, but Jaskier can’t care less.

He finds the perfect night, and even takes a sip of White Gull from Eskel’s cup just to calm his nerves.

And he realizes too late that, perhaps, the strongest witcher brew might be a mistake.

The effect is stronger than he anticipated, and Jaskier is giggling through the fog in his mind within mimutes, somehow ending up on Geralt’s lap, draped over his shoulder in a heap of soft, pliant mess.

He rests his temple against Geralt’s and nearly tips backward if not for the strong arm that catches him by the waist.

“Oops, thank the gods I have my big witcher here!” Jaskier runs the tips of his fingers across Geralt’s stubbles. It tickles, and the blush is back, unmistakably, since Geralt is as sober as the day. “I’d fall over on my butt without you! And falling over doesn’t look good before saying important things, does it?”

Huh, he’s said it out loud.

“Saying what things?”

Well, if it’s out there…

“Where do I start again? Right of course, with how beautiful you look when you’re like this!”

His fingers move to tuck the curtain of white hair behind Geralt’s ears. No matter how much Jaskier loves it when Geralt wears his hair down, he needs to look into those amber eyes without obstruction. The molten gold gleams with surprise and Jaskier wants to drown in it.

“I’m not…” Geralt splutters, before closing his mouth with a pop. The flush is stretching down his neck now, and Jaskier chases it with a hand.

“You are!” he insists petulantly. “You are blushing and it’s beautiful. Adorable too! I wouldn’t know if Lambert hadn’t told me—” he burps. “—um, everything.”

“Told you what?”

The alarm in Geralt’s voice should wake Jaskier up immediately, but alas, the White Gull is no joke.

“Shh!” he stage-whispers, “It’s a secret! Don’t tell Geralt! I need to do it right!”

Jaskier lets out a happy sound and leans into the comforting embrace that he loves so much. Under his fingers, he can feel heat still gather under Geralt’s skin, making him look equally annoyed and fond.

“You are not making sense, Jask.”

“Nothing about you makes sense either, but I’m here. And ready.” Jaskier smiles and presses a chaste kiss on Geralt’s cheekbone, humming another happy sound.

Kissing Geralt is nice, gives Jaskier all the fuzzy feelings.

But somehow, that was also the wrong thing to do, because Geralt has gone stiff under Jaskier’s body. The next thing he knows, the witcher is struggling to untangle their limbs and leaving him empty and cold.

“Don’t…do this,” he murmurs, upset. “Just…don’t.”

The anguish the seeps through Geralt’s voice somehow manages to get through the muddy cloud in Jaskier’s mind.

“Wait, what?” Jaskier rights himself on unsteady feet, but his witcher is long gone. Eskel and Lambert are still nursing their tankards by the fire, and Jaskier wobbles past them without a care. He needs to find Geralt, who apparently charged right out of the great hall and into the cold night.

The heavy wooden doors open and Jaskier is hit with the unrelenting wind. The snow has stopped and partially melted, and frozen all over again. It’s the worst kind. Jaskier takes his steps with caution but still, it’s too slippery.

Okay. Mind. Clear. He needs it to be.

“Geralt?” he calls out, churning with anxiety. “Geralt, where are you?”

Damn his witcher speed. Now Jaskier is walking in the dark and freezing his balls off without an ounce of idea where Geralt might be. Oh, the stalls. Roach must be the first thought Geralt has when he needs to talk. Jaskier shudders, hugging his doublet tighter to fend off the wind and searches for the stalls blindly.

“Geralt, are you—ow!”

He walks right into a pillar and falls on his butt. Before Jaskier can register the pain, a pair of hands are picking him up by the armpits and he stumbles into Geralt’s embrace.

There’s a familiar sizzle of Igni, and the torch by the stalls is roaring with life.

“What are you doing out here?” A coat is tossed over Jaskier’s shoulders and he’s ushered back towards the building.

“Looking for you, you idiot!” Jaskier squawks, albeit grateful for the thick fur coat. A few more minutes he would lose all feelings in his toes. “Running into the night like this, who knows what can happen to you!”

“So you followed me out drunk and with no coat and I’m the idiot? Gods, I don’t know why I even…”

The doors creak open and there’s light and warmth and the smell of mead, but Jaskier’s heart sinks.

“I don’t know why you even bother too,” Jaskier muses, suddenly feeling like a scolded child.

Geralt steers Jaskier past the other wolf witchers and straight into his room, where the heat feels like a furnace on Jaskier’s frozen fingers—Geralt has been secretly tending to Jaskier’s fire for weeks after the human came down with a cold upon arrival at the keep. He’s too good to Jaskier.

“You are too good to me.”

“And you are a pain in the ass.”

Geralt sits Jaskier down in front of the fire rather grumpily, before joining him and pulling the coat even tighter. He’s still mad, just a smidge, but the droop of his eyes speaks more of sadness.

“Hey, talk to me,” Jaskier coaxes, squeezing Geralt’s knee in reassurance. Whatever argument coming their way, he can’t stand Geralt being sad.

“How drunk are you?”

“Not very.” If Geralt walking out hadn’t put Jaskier out of his daze, the wind sure finished the job. “White gull passes quickly. Hmm, who would have thought…”

“I need to tell you something.”

“But I need to tell you something too! It’s important.”

“Let me go first?”

The plead comes out in a whisper, and who is Jaskier to reject Geralt like this, wide-eyed and earnest?

“I never meant for you to know, and certainly not on a night like this, but Jaskier…” Geralt heaves out a breath, determined and so so brave. Jaskier is drawn closer to Geralt’s body like a magnet, ready to soothe, to meet him halfway. “I am in love with you.”

“Geralt.”

“I know you don’t feel the same, and it’s okay. You make a living singing about loving. Hell, you make a living simply by loving. Music, adventures, people, so many people. It’s okay that your heart is too big for me. But, Jask, I can’t take it anymore.”

“I don’t…not…”

“You flirt with people. You…touch them and kiss them and praise them. It’s okay. It’s the way you are. I understand that when you do the same with me it doesn’t mean anything more, but, Jaskier, I need you to stop.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “Do you hate it? I thought…differently.”

The smile that tugs at Geralt’s lips can only be described as crestfallen.

“The opposite. I love it too much. I’ll always want more. Always. I’m greedy like this.”

The guilt weighing down on Geralt’s shoulders is not a good sight, a personal offense to Jaskier. His hand reaches out on its own volition, tilting Geralt’s chin up so their gazes meet. The blush is back.

What did Jaskier do in his past life to deserve this man?

“That’s what I was going to say.”

“That you are greedy?”

The frown remains on Geralt’s face, and Jaskier smooths it with the pad of his thumb.

“No. That I am in love with you. Gods, for someone who’s not a bard, you sure know how to steal someone’s line from the beginning,” Jaskier chuckles. “I’ve been trying to tell you that I return your feelings. But alas, you know the coward that I am.”

“You are…not,” he protests, blinking.

The way Geralt defends him on instinct only makes Jaskier’s insides melt into a pool of fuzziness.

“In this, yes. How I fucked up so bad is a mystery. That’s just me I guess, trying to love you but ending up hurting you, making you feel like I’m stringing you along like anyone else.”

“I’m not?”

“No, you oaf.” Jaskier bops his nose. “You are the most important person in the world for me. This is the most important thing in the world to me! I love you and I love it when you blush. Also, I’d very much like to kiss you, if you want it too.”

Jaskier bites into his lips and watches as Geralt’s gaze drops to them, the pink of his cheeks spreading into the most gorgeous crimson. “I want to. Kiss you, that is.”

“Good.”

Jaskier wets his lips with a peak of the tongue and watches the same gesture returned. Even if the alcohol has left his system, the intoxication remains, only this time because of Geralt’s slightly dilated pupils and quickened breathing. He leans in, not being able to resist—

“Did you say ‘return my feelings’?” Geralt dodges away, looking incredulous. “Jaskier, did you know? And what was that about blushing?”

“Um…” Now Jaskier is the one to splutter. Luckily, he has a trick up his sleeves or two that can make sure Geralt forgets about every last thought there is.

Jaskier lunges forward and tackles his witcher onto the soft rug and kisses him within an inch of his life, deepening it like there’s no tomorrow. Judging by the dazed look on Geralt’s face as he comes up for air, the method is working.

Cupping Geralt’s rosy cheeks, Jaskier croaks proudly, “Tell you later?”

“We have all the later we need.” Geralt’s smile is blinding, and equally mischievous. Without a moment of pause, Jaskier ends up the one flipped onto his back and being kissed until he shudders with pleasure.

Jaskier has to thank Lambert properly one day, considering Geralt will certainly go after him with a vengeance.

For now, having Geralt on top of him and slowly melting into a contented mess should be enough. If he’s allowed, Jaskier vows silently, he would really like to make Geralt blush for him for the rest of his life.

Jaskier will totally make it his life's mission to tease Geralt endlessly and see his beautiful blush. 🥰🥰

On another note, I challenged myself to write 2000 words exactly, and this ended up, um, 3000 words exactly. I’ll count it as a win anyway ;)

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #getting together #requited love #kissing #hand holding #winter at kaer morhen #soft jaskier #geralt of rivia blushes

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magniloquent-raven · 3 years

Text

that soulmate au where everything you draw on yourself shows up on your soulmate, right. saw a post asking "what if make-up counts" and.

steve always thought his soulmate was a girl.

because when he was nine his nails stained themselves a messy purple in the middle of breakfast. it was exciting, the first time something like this had happened to him. he dropped his spoon into his oatmeal and banged on the tabletop til his nanny agreed to call his mother.

his mother was distracted over the phone, but she sounded happy enough. he went to school with an ear-to-ear grin on his face, staring down at his nails the whole drive there.

by second period the nail polish was gone, but the bubbling feeling in his chest wasn't.

a few months later, late one saturday evening, steve was in tommy's room debating whether the mark they saw on carol's arm really was the dog tommy had drawn on himself in math class, when suddenly tommy stops, stares. and laughs.

and steve is confused until he glances around and catches sight of himself in a mirror. there's a pink smear across his mouth, glossy and shining when he moves his head, but clearly applied with a shaky hand.

steve shoves tommy off his chair, suddenly feeling defensive. it's not funny. make up takes practice. steve's sure he'd be bad at it if he tried.

but thankfully it doesn't stay long. an hour, at most.

it happens again the following saturday. and every saturday for five months. gold eyeshadow and shimmering powder on his cheeks, glittery lip glosses, bright colours all applied inexpertly, and never for more than an hour or two.

then. it stops. one saturday, nothing happens. he stays up all night, unable to stop flicking the lights back on to glance at himself in the mirror just in case, but every time the twisting feeling of disappointment is just worsened.

that morning, exhausted and upset, he grabs a marker, scribbling the first thing that comes to mind across his arm.

i bet you looked pretty

there's no response. he's not sure if this kind of thing is allowed. talking to your soulmate like that. or if it's, like. cheating the system or something. he gets nervous after a few hours. maybe it's the lack of sleep messing with his head, but he scrubs it off in a fit of panic around lunch time.

and years go by. when they're old enough for girls to start wearing makeup regularly he hopes, wonders, glances at himself in the mirror so much, but it's always just his unmarked face staring back at him.

his soulmate doesn't draw on herself. she doesn't wear make up anymore. not even nail polish. steve starts doodling on his hands just to stop feeling so bare. empty. but he also starts carrying a packet of wet wipes in his bag so he can clean them off

and then. he's nearly eighteen, on a date with nancy and her subtle purple eyeshadow. and he's trying not to look too sourly at tommy and carol across the diner, sucking face and smudging the matching hearts drawn on their cheekbones. carol thinks it's cute, when she does her makeup sometimes she'll add hearts or stars by tracing tommy's freckles.

steve resents it. deep down, he does, and always has. he should've just been happy for them, but he's just. lonely.

but nancy gets it, he thinks. she's never gotten marks, she's not even sure she has a soulmate. sometimes steve's not sure he has one anymore either.

except.

except nancy's looking at him funny, and he asks her what the problem is, and--

"are you wearing eyeliner?"

he runs to the bathroom. and. and yes he is. it's smudged, almost artfully messy instead of just clumsy like it used to be. he pokes at his eye, running a finger under his eyelashes, tracing the inky lines.

he's overwhelmed. relieved.

frustrated.

what kind of girl only wears make-up at night? and how the hell is he gonna find her if she doesn't wear it during the day like everyone else. when people can actually see it.

shit, maybe she lives in. like. australia or something. in a different time zone.

steve goes home that night with a whole whirlwind of distracting thoughts. mixed emotions. he tries to cling to the knowledge that at least she's still out there, somewhere, but he can't help but feel even lonelier imagining how much distance might be between them.

six months later billy hargrove blows into town, loud and attention-seeking and annoyingly gorgeous. steve doesn't know what to make of him. not at first.

doesn't know what to do with the way billy's eyes follow him everywhere he goes. or the press of billy's chest against his back during practice. or pretty boy like you. or sparks in his fingertips every time he thinks about the colour blue.

until math class gets extra boring and steve starts to doodle aimlessly, swirling patterns up his wrist and something like waves crashing in the palm of his hand.

the back of his neck starts to itch, like he's being watched, and he looks up, meeting billy's horrified stare from the other side of the room. his arm is held close to his chest like he's injured it, and for one confusing moment steve wonders how the hell billy broke his arm in math class, and why he isn't going to the nurse, but then--

then he sees the corner of a curling line, peeking out from hiding. blue ink staining tanned skin.

steve drops his pen. it clatters to the floor, drawing a couple glares in the silence.

before he can do more than blink and mouth wordlessly, billy bolts. he doesn't even take his text book with him, leaves his notes scattered across his desk. the classroom door slams shut behind him.

steve wants to follow him. wants it so badly he's shaking with it, need and desire and everything in him trying to get him up and moving. but he can't. he's not stupid. he knows how it'll look, and that's the last thing either of them need.

so he waits. waits fifteen agonizing, impossibly long minutes.

and he's out of his seat the second the bell rings, gathering up billy's things before he half-runs out of the room.

it's easier to find billy than he thought it would be. he's in the parking lot, leaning against his car with a cigarette between his lips, staring down at the lines on his arm.

his hand darts into his pocket when he spots steve, and he squints up at the sky with feigned nonchalance.

a smile tugs at steve's lips.

"i brought your stuff," he says softly, quietly, like he's afraid if he's too loud he'll spook billy and scare him off. and. maybe he is.

billy glances at him out of the corner of his eye. "...shouldn't have bothered." he kicks the ground.

steve lays the books on the camaro's hood and shuffles a little closer to billy. the look he gets is wary. a warning. they're still at school. there are people around. there's a million reasons why he shouldn't reach out right now and kiss billy like he's wanted to do since this stupid infuriating asshole rolled into town like he owned the place. so.

he doesn't.

he stands close enough that their shoulders touch, pointedly not looking at him, staring sightlessly out at the parking lot instead.

"i was right, you know."

"hm?"

"about you being pretty."

billy makes a strangled noise. "that...was a long time ago."

"yeah? and?"

"it. it was dumb kid shit. i wasn't. i didn't. i don't do that anymore."

"uhh, few months ago--"

"i made a mistake," billy snaps, shoulders tense, hunching and pulling away from steve's.

steve turns, then, looks at him. sees the fear glinting in his eyes. and it hurts. a visceral pain, right through him. "billy..." his hand twitches at his side and he resists the urge to touch him. "i won't...i won't tell anyone. if you want it to be a secret it will be. i promise, okay? promise." he pauses, with relief, watches billy relax a fraction. "can...can it be our secret though?"

billy raises his eyebrows. "what."

"i wanna see. if. if that's okay. i wanna see you."

for a second steve thinks billy might hit him. shove him away and run again. but the moment stretches on and a flush starts to creep across billy's cheeks. he shifts his weight around. "i...maybe."

it feels like a win. somewhere to start.

and he feels nine years old again, giddy, smiling like a loon, and hopeful for the future.

(edit: pt2 here)

#steve harrington #harringrove #billy hargrove #stranger things #a raven's writing desk #soulmate au

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bicyclepainting · 2 years

Text

(Dancing to) Nothing At All

Freelancer isn't good at taking breaks. Gavin wants to help.

1k words

also on ao3!

Freelancer stares blankly at the screen in front of them, the blinking cursor waiting for them to type more of their essay. Their brain was feeling numb, thoughts moving like molasses. They let a feeling of lightheadedness wash over them and a small voice in the back of their head asks when the last time they drank water was. Looking around slowly, they check for a nearby cup of water. The only cup they could spot from their seat was empty, which checked out with the way their head was feeling at the moment.

They sigh as they gingerly stand and walk towards their kitchen, empty cup in tow. They leave the lights off once they enter, the hall light shining through the doorway enough for them to see.

They pull the pitcher of water from the fridge with both hands, feeling too shaky to rely on a single hand. They pour the water and as they move to put the pitcher back in the fridge, they knock the cup and send water spilling off the counter and on to the floor.

They get the sudden urge to cry, even with how detached they currently feel. They stare blankly as the water slowly creeps towards their sock-covered feet. A sharp ball of emotions sits high in their chest, pricking their heart. They want to cry, thinking it would make them feel better. But the emotions sit in their mind behind a frosted glass, muted and blurry. They can vaguely feel the intensity of them and try to call them forward.

Nothing.

And that’s the worst part. That they were trying to feel their emotions, trying to express them, but it wasn’t cooperating.

The water reaches their socks, seeping into them slowly. They stare at the slowly expanding water on the ground mirthlessly. Some part of them notices their teeth grinding and doesn’t do anything to stop it.

Gavin rifted into his deviant’s apartment, only to be met with the sense of their overwhelming knots from them.

“Deviant?”

If they hear him, they don’t do anything to respond.

He senses their aura from the kitchen, and although dark, he peeks his head in to check for them. He sees them staring at the floor and as he moves closer, he notices the water and the cup on its side. He looks back at Freelancer, noticing the furrowed brow and far away look in their eyes at the stare at the puddle of water on the floor. He waves his hand and in an instant the water is cleaned and everything is dry.

They finally look up and notice him in the room with them. They rush toward him and wrap their arms around him, pressing cheekbone to collarbone. Gavin stood for a moment, his arms out from the suddenness of their embrace. He eventually settles his arms around them and places a kiss to the crown of their head. With his arms around them, their tightly wound knots seem to relax. Not completely, but they do soften at his touch.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just really happy to see you,” they mumble against his shirt.

The words stuck to his heart like honey, sweet and true. They didn’t say that to get anything out of him, they said it because they saw him as a person. A person who they loved and really were glad to see. A person who’s mere presence could help them somehow. Sometimes the prospect of that still shocked Gavin to his core. They made him feel warm and at home, and he seemed to make them feel the same. Even with as long as he’d been around, he doesn’t know if he’d ever really called anywhere home before. He felt at a loss for words with their arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Dance with me, deviant?”

They move to give him a curious look. “There’s no music.”

“Dance with me anyway,” he says. He moves their hands to his shoulders and settles his on their hips. He sways the two of them side-to-side, no particular song in mind. Just an incubus and a freelancer basking in the presence of the other.

“You have a lot of knots, my love.”

“It's finals week, you know how it goes,” they shrug. He knows better than to leave it at that.

“Finals week doesn’t mean you shouldn't be taking care of yourself.”

“I’m drinking water and eating properly, I’m taken care of.”

“That’s not the only thing you need to do to take care of yourself,” he points out.

Freelancer sits with that for a moment, still dancing with their lover to the hum of the refrigerator.

“Have you been taking breaks?”

They nod their head, unable to confront the lie with their voice. Gavin sighs because if he knows anyone, he knows his deviant and he knows their habits.

“Have you taken a break today?”

They turn their head away from him. He stops their swaying at that.

“Deviant, how long have you been working for today?” They meet his gaze and feel the concern pooling around the two of them.

They genuinely try to remember when they started studying that day. All they could piece together was it was definitely early daytime when they started and that now it was dark. They don’t know how long ago the sun set.

“I don’t know.”

He frowns but says, “I think it's about time for a break then.” Freelancer didn’t have the energy, nor the desire, to argue with him. Gavin was just glad he didn’t have to try too hard to convince them.

As the two sat on the couch, neither of them were really focused on the movie that Freelancer mindlessly picked out. Gavin was sprawling in the adoration that poured out in waves from his deviant. And Freelancer was just glad to be back in Gavin’s arms and away from their work for the day.

Out of all the things that could have happened that day in the 7-11, they were both equally glad to have found the other in this way. Neither dared to think about where they’d be otherwise.

#happy finals season everyone #inspired by the song dancing to nothing at all by the greeting committee #feedback always appreciated!#redacted asmr #redacted gavin #redacted freelancer #redacted asmr fanfic #my words

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roscgcld · 3 years

Text

HEADCANON + VARIOUS || types of kisses

anime: jujutsu kaisen

characters: itadori yuji, ryomen sukuna, fushiguro megumi, kugisaki nobara, gojo satoru

pronouns: them/they

note: obviously aged up!reader for gojo

ITADORI YUJI

i feel like his kisses are like him, full of love and laughter and just absolutely cute

he’d cup your face in his hands, grinning down at you softly as he admires you for a moment before he leans down to peck your lips a few times

“i *peck* love *peck* you *peck* so *peck* much.”

when he sees you from a distance, he will drop whatever he was doing or stop whatever conversation he was having to run over to you, calling out your name with the brightest smiles on his face

this man literally goes for quantity, but that does not mean he skimp on the quality of his kisses

they are always warm and full of love, even if it’s a parting peck or a long smooch after he hasn’t seen you in a long time

sometimes he’d coo in between kisses, telling you how amazing you are and how much he loves you

either has his hands on your face or wrapped around your waist so he can pull you close

doesn’t care where you are or who are you two with - if he wants kisses, he will kiss you no matter the circumstance

when he needs to go, he’d run by, peck your lips a few times while mumbling goodbye and i loves you before he’s sprinting off again before you can do anything about it

man likes giving you kisses on the cheeks as well, since it makes you flustered and blush, causing him to grin down at you lovingly

but it’s still cute and always leaving you feel warm and happy inside

RYOMEN SUKUNA

unlike yuji, his kisses are more rough and definitely more demanding

he’d put his hand on the back of your neck and drag you towards him, pressing his lips against yours in rough kiss

he’s got neck fixation for sure - he’s always got his hand on the back of your neck in a comforting gesture, or it can be wrapped around your throat firmly when he wants all your attention to be on him

doesn’t really care who is around him at all, he’d have a full make out session with you in the hallway if he wants to

lip biting; he loves to sink his teeth onto your bottom lip to give it a teasing tug just because he can

light hair tugging: he likes to control how the kiss goes; and he will not be satisfied until you’re breathless

loves it when you’d moan against his lips whenever he kisses you, makes him feel prideful that he can get you to loose some self control just from a simple act of kissing

he’s an ass man - for sure. so expect him to grab your ass when he’s making out with you no matter what, and no matter who is around you

sometimes though he can be soft and sweet - especially when he realises you need some form of reassurance from him

he’d pull you close and press a soft kiss to the corner of your eyelid, letting you cling onto him as much as you want whilst his arm wrapped around the back of your shoulders protectively

likes teasing you till the point you’re just begging to be kissed before giving in, smirking down at you with bedroom eyes.

“how cute, the little human just can’t keep their hands to themselves~”

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

boy doesn’t do kisses - it’s not because he doesn’t like them, he’s just awkward and shy about everything else outside of jujutsu lol

but when he does give you kisses, they are soft and full of his love for you

he’d cup the side of your face and lean down to brush his lips against yours shyly, blushing when he feels your soft lips grazing against his before he leans down to kiss you softly

always full of love and warmth, and its the type of kisses that can have your toes curling slightly

megumi will compensate with things like grazing his lips along your knuckles and soft but lingering kisses on your head

enjoys the feeling of you pressing kisses against his cheek in greeting though, even if it leaves him a blushing mess

butterfly kisses are his favourite, and is the one form of affection that he’d openly indulge himself in whenever he’s with you

doesn’t care if his friends or if gojo is there to tease the living shit out of him

he’d rest his forehead on yours, looking into your eyes for a moment before he rubs his nose against yours softly with a ghost of a smile. sometimes he’d even lean over to give the tip of your nose a soft peck

“i’ll see you later.”

it makes you melt on the inside because soft boy just radiates with love for you

enjoys stroking your cheekbone, either with his thumb or his fingers; it cute how you’d melt into his touch before he leans down to kiss you softly

overall really soft and cute kisses from the little shy boy

KUGISAKI NOBARA

her kisses are honestly really cute and heart-warming too

like she’d beating yuji and megumi’s asses in one second and turn to you with a pout and whine whilst she wraps her arms around you, demanding for kisses in another

but she doesn’t want to be the one who asks for them, she wants you to understand her and give her the kisses

but when she does get to kiss you, she’d be smiling against your lips whilst her hands find their way to your hair, refusing to let you go until she gets her fill

soft above your eyebrows are her special way of showing you love and affection; sometimes she’d press soft kisses on your eyelids as well because she is just that cute

like sukuna, she is definitely into the booty - so she’d grab your ass whenever you two are kissing from time to time to get the upper hand on the kiss

would be laughing against your lips whenever you complain at her hands, neither of you really making an effort to pull away from each other

she’d peck your lips over and over again until both of you are breathless, but even then she’d demand you press kisses all over her face

she’s just a giant baby for you and refuses to leave until she gets her fill

if yuji tries to make fun of her, she’d pull away and chase the poor boy around with her hammer in hand

loves it when you press a kiss on her forehead, she’d immediately lean into you with her hands holding onto the front of your uniform

GOJO SATORU

he is such a pain to kiss - mainly because of his height. and he likes to make you work for it too; like he’d just smirk down at you mischievously whilst you try to reach up and give him a kiss

when you’d give up and turn to walk away he’d quickly drag you by to him with a hand around your waist, leaning down to press a long and passionate kiss against your lips

since you two don’t get to see each other as often because of his busy schedule, he makes sure to make his kisses somewhat passionate, no matter the time crunch he is in

even if he is running late, he’d still bend down with your face cupped in his hands to give you a short but sweet kiss before he’s running off again

always leaves you breathless and with a stupid smile on your face because honestly, he’s really cute

when he returns or whenever he sees you in the hallway, he’d basically run towards you with the most excited smile on his face before he kisses all over your face in delight

loves that whenever you sit in his lap, you’d kiss him on the forehead because you finally get to reach the top of his head

he also enjoys pressing kisses along your knuckles, and if you are married, on the space right above your wedding band with a cheeky smile on his face

“oya? still keep the ring on even when we work?”

refuses to let you take it off even after he pisses you off, by the way; he’d just find a way to slip it back onto your finger without you noticing

he’d wrap his arm around your head and press a kiss against your temple whenever you need some comfort, his arm pulling you close so you can cuddle up into his uniform jacket without saying a word

make out sessions in his office, and it wasn’t uncommon for people to walk in on you two making out on his desk

you couldn’t look at fushiguro for a week straight when he walked in on the both of you once

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peakyblindersxx · 3 years

Text

whiskey business - john x reader (part 3 of ?)

gif by @michaelgreys but i cropped it cause god daMn 👀

read part one and two! | my masterlist

a/n: this one goes out to all my john bitches!! i know it's hard out here, we get no new content but this part is steamy as hell. its not over yet, though! i'm a sucker for happy endings, ok? i hope you all like it, i'm still working on requests as i go :) much love to @stxdyblr-2k for ghostwriting on this series, she has the most amazing ideas in the world 🖤

love, abi xxx

tagging: @datewithgianni

prompt: john's been ignoring you and you want to know why.

warnings: fluff, angst, nsfw!! smut, cocky john, just straight up porn at the end but can you blame me

John hadn't spoken a word in your direction for a week. Despite constantly seeing you glued to Ada's hip, he’d barely acknowledged you since the wedding. He didn’t even bother looking up. Instead his jaw tensed, taking longer inhales of smoke, constantly examining the pocket watch dangling from his right hip. You were the last person John wanted to see right now. He couldn’t get you out of his head, the flush of your cheeks as you had moaned for him imprinted in his memory. You were fucking picturesque writhing around in his lap, a mess for him, and only him. He’d never felt like this; never wanted someone so badly it hurt. Usually, he drowned what little emotions he had in the nearest bottle of whiskey. You, however, were igniting something inside him he’d never felt. Lust, yes, but it was more. A yearning, a need, to see you smile at his crap jokes for the rest of his fucking life. God, you were getting to him.

His coldness and distance towards you hadn't gone unnoticed. To John’s embarrassment, his brothers regularly referred to it as "a little tiff", usually when you were within earshot, as they loved embarrassing his brother. They were blissfully unaware of the full story, assuming his cockiness had put you off him. He sometimes wondered the same; even though you remained polite by greeting him despite the minimal nod he responded with, you seemed ashamed. John only hoped it wasn't because you were ashamed of him. The truth was, he couldn't get the intensity between the two of you off his mind. Whenever he so much as caught a glimpse of you, he remembered how pretty you looked begging for him, then the embarrassment of having to reject you out of family loyalty. You admitting you wanted to have sex with him, him getting fucked off at you because you were off your face, complicating everything. Yet, every night, he held your words close to him, trying to decipher them.

He knew his brothers wouldn't get it. They wouldn't understand how tragic it was; they'd think it was funny that Ada's best friend wanted to fuck him. Either way, John would always rather put himself in the firing line of his brother's jokes than risk your reputation being blemished. He just couldn't look at you without a wave of guilt and sexual attraction flowing through his veins, causing his jaw to clench and his shoulders to stiffen, his suit jacket expertly covering strain on the crotch of his trousers.

A full week had passed since the wedding, of a man Tommy had recruited in an assassination effort. It was embarrassing how his family used money to attempt to push the trauma they created under the carpet. He knew he didn't have room to talk, but fuckin’ hell, a wedding? Maybe Tommy should've just not hired him to blow the brains out of his own father. Well, it was one way to get rid of the police commissioner who got too nosey, John guessed.

He had hoped that you were a passing phase of infatuation. He’d had many before; he’d been notorious around Birmingham for his conquests. Sure, it was possible he had just gotten overly excited and intoxicated around a beautiful girl. Yet, in the quiet moments of his life, in between his kids and business, his mind was only on you. You, straddling him in that booth, the way you grinned at him as he approached you at the wedding party. Sometimes when he was driving home, his mind would drift off thinking of the feeling of your figure pressed against him, the feel of your lips, your laugh, the sound of your heaving breaths against his ear. You haunted him the most at night, visions of you with his name on your lips in his silk sheets. You were his forbidden fruit, dangling barely out of reach.

***

John was at his desk, paperwork long abandoned in favour of whiskey and a cigar, lost in his own thoughts. The loud tapping of rain and the wind of the storm outside shook the windows, yet John felt somewhat at peace; a temporary peace, but he could unwind. Just his desk, the moonlight, the gas lamp illuminating his empty glass and the heavy English rain for company. He found far more joy in the simplicity of life than his brothers, who reeked of new money. He liked his things the way they were, it all worked, but he had to admit he was a sucker for a good suit. The kids were long in bed, the nanny to comfort their nightmares. It made him feel like a shit father, and he didn't want to be like his useless dad. He had started resenting the life Thomas was forcing him to live; the booze, the partying, the Tokyo, the fighting. It was wearing on him. He needed a break from everyone in this town, he reckoned.

However, a certain unexpected guest was always welcome to him. You had just drifted across his mind when a firm knock at the door caught his attention. He straightened his tie, leaving his legs outstretched and crossed on the dark oak desk, calling for the visitor to enter.

There you were. Dripping from head to toe, but still as beautiful as ever to him, despite your damp hair and slightly smudged makeup. You had caught him off guard, and in his surprise, he couldn't suppress the cheeky grin which spread across his face.

"Got caught in the storm, eh? I'll put the fire on and pour you a drink yeah? Warm you up." He slurred slightly, springing into action, lighting the fire and going to fill two glasses with whiskey, which you politely refused.

"I'm not drinking tonight, Mr. Shelby."

He decides he won't either. He tried to ignore your piercing gaze, motioning you to sit across his desk from him, reaching to put the whiskey in his drawer. "That's not like you. Where you headed, love? That lecture with Ada?"

"I came to see you."

He noted your firm tone, the flirty smile, the coy eye contact.

"What's the occasion?"

"You've been avoiding me." You told him bluntly, his cheeks reddening, eye contact breaking momentarily.

"Yeah, I know." He took a draw from his cigar, rolling the smoke from between his lips on the exhale. "M’sorry."

You watched him for a moment and he met your eyes, suddenly softened from his usual icey blue inquisitive stare. To shame, he looked so vulnerable right now. You could feel yourself falling for him again. This is what you hung around for, the fleeting glimpses of the authentic John Shelby. The lad you'd first giggled about in the girl's bathroom at lunch, barely knowing what sex was. Barely understanding power and politics. Unaware of who you'd both end up as.

"You're fucking soaked to the bone. Come on, I'll put your clothes to dry by the fire. And don't give me that look, I'll give you my coat to save your modesty, lass." He teased. You ignored the way his muscles flexed as he reached for his woolen jacket, some outrageously expensive tailored affair from some London boutique, his large rough hands brushing your fingers. "I'll turn around."

You grasped the coat, heading to the fireplace and warming up for a moment, checking that you were far from his line of sight. This was a dangerous game for you both. You wished he'd grab you, take you on his desk and finish what he started, but the way he absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited indicated that he was restraining himself.

You'd rid yourself of your thin jacket, bought from the market stall last week, effortlessly trendy but an imitation of the pricey stuff Ada and the blinder wives and girlfriends you knew. You were jealous of their fur coats, they were always warm and glamorous looking even on the coldest winter night in Birmingham.

You glanced across the room to John. He was staring intently at the wall lost in thought, teeth gritted.

"John? Could you unzip me?" You asked, purposefully making your voice sound as neutral as possible, looking at him over your shoulder.

He paused, bringing his fingers to rub circles against his jaw. You caught a glimpse of white teeth and dimples as he glanced at you out the corner of his eye and you can't help but match his coy grin. He pushed himself off the desk and quickly closed the small distance towards you, his hand finding first your shoulder then the zip at the nape of your neck, your breath hitching as he pulled the zip to your waist. You could feel his eyes tracing the curvature of your spine and hips. You both hesitated for a moment, before John’s warm fingertips grazed your waist, lips pressing into your hair affectionately. His mouth found his way to your ear, cheekbone, jaw and then neck, encouraged by the way your left hand cradled his head as you pressed your body back into his and how your eyes drifted shut at his touch.

"Sweetheart, why did you come here?" He muttered into your ear, his words and casual affection causing your core to swell in response.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you. I've barely slept in a week, feel terrible. Then you've been ignoring me-"

"It isn't personal, Y/N. You know this isn’t how I want it to be." His hands found their way to your waist, gripping lightly at your hip bones, sending a shiver down your back.

"Well this is how it is, John. It's never going to be any different. So, what are you going to do about it?"

"What are you fucking on about, love?"

"I reckon that just once can't hurt, nobody would know but us. Then we can both move on with our lives..."

John hesitated, "What about Ada?" His head rested on your shoulder, the scent of your sweet perfume causing him to want you even more. Jesus, he was too far gone.

"We were so close the first night I got here and we didn't. No one caught on then, why would it be different now?"

He wanted to trust you so badly, it ached inside of him. He wanted to feel you around him, make you cum for him again and again, for you to be breathless and shaking under him. He wanted to give you everything he could, even if just once. But he couldn't.

"She's my sister. Family is everything; if I don't have them, I’ve got nothin’." He stated firmly, yet his palms lingered on your hips, the liquor destroying his perception of the distinction between friendly touching and actions that made you swallow deeply and pray for relief.

"You have me for tonight." You pulled away from him, ignoring the groan that escaped from his lips at the loss of contact. You locked your eyes with his blue ones and pushed the straps of your dress from your shoulders, allowing the damp material to pool around your feet, standing in front of the man you'd wanted for years. It was now or never.

He stayed silent, watching you, eyes not leaving yours, challenging you for a brief moment before his eyes flickered over your figure.

"Is it such a crime to want to fuck you?" You asked, the silk of your skimpy underwear forcing John to wipe the corner of his mouth absentmindedly as he drank you in, mumbling profanities under his breath. Yet, despite the glances and his sudden frustration, you could tell you had him. His eyes were feral and hungry, daring you to keep pushing him. His shoulders were squared, he was ready for action. The crackling firelight illuminated you beautifully; you were irresistible to him.

"It's not a crime. Where'd you get this backbone from?" He asked, reaching for you but you stepped away, teasing him.

"University up north does sommet to a woman."

"You can fuck off or fuck me with that attitude."

"The latter if you behave yourself, Mr Shelby."

He smirked at you, holding his hands up in mock surrender, before wrapping his coat around your shoulders, pulling you towards him by the back of the collar. "You've got a mouth on you, love. You gonna put it to good use?"

"I was told months ago that you'd sort me out, John-" Your speech was interrupted by a small squealing giggle as he tugged at your hair lightly for mocking his voice, his eyes bright and crinkled at the edges due to his grin. "I'm disappointed with these delays, especially from the Shelby Company."

"Well, as the boss, I'll sort it for you, personally and immediately. Let me make it up to you, lass," John crooned, his lips meeting yours once again, fingers pushing your thighs apart, still clad in your black stockings and garter belt. "This is where we got up to last time, yes?"

"Yes Mr. Shelby, I believe so."

He pressed his lips and teeth against where your jaw met your neck, tracing his index and middle fingers over the silk of your underwear which covered your slit. You couldn’t help but lean into him, a slight hiss escaping your teeth.

"You like that, huh? You're fuckin’ soaked for me already, love," John muttered against your neck, lifting your left leg to hook around his waist, easily lifting you onto his desk, scattering loose papers and heavy accounting books onto the floor in his urgency to feel your bare skin on his. "They teach you how to push a bloke over the edge at that fancy university?"

"No, I figured that out on my own actually."

"Always knew you were bright," He smirked, quickly ridding you of your flimsy panties, the pads of his fingertips hot against your thighs. "Always going for the ones smarter than me, Tommy reckons it's not difficult."

"Your brother's chatting shit, he's not the one ‘bout to fuck me on his desk, yeah?" You shot back, opening your thighs to encourage him, your cunt exposed, cutting off John’s laugh. He couldn’t help but stare, eyes glued to your dripping cunt. "You're my favourite brother, always have been. If you tell Finn, I'll kill you," You teased.

"Come off it," John grunted in reply, unable to restrain pressing kisses to your inner thighs, your head tilting back, fingers desperately clutching at his hair. “Need t’get a proper taste of you, yeah? Look so fuckin’ sweet for me.” His mouth reached your core, slowly dipping his tongue into you, causing your mouth to fall open in ecstasy. God, his lips were even softer than they looked. His movements switched from light and teasing to purposeful and focused, his fingers curled and pumping inside you, tongue and thumb attacking your clit. He'd gotten on his knees, your legs wrapped around his neck as he groaned into your cunt, causing you to buck your hips wildly at the sensation, moans falling out of your mouth.

“Fuckin’ christ, John,” You swore, feeling yourself pulsate and twitch around his nimble fingers, crying out into the empty office building. You were getting so close, your hips jerking independently, chest heaving as you gasped for air. You were quickly getting overstimulated, you were so close. Before you could finish, John raised his head back to yours, letting you taste yourself on his mouth, his hands moving from your cunt to your tits, finger tips tracing the outline of your nipples through your silk bra.

"If we get to do this once, I want to feel you finish on my cock, doll," John grunted in a hushed tone, pointedly moving his lips to your collarbone when you opened your mouth to argue back to him.

"Then I get to ride you." Your statement took him by surprise; most women he'd slept with seemed fairly passive in bed. Sure they enjoyed themselves, but they never took control. He could feel himself swell in response to your words. He'd never been put in this position; he was a stranger to it, but the idea was thrilling and wickedly seductive. Especially from someone who was the epitome of "girl-next-door" as they were growing up.

"Polly reckoned you'd be trouble since Ada told us you'd returned. Don't mind getting into trouble with you, though," He teased, his plump mouth dipping to your cleavage, unclasping your bra, tongue circling your hardening nipples.

"John, fuckin’ christ, need you to finish me off, yeah?" You begged, voice shaking, much to his amusement, his fingers re-entering you roughly. John pressed open-mouthed kisses to your neck, soothing your body from the sharp sensation, the slight pain exacerbating the pleasure arising from his mouth and fingers.

"I've barely started with you, and already you're begging for me to fuck you." He muttered into your skin, as he watched you writhe and lift your hips, reacting beautifully to the feelings he was reawakening within you.

"John, m’not fucking about, yeah? I need you," You whined, hand resting on his inner thigh, fingers grazing the fastenings across his groin, gazing up at him from your seat on his desk. John hated waiting for relief, he had very little patience, and almost immediately he gave in and collapsed into his large armchair, pulling you on top of him, letting you pin his wrists to the chair and grind against him as your mouth found his, then his neck, removing his waistcoat, shirt and tie, revealing his muscular chest. The bruising kisses you pressed to his skin left him breathless and needing more, helping you unbuckle his belt and push his suit trousers down his legs. You couldn’t help but take him into your hand, moving it up and down his sensitive shaft.

“Christ, you’re too fuckin’ good at this,” John groaned as you spit on your palm to better move your hand up and down his cock, teasing the sensitive tip with your fingers and tongue. He couldn’t help but watch you, keeping eye contact as you toyed with him, blue eyes heavy with pleasure and lust for more.

You angled your hips above him and he adjusted himself, using his hand to better push himself inside you. You yelped lightly as you adjusted to his girth, his mouth distracting you by pressing kisses on your shoulder and tangling his hands through your hair, trying to control his breaths as you adjusted to him, soft moans falling from your mouth, your tight cunt gripping his cock.

“S’fuckin’ perfect, like your pussy was made for me,” he groaned, breath growing heavier with the sensation of you grinding against him. Pushing his hips up into you, he couldn’t help but grab at your hip bones, grip burning into your skin, bouncing you on his cock, mouth slightly slack, groaning as he grasped at your flesh. You’d imagined hundreds of times how fucking irresistible John would look underneath you, but it was nothing compared to the real thing.

The thrill of having John Shelby with his trousers down in his office, quickly dissolving into a moaning and grunting mess with every rotation or twist of your hips, in the midst of a stormy night while the thunder echoed around the empty streets below was almost too much to take. You should be home right now, curled up in that empty unheated flat, behaving yourself. Even on a date or fucking someone else. But instead you'd gone to him and now you were riding him. You wanted the moment to last forever, right now everything felt so right, you knew when it was over the guilt would hit. But you couldn't avoid it, you could feel your legs start to shake.

“Look so god damn pretty ridin’ me, love. Makin’ me wanna cum inside you.” John growled, panting, struggling to keep pace as you moaned on top of him. Your fingers found his jawline and guided him to look up at you, craving to see how his face looked when he finally came undone. He reached between your legs, torturing your clit with his fingers while he slammed into you a few extra times, using up the rest of his energy. The extra stimulation pushed you over the edge, crying out John’s name as you felt yourself release. Watching you whine his name was the last straw for him, spilling into you as your dripping cunt squeezed him, reveling in the image of you a mess for him.

***

You finally came back to your senses, catching your breath, John clutching you to his chest protectively for a minute or two, enjoying the tranquility and post-sex clarity. He checked his clock, sighing and lifting you from his lap to his desk, running a towel under the sink in the corner of his room and passing it to you to clean up between your legs with.

"Charming," You smirked, tired but satisfied. "No wonder the ladies always come back for more."

"Not you though, aye? One night only exclusive, this." He matched your playful tone, but his eyes were dull with exhaustion and he looked almost upset. He was probably just knackered after working all day and then going overtime just to please you.

"Make yourself useful and grab my clothes for me John-lad." You teased, thankfully changing the subject. He rolled his eyes in the waning firelight, locating the clothes the two of you had left scattered around the room. You quickly dressed, not caring how he watched you silently, as though trying to memorize the image of you. Your clothes were far drier than earlier, the last remaining remnants of damp clutching to the fibers and freezing you all over again. Yet before you could even comment, John's wool coat was wrapped back around your shoulders.

"Because you're cold, not because you look fuckable in it." He said pointedly, smirking slightly, the edges seeming artificial.

"Remind me not to fall madly in love with you. Won't be able to help myself if you keep talking like that, Mr. Shelby." You retorted sarcastically with a grin, earning a gentle dig to the ribs.

"It's Mr. Shelby if you're trying to fuck me. John is between friends and family, right?"

"Someone better inform Mr. Solomons of that distinction, then," You paused, "Mr. Shelby."

"Don't be a fucking cocktease." He scolded with a small grin, grabbing his car keys and hat from the door. "You want a lift then? Don't dick about being polite, Y/N, it's fucking midnight, just accept it."

"Since you asked so nicely."

"You know you've got worse since you've been at uni? Too fast for us lot now." He teased, half serious, as he led you to his car. He couldn't believe the beautiful woman in his passenger seat was the girl with pigtails who'd chase Ada around the canal with their girl gang for hours, the pretty teen who read for hours in his sister's bedroom, comparing notes together. No one was surprised you got a scholarship to university, despite your gender and class. You'd been incredibly lucky. Yet, you'd seen the world and had come back to Birmingham and picked him.

Shame you could only pick him once.

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