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sparrowsingsstories · 4 months

Note

For the WIP title game, I'm curious about Trust Me (??) 😁

@alder-berry reminded me that this is a ficlet of a moment between my oc Levi and his oc Darcy - both men going to be featured prominently in my Sparrow fic as (eventually) romantic partners. I've included in below a cut for you!

The light was particularly soft and warm, like the weather that early summer evening. Jamaica Plains was blessed with a lot of positives for a settlement, but it still sat in a marsh and was plagued with humidity. But that day, the weather had been mild and warm and the humidity decent. A perfect night for Darcy to be in his bed.

Darcy.

He had slunk into his life like an abused dog, expecting nothing and asking for nothing more than a place to sleep. He always looked at the world from eyes shadowed and filled with distrust. Levi had seen him freeze in place, had seen him brace for a painful word or gesture. But he’d also seen bafflement and cautious relaxation.

Of course he’d been attracted to the dark eyed man. Of course he had come onto Darcy. Or maybe Darcy had come onto him. It was hard to say who had made the first move. What was certain was that both had wanted each other and after that first time, they had continued to want each other.

It was a simple arrangement, the kind Levi preferred. Anything more resulted in death and loss. He’d been there, he’d seen it, he’d lived it. Fall in love, become attached, and eventually the Institute would show up and take it from him. And all he’d be left with were corpses, injuries, and pain.

Of course, that was before Jamaica Plains. Before he’d made friends with people who could stand up against the Institute. People who cared about him. Even Bean, a synth with not a single violent tendency in their body, looked out for him.

Darcy lounged on his bed, languid and lazy, tanned skin shadowed in the falling light. His long black hair was hanging over his shoulder in a silken fall. Levi had the absurd wish he’d stay there in his bed. That he and Darcy were more than whatever they were. It wasn’t that Levi was in love. He wasn’t. At least not fully. Not with Darcy. With Darcy, he was falling into trust. Into companionship. Maybe that was love. Maybe? A kind of warm…something. It wasn’t what he felt for…for…

That was a feeling best left alone for now. He could bring it out tomorrow night when Darcy was curled up in bed with Sparrow and doing whatever it was the two of them did. He’d spend tomorrow night dreaming of Bean. And then the day after, he’d tease Darcy and Sparrow. He didn’t even think Darcy knew how he looked at her, or how she looked at him.

Sparrow and Darcy sitting in a tree, K-I-L-L-I-N-G.

It made him smile, which made Darcy waggle his eyebrows and beckon him to the bed.

Desire pooled low and warm. Heat and anticipation. A desire to kiss Darcy from toes to neck. To nuzzle and rub against him like a cat. To give and let Darcy take. Take. Take him. Give Darcy what he needed, what he wanted. To give himself what he needed and wanted.

He let his body go loose and liquid as he swayed to the bed and crawled to Darcy’s feet, kissing both ankles, then his shins, his calves, his thighs, his hips. He avoided Darcy’s erection in favor of licking up the line of soft hair to Darcy’s belly button. Gently pressing kisses to the mangled flesh there, licking over each ridge, aware that Darcy couldn’t feel much there. These kisses were more for Levi than Darcy. Soothing demonstrations that he wanted Darcy, as much of Darcy as Darcy wanted to give him.

Straddling Darcy’s slender hips, he smiled down into the meltingly handsome face. Darcy was so sensually pretty, so breathtakingly beautiful, that sometimes Levi’s breath caught. He leaned forward, his own blond curls falling forward to frame his blue eyes. Darcy pushed up and met him, his lips trailing over Levi’s cheek and towards his lips, skipping over his lips to press kisses over his other cheek.

Mouth kissing was a no no. Levi didn’t do it and neither did Darcy. Too intimate. Too permanent. Too…something. A step towards a real relationship. Levi didn’t know if he dared want that with Darcy. Or Bean. Or anybody. Not after his last partner had been killed by the Institute. Not after the last raid had left him injured and under the dead body of his Railroad Heavy, the safe house in his care ransacked, his charges returned to the Institute…another dead safe house, another dead Heavy, another scar from a courser weapon.

No, he and Darcy didn’t mouth kiss. At least…at least he didn’t think they did.

Darcy kissed back towards his lips and for once, he hesitated. His warm breath, scented with the tea he had had with dinner, covered his face. His lips were close to Levi’s. So close. A tantalizing tease.

Darcy’s lips quirked up into a knowing smile as he leaned a hair closer, his gaze intense. His tongue moistened his top lip.

Levi’s eyes closed.

Their noses bumped together.

And then, a hesitant press of lips, soft and gentle. Questioning. Questing. Asking.

Suddenly, possibilities flooded Levi. The trust he felt for Darcy was shockingly clear. His emotions flared hotly, like his desire, and he pressed into the kiss and opened to Darcy. There was a beat of hesitation and then Darcy’s hands were in his hair and passion took over as they tasted, nipped, strained against each other.

The kiss gentled. Softened. And then Darcy pulled back. Levi felt the loss acutely, and something on his face must have shown that because Darcy gave him a lopsided smile.

“Stay. Tonight. With me. Please.” Levi whispered, voice rough.

“I wouldn’t say no,” Darcy said.

A yes. He’d stay. Levi leaned forward to kiss him again and Darcy’s laugh was husky. And then Levi was being pulled down to the bed and he went willingly. Trustingly.

#ask #Maggie's Writing #Fallout 4 fic #Fallout 4 ocs #Levi Vargas #Darcy Gray #romance #a little risque #kissing #implied sexy times #romance and trust

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honeylikewords · 1 year

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cubs. (jack russell)

halloween brings all the little monsters out. aka, jack gets baby fever.

(warnings: mentions of pregnancy, planning for children, allusions to sex, descriptions of physical intimacy and making out, and jack smelling his wife, if that counts. nothing technically fully n/s/f//w//, but a bit saucy. word count 2.4k )

Jack’s head tilts sideways before the doorbell even rings, one ear higher than the other to catch something she can’t hear. He turns in his seat on the couch, arm strewn over her shoulder, to look behind them in the direction of the front door, tilts over, kisses her temple, and pops up in the seconds before the slightly-jarring “ding” echoes through the house. He’s already at the door, bowl in hand, beaming down at the gaggle of children and chaperones by the time she’s even stirring on the couch to come to join him.

“Oh, who do we have here?,” Jack coos excitedly, scanning the miniature crowd. “Are you the little one from--”

“Stranger Things!,” yells a small child in a pink dress, blonde wig askew, tendrils of the plastic hair stuck to their face. “I’m Eleven!”

“Yes, sí, can you do the--” --Jack sticks his hand out and makes a face, and the child eagerly matches him, giving him their best furious expression and most powerful psychokinetic pose-- “Yes! That’s so good!”

He quickly glances up at the three adults standing behind and asks if there are any allergies in the group (and there are none, thank goodness) as his wife comes to stand next to him, smiling at the Eleven who is now turning their powers onto their group of friends. Gesturing for the kids to bring their bags closer, Jack begins dropping generous fistfuls of candy into eagerly opened pillowcases and treat sacks, small hands darting out to show off the newest snacks to one another.

“Hey there, Mirabel,” says Mrs. Russell, waving at a young girl in a blue skirt and white t-shirt, sporting a giant pair of glasses and a pink flower in her dense curls. The little one is wrapped up in a purple puffer jacket on this cold October evening, and while it is a truth universally acknowledged that a big coat is the bane of Halloween costumes, the effect of her adorable smile and ‘Encanto’ printed trick-or-treat bag is more than enough to convey the essence of the character. “Is Uncle Bruno with you tonight?”

The girl shyly shakes her head and wrings the handles of her bag in her fingers but is smiling widely when Jack speaks a few quick words of admiration for her costume in Spanish and passes her a scoop of candy for her bag.

“I’m Ariel!”, adds a small child in a green tube skirt with flared tulle flippers sewn on, a purple strip of cloth tied around their tummy over a slightly off-skin-tone longsleeve tee.

“And I’m Harry Potter!” A wand is brandished at Jack, who puts a hand over his chest in shock.

“I’m Batman!” The petite hero jumps into a pose to show off the padding of his armor, his light-up shoes kicking to life and casting green flashes over the porch.

Jack turns to his wife and grins, gesturing enthusiastically at the crowd of kids. “I think these are the best costumes we’ve seen all night, no?” She nods, and the kids all let out little shrieks and giggles as Jack procures a few extra pieces from the bowl and adds them to their bags.

The chaperones guide the straggling children into a chorus of “thank you”s before shuffling them down from the porch, past the jack o’lanterns, and on to the next house, as Jack and his wife remain in the doorway. She leans her head on his shoulder and listens to him sigh sweetly, his eyes tracing over the sunset-lit streets swarming with seas of children and their families, all screaming and laughing over one another, racing past on the sidewalks, weaving in and out of lawns decorated with tombstones and inflatable specters, plastic skeletons and felted spiders.

“You know, at the rate you hand it out, we’ll be out of candy before the street lights come on,” she teases, nudging his shoulder. Jack chuckles and puts a hand on the small of her back, shrugging as he steers her back towards the couch.

“It’s Halloween, bebé; do you want us to be known as the stingy old couple, or the cool couple that gives out extra candy to the little monsters? Besides, that Mirabel, oh my God--”

“Total heart-melter,” she agrees, sitting and cuddling into Jack’s side as he hooks his arm back over her shoulders and pulls her body close. “I think between her and that four-month-old dressed as Grogu, we may have seen the two cutest costumes in all of North America today.”

Jack lets out a groan at the memory of the adorable baby, who he had greeted at the door with a delighted peal of laughter, and squeezes his wife tightly in his arms, as if hugging her in the baby’s stead. The abrupt squish pushes a small squeak out of her, and Jack giggles, bumping the blunt tip of his long nose into her cheek.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “You okay?”

His slight frame conceals a rather intense strength, something that comforts her, even if it still sneaks up on her every now and again that he is, in fact, as strong as he is; Jack’s touch is grounding and warm when so few things in the world are, and she’s glad, especially in the cold months, for the over-active heat of his body and the power of his embrace.

He traces the tips of his broad, tan fingers along the curve of her upper arm, pale nails leaving wake trails of gooseflesh and pleasant shivers. She realizes he’s waiting for a response before going any further with his affections, and she nods, cupping the square of his chin and running her thumb along his bottom lip. When his olive green eyes fix on hers, and his lips part to reveal the brightness of his smile, crooked to the left by the jut of his snaggletooth, she feels heat wash over her face and down her body, familiar and fluttering as he dips his face close and keeps her gaze.

“You know what I’m thinking?,” Jack purrs, voice dropping low and soft as he begins inching nearer. When he’s this close, his breath falls on her skin like a warm fog, sticking sweetly to her neck and cheeks, and the scent of him gets stronger.

He smells like their bed, she thinks. Cozy, fuzzy, and tinged with a modicum of not-at-all-unappealing sweat, there is also that distinct canine note that can only be detected in this kind of proximity. His arms are still wrapped around her, and one of his hands is coasting, flat-palmed, up and down the length of her side, following the curves of her ribs and belly, while the other finds itself resting on her shoulder, idly fingering an errant lock of hair. His face is so close to hers that she swears she could count each of his eyelashes, individually, and the hairs that form his growing stubble.

This Halloween, Jack has chosen to go as a vampire, which he thinks is exceedingly funny. Dark makeup rings his eyes and the grey in his hair glows almost blue in the low light of the fading day, lending him an unearthly quality that fits his costume well. The powers of the vampire, too, seem to be his: he has her under his thrall, certainly. His smile is mesmeric, and she can imagine that if a vampire were to look like him, there would be no end to the line of people willing to be bitten by that self-same smile.

“What are you thinking, Puppy?,” she asks, trying to redirect her own wandering thoughts. She scratches lightly at the underside of his chin and, on reflex, his head tilts up, eyes fluttering shut as a contented noise rumbles in the back of his throat. He’s so easy to please.

“I’m, uh--” He seems distracted by the sensation of her scratching at that Just Right spot between the back of his ear and the crook of his jaw, a distraction that only worsens when she begins scratching the hair at the nape of his neck. “I was going to say that I… I was thinking we…”

His hands lie still on her, twitching every now and then when she finds a particularly pleasing spot to scratch, and she relishes the sensation of being the one who now has her beloved under her own thrall; Jack leans his head into her touch and follows the motion of her hands, chasing her attentions. A sigh leaves his lips and he unclenches his shoulders, melting into her as she leans back against the armrest of the couch and Jack follows, laying his head on her chest.

His weight is surprisingly heavy atop her as he lays himself on her belly, slotting between her knees and positioning himself for ease of scritching. He’s not a big man, by any means, but there’s a density to him, and she’s feeling it now as he presses her into the couch with his body.

She pauses her petting briefly as she adjusts to the new position, and her hands still in his hair, which causes a growl of displeasure to part his lips. At that, she looks down at him and sees one green eye peering up at her (the other still shut and squished into her chest), and sticks her tongue out at him before continuing the strokes to his salt-and-pepper pelt.

It’s rather soothing, playing with his hair like this. There’s a therapeutic element to the combination of his body weight, intense warmth, rhythmic breathing, and the texture of his hair under her fingers, and she lets instinct carry her, as salient thought drifts away into the blissful mist of repetitive motion and familiar feelings. She traces the lines of his scalp, watching his black and grey and still, sometimes, brown hair forest up around her fingers, content to just match the tide of his breaths with her own, their ribs pressed together and expanding in synchronicity.

After a moment, Jack stirs. Turning, he cranes his face so that he can look at her squarely, and she feels the irresistible magnetism of that green gaze tugging her deeper into his spell.

“I want to try for one of our own,” he says, shattering the stillness like a foul ball through plate glass. “Tonight, if you’re ready.”

It takes her a second to blink away the haze that had settled around her head, and when she does at last manage to, she finds herself staring down into Jack’s face, taking him in with utmost fascination. If she heard him clearly, and she believes she did, he asked her--

“A baby, by the way. In case I wasn’t clear.” He flashes her a smile and a breathy laugh, and he pats her side playfully. “I’m sure you could figure that out, amorcita, but I like to be direct.”

“Oh.”

It’s all she can think to say: not because she is unhappy, or undesiring of the same things, but simply because the effect of Jack Russell, staring up at her with his big, moss-colored puppy eyes, brazenly stating that he wants to try and conceive with her, is flooring. He pushes up on his forearms, and suddenly he is above her, his face lit starkly by the shadows of the setting sun and the television, marking him out in black and white. His eyes glow, even in the darkness.

The wolf’s smile slips into his features as he stares down at her, watching her reactions with delight. He can hear her heartbeat, she knows, smells the minute shifts that not even she is aware of. He knows her, inside and out, and surely knows which way she is swayed, but he waits patiently for her to give him a sign, a command, an enthusiastic yes or a firm no. He won’t move without her urging.

She cups his face and lets out a shaky, excited breath, one that shivers in her sternum and makes Jack grin. There’s that crooked canine of his, sharply glinting in his smile, and she trembles joyfully at the sight, wondering if their child would have their father’s snaggletooth. She hopes they do.

“Tonight,” she repeats. Jack’s eyes widen.

Gently, she tugs him down and presses his pouty lips to hers, and the dam breaks. Jack lets out an inhuman groan of delight, dropping his center of gravity low to lean into the kiss, and uses his blunt incisors to pull at her bottom lip, nipping and sending the wet, lapping sounds of kissing echoing through the room. He uses one hand to hold her jaw in place, then begins trailing kisses down and around her chin, working his way to her throat.

“Look so pretty in your costume,” he rasps, voice low and clouded. “‘S hard for a man to keep his hands to himself.”

Before she can snidely remark that he, in fact, has not been keeping his hands to himself for almost the entirety of the evening, Jack sinks his teeth into her neck: not hard enough to wound her, but certainly hard enough to make her forget every other thought, her mind now focused completely on the reality that her husband is leaving marks all across her throat.

“You smell,” Jack groans, “So good. And, oh, God, when you have our cubs…”

He pushes his face into the crook of her neck and inhales, a series of Spanish and English curses flowing from his lips as they wander across her skin, and his hands begin rucking up the bottom of her blouse when--

“DING.”

Jack’s head whips up, and the two of them stare with wide eyes at one another. His face is flushed a deep umber and his lips are shiny, hair a fluffed mess, and she can only imagine she looks even more sordid and knocked askew. They exchange a communicative glance before the doorbell rings a second time and Jack, ever the gentleman, kisses her forehead, rapidly apologizing.

“We’ll get back to this, querida, I promise, I swear, I want to--”

She waves him off with a smile, and sees him bolt for the door, candy bowl in hand. He throws it open with gusto, and as she watches, she sees the transformation come over him; the brightness in his eyes, the giddiness of his smile, the sincerity of his sweetness. He’s going to make a magnificent father. And she’s going to have a very, very happy Halloween.

#werewolf by night #jack russell #jack russell x reader #wwbn #wbn #marvel #(i also see people spell his name as:)#jack russel #jack russel x reader #i cant believe it a FIC and it's a slightly RISQUE one! (this is not permission for people to send me n...s....f.......w by the way)#i just am like. in a weird state and i thought married!jack and his spouse getting to do fun halloween kissing and having baby fever would #be cute and nice ghdkhgkalhgdkhg #original #it's a little short for me (i usually like to go about 5k or more?) but this is just a Test Run #if you guys want more jack lmk and i'll hopefully be doing other jack stuff for myself so :3 anyway its 3 am now gnight

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