#a charming little bastard; smug as hell but also charming enough to make up for it
Text
Yes, I would be very interested hearing your head canon (@tim-ribbert-56) (in response to this post)
I have decided for my personal entertainment that Clarisse de Cagliostro is related to Lupin III, and here's why.
-pulls out Arsène Lupin's Wikipedia page-
In the novel La Comtesse de Cagliostro, a young Arsène Lupin (at the time going by the name Raoul d'Andrésy) was courting Clarisse d'Etigues, a young lady of a well-to-do family, and trying to win her hand, despite her father's disapproval.
Throughout the course of the novel, Lupin meets and falls in love with Joséphine Balsamo, aka the Countess of Cagliostro, and abandons Clarisse in favour of her. To clarify, Joséphine is not actually countess of anything, she is (or claims to be) a descendant of Giuseppe Balsamo aka the Count of Cagliostro (who was also count of jack shit), a famous conman from the 18th century.
Shenanigans ensue, which I will not go into in details on, but oh my god I am insane about Raoul and Joséphine, I want to dissect them and study them under a microscope. It turns out Joséphine aka Cagliostro is evil as fuck, Raoul/Lupin realizes that and goes back to Clarisse (whom he had previously abandoned like an old sock, I fucking hate this guy), marries her, and a few years later has her kid.
Unfortunately Clarisse dies in childbirth, and Joséphine, who was still around and very very pissed at Lupin (and jealous as hell of Clarisse whom, may I mention, had never personally antagonized her in any way whatsoever, Joséphine is just fucking bonkers). Joséphine also kidnaps Lupin and Clarisse's son, Jean, and raises him as her own son. (I have not yet read the following novel The revenge of Cagliostro so I don't really know what Jean's deal is, I just know he's an antagonist).
The following is my headcanon, based on these events. In the universe of Lupin III, Joséphine Balsamo was actually countess of the small kingdom of Cagliostro (maybe Giuseppe was count, maybe he conned his way into becoming count, maybe he bought the land and built a fake kingdom with a fake history, who knows).
After the events of The revenge of Cagliostro, Jean settles down in the country of Cagliostro, gets married, has a child, and that child will later have a daughter of their own, who they name Clarisse, after their late grandmother. Clarisse de Cagliostro, of Lupin III: The Castle of Cagliostro fame, would thus be the great-grand-daughter of Arsène Lupin, making her Lupin III's cousin/niece/whatever you call this specific degree of separation.
I am choosing to make Clarisse de Cagliostro a great-granddaughter of Arsène Lupin, rather than a granddaughter, because Arsène Lupin was very young when the events I described unfolded: he is 20 years old when he meets Clarisse d'Etigues and the whole Cagliostro debacle happens, and 25 by the time Jean is born. I'm assuming he had Lupin II much later in his life. So Jean and Lupin II (half-brothers) would have a significant difference in age, and so Jean's hypothetical child (grandchild of Arsène Lupin, so of the same generation of Lupin III) would be much older than Lupin III. Clarisse de Cagliostro is younger than him, maybe around the same age if you stretch it, so she's have to be a great-grandchild.
Now I need to read The revenge of Cagliostro and study Arsène Lupin's wikipedia page in more detail to determine when exactly Lupin II was born and who his mother was. And also where Albert's family branched out, because the fact that he's called D'Andrésy should theoretically place him as a descendant of Arsène Lupin's mother but not of Arsène Lupin himself; but Jean was also going by that last name, so who fucking knows.
No I am not insane I promise, I am just a gigantic nerd.
#i have very mixed feelings about Papy Lupin Original Flavour#cuz you see in the first books he was pretty much like his grandson#a charming little bastard; smug as hell but also charming enough to make up for it#like. an ego the size of the eiffel tower but it's highly deserved#if he robbed me i would just thank him#you wanna punch him in the face but like. lovingly#then around The Hollow Needle he started acting weird#and after that his ego grew into a god complex the size of the eiffel tower and he just lost all the charm#like. just a huge dick honestly.#i thought that was a logical evolution after (SPOILER FOR THE HOLLOW NEEDLE) his wife got brutally murdered in front of his eyes#mere HOURS after they got married and he gave up his whole career as a thief for her#which would be an understandable evolution#but no he's also retroactively an asshole in The Countess of Cagliostro which is a prequel#i guess leblanc just decided 'lupin's a dick now'#which sucks#but on the other hand it's very funny to kinda hate-read The Countess of Cagliostro#i was honestly rooting for Joséphine for most of the book#she is fucking insane which is exactly what raoul/lupin deserve#you know that Mountain Goats song 'no children' ?#'hand in unloveable hand; i hope you die i hope with both die'#or that post that says 'i don't ship them they're too toxic / well i hope they kill each other mid-fuck'#well that's me with them#just reading on to see how many more life-ruining decisions raoul can bodily throw himself at#also leblanc did joséphine dirty!!!!!!!!#LET MY GIRL BE EVIL FOR GOD'S SAKE#none of that 'her fragile feminine nature' and fainting after murdering someone because deep down she can't bear her own cruelty#what the fuck#let her be genuinely unhinged!! let her bash raoul's head in with a meat hammer!!!!#(yes that is something that she tried to do)#anyway. justice for Joséphine Balsamo. god forbid women do anything
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
-> He's a Mess (& I Adore It)
Kuroo x gn!reader
-> summary: Kuroo Tetsurou is a mess. Kuroo Tetsurou is never a mess. And the fact that you’re the one who has brought this smug bastard to his knees makes your body thrum with the power of a god
-> 4.5k word count
dom!reader, gn!reader with a vagina, teasing, fingering (receiving), oral (receiving), semi-public sex, dick pics, university students, rough sex, praise kink, sex denial, orgasm denial, making out, dirty talk
18+, NSFW, Minors DNI
-> I wrote this back in November 2022 with the intention of finishing it but never got round to it. You little gremlins on the internet asked to be fed now, rather than later, so this is the incomplete result. Maybe, if Kuroo gets lucky, I'll return to finish it. Does the reader think he deserves it? Tell me in the tags/asks
You can also read He's a Mess (& I Adore It) on Ao3
You never expected to be here with Kuroo on his knees for you. It had started off as nothing more than an inspired little thought that struck you one day when you'd had enough of seeing Kuroo walk around like he was some kind of god's gift to mortals.
You'd done your best to ignore it all through high school; suffering through 3 years worth of his witty remarks, of the smirk that seemed a permanent addition to his face, of watching girls (and sometimes boys) fawning over him wherever he went.
It's only when you walk into your first lecture at university to find Kuroo sitting near the front of the class, eyebrow raised with a pleased grin playing about his lips as he watches you, that you decide it's finally time to teach him a lesson.
Like hell you're going to put up with this for another 3 years. This is a man who needs to be humbled. And now is the time to do it.
You know you're exactly the right person to do it. You've always been aware that you've been on Kuroo's radar but never had any interest in remotely entertaining the idea. He was already arrogant and had his arrogance fed by everyone around him throughout school, from his volleyball team to the teachers in class, and students from Nekoma and beyond. There was no way you were going to contribute to his inflating ego.
But now you're both at university there's something vaguely interesting about playing a little game with him. It wouldn't work to be too obvious with it - a snarky comment or public take down would be ineffective. Something that he could easily shrug off.
No. Let him think he's got you in the palm of his hand. That somehow, after all these years, the quadruple threat of his charm, wit, intelligence and good looks had finally worked their magic on you. Then slowly begin to pull the rug out from under his feet, little by little.
Make him work for it, make him beg, make him lose all composure. Then floor him.
The image of Kuroo flustered before you, realising that he's been outmanoeuvred, sends jolts through your veins. Your course has been set.
Let the games begin.
It starts off fairly simple with increased eye contact and lingering looks during class. Nothing too intense or sudden as this would seem suspicious after years of ignoring him. Nor anything too forward to give the impression that you were pursuing him.
He initially seems surprised but pleased with the attention. Of course he does. You throw in a few little comments now and then; saying hello to him when you pass in the hallway or actually responding if he asks you a question in class. It doesn't take much before he bites.
You begin to notice how his eyes follow you wherever you go, how he starts off making eye contact with you before roaming his eyes down as you walk away. Let him look. On occasion you allow your eyes to do the same to give him the impression that these admiring looks are reciprocated. And although it's mostly all part of the game, you can't deny that he is pleasing to look at, in a way. And hey, why not enjoy your mission whilst you’re on it?
One morning he shows up at your table with an extra coffee.
"For me?" you feign surprise. "Thanks, I don't drink coffee though." You pass it off to your best friend next to you and study his reaction. He shrugs but you can see him falter behind his carefully curated mask.
He tries casually extending invitations to house parties and study sessions, all of which you turn down much to the surprise of your envious classmates. He asks for your number, pretending it would be helpful if he has questions about assignments even though you know he's smart enough not to need help. Sometimes you entertain his fake questions or social texts to give him just enough to keep him interested, but mostly you ignore these too.
He shows up to the lab more frequently and stays longer into the nights when you're there working away on experiments for your assignments. You find excuses to sit at the same table as him, sitting just a little too close so that your arm or leg brushes against his. He responds in kind.
On day's when you're feeling particularly mischievous you play around with the lab equipment to see if anything sparks a reaction; suggestively grasping full-bodied glasses, slowly grinding materials down with a mortar and pestle, firmly and repeatedly squeezing the nib of pipettes whilst maintaining eye contact. Kuroo always watches you keenly during these, but the last one in particular causes his nostrils to flare and the tips of his ears to turn ever so slightly pink.
After months of toying with him you decide to kick things up a notch. He texts you to ask if you'll be going to the upcoming Halloween social, you say you'll see how you feel on the night though you've been planning to go with your friends all along.
You spend the evening putting on your fancy dress outfit and getting ready with your housemates. You've all decided to go for matching catsuits in different colours. You choose the red one. You make an effort to look good, as you always do, not for anyone else's pleasure but your own. Looking in the mirror you know what Kuroo's reaction will be.
He's not there when you arrive even though the party is well under way by then. You spend most of the night dancing with your friends and having a good time. It must be nearing midnight when you feel the intensity of a pair of eyes on you and look over to see Kuroo with a group of boys. He's wearing a tightly fitted shirt and trousers that shows off his slender but muscular form, though doesn't seem particularly Halloweeny to you. You make your way over to the drinks table and it isn't until he approaches you that you see the drops of blood on the shirt and the bloody handprint on his throat.
He sees your eyes linger at his neck and smiles, showing off a pair of fangs. He bends down towards your ear.
"Like what you see?" He purrs. There it is. That arrogance. He's so sure of himself.
You ignore him whilst you pour yourself a drink. Once you're done you glance back at him.
"I could ask you the same thing. You're the one who can't take his eyes off of me."
Kuroo leans against the table looking down at you with his eyebrow raised. "Is that so?"
"Well, I guess I'm pretty hard to miss huh?" As you say this you slowly run your hand down your chest and stomach, bringing it to rest on your hip and watch as his gaze follows. His eyes flicker back up to yours and even in the low light you can see the desire burning in them. He steps towards you.
"I certainly wouldn't say no to a taste of you," he flashes you a toothy grin, his fake fangs glinting in the light. You suppress the instinct to roll your eyes.
"Hmm..." you say instead, as though you're pondering this. You step forwards, closing the gap between the two of you. You've never stood this close to Kuroo before and it's only now that you realise just how tall he is. You elevate yourself on your tip toes slightly to bring yourself closer to his face. He smirks and dips his head down to meet yours.
Just when his face is about to meet yours, you divert to the side so your mouth is by his ear, and bring your hand up to gently place over the handprint on his throat.
"Come back to me when you have more enthusiasm and we'll see then." You quickly release his throat and walk away from him, disappearing back into the crowd to find your friends. It's an effort not to turn back to see his reaction but it gives you satisfaction knowing that you'll be able to see an even better one soon.
Your plan of teasingly enticing him with just a little but then snatching it away again works just as you expected it to. Of course it does. Kuroo is not the kind of guy who has ever been denied anything and knowing that he just might get what he's after is enough to incentivize him to work even harder for it. You know that you have him now, he can't possibly walk away from something he wants but can't get with his pride intact.
Little does he know that there's no outcome for him where he walks away from you with any pride intact.
Over the next few weeks you continue to make little comments to him in passing, leaning over him at the lab tables to reach things instead of asking for them, pressing up against him when making your way down the busy hallways. You're pleased at the effect it has as you begin to see him unravel. The stumbling over his words, the flushed looks on his face, knocking things over in class. The one that gets you the most is the surreptitiously placed bag held in front of his crotch.
One evening, whilst you're at home doing some extra reading for class, you receive a text that brings a smirk of its own to your face. A single line that reads: I can't stop thinking about you.
You feel gleeful at this admission that you're on his mind so much. That you've brought him to a place where he's openly admitting it. You briefly consider not responding but you've done your work for the day and are feeling playful.
You shoot a message back: Oh, and what do you want to achieve by telling me that?
A few minutes pass by before your phone vibrates with another message. I want you.
You take some time before replying, considering your options and the short, directness of his messages. You begin to type a reply: tell me… before deleting it and rewriting the message. For a brief second you hesitate before sending it, before committing to the fork in the road you're about to go down. You hate to admit it but your heart begins to beat a little faster.
Show me how much you want me
There's a much longer pause this time and you start to wonder if maybe you've miscalculated. You set your phone to the side and go to the kitchen to grab a drink, stopping to talk to your housemate about the new show he’s obsessively bingeing on the couch. By the time you return, there's a picture message waiting for you.
You open the message. There's no text attached, just an image of Kuroo's hard on through his grey tracksuits. You smile and thumb another response.
Not quite good enough. Try again. And don't keep me waiting this time.
A few minutes later your phone vibrates with another picture. You open it. A hot flush creeps up your neck and a grin spreads across your face.
This time his tracksuit bottoms have been pulled down to reveal the full package. Kuroo's long, thick dick is on display for your private viewing and you're pleased with what you see. Of course he's big. Of course he's thick. His right hand rests towards the base, almost nonchalantly, as if it just so happened to rest there. But knowing Kuroo it was a planned move. He's aware of how big his hands are and how he can use them as an effective scale here.
You tilt your head to the side and can't help but think what it would be like to have this inside of you. You feel your clit tingle, the wetness that's been building. Well, you don't have to wonder. There's an easy way to find out. You glance at the clock to check the time.
Do you know the office across the hall from the labs?
A few seconds later you get a reply. Yes.
As you head off to the bathroom for a quick shower you shoot off another message: Meet me there in half an hour.
You take your time getting ready, fully intending to be late. To keep Kuroo waiting. On your way out of the door one of your housemates asks you where you're going and laughs when you respond that you're on your way to meet Kuroo as there's something he's helping you with.
"Oh? What could Kuroo possibly help you with at this time of night?" she asks with her hand on her hip, a knowing smile on her face.
You throw up a peace sign as you close the door behind you and make your way through campus to the building where your labs are, and the office where Kuroo is waiting for you.
When you finally open the door to the office, you're greeted by Kuroo leaning against one of the desks. As you close the door, you take a few moments to roll the blackout blind down and lock the door behind you. The building is always empty at this time but you don't want to be interrupted.
"Took your time," he remarks lowly, quirking his eyebrow up.
You walk slowly across the room, bringing yourself to a pause in front of him. Although he's shorter from leaning against the desk, he's so tall that you still have to look up at him. Not for much longer. Soon it'll be him who will be looking up at you.
"Oh, were you getting impatient?" You flash him one of his own trademark smirks.
"I'm sure you'd love that, as if you haven't kept me waiting long enough," he scoffs. You bring your face up towards his until your lips are almost touching.
"Careful," you growl. "Or you'll be waiting even longer."
You watch as a blush spreads across his face. You know how much he wants to retort, you can see him having to hold it back, and you get a kick out of silencing him. He wants to bite back, but he wants you more.
You reach up and run a finger lightly over his bottom lip then down to trace his jaw as you hum. His eyes watch you keenly.
"Now, where were we?" You run your finger down his throat, pausing at the bottom. "I believe you were showing me how much you want me but you seem to be awfully overdressed for that, don't you think?"
You feel him swallow and his pulse quicken. You pull at the top of his jumper.
"Take it off."
He reaches down to pull his hoodie over his head and throws it carelessly onto the floor behind you. You take your time, letting your eyes slide over his body. You knew he was fit, you could tell from how toned his arms were, from the way his clothes hugged his frame, but you hadn't expected him to be quite so... ripped.
You step forward so that your bodies meet and then, this time, bring your lips to meet his. Kuroo’s lips are surprisingly soft but his kiss is firm. As you begin to intensify the kiss and part his lips to slip your tongue inside, he begins to kiss back more hungrily and you feel his arms snake around your hips, his hands eagerly roaming your body.
Without breaking the kiss, you reach around to unwrap his arms and pin his hands either side of him on the desk.
"Uh, uh," you whisper into his mouth. "I didn't say you could touch me. You haven't earned that privilege." He lets a little groan slip out as you return to making out with him and that's when you feel the hardness of his dick pressing against your stomach.
You want to stop for a moment to laugh because of course this arrogant, spoiled little shit gets off on being told what he can and can't do.
You let go of one of his hands, bringing yours back to continue lightly tracing down his chest as you kiss. You break away.
"So tell me Kuroo, what was it you wanted from me?"
Let him think he's going to get it. As you look up at him with a feigned coy look, you can see the hazy look of desire in his eyes, the flare of his nostrils.
"I want you..." he murmurs. You've never heard his voice so low.
You smile as you drag your fingers slowly down his torso. He bites his lip.
"Tell me, stop holding out on the details."
"Uh...well. I'm sure you can see how turned on you make me." You bring your hand lower, right to the waistband of his tracksuit pants. You glance down and bite your own lip as you take in the outline of his dick showing through them, humming your acknowledgement before looking back at him.
"I haven't been able to stop thinking about the feel of your body pressing against me and what it would be like to have your skin rubbing against mine." You stretch up to place light kisses on his neck, your hand still resting against his waistband.
"I've been thinking about how much I want to kiss you, to know what you taste like..." As he continues to talk you pause your kissing of his neck for a second to lightly and ever so briefly stroke your fingers up his length. Kuroo gasps as though he's been electrocuted.
"God, I want to fuck you so bad. I want to feel my dick in your pussy. It's all I can think about."
You have to admit that you're affected. You can feel how wet you are, how much you want him in this moment. And though your own heart rate is picking up and you want to throw him back onto the desk so that you can climb on top of him, you know that you're not ready for this game to be over. It would be too easy to end it here.
Instead, you step away from him.
Kuroo looks back at you, his eyebrows knitted together, confused by the sudden loss of contact. You know there must be a part of him that wonders if it's over, if that's all he's going to get. And it is, to an extent. But it's not all that you are going to get.
"Get on your knees," you order. He looks back at you blankly. "Kuroo, did I fucking stutter? Did you not hear me? I said get on your knees."
He stands up, his torso elongating in a way that shows off his abs even more. For a second you wonder if he will refuse, if his ego isn't willing to take the hit, but he simply steps to the side so that you can take a seat on the desk.
Once he's moved, you drop your trousers, step out of them and hop up onto the desk. When you're seated Kuroo looks at you and holds your gaze as he wordlessly gets down on his knees in front of you.
You take a mental photograph of this moment, the moment you've been working towards for over half a year. The perfect image of Kuroo Tetsurou on his knees for you.
"Good boy," you purr, taking note of the blush returning to his face. You file that away for later too. "Now, let me tell you about what I want, Kuroo, because you are very much mistaken if you think that this is about you. I want you to fuck me..."
You pause as you see his eyes light up and hold your finger up.
"With your mouth and your fingers." His face flickers with emotion - surprise, disappointment, desire - before he gets it back under control. "You've always been so proud of that sharp tongue of yours and those big, powerful hands. So put them to use."
He edges forwards on his knees so that he's closer to your closed legs and waits, knowing better now than to reach out. Sitting on the edge of the desk you spread your legs slowly so that he can see all of you. You watch the hunger spread like wildfire over his face.
You reach out, caressing the back of his head before grabbing a handful of his messy hair and pulling his face towards you. You feel the warmth of his mouth as he takes your clit in it and sucks. You hold back a groan. He sucks slowly a few times before you feel his tongue take a long, firm lick at your opening. At that he groans before returning to your clit. His caresses it with his mouth hungrily, alternating pressure between firm, slow sucks and lighter, quicker ones.
You lay back on the desk, your hand still running through his hair and arch your back. You can't deny it feels good or that Kuroo knows exactly what he's doing. You become completely lost in the sensation.
Before long, you become impatient. You grind your hips against his mouth, against his tongue, pushing his head further down.
"Fuck me..." You feel him pause for a second. "With your hands."
He gives you a last, long suck using his teeth lightly to nip you cheekily at the end.
"Can I stand?" he murmurs. "So I can get a better angle?"
You raise your head briefly to look down at him and consider his request. You suppose it isn't the best angle for fingering. "Yes, you may."
You lay your head back down and a moment later he's leaning over you on the desk. Before you have time to think he simultaneously pushes two fingers into you as he lowers his lips down to yours, kissing you deeply. You can taste yourself on his lips.
A groan slips out of you into his mouth.
Damnit. But it feels so good.
His fingers are long and thick, like his dick, and they fill you perfectly. He begins to thrust them in a slow rhythm whilst continuing to kiss you, and your hips respond, rising to meet him. He begins to speed up and you can hear your own wetness as his fingers slip in and out.
You grab hold of his shoulder, feeling the powerful muscles, your nails digging into his skin. You let out a long groan. It’s not enough.
"Harder, fuck me harder, Kuroo."
You hear a short huff as he laughs and responds immediately. You feel his hand pull back and then pound back into you. His eyes flick to yours and you nod for him to continue. He does it again slowly a couple of times, each one increasing in force and dragging further moans out of you.
You glance down to take in how it looks for Kuroo to be between your legs; his big hand buried in you, the taut muscles in his forearm and bicep as he thrusts in and out, the intense focus in his narrow hazel eyes, his raging erection pressed up against you and the way it smears pre-cum over your exposed thigh.
"Yes...Perfect… keep going," you choke out.
With every thrust of his fingers, you can hear how dripping wet you are. You’re not the only one to have noticed either. Kuroo lets out a pitiful whine, his eyes closing in ecstasy.
“You’re so… fucking… wet,” he groans. You shoot a hand out to cover his mouth.
“That’s enough out of you,” you rasp, even as you feel your clit twitch in response to his words.
He speeds up, managing to still maintain the strength and rhythm of each thrust. You drop your head back onto the desk and close your eyes, completely overtaken by how good it feels. You continue to buck your hips up to meet him as his hand comes down, and the angle of it is exactly right for his knuckles to impact against your clit each time. He keeps going.
Again, and again, and again, and again.
Your heart feels like it's about to beat out of your chest and every muscle in your body feels tense. You know you're close. You dig your nails in harder and smile when Kuroo doesn't even flinch.
"Keep going, don't stop..." you can barely catch your breath. It only takes a few more thrusts before you're there. His fingers slide forcefully inside you and his knuckles hit your clit at the exact right moment so that it sends you over the edge. You climax, feeling yourself pulsing around Kuroo's fingers as you orgasm.
"Fuuuckkk..." you hear him groan through your hand as he hovers above you, his voice dripping with arousal as you continue to contract around him. Once you've stopped you feel his fingers slowly and reluctantly slip out.
You lay there for a few moments, enjoying the high, giving your heart time to slow back to its regular pace. You let out a long exhale and look up at Kuroo, his arm propping him up as he leans on the desk. You vaguely register that there isn't even a drop of sweat on him.
As you sit up, you take a deliberate glance down and are satisfied to see he's still hard. Well, if he thinks that you're going to be doing anything about that he's got a big surprise coming. And not the kind he's probably hoping for.
"Good?" He asks, grinning. Clearly pleased with his performance. You'll give him that it was definitely good.
"Yeah, it was good.” You pause. “But I want it better."
You slide out from under him and begin pulling your trousers back on. When you look back at him, his expression is puzzled.
"I don't know what you're looking at me like that for, Kuroo. I told you that you'd be mistaken if you thought this was about you. I got what I came for and now I'm going home."
"But..."
"But what? You're not done? You wanted to fuck me with your dick? As I said, you haven't earned those privileges. Yet." You pause, letting the yet hang in the air between you. Kuroo tilts his head to the side. Confused, but also very clearly intrigued.
"What do I need to do to earn that?"
You hum mischievously, stepping closer so that you can run your hand up his chest.
"I'm sure I'll come up with something. In the meantime though," you glance meaningfully down at his dick, still standing to attention. "You can't touch yourself, I want you to save it all for me. And I want to see evidence that you're still thinking about me." At this, he raises his eyebrows.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything with your images if that's what you're worried about. They're just for my own viewing pleasure. But don't try to cheat, because I'll know. And then you definitely won't get what you want."
You flash him a smile and then retreat to the door, flicking the latch to unlock the door.
"Oh, and Kuroo?"
"Hm?” He looks at you with a faint glimmer of hope.
You nod your head towards the desk. "Make sure you clean up this mess before you go."
Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3 This is my first reader fic so I'd love to hear your thoughts. Remember you can also read + bookmark He's a Mess (& I Adore It) on Ao3!
#i'm not sure this posted properly the first time so reposting it in case and if it doesn't work this time then shrugs#kuroo x reader#kuroo tetsurou#kuroo tetsuro drabble#kuroo#haikyuu#hq#reader fic
29 notes
·
View notes
Note
could I request some hcs for a shy autobot reader w a crush on starscream? maybe they try super hard to hide it but it’s like,, blatantly obvious and he teases them/gets suggestive abt it to fluster them? if not that’s totally cool and I hope u have a good day! tyy :)
I have a Starscream x Reader x Megatron piece in the drafts, but I've been meaning to write an individual Starscream piece for a while now, so thank you for this request! Also really into smug Starscream with a shy s/o, perfect dynamic. So yeah, here it is, hope you enjoy!
The first time you meet Starscream is when you’re on earth. You’re a part of Optimus’s repair team along with him, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Ratchet, and Prowl; like Ratchet, you’re a medic, mainly tagging along to do both space bridge repairs and fix up any of the other bots’ injuries. During that first fight over the All Spark on earth, you don’t really get to interact with Starscream in full, but you do meet him briefly and are too panicked over your first actual battle (since you’re just, you know, a repair bot/medic and not a full blown soldier; most you had was some cadet training like Bulkhead and Bumblebee) to think much of him.
But then, you interact with him the next few times, and uh... It’s bad. You notice immediately that he’s physically attractive; tall, sleek build pretty paint-job, a scratchy but charming voice and way of talking, strong servos but long pretty digits and slender legs, glowing vermillion optics that feel like they’re peering into your soul... Yeah, it’s over for you. You’ve never really had the time for relationships with work and everything, so you don’t have any experience and are horrid at hiding the little crush that you quickly develop.
It’s horrible. Any time Starscream is present during battles, you get flustered and fumble over yourself. You can’t fight him and can’t fight anyone else when he’s within eye/ear-shot, so you’re usually in charge of helping evacuate humans or dealing with Blitzwing/Lugnut etc.
Starscream, of course, notices it. He’s an older and well-seasoned bot, and though it’s very rare that anyone is actually interested in him, he’s seen enough relationships in his day to be able to pick up on a crush. His natural reaction, out loud, is “HAHA, of course you have a crush on the GLORIOUS, GORGEOUS Starscream! Why, it only makes sense that I’ve charmed such a pretty little Autobot without even trying, who could resist my charm?”. On the inside... He’s seriously flattered. You’re beautiful, you’re cute, from the glimpses he’s gotten, he likes your personality, and he thinks you’re just... Very good. However, he doesn’t really pursue a relationship with you at first as you seem rather righteous and he is rather devious. He won’t admit it, but he likes you too much to cause you any trouble with the other Autobots. He’s just happy that you like him so much.
It turns into a lot of teasing during battles and gets to a point where Starscream will purposefully pick fights with the Autobots just to see/spar with you, with no actual damage happening.
“Oh, my, if it isn’t my not-so-secret admirer again! Why don’t you try to take me down without the help of your friends this time?”
He likes touching you as much as he can in a rather fleeting manner; servos over your lower back, on your hands, face in your face, optics locked with yours, etc. He’s just very touch-starved and enthusiastic about the fact that someone is interested in him, but he won’t admit it.
The other Autobots find it pretty humorous or are annoyed by it. Ratchet and Prowl roll their eyes at it and don’t get what you see in him, Bulkhead just feels bad for you, Optimus is very confused but always reminds you of the fact that he’s there for you if you ever want to vent about your “unfortunate circumstances”, and Bumblebee isn’t above trying to set you up with Starscream/making you two interact with each other whenever the opportunity arises because he thinks it’s cute/funny.
Eventually, things get a little less light-hearted when Megatron gets his body back and hires Lockdown to kidnap you. The main reason is that even though Megatron and his Decepticons usually do a great job of beating the hell out of the Autobots, you’re always there to fix them up, and that’s very inconvenient to him personally. So, Lockdown kidnaps you and takes you to Megatron, only for Starscream to... Come rescue you from the cell you’re locked in during the night?
You’re just sitting there, waiting for an Autobot when Starscream bursts into the room; “Why, if it isn’t my admirer, waiting for me to come rescue them.”
“Um... Starscream? What are you doing here?”
“What do you think, you glitch? Rescuing you, now quiet down before Megatron catches us!”
You’re super confused, unsure if Starscream has had a processor injury or if he has some other more devious plan with you, but he breaks you out of your cage and allows you to climb on his back so he can give you a piggy back ride until you’re out of the cave and in an open enough area for him to transform into his seeker mode, only to get caught by Megatron and Megatron alone while the others are recharging.
The two break out into an argument, fighting while you’re still on Starscream’s back; you’re trying to assist your crush by blasting Megatron from your position despite being decently injured from your battle with Lockdown, which is honestly the only reason Starscream is managing against the much more powerful Decepticon. You two work... Surprisingly well together, and in the midst of the argument, Megatron is spewing insults, calling Starscream incompetent, foolish, stupid, a failure, etc.
Naturally, despite your shy nature, you hate hearing Starscream insulted as you’ve developed a weird sort of attachment to him, so you fire back; “Hey, he isn’t any of that! I know you don’t realize it because you’re an evil bastard, b-but he’s trying his best, and he has better ideas than you do- wasn’t he the one who blew you up?”
Megatron gets so angry that Starscream manages to escape with you, and he transforms into his vehicle mode with you riding in his cockpit... Ha.
Anyways, the two of you fly back to your base around the time that the sun is rising, but by the time you get there and Starscream transforms back into his robot form, you notice that Megatron beat him pretty bad and- oh, Primus, he’s unconscious. Yeah...
Against your better judgement, you fix him up the best you can outside behind your teammates backs, knowing that if you brought him back to Ratchet, he’d be getting repaired while in stasis cuffs and then sent back with the Elite Guard to be imprisoned on Cybertron.
You sneak off into the forest and wait for him to wake up... Only for him to pull you into a heated kiss the second he does, thank you for being his “knight in shining armor”, and then transforming and flying away.
You return to base a shaking, blushing mess, and when asked about what happened, you tell your teammates (of which only a few are there, since the others are out looking for you); after Lockdown took you, Starscream came to rescue you, dropped you off by the base, and flew away, leaving out the part where you could have captured him. Ratchet fixes you up and gets onto you for “being smitten with such a troublesome mech”.
And from there forms a beautiful relationship of you and Starscream pretending to be against each other in public the best you can despite your blatant crushes, with Starscream always teasing you and you being too shy to rebut, but secretly helping each other and sneaking off to meet up whenever you can.
#tfa#transformers#transformers animated#starscream#tfa starscream#headcanons#fanfiction#x reader#cybertronian reader#starscream x reader#tfa starscream x reader#request#requests#ask#asks#my asks#bumblebee#tfa bumblebee#optimus prime#tfa optimus prime#ratchet#tfa ratchet#prowl#tfa prowl#bulkhead#tfa bulkhead#autobot reader#megatron#tfa megatron#lugnut
312 notes
·
View notes
Text
Persephone’s Symphony | Prologue | Hades
Hey lovelies— this will either be a long fic or a short series, depending on how it best plays out. I decided to upload a sneak peak— let me know what y’all think and do enjoy!!
Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)
Warnings: Mentions of death, at times semi-graphic, eventual smut
Word count: 2.5k (and counting)
Next
Master List
“Barnes, you’re on protection detail.”
He must be dreaming— he must have fallen asleep with the tv on again. That’s been happening a lot lately; he’s trying to catch up on normal life. On all the shows and movies and music he’s missed throughout the years. He’s trying to catch up. Or maybe he’s just trying to drown out the silence. It doesn’t matter why, to be honest, all that matters is that he is asleep and what he is hearing and seeing are the workings of a bad dream. There was a marathon last night. Yeah, there was. Movies— a few of them. Something about bodyguards. He’s just dreaming about the movies.
Right?
Wrong.
“You’re to make sure she is secured at all times during the next three days— do not leave Miss Y/l/n’s side under any circumstances. Understood?”
Bucky blinks twice, his brows creasing as he stares down his commander, a stubby, burly man with beady eyes. It’s a trial run— he can’t say no. He wants to, he just can’t afford to. Not if he wants a job. Still, he sees no reason for this to be on him. He’s a soldier— a good one. A dangerous one. Watching over little girls isn’t in his job description. He’s a fighter— a monster.
“I need an affirmative, Barnes.”
He bites back a scowl. He’s not trying to get demoted, he knows he’s on thin ice. But, like, isn’t there anyone else? Hell— Wilson is right next to him! Surely he’s better. He’s charming, at least. A flirt. He would be perfect! Wilson would keep her safe. So would he— maybe. Definitely from the threat. From himself, though— well, three days is a long time to avoid sleeping. Even for him.
“Barnes!”
Damnit.
“Understood, sir.”
Wilson’s amused chuckles sound from beside him, his hand landing like a ton of bricks on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky contemplates the repercussions of punching the smug bastard in the middle of a briefing. It can’t be more than a pay dock. He isn’t making that much anyway, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. It would be worth it to wipe that grin off his face. But, no, he can’t. He’ll have to do it later.
“Someone’s on babysitting duty.” Wilson snickers, pressing his fist to his mouth to hide his goading from the commander. “Remember Barnes; no candy after seven.”
“Shut up, Wilson.” He grunts back, just barely stopping his metal arm from flying out and smacking him— from squashing him like the bug he is.
“Think she has a bedtime?”
“Think you could shut up?”
Wilson flexes his fingers, holding them up slightly. Just enough as to not get caught ignoring the briefing but also enough to make sure Bucky notices. “Woah—” he says under his breath, that stupid smirk still heavy in his tone— “someone’s touchy today.”
“It’s a bad decision and you know it.” He says it simply— gruffly— it is the truth after all. He’s dangerous.
Wilson’s face softens, the glee filtering from his tone. “You’ll be fine, Buck.”
Bucky doesn’t answer, he just clenches his jaw. He doesn’t want to have another conversation about this. You’re a good person. You didn’t mean to do it. It’s not your fault. It might not be his fault but he still did it. He still feels it. That makes him bad— if not morally than at least physically. He’s a liability.
“Y/n Y/l/n—” Bucky focuses back on the commander; he may as well learn what he needs to do— “the twenty-five year old heir to the biggest communications technology manufacturing companies in the world. They do dealings with a range of chief institutions including our own White House—”
If Bucky’s teeth weren’t pressed together hard enough to make him wonder if they’re going to disintegrate, then his jaw would be on the floor right now. She’s the what? Did he just say twenty-five? He can’t even remember what he was doing at twenty-five— whatever he was doing it certainly wasn’t that. Granted, he probably doesn’t really want to remember what he was doing. Soldier things. Dangerous things. He shakes his head, huffing out a breath of air.
“Her immediate family have all turned up dead within the last six months—”
Bucky flinches— this time his jaw does drop.
“Holy shit.” Wilson mutters from next to him— Bucky can only nod. No more jokes about babysitting then.
Some pictures appear on the screen behind the commander, each one more gruesome than the last. It is nothing overtly sinister— nothing he hasn’t seen before— nothing worse than anything he’s seen before. Or worse than what he, himself, has done. He shivers, staring at the photos. Two men and a woman, each with a scarlet circle blown through their foreheads. What the fuck.
“Other executives have been found dead as well—” more pictures, more bullet holes— “She is the last one. We don’t know who or why— our mission is to find out, execute, and above all keep Miss Y/l/n alive—”
The pictures change, finally showing the woman who is to be in the soldier’s care, and his heart stops. Not for any normal reason, though— not because of how obscenely beautiful she is or because of the way her eyes pierce through the junky projector as though she were actually in the room with him. Not because of how soft she looks or how he can see the pink sheen of her lip gloss or the way those glossy lips are curved into an open mouth smile— like the picture had been taken mid laugh. No. His heart stops because of how god damn fragile she looks.
In the picture she seems to be at a University with some friends of hers. They’re backed against a brick facade, shoulder to shoulder like some sort of preppy mugshot. It’s probably supposed to be comical— Wilson lets out a hmph next to him, clearly seeing it as well— but Bucky can’t find it in himself to laugh. Not given the circumstances. Regardless though the picture gives him the information he needs to know; that she is a head shorter than the males in the picture. That seems normal— a head isn’t much in the scheme of things. The size difference is nothing.
Nothing unless, of course, you’re a giant super soldier whose genetically modified to be larger, stronger, and faster than the average man. Deadlier than the average man. He won’t be just a head taller than her— he’ll be at least two. Maybe more. And that’s just the height— he doesn’t even want to think about the rest. He is going to be stuck for three days, in what will most likely be a cramped safe house, with a girl who he could potentially break by bumping into her too hard. He can see it now: he takes the corner too fast and the next thing he knows she’s sprawled at his feet, her limbs bent at grotesque angles and her glossy lips flattened. All because he didn’t think to check.
This is going to be a long three days.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As it turns out, there are no safe houses— not legitimate ones at least. What there is, however, is the Wilson’s old family home in Delacroix, Louisiana— a semi falling apart, two-story build with robin's egg blue, fading paint. It is nestled deep into the bayou, hidden meticulously between towering trees. It is miles from any main roads and on the bank of a mostly dead river. Foot traffic is scarce and boats rarely pass on sunny days, let alone during the rainy season— the season it just so happens to be. Perfect.
Well, the location is perfect. The rest is a god damn shit show.
“You ready?” Sam doesn’t look at him— he knows better than that, opting instead to continue staring out at the bayou from behind the wheel.
Bucky, hunched over in the passenger seat, eyes also locked on the blue home, shrugs his shoulders. “Don’t really have a choice, do I?”
Sam sighs and Bucky tries not to tense at the sound. Please, not another lecture— not right now. He tries to ignore the man, gaze pouring over what he assumes is supposed to be a charming porch. Under a dim but sturdy awning there waits a white swing with a long bench seat and some floral pillows. Across from it are two rocking chairs swaying softly in the Louisiana breeze. One has a matching blanket draped over the back. It is supposed to look cozy— he knows it’s supposed to and he is sure to everyone but him that it is cozy. To him, though, it looks like everything he doesn’t have. Like warmth and sunny days and peace. Things he wants and things that make his skin crawl because of how foreign they are to him.
“You’re not going to hurt her.” Sam taps his hand on the wheel, sounding out a pattern that plays more like bullets ricocheting through the cab of the truck than whatever melody it actually is.
Bucky grinds his teeth together. Now he’s looking at the window beside the porch. Is it a kitchen? A mudroom? A den? He isn’t sure, there’s a white curtain pulled across the frame, blocking his vision from whatever waits for him on the inside. Blocking his vision from her. For a moment he thinks he sees the curtain move— a shadow of a hand passing along the edge. He turns away— he doesn’t want to scare her if she’s trying to size him up before they meet. It’s the least he can do. God only knows how terrified she already is.
His stare lands on Sam— an invitation for the soldier to finally look away from the bayou. “But I could, right? That’s what matters here— I could hurt her.”
“No, Buck, you couldn’t— you wouldn’t. You aren’t evil or whatever it is you think you are.” Sam raises a brow and Bucky scowls— it always feels like he’s in his head.
Of course he would never tell Sam Wilson that— like a dog left to fend for himself, he would rather fight.
“Don’t pretend like you have any idea what I think.” He can’t find it in himself to feel guilty for snapping— isn’t that what wild animals do?
Ever the patient animal rescuer, Sam rolls his eyes at the bite. “You’re a good man, Barnes.”
Bucky stares back for a minute, not sure how to even broach an answer, before breaking, snapping his gaze back to the inviting home— his kennel for the next three days. He clenches his jaw, trying not to slam his head against the dashboard for being an idiot. Even Bucky understands that it’s bad when he breaks the stare first— he’s been told before that he has a staring problem. He just doesn’t want to look Wilson in his eyes and explain to him exactly why he’s wrong. Maybe it’s just easier to let him think what he wants.
“Whatever.”
Maybe he wants just one person to truly believe that he isn’t the bad guy— even if he doesn’t believe it himself.
“I thought old people were supposed to be mature.”
Bucky flashes him a forced grin, one that tastes like the three hours of sleep he got last night and the five hours of self-loathing, shoving open his door and following it with his foot. “That’s me— the mature one.”
Sam barks out a laugh; either Bucky’s grimace— grin— worked or Sam is choosing to ignore it. “You’re old, not mature— there’s a difference, pal.”
“Hmph.” Bucky jumps out of the truck, yanking the duffle bag over his shoulder as his boots sink into the spongy grass.
His skin dampens immediately, a combination of the marshy climate and the grey clouds hanging above his head. A few droplets fall against his face and he slings a hand over his brows, turning towards his fate for the next three days. Without the barrier of the truck between him and the house, he almost feels like a normal man again. The weak, destructible kind. Theoretically, if the house were to fall on top of him right now he would survive. He would be pinned under the rubble, yes, but alive. It just doesn’t feel like it— it feels like he would be crushed. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end— his hackles rising as he tries not to bare his teeth— or fangs— at this new kind of threat. If only people could see him now; The White Wolf afraid of a charming, bayou home.
What a joke.
He shakes his head, pushing the passenger door shut with a sharp clang. Of course he isn’t afraid of a house— then he really would be an idiot. No, he is afraid of something else entirely— something much more sinister. Bucky is afraid of suburbia; of normalcy. What, with a metal arm and a brain hardwired to kill— it only makes sense he would also be programmed to steer clear of anything half-way decent. Especially pretty, fragile girls with glossy lips. Fuck. He squeezes his eyes closed, his vibranium fingers clenching around the strap of his bag. What is he even doing here?
A familiar, mechanical buzz fills the air and he cracks an eye back open in time to see Wilson leaning his head out of the passenger window. “Look, man— it’s three days. The fridge is full, the wifi is on, and it’ll rain so much she’ll probably nap the entire time. Pretend you’re at home doing whatever it is you would normally do. You’ll be fine.”
Bucky nods, sticking to his guns and letting the soldier believe what he wants. He tells himself again that it is because it is easier that way. “I gotta go, Wilson.”
With that he pushes his way to the door. His feet sink further into the grass with every step, curling around his ankles as though trying to warn him against entering the house— or trying to save the poor girl inside. He can’t decide. Warning or trap. Both. A warning for her— the princess; the little girl in the forest— and a trap for him— the rabid wolf. He steps onto the porch, his boots echoing off the concrete. To him it’s booming. He doesn’t want to think about what it must sound like to her, especially with everything the commander said she’s been through. A giant coming to kill her is his guess. Movement to the left catches his eye, the curtains shifting again, and his neck flushes.
“Hey Buck?”
He sighs— again— and turns over his shoulder for what he hopes is the last time— he just wants to get this over with. “What, Wilson?”
He knows before the man speaks that the cheshire grin on his face can mean nothing good— still he waits for the answer.
“Remember to tiptoe.”
#Bucky Barnes#bucky#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x y/n#bucky fic#mcu#mcu fic#bucky barnes imagine#bucky imagine#mcu imagine#marvel cinematic universe#Persephone's Symphony
241 notes
·
View notes
Text
Loki x Sylvie fanfiction: Playing house (Rated T, Humor) Part 1
In which the ones at the end of time place them in a reality where they are a married couple in a suburban town, à la WandaVision.
Master list of my Loki x Sylvie fanfiction can be found here.
---
They didn't know what to expect at the end of time. But they certainly didn't expect to open the door to the citadel and walk into a town.
"This must be an illusion", Loki says in horror as he takes in his new surroundings- two storied houses in every shade of pastel, gardens of roses, lillies and lilacs, wide open roads, pavements lined with freshly cut bushes. "This isn't real."
It looks real enough though. It feels real too.
This is the quintessential suburban town. And they are in a quintessential suburban house.
"They have trapped us in a nightmare", Loki concludes, scanning the new neighborhood again, this time spotting the children playing tennis in the front lawn of the house next door.
Sylvie touches the door frame with the words "Mr. and Mrs. Low-key" etched in the wood in gold. Her fingers trace the letters. It feels so surreal and impossible, yet it feels just as real as she is. "Apparently, we're married in this reality."
"It's not all bad then", he concludes cheekily.
She gives him a death stare. "I don't have time to play house with you right now."
He shrugs. "Until we find a way out, we have to." He checks out the neighborhood one last time for any identifiable imminent threats, before walking back into the house- their house. Holding the door open, he gestures to Sylvie. "Coming?"
She smooths the wrinkles in the sundress she has ended up with, vowing to definitely kill the bastards that did this.
-
The interior of the house does not suit two gods of mischief at all. It's all very... quaint. The sofa is soft and snuggly, the telly hanging from the velvet painted walls is huge, her wardrobe has way too many dresses and skirts, and the knives in the kitchen look like they'd be hard to kill a man with.
"Can you conjure me up something less-" she vaguely gestures at her figure, her lips arched in an angle that spells distaste.
He understands exactly what she means, but does exactly what he wants. With a snap of his fingers, he conjures up an entire rack of clothes for her.
She checks them out one by one, noticing how every jeans, every top is designed a specific way. "These look very tight."
His grin tells her it's intentional.
"You know I can still wipe that smug look off your face in this reality, right?" Her voice expresses how serious she is.
He waves his hands again, and this time, a second rack of clothes materialises, ones which are more functional.
She picks a jeans and oversized top and disappears into the bedroom.
He plops down on the sofa, staring at the Van Gogh hanging from the wall, wondering what their next move should be.
---
The ring of the doorbell breaks them out of their contemplation.
Sylvie grabs every single knife she can find in the kitchen drawers, Loki grabs the mop. Gesturing to each other, they open the door at the count of three, to find a woman standing there with a casserole in her hands.
"Hiya neighbor", she says cheerily. "I heard that you two just moved in. Oh my, that's a lot of knives."
Sylvie holds one up to her throat. "Who sent you?"
The woman grimaces, keeping her eyes fixed at the spot where the knife touches her skin. "My husband. He thought we should welcome our neighbors."
"Liar", Sylvie barks, and increases the pressure on the knife. "Tell me who sent you here before I cut your tongue out and feed it to the cats."
It's at this moment that Loki decides he has to intervene before the situation escalates to unnecessary murder.
"Sylvie, Sylvie, honey", he coos, slowly guiding her away with a gentle touch to her shoulders. "This lovely woman is not the friend I was expecting." He pushes her inside the house, at a safe distance from the lady, before throwing a charming smile in her direction. "I am so sorry. My friend was supposed to visit, I asked my wife to help me play a prank on her. She thought it was you. It's all a giant misunderstanding. Allow me to apologize profusely on behalf of my wife."
Sylvie switches between glaring at the lady and at her "husband".
The lady laughs nervously. "It's quite alright."
Loki extends his hand. "Hi, I'm Loki." He wraps his other arm around Sylvie's waist to pull her close. She tenses, and for a moment he thinks the knife will end up aimed at his throat, but she relaxes a little and gives the neighbor a tiny smile. "And this is my wonderful wife, Sylvie."
The lady shakes his hand. "I'm Agnes. So nice to meet you. Where are you from? Low-key, that sounds Nordic. Are you from Norway?"
"No."
"Yes."
They answer at the same time, then glare at each other, as if their answer was the only acceptable one.
Loki rushes to fix it before Agnes gets suspicious. "What my wife means is, we are from Norway originally, but we moved here from Alabama."
Agnes smiles. "That's a long way from home. Welcome to the neighborhood."
---
Sylvie erupts the moment the neighbor leaves and their doors are closed. "Why the bloody hell are we playing along with this ruse?"
Loki looks at her seriously. "What is the alternative? Murder our way out of here? Slaughter an entire innocent town?"
"No, no, no no." She paces till she is standing directly in front of him, holding her chin up in a posture of challenge. "Why slaughter a town when you can rule it, right?"
He lets out a sigh. Leaning his head back and closing his eyes, he takes in a deep breath. He needs all the strength in the world to reason with her. He opens his eyes again and begins. "We don't know how we got here. We don't know what dangers are here. We can't plan an escape like that. We need to gather information and learn everything we can about this place."
"This place is clearly hell", she roars, letting out a scream that shoots a wave of energy out of her hands and shatters the coffee table.
"Perfect", he mutters under his breath, as he picks up the mop.
---
"I'm hungry." She announces after an hour of sitting on the sofa, sulking, while going through the hundred different channels and trying to pick even a single thing worth watching.
"Oh yes, me too." He agrees quickly. "Starving, actually."
She motions at the cell phones on the table that the house came with. "I suppose we should order something like humans do."
"Yes, of course." He nods in agreement. He picks up the phone closest to him, swipes up the screen, and sees the wallpaper of him and Sylvie, on a beach, hand in hand, in matching Hawaiin shirts, with matching grins on their faces. He knows this isn't real, this has never actually happened to them, but it makes him smile anyway. Swiping to the side, he notices the phone comes with too many games. There are also apps that he knows from advertisements. Opening one that promised good food in no time, he stares blankly at the incoherent list that pops up.
She gets impatient after a few minutes. "Well?"
He purses his lips. It's difficult to admit defeat. "I don't actually know how to order."
She blinks in disbelief. "What?"
"I don't know how to order food." He repeats.
"How can you not know how to order food?"
"Well, I've never had to do it myself." He says, irritated, before his tone turns boastful. "I've always had someone do it for me." Food was never even a concern in Asgard. On earth, he has always had some human gladly do it for him. No God would ever bother with the trivial details of food ordering.
"Lucky you." She says dryly, before snatching the phone out of his hands. She pauses to look at the wallpaper as well, at the waves and the sand and the two happy people that represent a life that they can have if they choose to. Before the thought can take its root in her mind, she quickly focuses on ordering.
He stares at her in awe. "Where did you learn how to do that?"
"I didn't exactly grow up in an Asgardian palace." She rolls her eyes. "I had jobs, Loki. I know how to look after myself."
"I am so glad I'm stuck here with you." He says with a grin. "It makes everything easier."
"It's not that easy. We still need to pay for the food." She points out. Then a horrifying thought occurs to her. "Do we even have money?"
He wants to point out he can just conjure some, but before the words can form in his mouth, she rushes to the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers. He follows, and opens the refrigerator, staring at the inside of the freezer.
"People don't keep cash in the freezer, Loki."
"I knew that." He lies.
She switches to the bedroom, and he follows her there as well. She looks through the dresser drawer, the wardrobe, and searches under the pillow. He looks under the bed.
"Look at us. Searching for money to buy food with. What a shame." He muses out loud. "Mortals used to offer food to Gods."
"Food and virgins." She spits the words out angrily. "I hate these archaic ways."
"Oh, me too, me too." He pretends to agree. He likes being worshipped. He likes the food and the offerings. The virgins? Well, he took virgins in a very different, very alive way, and they were all very willing.
"I don't think we have money in this house." She announces, sitting down on the bed with a huff. "Is this his masterplan? Make us starve to death?"
"Allow me." He snaps his fingers, and wads of cash appears in her hands. This is what he was going to do before Sylvie started searching and he decided it's best to first find out what useful items they have in this house.
"That's handy", she notes. "I suppose it'll be easy for you to do chores around the house."
"I don't do chores." He declares.
She glares at him.
"I don't know how to do chores." He clarifies.
Her glare never loses its edge. "Well you better figure it out soon then, before I cut your fingers off."
---
They eat in complete silence, adjusting to this new reality they have found themselves in. Loki tries to make conversation, tries to tell her a story of banquets in Asgard, but she stares absent-mindedly into the distance, and he takes the hint.
Night arrives quickly.
"I'm exhausted. We should sleep." Sylvie admits. She gets up, ready to change into something more comfortable for the night.
He gets up too, and heads in the direction of the other bedroom. Of course, all he wants to do is snuggle up close to her. He can think of a hundred excuses to talk her into it too. But he holds back. "Well, I wish you a very merry slumber."
She doesn't want to focus on why she does it, but she calls out to him. "We should stick together. Just in case the enemy decides to attack while we're asleep."
He stops in his tracks, smiling like a fool. "I agree. Clever plan."
Ten minutes later, they are both awkwardly lying side by side in bed.
Sylvie stares at the ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark stickers that are shining. "Is that what people's ceilings look like?"
"Mostly children's."
"The constellations..." She notices. "They're slightly different."
"Yes." He smiles. "This is the view from Midgard, not Asgard."
"Oh."
It's quiet for a while. Loki wonders if she fell asleep. Then he hears her whisper. "I hate this."
"Why are you suddenly acting like this?" He finally asks. "You have been patient your whole life, planning everything for years. You always have a plan, and a good one. Now you're suddenly in a rush to get out of here. Why?"
She doesn't answer. She doesn't even open her eyes. With her focus on the darkness behind her eyelids, it is easy to forget that this is the most peaceful evening she has ever had, that this is the life she always wanted, the life she has been fighting for.
He studies her features, memorizing the way she looks when she tries to fall asleep. Tentatively, he touches her hand. Her fingertips twitch involuntarily, before she responds by taking his hand. He gives it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll get out of here, I promise you."
---
(To be continued)
75 notes
·
View notes
Text
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ (ch.1 | feenin')
—𝑶𝑵𝑬.
SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER | WK: 2.8K
Frenzied cheers buzzed throughout the raving auditorium, the basketball’s reverberating bounces against the slick court floor adding onto the thrill. This match was nothing but hyped, but in a good way so.
The sports chants of the college goers sounded rather foreign to you, since it wasn’t like you attended Stohess University anyway. The fellow audience around you were at the edge of their seats, hailing their team’s basketball players as the raving shouts began to sound borderline intoxicating. So much so that you couldn’t help but clap along to another school’s anthem.
“Havin’ fun?” Marco questions, the corners of his mouth upturned into a smile that showcased his quirky dimples. You beamed right back at the freckled male, plush lips curved into a grin of your own.
It all seemed trivial, just a friendly collegiate basketball match that your friends Jean and Marco had invited you to free of charge, but it was all the break you needed from your own studies and more.
“Hell yeah I am,” you chuckled in reply, “but you know what’d make it better?”
His doe brown eyes flitted between you and the vibrant box of candy in hand, which was seemingly low in supply after you and him dipped your hands in for a bite a countless number of times.
“A refill on these, yeah?” His claims were just as what you were thinking, earning your brief nod of agreement. Marco subtly shook the snackbox within his hold, the spare pieces left beginning to rattle around with the motion.
“You read my mind, Coco,” you grinned, rising up from your reserved seat with spare cash stuffed into your back pocket. “I’ll be right back, ‘aight?” He sends you a brief smile in compliance.
“Get the sour patch this time!”
“You got sour patch money..?”
He pursed his lips momentarily, unsure as to whether you had been joking or not. “M’just messing ‘round with you, Coco,” you snickered with a teasing grin, slipping a hand into your pocket to retrieve the few bucks. “It’s on me.” Was all you said before making your way through the crowded stands, descending down stair after stair.
“It’s only the first game of the season, and our pride and joy, the Stohess Scouts, are already dominating tonight’s guest competitors!” the commentator boomed through the mic, their voice adding onto the various noises that filled the gymnasium. “We’re calling for a halftime, but let’s keep our fingers crossed that Kirschtein can pull through with a fair amount of two-pointers by the upcoming final quarter—“
The mentioned name of your close friend makes you beam with pride, content that your Jeanie was the star of the show. You set eyes on the brunette from where you stood, who was now making his way to the sidelines for a desperately needed and duly earned swig of water, his light brown hair in a disarray of stray strands fraying out from underneath the simple hairband you’d given him a while back.
You eagerly began to flit down the stands to reach him, striding past the poor row of benched players, from the injured to the water boy.
Jean eventually takes notice of your arrival and instantly beams, subtle puffs of air leaving his agape lips after all the running and dribbling and such that came with game day.
The first thing you do is taunt upon your arrival,“Y’all had better win, Jeanie.”
As always, Jean only smirks. “You doubting that I won’t bring that trophy home, Pookie?” you playfully grimaced and let out a stifled laugh over the somewhat embarrassing nickname— one that you made up when the pair of you were seven, and it's the same one that he’s been holding onto for all these years, even at nineteen.
“Well, I’d be lying if I said you aren’t lookin’ pretty damn promising out there,” your reply is genuine, the soft grin that you display causing Jean to display one of his own. It was an affable, never ending cycle— you’d tease and he’d do it right back, until the both of you would laugh over it and depart with a brief smile.
“M’getting snacks, I’ll be back before the breaktime ends, okay?” Kirschtein briefly nods in compliance, sending a few adjusting tugs to the white basketball sleeve hugging his bicep before departing with the sharp squeak of his shoes sprinting against the court floor.
Once again, you find yourself strolling past every individual seated on the benches. You’re speed-walking alongside them, anticipating to retrieve a couple snacks for you and Marco, until something— Someone catches your eye.
It was brisk and almost too sudden, but flashes of green meet your line of vision. You managed to make out the blur of thick brows, long dark hair having been thrown into the messiest attempted bun, a modest, charming smile, and a pair of turquoise irises that seemingly peered into your own with an intensity that made you take it personal. Yet, you hardly even caught a good glimpse of their face, whoever they were.
You passed by said person a good thirty seconds ago, already pushing your way past the double doors and over to the vending machines stationed along the semi-populated hallway, but that striking gaze was still heavily implanted within your mind.
Hazy green-grey eyes, you recalled, accompanied with them shooting you the briefest grin just as you whisked by. Though, as recent as it was, that was all in the past now.
You glance around to see a decent handful of people here to buy food of their own, being perched at other vending machines. The snack-wielding contrivance before you isn't drawing much attention and doesn’t have an awaiting crowd standing around for a bag of potato chips, so you withdraw the dollars from your back pocket and attempt to straighten them out a bit before inserting them into the slot.
“Wow,”
This sudden breathy gasp from a “random whoever” is something that you take notice of, but it isn’t enough to rip your attention away from your scavenge for Marco’s sour patch. To their dismay, you do nothing but continue with what you came to do. In your opinion, whoever that was had been getting a bit too close for comfort..
Albeit the evident way you choose to ignore, another whistle resounds, along with an unpleasantly suggestive hum. It sounds somewhat louder, and it seems much closer than before. You can’t help but tear your gaze away from slot E7 and look up, since it seems so directed towards you.
You've hardly turned around before being met with the abrupt presence of a stranger uninvitingly looming beside you, the man’s beaming grin seeming sickeningly sweet. Almost too approachable.
“Oh, I’m sorry to pop up out of the blue,” his apologies come out within a chuckle, and as inviting as he attempts to seem, your brows only furrow. “—but you really caught my attention!” He was greatly unfamiliar to you, some white male around your age with shaggy auburn hair and chestnut colored eyes in contrast. Despite his subtle charm, you weren't growing a liking to him and his stupid little smile.
“Oh,” You muse with a dull hum, pursing your glossed lips before releasing them with a slight pop, “Did I really?” His nod is too enthusiastic, and you hardly try to cover up the mug-like expression that overtook your features, eyes grazing across his plain face uninterestedly. You promptly slide the dollars right back into your pocket, “Nice to know. Can you mind your own now?”
“Wait! I'm not meaning to be a bother, but.. I don’t see girls like you around much..” You're instantly encased with a shiver of deep cringe, one that annoyingly scurries up your spine and makes your lip twitch into a vexed glower.
You emitted the most exaggerated huff, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, all the while glancing at the sheen glass of the vending machine to see your own reflection. It was plastered all across your face, yet this dense-ass man still couldn't get it; you were pissed-off.
Great. You internally groan, Another snow roach who thinks I’m exotic.
“I really appreciate how different you look,” Was he really still rambling on, despite knowing damn well that you were growing uncomfortable? Or maybe, he was just an utter dumbass and couldn't take the painfully obvious hints.
“You wanna know what I’d appreciate, hm?” You say sharply, taking a swift inhale through your nose, “If you left me alone.”
Your smooth, placid voice was the first thing that Eren heard when he trotted into the hallway, that of which sounded dulcet and intriguingly accentuated, but more annoyed than anything else. He turns the corner and is met with the sight of a bastard that looked too smug for his own good, and a girl, such a pretty girl, whose melanated skin even found a way to gleam under the shitty fluorescent school lights.
It then clicks in Eren’s mind, briefly but distinctively. You were the person who'd strolled by the bench that he was sitting on earlier. You were also the same one who did a double take upon seeing him, glancing once— No, twice, with those captivating eyes of yours. He remembered the way his leg started to bop along the floor with a newfound excitement that he just couldn't place. Though, more than anything else, Eren recalled that he did the exact same; hold his gaze and grin at the sight of you.
“Ah, but you can spare me a minute more, can’t you?” You respond with the swift roll of your eyes, eliciting an exasperated groan, “Nigga, I said bye.” Eren’s thick, neat brows falter into a furrowed position, looking upon the scenario that was being splayed out before him, which everyone else in that hall was seemingly content with ignoring. It couldn't have only been him that saw that this bastard was relentlessly bothering you, could it?
“Woah, no need to get aggressive,” Eren’s expression contorts into a grimace upon hearing every little word, the tips of his ears red with brewing rage. Despite his matured will to control his daily outburst of emotions, it was safe to say that he'd never exactly gotten past his trial of anger issues since he was a kid.
“Listen, this is my nice way of tellin’ you to fuck off, but I can get aggressive if you want.” Your offer sounds downright threatening, “Do you really want that?”
You’re snappy and direct, and Eren can't deny that he likes that. Though, as much as he's growing fond of your strong will and defensiveness, he knows he can't stand idly by all day, he just can't. Besides, everyone knew well— It was practically Eren Jaeger’s forte to intervene.
The green eyed male eventually begins to make his way towards the scene in the form of subtle limps, being cautious of his ankle sprain as he grows closer, which was the reasoning behind him being benched in the first place.
You were much too preoccupied with that cheeky, unrelenting bastard to notice the way that Eren was gradually coming over, anyway. What could he say? He was a fan of the element of surprise.
You halt in the middle of your opposing rant, growing aware of another’s emerging presence. You're yet again bombarded with somebody else making their way beside you with an act of stealth that you were unknowingly soon to be thankful of.
Before you get the chance to merely peer in their direction, tall, a long haired male clad in the black and grey Stohess basketball uniform is towering alongside you, his toned, burly arm slinking around your shoulder.
This sudden proximity leaves your head spinning in the best way possible, and how could it not? You don’t know a single thing about this alluring stranger, but he’s close, so close, and it gets your heart and mind racing miles in a minute. You were subtly, but instantly enraptured once the weight of his arm rests comfortably upon you.
Eren doesn’t pay the confused male not one glance, but instead tends to you and your own state of delighted shock. “Play it cool, alright? I wanna help.” Your breath instinctively hitches once he leans down to ease out his whispered plan into your ear, flashing you a consoling half smile.
You return a brief nod before dragging your eyes along the male’s face, which looks so much better up close. Your interpretation of his image was more literal and precise than you thought to be; The dark, long tresses that had been pulled back with the aid of a thin elastic scrunchie, his expressively thick brows, pink lips that upturned into a supportive smirk, and those sea-green eyes that left you feeling weak right in the knees.
Albeit Eren’s prior grin, he eventually turns his attention towards the unrelenting man for a second or two. In that moment, his expression speedily grew all the more intense, practically sharper than before, and contorted into something of a scowl. Although, you can tell he’s trying so hard to channel his temper and mask away his revulsion.
“I’ve been, ah.. waiting for you to come back to your seat!” Eren begins to improvise, flashing you a subtle gleam that made it seem as though the pair of you were familiar with each other. “S’been a while since then."
He purses his lips within a pause, nimble fingers draping along your shoulder before shooting you a reassuring squeeze, "Is it ‘cause this bastard is keeping you occupied? He’s bothering you, isn't he?”
You're damn near close to stammering over the words that were bound to leave your mouth. Though, it doesn't take much for you to regain yourself. Your lips fall slightly agape all the while you briskly dragged your line of vision along his charming features, but your response follows after in a quick manner. It was just that you couldn't help how his unnerving gaze left you mesmerized.
“—Yes. Yes he is.” You hum, accompanying the claim with your hands crossing over your chest as you leaned into his grasp, in an attempt to appear convincing. Your confession sounded assured and stern, which was the complete opposite of how girls would act around him.
Eren knew well of the doting effect that he had on females— It was hard to forget when he’d merely ask for a spare pencil and wind up with an unasked phone number in return. Though, he admired the way you saw him as any other person and played along so well.
The brown-haired male scornfully laughs, and just the sound of him leaves you feeling uncomfy, “Whaddya' mean? We were just having a small chat, isn't that right?” Your contorted expression is full-fledged disrespectful, and Eren has to stifle his chuckle over your unsmiling glare and scrunched up nose. Damn, were you entertaining.
“Small chat, huh? Well, it was real one sided..” You voice out an irked murmur, “You're over exaggerating, you just haven’t warmed up to me yet—”
“If I didn’t know any better,” Eren makes a very much intended interruption, “I’d say that she doesn’t want to mingle with a sorry bastard that should leave her alone already.” You note at the subtle flex of Eren’s clenching jaw, signifying the way his already weary patience was running rather thin.
“Bastard—? Wait, who even are you?”
“Who am I, huh?” scoffs the green eyed male alongside you, a twinge of drawled hesitance in his voice. Eren pauses momentarily, only now beginning to realize that his little hero act wasn’t as planned out as he thought to be.
What could he say that would be persuasive enough to get this sorry fucker to leave you alone other than throwing fists unnecessarily? Jaeger’s emerald-hued eyes eventually light up in the dawn of an idea. One that he’s somewhat unsure of, but it’s much better than nothing.
Besides, this plan of his had been set in stone by the very moment he had draped his bare arm around you and shot you that all-too-suggestive smile, so he might as well finish what he started.
Eren’s touch trails downwards swiftly, spreading riveting tingles from your shoulder down to your forearm, then along your wrist, and even past there. His hand is now encasing the left side of your hip as his lithe fingers press into the curve of your supple waist. He takes a light inhale, giving you a light squeeze with his large palm, as though signaling for you to brace yourself over what he was bound to say.
“—I'm her boyfriend.”
—𝑭𝑰𝑵.
#eren yeager#eren x black reader#eren yeager x black reader#eren jaeger x black reader#eren x black!reader#eren yeager x black!reader#black!reader#black reader#aot#snk#attack on titan#shingeki#shingeki no kyojin#eren x reader#eren yeager x reader#eren jaeger x reader#eren aot#eren fluff#eren smut#eren angst#feenin#harmoni writes#eren jaeger smut#eren yeager smut
276 notes
·
View notes
Note
Okay because we just watched Bloodsucking Bastards together....how about some smutty Max goodness with him turning the reader 👀🧛🏻♂️💋 pretty please with a cherry on top
I told you last night @justanotherblonde23 I was going to write something with Max Phillips and you gave me the perfect excuse you angel. :D Thank you for the request!
Pairing: Max Phillips x F! Reader
Warning: 18+ ONLY NSFW Oral (M & F receiving) Sex
Taglist: @josepedropascal @oldstuffnewstuff @justanotherblonde23 @heythere-mel @yespolkadotkitty @mrschiltoncat
My Masterlist
It Started at the Copy Machine
“Stupid...fucking...thing,” you kick the copier as it beeps and groans before pushing out more blank paper. “Ugh how the hell am I supposed to do my job if I can’t even get the fucking copier to work!?” You aim one more kick at the damn thing before walking towards the bosses office.
You bang on the door not waiting before you let yourself in. The smug bastard grins at you from his chair, feet resting on the desk and texting on his phone. “Mr. Phillips,” you shout before he’s already talking over you.
“Max. I’ve told you to call me Max cupcake,” he shoots his stupid finger guns at you and you roll your eyes groaning.
“Mr. Phillips I cannot do my job without the proper equipment. That,” you point towards the devil box, “piece of shit machine doesn’t work anymore. How the hell am I supposed to build ‘dreams’ if I can’t even make a copy!?” You huff and cross your arms.
“Baby-girl if you would just let me turn you. You would be able to go use any copier in the building in seconds,” he stands before coming over to you.
“Oh ho ho no, no, no. You are not turning me into one of those night of the living dead,” you wave your hand wildly toward the darkened office humming with his drones.
“Well then how about you just let me take you out sometime?” his tone surprises you and you do a double take at the smile on his face. For a moment he seems actually charming...not a complete asshole.
“Are you doing that freaky hypnotizing shit on me?” you blink furiously and shake your head.
He scoffs, “no, that shit only works on the weak minded.”
“What are you a fucking Jedi?” He bursts out laughing.
You sigh, “I guess you're not completely horrible and I do like free dinner. So why not?” Your smile pales in comparison to the blinding light of his own.
“You won’t regret it,” he reaches around you and pulls your phone from your back pocket, coping a feel in the process, “Here’s my number,” he puts it in and slides it back into your pocket.
You move to leave but change your mind as you quickly realize something, “Uhm Max…”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not the dinner right?”
He laughs again before going back to work, “No, not this time.”
“This time?” you hesitate in the doorway.
“One day you will beg me to change you sweetheart, and that is the day where you will be my appetizer, dinner, and desert. But I won’t taste you before then.” His phone rings and he answers it in that fake salesman voice of his and you shudder. How can he so calmly threaten to one day eat you and then just take a phone call?
Oh...that’s right because he’s a fucking vampire. Maybe this wasn’t worth the free dinner.
It was worth it. Everything and more. That night alone with Max Phillips and every subsequent night you spent with him alone outside of that office was magic. Yes, he was an asshole, workaholic, sexy as fuck bloodsucking bastard. But, he was also protective, faithful, and loved you beyond a shadow of a doubt.
He kept good on his promise and never fed from you. Till tonight.
You readjusted the blood red tie around your neck. Looking over your reflection in the mirror. Wearing a solid black thong, one of Max’s grey vests, and his tie, nothing else. You reapply your red lipstick, and run your comb through your hair before stalling long enough. Opening the door and going into the bedroom.
“Mr. Phillips?” you coo. Grey pajama pants, white t-shirt, and reading glasses perched on his nose, he looks up from the file and drops it onto the floor. Using that vampire speed he is standing before you, running his hand over the curve of your ass.
“What’s the occasion? Did I miss our anniversary?” he croons.
“No,” you chuckle breathlessly, “Nothing like that...I want...I want you to turn me.” His hands freeze their path and his eyes snap to yours.
“Say that again,” he commands.
“Max Phillips. I fucking love you. I want to be with you forever, will you change me into a vampire?”
“I recall you once telling me you would never want to be one of the night of the undead,” he teases, pulling you back towards the bed before tossing you onto it. You bounce as you peer above at him through your lashes. He throws the glasses aside, his shirt and pants following. Until he stands before you naked.
You lick your lips. The view of him naked would never grow old. The sharp lines of his body, his slightly bulging arms, and god his cock; thick and pulsing, curving against his waist. He grabs your ankle and you squeal as he pulls you to the edge of the bed. His hands digging into the waistband of your panties as he slides them down, throwing them aside. He rips the vest apart. Buttons flying in all directions and you gasp as he slides the vest off your shoulders only leaving the tie.
He stands above you admiring his work, “Fuck I love it when you wear my clothes,” he takes a hold of the tie and pulls you up so your kneeling on the bed before him. He lets go digging his fingers through your hair and tugging lightly. He kisses you passionately and you breath him in. The lines become blurred of where you end and he begins as he makes love to your mouth. His tongue licking against your bottom lip and begging entrance.
“Lay back on the pillows,” he commands against your mouth and you shiver. Kneeling back and laying against the pillows your legs dropping open, pussy on display. “God I love this cunt,” he moves down and places gentle kisses to your thigh.
“But I don’t want to eat you just yet...well not there.” He pushes your knees together and lays down beside you, running his fingers gently over your cheek, pushing your hair behind your ear. “Do you really want this?” his voice takes on a seriousness you’ve only heard once before. The first time he told you he loved you.
“Yes,” you exhale, “I want to be with you forever, this is my choice Max. I choose you.”
He trembles and breathes deeply, “It’s going to hurt for a little while honey, but I promise I will do everything to make this experience memorable for you. I want to be with you forever too. I fucking love you.”
Your eyes shine with tears, and he smiles back tilting your head back gently. He puts a kiss on your eyelids, cheeks, forehead, and ear. Getting closer and closer to the pulse point on your neck. You hear the small click as his fangs descend and he places one more kiss on your neck before you feel his fangs dig in.
The skin breaks and the warm blood dribbles down your neck. You hear the sound of gulping as he inhales deeply. The pain is indescribable and you open your mouth to scream but no sound escapes. He unlatches and you wither on the bed as sweat begins beading on your brow, and you gasp clawing at your neck.
Max quickly moves lower and pulls your legs apart going in to devour your pussy. His fangs retracted, he sucks hard on your clit. The pain from your neck dimming as the pleasure in your lower belly grows. He pulls back and spits into your pussy before he licks a broad strip flattening his tongue. He takes two fingers and shoves them to the knuckle inside you setting a furious pace. Your neck still burns but you almost forget about it as your orgasm crashes over you. Max never stops, working you through it rubbing tight circles on your clit.
His mouth glistening, blood smeared on his chin, and that smug smirk on his face. You feel your strength begin to soar. Your eyesight becomes clearer, your senses heightening. The pain fading until all that’s left is the pleasure of Max spearing his tongue into your aching cunt over and over again. The second orgasm rolls over you in waves and doesn’t stop; more intense than ever before.
You grab him around the neck and pull him to you, kissing him. You taste yourself on his tongue and it’s even sweeter than before. “Max I want to fuck you,” you beg and throw him off you. He flies backwards with force into the wall and you are on him like a cheetah. Nipping at his chest, before dropping to your knees and shoving his cock all the way into your mouth.
“Oh fuck,” his head hits the wall as he runs his hands through your hair and you bob on his cock. Your tongue working over the tip, your other hand coming up to massage his balls. “Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he pants.
You pull off with a pop gazing up at him, “Then cum inside me Max, I want to taste you.” He moans as you resume sucking his cock. You hollow your cheeks and take him as far back as he will go before ropes of hot seed come pouring down your throat. You swallow every last drop before pulling off and opening your mouth to show him.
“My good girl,” he praises, pulling you from your knees and digging his face in your neck. Nipping and kissing at his bite.
“Get on the bed Max,” you command, stepping away and he does as he’s told. He kneels on the bed and crawls to the top looking over his shoulder.
“Are you checking out my butt?” he teases and you giggle before nodding.
He turns and sits resting his back against the headboard. “Come to daddy baby,” he coos using one finger to beckon you forward.
You’re on him in a second grabbing for his still rock hard cock sliding down him in one go. You let his glorious cock stretch you before you can’t wait any longer, rocking against him. “Max, Max, Max…” you chant his name like a monk in a monastery.
He plants his feet on the bed and begins pounding up into you his thumb drawing tight circles on your clit as you feel yourself getting closer. Your hands reach up to the headboard and you hold yourself above him. He shoves his cock inside you over and over again as you clench as tight as you can. He moans loudly and your hands tighten on the headboard. The wood begins to splinter and crack as you cum on his cock screaming.
“Fuck baby,” he roars, cumming inside you. Your hands unclench from the wood and bring them down to his chest as you both pant to regain your breath.
“I think I broke the headboard,” you giggle and he chuckles kneading your ass with his hands.
“That you did my little vampire,” he scoots down the bed and lays down flat still inside you. Pulling your head down to rest in his neck. One hand still holding your ass, while the other trails up and down your back. “I love you,” he whispers, placing a kiss on your forehead.
“I love you too Max,” you snuggle into his neck and plant a kiss there.
“Did you mean it?” he asks, “About being with me forever?” You raise your head and cock your eyebrow.
“What part of making me a vampire and I love you didn’t you understand?” you tease.
His eyes take on that same serious look and your stomach drops, “oh fuck...are you…are you breaking up with me?”
“NO! No, fuck no! I’m...shit I’m messing this up…” he reaches toward the nightstand and comes back with….with a printer cartridge?
“Max...why do you have a printer cartridge in our nightstand?”
“You remember that day I first asked you out?” you nod, “Well you only came to my office to yell at me to get a new copier. Well after you left I went and checked it and turns out you just needed to change the ink.”
“You told me you bought a new one! You lying bastard!” you snarl and he shushes you.
“That’s not the point! The point is this printer cartridge was the start of our relationship and I’ve been saving it for this day...open it,” he places it in your hands and you shake it putting your forearms on his chest and you open the case. You swear your undead heart beats again at the ring set with a ruby and surrounded by diamonds.
“Max,” you whisper looking into his dark brown eyes.
“I imagined a more romantic setting then turning you into a vampire and laying in bed with my cock still inside you but for us this almost seems perfect. I love you. I have loved you from the minute you called me out in the office. I love your eyes, body, mind, and the fact that you don’t take any of my shit. You don’t need me but I am so thankful that you choose to be with me everyday. Will you be with me forever?”
You feel the blood trail down your eyes and onto his chest. “Yes,” you whisper. He places the ring onto your finger before running his fingers over your cheeks smearing the blood and licking it off his fingers.
“Holy shit,” you look down at the ring chuckling, “Are you sure, you really want to be tied with me forever?”
He smirks, “Forever and ever, doll.”
178 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hotel Hobbies - Prelude
Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x Reader
Author’s Note: I have nothing to say for myself other than the most shameful of yee-honks. This was largely just an attempt to break through some writer’s block, but also a little bit of a fuck you to Whiskey’s godawful characterization (get thee hence, canon, thou art dead to me). In either case I 110% blame @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa for dragging me into the Pedro pit and for making the “yeehonk loser” tag funny enough for me to go see what the fuss was about. Either way, this is unbeta’d and barely edited and is probably just a big goddamn mess. Which fits, quite frankly. Apologies in advance if it sucks.
Summary: He’s an insufferable, obnoxious blowhard. Which would be fine if he wasn’t also - some-fucking-how - hotter than a fucking wildfire.
Warnings: Drinking, flirting, swearing, Whiskey being the obnoxious prick that we know and mostly tolerate.
Rating: Mature (for the moment)
Word Count: 1510
You’d met him, of all places, in the hotel bar, shored up over a drawn-out business conference. He’d turned up three nights running, a brash braggart in a stetson and too-tight jeans that seemed to stroll dick-first around the room, tossing pickup lines at anything that moved. By sheer luck he’d missed you, leaving the first night with a leggy blonde and the second night with a considerably curvier brunette.
Both times you counted your blessings as you watched him walk out with his arm around the unlucky lady. You didn’t know the man but you knew the type: the costume cowboys that laid on the charm as thick as their cologne to mask the smell of their shitty personalities.
But now on Sunday, night number three, your luck seems to have finally run out. Just as you finish your drink the bartender sets down another – whiskey, neat – and gestures at the end of the bar. “From the gentleman.”
You hardly need to look up to know what you’ll see. Smug, half-cocked grin. A gentle tip of the hat.
Fuck. Jesus, why.
You grimace out a polite smile out of sheer habit, and before you can even begin to slide the drink back towards the bartender the man has appeared at your elbow like a country-fried jack-in-the-box.
His cologne, at the very least, is not as heavy as you’d expected. Small mercies.
“Thanks, but-” you begin, already bracing yourself against the bar to stand.
“Oh no need for thanks.” He rolls right over you with all the practiced ease of a well-oiled steamroller. His voice is low, with a thick, heavy drawl that feels just a bit too put-upon to be completely real. “You’ll have to forgive me for being so forward, but I simply couldn’t stand to see a lady as lovely as yourself drinking alone three nights in a row. Thought I might offer the benefit of some company.”
He extends a broad brown hand. A tiny blurred bullseye marks the skin between the thumb and forefinger. “Name’s Jack. Most folks just call me Whiskey.”
“Whiskey,” you repeat, trying not to roll your eyes at the rather awful joke.
“Yes ma’am.”
You purse your lips, considering, as his hand hangs between you. You know more than a few ways to cut this little introduction short, though several of them – while wholly effective – might just see you banned from the hotel bar. And with easily another three days of bureaucratic bullshit on the horizon, you’re really not keen on that happening. Present company aside, the bar’s pretty nice.
Maybe if you're lucky you can bore him to death.
Begrudgingly you take his hand. The skin of his palms is thick with calluses. A surprising thing. His clothing is more designer than LL Bean, which made you think he was a business man or entertainer – the sort of rich asshole that owned a prized stallion at a private stable somewhere that he rode once or twice a month when he wanted to feel a little authentic.
But those callouses are hard and smooth. Not quite a workman's hands, but certainly the result of something a good deal more tactile and involved than pencil pushing. And that’s enough to make you wonder a little. Now that he's up close and personal, his face makes you wonder a lot. This is no Kentucky white boy. Not with eyes that dark, or that curving nose. And honestly, if it wasn’t for that insufferably cocky look on his face, he’d be a hell of a looker.
“I didn’t catch your name,” he says, thumb grazing your knuckles before releasing your hand.
"No, you didn't," you say lightly. "And I'm afraid I don't have much of a taste for whiskey."
He grins, leaning heavily against the bar and motioning for the bartender. "Well now, if my namesake isn't up to your liking, what would be to your taste?" He hooks the tumbler of whiskey towards himself with a finger – a rather thick finger, and that's one detail you're a little dismayed to find yourself lingering on – and takes a slow sip.
You tap your glass with three fingers as the bartender approaches. "Tequila."
The man who calls himself Whiskey gives an appreciative whistle as three shots line up in front of you. "Well now ain't that a plot twist. You must have a hell of a constitution. Tequila always leaves me flat on my back." He eyes you up and down, grinning, and the hot flush that brings on isn't half as uncomfortable as you'd like it to be. "Reckon I can see a similarity or two."
"I just get the feeling I'm going to need something a little stronger than a Cosmo to get me through this conversation," you reply coolly, ignoring the innuendo. "You have until I finish these shots, by the way."
Whiskey purses his lips, pouting. "I see you've already jumped to a few conclusions about me. Hardly seems fair."
You shrug, downing the first shot with little fanfare. "You've hardly been subtle. What happened to Friday and Saturday's girls?"
He takes a sip of his own drink, thumb rubbing thoughtfully against the side of his jaw. You try not to watch the way his throat works when he swallows. "Now if I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you were a little sore it took me so long to come and see you."
He positively croons that last, and you tell yourself the warmth you feel kicking up in your belly is just the tequila. Thank God for plausible deniability.
"Don't flatter yourself, cowboy," you say with a glare.
He chuckles. "Darlin', had I known you'd had eyes on me this whole time I would've come over a hell of a lot sooner," he teases.
You can only shake your head, half in wonder and half in contempt. "How did you even fit that much ego through the door?"
Whiskey tips his glass to you with a smirk, unfazed. "Patience, dedication, and a whole lotta practice."
You reach for the second shot, and Whiskey lets out a little sigh. He puts his hand over your wrist, fingers flat.
"Hey c'mon now. Slow down, sugar. As much as I like to tease, I ain't about to put sensibilities or your liver out of sorts for the sake of poking fun."
When he pulls his hand back, reaching for his own glass, it's everything you can do to mask the little shiver that ripples up your back. He is quite warm.
"I figured you for the sort that'd prefer a girl to be out of her sensibilities," you say quietly, fingers tapping against the rim of your glass. The skin on the back of your wrist hums where he touched you, and you do your damnedest to ignore it.
The corner of his mouth hitches up in a half-grin. "Oh, afterward, surely. But never before."
You roll your eyes. "An asshole with a sense of propriety. Now that's novel."
"Part of my charm," he says. “Bastard by profession and gentleman by nature. But I mean it. You are well within every right to walk away. Ain't gonna harm nothin' but my ego, and Lord knows there’s enough of that to go around.“
You roll the shot glass between your palms. "And if I walk away?"
Whiskey shrugs. “Well, then I get to cherish the view as you leave."
"God, shut up."
His grin widens and he leans in, teasing. "A bittersweet thought to keep me warm, alone in that big empty hotel bed tonight."
The glass almost rolls straight out of your hands. "I am not fucking you," you sputter, and your cheeks burn as you realize you practically pole vaulted directly to that conclusion with barely any preamble.
The silence hangs after that, heavy and charged. Somehow you think Whiskey's eyes have gone even darker.
“I said nothin’ of the sort,” Whiskey says delicately, hands raised in supplication.
There's a cold-burning fire in the pit of your stomach.Some of it's the alcohol. But most of it is a shameful delight at the way he's looking at you, and the mounting surety that you are probably certainly definitely going to fuck him if you don't walk away and call it a night now. You're not sure whether you hate him more for the assumption, or for almost certainly being right.
He says nothing, just looks you over expectantly. Waiting to see what you’ll do.
Slowly, you down your second shot. Fuck it. If this asshole is going to be your next mistake, you might as well make it on your own goddamned terms.
"So," you say, resting your elbows on the bar. “Whiskey. What is it that you do?"
He laughs, full-throated, and the corners of his eyes crinkle up in what you suspect might be a genuine smile. It's lovely, and that might just be the most infuriating thing of all.
"Oh darlin'. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
#agent whiskey#jack whiskey daniels#agent whiskey x reader#agent whiskey x you#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character fic#I hesitate to tag for the source bc I have Strong Feelings About It#wtf am I doing with my life#yeehonk
574 notes
·
View notes
Note
“ you keep using that word. i do not think it means what you think it means. ” for Adaar x Dorian? Welcome!
Excellent choice let’s goooo! I mention another Adaar Inquisitor in this little drabble and that’s because my Inquisitor is brother to my friends’ Inquisitor so I usually try to include them both ^u^
Words: 1565
Pairing: Dorian/Inquisitor Adaar
For @dadrunkwriting
Tramping around Ferelden was hardly Asaara Adaar’s favorite activity. In fact, he would consider it one of his least favorite. The entire country seemed to be made of mud and mountains with nary a plain or decent stretch of flatland to be found. Weather in the Free Marches was far more predictable, more comfortable, far better than anything Ferelden had to offer. Yet, his distaste didn’t have anything on Dorian’s.
“Inconceivable!” Dorian hissed, for probably the fifth time since they had started their trek through the Hinterlands. Asaara rubbed his palm around The Mark, reminding himself that at least Dorian was easy to look at.
Varric laughed, “Sparkler, believe you me, it’s conceivable.”
“The King of Ferelden can’t be chosen by single combat,” argued Dorian, “That’s horrible politics. Hilarious, but horrible.”
“It’s how they do it here, I swear!” promised the rogue, adjusting Bianca over his shoulder with a winning smile, “Hell, I think Hawke would have preferred that too. Not that they ever got the chance to become Viscount.”
“Didn’t they kind of prove that by beating the Arishok?” asked Asaara, turning his head slightly to ask. It was always a way to check if their last companion was still around. Or, at least, if it was visible. When his teeth grit at noticing the very obvious lack of Cole, the spirit hybrid appeared at the side of his eye. Good. He was getting better at reminding them that he was there.
Another deep rumble came from Varric, “I guess you’re right!”
Dorian scoffed, but said nothing. Clearly, the ways of the South were too much for his delicate sensibilities. Asaara didn’t mind it--his mind wandered to his elder brother Arug, who would have reveled in such simplicity. In another life, the two might have been Arvaraad and Sarebaas, but Asaara liked to think their own style of mage and protector worked out just fine. Fine enough that Arug had felt comfortable staying back at Skyhold at any rate.
Besides, it was hard to actually talk to Dorian when Arug hovered. Magic unsettled Arug on a good day, but Dorian seemed to do so in particular. And, whether Asaara liked to admit it or not there was something undeniably charming about the Tevinter altus. (Not magister, he had to remind himself, just the son of one.)
To be fair, it could be hard to talk to Dorian in general. The man was proud, charismatic, and bold like a pristine sunset that reflected itself back in a lake. He talked quickly, usually in circles around other people, but not Asaara. He could hang on every word like gospel. It had begun with inquiries into the time magic that Dorian had studied. Devouring the information had been thrilling, but Asaara came out with plenty of notions. Notions such as the obvious understanding within Dorian’s eyes, but that his speech could twist the truth to get even the best to believe in his work. Or, perhaps, more worryingly, that Dorian’s eyes sparkled when he was excited. That his smile made Asaara’s heart twist ever so slightly. Asaara was rarely tongue-tied, but he had to focus on his words more when Dorian was around.
Still, it didn’t mean Asaara had endless patience. Dorian could be a vain, proud braggart who thought that he was the Maker’s gift to magic. Once one knew him better, that shed slightly, but he could still be pretentious. And, Asaara reminded himself constantly, Dorian was still of Tevinter while Asaara was a Vashoth Qunari.
The conversation moved, Cole whispering to himself. Asaara was glad of it-- Cole was muttering his thoughts again. His fingers gently tapped Cole’s wrist which got the other to stop, apologizing quietly. There were many people Asaara found easy to be angry at, but Cole wasn’t one of them. Where he could argue with Vivienne until they were both blue in the face or ignore Cassandra until she looked ready to hit him, Cole was just trying to help. Not berate him with opinions or Chantry nonsense. That didn’t always make what Cole had to say easy to hear.
So, when Dorian exclaimed, “Inconceivable!” again over something very conceivable-- something about Ferelden fashion and shield maidens-- it was Cole who said Asaara’s thoughts out.
“You keep using that word,” hummed Cole, “I do not think it means what you think it means.”
“...Pardon me, Cole?”
“The word,” Cole continued, “Not believable. It blocks the idea of possibility. An unending wall for the dream of something strange. You use it for things that have already happened that you simply don’t understand. But Adaar understands the difference.”
“...So are these thoughts your’s or his?” asked Dorian, directing the question toward Cole but looking at Asaara. He grimaced.
“They were his…” admitted Cole, “But I began to wonder, too.”
Asaara shrugged, trying to offer Dorian a charismatic smirk, “He’s not wrong. You aren’t using that word correctly.”
“Yes, I am. Varric--” Dorian’s face dropped as Varric gave him a sheepish smile. He huffed, “Alright then, I’ve been made a fool of. Let’s move along through this horrendously massive forest before a bear decides to go after The Inquisitor again.”
His face twisted into a mockery of a pout. After knowing Dorian for some time now, it was easy to pick out expressions. This one was embarrassed, his eyes darting toward the trees to avoid looking at any of them, but with his chest puffed out like a peacock. Perhaps, Dorian was too easy to look at. Most people couldn’t watch someone as if they were an exotic animal, learn their habits, learn which lines of their face crinkled certain ways to show their feelings.
Two mages and two rogues were also probably not the best equipped to fight Ferelden wildlife, which made Dorian very right in that regard. Asaara admitted that after a long morning-- Cassandra bleating at him, Iron Bull’s hearty laughter starting to grate his ears mixed with Blackwall's preference for traveling with Sera who was her own jar of bees-- he had probably made a mistake in a hasty party. Not that he minded. Each of the three were the most pleasant of his company. Still, he didn’t want to have to fight more bears.
They pressed on, hoping to reach one of the camps before nightfall while they looked for herbs for the healers. Once that was all collected and the farms checked on, they could be on their way. Still, a gentle silence hung over them. Fennecs raced by them as the headed upward through a mountain. What Asaara hadn’t expected was for Dorian to softly break the silence between them while Varric animatedly began discussing something with Cole.
“You’re quite intelligent, Inquisitor,” he remarked.
Asaara’s lips twitched as he forced himself not to scowl, “For a qunari, I know.” Bastard. It was always the pretty ones who ended up being bastards.
“No, I mean.. Yes, but no!” Dorian realized his fumble as he began to search for words, “Kaffas. I mean in general. Most people aren’t as smart as you are.”
Asaara rolled his eyes, “I think the members of the Inquisition each have a plethora of intelligence.”
“Do not bullshit me, Inquisitor,” huffed Dorian, “It doesn’t become you.”
Asaara whipped his head to look at him, surprised, “Doesn’t… Then what does become me?” A curl of suggestiveness pulled at the side of his mouth turning into a bit of smugness.
For a moment, he watched Dorian’s eyes soften. Edges rounded as a smile ticked up softly. Those two perfect lips pursed before a twisted, pleased smile of his own graced Dorian’s face. If the wind felt knocked out of Asaara by that soft sudden change of face, he did not let it show. He had become quite good at that over the years. It came with pretending not to be bothered that everyone thought you were just another stupid Qunari-- or that you were just another violent Vashoth.
“That smile for one,�� said Dorian, “I should like to see it more often. Perhaps over tea in the library once we get back.”
Had he heard that right? Koslun’s balls, Maker’s ass, Andraste’s shitty mabari, and Fen’harel fucking take him he had. Perhaps his own eyes brightened. Perhaps, he gave a little too much away as his cheeks darkened up, unused to the kind of attention Dorian had just bestowed upon him. Perhaps, it was just enough to keep Dorian interested since his expression didn’t change. Asaara let out a breathy chuckle, keeping his voice even as he nodded at Dorian.
“I look forward to it,” he said, “So long as you’re not throwing books around in a huff again.”
Much to his delight, he saw Dorian’s eyes sparkle.
Earlier today, if someone asked him if he thought Dorian would ever look his way, he might have replied ‘Inconceivable’ without hesitation. Now, that prefix has been dropped entirely. Dorian flirting with him was entirely and completely conceivable and right in front of him. And, maybe, just maybe the Hinterlands looked a little more beautiful, a little less muddy.
He paused, adding, “And, so long as you call me by my name. Inquisitor is so dreadful on the ears after a while.”
“Asaara, then,” agreed Dorain, giving him a polite nod, “An almost musical name, really. You will have to tell me what it means.”
Inconceivable, indeed.
#dadwc#da#dai#dorian pavus#the inquisitor#inquisitor adaar#dorinquisitor#doriadaar#idk the ship names help#asaara adaar
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
So @dinahdarling and @witchertrashbag made a post about Jaskier and Vesemir and there was another post about Jaskier in Kaer Morhen being an absolute slut for Witcher’s, and Vesemir’s casting was announced which either inspired it or just fanned the flames and I started to bullshit in the tags of one of my posts and found out there was a tag limit…
which turned into me this half head canon half story mess about Geralt bringing Jaskier to Kaer Morhen after he finds Ciri but before they confess any feelings…
this is an incoherent mess and not at all what i normally write but I couldn’t get the idea of it out of my head and I’m writing another serious geraskier fic so i need it out and here we are, we’re dying like men in this Chili’s tonight
....
Jaskier flirts with Vesemir as soon as he sets eyes on the older Witcher, he gets that cheeky smile like a cat that’s spotted a dish of cream. Vesemir, the old bastard, just chuckles, good natured. The old Witcher finds the bard absolutely charming and to the shock of everyone in Kaer Morhen, Vesemir flirts right back.
It sets a precedent for their relationship. Jaskier flirts, lays it on real thick, and Vesemir gives it right back. He likes to listen to Jaskier sing older songs, historical ballads and such and Jaskier loves to hear Vesemir’s stories.
“He’s much more eloquent than you are darling.” Jaskier tells him after the first week, transcribing his notes on sheets of spare parchment he’d filched from the library, already more comfortable in a castle full of witchers than he has any business being. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, he is! When I ask him to elaborate he does so in more that’s two syllables!”
He listens with rapt attention and Vesemir enjoys the feeling of those bright blue eyes.
Makes him feel young again he says, while Lambert pukes exaggeratedly over his shoulder.
Jaskier and Eskel fuck after the first month.
Geralt‘s out for morning meditation with Ciri and Vesemir and on his way down to the courtyard he sees jaskier slip out Eskel‘s door looking sleep warmed and ruffled, love bites all along his neck and chest and thighs.
Eskel’s a biter and Jaskier writes a drinking song about it.
and Geralt feels… funny about it, he can’t concentrate enough to slip into a meditative state, he’s jittery. Ciri asks him if he’s ok, he doesn’t know
he has to excuse himself when Eskel finally joins them looking so satisfied and loose and smirking into the middle distance and Geralt’s chest floods with … something vicious. It happens so suddenly he shocks himself out of it and doesn’t really know what happened
When it happens again, they’re all getting drunk over a big roast hog that geralt and eskel hunted in the valley to mark the changing of the seasons (minus Ciri, but Eskel and Lambert let her have sips of their ale when they think Geralt isn't looking) when Jaskier and Lambert disappear for a bit
Geralt looks up from his conversation with Vesemir and they‘re gone and he just stops and goes a little cold in his gut, then there they are
Lambert looks extremely satisfied, eyes lidded, unhurried, and jaskier’s looking very smug indeed and then and then the little shit looks fondly irritated when lambert fucking whispers something in his ear.
It’s too low for Geralt to hear, but it must be funny because Jaskier just smacks him playfully and Lambert laughs and Geralt wants to break everything. Then Ciri is asking him if he’s ok and Jaskier looks over at him and there’s concern in those blue eyes.
Geralt is not ok
it all comes to a head when Lambert says some dumb shit in the training yard. It’s harmlessly cocky. Just Lambert being Lambert.
Jaskier is fucking lounging on the ruins of the crumbling wall above the yard, long lines warming in the sun and loose shirts with plunging necklines to reveal the beginnings of his chest hair.
It’s distracting. Geralt tries not to look at him too hard.
He’s plucking through a new song, trying different lines and tunes over and over in different ways. The familiar sound is pleasant, it helps him focus on his movements as he demonstrates his footwork for Ciri as he spars with the two witchers and Lambert says something, too low for Ciri to hear, but Geralt can hear him just fine, about shutting the bard up for a little bit , something about using that pretty mouth for other things
and eskel, fucking eskel, makes that low appreciative ’mhmm’ noise and geralt goes fucking feral, suddenly it’s not training, that ugly feeling is back, the one that makes him want to break things and he’s got a sword in his hand, adrenaline high. He nearly slices lambert open before Vesemir‘s grabbing him and shoving him and shouting at him to take a fucking walk
meanwhile ciri is just standing there with the dummy and her wooden sword, eyes wide, grip slack. Jaskier‘s playing has stopped, the bard is looking at him with his blue eyes wide with shock and concern, Lambert’s yelling, asking him what his problem is and Eskel is just staring at him, with that knowing look, and it’s too much.
He storms off. Jaskier, inevitably, follows and Geralt ,inevitably, says some terrible things,
but unlike with the dragon and Yen, there isn’t a monologue about how much he hates Jaskier. Geralt is very aware that he very much doesn’t hate the bard, but there are feelings clawing at his chest and lodged in his throat that he doesn’t know what to do with. Doesn’t know who they’re directed at or why, just that it settles at the sound of Jaskier’s voice and he’s a little more focused
Jaskier however is a man on a mission and he intends to get to the bottom of all this emotional constipation and get the brute to express his feelings. He pokes and prods and pulls at Geralt until the poor Witcher is a stammering and confused ball of frustration and anger and poorly phrased feelings.
“Are you angry?”
“Yes! …No… I don’t know.”
“Well you’re clearly worked up about something, you nearly tore Lambert’s head off. So what is it?”
At the mention of Lambert that blind, directionless Something flares again, Geralt sneers, “You worried I bruised your toys?”
“My toys?”
“Don’t worry, little bird, Witcher’s heal quickly. He’ll be back in working order for you by tonight.”
“Working order? Geralt, what are you talking about?”
There’s some implied slut shaming (Jaskier: Excuse me, I do NOT fuck every man and woman I see! Geralt: Not for lack of trying! Jaskier: SOO?!WHY DO YOU CARE WHERE I STICK MY DICK? Geralt: CAUSE IT ALWAYS ENDS UP WITH ME HAVING TO CLEAN UP YOUR MESS!), Geralt expresses an acute frustration with the cut of Jaskier’s shirt collars, and implied regret of ever bringing Jaskier to Kaer Morhen,
“Well then why did you bring me here in the first place if you hate me and my slutty slutty shirts that damn much!?”
“I don’t hate you Jaskier, I brought you because I-“
And the truth hits him a split second before he can stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. Geralt nearly chokes on his spit he stops talking so fast. His face goes red and,,,
Oh no
no that wont do at all.
Without a word he turns on his heel and flees,
He spends the rest of the day out in the valley with Roach trying to get himself under control.
When he comes back it’s to Vesemir standing arms cross in front of the entrance to the keep. He warns him, the whole of Kaer Morhen, and the Rock trolls that live in the caves below, heard his argument with the bard. They all agree, Geralt is being, as Lambert put it, ‘a big warty Cyclops dick’ and he needs to ’unclench and get his colossal bag of issues under control before he fucking kills one of us’. Also Lambert‘s words.
Geralt doesn’t say anything. Vesemir just sighs “You better prepare one hell of an apology, Wolf.” and leads him inside.
Everyone is settling in for dinner. It was Lambert’s turn to cook so the entire keep smells like garlic and spices (every Witcher has a hobby, something to occupy them in between monster hunts. Geralt likes card games, Vesemir likes to collect rare coins, Eskel likes to knit, and Lambert likes to cook).
They all look up when he comes in. Eskel is quiet, he has that knowing look in his eye. Lambert glares, “Welcome back, sour puss, your little tantrum ruin your appetite?”
Geralt has his customary ‘eat my ass Lambert’ on the tip of his tongue, but he pauses, looks at Ciri who looks at him reproachfully from Jaskier’s other side. Jaskier looks up at him with those blue eyes and Geralt feels something settle in his gut.
He knows he’ll be forgiven, but he cannot take that for granted. Vesemir is right. He better give the bard one hell of an apology. And then never fucking do that shit again.
He looks back at Lambert.
“Smells good.” and he takes the empty seat on Jaskier’s left.
It’s as close to an apology that Geralt and Lambert will ever get between them, and the other Witcher wont admit it, but the compliments on his food make him feel all tingly inside.
Later, when Jaskier, Ciri, and Vesemir are all asleep, the boys break out the Mahakaman Spirit and drink it straight from the bottle. It goes about as well as you’d expect.
“You know.” It’s not a question.
Eskel shrugs and takes another drink, “Didn’t before today. Don’t think you did either. I’ll admit I had my suspicions, you guys act like an old married couple, but he seemed pretty convinced you didn’t have feelings for him. If I’d known before I wouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
Lambert snorts, he’s starting to slur his words. “I not. Get your shit together Geralt, cause if you don’t fuck him I will… again.”
Eskel nods with more enthusiasm than is really necessary considering the circumstances and Geralt doesn’t slam his head down on the table but it’s a near thing. Instead he just sighs and pours himself another drink.
Geralt get’s his shit together. Not that night,, but eventually.
That night, bolstered by a few more bottles and Eskel and Lambert’s encouragement, Geralt makes it all the way to Jaskier’s door before loosing his nerve and realizing that maybe stumbling drunk and dumb into the bard’s bed chambers in the middle of the night isn’t the best way to start an apology.
So he just goes to bed.
He asks Ciri the next day, or more Ciri volunteers her opinion. They’re in the library, pouring over books pulled for them by Vesemir (the old Witcher took one look at Geralt and the others battling their hang overs at the kitchen table and declared today an exercise in theory), detailing the different subspecies of Drowners when she brings it up.
“So, have you apologized to Jaskier yet?” She catches him by surprise in the middle of an explanation about the effectiveness of the Axii and Igni signs when fighting Drowners. He pauses.
“Not yet. He always sleeps past breakfast.”
“Are you going to?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I don’t know... Why are you so interested?”
“I don’t like it when you two fight. It doesn’t happen a lot,, but when it does Jaskier only sings sad songs and it makes everyone else sad.” A pause, “Plus, I have nothing better to do, nothing interesting ever happens around here.”
Geralt laughs at that, “Witcher training that boring to you?”
She gives the comically large book in front of her a pointed look ,”Yes.”
After a few more questions and answers and rapid fire quizzes on the differences between mucknixers and drowned dead, Ciri speaks up again,
“Take him on a picnic, bards love picnics.”
She says it with the kind of finality that only children can muster that Geralt can only nod and they start planning.
Geralt apologizes before dinner, pulls Jaskier aside and asks for his forgiveness. “You already had it Geralt, you knew that.” And he takes Jaskier out to finish dinner atop one of the high towers in the keep with a bottle of erveluce under his arm. He and Ciri had cut their studying short and spent the afternoon dodging Vesemir to set up the picnic before hand. In retrospect it was a very good exercise in stealth and evasion.
There are candles and an old tapestry they found draped across the stones. It’s disgustingly romantic. Jaskier calls him on it. Geralt is embarrassed, but he stammers out his apology and his confession without too much interruption.
“I’m sorry I called your shirt slutty… I don’t think it’s slutty… it’s a nice shirt.”
“Thank you , Geralt. I appreciate how hard that must have been for-”
“And I don’t hate you… I brought you to Kaer Morhen because…. Because… you were the first person I thought of when… I wanted you here… with me… I.. love you, Jaskier. Been shit at showing it but I do, have for a long time, and I… don’t… want you … sleeping with anyone else anymore. Just… just me.”
And then Jaskier jumps his bones. The end.
Lambert is only a little jealous.
#witcher#geraskier#geralt/jaskier#jaskier/eskel#jaskier/lambert#jaskier/vesemir#the witcher#give that bitch a picnic#bitches love picnics
719 notes
·
View notes
Text
FIC: Untimely Distractions (Hawks x Female Reader; smut)
DISCLAIMERS: Usual ownership disclaimers apply. Characters that are underaged/minors in canon are automatically aged-up to young adult/adult in my work by default unless otherwise stated.
TITLE: Untimely Distractions
PAIRING: Hawks/Female Reader
RATING: Hard R/Mature
WARNINGS: Smut
- - - - -
Hawks is an incorrigible, distracting flirt. This isn’t an opinion - it’s just the truth.
The bad thing about it is that he knows it. The worst thing about it is when the charismatic bastard turns all that charm and beguiling energy on and aims it right at you for everyone in the Hero Public Safety Commission office to see. Like now, for example.
“Come on, it’s just drinks,” he says, hovering over the side of your desk with his hands planted on the tabletop, holding his weight, “I don't even drink that much, but i could take you to this ONE place, holy crap, they make this INSANE tropical sunrise cocktail. Also there's a cute bartender there who seems into some things.” The intentionally comical waggle of his bushy eyebrows elicits a tiny giggle from you that you’re unable to reign in in time.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol tonight?” you shoot back, continuing to work to try and convince him of disinterest on your part, “Or on some secret spying mission that no one else in this building is supposed to know about?”
“Well, I mean…” Hawks replies with a tiny shrug, “I’m sure I can find some time to--Wait, what do you know about my assignments?”
You can’t help but snort at his near carelessness. “Absolutely nothing, I’m sure,” you answer, feeding fresh sheets into your printer, “In any case, I’m busy tonight, as will you be. Besides,” you drop your voice a little, as if there isn’t a soul alive within hearing range who already knows that Hawks seems to like you a lot, “we’re supposed to be professionals.”
“When have you ever known me to be 100% professional at any given time?” he half-jokes, leaning in just as you sit back down. He laughs as you push him away. “Okay, fine. If not drinks, then lunch. Just a quick one. There’s an excellent yakitori place about five minutes from here, we can have a little spot all to ourselves, no extras and no distractions…”
You bat away a feather he had sent to tickle your cheek. “You’re a distraction, Hawks.”
“Yeah, but you like it,” he retorts, and you can hear the smirk in his tone.
“You think so, do you?” you gently scoff as he leans in over the table and closer to you.
“You like me,” Hawks points out, his voice and tone hitting just the right lower octave to get you to finally look right at him, blushing indignantly.
You can feel how fiercely your cheeks are coloring. “I-” you stammer, “That’s not...I mean, I don’t--”
Hawks straightens up again, an almost insufferable grin of victory brightening his face. “I’ll pick you up at 11:50am,” he tells you, “Don’t work too hard now, baby bird.” The pet name and the wink he leaves with has you coughing on a slight choke of embarrassment.
The rest of your day is spent ducking your head, keeping busy and trying to pretend that no one else around you had heard your conversation with Hawks. You become so entranced in your own efforts to hide yourself from sneaky side-eyes and barely quieted giggles from your co-workers that you don’t realize what time it is until a gentle tapping on your cubicle wall lets you know it’s time for your lunch date.
You look up to see him leaning against one edge of the wall, arms crossed in front of him, a signature smirk plastered all over his smug face. “Hawks, I am busy,” you say with an audible tsk to drive home your point.
“Psh, no one’s ever too busy for yakitori,” Hawks points out.
“I mean, true,” you concede with a little sigh, “But-”
“Come oooon,” he whines, “What’s an hour? If you get crunched because I took you out on a lunch date, I promise to help you out so you don’t have to do overtime, then I’ll take you home myself so you get there faster. Deal?”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “How the hell do you even know where I live?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Hawks mutters with a small shrug, “Come ooooooon, kid. Yakitoriiiiiiiii.”
And he's just so annoyingly effing cute, doing stupid things with his bushy eyebrows and little wiggles of his hips, and he looks RIDICULOUS. You know he’s not going to take no for an answer.
“Fine,” you finally agree, “but just one hour. Then you come back and help me sort all of this out.”
“I promise,” Hawks replies, crossing his heart with a finger while holding his right hand up for emphasis.
To Hawks’ credit, the yakitori place is just as close as he had said, and the food is ridiculously good. Time flies nearly as fast as he does as you enjoy an almost uncharacteristically casual conversation about each other’s nothings - how work is, how your family is doing, when was the last time you made pastries and why didn’t you save him some. The food is gone before you even really realize it, and he doesn’t even let you pull your wallet out to pay. With a grin and a wink, for you and the waitress, he pays for everything, then offers you a hand to take to help you out of your seat and walk you back to the office. You blush a little, but you take it, and his smirk is noticeably softer when you do.
You don’t get too far, however, when he pulls you in close, winks and gives you a quick warning of “hang on, kid,” before his wings suddenly flare out and flap. Suddenly you're in the air, and he's got you safe and secure in the few seconds it takes him to fly you up to the roof of a nearby apartment building.
It doesn’t take you much longer to remember that the cheeky bastard lives here, of course he lives near the HSPC, and he, most likely, has had this planned the entire time.
“Jerk,” you snort, although you’re not exactly fighting the arm he has around your waist, keeping you flush against him.
“What?” he laughs, “I still have twenty minutes, don’t I?”
And he kisses you hard as he drags you into his room from the balcony, fingers working hurriedly to divest you of your bottoms.
“Fifteen,” you correct him, a little out of breath already from the kiss alone, "I'm not going back to the office looking like i just got rammed by a truck.”
"Well, better make it count then," he chuckles, and then you're on your back on his bed, and he's pulling you by the legs to the edge so he can pull your bottoms off and push your top up.
He wastes no time, diving right in, mouth eager and hungry, like a dying man savoring the first full meal he's had in years. Your legs are over his shoulders, one hand sliding up your body to squeeze at your breast while the other snakes around your thigh to rub at your clit like he's trying to start a fire with his thumb. He's a ravenous son of a bitch, moaning loud enough for you to feel, stopping every now and then just long enough to tell you how good you taste. He tells you to watch him devour you, but it's hard when his tongue feels that good and his fingers are experts of your body by now.
"You gonna come, babe?" he teases, rising from his knees to bend over you, and you're about to whine at the loss of contact when he cuts you off with a couple of fingers deep inside you, twisting and curling and stroking and spreading.
“If you're gonna come you better do it soon,” he teases with a laugh, “You don't want the office to know you got eaten out for lunch, do you?” And his hand is merciless with quick, deep thrusts that aim right where they need to, and you're crying out, launching a fist weakly into his shoulder, which just makes him chuckle.
He urges you to come, telling you he wants to feel you come with his fingers deep inside you, promising to lick you clean afterwards if you'll be good for him and come right fucking now.
Your back arches halfway up off the bed when you do, clutching at your own breast with one hand and digging nails into his shoulder and neck with the other, and he peppers you with little kisses, the softness of each a sharp contract to to how roughly he pushes his fingers into you as he tries to draw your orgasm out a little longer.
“You're so good for me,” he coos, kissing your lips gently as you come down from your high, “So fucking pretty, baby bird.” And you can't help but grab at his jacket and pull him in close and kiss him for real. You hate him, but you love him, but you hate him, but you love him, and he knows.
“Fuck you,” you say when you come up for air, and he just laughs a full laugh, the smug bastard, kissing you again before pulling you to your feet.
“You liked it.”
“Shut up.”
“You like me.”
“I love you.”
“...But?”
“But you're a smug dick and sometimes i don't know whether to punch you with my mouth or my fist.”
“You're so cute when you're ticked off.”
He helps you back into your clothes, making sure to give you tiny kisses where he can, and he's always like this, always so showy with his flirting but secretive with his real affection. You kind of understand it, but not really. You've never questioned it, just accepted it as part of who he is. But you can't help but wonder about it sometimes. Not that you’d ever bring it up; you’re more likely to get hit by lightning than ever get a straight answer for that out of him.
He flies you both back to the office just in the nick of time, and you just barely managed to put yourself back together while he, of course, didn't have to do much more than straighten his clothes a bit and give his hair a little shake. You can feel eyes on you as he walks you back to your office, and although you're a little self-conscious about it, it’s times like these that you kind of can't help but be a bit smug at the fact that everyone just knows that Hawks is into you without anyone ever having to say it out loud.
Before he lets you go, he pulls you into an abandoned, unvisited corner and kisses you again, and it's a real boyfriend kiss, with small sighs and gentle touches and warmth. You can't help but love that you get to see this side of him, knowing that very few people have or will.
“Dinner?” he asks, and the only thing softer than his tone is the hand he has on your cheek.
“You're not working late?” you ask, unconscious of the way you snuggle into the warmth of his palm.
“Not if you say yes to dinner,” he replies, the tiniest of smirks ghosting in the corner of his mouth.
“You think you're soooo cute, don't you?”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“...Fine. Dinner.”
- - - - -
~ END. ~
131 notes
·
View notes
Text
Doctor Love | Berlin
Requested by anon: So okay okay, I had this idea a few days ago, and since your requests are open I'm gonna slide in real quick :)is it okay if I request a little scenario where like, u know when Berlino does that dumb thing of self sacrificing becuz he's gonna die anyway? What if his girlfriend/reader has been searching for a cure for his illness and before he can get himself killed she goes in the bank and tells him and somehow they manage to escape from the bank? No pressure if the idea doesn't appeal u! Ily!!
Word count: 2.4k
Warning: spoilers of season 2! maybe swearing, mentions of violence, guns, the whole shabang
Note: not my gif! Okay, so I’m in love with this request!! It took me a little longer to write, because I wanted to get it perfect. Let me just say I’m not a doctor, so I have no idea if there is a cure for the illness he has, but Imma try! Hope you like it darling! Thanks for the request and love you too! xx
------------
‘I’m sick. I have an illness called Helmer’s myopathy. It’s a muscle degenerative disease, which means that my muscles get weaker and weaker until my heart muscles can’t keep up anymore. If I’m lucky I have four months left,’ he told you like it was nothing; like it was answer to a question on a pubquiz. He held your hands in his, knowing it would break your heart and dreams of a future with him.
‘Andrés..’ you whispered, ‘why didn’t you tell me sooner?’ He sighed and gently shook his head.
‘It’s uncurable, princess. I have medicine that I have to take every few hours that make it somewhat acceptable, but I wanted you to know.’
You visibly broke down. Even though you were always someone who never wanted to show any emotion besides happiness and anger, but this was different shit. Your hands were shaking, body trembing as you tried to understand that everything you had imagined yourself doing with Andrés would be nothing more than a dream. It simply didn’t make sence. Being together with Andrés for more than six months, you’d hoped he would be more open towards you and share what was going on with him. You felt your throat closing up, eyes filling with tears.
This illness was just the cherry on top for him. The man had done terrible things in his life and could mark off just about any sin in the Bible. Stealing, robbing, charming women. Karma was getting her way back to him and all he could do was accept his fate. It came across as cold to you. All this time you planned this whole life for you two together, but he knew that would never come true.
‘No! This is cruel! You let me believe we would be together for the rest of our lives, hell, you told me you wanted to marry me when you got out! You knew even if you made it out alive, you wouldn’t live longer than summer. You’ve done some terrible things in your life Andrés, but this..’ you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air. ‘This is just rude.’
The sadness you felt quickly turned into anger as you kept yelling at him, hitting him in the chest. He knew better than to interrupt you and tell you that everything would be okay, because he just now realized it wouldn’t be okay. He would die and leave you behind. Period.
‘I knew you were a self-centred bastard! You always play these mind games and somehow make everyone get on their knees for you! Is that all I am to you, huh?! Some game to find how far you can go? Because let me tell you Andrés, this game is finished. Game. Over,’ you hissed. You threw your hands up in the air and stormed out.
That was more than four weeks ago. In the meantime you had spoken again and this time the anger had disappeared and just cried. That was all you could do. You had accepted that you would most likely be a widdow before summer and that broke your heart, but you also wanted to fight. Andrés told you there was no cure to his illness, but there was hope burning inside you and you did everything in your power to still find that cure. Whether it meant getting no sleep for the next few weeks or not.
Andrés would soon be leaving for the big robbery and you had spent every second of the day being with him and holding him close. The times where you would have rough sex the entire day were over; it was now making love. He was gentle to you, making you breakfast in bed even though he could easily ask one of the maids to do it and even buying you nice dresses in colours that matched your eyes.
Without him knowing, you contacted one of your best friends who worked at the lab of a university and asked him if he could do more research on medicine for muscle-related illnesses. He said he had some information that he wanted to share with you, but that meant you had to visit him.
‘Babe, I’m gonna have to run to Macy really quickly. Think you’ll be okay?’ you asked. Macy was your sister and seven months pregnant, so it often happened that you visited her to help her with something. That way he wouldn’t suspect a thing. You had no idea how he did it, but he always seemed to know what you were up to.
‘Of course, princess. Give her a kiss for me, okay?’ he winked, giving you a kiss on the lips. You lightly slapped his chest.
‘Be back for dinner,’ you told him. Out of the blue, he grabbed you by your waist and pulled you against him. He leaned down and you could feel his breath on your neck. Shivers send down your spine.
‘Your ass looks great in those jeans,’ he whispered, placing a light kiss on your neck and slapping you on the bottom. You giggled and pushed yourself away from him.
‘Bye!’ you called, waving him goodbye and walking out the door. You soon arrived at the university and was met by your friend who was waiting for you outside. You greeted each other with a hug and quickly got to work. He told you about the compositions of the different medications and what effect they had on what part of the muscle.
‘Isn’t there any way we could find a way to make this medicine last longer? This is the medication he uses now to keep it under control for a few hours,’ you gave him a syringe filled with the medicine and he studied it. He took the bottle from you and studied it contents.
‘There are some elements of this medicine that also appear in this,’ he pointed to a beaker filled with a milky white liquid. ‘I should be able to find a connection that makes this last longer.’
‘Is there anything I can do? I feel so hopeless not being able to do anything,’ you mumbled.
‘You did a great job already by giving me this. Is it okay if I keep the syringe? I need something that we know works, even if it isn’t permanent,’ he said. You nodded and waved your hand.
‘Of course. Anything to help find a cure. Thank you for doing this. I can’t even explain how much this means to me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t at least tried,’ you told him. He turned to look at you and gave you a hug.
‘That’s what I’m here for. If I find anything, I’ll let you know, okay?’
-
It was the fifth day of the heist. Andrés had been gone for almost three weeks now, being busy with training and all. He obviously knew about the plan already, but being the passionate man he is, wanted to go over every single detail again. He couldn’t afford making any mistakes. The goodbye was hard. You cried loudly as he held you close, whispering little reasuring words in your ear. You were thankful for Sergio. He kept you updated on everything that was going on, but didn’t tell you any details or steps of the plan. You didn’t want to either; it was scary enough without knowing how everything went down in there.
It was now wednesday and you were sitting on the couch. You hadn’t heard from Sergio in two days and it started to worry you. The news wasn’t exactly uplifting too. Andrés’ face was displayed all over every tv channel, name heard on every radio station and seen on every wall in Spain. Your heart fell even lower when the news announced he was sick. The smug inspector worked on you nerves as she spoke about him like he was an animal. Sure, the man had done things that broke the law, but he never killed anyone nor hurt any woman.
‘Fuck,’ you cursed under your breath. Suddenly your phone rang and the called ID showed Alex, your friend at the lab. Your heartbeat increased and you were anxious about what he was about to say. You picked up the phone and heard his loud voice. A tearful smile made it’s way on your face as you heard him say those three words you so desperately longed to hear.
‘I have it! I have the cure!’ he yelled. You jumped up and raced towards the university where he was already waiting on you. The hug you shared was one filled with hapiness.
‘Okay, he needs to inject this like he did with the other medicine. This is enough to last until november. I have some of it still in the lab so I produce more and work more on the duration of it. I can’t promise it will work for the rest of his life, but for now it’ll do,’ he spoke. You said goodbye and rushed to Sergio’s hide-out. The medicine you held in your hands would give him at least eight more months and until then Alex had a better cure. You burst through the doors and Sergio jumped up. You could see the whole that had been dug in the floor. You turned to Sergio and burst into tears of joy.
‘He’s not leaving us, Sergio. He’s staying. With you, with me. He’s staying,’ you rushed. Your heart was beating loudly in your ears and the rush of adrenaline was so high, you thought you’d pass out. Your words seemed to land as he slowly moved towards you. His gaze fell on the little box you were holding and his eyes flickered from the black object to the hole in the floor and tears welled in his eyes.
‘I have to get it to him, Sergio. He needs to know there is something out here for him. You and I both you the man is up to something. Let me go in there, please!’ you pleaded. He quickly snapped out his trance and gave you a red suit and black boots to finish the look.
‘When you get to the indside, wait inside the vault. No one knows you’re getting in and that way you won’t get attacked. Take this with you,’ he pushed a fake gun in your hands and you placed it in the holster on your thigh. ‘Goodluck.’
When you were about to enter, you heard a lot of noise coming from the computer. The police had broken in. He nodded to you and you ran as quickly as you could through the tunnel. When you entered the vault, you were met by two people. A young man with dark hair and a woman with blonde curls. They looked suprised to see you and the man pointed a gun at you.
‘Serg- El Professor send me. I’m Berlin’s girl,’ you quickly said, stumbling over your words. Sure, you were carrying a gun with you, but it was a fake. Having a real gun pointed at you made you nearly shit your pants. When the girl pointed out I was carrying a gun and came through the only way out, he lowered the gun and craweled through the tunnel. It wasn’t hard to find Berlin as he came running in the direction of where you were coming from. You caught the stares of the other people who nodded at you and went on with their duties.
‘Berlin, babe!’ you called, making him freeze.
‘What are you doing here, princess? It’s not safe for you. They’ll come running through those halls any minute now,’ he sternly said, turning around and grabbing you firmly by the arm. ‘Leave, now!’
‘No, I’m not leaving. I came here to tell you I found a cure,’ you breathed and everyone around you froze. ‘You didn’t know, but I’ve been doing research for a medicine and I’ve found it. The first dose should work ‘till November. After that I’ll have a much stronger and longer working dose.’
‘Princess, I told you to leave,’ he said more firmly this time. You didn’t move.
‘Like I said, I’m not leaving. Not without you anyway. You promised me a life that I could only dream of and now we can have it. I love you with all my heart. I can’t loose you. Not now, not ever.’ Tears cascaded down your cheeks as you begged the man you loved so much to trust you and come with you.
‘Leave, now. Helsinki, take her with you,’ he ordered the bulky man behind you, but he didn’t move.
‘Love is a passionate thing, Berlin. I don’t know this woman, but she found a cure for your uncurable disease. That’s literally doing the impossible. You have five seconds to decide to leave with this woman or I’ll take you with me. Don’t look away when you have everything in front of you,’ he spoke. He turned his attention to you and you gave him a grateful smile. He smiled back and nodded.
‘Will you please come with me? If you don’t come with me, I’ll stay with you. I either die with you or leave with you, you decide,’ you stated. He looked at the box you held in your hand and realized how much he loved you. Moving towards you, he passionately smashed his lips to yours. The kiss wasn’t filled with lust, but relief and gratefulness.
‘As soon as we walk out those doors, I’m marrying you. No exceptions,’ he mumbled against your lips. You nodded and held him closer.
‘That was the plan.’
You heard the policemen run behind you and Helsinki was quick to throw a grenade. Berlin pushed you all inside and bowed your head in his chest. Once the grenade had exploded, you all rushed back and blew up the tunnel. You joined Sergio and Helsinki in the back of the truck, leaning against Andrés.
‘There are no words to explain how much I love you, princess. No words.’
The two of you left to Cuba, where you got married soon after you arrived. The wedding was on the beach, your white dress flowing around you while you stared at the man you could finally call your husband. Only a month after the wedding you surprised Andrés by telling you were pregnant.
‘You are my heart, my soul and my everything. Thank you for being my wife and everything I’ve ever wished for.’
.. .. .. .. ..
Berlin Taglist
@nkjktk - @michaellangdonenthusiast - @hamiltonsofcrap
213 notes
·
View notes
Text
Princess Charming And The Gentleman in Distress
Index
A/N: I wrote this for my beautiful friend @the-hufflefluffwriter who loves Lucissa and helped me explore this ship. I loved writing this and I hope you like it as well <3
Lucius x Narcissa
Word count: 1530
Summary: Narcissa asks Lucius on a date.
Ever since he had gotten to Hogwarts, Lucius Malfoy walked about the school grounds like a dandy. He was handsome and intelligent, qualities he knew he possessed and was not afraid to flaunt them in and out of class. He kept mostly to himself and talked to a very selected few. This rubbed most students the wrong way, as they assumed the was just another stuck up, entitled pureblood.
Which he was, to an extent.
Lucius was raised to be the perfect heir of a long line of (mostly) pure blooded wizards and witches, after all. He behaved with the propriety and decorum he was expected to, but that was not the reason why he wouldn’t engage with most people.
In reality, he knew he wasn’t half as charming as he imagined himself to be. He could get really dorky about things he was passionate about, like potion making or reading. He was an expert in lots of random things. He knew the events of the XVI century’s witch hunts and Anne Boleyn’s biography by heart. He loved animals, especially peacocks and learned every fact about them. He was kind-hearted, sensitive and open to new ideas, characteristics his father scorned.
Through the years, Lucius had curated an image of perfection he wasn’t willing to lose. And he wasn’t going to let anyone use his true colours against him like his father did.
So, as he walked to the prefects’ carriage, his shiny new badge pinned to his robes, he procured to maintain his composure. Nobody could’ve guessed how proud and excited he was about his new position. His mask of poise fell for a minute when he saw who the other Slytherin prefect was.
Narcissa Black was probably the most popular girl in their year. She was beautiful and dignified, with the aristocratic flair that accompanied her last name. She was also brilliant and had a way with people that made her the centre of attention wherever she went. She was a beater and the star of the Slytherin quidditch team. Narcissa laughed and the world stopped to listen. She was everything Lucius tried to convey and wasn’t.
They had never talked to each other. Narcissa had a lot of suitors, but the only two boys she really talked to apart from her teammates were Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, who dated her older sisters.
As he sat next to her, one single thought crossed his mind: Salazar, this is going to be very, very awkward.
…
“So, are you really thinking about filling your manor with albino peacocks?” she asked, laughter in her voice.
“Of course! They are beautiful, noble creatures. Once I’m the owner, I’ll have them everywhere,” he answered humorously and yet dead serious.
“What a joy to whoever marries you, Malfoy.”
As the months went by, Narcissa and Lucius struck up a very particular friendship. Little by little, he opened up to her. She was endeared by every arbitrary piece of knowledge he had to share with her. She loved how he listened intently to whatever she had to say and he’d ask real questions without ever being nosy. Narcissa found someone who understood her insecurities, someone who not only valued her wittiness but always had a perfect comeback for her. They were overly dramatic together, balancing the etiquette demanded by their families with playfulness.
Their nightly rounds suddenly became the highlight of their weeks. Every day, Lucius would try to find more creative ways to flirt. As the friendship grew, so did his attraction for Narcissa and he was dying to ask her out.
“That could be you, you know?” he said smugly.
Narcissa looked at him, an eyebrow raised. She knew Lucius liked her; he wasn’t subtle at all. And she liked him back, but she knew better than to show him that. Her sisters had taught her well.
“Oh, I know that approach too well, Malfoy. My mother warned me about guys like you.” She crossed her arms playfully.
“Oh, really? So, she warned you about handsome, intelligent and absolutely talented guys like me?” he shot back.
Narcissa laughed, a full-blown laugh that left her breathless. Lucius felt satisfied.
“No, you fool. She told me about those men, too eager to get a proper lady for a wife and a line of mistresses and bastards on the side,” she said dramatically.
It was Lucius’ turn to look at her as though she had gone mad. “And I am one of those?”
“Definitely.”
“Cissa, I can count with one hand the amount of people I talk to. If anything, you are the one who might be searching for a proper gentleman for a husband and a line of lovers on the side,” he countered.
“Not going to lie, I definitely like that idea. The swap of gender roles sounds refreshing,” she beamed back.
He shook his head as a smile played on his lips. “You’re going to be the death of me, Narcissa Black.”
Narcissa smiled. They were already walking back to the Slytherin common room. She knew everything her sisters had told her about not showing too much interest. Andromeda was particularly adamant about this; she had shown the slightest bit of interest for Rabastan and he acted smug for months before asking her out. But she wondered how long she’d have to wait before Lucius made a move. Narcissa didn’t know many more nights of playful banter she could take. Patience wasn’t her forte, as much as her father told her it was the most important quality to cultivate.
Her heart was beating fast on her chest when they arrived to their common room. She decided to get over with it already.
“Cissa.”
“Take me to Hogsmeade next weekend,” she blurted out. Her tone was demanding, not allowing the least beat of doubt to show on her features.
Lucius nodded slowly, not able to disguise his surprise at her bravery.
…
Lucius offered his arm to Narcissa, who linked it with hers. They were very close to each other, enough for her to notice how her date was shivering. It was snowing as they walk to Hogsmeade. Narcissa took the necessary precautions when she chose her garments for the day. She looked beautiful, as always, but she was also properly dressed for the weather. Lucius, on the other hand, had sacrificed comfort for style and now he was freezing to the bone and pretending like everything was fine.
Narcissa could tell he couldn’t wait to arrive at Madam Puddifoot’s and get his hands on steaming cup of tea. She decided it was her moment to act gallantly; she had asked him out, after all. She took off her green scarf and put it around his neck. Once again, Lucius was taken aback by her attitude, but he couldn’t deny the scarf made a big difference.
They smiled at each other sweetly, but she knew she couldn’t let this opportunity pass. She was loving the whole “princess charming and gentleman in distress” situation.
“You know, Malfoy? I love seeing you in my clothes.”
Lucius’ face was already too red from the cold for Narcissa to notice the blush, so he decided to play along with her. “You’ve seen nothing, Black. I’d look fabulous in one of your skirts.”
She giggled. “That confidence makes me think it wouldn’t be the first time you wear someone’s skirt.”
“It would be,” he said, “I’m just so handsome I can pull anything off.”
Narcissa rolled her eyes playfully.
“Your confidence, on the other hand, makes me think it isn’t the first time a guy uses your clothes,” he retaliated.
“Oh, it’s definitely not the first time,” she said offhandedly, noticing how Lucius’ confident smile vanished from his beautiful face. “My cousin Sirius looks so pretty in my dresses. You have no idea!”
Lucius snorted. He pushed the door to Madam Puddifoot’s. A tinkle announced their arrival. The place was tacky and over the top, with ribbons and frills in every possible pastel colour. It was, anyhow, classier than the Three Broomsticks and Lucius had wanted to take her on the very best date possible.
As they sat down, Lucius inched forward and whispered something that could’ve probably scandalized any other proper lady he knew: “You’d look great in my clothes, Black.”
“Oh, Malfoy,” she retorted, her smile hinting an incredibly witty response, “you’ll have to go to hell and back before I wear your clothes.”
…
Lucius woke up to an empty bed. He sat up, scanning the room in search of his wife. He noticed sounds coming from the bathroom and laid back, waiting for Mrs. Malfoy to emerge. Narcissa came back to their bed wearing Lucius’ robe. He smiled at the sight and open his arms for her. She gladly complied and snuggled to her husband.
“You know, Cissa?” whispered Lucius, never missing the chance to mess with his wife.
“Yes?”
“Going to hell and back wasn’t half as bad as I thought it would be,” he teased.
Narcissa filled the room with the wholehearted chortles only reserved for her husband and Lucius couldn’t feel any happier.
#lucissa#lucius malfoy#lucius malfoy x narcissa malfoy#narcissa malfoy#narcissa black#narcissa#lucius#lucius malfoy x narcissa black#lucius x narcissa#lucissa fic#lucissa fanfiction#lucissa fanfic#narcissa malfoy fluff#harry potter fluff#harry potter fanfiction#harry potter fanfics
121 notes
·
View notes
Text
PRANK WARS (GEORGE WEASLEY X READER)
Warnings: none
“You have been chosen. Within this box contains hundreds, if not a thousand Weasley Wizard’s Wheezes products. This year, we have elected one wizard from the houses of Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin to assist us in popping the vein on Snape’s head. None of you know the others identities. Your job is pranking every house mate you have, and avoiding suspicion. If you are caught, you will become our number one target. Winner takes all, and the prize is worth more than it’s weight in gold. Good luck.” I breathed, reading the letter in the parcel. Luckily the package had had a note on the side warning the receiver to open in their room. I hadn’t been expecting anything, and I hadn’t seen if any owls had flown in with a matching parcel. I opened the package, and I grinned. It was bright, bursting with colours and tricks. My brain was already planning just how I was going to trick the rest of Slytherin house.
I walked silently, pondering about whether or not my plan would work. I hoped it did. I didn’t want to disappoint Fred or George, however annoying they were in classes. I wonder how they had chosen me, and then I wondered who else they had chosen. They didn’t choose anyone from Gryffindor I noticed, which meant they had big plans for their house. I hoped mine didn’t pale in comparison. The Great Hall was already open, as it opens before five on Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday’s. Unsurprisingly, the room was empty of people.
I walked over to the Slytherin table, and fished my bag of tricks out of my pocket. I dropped a couple of Weasely’s Snaps into each goblet. Once the goblets were shaken, or even moved in some cases they would pop, causing the drink to explode in the drinkers face. In order to not arise suspicion, I put the Snaps in every goblet, so even I would fall victim. They were also charmed, so when I said the word “fumious” they would explode. Then I snuck back to the common room, and more importantly, my bed.
My roommate, Astoria, woke me up by shrieking into my ear, and I almost bit her nose off.
“Shove off, Tori.” I groaned, getting out of bed despite my protesting. She laughed and began getting changed. I turned my bisexual ass around and got changed facing the other direction. My wand was on my bedside table, and I accio’d it to me as we walked out the door. The common room was loud as usual, and it resembled my anticipation for breakfast.
“I’m starving. What did we have for dinner last night again?” Astoria walked like she was on a runway, and I laughed.
“What do you think you’re doing? Walking like you’re actually cool makes you look like you’ve got a stick up your ass.” She winked at me.
“Maybe I do.” I mimed vomiting.
“You’re gross! Go kiss Flint!” I laughed again at her reaction.
“Ew! I do not intend to touch that bastard, let alone- let alone- no, I can’t even say it.” We were still laughing as we entered the great hall. Everyone was chattering, and it seemed my Snaps hadn’t gone off yet. Just wait for it. We sat down, and piled our plates. I lifted my goblet, filled with water of course, and made sure as many people were holding their goblets as possible.
“Fumious.” The beautiful word was spoken by yours truly, and the Snaps flew into everyone’s faces. Pandemonium struck, and screams erupted from the Slytherin table. The water in my face was actually quite refreshing, but I feigned a look of shock. If only these bitches knew. I saw McGonagall stand up in surprise, followed by Snape. I snuck a look at George, and he was grinning at me. I grinned back proudly, and snickered at the rest of my house.
Later that day we had potions. Snape was assigning us our partners for the term, and it was shaping up to be a Slytherin-Gryffindor mix.
“Y/n L/n and Fred Weasley.” I looked up when someone sat beside me.
“George? Why are you here?” George winked at me, and I raised an eyebrow.
“Nice prank this morning. It was pretty cool. How did you get them all to go off at the same time?” He asked curiously. I assembled the potions ingredients and smiled mysteriously.
“Little trick I learnt. You didn’t actually think you two were the only ones who prank people at Hogwarts, did you?” One look at George’s face told me did. I laughed.
“Hey! How did you do it? It could drastically improve our performances!” He pleaded. I shook my head smugly.
“Sorry, Georgie. This spell is for my family only.” I laughed when he scowled, but I saw a looming presence headed our way.
“Ten points from Gryffindor for distracting Miss L/n.” Snape walked away as quickly as he arrived, and George’s classmates groaned. Fred grinned.
“So, how did you choose the three people?” I asked, preparing the potion ingredients.
“Tell me how you did the spell and I will.” George tapped his nose.
“No way. I don’t care that much. I think I’ll go tell Snape that you’re in the wrong seat.” I went to stand up and George yanked me down.
“You do that and you’re dead. You’ll become the target of every prank we pull.” He glared at me and I laughed.
“Only kidding, George. Lighten up a little, anyone would think you’re related to Snape.” He scowled at me and I smiled, adding asphodel roots to the potion.
It was two days before my next prank. I had been practising this one like crazy, because levitation was hard enough when you weren’t levitating sixty plates at once. The other houses had done their first pranks throughout the two days, and meal times were the prime time. Every time we sat down for meals, students anticipated the prank, but never who it was for, and never what it was.
When we sat down for dinner, I fiddled with my wand under the table, practising that damn swish and flick. I piled some pasta onto my plate, and I scanned the table to make sure everyone had food on their plate.
“Wingardium Leviosa!” I muttered. The plates, sixty fucking plates, all flew up. The hall was filled with loud laughter and groans, and the Slytherins tried to reach theirs, which was settled above their heads. The plates only went higher, always just out of reach. Snape stood, and marched over to the table. The plates all moved towards Snape like he was a magnet. He was surrounded, and still out of reach from them. All we could see was a tornado of plates, no Snape.
“Oh my god!” Astoria squealed, and I gasped with her.
“Where did he go?” I laughed and tried to peer through the tornado.
“Is he dead?” Shit, I fucking hope not. I moved the plates away, and they settled back on the table, in completely different spots.
“Who the fuck eats meatloaf?” I stared at the lump in front of me. Hmm, that would be a good prank.
“Just get a roll and put it in there. Tastes slightly more bearable.” Astoria had a tuna salad, that stunk.
“Tuna smells, but it doesn’t taste that bad. No, I am not swapping for your meatloaf.” I groaned, and poked the meatball with the fork. Snape slunk back to the teachers table, and that was the end of that.
George caught my eye when Astoria and I were leaving the Great Hall. He winked, and I winked back.
Two days later I had a new plan. This one, like the plates, didn’t involve one of the twins products. This was just me and my words. With the help of the house elves, of course.
I made up an excuse to skip our free last period, telling Tori I had to talk a professor. I didn’t say which one, and she didn’t ask. I went to the kitchens, and with a tickle of a pear I entered. House elves were bustling about, and I stopped one.
“Hi!”
When I left, it was with a smug smile and chocolate around my lips.
We sat down, the food already appearing. It looked delicious, as always. I didn’t quite know what to grab, knowing it all tasted the same. I decided on my usual, delicious cheesy pizza. I put on my plate, and filled my goblet with juice before hearing the shouts.
I feigned shock on the off chance anyone was looking at me, and I craned my neck to see the commotion.
Astoria spat out the pizza she had just taken a bite of, and took a gulp of her goblet.
“What the fuck is wrong with this pizza?” She looked so disgusted, and I laughed.
“What do you mean? I know you’re picky but damn, did you have to come after pizza? It didn’t do anything wrong-” She shoved her slice in my mouth and I groaned, biting down. It tasted like shit. Personally, I’ve never eaten shit, but it tasted like the scent of Astoria after she ate baked beans. I spat it out into my napkin, and almost threw up.
“Ew!” I didn’t realise it would taste quite as bad as this. The house elves had truly outdone themselves. With a flick of my wand the taste of shit was vanished from the food, and I picked up my pizza.
“Let’s try mine.” I took a bite, and the cheesy goodness overwhelmed me. I sighed in happiness, and practically shoved the slice in Astoria’s mouth. She glared at me as she chewed, but it turned into a dreamy look. I picked up another slice and took a bite. Delicious.
“Hey, it tastes good now!” Millicent Bulstrode, a girl a couple years below us, belted out. Everyone hurriedly took another bite, collective sighs of relief filling the room. Astoria and I shared relieved grins, and I wondered what the hell I could do top my previous pranks.
We heard the next morning on our way to breakfast. Roger Davies had been caught by Filch trying to slip frogs into the Ravenclaw’s breakfast! Pansy, a girl in Millicent’s year, spilled the news excitedly.
“Apparently there’s been a competition, it’s not just pranks for fun. I heard that two people from each house were chosen by the Weasleys to battle it out it pranks. See you!” She whisked off to spread the news to others, while Tori and I shared a look.
“This does sound very, how will I put it, Weasley.” I said, and Astoria laughed.
“True. I wonder who the Slytherin students are.” We looked around at the group that was with us, trying to figure out who it was. Or, in my case, trying to act like it wasn’t me. We reached the Great Hall, to see the Weasely twins with Roger at the front, talking with Dumbledore. That couldn’t be good. Tori and I took our usual seats, when Malfoy sat on the other side of me.
“Hey L/n.” I eyed him suspiciously.
“Morning Malfoy.” He gave me a small smile before turning to his friend on his other side.
“That was weird.” I murmured to Tori, who shook her head.
“He likes you. Godric, Malfoy likes you!” I laughed hysterically, choking on my orange juice. Tori was funny.
“I’m serious-“
“Attention, please. Could the two students from Slytherin and Hufflepuff involved in the Weasley twins, ahem, contest, please make their way to the front.” The hall fell silent, and I eyed the Hufflepuff table. Who was going to stand up? When Cedric Diggory, the dreamy curly haired boy stood up, I gasped.
“Where’s Slytherin’s competitor?” Tori glanced around the table, and when I stood up, she gasped.
“You bitch!” I hid my smile as I walked up, my cheeks burning red. This was so embarrassing.
“In case students were unaware, these three students recently undertook a challenge set by the Weasley twins. Best pranks win until someone gets caught. To determine who’s pranks were the best, the loudest applause takes the title of Vice Pranker. Applause for Davies.” The Great Hall erupted in chatter and claps, and I knew that it would be silent when my name was called.
“Diggory.” Hufflepuffs are loud, I’ll give them that. The screaming that was heard was deafening, and I grinned at Diggory. I never would have guessed him.
“L/n.” The Great Hall shook, and I covered my mouth. For what must have been the first time in Hogwarts history, Slytherin and Gryffindor were on the same side. Who would have guessed?
“Y/n L/n, I now pronounce you Vice Pranker. Will you please step forward and close your eyes to claim your prize.” My eyes searched Tori’s in the crowd, but I couldn’t see her. I stepped forward hesitantly, closing my eyes. I heard shuffling, and when lips met mine, I opened my eyes. George stepped back and grinned.
“Vice Pranker. Pleasure to meet you.”
66 notes
·
View notes
Text
On Your Shoulders
A very late birthday (might as well be a holiday gift) for @lemonfodrizzleart
I saw something and immediately went “That would be amazing with Jackie and Stan.” 10 internet points to anyone who guesses what it was.
Read it on AO3 or under the the read more.
Summary: Stan gains the eye of a visitor and Jackie has to save him.
Jackie slid to a stop at the edge of the forest and gathered all of her nerves. Ford and Fiddleford were still at the house trying to think of the best plan to save Stan but by the time any rescue robot could be built Stan would be gone.
Whisked away to where ever the hell faeries come from.
Hoping that that they hadn't made it too far Jackie ran full sprint into the forest. She dared any gnome or shadow creature to mess with her today. Her hunch could be wrong but she had a feeling the band of faeries that had kidnapped Stan were headed to that large ring of mushrooms Ford had found earlier in the week. That had been around with the new folks had shown up. For a guy that studies the supernatural he apparently couldn't tell someone was some sort of fae by looking at them.
Jackie had know something was up though. The head guy's movements were so graceful, Unnaturally so. He had a sharp wit and sliver tongue. At first there was a thought that it was just jealousy because of how obvious it was this guy was into Stan but she ignored the feeling. Now she wish she had gone after the guy with an iron horse shoe.She grew closer to the clearing and thanked whoever was listening that her hunch was right. There was the guy with his friends. He was leading a dazed looking Stan by the hand into the ring.
Now this was the part where the farm hand probably should have paused to think of a plan but the absolute fear at the idea of losing the love of her life drover her forward. With all of her might she crashed into the strange man with a scream.
The past few days felt like a blur to Stan. It started when this group of five guys showed up one evening. Weary travelers asking to stay in the barn for a night or two and willing working around the farm in exchange . Normally Stan wouldn't have felt comfortable with the idea. There was something about these folk that seemed a little off but whatever hesitations melted away as he listened to the leader of the group talk. He was tall with the greenest eyes Stan had ever seen. His dark hair reached midway down his back when it was not braided. Without really knowing why Stan found himself wanting to spend every free moment with this stranger. Something in the back of mind kept yelling at him that something was wrong. That he wanted to be with Jackie and his family but he couldn't fight it. He couldn't fight it as this man and his minions took what they wanted from the house. the group walked unopposed into the woods with several large bags of items that ranged from home spun yarn Jackie had made from the wool, several jars of homemade jam, some of Ford’s books, the good silverware, and the nice dress Jackie had sown for herself. As the visitor took Stan's hand and guided him through the words he whispered into Stan's ears. There were promises of riches and a life where he would be waited on hand and foot. All Stan needed to do was give his name. Give over his name and an eternity of comfort was waiting for him.
He wanted eternity with Jackie.
Even in the middle of the woods it was like he could hear her.
She was yelling. Why was she yelling?
Wait was that a yelp of pain?
The haze lifted. Fear and anger gripped him and he spun to see this random weirdo tossing a frantic Jackie off of him and tumbling into some roots. He began to walk toward her. Instantly Stan lunged but was held back by two of the others who suddenly looked a lot less human than they did a minute ago. Ever the fighter Stan took the heel of his boot and kicked back hard getting one in the shin. With the other he swung his head back as hard as he could and got them in the nose. Now free Stan charged towards the guy over Jackie but he just tutted and snapped his fingers. Vines erupted from the earth and ensnared Stan. With a roar he tore himself free of the earth but the vines clung tight around his arms in legs. A few frantic hops forward and Stan toppled to the ground.
The fae creature smiled at Jackie as she got to her feet.
“I’ve never met a human dumb enough to try something like that,” he said in a silky smooth voice.
“Yeah well you pissed me off!” She yelled back trying to hide the fear she felt shaking her to her core.
“How so?”
“The fae are tricky," Ford had said earlier this week. "Never be specific with them. The vaguer you are the better.”
“Oh you know why. You took my shit! I worked hard on a lot of that and God knows I’m not paid enough for it.” She tried to ignore the crestfallen look on Stan’s face. She refused to look at him. There was no way she was going to tip this guy off.
“Paid?”
“Yeah this yahoo is my boss.” If Stan was trying to pull this off Jackie bet that he wouldn’t feel so sick to his stomach like she did. He was a smooth talker. Charming. A lot like this guy but way less creepy.
“Tell you what human. Your antics amuse me and I wish to return home with my new consort as soon as possible. For your bravery...and to get you out of my hair how about this? You can have back whatever you can carry on your shoulders out of here. The items are just amusing trinkets after all.”
Jackie though for a moment then smiled.
“Whatever I can carry? Do I have your word?”
“You have my word.” She felt the fae’s words in her very bones and knew that some sort of deal was struck.
“Well alrighty then.”
Without another word she walked over to Stan who had struggled to a standing position. She looped and arm under his legs and balanced him as best she could on her back. With a deep breath she lifted with all of her might.
“Jackie stop! You’ll hurt yourself!”
“Babe just trust me here,” she said through grit teeth.
Slowly but surely she began to walk. Stan was heavy but that didn’t matter. If this had happened when she had first been hired on she might have been screwed but working on the farm had made her stronger. She didn’t spare the group of fae another look as she walked back to the edge of the forest. (Later Stan would tell her that the smug bastard who tried to take him seemed to be struggling between angry and impressed. Each of the guy's friends held their mouths open in shock. For once in what was probably a very long life the guy had been conned. Apparently as they walked out of sight Stan even flipped them off.)
Once the mushroom ring was out of sight Stan moved to get down but Jackie just clung tighter.
“No. I’m not dropping ya until we’re out of the forest.”
"But..."
"Stan I love you but shhhhh."
A moment passed in silence and Jackie sighed. Even on her back she could tell Stan was about to burst."What do you want to say?"
"Honey I'm so sorry. You know I would never want to leave you right? That guy out some sort of spell on me and I should've fought it harder. God you could have been hurt of killed and this is gonna break your back. I'm not wor..."
"Stanley Pines if you’re about to say you’re not worth it I will drop you on your head when we’re out of here!”
“Okay then I wont. But I will say the was reckless. I'll also say damn proud of you.”
“Reckless but makes me proud is a good descriptor for you too you know.”
Stan chuckled a bit at that. Jackie could see the edge of the forest. Her back ached and her legs burned by this point but she could do it.
“Besides. You’ve rescued me from enough weird shit ‘bout time I...rescued...YOU!”
They two of them crossed the treeline and the moment Jackie felt free she tumbled. They both ended up flat on their backs. Stan scrambled to get himself free if the vines and next to his love’s side. He smiled as he wiped the sweat off of her forehead.
“You’re amazing you know that? Even when I was under that creep’s spell I was still thinking about you. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Gently Stan scooped the aching woman off the ground and into his arms. He was saying something about a chiropractor but Jackie was so exhausted she started to drift missing most of what he was saying. What she didn’t miss with the frustrated but amused fae watching them go from the edge of the woods.
Just like Stan she flipped him off until they were out of sight.
( Ford later puts wards around the farm which come and handy later when a pretty woman comes across Jackie and Stan working in the field and both of them go gaga for a minute. Ford ends up dragging them away from the bemused fae women muttering under his breath.)
#Gravity Falls#Fanfiction#Mystery Farm AU#attempted faenapping#My writing#stanxjackie#apparently all#my brain can do#is short stories right now
24 notes
·
View notes
Note
Obanai/reader/mitsuri + 11? 👀 Poly rules
anon, thank you for doing me a solid by requesting this pairing skfjdk this is related to my earlier post about obanai and the reader lowkey fighting over mitsuri’s affection, with some changes, as will become obvious!
“So.” Your lips purse, but apart from that, your expression shifts very little. You don’t want to show your true emotions in front of your present company. “Congratulations on the new relationship.”
Mitsuri cocks her head to the side. “Eh? How could you tell? Neither of us said anything!”
“You aren’t exactly subtle, Kanroji. You were clinging to Iguro the entire Pillar meeting.” Your gaze shifts to the man in question, who regards you coolly. “Also, he has a faint lipstick mark on the collar of his haori.”
Mitsuri’s cheeks turn rosy. Your chest constricts at the sight. “I hadn’t even realized!” she exclaims, before turning to him. “Sorry, Obanai-kun! The stain should come right off after a wash!”
His eyes soften upon settling on her form, as they always do. “It’s alright. Don’t worry about it…Mitsuri.”
(Obanai-kun. Mitsuri. They’re on a first name basis now. Of course they are, they’re together. Still, your throat grows tight at the realization.)
You resist the urge to mutter something biting under your breath, about how he probably realized the mark was there but didn’t rub it off. No doubt he knew your sharp gaze would notice it. He must be preening inwardly right this second.
After over a year of silently contesting over the woman, Obanai succeeded. He won her affections. You wonder if Mitsuri knows about your feelings. She may be the Love Pillar, but she has no idea how many demon slayers swoon over her. Including two of her fellow Pillars.
Not that it matters. You don’t want to come between them, not anymore. She chose Obanai. You’ll respect her wishes. “I’ll take my leave now. I have…matters to attend to.” Obanai raises a skeptical eyebrow, but you don’t meet his gaze. You just want to retreat and lick your wounds in private.
Before you can make your escape, Mitsuri grips your sleeve. “Actually, we were hoping to speak to you! Do you have time to spare right now?” Her wide, earnest eyes almost bore into your own.
You want to say no. You should say no. “I suppose,” you say instead. You’re still weak to her charms. You can’t even bring yourself to regret it, because she beams at your response.
“Great!” she says. She links arms with you and Obanai, tugging both of you along. Immediately, your eyes flash to Obanai. He only stares straight ahead, the lower half of his features hidden by bandages.
Usually he’d be glaring daggers at you for daring to touch Mitsuri, even if she initiated contact first. Though you had noticed that, lately, he hasn’t been as rude towards you. Had he known that Mitsuri returned his feelings all this time? Your free hand clenches into a fist.
Mitsuri leads you into a nearby garden, releasing both your arms. The three of you stand in a lopsided triangle. How fitting. You only acknowledge the female demon slayer. You don’t think you can face Obanai right now, not with your current mindset.
Thankfully, Mitsuri doesn’t seem to notice your aggravation towards the Snake Pillar. She’s too busy wringing the hem of her skirt, pink dusting her cheeks.
“I’m not sure how to say this…” she says, her gaze trained on her feet. You furrow your brow, confused by her sudden bashfulness. She takes a deep breath before looking at you from beneath her eyelashes. “I know. About your feelings for me. A-And how you and Obanai-kun were, um…”
You suck in a breath. You’d be less surprised if she had punched you. You turn to Obanai. He’s watching you, silent. Just the sight of him has you trembling with rage. “It was you, wasn’t it?” you hiss. “You told her. Is getting her not enough, you bastard?”
You step into his space and grip his collar, bunching the material in your fist. His snake, Kaburamaru, is jostled by the movement; it appears disgruntled, but doesn’t move to bite you, so you ignore it. Obanai, meanwhile, doesn’t seem concerned by your fury. The fucker has the audacity to roll his eyes.
Before you can curse him out further, or punch him in his smug face, Mitsuri grasps your wrist firmly but gently. “Sorry! It’s my fault!” she says. “I didn’t phrase that properly! I-I’m a little flustered.”
You have no idea what the hell is going on. “Over what?”
“I…I feel the same way you do,” she says quickly, her eyes squeezed shut.
You stare. You’re still gripping Obanai’s collar, Mitsuri’s fingers encircling your wrist. Seconds tick past. “What.”
Mitsuri opens her eyes, one at a time, to look at you. Her entire face is flushed. She’s at a loss for words, just as you are.
“You are so dense,” Obanai snaps. You turn away from her to gape at him. “She’s trying to tell you that she returns your feelings. Get your wits about you and respond properly.”
You must be dreaming. Or hallucinating. That is the only explanation.
You look over to Mitsuri, gobsmacked. She shyly meets your gaze and nods, verifying the Snake Pillar’s blunt words. Your mouth opens and closes, before you manage to croak, “I thought you didn’t want me.”
She shakes her head so vigorously, her braids slap against her shoulders. “I do! I have for a long time!” she says. “I-I just never thought that you would feel the same way. So, um…what do you say?”
Your heart is pounding against your ribcage. You have to tense your legs to stop them from shaking. “…O-Okay.”
Her features brighten with hope. “Really? You mean it?” Swallowing thickly, you nod. She squeals, darting forward and pressing a kiss to your lips. She pulls back before you’ve even processed what just happened.
Mitsuri kissed you. Not only that, but she did so in front of Obanai. Slowly, you turn towards the man, releasing your grip on his collar. Mitsuri keeps her hand wrapped around your wrist; your belly is as full of butterflies as Shinobu’s estate.
“You’re fine with this?” you ask him.
His look is intense. “I am.”
“After spending so long pining after her? You’re willing to let her go?”
He stills. Kaburamaru looks like it’s experiencing whiplash. “…Huh?”
You narrow your eyes. “The hell are you confused for? I’m the one who’s confused! Kanroji’s telling me that she likes me back, and you’re just letting me have her? But the two of you were acting so lovey-dovey the entire Pillar meeting, and you just admitted that you’re together. What’s that all about then?” You frown as Obanai and Mitsuri trade dumbfounded looks. “Well?”
Obanai stares. He pulls the bandages around his mouth down with one finger, revealing the lower half of his face. “You’re more of an idiot than I thought you were,” he deadpans.
Before you can respond, or attempt to throttle him, he grabs your collar, like you had moments prior. Then his mouth is on yours.
Your eyes bulge, your lips parting in shock. He takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth. His arm comes around you and crushes you against him. Strangely, you don’t even consider shoving him off you. You reciprocate his bruising kiss instead.
He’s surprisingly good at this, is all you can think. Alongside, What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.
By the time he moves back, his grip around your waist is the only thing keeping you standing. You brace yourself against his chest, blinking up at his mismatched eyes. Were they always so striking? Then you realize what you’re doing and break free of his embrace. He doesn’t try to stop you. You really shouldn’t be disappointed about that.
“Contrary to what you may believe,” says Obanai, his lips swollen and a flush high on his cheekbones, “I don’t hate you. I may have, at the start, but I haven’t felt that way in a long time.”
Stunned, you glance over at Mitsuri. She’s watching you with eager eyes, her hands clasped beneath her chin. “So?” she prompts. Obanai places a hand on her shoulder, which she leans into. “What do you say? Will you…join us?”
You're still reeling over the events of the past few minutes. It takes you some time to remember how to speak.
“Well fuck,” you say. “Alright.”
#kny x reader#demon slayer x reader#obanai x reader#obanai iguro x reader#mitsuri x reader#mitsuri kanroji x reader#kanroji mitsuri x reader#iguro obanai x reader#obanai x reader x mitsuri#kny scenarios#kny writing#kny headcanons#kimetsu no yaiba#iguro obanai#kanroji mitsuri#anonymous#m answers#m writes#i should probably keep this in my drafts#and write a bunch of scenarios/headcanons before posting them#but i'm too impatient to do that skfjdkfj
1K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
memeslr
Memes I Collected All Here
ventlantisworld
VentLantis☮💙✌
dist4nced
Untitled
old-deerstalker-hat
Everything Is Connected
karaula
- Aleksandar Karaulić -