#and spices up the original lines instead of just singing them the way they were originally | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

The Perfect Fit | Bucky Barnes x reader (part 2)

(part 1)

summary: after getting fitted by you, bucky’s going to try on the custom-made suits he’s bought. unless he makes his move now, he may not get to see you again, and he can’t let that happen.

word count: 6.5k

warnings: smut!!, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), a little d/s energy, mirror kink, stomach bulge kink, slight pain kink?, creampie kink, pussy spanking, light bondage, bucky being jealous

Bucky had a bone to pick with Tony, which was usually true but this wasn’t work-related for once. It wasn’t hard to find him in the same place he’d seen him last— eating his lunch in the kitchen, with Sam nearby chowing down on lo mein with a spring roll.

“Hey lefty, what’s cracking?” Tony greeted, mouth full but talking loudly anyways.

"I went down to that tailor you recommended—" Bucky began, but Tony was quick to interrupt.

"You went there? Dude, it's a really nice place, you can just call and she'll come to you instead, way more convenient."

"So now you say 'she'?"

Realization dawned on Tony’s expression. "Ahh, I get it. You're not used to a female tailor. Adds a little spice to getting fitted, huh?" he grinned, elbowing Bucky playfully.

Bucky’s throat felt a little dry when he heard that. "Don't tell me that's why you use her…"

"Hey now, I'm not a creep, I use her cause she's the best, and those house calls are great for discretion— you know, being a celebrity and all. The eye candy part is just gravy."

"Gravy candy sounds disgusting," Sam chimed in, missing the point entirely.

"Yeah, well, she mentioned some stuff that sure made you sound like a creep."

"Okay, well, you can't blame me for getting caught staring when I'm surrounded by fucking mirrors. Makes it hard to be stealthy."

"You could try not staring,” Bucky suggested flatly.

"Is that what you did?"

Tony smirked when Bucky failed to reply immediately. "Okay, so it's easier said than done,” Bucky admitted with a frown, “but still, I hope these house calls were strictly professional."

“What’s it to you, man? I think somebody’s jealous,” Tony purred.

“What? No, it’s not that,” Bucky denied.

“You love her,” Tony sing-songed, completely ignoring Bucky. “You looooooove her!”

"You are so immature," Bucky rolled his eyes, even though his heart was racing and he was pretty sure he was blushing.

"No, it's good for you! She's a catch, you're all brooding and stuff— maybe she can melt the Winter Soldier's frozen heart, hm?"

Sam laughed heartily. "Stark, you read too many comic books."

"You're saying you don't wanna see Icy Hot here shoot his shot with my tailor?" Tony asked, turning his attention towards Sam.

Sam pondered that, much to Bucky's dismay. "Depends. How hot is she?"

"Mega," Tony smirked confidently. "Legs for miles, and she wears these skirts that make her ass look—"

"I think I've heard enough," Bucky groaned. "I'm leaving. And don't ask when I'm going to see her again," he instructed, interrupting Tony just as he'd opened his mouth to speak, "because I won’t tell you.”

As Bucky left, he could hear Tony calling out into the hall: “But I’d be such a great wingman!”

Truth be told, Bucky had put off mastering the use of his smartphone. It wasn’t just that new technology made him feel old, but that he knew nobody would be calling or messaging him anyways; if the phone didn’t work, he would spare himself the embarrassment of waiting up for nothing.

But once he knew you were going to call? Suddenly, he was motivated to figure the sucker out.

A few hours later and now all he had to do was stare at it to make sure he wouldn’t miss you. Luckily, you didn’t make him wait too long. He recognized the number and decided to let it ring a few times before picking up, so it would seem like he had other things to do besides talk to you.

“Hello?” Bucky asked when he answered, so it would seem like he had other people calling him besides you.

You introduced yourself so formally that he was a little afraid that all that fun energy between you two would be gone. Thankfully, once he asked what you were calling about, you were back to being cheery and casual again.

“I was just calling to schedule when I could come by with your new suits!” you explained, sounding chipper.

His fingertips were a little tingly just from hearing you talk, nervousness making him antsy (in a weirdly good way).�� “I know you said it’s a one-person operation,” he responded smarmily, “but I figured you would outsource delivery.”

You scoffed, though it sounded more amused than irritated. “It’s not just delivery, I have to check the fit and make sure everything’s exactly to your liking.”

“Oh, well, I’m free all day tomorrow— and I think you already know my address.” Was it too forward? Too obvious? And why did Bucky spend half the time when he was talking to you second-guessing himself?

“Yes, Stark Tower is a relatively common destination for me. If he doesn’t mind us using it, Tony has a dressing room with plenty of mirrors so you can get a good look. But, I’d be happy to just go up to your quarters if that’s easier.”

He was not at all ready for you to see his room. No way he could clean it enough in the next twelve hours; and even then, lots of the team had made fun of how empty and plain it was, so he knew it would just make you think he was boring.

“I’m sure Tony won’t mind you using his dressing room, but he might mind me using it,” Bucky chuckled.

“Well, if he makes a fuss I’ll be sure to set him straight,” you decided confidently. Somehow, imagining you cursing out Tony was almost hotter than imagining you doing anything else. “Be sure to bring down your dress shoes so you get the full look and everything.”

“Uhhh…” he trailed off as he scratched the back of his head, trying to remember if he owned anything other than combat boots. “Not sure I still have those, to be honest.”

"Okay, you'll need shoes too,” you noted aloud, your voice a little distant; he figured you were writing things down, which was why you sounded distracted. “What size are you?"

"Thirteen."

"I'll bring a selection tomorrow,” you announced firmly. “And socks, of course. And some watches, maybe? And pocket squares."

"Is that it?" he asked sarcastically.

“Oh right, I’m bringing the ties you picked out, too. I’ll throw in some alternates in case your original choices don’t match the way you were hoping.”

“You really are full-service,” he chuckled.

“I get that a lot,” you replied, a hint of coyness to your tone.

There it was again; that jealousy. He hated it because he knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop it either. As much as his mind was completely aware that you were an independent, modern woman capable of handling herself, his heart was equally determined to protect you, and spoil you, and do whatever was necessary to make sure you were safe.

Worse, his gut was less innocent. Mine, it demanded, all mine. Nobody else’s.

He pushed it down and just tried to get through the rest of the call without saying something he’d regret. You confirmed the date and time with him, and he tried not to be too aggressive when he said he was looking forward to it.

He hung up his phone and sighed, staring off into space. Now all that was left to do was wait, and be overwhelmed with anxiety. Thankfully, he was good at the second thing.

"So, what do you think?"

I think you look so damn good from every angle. I think I might spend all my money on suits just to be sure I can see you again. I think you need somebody to love you the way you deserve. I think you’d look like an angel waking up in my bed.

You waved your hand in front of his face for a moment, calling his attention back to reality. “Helloooo?”

Drawn out of his trance, Bucky finally looked in the menagerie of mirrors surrounding him and admired his reflection, amazed by the perfect fit of his first suit. The difference in quality between this and something off the rack was beyond apparent. Most of all, your talent was undeniable. "I think it's beautiful."

You smiled proudly. "Of course it is, but do you like how you look in it?"

"Honestly? I feel a bit… out of place. I'm obviously not classy enough for a suit like this."

"Oh, nonsense," you dismissed.

He frowned, convinced this was all flattery. "No, seriously, this is… maybe I should just wear tactical gear to every event."

"Well, you'd still look good, but you're not always a soldier. Sometimes you're only a man. And every man should own a fine suit."

It was much too profound of a thing to say while you casually straightened his jacket, only to pop out from behind his reflection to smile at him in the mirror.

“Let’s get the next one on you,” you decided, helping him lose the jacket but having him move into a private dressing room to switch trousers and shirts. “I put a turtleneck in there instead of just a regular button-up,” you explained through the door as he changed, “in case you wanted to see it that way.”

Once he’d put it on, he stepped back out and you were looking at him so proudly— well, you were looking at your handiwork with pride, really, but he could pretend it was for him and hope actually impress you that much one day.

“I went with a shawl lapel on this one, as opposed to the last one which was notched,” you explained as you traced the line with your finger. “Spoiler: the next one has a peak lapel. But enough about that one: what do you think of this one?”

“This looks like something my friend Sam would wear,” Bucky decided as he looked at himself in the cranberry suit and black turtleneck. The shoes you’d had him try on with this were intricate as well, with subtle stitching in the leather and a shine so immaculate he could almost see a reflection in them.

“Well, is your friend Sam stylish?” you asked.

“He would certainly say so,” he smirked.

“I’m inclined to agree, because you—” you gave him a thorough glance up and down, so thorough in fact that he felt a bit exposed under your gaze, “—look marvelous.”

“Not pretentious?”

“No, no, it works on you,” you assured, “you’ve got the looks for it.”

“And what looks are those?”

“Um… good? Good looks?”

He definitely remembered a time when that seemed like the obvious answer, because he had relied on being good-looking for a lot of things in life, but that felt very far away now. Maybe it was just that people who didn’t know what he’d done could still think he was good looking, but everyone else saw the evil within beginning to leak out the way that he did.

But you knew what he’d done, didn’t you? You had to. You knew Tony, you were here at the Tower… unless you were intentionally not up-to-date on current events, you must have heard of the Winter Soldier.

“Don’t act so surprised,” you huffed, “as if it’s a big secret or something. You’re obviously very attractive.”

Bucky cleared his throat nervously. “Uh, thanks.” He wanted to return the compliment, but thought it might be inappropriate or rude somehow. You broke the silence quickly as you held up two pocket squares in front of him.

“Which of these do you prefer?” you prompted. He selected the solid gold one, making you smile. “I knew you’d pick that one.”

“How?”

“I dunno, just fits you,” you shrugged as you folded it and gently placed it in his pocket. Even through so many layers, your touch on his chest made his heart flutter. Your fingers brushing over his as you slipped a watch onto his wrist was enough to cause palpitations.

He looked better in this ensemble than he expected. This version of himself looked much more likely to be invited to parties than any other version. If only he actually wanted to go to parties.

You put him in the pinstripe suit last, after putting a few pins in the cranberry suit to indicate minor changes you would make later, and stepped back to ponder your work.

"Hm, unbutton those top two buttons for me?" you requested with a raised eyebrow.

I will if you do, he thought to himself, but silently unbuttoned his own shirt anyway.

"I mean, it definitely works like this, but I wanna see you in a tie. And I've got juuuuust the one," you smiled. Soon you were approaching him with a red paisley tie, and helping him button up his shirt and tying the tie for him— you explained something about how it was a unique knot he likely couldn't do himself, but he was too lost in having you so close to notice. It would be so easy to just reach up and grab your waist, pull you into a kiss, finally tell you how bad he wants you.

Well, it would be physically easy, but it would be very scary. Just imagining it had his heart racing.

“I heard from Tony this morning,” you informed him suddenly, slipping the tie around his neck and popping his collar up for him.

“Really? Is he in need of a wardrobe update?”

“Yes, but he hasn’t realized that yet so that wasn’t what he called about.”

He laughed a little at the jab, though it also made him a little worried what secret opinions you held about his own style (or lack thereof).

“We talked about you, actually,” you added.

“O-oh,” Bucky stammered, “uh, he’s not exactly my biggest fan. So whatever he said probably isn’t true.”

“He said that you have a crush on me,” you replied nonchalantly, not even looking up from your work on his tie.

Bucky gulped, and he knew you saw the bob of his Adam’s apple because you were staring right at his neck.

“Like I said, Tony isn’t a very reliable source,” Bucky replied, but his voice cracked in the middle and he cringed internally.

“I’ll write it off as another one of Tony’s off-color jokes then,” you dismissed, perfecting the knot of his tie and stepping back to observe him. He always felt nervous when you looked at him like that, like he couldn’t hide anything from you.

“What… what did you say, when he told you that?” Bucky asked nervously.

“I asked him what he was smoking and if I could have some,” you laughed. “I thought it was totally impossible— and don’t worry, I didn’t tell him that you got hard when I did your inseam.”

Bucky’s throat became dry at the same moment that his palms got clammy.

“I— um, I was just—”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you dismissed quickly, still talking about this all so casually which only made him even more confused, “you’re not the first, it happens.”

“I’m not the first?!”

“Yeah, if anything you were one of the few who didn’t say something creepy about it, which is always appreciated. It’s just a bodily reaction, you can’t control it.”

“Did Tony ever say something creepy?” Bucky pressed, his hands involuntarily tightening into fists— another bodily reaction he couldn’t control.

“You know, Tony said you were really worried that he had been inappropriate with me, or even that he and I had a fling or something,” you added as you stepped back, giving him a quizzical look, “and now it’s sort of sounding like he was right.”

“No, no, it’s not that, I just—”

“Was he right about anything else?” you pressed, raising an eyebrow.

“I was being nosy, I’m sorry,” he sighed, “it’s just that… and I know it’s none of my business, but the idea of him and you… it isn’t a pleasant mental image.”

You laughed a little, in a way that made him feel kind of small. “Why not? You know how he is. Definitely has a wandering eye… and occasionally a wandering hand.”

Bucky winced. “I swear, if he ever put his hands on you, I’ll go find him right now and beat him senseless.”

“What if I wanted him to?”

He nearly saw red, but he knew he had no right to be angry. You were a grown adult and he had no ownership over you… he just sort of wished that he did.

“So it’s true then? You and him…?”

“No, Bucky,” you laughed, “it’s not. Nothing’s ever happened between us. I generally don’t get involved with clients like that.”

“Generally? Is there an exception?”

You chewed your lip, seemingly a little thrown off by his question. “Uh, I mean, no— I’ve never been involved with a client, no, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Why would you say ‘generally’ then?”

“Uh, I guess I just… I wouldn’t want to rule anything out, that’s all. Never say never.”

And for a moment he almost wondered if you were flirting with him. Certainly not, with him having come across as both a jealous hot-head and a bumbling dweeb who pops a boner faster than a randy teenager, but just for a second the way you looked at him was… questionable.

“I mean, who knows,” you continued, “what if, hypothetically, some gorgeous guy walked into my store one night— a sensitive guy, who made me laugh and put up with me rambling about ties for the better part of an hour— and I was supposed to dress him up when all I wanted to do was undress him?”

Your finger started to trail down his chest lightly, tickling his skin through the dress shirt.

“I wouldn’t want to think he was off-limits just because he’s a customer… right?” you asked quietly, looking up at him and biting your lip.

He was afraid to make the wrong move, but he really really hoped this was flirting.

“I don’t think anyone would object to being dressed or undressed by you,” Bucky responded, hoping he could stay neutral until he was sure what you were talking about.

You chewed your lip, looking away as if you were thinking about something.

"I know I certainly haven't. And wouldn't," he added, feeling the need to say something.

You nodded, placing his tie inside his jacket and seeming happy with your work.

“You know, the fit looks great," you announced, "but I’m a little worried that one of the measurements was wrong. Mind if I do your inseam again?”

His throat was dry all of a sudden, but he responded quickly anyways. "Uh, go ahead…"

You looked up at him as you started to sink to your knees, very slowly. That little move looked real good in the mirror behind you. “Last time I did this, there was something getting in the way, made it difficult to know if I was doing it right…”

"M-my apologies," he whispered.

"Oh no, I'm not complaining," you purred as you slowly began to run your fingers up the side of his leg, keeping searing eye contact until his knees felt a little weak.

When your hand reached the top of his inner thigh, the back of it brushed against his balls and he shivered. Delicately, and so excruciatingly slowly, your hand moved higher and gently rubbed his erection through the fabric.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath.

It must have been all the anticipation that made it so intense, made shivers run up his spine every time your hand moved over his length, made his toes curl inside the ridiculously fancy shoes you’d put him in.

“I’m gonna take it out now, okay? I promise I won’t measure you here,” you winked.

"You can if you want," he shrugged, deciding now was the time for feigned confidence if there ever was one. “I mean, if you’re worried about fit…”

You bit your lip, and he was proud to see the effect his words had on you. “I’ll be honest, I am a little worried it won’t fit…” You were quick with his belt, but slow with his button and fly, apparently having more fun teasing him. “Fuck, Bucky,” you groaned softly as you took his cock out.

“Don’t look so excited, doll, you’ll give me an ego,” he purred.

“Can’t help it,” you sighed, “looks delicious.”

You licked a long wet stripe up from the bottom all the way to the tip, making a show of licking up the bead of pre-cum before taking his head into your mouth, and Bucky blinked a few times to be sure that this was actually happening.

"Been wanting to do that since I first saw you," you admitted, grinning as you stroked him right beside your face, which only helped to illustrate how big he was compared to you.

"Dirty girl," he praised with a smirk.

Flirting, he wasn’t so good at. Conversation in any form typically stressed him out. But this? This he was still pretty good at. And he’d never wanted it so bad before.

When you took him in your mouth again, you didn’t stop until you started to gag; he couldn’t stop himself from moaning through his teeth when you did it.

"Look up at me, princess," he instructed softly, grinning when you obeyed quickly. "Now look over there at that mirror. Look how good you look on your knees for me, choking on my cock."

You moaned around him when you made eye contact with your own reflection, and it felt so fucking good he almost lost it right then and there. He held your jaw, almost too tightly, and guided you as your head bobbed on his length. Your mouth was so warm he thought he would burn up— and it only got warmer the deeper he managed to get. God, he was so ready to pump his load right into your throat, but he wanted to do so much more to you first.

In one quick motion, he pushed you off of his cock, pulled you up to face him, and flipped you around, holding you to his chest with the metal arm and letting the flesh one start rubbing your thigh. This way, both of you were looking at the mirror in front of you, and he loved watching you gasp and moan as you felt and watched his fingers move higher and higher.

“I think it’s time to find out if you really are ‘full-service’,” he purred right against your ear, making searing eye contact with you in the reflection. “You’ve seen so much of me, but I haven’t seen nearly enough of you yet. Been daydreaming about what you could be hiding under these tight little skirts.”

As he pulled up the plaid-patterned fabric, he saw that you were wearing white, lacy panties and he groaned deeply.

“What are you wearing these for?” he teased, rubbing along the edge but never getting where you wanted— and he knew you were getting desperate, because your hips were starting to buck up into his hand. “Were you expecting something would happen today, sweetheart?”

“I— I was hopeful,” you stammered; instantly, he slapped you right on your barely-covered pussy, just hard enough to make you yelp and squirm in his grasp.

“You’re so shameless,” he chuckled darkly, “and I love it. I just hope this isn’t your usual routine— acting all innocent and batting your eyes so your clients will fuck you.”

“No, I swear, it’s just you, Bucky,” you whimpered, “there’s nobody else, please…”

“Please what? Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to… to touch me more,” you whispered, as if it was a secret and not patently obvious.

He slipped two fingers underneath the thin fabric, finding your clit right away (not difficult at all with how swollen it was) and rubbing it in gentle circles.

“Oh god,” you sighed, “Bucky…”

WIth his hand on your hips, it wasn’t hard at all to push you back into him so he could rub his aching cock against you.

"What material is this skirt made of?"

"It's a silk blend," you answered breathlessly, "about 30% cotton."

"It's soft," he purred before yanking your skirt up higher and pressing his cock against your ass instead, "but not as soft as you."

Next to go was your blouse, which he tore open to the sound of buttons flying every direction and bouncing off of the mirrors and floors.

"Bucky!" you yelped, but he could see your nipples harden through the lacy white bra. If there was any doubt that you had intended to seduce him today, the matching undergarments dispelled it.

After teasing your nipples between his fingers for a moment, he reached back down between your legs— and when his fingers slipped through your folds and moved down to your opening, he actually moaned just from how wet you are.

"Fucking hell," he growled, "you are drenched, princess. You liked sucking me off that much?"

"Not just that," you clarified, "you look really good in my suits."

He gave you a toothy smile in the mirror, using it to nibble on your ear a bit. "You deserve most of the credit for that," he purred.

"No, no, I don't," you whined, "you'd look sexy in a paper bag, honestly… you turn me on so much, Bucky."

“Did you… think about me? After I left your shop the other night?” he asked playfully, already foreseeing your answer from the way your thighs clenched and your lips let out the subtlest gasp.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“You’re smart enough to know I want you to be more specific than that,” he chuckled.

“I thought about you that night… after I got into bed…” you elaborated slowly, clearly distracted by the way he was moving his fingers: delicately, but with obvious intentionality. “I thought about what it would’ve been like if you had grabbed me and kissed me, shoved me against the wall, fucked me right there on my desk… in front of the glass wall, where anyone could’ve walked by and seen you claim me…”

His cock was throbbing, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the image itself or from the knowledge that you’d been fantasizing about it. “Were you touching yourself?” he growled.

“Yes,” you sighed, your thighs starting to visibly shake, your knees bending towards each other in the mirror.

“Show me how,” he demanded. “Show me exactly how you were playing with your needy little pussy while you thought about me.”

Your hand found its place on top of his, your fingers starting to move his to the specific place, guiding his movements to be faster and rougher.

“Oh, I see,” he grinned, “you don’t like to tease yourself, do you? You like to jump right into it, come as many times as you can and rub yourself raw in the process?”

You nodded feverishly, panting and whining and writhing in his grasp.

“You’re so desperate, honey… such a shameless cockwhore for me.”

“For you,” you repeated through your trance, “Bucky, ‘m close… keep touching me, please…”

He kept his thumb on your clit but gently slid one finger inside you, both of you gasping at the sensation (if for different reasons).

“So tight,” he hissed, already pulling it back out, “fuck, and just for one finger…”

“More, please,” you begged mindlessly.

“More? Sure you can take it?”

You bit down on your lip as you nodded, and he pushed a second finger in beside his first. He felt you struggling with it, both in your walls and in the way you winced a little, but you softly begged him to keep going so of course he couldn’t stop. You adjusted quickly, your wetness starting to run down his hand.

“Fuck me,” you whimpered, “now, please, can’t wait anymore.”

“Yes you can,” he encouraged, “and you will, cause I need to taste you first.”

Pulling his fingers out of you, he flipped you around again, finally kissing you the way he’d been dreaming of since he first saw you. It was intense but not too dominating— in spite of everything. It was a romantic sort of kiss, maybe too romantic for the situation (that being his cock out and hard and pressed against you, and his fingers covered in your arousal) but perfect nonetheless.

“That’s not what I thought you meant when you said you wanted to taste me,” you giggled when he pulled away.

“No, I meant it the other way,” he smiled, “I just wanted to do that first.”

He picked you up suddenly, making you gasp a bit, but knelt down to lay you on the floor pretty soon after. You looked up at him with wide eyes as he lifted your leg and kissed his way up. He could smell your need, and he worried it would drive him wild before he reached his destination.

Pulling your soaked panties aside, he realized he could probably come just from looking at you. “Such a gorgeous pussy,” he growled his praise, leaning down to plant a few more teasing kisses over the inside of your thighs. Finally, he started with one long lick, just like you had with him, but you weren’t so patient to tolerate it. Nearly instantly your fingers pulled his hair, clearly trying to guide him to tease you less, but he couldn’t be swayed to go easy on you.

“I hope you’re not forgetting who’s in charge,” he smiled hungrily.

“And what if I am?” you returned, clearly looking to get on his nerves so he’d get rough with you. He was happy to oblige.

Bucky sat up and loosened his tie, slipping it off of his neck with a smirk. "Now, this is 100% Venetian silk, so it should feel nice around your wrists," he cooed. You offered your hands willingly, and he got a chance to show off a few complex knots of his own. "Now be a good girl and keep those hands above your head, alright?"

You did as he asked, freeing him to hold your legs open as he devoured you, alternating between teasing your bud with the tip of his tongue, and fucking you with it.

"You taste like heaven, doll," he growled when he came up quickly, "and the way you moan when my tongue's inside you? I swear I could die happy right now."

"I wish you wouldn't though," you whimpered.

He laughed a bit before he got back to it, letting his tongue focus on your clit while he filled you with his fingers again. Your walls clenched down on him occasionally, and when it became more frequent just as your moans became louder, he knew you were close.

"Stop, stop," you sighed suddenly, pushing him away.

"Are you alright?" he asked, nervous he'd done something wrong.

"No I'm fine, I just… I don't want to come yet. I want you inside me first."

"And what about what I want, hm? What if I want to watch you come just from my tongue?" he offered instead, though he was definitely still very persuadable in this regard.

"I know you wanna fuck me, Bucky, don't make me wait any longer,” you moaned, your back arching up a little from the floor.

Not needing to be told twice, he flipped you onto your elbows and knees, making sure you could support yourself with bound wrists before letting you go. His hands running over your exposed ass and thighs made you shiver, and he smiled down at you. At this point, he was probably more desperate than you were, but he was doing a much better job of hiding it, even taking the time to reach up and undo a few of the buttons of his shirt, because wow suits are warm and not meant for his level of physical activity.

Still, he figured he had waited long enough— he needed to fuck you while he still had at least a shred of patience left. He was going to need it if he was going to give you time to adjust to him.

Holding his cock and rubbing it through your folds, he chuckled when you whined and dropped your head down in a pout. He loved watching your expression shift into a gasp as he pushed in.

He went slow, but he didn't stop either. He wanted to test you just a little. He wanted to stretch you open.

"Fuck," you cried, "god, you're so… you feel so…"

"Look in the mirror," he instructed coldly, although the coldness was just a front for the way he was holding himself back as your body swallowed him so beautifully.

You moaned again, higher-pitched and weak, just as he finally got all the way in. He waited until he felt your body relax a bit before he asked if it was okay for him to move yet. You answered with a quick nod, a breathy "please," and he didn't need any more encouragement.

It was probably too fast to start off with, but god, he'd been waiting so long to fuck you like this.

"Baby," he whispered, "you're so perfect."

He held you steady and thrusted deep, so deep that it made you gasp each time. You looked incredible, and you felt incredible, but the way you sounded was just… divine. He could never have imagined the beautiful way you would sound when he was bringing you pleasure like this. Having heard it, he wanted to make you sound like this as often as possible from now on. Technically he couldn’t even be sure he’d get another chance to, but surely sounds this perfect meant you had to be having a good time, right? Ideally a good enough time to call him again?

He was snapped back to focus when he saw your eyes flutter shut with pleasure.

"Don't look away from that mirror, honey," he growled, "don't close your eyes. Look how pretty you look like this."

He could tell you loved it from the way your channel fluttered and flexed.

"You like watching yourself get fucked, princess?"

"Yes," you sobbed as he grabbed your hips harder, hoping to leave a bruise, "it feels so good, Bucky, please don't stop!"

"I won't stop, pretty girl. Not until you cream on my cock," he grunted.

"Fuck, I'm close," you whined, "Bucky, I'm gonna come— oh god right there!"

And he was sure it couldn’t be fake from the way your body tightened and released so many times, the way you quivered and your breathing seemed to stop for a moment. Even though he could barely take it, he kept fucking you through it until you were shaking so violently that he worried about your health.

“You feel so goddamn good when you come, princess,” he moaned softly. “Tryin’ to milk my cock for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

You laughed a little, sounding exhausted, but as he kept fucking you he could feel how sensitive you had become. When he reached down to push your skirt back up to your waist after it had started to fall down a bit, he felt his own movements in your gut and it took so much not to lose his cool in that moment. Instead, he pulled your upper body into his so that you could see in the mirror the way your lower stomach was bulging a bit each time he pushed in all the way.

"F-fuck, Bucky," you whimpered.

"Anybody ever been that deep inside you before?"

"No, not even close," you moaned.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked gently, kissing up and down your neck slowly to match his lazy, teasing thrusts.

"A little," you admitted, "but it feels good. Don't stop."

He wasn’t so brutal with his thrusts, still deep but with a patient, measured pace. It staved off his orgasm a bit longer, and it made you moan all slow and throaty which was not better or worse than the needy, high-pitched moans, but enjoyably different. You didn’t sound as desperate anymore (probably because you’d already come), instead seeming relaxed and calm— if still arching your back and biting your lip nonetheless.

"I wanna come inside you," he whispered right against your ear; he could feel the way you shivered as a result.

"Please," you whimpered.

"Is that what you want? Wanna be full of my come?"

"Yes," you sobbed, "yes, please Bucky I need it so bad!"

"Fuck, gonna fill you up so good, doll," he promised gruffly. "Want me to make you mine, beautiful?"

He knew it was a risky thing to say, but his risks had paid off so far, and he wasn't in his most cautious mood.

"Already yours, Bucky," you sighed, "I'm yours, please come in me…"

It hit him suddenly when you said that, and harder than he expected. He hadn't come like that in… he hadn't come like that ever. He preferred not to think about the sudden, wavering moan he let out in that moment because he wondered if it sounded unsexy, but thankfully his mind was distracted by the overwhelming sensation of his softening, sensitive cock still within you.

He managed to maneuver you in the way he needed as he pulled out, leaning you back into him and holding your legs open to the mirror in front of you.

"Look in the mirror, sweetheart,” he instructed, his whisper a little labored as he was still catching his breath, “watch my come leak outta your pussy."

You seemed to be in awe of it, despite it being the obvious outcome of what had just happened. To be fair, he was in awe of it in a sense, too; a thick, slow stream of sticky white come dripping down from your swollen hole and onto the floor… it was mesmerizing.

Your body was limp in his arms as he finally allowed you to rest, your eyes falling shut as you melted into his embrace. He took a moment to untie your wrists, tossing the garment aside with an exhausted sigh. “Bucky…” you mumbled sleepily, apparently just to say his name.

“Was that… sort of what you were hoping for today?” he asked softly, kissing your temple.

“And more,” you giggled. “Oh my god, I… I don’t even know how to describe that… you’re so… fuck, I don’t know, my brain is totally jelly right now.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best way.”

He smiled, admiring your vacant-yet-pleased expression and feeling satisfied with his work. You turned over to lay your head on his chest, and he gladly draped his arms around you in response. Holding you like this felt so purely right, in a way so few things did to him. Funny enough, even just having fucked you on the floor and already holding you afterwards right now, he felt nervous again that he would say something wrong. You were a modern woman, after all, and maybe this was this ‘hook-up culture’ he kept hearing about.

“Was that true what you said, doll?” he asked gently, feeling you stir a little and slide a leg up to rest over his. “Did you mean it when you said that you were mine? Or was it just, you know, the heat of the moment…?”

You smiled a little, looking kind of embarrassed. “Um, yeah, I meant that… I’m yours, if you want me to be.”

He didn’t feel as guilty for feeling so possessive over you now. Clearly it was appreciated, in the right context. And he was now at least 75% sure that this wasn’t a hook-up. “Well, I’m yours, too,” he replied with a soft laugh, “whether you want me or not.”

“I want you,” you confirmed.

You laid in silence together for some unknowable amount of time, but it was a purely unawkward silence. A peaceful silence, and one filled with possibilities, but not uncomfortable. Maybe it was uncomfortable in the sense that the carpet, while still being very plushy and expensive, was still the floor and not as forgiving as a bed… but it was completely worth it.

Part of him feared to ruin the moment by speaking, but much more of him feared that you would slip out of his grasp if he didn’t say something. "This may be the wrong time to ask this— or maybe just the wrong order to do this stuff in— but I wanted to ask if you'd like to join me for dinner sometime."

You laughed, but cuddled deeper into his chest. "Um, yeah, that would be nice."

"I just hope I'll find something nice to wear," he grinned.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes headcanons #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

1K notes · View notes

secretkeeper13 · 3 years

Text

Wannabe

Summary: The Sixth Year Gryffindor boys discover the Spice Girls, but Harry only wants to be Ginny’s lover.

Yes, you read that right. This fluffy, kind-of-crack HBP missing moment was born from a conversation in the Hinny Discord (and my 90s tween years).

Content warning: If you aren’t into wank jokes, teenage boys shamelessly ogling pop icons, unfiltered Ron, and don’t agree that Sporty was the least attractive Spice Girl (apologies, Mel C), then this may not be the fic for you ;)

Since historical accuracy is paramount to this story (sarcasm), the magazine referenced in the fic is the March 1997 issue of The Face. Google it if you want to see the cover and photos (you know you want to).

Thank you @thedistantdusk, beta supreme, for editing and always encouraging my ridiculousness ;) Happy Thursday!

Read it below the cut, or on Ao3.

Harry flopped onto his bed, tired but pleased with how well the team was flying. At this rate, they’d have a fighting chance to win the cup against Ravenclaw, especially now that Katie was back. It’d been their best practice yet, although he’d been repeatedly distracted by Ginny, laughing at her antics, admiring the way her eyes blazed with determination just before she scored a goal, trying not to stare at her arse as she bent low over her broomstick.

“What’s that?” Ron said, jolting Harry from his thoughts.

Ron looked across the dormitory at Seamus, who sat on his bed staring intently at a magazine with Dean looking over his shoulder.

“See for yourself, mate.” Seamus smirked, holding up the magazine to reveal the cover, a Muggle photograph of five girls, all scantily clad in lingerie and extremely fit.

Harry sat up immediately for a better look. Even Neville, from his bed next to Harry’s, had his eyes glued to the cover.

Ron let out a low whistle. “Where’d you get that?” he asked, clamoring across the room to stand next to Seamus for a better look.

“Took it from my little sister over Easter hols and brought it back for Seamus,” Dean said, grinning. “Thought he’d appreciate it.”

“What’s your little sister doing with something like this?”

“Not what you’ll be doing with it later, that’s for sure,” Seamus said, making a rude hand gesture. Ron flipped him off as the rest of them laughed.

“They’re the Spice Girls,” Dean explained. “A Muggle singing group. All the girls are obsessed with them right now. Girl Power, you know?”

Harry didn’t know, but he decided he would very much like to find out as he walked over for a closer look.

“Fuck, they’re fit,” Ron said, looking over Seamus’ shoulder at the cover of the magazine.

Harry had to agree. There was a perky, smiling blonde, two brunettes in the middle with dark, shiny hair and sultry gazes, a redhead with great tits next to them, and a pretty girl with wild curls and tanned skin posed seated at their feet.

“And this is just the cover, wait ‘til you see the photos inside.” Seamus said, waggling an eyebrow.

“They’re everywhere right now- can’t turn on the radio without hearing their songs- they’re all over the telly too,” Dean said, as the rest of them continued to stare at the cover. “They go by nicknames, and the girls all have favorites.”

Dean pointed to the blonde. “This one’s Baby, there’s Sporty on her other side. The redhead is Ginger-“

“Original, that one,” Harry said dryly, and the others laughed.

Dean continued as the laughter subsided. “The one next to her with that stuck up look is Posh, and the one sitting down is Scary- she’s my sister’s favorite. I’m with her on that one.” He finished with a wink.

“Reckon Scary’s my favorite too,” Seamus said, his tone thick with bravado.

“No way,” Ron said, indignant, “that Posh one, she’s the fittest. Look at her legs.”

“Nah, she’s a bit too high and mighty. She looks like she’d always be telling you what to do,” Dean said.

“Just Ron’s type then,” Seamus quipped.

Dean and Seamus roared with laughter. Out of loyalty, Harry tried (but failed) to suppress his own laughter, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Oh, fuck off,” Ron replied, the tips of his ears red.

“What’s The Chosen One’s choice?” Seamus asked, turning to Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’d go with Ginger.”

“Oooooh, Harry picks the redhead,” Seamus said, eyebrow raised, exchanging a pointed look with Dean.

“Got a thing for gingers, do you then?”

Shit. Panic that his casual admission might reveal his most private, fiercely-guarded feelings about Ginny began to overtake him.

“Didn’t pick her for her hair color, mate,” Harry retorted, trying to sound flippant, as he gestured to her tits.

Seamus laughed and slapped Harry’s shoulder. Harry breathed a small sigh of relief, hoping that he hadn’t just made the fact that he fancied Ginny completely obvious. In truth, the girl did remind him a bit of Ginny- not just her hair color, but her build too, and something about the way she carried herself in the photo. He tried not to blush, though heat rushed to his cheeks. He stole a glance at Ron who, thankfully, was still gaping at the magazine and not paying attention to the exchange.

“What’s your vote, then, Nev?” Seamus asked.

Neville, standing next to Harry, his cheeks already pink, looked startled to be included. “Erm, she looks nice,” he said softly, motioning towards the blonde, “but they’re all good looking, really,” he added, his round face now flaming scarlet.

“Nobody for Sporty then?” Dean asked, laughing.

“Nah, who's picking Sporty over any of those four?” Ron said bluntly. “Let’s see what’s inside, then.”

The photo spread inside the magazine did not disappoint, Harry thought, taking in the individual, full body photos of each girl in very suggestive poses.

“Damn,” Ron said appreciatively.

“Told you it was good.”

The dormitory grew quiet for a moment as Seamus flipped through the pages.

“Wait,” said Ron, pointing to a line in the article, “This says the lyrics to their hit song are ‘If you wannabe my lover, you gotta get with my friends.’ Really?”

“Are you actually reading the article, mate? That’s impressive,” Harry said wryly.

“It’s true- heard it a million times over Easter break, that bloody song’s on the radio every other minute,” Dean replied.

“Well, it’s fucking terrible advice. What girl wants you getting with her friends?” Ron said.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

“Ron,” a voice called. Harry realized instantly that it was Ginny.

Fuck. Seamus shoved the magazine under the duvet as the rest of them scrambled to disperse, Neville tripping over his own feet, Ron hitting his head on the top of the bedpost as he ducked to sit on his bed.

“Come in,” Ron called.

Ginny opened the door and leaned on the side of the doorframe. She looked unfairly beautiful, Harry thought, her cheeks still rosy from practice, her long hair loose and flowing down her back, ending just above the swell of her arse, which looked fantastic in her tight joggers.

Her eyes narrowed as she took in the scene. The five of them had each ended up on their respective beds, fully dressed, shoes and all, with no books or parchment in sight. It must’ve looked strange.

She quirked an eyebrow. “You five having a cosy little chat?”

Neville chuckled nervously. Seamus coughed. Ron’s ears turned red. Dean stared at the duvet, determined to avoid her gaze, probably for a variety of reasons, Harry thought.

Ginny shook her head slightly. “Never mind, I’m sure I don’t even want to know,” she said, grinning at Harry. His cheeks grew warm, and he gave a slight shrug back.

She turned to Ron, her tone more serious. “Hermione asked me to get you. The Second Years were playing Exploding Snap at a table in the common room, and the explosion blew up some inkwells. There’s ink all over everything. She needs your help cleaning off the boys. Euan Abercrombie’s covered head to toe in it.”

“Little idiots,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. He stood and walked past Ginny onto the spiral staircase.

“Great practice, Harry,” Ginny said. She beamed at him, her smile brilliant, and in that moment, he wished, more than anything, that they were alone in the dormitory, instead of awkwardly surrounded by her (very recent) ex, Seamus, and Neville.

“You too. We’re going to flatten them,” he managed, hoping he didn’t sound like his breath was caught in his throat, which it was.

She just winked back. His heart, already fluttering faster than the wings of a snitch, skipped a beat. “Night all,” she said, with a wave to Neville.

As she closed the door, Harry sank back onto his pillows, thinking only of Ginny, the magazine long forgotten.

#hinny #hinny fanfic #hbp missing moment #sort of crack #fluff #spice up your life #unfiltered ron weasley

203 notes · View notes

unstoppableforcce · 4 years

Text

trivia night

pairing: Santiago “Pope” Garcia x reader

masterlist | next part

a/n: oh so very smutty so [18+] y’all. thank you to everyone who inspired and encouraged me to enter the triple frontier fic world, if y’all like this one be sure to let me know so I can keep more coming !! ( and a special thank you to @mandoplease for publishing such incredible work that I had to join the Santi fic world !! )

“No, Jango Fett is from the prequels--”

“Boba Fett is also in the prequels--”

“And the originals--”

The whisper fight was not unusual for a Thursday night trivia night with the boys around the table at the brewery but it was unusual for Frankie, Benny, and Will to get away with the discussion for so long.

Santi was almost always the first to jump in and set the record straight, no matter the topic of the question asked by the bald and Irish host up by the bar, but not this Thursday. His stare passed over the few tables packed with housewives eying up Benny and ignoring their husbands, and over the twenty-somethings with purple and pink hair holding similar arguments. It was directed straight to the bar across the concrete floor and no where else.

Because it wasn’t tall and lanky Bram the bartender behind the counter like it had been every Thursday night for the past six months since Frankie moved two blocks away from the brewery. It was you.

And he couldn’t pull his attention from you, not even to correct the absurd whisper fight happening at the table around him that had spiraled into an even stupider battle between the brothers for the pen to scribble down the answer.

You were too distracting.

“Pope— Pope— give me the goddamn pen, Benny— Pope, come on is it Boba or Jango?” Will fought, nudging him enough to snap him from his thoughts but also nudging him just enough to send the beer in his hand clattering to the side, spilling out all over the table.

Frankie and Will were quick to grab their phones off the table, Benny scrambling exclusively for the tiny slips of paper for the trivia game, but Santi had no choice but to slide his chair back to try and avoid making a mess of his pants. Except it made a screaming noise that echoed around the large brewery warehouse, the metal chair against the concrete making people throw their hands to their ears and groan instead of focusing on the question at hand.

“Dammit,” he cursed out, reaching for a handful of napkins as his jeans got wet but as he began dabbing, he glanced around and realized the whole brewery shifted their attention to their table, “sorry, we’re all good.”

“Convincing,” Frankie chided and Santi quickly hit his hat off his head, earning a chorus of laughter from the table, but doing little to hide the blush on either of their faces.

“It had to be my beer?” Santi scoffed, grabbing another handful of napkins to begin wiping at his chair and the table.

“You weren’t helping with the question—”

“You two would have figured it out—“

“I told you it was Boba—”

“Turn in your answers to the front so we can move on to the next question!” The host called from the bar and Benny quickly stood with his answer on the slip of paper, taking it up to the front as everyone’s tables did the same.

But as Pope tried to keep cleaning with his futile napkin pile, a dry towel appeared on the table next to him, between him and Frankie.

“Here, let me...”

It was you, not Bram the bartender, pushing the dry towel into the spilled beer on the table, and he froze.

If he thought you were distracting from afar, it was worse up close.

Frankie didn’t freeze though, he quickly scooted out of the way, careful to lift his chair so it wouldn’t screech the way Pope’s did, but Pope still stood just a foot behind you, frozen in place.

The hustle and bustle of the trivia night continued on around them and you worked quickly, drying off the table and wiping down the floor where most of it ended up, but he didn’t snap out of it until you bent down in front of him and he realized he was just staring.

“Sorry, it was an accident...” He sighed, trying to get back to himself by bending down next to you, trying to help with his sloppy pile of napkins even as you waved him off.

“It’s okay, trivia can get pretty intense.” You chuckled, using your towel to collect the mess of napkins he had in his hands. “I’ll take that.”

“Oh um, thank you.”

“No problem--”

“I don’t know any of the Spice Girls!” Benny whisper shouted from across the table, interrupting the two of you as both of you slowly stood back up.

Santi took a glance around, realizing the trivia night had continued on around the two of you and that was what Benny was talking about, not any other random reason.

But he could still care less, focused more on you as he dragged his seat back to the table. Except you didn’t flee the table immediately and retreat back to the bar like he expected, you hung around, leaning into the table.

“What’s the question?” You hummed, quickly earning all of the attention of boys around the table.

“Umm who was the only Spice Girl not to sing a line during Wannabe...?” Frankie meekly offered from beside you.

“Posh.” You whispered before pulling back, flashing Santi a smirk and finally retreating to the bar while Benny scribbled the answer down quickly.

“Thanks—” “Thank you—” they all cheered behind you and you offered the same smirk you gave to Santi to the rest of them.

“That’s not Bram...” Will laughed out, sipping at his beer.

“No, definitely not.” Frankie continued to muse, nudging Pope again and almost making him drop the pitcher in hand as he moved to pour himself a new drink. “Was that what was distracting you--”

With his glass only halfway filled, he brought it to his lips to give himself an escape while the boys began to laugh around him.

“Yeah, definitely not Bram...” He joined them with a laugh but the next question came on quickly and they all moved on.

Except for Santi. He didn’t. He couldn’t, not that quickly.

He glanced back to the bar, looking past the bald man leading the questions to you at the bar. Though the second you felt his stare, you looked up from the counter and briefly caught it. But he only sent it back to the guys around him, missing the smirk that stayed on your lips as you stared.

As halftime from the trivia game sounded off, most of the crowd escaped out to the food truck in the back alley, including Will who refused to take orders for the others.

“If you want a taco, go out and get your own taco.” Will scoffed out, earning a round of groans in response.

But as Benny got up with his glass of beer to intercept the stares he had been getting from the table on the other side of him and Frankie excused himself for the bathroom, Santi really had no choice but to get up himself. And if he was getting up, he was going to talk to you.

At least, that was if he could catch your attention out of the crowd of men waiting for refills.

Nabbing a small section of counter top next to Bill, the older office worker who came to play alone nearly every week and oggle the owner, Santi patiently waited as you passed pitchers and glasses across the counter to the hoard of waiting men. He contemplated heading back to the table, not wanting to make things more difficult for you, but as he caught your stare again while you worked, he figured you might prefer for him to tough it out.

So he waited, and waited, past the ten minute warning from the bald host, then past the five minute warning, but eventually you cleared out the crowd and made your way over to him.

“Pitcher of the Amber or...?” You prompted, wiping some of the spillage from the last pitcher you past over the counter away as you maneuvered yourself across the counter from him.

“Yeah, please...” he sighed out, clenching his eyes shut as you turned your back to him.

No. No, was what he should have said, they still had almost half a pitcher left on the table but It came out before he could help himself.

What was wrong with him? He never had any problem asking for a name, or a date, or a phone number, especially when you set him up so well.

Hopefully the tacos made the boys thirsty because you quickly turned around with a full pitcher and he had to fish his wallet from his pocket, tossing a few bills out between the two of you. Enough to cover the pitcher and a healthy tip.

But nothing to wow you. He had no charm, no confidence. What was wrong with him—

“Need me to carry it back to your table or you think you can handle it without spilling?” You mocked easily, the smirk building on your lips again and practically drawing him further into the counter.

You had your own gravity to you, it was simple, effortless, unlike anything he had felt in a while. He leaned his elbows forward onto the counter next to the pitcher and you leaned closer just the same almost on instinct.

“I think I can manage that myself... thank you though...”

That wasn’t smooth, that could’ve been so much smoother, what the hell was wrong with him—

“Need anything else?”

“Your name?” There was his recovery, better late than never. He quirked his head and slyly dropped his stare to the counter with a chuckle before dragging it slowly back up to your eyes. “Maybe a phone number?”

The smirk didn’t even drop when you laughed at him, amused by the display.

“I don’t even have your name,” you mused, letting out a wistful sigh, reaching for your towel to wipe at the counter again.

“Santiago.” He extended his hand over the counter and you took it easily, offering your name back as you did.

“Maybe if y’all win trivia I can see myself offering up a phone number.” You shrugged, pursing your lips out slightly.

He didn’t let any blush rise to his face, just a hum of his own amusement. The blush for the whole room was worn by Bill just one seat over, trying desperately to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping though both of you could clearly tell he was.

“Maybe?”

You shook your head but the smirk on his lips only grew on his face, “Maybe,” you repeated.

“I think I can work with maybe.” He liked this banter, and he more than liked the smile you sent it his way with.

“Yeah? Then you better up your Spice Girl’s knowledge.”

“I know my Spice Girls—”

“Good for you man.” Frankie joked, having overheard just his line as he approached the counter behind Santi. “I thought I had the next round?”

Santi stuttered a bit at that, back off his game, searching for the words he needed but you had already chuckled out and shifted your attention away, grabbing the money and turning to the next customer.

“Oh, did I interrupt—”

“No, why would you think that?” Santi kept his voice down but let the sarcasm flow freely, throwing his hands up in some minor annoyance and Frankie hid his laughter and the heat of his cheeks behind the brim of his hat. “Just take the pitcher, will you—”

He looked back to the counter to push the pitcher his way and you were back, holding a handful of napkins out to him, “just in case.”

“Thank you.” He said again, taking them from your hand as you just shook, turning your back to him as he walked away with Frankie, the host calling for the start of the final few rounds.

He was no longer useless to the team. He magically shifted into the leader he normally was when they came out for Trivia night, answering questions before some of the guys could even process them, scribbling out faster than even Benny could manage. But in the end, it wasn’t enough.

Team ‘the boys’ worked their way into second place just behind the two assholes at the bar, clearly having just gotten off work with their loosened ties and rolled up sleeves. Team ‘rich and delicious’. That meant they got the applause and they got the free beer growlers.

It also meant Santi got nothing.

Or at least, he assumed that was the case, letting his stare fall to the guys around him as they cheered for their first second place victory since they started coming.

“Nice work man,” Frankie touted, patting him on the back as Will freshened up each of their glasses with more beer.

It was a fun night and it felt good to do better than ever before, but he was competitive to say the least. He wanted to win. Not just for the principle of winning, though it would have certainly been reward enough to beat the two dicks at the bar. But more so for you.

Though as he caught your stare across the brewery again, your smirk told him it wasn’t over yet.

After about another hour of drinking, you shouted out “last call,” and by then, most of the brewery had began to pack up and head home anyways.

Will had planned to drive Benny home, Frankie had planned to walk from the beginning but Pope steadfastly remained confident in his sobriety. Dolling out a few hugs or handshakes to say goodbye, he excused himself to the restroom and when he came out, his team was gone.

Making his way to the bar, now one of the few remaining patrons, he caught your stare and attention much quicker than he had before.

“No win for you tonight...” you joked and he rolled his eyes, taking claim of the seat across from you.

“Second is better than we’ve ever done so I still have that to be proud of.” He fought back, watching you wave to the last group of people as they left, kind enough to bring their glasses back up to the counter for you.

“Really?” You quirked your head over your shoulder as you continued to clean.

He quirked his head right back, amused to say the least, “Yeah, we aren’t the smartest band of guys—”

“No, I mean, you’re proud of second?”

He laughed out at that, meeting laughter from you as well and smiling, “is second not something you reward? First only?”

“I may have a prize for second...” You laughed, “but you don’t really strike me as a guy satisfied with second.”

“Satisfied?”

“Satiated, content, accepting of—”

He shook his head, another spell of laughter falling from his lips, “No, you’re right, I’m a competitive guy.”

Grabbing a tub out from under the bar, you settled it on your hip and maneuvered out of the bar, going table by table and grabbing the rest of the glasses laying around. “I know, you put up quite the fight for second, the ‘nearly grandma’s’ team was only two points behind.”

“I guess Posh Spice really helped us.” He laughed.

You settled the tub back out on the counter and reached over for a wet rag to begin wiping down each of the tables. “So what do you think you should get for second place? Especially if I’m the one who boosted you to second...”

“What should I get?” He couldn’t remember the last time he was around someone and kept his smirk up for this long, he’s never been so amused by someone, so playful with someone...

He felt light. Honestly, light. When was the last time he could say that?

“Well the phone number was for first, what’s for second?” You tempt your smirk back his way as you bend over the first table, wiping it down.

“I mean, a first date, a first kiss, I’m very interested in everything... what are my options here?”

“I’m starting to think maybe I should have reworked my tiering here, you know, put phone number on the bottom, third place or something.” You mused, moving to the next table as he turned on his seat at the bar to follow you with his stare.

“So I’ve already won the phone number?”

“Insatiable...” You mocked, finishing up with the last few tables and pushing the chairs in. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you quickly unlocked it, passing it his way, “How about you give me yours?”

“And then?”

“Well,” you spun around some as he began typing, looking up at you between his name and number, “it’s nearly midnight and I’m not off work yet, and I normally work everyday but Thursdays and Sundays so, I’m not much for dinner dates but I’m a big fan of breakfast.”

“That’s convenient, I make a mean breakfast.” He smiled, quirking his chin up as he handed your phone back to you. “How about tomorrow?”

“Now we might be a little ahead of ourselves, I just got your phone number.”

“I haven’t gotten anything.” He shook his head with another laugh.

He liked laughing this much. Sure, he laughed with the guys but he didn’t have plans to sleep with any of them. And the people he did sleep with weren’t like you. Maybe that’s what he’s been doing wrong recently.

“Second place...” you mutter, shaking your head as you take a few steps closer, effectively eliminating any space between the two of you, no bar to lean over, no nothing. “Second place would really be lowering my standards you know...”

“Should have told the ‘rich and delicious’ team to stick around.” He mocked as you leaned closer, his voice getting quieter and quieter as you did.

“Nah, second isn’t too bad when it looks like you.”

He couldn’t take it anymore.

In all honesty, he’d been staring at your lips since the two of you ended up alone at the bar and watching you bend over to clean... he had shown incredible restraint so far.

And judging by the way your stare fell to his lips, he wasn’t the only one. He felt more confident than he had felt all night.

More confident than he had felt in a while, if he was being completely honest.

He surged forward off the bar stool and grabbed your face with both hands, dragging your lips to his. The kiss was heated and full of fire, but far too short. He couldn’t let it linger for too long, almost all of his confidence coming out in the single surge. But as he pulled his lips back from yours, keeping his nose up against yours, he felt a spark of electricity flow through him from head to toe.

The way his lips hovered over yours, dancing against yours ever so slightly as he tried to catch his breath, it was like two live wires sparking against each other.

Electrifying.

Clearly you felt it too, because he couldn’t even catch his breath much less get out a word or two before your lips were back on his and your hands were gripping tight to his chest.

Stepping you back, his hands fell to your hips, guiding you onto the next bar stool so he had a better angle, his hips in line with yours in between your legs, his lips moving to attack your neck.

“Santiago...” you moaned out, his name floating through the stale air of the brewery like the sweet honey the amber ale tasted like and he swore he could taste it on his lips as he licked down to your shoulders.

“Let me take you home...” he rolled his hips up into yours and the breath that escaped you was even more rugged than the last.

“Oh well, first place...” you threw your head back, “first place would get to take me home.”

“What does second place get?” His kisses trailed along the gold necklace that hung around your neck, dipping lower into the cleavage of your black top.

“Well, we have the place to ourselves, might as well make ourselves comfortable.”

He laughed at that, pulling his lips off of you and glancing around the empty warehouse bar. “Yeah?”

“Could’ve come in first.”

“Oh honey, I’ve got no problem taking you on the table...” he smirked, dragging you off the stool and bringing your face back to his for a chaste kiss. “And I never come first.”

“Oh I set you up for that one...”

“Damn straight sweetheart.”

Grabbing your hips as you slung your arms around his neck, he moved you back to the nearest table and sat you back on it. And while you pulled at his short curls, deepening the kiss, he found the bottoms hem of your shirt and began dragging it tantalizingly slow up your chest.

Seems you were the one showing little restraint now, meeting his hands and rapidly lifting it the rest of the way off and tossing it aside easily.

“You’re good at that.” He mused, reaching for the bottom hem of his own shirt to do the same

“Yeah, I take it off at least once a day you know...”

“Smart ass.”

He grabbed for your hips again but instead of drawing you closer, he flipped you around, pressing the front of your hips into the table and pushing hims elf firmly against your ass. With one strong forearm taut around your torso, he kept your back against his bare chest, dragging you as close as possible until your breaths aligned with his and his lips could move to your ear.

“Is this okay?” He huffed, still trying to catch his breath and staggering even more so as one of your hands reached up to intertwine your fingers with his holding against your chest.

With a roll of your hips back into his, eliciting another groan from his lips, you responded with a throaty, “Yes...”

Your head fell back onto his shoulder as his restrained and hardened length continued to grind into your ass, the fingers of his hand not holding you upright dipping to the button of your jeans and undoing it quickly. The hot breath panting out of your chest held in your throat as his hand dipped even lower, dragging taunting lines along your soaked underwear.

His hips rocked in a deft rut against you still but now rocking your tight bundle of nerves into the palm of his hands, prying a restrained whimper from your lips.

“Baby, I want to hear you.” He cooed into your ear, his mind desperate for the honey of your voice and the way his mind seemed to drown in it. The hot pleasure of each movement bubbling in his stomach, he was hardening against your ass, you were soaking over his fingers...

“Santiago...”

A growl released from his lips, as his hips stuttered against yours. He wanted more of you, more of your delicious voice whining out into the echoing warehouse, more of the decadent juices dampening his fingers as he pushed aside your underwear and dipped into you one finger at a time, more of the hot taste of your skin as he sucked onto the bend of your neck to your shoulders, more of you... so much more of you.

Bending you over the table, your hands splayed out over the freshly cleaned surface, trying to keep yourself upright with nearly quivering arms. His pants hit the floor, belt buckle clattering to the concrete, and yours quickly followed suit, worked down your legs to bunch up around your boots and ankles. But keeping yourself partially upright was futile, turning your head over your shoulder you caught sight of him stroking over his fully hardened and lengthy girth and all but resigned yourself to your impending fate, laying down the rest of the way with another moan released your lips.

The sight of him alone had you clenching around the stale air of the warehouse and nothing else, desperate for more of him.

“You want this?” He played, drawing a languid stroke over himself as he brought his tip to play against your exposed and aching cunt. “Tell me you want me, baby.”

“I want you...”

“Yeah?” He pressed in gently, toying with you as your grip around the table tightened. “Tell me baby.”

“Smart ass,” you groaned, earning a gentle yet playful smack on your ass that you relished in, trying to back into him for relief. Finally, the taunting tease was too much and you pleaded for him with your dripping honey tone, “I want you, I want you, please.”

Pushing the rest of the way in, all of your noises held tight in your throat while he kept still within you, relishing in the feel of you stretching around him as your hands clenched tight around the table. One of his hands worked up your back, unclasping your bra with a practiced move and continuing up to the back of your neck, pushing your face into the cool table top before he began to work in and out of you.

His other hand held at the dip of your lower back, holding you in place as his thrusts accelerated in pace. The holding grip felt like a crushing weight but nothing like the force of his pounding hips as he nailed you deeper and deeper into the table. The repeated hits of your hips against the table threatened to leave bruises but you could care less, the pain was pulling an addicting sense of euphoria from your core and you’d cover your body in a thousand bruises if it meant you’d feel this good.

Weaving his hand from the back of your neck into your hair, he lifted your face up just enough to meet his lips as he bent over you, finding a newer, deeper angle with his lips ghosting over yours.

“How does it feel, baby...” he taunted as you tried to bring your lips to his but he held you just far enough back to feel his breath but not his lips.

Close, tauntingly close, but not enough.

“Kiss me, Santi...”

“How does it feel?”

Sending a particularly pounding thrust into you, your head fell back against his shoulder, your moan descending into a sob as his lips met your neck for a lengthy lick and bite.

God, you didn’t just feel good, you felt right. You felt right like nothing had before, not since he and the guys got back from South America.

He bought the house because it felt like the right thing to do, he stopped doing work that would hurt himself because it felt like the right thing to do... but this was the only thing that felt right. He had been looking for something like this for longer than he could even remember and he wanted more.

“Santi—”

He cut you off with his lips on yours, contorting at a weird angle but giving him new access to your still half clothes chest. He wanted your bra off, he wanted to feel every inch of you, every single goddamn inch of you.

Every sound you made, no matter how faint, echoed in the big room now, even in competition with the obscene sound of his hips smacking into yours. You could hear each grunt and breath that fell from his lips and he could hear the same from you, every whine and moan, every whimper and—

“Please...”

Your words vibrated against his lips and released a new level of desperate need from within him.

The hand he had fighting with the fabric of your bra relinquished the fight to get it off, moving underneath to take hold of your breast, his other hand reaching back around your torso to hoist you back up into his chest. His teeth gritted together as he found a whole new rhythm, faster, faster, faster...

“Oh my g—”

“Oh fuck honey.” Everything was getting tighter, the tense coil in your stomach, his grip around your chest, every muscle in his legs and abdomen, the pull of you against him... you were clenching tighter and tighter around him, tighter and tighter.

His hips snapped even harder into you as his rhythm began to falter but his hand reached down from your stomach with a purpose. His hand was back on your pulsing bundle of nerves, but not his palm, two fingers, rubbing meticulously at first but quickly loosing all sense of control as you began to shake against him.

Biting down on your shoulder, he moved to a pace he couldn’t hope to maintain, trying to push you over the edge with his fingers, rubbing faster and faster and faster and—

“Fuck, Santi— fuck.” you shook, coming apart around him as your scream of his name cursed out into an echo, bouncing around the warehouse walls and playing into his ears on each bounce. Then your breathless whisper released just loud enough for him to hear in your smoothest voice, drenched in honey, drowning his ears in it, “Santiago...”

And that was all it took.

He was falling apart, barely managing the control to ask “can I— fuck, can I— inside?” and get an exhausted nod from you before he came apart.

His hips stuttered, knocking you into the table once, then twice in quick succession, all accompanied by whines of his own falling from his lips against the skin of your neck.

“Not bad for second place...” you mocked, still out of breath as he kept you held up against his chest.

And his laughter shook the both of you, his forehead, now damp with sweat, pressed into the side of your face. As he slipped out of you, sending you both whimpering out from the loss of contact, he kissed down your spine until he picked his own pants up.

“Let me take you home,” he kissed back up your spine until you turned around and met his lips with yours. “I promised breakfast...”

“I like breakfast.” You hummed, holding him close by his curls, forehead holding against yours.

“I like you.”

To think, you had the audacity to be mad when Bram the bartender asked you to pick up his Thursday shift.

—

tags: @mandoplease @spider-starry @pizzahutmonkeybutt @mouse230 @kindablackenedsuperhero @shakespeareanwannabe @mylifeliterally @this-cat-is-dea @woakiees

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago ‘pope’ garcia x reader #oscar isaac #triple frontier #smut #oh my god i can believe i did it #i hope yall enjoy

576 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

For mermay, #25 siren for Sternclay, rating up to you? Thank you so much, I love your fics!

Here you go! I went with SFW and it's set in the same universe as the other siren prompt I got this year

Joseph has sailed so far over the horizon of regret that he’s landed right back on the shores of resolve.

The highway curves through low mountains, extends in interminable straight lines of super-heated asphalt, and he drives both stretches with purpose, eyes fixed on his goal so as not to see the last forty-eight hours lurking in his rearview mirror.

When the sign reading “Kepler: Population 3,000 on land, 50 in water” reflects the setting sun he slumps back in the driver seat, too tired to be glad, excited, afraid, or anything else at all.

He passes the Cryptonomica, proclaiming itself the premier place to learn about the Roadside Sirens. Rolling his eyes means he nearly misses the drawbridge warning, the barrier dropping and bridge rising to allow a small sailboat to pass. It’s aboard this he sees his first siren; dappled tail hanging in the water as she converses with the other passenger and waves to the siren working the bridge.

The bridge lowers and he continues forward as the early evening overtakes the main road. Neon crackles to life, creosote and rabbitbrush drift through the window when he rolls it down. The sign on Amnesty Lodge declares vacancies, so he pulls into the parking lot. It’s a strange lay-out, little cabins dotting the patches of pools that, once upon a time, must have been enclosed in rooms. Now they glisten under the emerging stars, some surrounded by lawn chairs and set ups to play horseshoes or cornhole. The building housing the lobby is precariously perched on the bank of the slow flowing river, another building whose neon is unlit sitting beside it. He pays the young lady at the counter for a week to week cabin and lugs the remainders of his life inside.

In the bathroom mirror, the wear of this trip is clear in the wrinkles on his suit and the dust on his shoes. He strips down, rinses off, and heads into the night in his shorts and T-shirt from Puget Sound. On a whim he turns right, follows a trail that leads him into the state park. He pays the five dollar fee in a little envelope as he continues on his way. Just as he reaches a scenic viewpoint, the singing starts.

Joseph can’t see any of the singers, can only pick up six or so distinct voices swirling around him.

It’s said the roadside sirens will tell you what you need.

It’s said the roadside sirens are the only way Kepler gets new residents

It’s said the roadside sirens will lead you to your hearts desire.

It’s said the roadside sirens are not always gentle.

All that tugs at Joseph’s heart is exhaustion. When footsteps creak across the boards behind him, he turns to find a man in a ranger uniform. Their eyes meet a moment and the man nods in greeting, “Evenin sir, you got any questions?”

“What do you hear when they sing?”

The ranger shrugs, “I hear them singin’. Never been all that susceptible to ‘em. Well, except for one, but he don’t sing all that often and the last time it was to tell me he missed me while I was out here workin’.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow. The man comes close enough for him to see his name tag. All it says is, “Duck.”

Duck chuckles, leans his arms on the railing, “S’okay, most folks don’t believe me when I tell ‘em that. See, thing about sirens is, you gotta have unfulfilled desires for the song to take hold. First time I was in Kepler, didn’t have a goddamn clue what I wanted from life. When I came back, found the two things I wanted right away. Been pretty content since.” He glances at Joseph, “why, you hear somethin that worries you?”

“I don’t hear anything besides-”

A burst of blue and orange light spills across them; the building beside Amnesty Lodge has come to life, and Joseph can see a line out the door from here. More importantly, someone is singing and his body moves towards the source without him noticing.

“I mean, if your main want is you’re hungry, Lodge is a damn good place to start. Put Kepler on the map. Or, uh, guess the sirens put it there and the Lodge kept it there once the novelty wore off.

“Uhumm” Joseph nods, waving an absentminded goodnight as he follows the path back to the Lodge. He’s about to join the others waiting to get through the door when he gets a flash of an image; a draft on a desk, announcing the Lodge needed a cooks assistant.

What the hell, it’s worth a try right?

A knock on the back door summons an older man in a “Joshua Tree” shirt.

“Howdy, if you’re lookin for the line-”

“I’m here about the assistant job.”

“Uhh, o-kay. Not the best time for it, but follow me.”

The man leads him down a set of stairs to a kitchen that is half in and half out of the water in a way that defies logic and physics. Swimming about are several sirens, plus two humans on the shore, cooking and sending food up to the main building in a dance that borders on chaos. In the middle of it all is a siren with a deep copper tail that matches his short beard and long hair tied back in a bun.

“Barclay! You got a minute?”

“Not really!”

“Okay then. I’ll just have this fella wait in your office until dinner rush is over.”

“Sure great yeah Moira wheres the crawfish for table ten?”

Which is how Joseph finds himself sitting in a cabin, twiddling his thumbs. His manners fight his boredom until he pulls a paperback from the nearby shelf and loses himself in the exploits of a someone recreating dishes from ancient civilizations. Doesn’t look up until the door opens and the same man, now with legs instead of that beautiful tail, walks in.

“Phew” he shuts the door with a satisfied smile, rests his head on the wood, then whirls and slams his back against it when Joseph clears his throat.

“GAHWHATTHEFUCK”

“I’m, I’m so sorry, I thought you heard, um, Thacker, tell you he was having me wait here.”

“W-wait here for wh--Oh, oh right, the assistant thing.” The siren scrubs his face, “yeah, uh, guess Mama must've put the ad out. Uh, would you say you’re organized?”

“Extremely. But honestly it doesn’t seem like you need that much help on that front.”

A deep, rich laugh, “I cleaned this morning, last night it looked like an earthquake hit this place. Guessing from the fact you didn’t freak out in the kitchen you’re cool with the supernatural?”

“Yes. It’s an area of interest for me.”

There’s suspicion in Barclay’s voice, hidden but very much present, “why’d you end up in Kepler?”

“I came here on purpose. I wanted to be somewhere where strange things were celebrated and out in the open. Not...not kept from the world.”

Barclay leans back on his desk, arms crossed, “Where’d you work before now?”

“The…” he sighs, resigns himself to finding somewhere else to go, “the FBI. UP branch, I was at Nellis when they, um, relieved me of my duties.”

For a long moment, Barclay studies him. Then he turns to his desk, setting stacks of papers in order as he hums. Joseph closes his eyes, takes calming breaths; all he wants is to be safe, to not have to run. All he wants is for Barclay to hold him, he’s never seen a man so handsome and a useless, primal part of him fixates on that fact. Also he’s starving, god, he hasn’t eaten since his breakfast of black coffee.

Barclay stops humming, “Come with me.”

Joseph follows him back down into the strange kitchen (“couple of friends of mine are pretty powerful magicians. They rigged up the kitchen for me”). All the lights are off, and without them he discovers Barclay’s eyes glow an eerie yellow-green. When he smiles, Joseph sees only the points on his teeth, not the crinkle at the edge of his eyes.

“Hungry?” Barclay rumbles.

“Starving.”

“You eat fish?”

“...Yes?” Will the wrong answer get him drowned.

The cook leaps towards the water, tail appearing and clothes vanishing at the last moment before he hits the dark surface. Joseph stands, on edge and curious, until the siren emerges, newly-dead trout in his hands.

“Tastes best fresh.” Barclay swims to his grill, turning it on in a click of a knob.

“Why not just stay human when you cook?” Joseph makes his way over to the station as Barclay butchers the fish and sets it into a heavily buttered pan.

“The charm only holds for so long before I need to be back in the water, and I get so busy during meals I don’t want to risk passing out because I went too long on shore. Besides” he spins elegantly to grab two spice jars, “I learned to cook in the water, so this is the most natural way for me.”

“Fascinating.” Joseph sits down, keeping himself out of arms reach of the water. Barclay seems nice, but sirens did not become famous for offering people things and then following through; hundreds of dead travelers prove that much.

“Where are you from?”

“Chicago, originally.”

“Ever see the great lake mers?”

“No.” He can’t help but feel disappointed that he’s only learning of their existence now.

“Quite a few out there. Sirens too.”

Well, that introduces some new reasons for all the shipwrecks.

“How do you know? Are you from there?”

“Nah. Been in Kepler my whole life. Even during the bad years, singing people into that godawful, overpriced casino buffet. Convincing them the shitty cold cuts were prime rib.” His hand stills a moment, clenches and then releases, “yeah. Every now and then” he starts chopping shallots, “one of the drunks would get it into their heads to pet the sirens tail or hair and I had to sit there and let them. My tail” he shudders, swipes the shallots into the pan so roughly Joseph starts.

“Sorry.” Barclay mumbles.

“Don’t be. I’m on edge, that’s all. And you have every right to be angry. Being forced to do something you know is wrong is....there’s no winning.”

“That why you just want a place to feel safe?”

It’s so easy to confess in the darkness of the cave.

“I put up too much of a fight about something. Refused to do something that went against my conscience. They let me go, which I feared but expected. Then I found my bank accounts were cut off and someone had manipulated the records to say I’d been fired for criminal activity so it’d be harder to find a job.”

A clink of metal on china, and then Barclay is holding a plate out to him with tenderness in his eyes, “I’m so sorry, Joseph. Here, at least you won’t be hungry.”

Joseph murmurs out his thanks.

“You a wine drinker?”

“Right now I could certainly go for some.”

A few flicks of that stunning tail and Barclay returns with a glass of white for each of them.

“To getting free of shitty pasts.” The cook raises his glass and Joseph bumps his against it. Barclay brings it to his lips, but smiles rather than sip, “and by the way: you got the job.”

-------------------------------------------------------

Being Barclay’s assistant is fifty percent clerical work and fifty percent following the siren around as he gathers ingredients or tests recipes. On Ned Chicane’s recommendation, Barclay had published a cookbook of both traditional siren foods and his own creations. It became a bestseller which, among other things, means Joseph has a brand new wardrobe, regular deliveries of gourmet food, and his cabin is now full of books. Whenever he points out that Barclay is already paying him and doesn’t need to buy him things, the siren simply rubs their cheeks together (a thing Joseph is only now getting used to) and tells him he likes doing it.

So when he’s not getting his recipes in order or typing up scribbled note cards into something legible, he’s following Barclay on foot or in a boat while he harvests or buys ingredients. Sirens have permission to fish and forage in areas, including the park, that humans don’t, which means he runs into Duck and his siren husband, Indrid, on more than one occasion while hauling lines into the boat.

The one time it gets stuck, Barclay pulls it out all on his own. Almost like he’s showing off the muscles in his back, arms, and tail.

The only thing Joseph won’t do is get in the water with the siren. He can’t get the images of drowned sailors, of fishermen torn to shreds, from his mind. Barclay is powerful, sharp-toothed and slit-pupiled, dangerous yet so gentle he once purred when Joseph complimented his food. And if Joseph never goes in the water with him, he’ll never have to confront the fact he wouldn’t mind if those pointed teeth dug into his skin and that tail trapped his legs while he thrashed in Barclay’s hold.

He assumes Barclay doesn’t notice; after all, swamps and marshes, even the river, are far less suited to a human swimming in them than an ocean or lake. This conclusion is bolstered by Barclay never, ever asking him to join him in the water. The siren is less careful about singing; he usually just hums as he works, but sometimes he sings wordlessly and Joseph nearly dives head first into the water (Barclay’s lap, if they’re on land).

Tonight, he’s cleaning up after Barclay’s test session of new recipes in the kitchen. The cook went out to visit some friends who live further in the state park, so when his voice drifts across the stones Joseph is surprised.

Cool, calloused hands on his cheeks, a tail stroking his thighs, his lips tracing up a sturdy leg. Copper hair twined in his fingertips, a heart beating in time with his own, teeth sinking into his skin, marking him, claiming him.

Water fills his nose and his body jerks back to the present, standing up in the shallow water that he stepped and stumbled face-first into.

“Joseph? Oh fuck, are you okay?” Barclay rounds the corner, swimming over to look up at him with concern.

“Yes. I, um, I think I got caught up in your song.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were already upstairs or I wouldn’t have sung so loud. I know you can’t swim.”

“I can.” Joseph kneels, face down-turned in shame, “I was scared to, um, to be in the water with you. It’s, I was afraid of what might happen.”

Barlay swims back, “you thought I was gonna eat you?”

“No! Or, um, at first I didn’t want to foolishly assume that sirens in Kepler were harmless, since death isn’t high on my to-do list. Then I thought suddenly starting to swim would tip you off to the fact I’d been suspicious and I didn’t want to hurt you.” He runs a hand through his hair, “that song, though, Barclay, lord almighty is that what I want?”

“It’s what I want, I never sang it to bring you to me.”

“Oh.”

Barclay swims back to him, rubs their cheeks together, “Can I try something?”

“Anything” is all he gets out before he’s pulled into deeper water. He gasps for air, his own moans ricocheting across the room as Barclay bites his shoulder. On instinct his body tries to tread water, but copper scales trap his legs together, keep him flush against Barclay’s body.

“It’s okay babe, you can relax. I got you, I could keep us both afloat in my sleep.” He hums as he trails his lips across Joseph’s throat, “you’re safe. You’re with me.”

“Don’t make me leave.” The song pulls it out of him, because he wants to say it, wants to admit that losing what he has in Kepler terrifies him, just so he can hear-

“Never. You make me so fucking happy.” Barclay kisses him tenderly, keeps tracking his bite marks with a finger, “please stay. Stay for as long as you want."

"What if I want forever?" He rests his face on Barclay's shoulder as the siren spins them, dance-like, in the water.

"I think we can manage that."

#mermay #sternclay #agent stern/barclay #TAZ Amnesty

17 notes · View notes

aiweirdness · 4 years

Text

Rhyming is hard

Although many people have generated AI poetry and lyrics, you’ll notice that they generally don’t rhyme. That’s because generating a decent rhyme is super hard.

You can get an inkling of this if you prompt the neural net GPT-2 with rhymes to complete. It will fail almost every time.

In part, this is because English spelling is so nonuniform. How would a model trained on just written English know that it can rhyme throw with dough but not with brow? Not to mention stress patterns and syllable counts.

A few people have attempted to get neural nets to rhyme, and one of them is a new online demo by Prof. Mark Riedl of Georgia Tech. Give it example lyrics to a song - for example, the first two verses to the Gilligan’s Island theme - and it’ll try to fit the number of syllables and rhyming scheme, as well as take inspiration from a short phrase you supply.

Prompt: “If I knew you were coming, I’d have baked a cake” Tune: Gilligan’s Island theme

Ok, but this is terrible. It’s TERRIBLE. One of the problems is a complete disregard for emphasis, making this inhumanly awkward to sing. It also does a rather cheap shortcut of rhyming words with themselves.

Prompt: “The mighty pudding god will devour you.” Tune: Gaston’s Waltz from Beauty and the Beast

Here we are not only off-topic and awkward but absolutely bonkers. It has made the rather daring move of incorporating a reference to Alusuisse, which wikipedia informs me is a defunct Swiss chemical company. In fact, looking back over the program’s output, it made this decision when looking for a rhyme for “this”, and it skipped past “bliss”, “dismiss”, and “Chris” in favor of the former aluminum manufacturer. When choosing rhymes it scores potential words according to their similarity to the prompt, and there must have been something about Alusuisse that screamed “vengeful pudding god”.

Its syllable counting also breaks in weird ways.

Prompt: “Destroy all humans” Tune: “Baa baa black sheep”

Looking back over the logs, it did correctly count 11 syllables for “baa baa black sheep have you any wool.” But this AI is built of lots of carefully-coordinated sub-programs, each of which only does a small piece of the puzzle, and apparently the sub-program that was supposed to suggest 11-syllable lines shrugged and went “on…. august? that’s all i got”.

Prompt: I am a turnip Tune: The wonderful thing about tiggers

This makes the world’s worst karaoke, and yes, Riedl has built a karaoke-making function for this. If you want to weird someone out, just casually sing a song with the AI lyrics instead of the real ones.

Botnik Studios also recently built a karaoke-generating algorithm (“The Weird Algorithm”) that instead of generating lines from scratch, picks them from some other source file, trying to match meter and rhyme. (for example, rewriting The Rainbow Connection with lines from X-files scripts). Here’s Jamie Brew demonstrating the system, including singing the lyrics as they pop up onscreen - if you tried to sing any of the lyrics above, you’ll know how darn impressive his singing is. Each line is independent, though, so if the song makes sense as a whole, it’s by accident.

So today’s AI can only sort of generate rhyming poetry. “Sigh. Natural language is hard,” Riedl tweeted, when he saw the Turnip hoowelp welp results. AI won’t be beating humans at rap battles anytime soon.

You can generate your own inadvisable karaoke using Riedl’s app.

Subscribers get bonus content: I generated more terrible AI lyrics than would fit in this blog post.

My book on AI is out, and, you can now get it any of these several ways! Amazon - Barnes & Noble - Indiebound - Tattered Cover - Powell’s - Boulder Bookstore

#neural networks #gpt-2 #weird ai #weird algorithm #lyrics #song lyrics #song parodies #disney songs

384 notes · View notes

cinnonym · 3 years

Text

glories stream from heaven afar (heavenly hosts sing 'alleluia)

Written for Day 6 - Carols/Music of 12 Days of Supercorp @supercorpbb

Read on AO3

***

Kara is running late.

It’s not her fault, at least not in the strictest sense. Like, she did exit her cab more or less around the time she was due to be on stage. Which is to say, a trifle late, maybe. Marginally. And yes, that part may or may not be blamed on her (because traffic really is crazy during Christmas season, but maybe she could have anticipated that).

But. City hall? A joke. The amount of time Kara’s spent scurrying (literally, courtesy of the heels Kara’s stupidly decided on wearing) through what feels like miles of endlessly monotonous corridors could and should have been put to better use. Like catching her breath for example. Could be useful if she’s supposed to sing.

Unfortunately, it looks like there won’t be much breath-catching happening. While the next corner Kara rounds does seem to be the last one (like, there is a door ahead, but is it the right door?), the corridor stretching out in front of her for the final sprint is void of people. Which either means that Kara’s managed to get lost completely – or the gala has already started.

But no, the door is still blissfully ajar, a faint triangle of light spilling through the crack. It’s golden, and Kara knows, just knows, that it originates from a boisterous array of chandeliers. (Because, like, it’s city hall. Tax money has to go somewhere.)

Anyway, it’s not like Kara’s complaining. In fact, she’s rather looking forward to being enveloped in that soft light instead of feeling like she’s being stripped bare naked under the unforgiving stare of a spotlight. It’s about the atmosphere. Also, it’s almost Christmas for heaven’s sake.

So she speeds up, one last time, heels tapping a rapid staccato against the planks of the floor. She’s late, but it doesn’t matter (who needs vocal warm-up anyway), because the door is right there, and she is going to make it. She’s going to slip in unnoticed and a little out of breath, and she’s going to make her way upstage as if she’d been mingling with the crowd all along. She’s going to –

The door closes.

Kara is so near, her fingers can practically feel the cool brass of the handle already, and the door closes, right into her face. Literally. Because Kara’s spent the entire length of that last corridor gaining speed, and there is no way she can grind to a halt on the five feet something between her and the damn closed door. And so she slams, hands first, full body second, against the solid wood.

The crash is deafening, and for a split second, all Kara can think about is how it will be impossible to sneak in now. Then she rebounds, and her focus is redirected to trying to keep her balance. It doesn’t go very well (the heels were a bad decision in all aspects), in fact, it doesn’t go at all. Luckily, she still doesn’t fall.

This is mainly due to the pair of hands suddenly wrapped around her shoulders. A pair of very pale and very slender hands, which connect to equally pale and slender arms and ultimately –

“Golly!” Kara exclaims on a whim. There really isn’t much else to exclaim, because the woman (yes, woman, and already Kara is swooning over her strong grip) staring back at her is about as beautiful as words do not exist to express how beautiful. And not in an all-words-got-knocked-out-of-Kara-in-the-crash way. But in a real way. Like. A literal-goddess-but-even-more-beautiful way.

A literal goddess whose brow is beginning to wrinkle into a frown, before she opens her mouth (lips, Kara thinks, lipslipslips) to speak.

“Are you alright?”

And the thing is, Kara is. She has never been more alright than in this moment, wrapped up in a life-saving grasp, basking in the glow of elysian eyes. And she would like to tell the woman as much, because said elysium is starting to look awfully clouded with concern that Kara doesn’t want to be the reason for. She would like to nod, and thank the woman (because she does have manners, Kara, if nothing else), and then maybe ask her to elope together. Or something.

But she can’t. Because she cannot move, and she cannot speak, and she believes she might be experiencing what Alex calls Gay Panic. But she can’t be sure because not even her brain is working as it should.

The woman (the angel, the queen, the woman) seems to be panicking too, although Kara doubts it’s in the same way. Her hands squeeze Kara’s arms, and she’s shaking her kind of gently, all the while staring intently into Kara’s eyes, searching, presumably, for some reaction.

“Shit,” she mutters eventually, and somehow that’s what does the job.

Kara shivers right out of her trance. Something inside of her breaks like a dam, comes undone at the sacrilege of a swearing angel, and suddenly the words spill out of her in a flood.

“This might come as a shock,” she tells her saviour, who actually jumps at the sudden change, “but I am fine. Ish. Fine-ish. I mean, I did crash into that door pretty bad, but it’s nothing. Or, not nothing, I mean, will I have the biggest bump tomorrow? Probably. But I’ve had it worse. Like, one time I walked into a car, like, a moving one? It was in a play street though, so it wasn’t that bad, but I mean, it’s still a car, right? Anyway, I survived that too. As you can see. Didn’t even have a concussion. So, uh, who knows, right, maybe I’m indestructible. Maybe that’s my secret superpower or something.”

At this she grins widely at the woman. The woman doesn’t smile back. In fact, she’s sporting a stare that is a little to blank for Kara’s liking. She bites down on her tongue, hard, willing the words to stop before she’s sent to the closest asylum. She did come to sing, after all. Even though that’s decidedly not going well so far.

“Anyway,” she says cautiously, resisting the urge to wave her hand before the woman’s eyes. “I am good. And I actually came here for the gala? I’m supposed to sing…”

She is stared at for a beat longer, before the woman blinks. And blinks again. Then she shakes her head, quickly and forcefully, like she’s trying to dissipate unwelcome thoughts.

“You are not singing.”

It’s stated so matter-of-factly that Kara’s almost inclined to nod just because the tone indicates it. She catches herself at the last moment.

“Uh, yeah I am, that’s what I’m here for.” But then she falters suddenly. “Unless this is not the annual Christmas Charity Gala? Cause if it’s not, then I’m so sorry, I may have slammed into this door for nothing.”

There is a beat of stunned silence and then – heaven. The woman starts laughing, loud and prolonged, with her head tipped back and her neck on full display (and goodness, what a neck it is). When she stops at last, gasping for air as if Kara weren’t the one slowly suffocating on the spot, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes glowing.

“You’re right,” she says, faint traces of laughter still enriching her voice, “this is the gala.”

“Thank goodness.” Kara doesn’t trust herself to say more, lest she add an accidental love confession. It could happen. Kara is that clumsy. As has been proven.

The clipped answer earns her a curious look (maybe Kara’s superpower is making a fool of herself in front of beautiful women after all), before the woman blinks and her whole expression changes. The lopsided smile slides into a smirk. The amused glint in her eyes turns allusive. And the slow bat of her lashes is downright predatory.

“You still shouldn’t perform tonight.” Her voice drops an entire octave. “For safety reasons.”

Kara swallows. Hard. Her mouth feels like a bucket of sand has been emptied into it. She isn’t sure if her heart rate will ever go back to normal. She swallows again.

“Oh?”

The woman smiles as if she’s all to aware of Kara’s struggles (not that Kara is doing a very good job at hiding them, probably). She nods slowly.

“Yes, see, I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you – “ her eyes drag over Kara’s body, which promptly starts tingling “ – during or after the event.”

“Huh,” Kara makes. Her cheeks are probably on fire, but the woman doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she appears to be absolutely delighted with Kara. Somehow, that gives Kara the courage to say her next words.

“I think I deserve to be given a try.”

She immediately buries her face in her hands after that, not daring to look at the woman as she waits with bated breath for a reaction. She is not disappointed.

A throaty chuckle vibrates through the air, a murmur of “very well,” and suddenly a new scent reaches Kara’s nose. It’s heady and laced with spice, and it infiltrates her brain like heavy liquor. And then there is the faintest touch at Kara’s ear, and a low voice wading through the haze.

“Sing for me, stranger.”

And oh, Kara does.

(She only learns later, during the gala, that her saviour is actually Lena Luthor. Like, the Lena Luthor. Her mind shatters a bit at the information, and she wonders if she’s managed to misread the mood completely, or what. Because there’s no way National City’s most influential woman sort of maybe hit on Kara a little. So Kara’s attempt at flirting back must have been totally out of line.

But before she even has the chance to spiral, Lena catches her eye. And she tilts her head and winks sort of teasingly at Kara, and yeah, no woman crosses her legs like that without any ulterior motives. Kara hopes.

She promptly misses the first line of Silent Night.)

#supercorp #supercorp fanfiction #sc fanfic #sc #christmas #christmas fic #my writing #music #supergirl

40 notes · View notes

acovenofcaffineandchaos · 3 years

Text

Pagan Yule Traditions Adopted by Christians

With Yule upon us and Christmas fast approaching, I found it appealing to make this post to help others learn more about what traditions started out pagan, and have been adopted over time into Christianity.

First thing’s first, what do we mean when we say pagan? This is a widely encompassing term that means anyone from the Romans, to the Norse in Scandinavia. As Christianity spread through Europe in the early ADs, missionaries met a lot of different groups of people with varying religious systems and beliefs. All these people and religions were lumped into the term ‘pagan’, basically meaning ‘not Christian’.

Although Christians had the goal of spreading their religion across Europe, they were still fascinated by many of the customs and ways of the pagans. Clearly they were fascinated enough to pick up a few of those beliefs and traditions, and adapt them as part of Christian celebrations to boot!

1. GIFT-GIVING AND SATURNALIA

Not only is December a time to celebrate winter solstice, but between the 17th and 24th of the month, the Romans also celebrated Saturnalia. This was a pagan holiday in honor of the agricultural god, Saturn. Romans would spend the week of Saturnalia much like how we spend Christmas holidays today: feasting, drinking, giving gifts, and being joyful.

These days we shell out lots of money on Christmas gifts, but back then the Romans exchanged small gifts mainly for the sake of good luck. The idea was to give a gift in the hope of bringing in a bountiful harvest the next year. Rather than have lists of gifts to give, the Romans shared only one gift with one other person. Somewhere along the line, giving gifts for luck and prosperity became a multimillion dollar business… isn’t that funny?

2. SANTA’S IMAGE & CHRISTMAS STOCKINGS

Our current modern day image of Santa Claus, clad in red fur with a big white beard, was largely developed by Coca-Cola in the 1930′s. But the idea of an old man giving gifts to children dates much earlier than that, back to the time of the pagans.

Father Christmas, otherwise known as St. Nicholas, is a patron saint of children, the poor, and surprisingly, prostitutes. Living around 4th century AD, St. Nicholas was a very generous bishop; who was known for giving gifts to the poor, sporting a big beard, and a long cloak much like the Santa we know and love today.

But even before St. Nicholas, there was another bearded old man called Odin. This deity was worshipped by early Germanic pagan tribes (think the Vikings for general visualization), traditionally portrayed as an old man with a long, white beard, with an 8-legged horse called Sleipnir who he would ride through the skies (just like Santa’s reindeer). During the winter, kids would fill their booties with carrots and straw and leave them by the chimney for Sleipnir to feed on. Odin would fly by and reward the children with little presents in their booties, much like we do with Christmas stockings today.

The Santa Claus we all imagine in our heads today is a patchwork of the generous St. Nicholas, the god Odin and Sleipnir, and Coca-Cola’s iconic red-dressed character.

3. CHRISTMAS CAROLS

While the carols we sing for Christmas are undeniably Christian in the majority, the tradition itself of going door-to-door singing to your neighbors comes from another pagan tradition called wassailing. The rather funny and odd word comes from the Anglo-Saxon phrase of ‘waes hael’, translating roughly to ‘good health’. Every year, wassailers would roam through their villages in small groups, singing loudly with the aim of banishing evil spirits and wishing good health to those around them.

No wassailing group was complete without their traditional drink on hand – made from mulled ale, curdled cream, roasted apples, eggs, spices, and sugar. Medieval alcoholic eggnog in it’s finest. In the 13th century, St. Francis took inspiration from these happy choirs and started the tradition of Christmas caroling.

4. KISSING UNDER A MISTLETOE

Ever wonder about the correlation between mistletoe and kissing? Well, funnily enough, the tradition goes back to the pagans. Everyone from the Romans and Celts, to the Druids and the Norse, had a thing about mistletoe. It was considered to be a highly sacred plant, involved in several pagan rituals.

In the Roman world, mistletoe honored the god Saturn. To keep him happy, they would perform fertility rituals underneath sprigs of mistletoe – yup, that’s exactly what it sounds like: rolling around under the mistletoe! We’ve certainly toned it down as far as mistletoe rituals are concerned, and left it with just a simple kiss – probably a good idea since family is always around, and always happy to judge.

In the world of the Druids, mistletoe symbolized peace and joy. In times of war, if enemies met underneath woodland mistletoe, then they would drop their weapons and form a truce until the next day. In a way, kissing is a form of truce, or at least trusting the other person not to bite your face off.

5. DECKING THE HALLS WITH HOLLY

Mistletoe wasn’t the only sacred plant for pagans. Holly was another holy plant connected with the god Saturn. During the Saturnalia, Romans made holly wreaths to exchange as gifts for good luck. At the time of Saturnalia, early Christians began to celebrate Christmas -however- they were often persecuted for practicing their new religion. It was lucky that Christmas coincided with Saturnalia as it allowed Christians to harbor a cover for their Christmas celebrations.

To avoid detection (and make it look like they were celebrating Saturnalia), Christians started hanging holly wreaths around their homes. This allowed them to recognize other Christians and still do something nice to celebrate their version of the holiday. Eventually, as pagans decreased in number and Christianity grew, holly became a symbol of Christmas instead of Saturnalia.

6. CHRISTMAS TREE DECORATING

Christianity sure has taken a lot of inspiration from the Romans, and tree decorating is yet another borrowed tradition! Besides feasting, drinking, and exchanging gifts during Saturnalia, Romans also hung small metal ornaments on trees outside their homes. Each of these little ornaments represented a god, either Saturn or the family’s personal patron saint.

Early Germanic tribes practiced a similar tree decorating tradition, this time with fruits and candles to honor Odin throughout the winter solstice. Christians merged the tree decorating with ornaments, candles, and fruits to make Christmas tree decorating one extravagant tradition.

7. FRUITCAKE

Fruitcake has become the stuff of legend, if only because once a fruitcake is baked, it will seemingly outlive everyone who comes near it. Stories are abound of fruitcakes from winters past- magically appearing in the pantry to surprise everyone during the holiday season. What’s interesting about the fruitcake is that it actually has its origins in ancient Egypt. There’s a tale in the culinary world; the Egyptians placed cakes made of fermented fruit and honey on the tombs of their deceased loved ones- and presumably these cakes would last as long as the pyramids themselves. In later centuries, Roman soldiers carried these cakes- made with mashed pomegranates and barley- into battle. There are even records of soldiers on crusades carrying honey-laden fruitcakes into the Holy Land with them.

8. THE YULE LOG

Nowadays, when we hear about the Yule log, most people think of a deliciously rich chocolate dessert. But the Yule log has actually its origins in the cold winters of Norway. On the night of the winter solstice, it was commonplace to add a giant log to the hearth to celebrate the return of the sun each year. The Vikings believed that the sun was a giant wheel that rolled away from the earth each year as winter came, and began rolling back on the winter solstice and brought summer with it.

Either way, these traditions -whether you’re Christian or Pagan, Jewish or Buddhist, or anything else- I wish you a happy holiday season, and pray that 2021 will get its shit in order, unlike 2020.

- Black Magpie

#pagan #paganism #witch #witch craft #witchyvibes #yule #yule traditions #evolution of christiananity

47 notes · View notes

goldrockyroad · 3 years

Text

my entire draft got deleted right after i finished writing + tagging it so i’m doing it all over again - public performances round 2 thoughts (pt 2)

very angry but evidently isn’t stopping me from making this post anyway. (pt 1)

fix me (original song): fu sichao 【付思超】，li luoer 【李洛尔】， rong yao 【荣耀】, yu yang 【于洋】，lu dinghao 【陆定昊】

love how they let fu sichao and li luoer write a song aka what they’re most comfortable with for a public performance lu dinghao’s high note left me shook only for yu yang’s final part to leave me all alone to recover in a ditch the both of them nailed their parts i really like rong yao’s part of the rap especially and of course his voice was stellar the song managed to bring together all their strong suits while pushing their limits at the same time it was great

i don’t care: bo yuan 【伯远】，gan wangxing 【甘望星】，shao mingming 【邵明明】，wu yuheng 【吴宇恒】，jing long 【井胧】

ok yall know. i’m sure yall kNOW i’m a bo yuan stan he’s pratically my ult on this entire show but let’s talk about jing long for a moment because resident vocal king slayed and knew he was slaying while at it i loved how he played with the dynamics of his voice to add some spice to it instead of just going at it with full power all the way through if that makes sense gan wangxing has this beautiful baritone voice that i’ve ben dying to hear since he sang unbreakable love! because of that i literally realised that baritones are my biggest weakness i loved how he captured the slightly aggressive nonchalance of the song through his expressions while performing (might be thanks to his face naturally but he did it nonetheless) wu yuheng brought out a side to him that i never thought existed without this i never would have guessed he would even come near to killing a concept like this also somehow made an ugly ass bowl cut look good i (finally) realised that what attracted attracts me to bo yuan as a performer is how he goes on stage and you can just tell that he enjoys himself every. single. time. without fail it’s insane

therefore i am: hiroto 【井汲大翔】，lelush 【利路修】，xie xingyang 【谢兴阳】，zhang teng 【张腾】zhang jiayuan 【张嘉元】

now this was an unexpected one for me this stage probably was my favourite in terms of choreographic design - the white vs black? the white gradually being removed that ends with basically all black? the choreography itself for the story? top tier i love xie xingyang as an actor and now i want to see him take on a psycho-ish role because of his facials here they were just that good similar for hiroto like you have this adorable japanese boy who all the chinese trainees are in love with and then you have him on this stage being absolutely unhinged and going feral beyond belief we love to see it zhang teng’s bit where they’re sitting on the floor? revolutionary didn’t get the zhang jiayuan hype but he really could catch my attention here - that final expression did it all for me really

joker (original choreography): xu shaolan 【徐绍岚】，ren yinpeng 【任胤蓬】，wu hai 【吴海】，santa 【赞多】，rikimaru 【力丸】

santa and rikimaru doing well is a given but the one who really did it for me here was wu hai it was so nice to see him in his element more as a professional dancer than an idol although i did get the feeling that he was holding back almost like he could have gone off even harder than he did the three of them did an amazing job at creating a piece that brought out their respective strengths that being said though it would be so nice to see both santa and rikimaru perform something that isn’t dance-focused / a dance genre that isn’t right up their alley the way all their previous performances on the show were when the mentors were making comments i just had a thought that was like ‘i wanna see santa do something cutesy (撒娇 was the term i had lol)’ which basically sums up that whole sentiment

crab dance: gui shangqi 【贵尚奇】，ichika 【上原一翔】，wang xiaochen 【王孝晨】，amu 【羽生田拳武】，he yifan 【何屹繁】

comedic performances (imo) are usually hit or miss but this one did enough for me amu hard carried this with his facials i lost it everytime the camera was on him omg it’s almost like mate was literally made to perform this song cross-eyed he yifan is something i never thought i would see but i loved it the choreo was hella funny as well and that really helped their intros before voting were so funny??? maybe that’s just me having no sense of humour but i died there

you better not think about me: nine 【高卿尘】，mika 【米卡】，patrick 【尹浩宇】，zhang xingte 【张星特】，yu gengyin 【余更寅】

i have to say that thing yu gengyin sat on up to the middle of the first chorus was very cool all five of them are both strong and popular and after this stage i can clearly tell that ‘disappoint’ is nowhere close to existing in their vocabularies yu gengyin’s voice is to die for throughout but that last line where he was tearing up crushed my heart into a million pieces didn’t think much of nine before this but he really shone singing this song he deserved that mvp spot as soothing as mika’s voice is it would be so cool to hear him have a ‘powerful’ vocal moment if you know what i mean honestly all their voices are beautiful on their own but an absolute masterpiece together they also brought out the emotions of a song that i personally really love so well props to them also unbreakable love 2.0 was an added bonus HAHAHA

6 notes · View notes

where-s-all-blue · 4 years

Text

More University Headcanons!

Straw Hat Pirates Edition

Luffy

He's studying to become a photographer because he looked up to Roger, who himself was a professional photographer during the time he was alive.

Another reason for this is the fact that photographers get to see a lot of things their life, sometimes even danger, it's like an adventure.

Like most of his friends, he resides in Gold dorm and has done his fair share of stealing furniture for it.

He keeps a diary which he decorates with cute stickers and Polaroids.

He has a good eye, which helps him with setting the camera in just right way to get the perfect shot.

He's one of the louder residents which often makes people who need the silence to concentrate, like Law, go absolutely bonkers.

He's banned from the kitchen.

He keeps dragging people into the dorm.

Somehow? You just can't hate him.

Zoro

Decided to study social work when he realised how unfair the world could be.

Is also in the kendo club which he joined upon learning that the person who is seen as the best is its captain, he intends to best him.

Currently he supports one hundred and fifty-one wins and one loss.

The only loss was against Mihawk.

He's naturally good when it comes to dealing with people, but he truly shines when he's around kids.

He's often helping around the dorm by moving large objects in/out.

He was the one to clear the large area which later on came to support the workout area and the garden.

He often takes strolls on the woods located behind the dorm, he's easily the scariest being there.

His sense of direction is so bad that he was given his own device which tells him his location and how to get to the place he wants to go to. This device was made by Eustass and Usopp with Law telling them to turn it into a wrist watch which also measures Zoro's vitals so he can monitor his own health and sport related achievements. The data of his vital signs is transferred into his phone.

Usopp

He majors in engineering and thrives when it comes to inventions, his secondary is English literature.

He writes plays and stories on his spare time, some of them are pitched to the theatre club and art majors.

He's good at crafting and thus is often seen working on something for the dorm like name signs that all match the personalities of the residents.

He was the one who thought of turning the street sign poles into a fence around the dorm's garden.

He's also in charge of modifying the stolen property to ensure that nobody realises where they originally came from.

He was the one who turned that one car into a bed after he moved it inside in pieces. The car bed is in a room called "Silence Room" which was made to have no sounds get in or out of it. He and Killer designed the interior of it to help those who have hyper senses and are more proun to headaches (or just can't stand being around people too long). It's also used as a guest room from time to time.

He works the best with people who are smart like Sanji, Law and Eustass, he also gets very well along Chopper, the therapy dog that goes around the campus.

He's free spirited goof ball with very wide interests who gets along with almost everybody.

Being the jokester of the lot is his attempt to have people think of him as a good guy to be around with and to see that he's not just brain.

He struggles with seeing his own self worth and is very proun to feeling melancholic due to his high Intel making him realise things that he'd rather not know of. He has a low self-esteem because of being dismissed as a child due to his dreams and goals being too ahead of his time.

Sanji

Culinary arts and management major.

He was raised in a foster home, more specifically by the owner of the Baratier restaurant Zeff who he considers to be his dad more than his biological father.

He was kicked out of the Vinsmoke estate by his father Judge due to his wish to be a chef instead of becoming a lawyer or a doctor or a politician.

Technically he's still eligible of inheriting the throne of Germa Kingdom even if he was exiled.

He's still expected to marry a high class member of the society and thus Judge keeps messaging him about his choices, fully believing that Sanji will one day see his way and abandon his dream of being a chef in favour of the kingdom.

He even has a fiancé, Charlotte Pudding, though he never agreed to the scheme that was orchestrated by Vinsmoke Judge and Charlotte Linlin. Pudding also isn't too happy about the situation.

His foster father is the actual lecturer in charge of the culinary studies, but as he was in an accident and thus hospitalised, Charlotte Linlin is subbing him much to Sanji's demise.

He's one of the few people who who can cook in the dorm and he takes notice of other people's likes, dislikes and allergies.

Sanji's kindness is often noticed by others.

Nami

She's a architecture major, her second interest being banking.

When she moved into the dorm, she quickly noticed that the students who renovated it had no idea how things worked, so she had them redo few things. The dorm is now a lot easier to keep warm during the winter.

She was the one to pitch the idea of the Silent Room upon noticing how Law was struggling because of how loud the dorm had become as a result of the new first years moving in.

She works part time as a waitress at Baratier and she is known for her ability to negotiate the costs a lot lower that they usually would be.

She's a bit of a kleptomaniac, result of her growing up on a poor and unsafe area dictated by gangs.

She's also a honours student, who's part of the special program which basically ensures that she has enough money to buy her school items and food.

She often chats with the local witch coven to obtain more information, she also likes to hangout with Killer and Usopp.

Her best friend Vivi Nefertari is currently in an exchange program.

Chopper

A golden retriever akita mix.

He was originally Sabo's therapy dog, nowadays he's more or less the therapy dog of anyone who needs him. He still sticks by Sabo for the most of the time.

He's broken into the classrooms during lectures to deliver forgotten items to Sabo so often that he has his own attendance record and he's almost considered to be a student at this point.

His job includes going to the local pharmacy every Friday to pick up a specifically constructed herbal infusion packet and bring it to the Lair.

He's highly intelligent dog who was capable of deducing which herbs were part of the herbal infusion treatment and then retrieve the plants based on their scent.

He picked these herbs and spices from the garden of Gold Dorm.

His bestfriend is Bepo, a samoyed owned by Law, who also happens to be the only other dog on the campus.

Robin

Social Work major, secondary studies in history.

She chose her line of studies due to wanting to prevent other kids being forced to go through the same kind of neglect and abuse as she did.

She's fluent in multiple languages and writes her notes in one of the dead languages, which she self taught herself to read.

She prefers to keep her information confidential and she enjoys the confusion some of her antics cause.

She takes part in the weekly movie night and enjoys them greatly.

Franky

Robotics major.

The only member of the group who doesn't live in a dorm. Nobody knows if he even sleeps or eats, but if you need him, you can always find him form the workshop.

You need to drag him out forcibly to have him even leave the room.

Thanks to Luffy, he now visits the Gold dorm few times a week to hangout, but the second he sees something that gives him an idea, he bolts out back to the workshop.

100% workaholic, 0% sleep, 120% Cola.

Brook

Actual university cryptid.

Is literally dead and walking around.

Formerly a music major.

Nobody knows how long he's been there and frankly nobody cares, his flamboyant style is a mood and his cravings for food and drinks is something we all relate to.

He knows every nook and cranny of the campus.

He's been there so long that nobody even questions it and he even gets invited to university parties and to hang out.

The only time someone freaked out was when the group went to a fast food restaurant and forgot that the outside world isn't aware of him. He tipped the waiter generously with something that looked like an old coin. It was probably worth more than the whole restaurant.

If you talk to him, there's 80% chance of you triggering his natural response to anything which is singing and dancing.

He's literally a walking musical.

He's one of the few who has heard Katakuri's doughnut song and lived to tell the tale. Except that he's dead already yohohoho.

He's very likely to console you if you're not feeling okay.

When it comes to the modern technology and stuff, he's a bit confused, but has the right spirit.

Jinbe

The current captain of the karate club.

Nobody knows what he majors in nor from which dorm he's from.

When Shirahoshi from Atlantis (=Fishman Island) started her studies in the University, he was quick to form a protection team to her and her brothers from the members of the karate club.

He might be the instructor of the club? Apparently he's one of the strongest.

I woke up one morning and he was eating soba noodles in the kitchen, why and how is he in our dorm. Is he even a student here?!

Oh my god he's now fighting against Ace, I swear to god sport majors are so dramatic.

It was a tie. How am I supposed to feel about this.

They both are now emptying our fridge, someone please get them out.

102 notes · View notes

agoodgoddamnshot · 4 years

Text

Opulence [E] - Geralt/Jaskier

[Gif not mine]

Posted originally on my AO3 account - Rated E

Jaskier seems to follow his reputation like a shadow. More often than not, stories of the bard are already in a town or city by the time they actually arrive. For the most part, Geralt has to deal with the fallout of cuckolded men whose courtships or engagements or even marriages have been affected by the bard, in one way or another. It’s easy enough; noblemen, other bards, or even the occasional innkeeper take one look at Geralt – and Jaskier, who always seems to hide just behind the larger man – and tuck tail. On the occasion where ones may pick a fight, it’s not really fair at all. Noblemen, who’ve been taught to fight by great swordmasters, but never have seen so much as a drunken tavern brawl, often end up on the floor with little to no effort.

And while he knows that Jaskier doesn’t go cavorting with the affiances of the upper class anymore – because, for the past few months, it’s been his bed that Jaskier finds himself in – he does have to wonder just how many trysts the man had before settling firmly with Geralt.

“Oh, you don’t want to know,” Jaskier sighs into Geralt’s shoulder. The man has an arm firmly around the bard’s shoulders. His skin is speckled with sweat – a waste, after spending so long in a much-needed bath following days of travelling. But Jaskier just wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone when they were downstairs, drinking in one corner of the inn. Now, though, Geralt’s bard has a sleepy, contented smile lacing his lips.

Geralt arches an eyebrow. “What if I do? I want to know how many towns and cities we probably won’t be allowed into just because you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“You’re one to talk. You have people speak about you as well, Witcher.” Jaskier laughs. A light little thing, mostly into Geralt’s chest. “Between the both of us, we might as well just travel south and hope that the rumours stop at the border.”

One rumour that he is arguably grateful for, however, is how highly people thought of Jaskier’s singing at Cintra. Foreign lords and ladies had been at the banquet. Geralt had watched them; joyfully singing and clapping along with reels and polkas that Jaskier had played. He can only imagine when they travelled back to their own homesteads, rumours of the bard’s singing went with them.

An invite comes. How the message finds them, he isn’t entirely sure. All he does know is that a feast is being hosted in an affluent town almost a two-day ride from their current lodgings. “Oh, don’t be like that,” Jaskier all but pouts as Geralt fetches Roach’s saddle. The mare regards both men for a moment, before going back to her hay. With Geralt’s back to them, Jaskier fishes a small sugar cube out of his pocket and holds it out for the mare. Her ears twitch, and she knickers softly at the treat, but this is still their secret. She still won’t let him on her back without Geralt, but at least Jaskier can be in the same space as the mare without fear of being kicked in the shin. Jaskier wipes the small string of horse spit from his hand and watches Geralt set about tacking her up. “I followed you half-way around the country, into all manners of situations. You can do the same for me, can’t you?”

Geralt huffs. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Setting Roach’s saddle snugly on her back, Geralt looks over at Jaskier. “Anytime you say for me, you expect me to drop everything and do what you want.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Jaskier’s lip. He pets Roach’s muzzle before walking over to Geralt. The Witcher grunts softly, making a few last adjustments to the placement of Roach’s gear, before fetching the girth underneath her stomach. He barely has a chance to attach it to the saddle before he feels Jaskier all but drape against his side. The stables of the inn are well-kept. Stalls are divided by wooden planks that run from the ground to the ceiling. In private, and sheltered from the wandering eyes of stablehands, Jaskier presses a light kiss to Geralt’s neck. “Please?” he mumbles against the skin, smirking as he trails his nose along a tendon there. “For me?”

Geralt turns, catching Jaskier’s lips in a kiss that, if he wasn’t completely aware of how discreet they have to be, would become so much more. Jaskier still doesn’t move his hands though; one on the small of Geralt’s back, and the other holding on to a forearm. When he pulls away, Jaskier tries to follow, but a barked order from one of the grooms to a nearby stableboy makes him pull away.

“Siren,” Geralt sighs. He would follow Jaskier anywhere. The bard knows that. He’s abused that fact. But the city they’re heading to has a reputation; draped in gold with springs of silver in the main square, it’s opulence at its finest. And Geralt is pretty sure that, although he’ll appreciate the comfy bed and the nice food they’ll be provided with, he’s going to fucking hate the rest of it.

Gathering Roach’s reins, Jaskier smiles brightly. “It’ll be great,” Jaskier says, as though he’s a mindreader all of a sudden. Then again, Geralt has different kinds of scowls. And Jaskier is just very good at reading them.

The city is everything he expected it to be. High, thick walls encase it, shielding it from a forest on one side and the foot of a mountain on the other. The main road into the city is packed with other travellers. Merchants with horse-drawn carriages walk alongside them, selling everything from cloth to spices and herbs to books. Sentries line the top of the walls, with their gleaming armour so polished that the sun, perched high in the air, makes them shine like beacons.

Two guards vet everyone approaching the gates. Both Geralt and Jaskier pass with little trouble. The letter that had been delivered to them has the royal sigil stamped on to one corner of the page. A guard with a battle-worn face merely waved them through.

Each person that they pass on the main road through the town seems clad in silks and cottons, with their heads adorned in shawls or headpieces or tropical flowers.

Even the gutters running along either side of the cobblestones look spotless.

Jaskier nudges Geralt’s side. “You look even more constipated than usual,” he remarks, fiddling with the letter. “Mind telling me why?”

It’s not the worst place they could be in. Nice cities mean nice inns, nice food, nice beds. But something Geralt wonders is why a city like this, pinned between a dense forest and a scaling mountain, sitting on a plateau of land with not much agriculture on it, could find its wealth. It doesn’t sit right with him. But he looks to his bard, and finds that he hasn’t given much of a verbal excuse. And Jaskier just keeps looking at him for an explanation. He sighs. “This is a city that is too nice.”

“Too nice,” Jaskier laughs. “You should hear yourself. You always complain about staying in the backrooms of people’s houses, and thin, uncomfortable mattresses. This will be the best we’ll have for a long time.”

Geralt never complains. He barely has enough wherewithal to clench his jaw shut. You’re the one who complains.

Instead, he breathes out a sharp sigh. “You’ll be singing in the king’s court, and what am I to do? Spend the night being your guard, again?”

Jaskier pets Roach’s neck. “Be my consort instead,” he looks up at Geralt with a spark in his eye.

He levels the bard with a look. “I’m not sure how people think about that sort of thing here.”

Jaskier shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out, then.”

“No, we won’t.”

“If you really do find the thought of spending the night with me appalling, then I’m sure there is something else you could be doing.” Jaskier huffs. Petting Roach’s muzzle, Jaskier then slows down slightly, walking along with Geralt. “I’m sure even a city like this has a pest problem,” Jaskier says quietly, smiling politely at a captain of a passing squad of patrolling guards. Geralt regards them. Chainmail, with heavy armour sitting on top of it. The royal crest is painted on to the breastplate. A plate, Geralt notes with a frown, with not a scratch on it.

They find themselves in a townhouse near the royal district. “We can’t just have anyone staying within the castle walls,” a spokesperson for the king smiles; one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I hope you understand.”

Jaskier nods. “Completely.” Someone comes to collect Roach and take her into the neighbouring stables. Geralt shrugs them off, leading the mare into the yard himself. Jaskier stays with the spokesperson, happy enough to talk about what etiquette is expected of him. Geralt can’t help but snort. Jaskier, for all of the rumours that would say otherwise, knows how to behave in front of dignitary.

He’ll just follow the bard’s lead.

If he’s going, that is.

Roach nudges him once he’s removed the last of her tack and strung up a net of hay for her. A knowing look sits in her eyes. “Don’t,” he points a finger, stepping out of the stall. She huffs.

A couple of hours stand between them having to leave for the banquet and now. The space is large enough for two double beds on either side of the room, and a bathtub that has already been brought up. On a nearby table, there’s a collection of salts and perfumes. Even with their caps on, the vials give off heavy aromas.

Jaskier fiddles with them, regarding each one carefully. It wasn’t a long trek from their last lodging; but muscles ache after a while, and he’s been on the road too long to ever refuse the offer of a bath.

Jaskier takes the cork off one of the vials. A pungent smell of lavender seeps into the room, and Geralt, even setting the last of his things down at the other side of the space, wrinkles his nose. “Unless you plan on falling asleep during your performance,” he says, “don’t use that.”

Jaskier closes the vial. A small frown creases his brow. “You can smell that all the way over there?”

“It’s not like I’m an entire country away, Jaskier.” Geralt slides the sheathes of both of his swords underneath one of the beds. They’ll lock the room when they leave, but he won’t be too careful. Geralt looks over his shoulder. For the first time in a long time, Jaskier hasn’t replied to a quip he’s made. Looking at the bard now, there’s a look on his face that he can’t entirely make out. “What?”

“Interesting,” Jaskier mumbles, picking up another vial.

It’s not the worst gathering he’s been to. The king – though, he finds out from a hoard of gossiping guards that he isn’t a king at all, but a man with grand notions of his place in the world – allows him to sit with the rest of them. Any friend of the bard is a friend of mine! Geralt’s eyes threaten to roll to the back of his head. But he settles for looking out on to the main hall, already packed with people who’ve had their fill of food and drink.

Long tables are laden with just about every meat Geralt can think of, with bowls packed with seasonal vegetables and spiced fruits in between each platter. Everyone seems merry; aided by the small army of servants wandering around to each table setting, filling goblets back up with ale and mead and wine just as soon as they’re empty.

When a server comes for his own goblet, Geralt covers the lid with his hand. “I’m fine,” he says gruffly. The server bows her head slightly, before going to the next person. It takes a lot of drink to even affect him, thanks to the mutations. He never quite understood it; a high metabolism, most likely. And he’s pretty sure that he would be able to get that volume of alcohol here, if he looked for it. The king seems keen for the visiting nobles to have a good time. Opinions easily bought with good food and drink.

But Geralt sits back in his chair, content to just watch his bard. A small gathering of others have joined him off to one side. The great hall is almost like a throne room; high vaulted ceilings held up by marble pillars. The space sprawls onwards, almost like fields. It would be impossible for Jaskier to play alone, and be heard by everyone. But he gives it a fair go.

Jaskier looks like he belongs there. A begrudging smile pulls at the corner of Geralt’s lip, threatening to show itself. He does his best to school his expression. Jaskier would never let him live it down if he saw that Geralt was actually enjoying himself.

Well, that’s not entirely true. He hasn’t so much as glanced at the dancing nobles in the middle of the grand hall. He’s fairly certain that a diplomat and her sister, or cousin, or daughter, have been talking to him for the past ten minutes; but he hasn’t taken in a single word.

After each song, Jaskier takes a moment to himself, looking out on to the applauding crowd. Geralt’s chest tightens. Stop, he has to keep telling himself. If he could shake the feeling away, he doesn’t know if he would. There was never any good in his life. Fleeting bed-partners came and went, as did faint flames of romances. This is different. A feeling churns his stomach and just won’t settle; simultaneously setting fire to his bones and making him shiver, as if a winter’s wind caught him off guard.

It’s frightening.

Jaskier looks at him first. After each song, he’ll seek out Geralt’s eyes from across the room, before smiling at him. Geralt can’t get over the fact that Jaskier’s eyes are so pale. Grey, with specks of blue in them. The golden lighting of the hall doesn’t do them any justice. Geralt lifts his chin in acknowledgement. Jaskier winks – a fucking wink – and moves on to the next song.

By the time the music finishes, gods’ know how many hours have passed. Geralt watches with some faint feeling of pride when those who had been dancing offer the first claps of applause, shouting for another couple of songs.

Nobles sitting alongside Geralt join in.

The most vocal of them sits in the centre. “Marvellous!” the king applauds, looking to each person beside him. “Wasn’t he just marvellous?”

There’s fevered agreement. Geralt watches it out of the corner of his eye, but ultimately settles for taking a long sip of wine. Jaskier holds his lute close to his chest, bowing his head in thanks. When he looks over to Geralt again, Geralt inclines his head. Well done. Because fuck if Jaskier is going to get a verbal praise out of him.

It’s enough for the bard. He places his hand on his heart and smiles. The minstrels that had accompanied him disperse back into the crowd, pulled into groups of chattering dignitaries. Geralt watches as Jaskier tries to navigate the room, serving between people, heading straight for the head table.

Because of where Geralt is, he’s the first person the bard seeks out. Up close, Geralt spies that the bard’s skin is speckled with sweat. And he seems slightly out of breath. Then again, Jaskier is never happy to just sing; insisting on dancing around the room whenever he can, getting a crowd going. The man is still so skinny, and Geralt has to wonder if that’s why.

Jaskier puts a hand on the back of Geralt’s chair. He tries not to shudder at the feeling of knuckles pressing into his back. The last time they had so much as brushed against each other had been before the doors to the hall opened, and they were both swept away to different sides of the room. Now, Geralt’s grip on his goblet tightens.

“Well, you big brute, did you enjoy yourself?” Jaskier leans down to Geralt. His eyes go to the man’s goblet, and must-see how white his knuckles have turned, because the grin that spreads across his face is just chaotic.

Geralt huffs. Jaskier plays his games. Geralt plays his own. “I didn’t want to throw myself off of the parapets, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The noblelady beside him balks slightly. Geralt grins. Something mirrored by the bard. “The highest of praise,” Jaskier marvels, patting Geralt’s shoulder. The touch scalds his skin, even through the layers of nice, formal clothes he had been almost-bribed to wear.

The king beckons him over. As Jaskier brushes Geralt’s back, moving towards the king, he lets his fingers trail over Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt tries his best to swallow a low growl.

A slight flourish of air signals that Jaskier has moved away. A scent follows, trailing along and skimming the bottom of Geralt’s nose. He allows himself to breathe it, for a moment. The air inside the grand hall had steadily become heavy with the scent of drink and food and sweat. Even when the tall lancet doors were open, leading out on to a large balcony looking over the city, the sea breeze wafting in couldn’t entirely chase the harsh scent away.

But what’s here now is different. All consuming.

Geralt looks over to Jaskier, sliding into a place made for him by the king’s side.

Honey. Nutmeg. A slight trace of orange blossom. It’s a scent that coils around his chest and spreads along his veins, easing his muscles. For the first time during the entire night, the world around him all fades away.

Jaskier makes idle conversation with the king. What it’s about, Geralt isn’t entirely sure. Blood rushes through his ears, sounding like the crashing ocean outside, battering the nearby cliffs as the moon churns the sea.

He catches Geralt’s gaze out of the corner of his eye. Without turning fully away from the king, a loose, content smile curls along the bard’s lips. Geralt all but balks. He knows that smile – one that’s always painted over his bard’s face after nights spent together. One that he sees either before falling into bed, shortly after, or even in the morning hours.

One that is being sent his way, in front of the lords and ladies of gods know where, in front of an elite family. In front of other people who had been drafted to come to this event, all surely looking towards their table, seeing what the king thinks of the bard who performed all night.

Geralt schools his expression; a hard thing to do, when the grip on his goblet becomes so much, he worries vaguely about distending it.

That little siren—

Geralt, in his long life, has weathered some tough situations. But the walk back from the castle’s keep to their lodgings is definitely up there.

It doesn’t help at all that Jaskier, under a guise of being merry – the King just kept offering me drink, Geralt. I can’t turn him down! – all but drapes against his side. Their fingers brushed on the walk over, knuckles skimming each other, until Geralt tried outstretching his fingers to try and catch Jaskier’s. When the bard took it upon himself to press against Geralt’s side, one arm was flung loosely around his shoulders, while a hand placed itself on Geralt’s chest. Geralt tried biting back a growl when that particularly hand slipped underneath Geralt’s shirt, fingers skimming across his chest.

The temptation is there – stalking around in his brain. All he would have to do is drag Jaskier into a nearby street; a small alleyway where the guards aren’t patrolling, and one that they won’t even glance down. But gods, Jaskier would complain. We are not doing this like back-alley whores, Geralt. He can already hear the man’s voice in his head.

But he does hear something. He’s been playing with the man since stepping into that fool’s palace, casting glances and smirks across the grand hall, turning away coyly when Geralt wants to curse him out.

The inn is quiet. Stepping inside, Geralt is slightly surprised to find only a couple of men are posted by the bar keep’s counter. Another handful are by the hearth, mugs of mead in hand, chatting quietly among themselves. It’s a change from the inns and taverns that line country roads, which never seem to sleep. They walk straight through the tavern, with Jaskier nodding what seems to be a goodnight to the woman gathering plates around the room. But no one else even lifts their head. The hearth still crackles. Men slouched in chairs in front of it still discuss what road they’re going to take in the morning to their next destination. The lady who owns the tavern finishes putting away the polished tankards.

When they reach their room – upstairs, with a lancet window looking out on to the town – Geralt barely lets the door close behind them before he has Jaskier pushed up against it. The bard laughs, almost giggles; something smothered when Geralt catches his face in between his hands, bringing them together in a heated kiss.

Nimble fingers work at the laces of Geralt’s shirt. The top of it had been undone for a few hours now. The grand hall had been warm, and Geralt was done with Jaskier’s coy games. He could play them too. Jaskier breaks from the kiss, resting his forehead against Geralt’s. “You should have just taken the fucking shirt off,” he groans. “You were already halfway there with how much of your chest was out during that feast. Honestly Geralt, you need to work on your modesty.”

Geralt tries to catch Jaskier’s lips again, but the bard pulls back, focused on getting at least one article of clothing off of the other man. Geralt could help. Of course he could. His hands aren’t doing anything; keeping hold of Jaskier’s neck and head. But there’s something thrilling about how he can feel Jaskier’s heartbeat through the hand on his neck.

“Everyone was too busy looking at you,” he replies instead, freeing one hand to momentarily skim down Jaskier’s side.

The bard scoffs. “Are you going to be pissy about it?” With the last of the shirt laces undone, Jaskier makes quick work of wrestling it up and off of the man. Jaskier finally kisses him again, looping his arms loosely around the span of Geralt’s shoulders. “Whenever I looked for you, you had the same sulk on your face as always. What’s wrong? Did you not like all the attention being on me for once?”

He’s playing again, Geralt thinks. He’s egging you on. “If you really want to know,” he says lowly, undoing the buttons of Jaskier’s doublet. Peeling it back and off, Geralt sets his lips and teeth against the length of the bard’s neck. He hides a smirk into the skin when Jaskier’s head tilts to one side: when his breathing starts to falter and hitch. “I’ve never been prouder.”

Suddenly, the bard’s hands are on his shoulders, and Geralt is wrenched back from Jaskier. “What?” the bard balks.

I can play your game too, you siren. Geralt sets his chin. “You were in your element. I spent the night watching people singing along with you, dance to your songs. I had to endure endless praises said by a king and his court.”

Geralt returns to Jaskier’s neck – at a slight loss, since he wants to watch the bard’s eyes go even wider at the praise. But the bard’s skin is still steeped in sweet notes of honey and nutmeg, and Geralt can’t find it in himself to part with it just yet.

Jaskier’s mouth opens and closes. For the first time in a long time, nothing actually comes out in the way of words. Instead, his breath catches when Geralt’s hands find their way underneath his shirt, tracing fingers along his bare sides. A shiver ricochets throughout Jaskier’s body. The arms around Geralt’s neck tighten, keeping him pressed firmly against the bard’s front. Truth be known, Geralt doesn’t know how long they stay there; pressed against the door, bodies moving against each other while hands wander, pulling at clothing and pawing skin. It could be a couple of seconds. It could be hours. The distant hum of people downstairs and walking in the hallway outside fade away entirely, until the only sounds that Geralt can hear are the crackling of the hearth and soft groans wrenching from Jaskier’s throat.

Wealthy towns mean wealthy inns; an ever-burning hearth with chopped wood nearby, plush beds stuffed with goose feathers, and quilted blankets and furs folded by the end. Geralt guides them across the room, until Jaskier’s knees hit the foot of the bed, and they pull each other down. The bard huffs against Geralt’s lips, pulling away for a second to press his forehead against the other man’s. He looks down as Geralt pulls at the laces of his shirt. Within seconds, because his Witcher moves fast, it’s flung across the room. Out of sight, out of mind. “Tell me this,” he says. Geralt hides a smirk into the centre of Jaskier’s chest at how breathless his bard sounds already. “Do all Witchers have a thing for smells, or is it just the one I’ve got?”

Teeth nip at Jaskier’s side.

The bard presses on. “Don’t get me wrong, I like nice smells as much as the next person,” he says, carding his fingers through Geralt’s hair. Recently washed, and pulled back into its normal, simple tie, he delights as it comes undone. “But you seem to really like it.”

It’s still there; honey, nutmeg, and orange blossom. Although it’s faded, in the hours since bathing, replaced with tones of wine and sweat, Geralt can still find traces of it in the pores of the bard’s skin. Geralt’s lips trail downwards. His fingers make quick work of getting Jaskier out of his breeches. Another scent seeps into the air; one he’s quite fond of. He’s grown used to the sharp smell of sex; bedrooms of taverns tended to reek of it, no matter how many times sheets were washed and mattresses are turned. But there’s something different about scenting it on Jaskier. The bard has a very particular smell, one that Geralt has come to know over their time together. With Jaskier bared in front of him, Geralt loops his arms underneath the bard’s legs, and tugs him closer. Setting his mouth into the groove of Jaskier’s hip, Geralt breathes. “I like this better.”

Jaskier gives a half-laugh. It dies completely at the familiar feel of lips against skin. “I can’t go around smelling of sex all day, Geralt. What will people think?”

Geralt hums. “Nothing they don’t already assume with the rumours they used to spread about you.”

“Geralt.”

“If anything, I think it’ll only prove them right.”

“You’re not funny.”

It should bother him: how familiar they are with each other. How well both of them can map out each other’s bodies, find where they’re most vulnerable to lips or teeth or touch. It should bother him how well Jaskier knows his mind, and how their usual banter continues into an act like this. Sex had never been like this with anyone else. Not even the more serious of his lovers in the past, the ones where he felt sparks in his veins. But Jaskier is like an inferno, setting his body on fire, and never fully being put out. It should bother him. And yet it really doesn’t.

Gentle hands running over his shoulders bring him back. “Everything alright down there?”

Geralt looks up. Pillows piled up against the headboard help the bard sit up slightly. Geralt can’t help but imagine him as some sort of regent, reclining and observing. Geralt lets his hands wander down the outside of Jaskier’s legs. He presses one last kiss to the join of the bard’s hip and leg. It’s not where Jaskier needs him. He knows that. Some part of him delights in watching the other man squirm: how he’ll try and shift his hips slightly, urging Geralt to put his mouth somewhere fucking useful—

“You’re being cruel.” Jaskier frowns down at him with all the power of a child not getting what they want.

Geralt hums. “Am I?” He moves past the man’s length, all but missing it completely, to worry skin of the other side of Jaskier’s hip.

The bard groans, letting his head fall back against the pillows. “And obtuse.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jaskier squirms. He’s strong; something not many people know about him. The bard isn’t completely helpless. But at the same time, Geralt has little to no trouble in catching writhing legs and hips, and holding them down to continue doing whatever it was he was doing not a couple of seconds before.

But Jaskier’s top half is free. Geralt looks up for a second, watching the bard reach for the bottle of oil they have on the bedside table. He frowns slightly. He doesn’t remember fishing it out of Roach’s bags, which means that Jaskier took it inside. And Jaskier left it on the bedside table, for all the world to see.

And Jaskier definitely knew that they would come back to the tavern and fall into bed together.

He flings the bottle down towards Geralt, almost knocking the Witcher’s head with it. “If you’re going to spend the rest of your days down there, could you at least do something useful?” Jaskier huffs, sitting back on his elbows.

“This is useful,” Geralt replies easily. For all their games – for all the times he prods and pokes fun at his bard, because it’s genuinely amusing – he does take pity. Searching blindly for the bottle, Geralt adds a couple of more bruises to Jaskier’s hip. “There’s no point in rushing things. We have all night. And tomorrow morning.”

Uncapping the glass bottle, the smell of oil suddenly enters the room. It’s not entirely unpleasant, but it’s not his favourite thing in the world. It’s heavy, almost smothering, as it coats the roof of Geralt’s mouth. He coats his fingers, making sure that there’s enough left behind because, for all people say about Witcher’s and their stamina, the same could be said about Jaskier. And he will want something akin to a second round in the morning hours.

Jaskier’s head falls back against the pillows as Geralt’s finger traces his hole. Geralt lifts his lips from Jaskier’s hip, watching intently as he slips one finger in; humming when there’s no resistance at all.

A groan echoes through Jaskier’s entire body. “There you go,” he sighs, “another.”

Geralt gladly obliges, after a time. He likes taunting his bard. There’s a humour shared between the two of them that he doesn’t have with anyone else. But eventually, it always leaves when they get a bit too close. When something else takes its place. They’ll still share breath when joined, and Jaskier will always loose a content little giggle into Geralt’s neck once they’ve finished. But right now, it’s not the time.

A second finger joins the first. And Jaskier’s body starts to squirm again. Geralt runs a hand over the man’s flank. Beneath his hand, gooseflesh bubbles to the surface. Geralt takes his time, coaxing muscle loose and making sure that nothing ever hurts Jaskier in any way. He returns to the bard’s neck, tracing his lips along the tendon that stands out whenever Jaskier tries to swallow back moans. The second that he runs his nose along it, though, Jaskier gasps. “I appreciate – fuck – I appreciate your attentiveness Geralt but – for fuck sake – get on with it, please.”

A third finger slips in. Geralt hums against Jaskier’s stomach, watching how his body seemingly recognises his partner’s touch, parting for him easily. Geralt turns his hand slightly, curling his fingers, searching and feeling out for something. He knows he has found it when a hand slaps against his shoulder. Geralt smirks: the bard’s fingers coil over the meat of his shoulder, nails pressing into skin. “For fuck sake,” Jaskier groans at the ceiling, “are you going to torture me all night?”

A gentle kiss is pressed to Jaskier’s stomach. “Maybe,” Geralt hums, tracing the pads of his fingers gently over the spot, relishing in how his bard both wants to squirm away from the overstimulation, and grind his hips back on to his hand. “You do look good lain out like this.”

“I’d look even better with you fucking me,” Jaskier bites, looking down at an entirely all-too-smug Witcher. His eyes narrow. “So get to it.”

“Bossy little bastard, aren’t you,” Geralt says, leaning up to catch Jaskier’s lips in his own. He has them for a brief moment, before the bard pulls away with a huff, pressing his head back into the pillow when Geralt’s fingers brush against his prostate again.

“I spent an age bathing and getting nice for you. Not to mention how much time I spent riling you up in the king’s halls,” Jaskier all but huffs. Geralt smiles, sitting back on his haunches. With the Witcher not covering him anymore, a slight chill trails over Jaskier’s bare skin. Even with the hearth blazing, he feels cold. “The least you can do is actually follow through with those bedroom eyes you were sending me all night.”

Geralt cleans his hand on the far corner of the bed. Hooded eyes watch him make quick and deft work with the laces of his breeches. His boots are lost to the room, toed off at some point on their journey from the door to the bed. Gods only know where they are. “If you had the patience to spend all that time playing coy,” Geralt smirks, slipping his breeches off and flinging them on to the floor, “then you can wait a few more minutes until we’re ready.”

Geralt returns, and Jaskier feels warm again. Kisses litter his torso: lips either barely brushing skin at all, or wet presses along the ridges of his collarbone and ribs. It’s lovely. It really is. But Geralt feels another objection from the bard coming when his shoulder is lightly smacked.

“I’ll find someone else,” Jaskier groans.

“Right.”

“I will,” he bites, “someone downstairs will take better care of my needs.”

“I’m sure they will.”

It’s always in jest. Well, it’s always in jest when it’s between them. Geralt knows that it’s his bed that Jaskier lies in, that he’ll always come back to. Jaskier knows the same. He can joke with his bard about his past affairs – since there probably isn’t a town in the continent that hasn’t been saved from Jaskier’s past romances. It’s never a joke when it’s someone else; when someone in an inn or tavern, or drunkard stumbling out of a brothel at night, seeing them walk by. It’s never a joke when those people say it.

Geralt finds his place again, Jaskier’s legs parted and framed around him. He hovers over the bard, leaning on his arms, placed on either side of Jaskier’s head. They can be close, that way. Geralt kisses him again, humming as he feels Jaskier pull his hair free of its tie, and runs his fingers through the strands. When they part, it’s only a fragment. Their lips brush and their noses are set against the other’s. Any scorn that the bard had been feeling not a couple of moments ago has seeped away. Jaskier’s fingers trail from Geralt’s hair, to his temples, down along the ridges of his cheekbones and coming to a rest along his jaw, mapping out lines. “I’m yours,”

“And you’re mine,” Geralt agrees, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

Their joining now is just as intense as it had been during their first. Many moons ago, aided by blood humming slightly with ale and a warm bed, when the first brush of naked skin set them both alight. Geralt buries his face into Jaskier’s neck, the urge to bite the skin there rising, but he thinks better against it. If his bard has been this tightly strung all night, best not to let go of the string.

Jaskier’s legs wrap around his waist, with his feet poised at the small of his back. The movement jostles Geralt slightly, wrenching a small groan from both of them. Either one of them could finish early. The night’s tension all rushes upon them now. Geralt nips at the join of Jaskier’s shoulder and neck. “Alright?”

“Very much so,” Jaskier sighs, head tilted back and eyes staring straight up at the ceiling. They roll back at the first slide of Geralt in him: a slow draw back and push forward, the tentative first movement, and a quiet question of is this okay?

Finding no reason to stop, Geralt moves faster and deeper into the body below him. Jaskier all but moulds himself to Geralt’s frame, arms draped over and crossed around his shoulders and back, keeping their chests flushed together. Even with several nights of lying together behind them – so many that Geralt has stopped keeping track – it still surprises him how quickly a coil of heat starts to wind around his core.

Jaskier turns his head, moaning into the pillow. “There,” he gasps at a well-placed thrust, “there, there, keep going.”

There are things people say about Geralt that don’t hold an ounce of truth. Usually, it’s the whole Witcher thing. People will make up all kinds of rumours and beliefs, and stand by them, to justify distrust and hate. Other things are frivolous – like how he is as a lover. Jaskier thought some of them, at one point. One of the prevailing beliefs being that Geralt was going to be rough and coarse, and the entire thing would leave him unable to walk the next day. And while some times the latter is true, Geralt has never once bore teeth and nail to Jaskier – unless he explicitly asked for it, of course. Geralt is attentive; he reaches blindly for one of Jaskier’s thighs, hoisting it higher up Geralt’s torso just so he can get deeper. It wrenches something caught between a moan and yell from the bard.

It’s always for Jaskier.

Geralt wants to watch. He wants to see the bard’s face and body, but he presses his nose against Jaskier’s skin instead, drawing in a lungful of sweet and salty scents. It sends a thrum of pleasure down his spine.

“Geralt,” Jaskier gasps. His nails dig into the flesh of Geralt’s back. “Geralt, please. I’m close.”

“You can come for me without my help,” Geralt pulls away from Jaskier’s neck, but keeping his face close to the other man’s. “Can’t you, my little lark?”

Jaskier’s eyelids flicker closed. “Geralt-” The bard body tightens around him, and for a brief moment, all Geralt sees is white. Their foreheads knock gently together as Jaskier comes, holding on to Geralt for dear life as wetness shoots between them.

A choked groan wrenches out of Geralt’s throat. It’s all too much, the tight heat and the scents encircling him, and the fact that it’s Jaskier. With one last hard thrust, he stills, emptying himself into Jaskier. The bard moans, shifting his hips slightly. The legs around Geralt’s waist tighten, keeping the man pressed close.

Some sort of whine leaves Jaskier’s throat when Geralt manages to pull away from the bard. With whatever energy is left in him, Geralt uses it to avoid falling down directly on to the body beneath him. Instead, he moves on to one side of the bed, but keeping Jaskier within an arm’s reach.

Jaskier peers down at himself. They should bathe. But bathing would mean going in search of the tavernkeep and asking for hot water. It would involve them moving and putting clothes on. The idea is quickly thrown out the window. It’ll be a problem for the morning.

Both of them lie there for a time, content to catch their breaths. Sweat cools, and soon, Jaskier starts to shiver slightly. Even with the hearth, it’s not enough. Their legs are still joined, entangled, keeping them tethered to each other. The very thought of having to move away, even just for a second, makes Jaskier’s heart clench.

But they do move after a time, albeit, just shuffling around slightly to lie facing each other.

“For all the grumbling you did on our journey here,” Jaskier says, reaching out to brush some strands of white hair back from Geralt’s face, “we had a lovely time in this city, don’t you think?”

“Hmm.” Geralt’s eyelids droop close. Jaskier moves to fetch the linen sheets, kicked down towards the foot of the bed. When he drapes them over their bodies, Geralt shuffles slightly, throwing an arm loosely around Jaskier’s waist, tugging him closer.

Jaskier pillows his head on one arm, pale blue eyes scanning over the Witcher’s face. He’s mapped every inch of it in their time together; the ridges of cheekbones, the small scars on his temple, how his eyes, although they stay that amber colour, can change to different shades depending on what mood he’s in. Jaskier smiles. “Thank you,” he says softly. “For coming here with me.”

Geralt hums. His eyes remain closed, but from his breathing alone, Jaskier knows he’s not asleep. Though, he could very well be teetering on the edge. “I was hardly going to let you go alone,” he rasps. “Gods know what kind of trouble you would have gotten yourself into.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t to watch me perform?” Jaskier smiles, something hidden into his arm. But his eyes crease with how widely the smile spreads. “Since you had such nice words for me when we got back.”

“Did I?”

“You complimented me, Geralt.”

“That doesn’t sound like something I’d do. You have me confused with someone else.”

Jaskier pokes his side. “No, I vividly remember you saying that you were proud of me. Seeing me in my element, as you put it.”

“Go to fucking sleep, Jaskier,” Geralt mumbles. The words are mostly lost into the cotton cover of the pillow, but he feels Jaskier shift slightly, finally settling after a couple of minutes.

The town outside sleeps, except for the patrols of mounted guards that pass every half an hour or so. Horses’ hooves echo along the cobbles outside. If he strains, he can hear the guards chattering amongst themselves. There are other sounds too; the crackle of burning wood in the hearth, the groaning of boards in the tavern’s walls as the night begins to cool. All sounds that Geralt tries not to listen to. He turns his head, burying his nose into Jaskier’s mop of hair.

It’s still there. Traces of it, clinging on to his skin for dear life, but Geralt fills his lungs with honey and nutmeg and orange blossom. The mattress seems to part for him as he sinks into it, holding the bard’s body close, and letting sleep wash over him.

120 notes · View notes

halictus-writer · 4 years

Text

Welcome to Seattle (Ch. 5 of 5)

They spent the entirety of the next day together. They had exchanged a few texts last night before Sirius asked Remus if he would like to get coffee with him (as a date, Sirius had written in a second message before Remus could respond to the first). Remus instantly responded affirmatively, and asked if Sirius was free in the morning.

Remus left his apartment a little earlier than he had to, and eventually found himself walking up towards the Starbucks in Pike Place Market that Sirius had insisted on meeting at (it’s not basic because this store is the original Starbucks. It’s very hipster actually) a whole ten minutes early. Surprisingly, Sirius was already there to meet him, occupying a spot in the line that extended down the sidewalk. Evidently, being the original Starbucks meant it attracted a lot of customers.

Sirius’s dark hair was pulled away from his face in an elaborate half-up half-down style, with small braids that reminded Remus of majestic elves. He wore black Doc Martens and a matching leather jacket. His face lit into a bright smile when he spotted Remus.

“Good morning!” Sirius said, and opened his arms for a hug. Remus let the embrace last an extra second as he tried to will his face to stop blushing.

“Good morning,” he finally returned, pulling away. “How was the rest of your shift last night?”

“Pretty easy, actually! It quieted down a bit after you left, and I was extra-motivated to close quickly, because the most adorable diner gave me his phone number and an absolutely ridiculous note.”

“Oh really?”

“Mm hm.”

They both laughed softly. Remus felt light. With his hands tucked into his pockets, he turned to nudge Sirius’s shoulder with his own. Sirius returned the nudge, but stayed close afterwards, their arms barely touching.

The line moved quickly, and eventually they were leaving the store with their drinks in hand, Remus with a simple iced drip coffee, and Sirius with an elaborate pumpkin-spice sugar bomb cold brew concoction. The barista had actually shuddered when Sirius had asked for an extra shot of “pumpkin-spice syrup,” something which Remus was horrified to learn existed at all.

They walked through Pike Place Market and into Victor Steinbruick park, while sipping their drinks. The city was offering a rare clear morning sky, so they kept walking outdoors to enjoy it. Small talk flowed easily, and soon they were learning all about each other’s lives and hobbies.

“Okay, you have two seconds,” Sirius began suddenly, “favorite movie. Go.”

“Pride and Prejudice,” Remus replied instantly, “but not the 2005 one, the 1995 mini-series from BBC.”

“Oh my god,” Sirius emphasized. “Of course you would say something like that.”

“It’s good!” Remus defended. “The drama, the pining, young Colin Firth, did I mention the drama?”

Sirius laughed. “Maybe once or twice.”

“What’s yours?” Remus asked.

“Easy. Shrek 2.”

Remus dissolved into laughter, and eventually gained enough air to ask why it was specifically the second Shrek movie.

“Simple answer. The soundtrack. Counting Crows? Funkytown? The finale where Jennifer Saunders as the Fairy Godmother sings Holding Out For a Hero? Remus, it is simply the greatest film to exist.”

Remus continued to laugh, “of course you know her name, oh my god.”

“Okay, our second date should be a movie night, we can watch both of our favorites together,” Sirius said, looking at Remus and pausing, “and decide which is superior,” he finished, eyes narrowed playfully.

Remus felt a small excited feeling in his stomach at Sirius already talking about a second date. “I would love that.” He said sincerely, looking directly into Sirius’s eyes.

“Although,” Remus began with a very matter-of-fact tone, turning to the horizon, “Pride and Prejudice is five and a half hours long.”

“What?!” Sirius said incredulously.

“But it’s so worth it!” Remus reassured. “We can make coffee, it’ll be fine.”

“You,” Sirius said, eyebrows raised, “are ridiculous. But I love it.”

Remus felt that little rush of excitement again. He wondered if he would ever get used to Sirius, and not feel those butterflies anymore. He hoped not.

Their conversation topics included deeper things as well. Remus learned about Sirius’s troubles with his family, and how he was abruptly cut-off financially from them in the middle of his second year of college.

“I had been working part-time at the restaurant, but then I just couldn’t afford the full tuition and the stress so I ended up withdrawing from school,” Sirius explained. “Once I took care of myself mentally and had a more stable life, I started enrolling in the occasional online community college class. I’ll actually be able to graduate with a full Bachelor’s degree in a year, which, I’m already twenty-six, so I know it’s super late, but…” his voice trailed off at the end.

“What, no, Sirius.” Remus reassured him. “That’s amazing, that must have been so hard to accomplish, but you’ve managed to stick with it anyway, I’m, well, you should be proud of yourself,” he finished lamely.

Sirius looked at Remus for a beat before responding. “Thank you, that means a lot.”

“What do you want to do after graduating?” Remus asked, hoping to steer the conversation back to more familiar ground. He was more than willing to talk about something hard if Sirius needed it, but he didn’t want to give patronizing advice on how Sirius should be feeling about his problems if Sirius wasn’t asking for it.

Sirius’s face lit up. “Actually, and this may sound kind of stupid, but I really want to be a Kindergarten teacher.”

“Oh my god,” Remus laughed, “you would be absolutely perfect for that.”

Eventually, Sirius asked Remus about his visit to the restaurant last night. Remus remembered his own emotional state, and that Sirius had definitely seen some of it.

“Um, yeah, last night didn’t really go well for me before you saw me.” Remus began somewhat awkwardly. He explained in vague terms the fact that he had been on a first date with someone who he was not planning on seeing ever again. “But I also deleted my Tinder account last night, so, don’t worry.”

“The steakhouse man was bad enough to make you give up on online dating forever?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“Oh, no, actually.” Remus answered. “I only officially deactivated it after you texted me.”

***

Sirius was ridiculous. He was absolutely determined to make Remus laugh, even if it was by doing something stupid himself. After Remus accidentally stumbled on a protruding sidewalk curb, Sirius dramatically flung himself against a telephone pole. As they walked past the Space Needle, Sirius insisted on photobombing every tourist he could, and then made Remus take photos of himself copying their poses, either pinching the top of the Space Needle or kicking it.

There was a youthful energy in Sirius’s everyday motions, it seemed to Remus, and it successfully brought out Remus’s own youthful side. Their morning coffee turned into lunch, where they ordered sandwiches and one gigantic brownie to share. After Sirius told a joke that left Remus almost crying in laughter, Remus decided it was time.

“So, I feel like I have to say this.” He began, then gave a sheepish smile. “I kind of hate tiramisu.”

Sirius cackled, “I knew it!”

“What?!”

“I realized you didn’t like it after the first time I brought it to you. But I didn’t know what else to do to get your attention, because for some reason that’s the only dessert we sell!”

“So you brought me green beans instead?”

Sirius waved his arms defensively. “I was smitten, Remus. I didn’t know what to do.”

Remus just smiled.

***

Sirius didn’t have to be back at the restaurant until his shift started at 5, so on their way back from lunch they took the scenic route. They were walking in comfortable silence when a clap of thunder sounded overhead. Suddenly, sheets of rain began dumping from the sky.

Remus’s first reaction was to look for a taxi, or duck into a storefront, or hide from the weather somehow. But, Sirius let out a whoop of pure excitement.

“YES, it’s raining!” Sirius said, turning to grin at Remus.

“This is Seattle, it does that a lot–” Remus started, but was cut off when Sirius grabbed his hand, and pulled him, running through the rain.

Remus looked at him in astonishment, before he laced their fingers together and ran faster. If he felt light before, at the start of their date, now he felt weightless. Pure joy flowed through him as the sky continued its downpour and Sirius spun him in a sloppy ballroom dance twirl, their hands still linked.

On the middle of a small pedestrian bridge spanning a roaring creek, they stopped running. Panting from the run, cheeks flushed from the adventure, and completely soaked in water, time stopped as Sirius turned to face Remus.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Sirius breathed.

“Good,” Remus said, and closed the gap.

***

One month later, Remus found himself in a successful LTR.

8 notes · View notes

gymn0pedist · 3 years

Text

On Erik Satie and Venezuelan Folk Music

Today on the ‘Metropolitan Blog of Art, of Song, Satie the Conductor’ blog we will be comparing two musical pieces; “Aubade” from Avant-dernieres pensees by Erik Satie and a traditional Venezuelan folk song performed by a Hungarian artist Arani Zoltan, who specializes in folk songs. These two amazing songs are linked together by meter and harmony.

Erik Satie lived from May seventeenth, 1866 to July first, 1925. He was a French composer known for writing gentle, calm, and deliberately non-German music. It is important to note that he used harmonies that were way ahead of its time. For example, many of the chords and harmonic choices arose in popularity in American Jazz. His work had influences on various composers such as Debussy, Ravel, Poulenc, and Cage. You can divide Satie’s works into each decade of his life. In his twenties he wrote his early piano pieces, in his thirties he wrote primarily cabaret songs, in his forties he wrote satirical piano pieces, and in his fifties, he had a very varied output of pieces including ballets, socrate, and songs and piano pieces.

The country of Venezuela has a rich culture and history surrounding music. There are even laws to allocate 50% of radio airwaves to folk music. Much of the folklore came from Llanos, which is the inland prairies and farmland of Venezuela. The musical traditions from there became known as musica llanera. Musica llanera became an expression of Venezuelan folklore that embraced their traditions and culture through dances and instruments that reflected this. The most popular form of musica llanera being the joropo, a style that has poetry, singing and dancing being incorporated and very essential to the form. During the latter half of the twentieth century saw the rise in a more modern style of musica llanera with more modern instruments and more modern subject matters. This style of music is mostly Mestizo in origin with a lot of syncopated rhythms.

The first link between these great songs is meter. For people listening, it is very clear that in “El Tigrito” has its beats grouped in 3. Because of this we know it is in a triple meter; we transcribed it and we found that it does fit in a 3/4 time signature. The top line is the melody for the introduction to the song and is played with a guitar. It is a very clear triple meter to the listener.

It is good to note that both pieces are in simple triple meter. Any time you see “simple” being referred to in meter it just means each quarter note can be split into two notes. Now, that sounds a bit more complex than it is. Just think about simple triple as “one and two and three and.” Where the “and” is the second half of the quarter note as you can see below. (picture courtesy of musictheory.net)

The tricky part about the Satie piece is that it is barely notated, especially not even close to being notated in the traditional sense. He leaves out bar lines, key and time signature. As you can see below, you can barely even read the original manuscript.

Since this piece is supposed to be a satire, he didn’t bother to notate it and later copies of this respected this. but clearly this piece uses triple meter, all the pieces patterns repeat after 3 beats. You can see what I mean with a cleaner version of the sheet music below. After listening, naturally, you would want to place the bar lines after 3 beats as there is clearly a pattern.

We placed the bar lines for you, but they are traditionally omitted to make it authentic as possible (although Satie would like to notate it less). Clearly if we place the measure lines in, we can see that it is divided by 8th notes making it simple meter. Both pieces also have a very simple bassline while the melody and chords carry it making the texture of both songs very similar, making these songs more similar than we would have thought.

We are excited to find that both songs use similar meter. Even when Satie hid his time signature, we are happy to see how similar these pieces are.

The second commonality we found is harmony. The harmony is linked by added tone chords and extended chords. But- what are extended chords? “Extended chords (or higher numbered chords) have notes in addition to the basic triad. These are called extensions”.3 The added notes from extended chords add interesting colors to the traditional harmonies we normally listen to. Jazz musicians really enjoy using chords like these; It allows composers to use more interesting chords while still staying in a key. We are very excited to see two different artists from around the world use the same technique.

Satie is very famous for doing this technique as you can see below, in one of his most famous pieces, the Trois Gymnopédies. This was very unorthodox at the time and he was really the first to do use this type of harmony until jazz.

Satie used these techniques a lot and especially in Aubade, where it very much defines how the harmony functions in this piece. This piece is very much like the Gymnopédies. He uses the bass notes to show the root note and show stability, while the chords he uses may not match traditional tonal functions, but they give a very atmospheric feeling. According Taruskin, (page 68) this type of writing is considered “completely arbitrary sonority [sound] without any ’inherit’ or mandated tonal function” Taruskin also mentions that Satie uses a “strictly diatonic melody”. The only fancy thing it does is that it has some accidentals, we can see how simple Gymnopedie is here in measure 21:

Satie mirrors these concepts from the Gymnopédies in Aubade to a T. As you can see in Aubades bassline it’s very tonally simplistic and diatonic. As the key is in G, we can see its nothing more than just root notes and other notes in the key, most notably the note D, nothing tricky or anything fancy. We annotated the music with the scale degrees to make this easier to read.

Similarly, El Tigrito uses a simple bassline to convey the root notes of each chord. The chords go I-ii-V in C major as seen below.

Congrats if you noticed that the D minor chord in the third bar, because yes, that is a typical D minor triad, but! The chord implied after that isn't your typical D minor triad. if we compress the notes with the D from the bassline, we get this implied chord, which is a Dm6.

Now if we do this with all the chords, we can see what chords, and what chords they implied to really spice up this song!

Now if we compare these techniques to Aubade, we can see it uses the same concept albeit a bit differently. Satie still used the bass notes to signify the root notes, but instead the bass is the melody, and the chords are used repetitiously to add structure throughout the song, making it more like the bass and chords have swapped jobs.

But if we add scale degrees and give names to the chords, we can see how much weirder this song can be. We added ties to the half notes so you can better visualize the implied chord.

Ok so let's break down these weirder chords to make them sound less daunting. A D6 chord is just a Dmaj with just an added sixth! Not that intimidating right? This Gmaj9 is a little different though. It can be called a Gmaj7 BUT because the A is there its technically a Gmaj9. Most importantly is that some notes are implied – which is common in many extended chords. When you play this song, you don’t just play it as a Gmaj9, you play a D major on the right hand with a G on the left hand for the bassline/melody. The bass adds tonal structure to make the song more stable. Satie used these 2 chords but instead of using them more so as a chord progression he uses them to get different voicings and colors out of the already used chords, even more so in the latter half of the song.

The main difference between how El Tigrito and Aubade use the added tones is the intent and purpose of using this technique. El Tigrito is a folk song that probably used added tone chords not even on purpose, it's not trying to make a statement or to wade against the flow of mainstream music at the time, it's meant to be a folk song, and Satie isn’t trying to make a song for everyone to sing along to, he’s making a song that makes a statement against the strictness of German music and the climate of music and art in the late 1800’s. Aubade and many other of Satie's’ songs are made very deliberately and intricately, with no offense to El Tigrito and folk songs, but this is very much the opposite to El Tigrito. El Tigrito uses this more discordant tone to its advantage due to using multiple instruments to get a more rich and fuller song that adds to the sadder subject of the song.

In conclusion world music and Western music aren't so different. While music has a perspective for each song’s culture and time it was made in, they’re not all so different from each other as we discovered. The links we found to these songs cannot be said for all world music to Western music, but similarities will always be there. The one thing I can say against comparison this is that western music theory isn’t the best metric to analyze and compare world music due to lacking the proper perspective of the culture that’s not western, and/or has no influences from western music and culture. But either way, it's very interesting to see music the differences in different cultures art and how despite these cultural differences we can embrace what we all truly love: music.

Sources:

Avant-Dernières Pensées: Aubade, Youtube, 2016. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPVnAAOaIHo.

“Columbia and Venezuela.” Music of Latin America and the Caribbean, by Mark Brill, vol. 2, Routledge, 2018, pp. 288–297.

Folk Music from Venezuela - El Tigrito. Youtube, 2013. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DzBUzjucWu4.

Martino, Ralph. “Extended Chords - 7ths, 9ths, 11ths, 13ths.” Accessed December 10, 2020. https://www.practical-chords-and-harmony.com/extended-chords.html.

Sadie, Stanley (ed.), and Alfred Leslie. “Satie, Erik. .” Essay. In The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 515–19. London: Macmillan, 1980.

Satie, Erik. Avant dernieres pensees: Aubaude. 1989 https://ks.imslp.net/files/imglnks/usimg/0/0b/IMSLP585394-PMLP19654-satie.pdf

Satie, Erik. Avant dernieres pensees: Aubaude (manuscript). 1915. https://ks.imslp.net/files/imglnks/usimg/0/0b/IMSLP585394-PMLP19654-satie.pdf

Satie, Erik. Trois Gymnopedies. 1896https://ks.imslp.net/files/imglnks/usimg/7/75/IMSLP03213-Satie-GymnopediesOrEd.pdf

Taruskin, Richard. “Getting Rid of Glue.” Essay. In The Oxford History of Western Music, 64–68. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010.

1 note · View note

lilac-city-skylines · 4 years

Text

How the gelfling celebrate Winter Solstice (Christmas)

Happy Holidays to you angels! I hope that you can accept this gift from me to all of you! This post took me a while to create, but I think that they’re good enough to show you all! This has been one of my favorite things to write to you all, I really hope that you enjoy my gift. Happy holidays!

There are seven clans in Thra which means there are seven different ways they celebrate the solstice. The Winter Solstice is during the coldest time in the year when all of the moons are in the sky for longer than the suns, making a remarkably long and cold night all over Thra. The solstice officially starts when the largest moon eclipses the largest sun. This created a shady day that lasts only a few hours before the suns all set early and night begins.

Original Gelfling Winter Solstice Legend

The three sisters in the sky, the moons, each loved one of the brothers, the suns. All year, the brothers chase the sisters, offering them gifts of warmth and light if they slowed even a little. The sisters knew that they couldn’t slow their ongoing treck around the sky; if they did, the gelfling wouldn’t be able to rest or sleep and they would all surely die from exhaustion. The sisters loved the gelfling so much that they wouldn’t dare forget their gift of darkness and rest and risk the poor and hardworking gelfling’s health. But they also loved the three brothers. The eldest sister loved the eldest brother so deeply that she wept bitterly. For three Unum she sobbed and cried, unable to keep up with her smaller and more agile sisters. Thus, the crafty little sisters decided to help ease her pain. The youngest sisters knew that not all of them could meet their lovers, but perhaps if the two arranged a meeting their sister might not be so sad. They whispered to her to slow just for one day, that they would be gifting the gelfling with a day of rest, instead of just one night. She waited patiently until the warmth of her lover warmed her skin. For the first time in forever, the two met and held each other. However, their time must be brief, if they didn't move the gelfling might become confused and not know whether to work or whether to sleep, so the sun left the moon to hang in the sky. Devastated, the moon refused to move, crying for the love she’d only just been able to kiss. Her sisters could feel her pain and quickly came to aid her and comfort her. Thus, the gelfling were given two days of rest without sunlight. They laughed and told stories around fires, danced and drank sweet wines to celebrate the strange and long night, they learned more of the stars and marveled at the sister’s beauty. So, every year, the eldest sister meets the eldest brother for only a few moments before the brother must leave. The gelfling celebrate the long night, offering comfort to the moon with dancing and singing, asking her to give them the gift of the longest night again the next year.

How the Stonewood Celebrate

This is considered the most common practice

Most of the celebrations detailed in the Scroll Keeper’s library for the Winter Solstice is taken from the Stonewood

They stock up on wood and firestarters - dumping all of it into a massive pile next to The Crucible

During the eclipse, the maudra makes the first fire

Every gelfling slowly adds wood and kindling until the fire becomes massive, warming everyone near it

There’s a vast number of songs that they sing, everyone is encouraged to participate

Since the eclipse is made by the love of the biggest moon and sun the eclipse is a special time for married partners or young lovers

The couples all dance around the fire, always holding hands or making some kind of physical contact

It’s important not to break the contact until the eclipse is over or until the couple leaves the dancing

Once the eclipse is over, each family throws flowers or handcrafted item into the flames

The night lasts very long, so sleeping is allowed at any time

The maudra tells the story of the eclipse and Winter Solstice to all the children

A kind of cake called a Moon Cake is baked in every available oven

It is only made or eaten during this celebration and is incredibly filling

Warriors tend to go on large-scale hunts before the eclipse to make meat dishes

It’s common to give female children Moon Crowns, tiny flower crowns mainly made of dried white and blue flowers, and male children Sun Crowns, flower crowns made out of twigs and dried yellow flowers

Mothers will dry flowers picked in the middle of summer for this exact purpose

How the Spriton Celebrate

The Spriton are more family-oriented and less clan oriented

Plains also don’t offer that much wood

To remedy this, small groups of warriors go to the edges of the plains to gather obscene amounts of wood and kindling for about an Unum leading up to the eclipse

The wood is then divided evenly among the families living in Sami Thicket

If you’re too far out of Sami Thicket, you have to gather your own wood

When the eclipse happens, all the gelfling hide in their homes to give the moon and the sun privacy

Once the eclipse is over, the gelfling throw open their windows and light their hearths

A family dinner takes place inside every Spriton’s home

They start with a bitter bread and a small bit of saltwater to represent the bitter tears the first sister cried in the legend

Then it moves to hearty meats and a winter stew

Winter stew is typically made with hotter spices and more root vegetables than meats

The last course of the meal is a sweet cake

Children make a small sweet cake with the leftover dough and decorate it themselves

These tiny sweet cakes are wrapped up in embroidered cloth and put away for later

Once the meal is done, the family sits around the hearth and listens to the telling of the Winter Solstice story

Some families, usually those with song-tellers, act out the story

Song-tellers will sometimes go from house to house with their instruments to sing the tale to families

After a while, the maudra rings a very loud bell and everyone leaves their homes

The children line up and gift their sweet cakes to the maudra

The maudra usually returns their gifts with embroidered kerchiefs or little wooden toys

Parents also give children small wooden dolls

Gifting small wooden toys or dolls or utensils is common between close friends as well

The Spriton spend most of the solstice talking with family and friends, dancing to song-tellers

How the Sifa Celebrate

The Sifa are almost always on separate ships

This means that a clan-wide celebration is almost impossible

Each ship practices the same ritual though

The far-dreamer on each ship creates a special blend of incense and henna type paint

One lady and one male gelfling are chosen to represent the moon and the sun

Usually, this is a married couple or an established one

The far-dreamer paints their faces with costume-type marks

A song-teller sings the legend while the two chosen gelfling dance and act out the play

On larger ships, some other gelfling will volunteer to play the younger brothers and sisters

The song and dance are very jovial and often loaded with dirty jokes

Once it’s over, the whole crew dances on the main deck of the ship, taking turns asking and designated sun or moon to dance

It’s considered quite the dirty joke to get to dance in close proximity with the moon

Usually the sun and moon gelfling act in character for as long as they can

The incense is lit - specifically blended to open the mind to Thra’s song and call

Special fish dishes are cooked all through the long night

The Sifa break out special wines and spices usually reserved for market trade

Lovers are known to gift each other jewels or strings of pearls

Parents give their children new clothes, usually nicer ones with some kind of jewel or glass bead sewn onto it

They can’t light a fire on a ship, that’s a bad plan

Some ships showcase yellow, orange, or red gems that are placed at the top of the mast

They take the long night time to dance and learn new constellations

Map-makers go wild for this time of year, updating and creating star maps to help the Sifa with new travells

How the Drenchen Celebrate

They don’t usually care too much about this holiday

Cold weather can make the swamps an absolutely miserable place to live

However, the Drenchen know how to party hard

Special ale is made that has been fermenting just for this occasion

Everyone gathers in the main dining hall in the Great Smerth and fires are lit that last for all the long night

This is usually used as a “moving-up” ceremony for Drenchen gelfling

Nothing too serious, coming of age ceremonies take place during specific birthdays and not during the Winter Solstice

However, this is when Drenchen gelfling are given their first alcoholic drink

Drenchen that just came of age that year line up in front of the maudra and raise a glass

This particular ale is akin to a strong, burning whiskey

It’s kind of traumatic to have for a first drink

The gelfling that can chug their glass and not spit it out first is given the chance to lead the dances that night

It’s a massive honor to lead solstice dances, as they are some of the few that have a narrative to follow instead or display prowess in battle

The leader takes the role of the fate, guiding the suns and moons towards each other and acting as their leader

Gelfling that are available for courtship weave special ribbons and feathers

Light green feathers and ribbons mean that the gelfling is called “little moon” during the celebrations

Light yellow feathers and ribbons mean that the gelfling is called “little sun” during the celebrations

Parents will also give children new weapons like a new bola or spearhead during the celebrations

Children are also expected to give back as well, usually in the form of simple chores around the house or taking over cooking for the week leading up to the solstice

How the Vapra Celebrate

The All-Maudra calls for all the children in Ha’rar to come to the Citadel

The Vapra consider the solstice as a time of generosity, to mimic the moon’s gift of a long rest by giving gifts themselves

Especially giving gifts to those thought to be “lower”

The children are all gathered in her throne room and she tells them the legend of the moon and the sun

Fires are lit all over Ha’rar and are expected to be kept burning until the suns rise again

Paladins are usually in charge of this job

A large feast is held in the streets of Ha’rar, funded by the All-Maudra

Tables of food line the streets

Peasants and lower-class merchants bring their own plates and bowls to receive food from the aristocrats and merchants

Once they have eaten their fill, the aristocrats take the rest

It’s the one time of year that the farmers and peasantry get the best pick of food

Peasant children that the aristocracy consider beautiful are sometimes given jewelry or other gifts from doting aristocrats

The princesses and princes, if there are any at the time, are expected to appear in public in dramatic costumes

They represent the stars in the sky with glowing jewelry and pure white robes, always close to their All-Maudra mother

The All-Maudra is also decorated in lavish jewels and robes, she is the moon

The Vapra celebrate in the streets around the fires lit and kept by the paladins

Pubs are usually open to everyone for free, it’s bad form to ask for money during the solstice

Dances and songs are led by song-tellers and trained dancers all around

The All-Maudra wanders the streets in her costume, offering blessings to everyone she passes

How the Dousan Celebrate

The Dousan always like a good holiday and traditional celebration

However, they care more about the cycle of life and death than a legend that has little to do with life or death respectively

The tale is viewed as more of a blessing to sisters and brothers, large families, and young couples that belong to different Xerics (traveling groups)

The Dousan are all called back to the Wellspring for the eclipse

Couples who belong to different Xerics get to see each other for the first time in almost six Unam

Proposals of marriage are very common at this time

Sisters and brothers meet up in groups and sit next to each other at the Solstice Feast

The largest bonfire of the year is lit, special powders keep it lasting for the two days of rest they are given

The powder also makes the fire change color and occasionally spit sparks up into the air

Children put on a special performance, dancing and singing

They tell the story to their parents and clan as a gift, telling the legend of the moon and sun from the perspective of the stars

It’s not a complicated song or dance, little children can’t be expected to perform complex moves in front of the whole clan, that’s an adult thing

Think of it as a Christmas pageant, just with a lot more colors

Ribbon dances are done almost the entire solstice

Ladies will sometimes temporarily paint white crescent moons onto their forehead that will wash off in about a week

A feast of the sweetest and the most bitter foods and drink are made

This is meant to show the bitterness of the moon’s sadness and the happiness she felt when she was finally able to be with her lover

How the Grottan Celebrate

The legend has fallen almost entirely into oblivion here

Instead of the sun and moon, it’s a gelfling boy that gets lost in the caves and lights a bright yellow fire to signal for help

A Grottan lady who loved him was searching for him endlessly and had lost hope of finding him

It was the light of his fire that made her find him

They spent two days together, dream etching their favorite moments of love into the caves before returning to the clan

The Grottan don’t look at the sky, they don’t really have it, so they don’t really know exactly when the solstice is

They also don’t exactly know what a solstice is, given that their climate is constant without the sky to help them tell the differing seasons or changing lights

So the maudra is expected to keep up the time and explain why a celebration is happening

The solstice is considered just another holiday for them and not the most important one

Birthdays kinda outrank this one

However, gifts are highly common

Giving gifts and taking naps with others is the most common form of celebration

Sleeping and cuddling with someone is a Grottan’s way of conveying trust

Its not a romantic or sexual thing for them, cuddling is just a display of affection, like friends holding hands or linking arms

They usually get in groups to work on gifts, since there isn’t a point in making loads of small pointless gifts

One gift with lots of value is worth more than many gifts of little value

The maudra tells the story of the two Grottan lovers and talks on the value of love (and being able to find your way in the caves)

54 notes · View notes

roses-ruby · 5 years

Text

Desperandum Victum Chapter 2

Jimin x Female Reader

Genre: Demon AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut (future chapters), Mature, Slow Burn

Warnings: The story will get really fucking dark, including themes of incest, cannibalism, rape, murder, slavery, gore, yandere, religion, and way more oof. This chapter has mentions of violence and gore at the end.

Word Count: 10,129

Summary: You’ve had a traumatizing hard life and you move to a new town for new beginnings. But what if this town was hiding secrets of it’s own?

A/N: Sorry I’m late, this was supposed to be out hours ago but I just got home and don’t know how to use the fucking queue. This was originally due weeks ago, but I redid the story 3 times because I didn’t like how it kept turning out hahahaha wrote over 34k words and for what??? Anyway, last boring chapter I promise! Shit’s about to hit the fan ya’ll. Unedited, sorry, let me know of you find any mistakes!

Buying an old house was perdition disguised as a home.

Jun scoured through the wires of the electrical system. FallHaven weather circumstances were something he was cautioned about beforehand. Days consisted of hard-hitting heat, while the dusks were frigid and aloof. The outdated HVAC wiring had made the temperatures of the self-contained rooms a roller coaster, never knowing how severely the ventilation of said room would get tropical or glacial. Behind him, beyond the croaking and crickets; laid his back-porch barrier, it’s paint chipping from the fractured foundation. He previously spent $1000 to fix the asbestos grit around the house, and just yesterday he made a call to confirm the rumors of lead paint. Never has he regretted anything more than not contacting a house inspector prior the move.

Closing the chaotic cabinet of cables, Jun huffs, patting the few beads of sweat with the bottom of his tank top. He’ll ask uncle Alp about it in the morning. Maybe he should start a fire tonight. Taking a few steps to his back door, he opens it and squints at the hallway’s light. Locking the knob, he turns around, treading into the hall leading into the living room, before he stops in front of your decrepit door.

Right after you stepped into the house, you shut yourself in your room. Not responding to any of his inquiries or pleads. The hours had passed on in silence, and the house seemed too lonely for the night. Your food was left untouched on the table. Wanting you to come out, he had made your favorite stew with the produce he bought today. Its rich spice had glided throughout the capacity. He knew it was fruitless, and he tried to be patient, but his mind glimmered with hope that you’ll come out your door in any moment, drool at the side of your mouth, ogling his food like a bear ogles at honey. He chuckled at the image.

But it didn’t come true. You hadn’t come out. You hadn’t even made a sound, and that to him was worrisome more than anything. As someone who always had a comment on everything, much to Jun’s displeasure, to see you so mute reminds him of those days. The worst fucking mistake of his life. A nightmare that often visits him still, making a nest in his subconscious like a fatal tumor. And then there’s the wounds on your wrist.

Jun wasn’t an impatient man; high off his own ego plenty to break down your protective barrier. It was something he had to teach himself, just like most of the things in his life, coming from a place where you don’t learn anything from anyone, but see it all anyway. Yet his intolerance for desolation splintered the shield that was his reasoning. He grew up this way. A string of impulsive verdicts-results of mental burdens, dissociating him from himself. They could only lead to tragedy and he’s had abundant amounts of that serving. So instead he’ll pride himself in being cautious, especially when it comes to you.

Staring at the imbedded wooden material, he starts fretting about your bruise. The color is probably richer and unusual. You hadn’t even let him look properly, and there’s no aid in your room. Biting his nails, he contemplates urgently of what to do. Teenagers are impossible, he sighs, you were much easier to handle when you were a kid. Not to mention cuter.

That’s when it hits him. He’ll sing that song you love, just like he used to when you were a kid! Yet he cringes as soon as he thinks it. It’s been a few years, and you were way older now. Still, it worked before, it worked during that nightmare. He soundlessly pleads with the god you believe in.

Quietly clearing his throat, he hums almost inaudibly. Can’t believe I’m getting warmed up for this, he reflects. If you don’t come out subsequently, he’ll die of grief or shame. Whichever hits him first. Pacing back a bit, away from your heavy door, he slowly begins to sing,

“Somewhere over the rainbowww-,”

…

“Waaa-y up high”

“There's a land that I heard of once, in a lullaby…”

“Somewhere over the rainbowww-, skies are blue,”

…

“And the dreams that you dare to dream…”

“…really do come true…”

A second passed. Then 10…eventually 30.

2 minutes had passed.

He looks down, dejected. Despair coursing his veins, he lets out a heavy breath; he didn’t want to go through this once more.

The lock clicks open!

His head jumps up to face the door being pulled in and your timid figure walking out. He wants to cry and give you a huge hug; wrap you around in his arms with love and comfort, but he doesn’t have the heart to scare you again, so he just stands there as you do too. You stare at him with meek eyes, the dark bags laying just beneath them pull at the strings of his heart.

Pulling his thoughts together he softly speaks to you,

“Hey”

He’s not sure what to say though

Does he question who that lady was? Does he ask about your wrist? Or dinner? Should he drop the topic and make a joke about something entirely different instead? Which option would make you open up? He’s as naïve as he was 3 years ago.

“Hi” you whisper

“Listen I know you don-”

“I don’t know” you interrupt Jun, “I don’t know who that lady was and I don’t want to”

“I’m gonna talk to some people about her tomorrow, someone should know” he cautiously puts his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it slightly in comfort, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna let her come near you again”

You stare at the floor, not saying a word while Jun analyzes even the tiniest twitch of your nose

“Can I look at your wrist, princess?”

Shutting your eyes, you tense your shoulders. It’s all right, it’s just Jun you think, as you bring your wrist into view. The both of you were examining the purple blue hues around the skin together. Jun touches it lightly with his digits making you flinch, so he backs up before marginally trying yet again. Making contact with your cold casing, he shudders and averts his head before he grabs your fingers in his own and tugs your hand back down. He can’t come to terms with it still like a run-away, and it’s the one thing he deters from. How much of a coward he is.

“Jun-”

“Sorry, yeah I know,” He knows better than anyone, that’s what he said. But he doesn’t know when you make his way into his chest and wrap your arms over his trembling limbs. Doesn’t know he needs comfort more than you. Doesn’t know why you still trust him. Doesn’t know when you’ve grown up so much.

“Jun” you stifle in his shoulders, “It’s alright now, I’m fine. My wrist. My wounds…it doesn’t hurt, I don’t feel anything”

“I’m just sad,” He feels your tears on his shirt as you let out a choked sob, “That nothing has changed within 3 years. That I’m still so weak…she could’ve done anything”

“No, no, no!” Jun holds you protectively, “nothing is gonna happen to you…not when I’m around”

And you weren’t.

His evil mind brands the painful statement of his truth as he secures his senses and holds you tighter.

“…I just want to forget today Jun…please. I don’t want to talk about it again. Not when we have so much to look forward to”

“Anything…”

Just like him you don’t want to go through this again. You scarcely survived last time, and its misery expanses through your blood, the evidence on your wrist. Adversity is what you were doomed with, you were aware-made peace with it long ago. And so, like any survivor would; you did what you had to do to move on. Block out the pain and smile. Even if it kills you.

Removing your face off his torso, you wipe your tears with your fist.

“Did they find Mojo?”

“Mojo? …Oh, the dog? They did!” Jun laughs helping you wipe your tears, “He was found barking at a fresh beef jerky station”

Thank God he was safe. For some reason you assumed the old woman kidnapped him. Found barking at beef jerky huh…that sounds delicious.

“I’m hungry” your lips form into a pout and you pat at your lowly rumbling stomach and Jun gives you the biggest grin

“Excellent” he says while fiddling his fingers together like an evil cartoon character “Let me go fix your plate and grab the first aid mwahahaha”

You’re extremely confused with his demeanor and make it known by scrunching your face in half confusion and half disgust

“Did you poison the food?”

“Ahahaha…no,” He starts stepping away towards the kitchen, “Some things just work out according to your plan”

“Like the lullaby?”

He stops in the middle of the hallway as the expressions on your face’s switches with each other “I didn’t know you were still so soft Junie”

“Shut up”

“And your voice! Have you been sneakily practicing Mr. Sinatra?”

“M-m-maybe you sh-should go to bed without food!” He stutters with a red face and his hands on his hips

That shuts you up as you give him a ‘Hmph!” and pass him on the hall into the dining room. “Whoa!” you gasp as you notice the clock, “11:41 already”

“WHAT?!” Jun shouts rushing into the room and witnessing your comment “You have school tomorrow! This isn’t good,” he grabs your plate at the table and speeds to the microwave

“Does this mean I get to stay up till 2?”

“NO!”

The weather was frosty these days, tickling you through the ruffles of your tight purple dress. You skipped amongst the inner lining of the wooded area, close enough to see the highway through the shrubs, holding tiny rocks in your fist. You weren’t fully clothed for the temperature, short sleeves and loose tights making your tiny limbs tremble for a good 20 minutes; you wanted to go home. Instead you distracted yourself by picking up little bits of the earth.

“Don’t get too close to the water” you hear from behind. Twirling on one leg, you observe the petite woman towering on the upper side of the ditch, glaring through your soul. She stood by one of the large dead trees, her arms folded across her chest.

There are shadows under her eyes, stiffening the complexion of her pale skin. She stares down at you with her flooded pupils. Her fingers scratching at her arm through the warm jacket she wore.

“The water…don’t get too close” She repeats in the familiar fatigued tone. Her scarf seems to be suffocating her neck, and the padded jacket made a sleek noise every time she made a move. You can spot her steady breaths in the bitter air. For a moment there’s nothing but silenced stares shared between you and her.

That vanishes as soon as a large black car passes by. She whips her head into the direction of the street she’s near, as her breath comes out in a speedier rate. You also turn away from her stature, focused on finding more rocks. They lead into the mini creek in the end of the ditch. Walking up to the creek, you squat to watch your reflection in the water. It was better than your small mirror, you think, fixing your beanie and wiping the stray hairs irritating your face.

“Hey! What did I tell you?” you once again turn to find her figure in your direction once again. There was a hint of anger in her pupils, she appears like she’ll walk up to you any second now until you hear another voice.

“It’s you right?” The stranger wearing all black paces up to her, he seemed scary – you couldn’t see his face by his hood covering, but he was taller than her and you were scared for her.

“Nice place you picked, asshole” She grits at him, having completely forgotten about your presence, digging into her purse feverously

“Come on, it’s a dead road sweetheart. No one comes around these parts” he laughs at her annoyed attitude.

He makes eye contact with you, and you sense your heart skip a beat. “Cute kid” he smiles at you.

The woman gives you a quick glance from her rummaging, “You’re scaring her” she returns to her digging

“Aww why? I’m not a bad guy,” he gives you a wave as she snorts

She gets out a bunch of money, you don’t know how much, it’s all stuffed and crumpled in her hand. Giving it a glance over, she shoves it into his chest. You watch him sigh, and mildly remove the cash from her fingers. He straightens out the bills and begins counting them.

“You’re short” He says, folding the notes and fitting them into his back pocket. “15 milligrams only”

“15?” she shouts before noticing her surroundings, and harshly whispers “You gave me 30 for this much last time”

“That was last time sweetheart, price’s changed”

You gawk as she leaps at him, her palms clutching the sides of his hoodie, having you seal your tiny rocks into your own palm. “P-Please – don’t do this” she spits out “It doesn’t – it barely works anymore, it hurts, it hurts so much – everywhere I-I can’t”

He pushes her off him, into the ground making you stand up straight as heat fills your bones. “That’s not my problem, don’t spit on me bitch” he yells as she heaves on the scattered dead leaves. He watches her struggle a bit before taking a long breath, “Shit, I didn’t mean that…I’ve already been having a bad day, don’t just jump up on me” he messes with his hoodie

Dragging her up to her feet, he takes out a petty clear bag, filled with white powder. Her neck’s bending towards the ground, she refuses to look up at him, which gets him rowdier. He pulls her arm up and crams the bag into her hand.

“You want more? Get more money” he sneers, “Sell that kid” he points at you

“Or better yet, buy her a jacket” he finishes, stomping away with his hands in his jacket’s pouch.

You watch him leave as the freezing wind picks up again. She doesn’t move a muscle facing away from your view. Having the alarms in your head pacified by the lull of the forest, you return your gaze to the creek. There’s a shiny rock in the center of the stream, which makes you squat out of curiosity once again. It’s shimmering the light of the sun, which you were sure was covered by fluffy clouds when you stepped outside. Your face turns up, as you make direct eye contact with the ball of glaring fury. Squinting at the flares you bring your small fist up to protect your sight.

At that moment you hear the crunching of leaves by your rear, a voice deeply surrounding your passive frame –

“What did I tell you about the water”

Sitting up in your bed you stare off into the corner of your messy mattress. The lining seems to be ripping from the sheet due to your endless fluster. You’re deep in your thoughts, not being comprehensively conscious to the morning chirps of blue jays – their high-pitched revenue placating you to doze off. In brief, you were still perplexed by your dream. It’s been a long while since you’ve thought of her.

Saturday was finally here. The rest day for a million chores, sunny and bright for your pleasure. You think back on the week, which has been smooth sailing minus a few unintentional mishaps. It's been an easy couple of days, if you take away your anxiety and the few occurrences where you’d look over your shoulder to make sure no elderly lady was following you. Yesterday you almost peed yourself when you ran into the neighbor lady. It was a coincidence, you didn’t know she’d be standing right in front of the entryway as you opened the door to leave for school, and she didn’t know you’d scream right in her face. Long story short, after you screamed, and she screamed, and Jun scolded you; she gave you some lemon meringues. The reason she was at your house. They were so delicious, you’d become fond of her.

Jun had been dropping you off to school these days. It was cute at first, until you realized all he would talk about was his favorite Alfred Hitchcock movies. Since almost all of them made you fall asleep, you weren’t exactly a fan. You didn’t heed to anything as soon as you caught other voices though, most likely students indicating the school building was near, so you booked it. Registering him running after you with a ‘Hey wait up’, you dashed into the gates and onto the platform leading inside the school. You were going to ignore him the whole way, but you had to feel guilt-ridden and twirled about to see him waving goodbye. Smiling, you return the gesture only to regret it as soon as he shouts

“Have a good day! I love you princess!”

-at the top of his lungs. That’s it. You were going to kill him. Spotting some students staring at you, the source of the weird old guy yelling, you sprint into the building with a muffled scream.

That was yesterday, and sadly he’s still alive and well.

Today was your officially your first church visit, hopefully to become a certified member of FallHaven Baptist Church. For some cause, you couldn’t deny you were nervous; the church had a bit of an intimidating exterior. Well at least you’d finally get to buy new shoes for school.

Speaking of school, you had made friends! Or well, Candance and ‘a’ friend. Her name was Jasmine, and she was the nicest red head, a complete package of glasses and freckles. She came over to ask if you were okay when you had a terrible headache on Wednesday. Afterwards you noticed her in a few other periods, which wouldn’t be odd considering there are 60 kids in senior year. Jasmine joined you and Candance for lunch since then. Maybe you’re becoming a bit too attached to both too quickly, fault of only your own social awkwardness. But you knew they’re both great people, as well as members of today’s church.

You feel guilty for even thinking this, but you hadn’t had a run-in Jimin around after the strange incident on Monday. Sometimes you’d spot him talking to a pretty girl in the back of the class. Or well, she would talk, sitting right on his lap while he looked out through the window. His guard would stand behind him without an expression and you found yourself growing even more interested in his world. It’s not that you had feelings for him, you knew yourself and that was impossible. You tried but you couldn’t get Jimin out of your head…or that look in his eye. His aura was magnetic, and you were drawn to him by an invisible force. Is Jimin also a member of the church? He must be, everyone else is. Then again Jimin wasn’t like anybody else, not with those enflamed locks and sharp abyss eyes.

Knock Knock

You break from your thoughts as your door speaks, “Heyyy~ you up? We’ve got to leave in an hour” Jun hums in a hype tone.

Listening to the tune in his voice reminds you of Monday night, how you were swept in his large arms and you could smell his soft oceanic scent – rosemary and a hint of musk from his burdens lingering his neckline. His uncovered skin was on your lips, your torso swallowed by his. You turn a bright red, clenching the sheets around your fingers before you choke a shout

“I’ll be out in a minute”

“Alright, breakfast is on the table” He responds and finishes walking away. Taking a huge sigh, you wake yourself by smacking your cheeks, swinging your legs off the bed and stretching your rigid physique. It’s going to be a long day.

The walk to the Church was a good 20 minutes. Jun had insisted today, no matter how many times you begged him not to, to conversate about how Casablanca was the greatest movie in American cinema. You didn’t know why he knew every character’s name by hand, but that was another mystery of the Fabulous Jun. Letting him talk to his fulfillment was the best option, sighting how he sulked the tiniest every time you interrupted him.

By now, it should be obvious that Jun doesn’t have a car. Ironic, seeing where he works. It’s another reason why you moved here, everything was meters from each other. The town’s population was about 2100 folks from what Uncle Alp told you, and that number seemed so miniscule compared to the busy city. You think Jun was the most excited to move here, he was never much of a people’s person and the somber skies, reticent road gave him comfort. Your poor lone wolf.

“And that’s why Rick doesn’t believe in god”

“…Wait, what?” You turn to stare at him, the sentence your ear caught far more interesting than the pebble you were kicking with your feet.

“Weren’t you listening? I was just explaining the bane of existence Rick Blaine has to deal with!”

“Jun, we’re literally walking to church, would you please knock it off with the jokes?”

“Come on” He winks, “We’re going to be Christians in a good hour, can’t I have my fun while it lasts”

You roll your eyes to hide a smirk, ready to leave him behind once again when you spot huge white gate tubes from the corner of your eyes.

As you come face to face with the front gate, you stare at the gigantic structure known as the church. The white bricked building made the holy edifice seem even holier. The place was built like a palace, complete with a royal entrance pathway you walk through with Jun. Each side of the pathway had an endless field of grass, containing some of the most colorful flowers on earth.

“Not bad” He whispers

As you walk up to the building, you notice the gray bell tower on the right side of the roof. You wonder which lucky fellow gets to ring that bell. Once you get inside though, is when even Jun becomes speechless.

The interior stretches for a mile, the chapel big enough to seat the whole town. A warm aroma sifts through the wood of the benches, and you feel like you can stay in this golden-lit room forever. Stained glass was at every corner of the room, letting through the light the images wished. At the altar resided a large organ piano, candles decorating the pillars of the organs, burning an intense flame for it’s visitors. Above the piano stood the crucified Jesus, the pain sculptured on his face an intimidating reminder for anyone that comes across the his eyes. The chapel seemed decorated. White flowers adorned the benches of the sanctuary, and people seemed to be polishing the walls. A set of people were on a ladder, pulling up a decorative banner. You spot Joan at the right side of the room, by a small statue of Mary, chatting with 2 strangers that seemed to be closely heeding her words.

“Joan,” Jun calls out to her, and when she turns to him, he waves. She says her farewell to the strangers and comes your way. You wish there was someone else who could show you around, but alas luck was not on your side.

“Welcome, we have been patiently awaiting your arrival” Joan smiles, walking up to you with her hands held together

“Are the preparations for us? You shouldn’t have!” Jun jokes

Joan gives him a swift gaudy chortle, making you squint. That bad gag sure made her happy. Actually, everything seems to make her happy.

“We are getting ready for the arrival of one of our most cherished facility members. He will be attending our sermon tomorrow, you two have arrived on a marvelous period for the town” She gleams

“He sounds like someone special…has he been gone somewhere?” You question

“Yes, he has been lending a hand to the victims of the tragedy in Samaria in the beginning of the month…he has currently completed his concerns on the town and is returning home. His family is holding a ceremony for him tomorrow to reward his efforts”

You and Jun offer sympathetic glances.

The fire in Samaria had been circulating on television for weeks. In the beginning of the month, a local well-loved priest in the small town of Samaria had shut in worshippers during mass and torched the statue of Jesus on the cross in the front of the altar. 300 lives suffered grave deaths, including his own. It was said spectators could hear the vibration of children screaming through the blaze from a hundred miles around, as firefighters tried to tear down the bolted doors. Not a single survivor.

“We would love to be here tomorrow,” Jun smiles

“And we would love to have you. Now please come this way,” She extends her arm toward the inner hall on the right, “Our Archbishop is quite excited to meet you”

You follow Joan along the hall, her heel’s clacking echoing around the assembly of the broad interior. The ceiling was caved outward and dispersed among the hallway to the very end. It was the biggest building you had ever been inside, and your neck ached as you pressured your marveled gaze upon everything. The church had a dim, golden color and you walked along indoor pillars; each pillar encompassing a soft light fixture and a holy cross. Every column had a large brown door.

“Um, Joan, I read on your brochure this place has a confessional? As far as I know New Testament Christians don’t believe in the confessional method.” You see Jun’s expression out of the corner of your eye at your question. He was dazzled at your knowledge. Heh, how insulting.

“You are absolutely right, ___” She turns her head a bit and you spot her pleasant expression beyond her blonde tresses, “Actually, we are the only place of worship for many for around a thousand miles. This Church is also famous for its beauty. Everyone becomes enraptured with it, like you have,” She laughs as you blush. When did she catch you in amazement? “Members of our family come from far and wide to seek refuge in our humble Church, and therefore to ease their souls, we offer a great many sources for all kinds of our relatives. Including Protestants and Evangelist. We also offer everyone a place at the Holy Communion, baptized or not .”

“That’s…amazing. And so kind.” You awe. This was great, I mean you still wanted to be baptized along with Jun. New beginnings and all, but it’s great that you’re Church is so open hearted.

“Are there any problems because of this? Like do any leaders from those other tribes get upset?” Jun casually ponders, while you elbow him for asking something so insensitive…and did he just call them tribes?

“Au contrair!” Joan giggles, “We have the Vatican’s blessing, and many devout religious leaders visit our Church with boundless respect” She stops and turns her body toward the right side of the hallway, while you both have a clear view of her face. She smiles way too much. “So yes, our “tribes” get along well”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude” Jun mutters, scratching the back of his head

“Oh no, I didn’t take your words for offense, Jun” Joan steps closer to the wall, hidden from your sight by a pillar “This is our Archbishop’s office” She knocks on what you believe is a door.

You hold your breath as the door glides open, the slight creaking at the hinges relaying it’s ancient age.

Out steps a sharply dressed tall old man. He embodied a tan-colored suit, edges ironed to perfection and not a fringe out of place in his off white head of hair, combed perfectly neat to the right. There was a handkerchief poking out from his front pocket and a brown bow tie adorning his collar. You couldn’t recognize any signs of fatigue and barely that of aging. The facial format of his appearance communicated passion and vigor, the wrinkles around his clear coffee eyes were soft and fresh, while the lines of his mouth were welcoming. Nothing but his hair gave away his age, not even a sun spot adorned his porcelain skin. He had the same stretchy smile on his features like Joan.

“Are these two beautiful souls our new neighbors?” He spoke in a harmonious tone of voice. You could sift the aura of a dominant charisma emitting from his stature from every word.

“Yes, they are!” Joan replies, “They want to become members of our Church, isn’t that wonderful, Robert? This is Robert,” She directs her words at Jun, “the Archbishop and eldest head of our Church”

They both stare at you, practically illuminating holy lights out of their asses, temporarily blinding you and Jun.

“Yeah, It’s nice to meet you, sir” Jun steps up and held out his hand; which the pastor, who you notice is taller than Jun, encompasses in both his palms, for an extra friendly greeting “My name is Jun and this is my sister, we just moved here last week, looking forward to joining your lovely Church, if you’d let us”

“This Church is open to any soul submitting himself to God” Robert speaks, rubbing Jun’s hand with both of his own, to which Jun uncomfortably laughs

“And you” He turns to you as you slightly startle, “Are you willing to submit your being to the high and mighty, little lamb?” He lets go of Jun’s hand and faces you. As do Jun and Joan, which irks the anti-attention personality in you.

“Um yes, I’m ___” You offer him your hand, which is easily taken in both of his own again. You immediately feel his warmth traveling through your arm from contact of his fingers, as he glides it over your casing delicately. It was as if he was a furnace. Goosebumps arrive on the affected area of the skin.

He pauses just a bit suddenly, and you watch his eyes open a bit further through his big smile, the corner of his lip turning downward. The chocolate of his iris had become darkened until it was an endless black, staring through your outer layers. You felt naked even with your clothes on, and it frightened you so you slowly pull your hand back. Trying not to make a rash movement.

Yet as soon as it came, it was gone.

He pulled your hand towards him again, and the blank gaze had dissolved into the familiar sweet caramel expression – not giving you a chance to react. You look at Jun and his relaxed expression, neither of the other two noticed your discomfort. Which was rare for Jun.

“Joan, You’ve done right by bringing these two here. I can tell they’ll fit right in and bring much fortune! You both are official FallHaven Baptist Church members”

“Oh wonderful!” Joan claps in celebration

Robert puts his arms in the air, his fingers and head raised towards the sky, “I can feel it already, the lord sending a message through me.” You stay still and watch as Joan immediately pulls out a wooden cross from underneath her blouse, bringing it up to her lips and chanting something under her breath. Jun takes a step back.

“He wants me to do it as soon as possible, he wants it done immediately. Yes Lord! For I am your humble servant! You both,” He turns back to you, “Will be baptized at tomorrows communion! Praise the Lord!”

“Amen!” Joan shouts, a bit out of breath and you notice how much her pupils dilated.

“Alright then boy,” He lets go of holding you under his intense gaze and rotates to Jun while you discreetly rub at your hand through your extra-long sleeves.

“Why don’t you and I have a little chat about some grown up stuff, while Joan gives a sort of tour of our holy house to the little lamb here” He puts his hand on your shoulder to refer to you and you stiffen immediately

“Sounds good” Jun raises a eyebrow at you “You alright with that?”

Alone with Joan?

“…Yes”

“Oh small one,” Robert slightly rubs his thumb around the back of your shoulder, “You’ve done so well by accepting Jesus. No longer will you grieve alone, for he will be by your side. He’s made it clear to you, he has!”

“I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born, says the Lord! And that’s you!” He raises his finger into your face, his voice dominating through the walls of the hallway, echoing off the corners of the roof “You’re born again!”

“You’re free from your suffering!”

Walking down the left hallway on the second floor, you marvel at the glass ceiling, the cloudless sky letting in all the wonders of the world. Through the golden hues, you watch as Joan struts in front of you in the glittering hallway, occasionally detailing the authenticity of paintings and figurines decorating each side of the walls. So far, you’ve had the pleasure of seeing the study, the confessional also known as the reconciliation room, and the bell tower.

She displayed the charisma and pride of an honest church member. Bragging about many key aspects the large shelter provided. In total, the cathedral could serve up to 2000 worshippers at a time. It wasn’t the Jubilee, but it was still an amazing feat.

There were a few things you had learned already. The youth bible study met up twice a week after school. Classes for certain instruments and vocal lessons were also available. You signed the roster immediately after seeing the name of the person that led the group. Sunday mass lasts an hour after sunrise, led by the Archbishop and called for by the large bell tower. For those who miss it, there’s a make-up held by one of the priests and a deacon in the evenings. On Easter, mass lasts 3 hours with additional services including altar calls and extra hymns led by the youth group. It was so surreal, you were now actually apart of a community and you were going to do things with them…like a family does. For so long, it’s been just you and Jun. Speaking of him, you muse on how touchy he’ll get at you coming home late, or how cranky he’ll be in the early mornings for mass.

You let out a soft chuckle imagining his furrowed eyebrow, and the corners of his mouth flipped downside in a strong pout. Joan steps up to a door and you follow close behind, she pushes it open and turns to you.

“This is our Biblical library! The 4th largest in the world!” She pleasantly brags about the brightly lit room, where you have to keep your jaw from dropping. It finally made sense as to why this church was as big as it was.

Your eyes glaze over the giant cherry wood shelves, towering over the lax white chamber, straining your neck to the clouds. They pushed on for miles, one shelf after the other harboring hundreds of books. It was a bit intimidating. There were tables containing a few busy bodies lingering the maroon carpet in the front, and everything was vast and silent. At the front desk, there was a lady with a pointy nose which her bifocals rested upon, reading a blank brown covered book and whispering to herself inaudibly. She covered herself from head to toe with a black veil wrapped around her figure, a tunic like dress connected to a bib at the neck-line. A nun.

“Sister Haggith” Joan leans in to whisper to you, “She oversees the library and everything that comes with such a task. She knows every nook and cranny of this place, including each book and it’s location. Sister Haggith is an amazing woman, and another trusted member of the board”

“Wow” You gasp, “Is she from the monastery?”

“Yes, she has been with us for 21 years. Actually quite a few of our sisters have work around town. Have you gotten the chance to visit your school’s infirmary?”

“No, not yet. But I’ll be sure to check it out,” you tell her and she replies with a smile.

In the corner of the room, one of the clear glass cases catch your eye. Inside the display case was a worn out piece of khaki paper, looking about 100 years old. The paper was thin and fragile, torn the slightest at each of the ends. There was something written in shrill black ink, but you were too far away for it to be anything but blurry.

“Um, may I ask about that?” You shyly point at your object of interest and Joan follows your line of sight.

“Oh!” She chirps “The scripture of Nathanael”

When you give her a confused look, she leads you toward the stand with a ‘come with me’. Next to the display case were a few other ones, containing more ancient objects. Another that caught your eye was an extremely rusted dagger.

You examine the tabloid carefully, now that you were closer, you could easily read the paper. Or not? The writing wasn’t in English.

“What does it say?”

“It’s in Hebrew” Joan answers, “It was given to us by an angel from the heavens. He identified himself as Nathanael”

She bends down and reads a sentence off the paper, “thy fate lies in the conscious of thy choices; of thy wilt to serve the mighty”

Immediately your mind rushes toward what Candance had told you; about the tower and the famine and the ‘great warning.’

“It’s true�� you accidently whisper out loud

“So, you have been enlightened?” Joan asks

“Yeah…I think…” You grin awkwardly

“There is no need to worry, there’s quite a few fables made about the tower” Joan giggles, “The reality is simple though. 120 years ago, our town was made up of devout Christians, filled to the brim with their love for our father.” She looks toward the ceiling happily, “They were refugees of the south, unbinding from their laws and wars, seeking a place to start over. However, we were new to this land. We settled into it’s foundation in the beginning of that year.” Her tone suddenly deepens and she slowly brings her head back down, “And you see, sometimes foundations become barren. Sometimes they crack. Then comes the drought”

For the first time you see Joan frown. That one word has her staring deep off into space, no longer a silver of light in her eyes. She stands there, glaring a hole through the white wall, and time slows around you both as you shift uncomfortably at the heavy atmosphere. You much rather have her creepily smiling.

“The drought” she whispers “That summer, the heat…the sounds of battle cries over the horizon…so endless, so suffocating. Oh how bad the drought was” she closes her eyelids as she shivers slightly. “We prayed and prayed and prayed for the bad drought to go away, on our knees till they bled, till our mouths were dry and our eyes felt that they would fall off. Oh bad drought go away, Oh Lord save us! And it happened” She raises her arms up into the air and open her eyes with one sudden motion, as you watch with astonishment

“Just like he promised! A miracle, a great mercy! He came down to us, he saved our damned souls!” the corners of her eyes well up, as she breathes heavily into the air practically yelling each syllable, “We-

“Joan!”

You both jump as a stern voice interrupts the silence of your small corner. There you spot Sister Haggith, quiet and still, her intimidating aura making you feel small. She appeared out of nowhere.

“You are being too loud, child. Shall I remind you of what a library is?” She speaks, staring through Joan as someone insignificant and you can feel the lady beside you straighten herself.

“Y-you are correct. I am so sorry” she takes a handkerchief out of her blazer’s breast pocket. She dabs sweat from her forehead with her fabric and turns to you. You notice how dilated her pupils are again, and you find yourself worrying for her.

“I-I am sorry, the moral of the story is that angel Nathanael saved us from the drought and laid down ground rules, which are written in the scripture. Alright, we should get on our way,” Grabbing your arm, she commences to walk away from the displays, around the woman who hadn’t moved an inch and toward the large doors as you wince.

You make a grunt of disapproval which has her peeking back and letting go of your arm. As you both step out of the library onto the foyer of the hallway, she treads quietly in front of you, until you both are once again in the chapel.

She turns around, and looks at you with apology.

“I am sorry, once again for my behavior. I get deep into my feelings about our lord, but a library is no place to behave that way.”

“No, I didn’t…think anything…”

“Is your wrist alright?” She questions suddenly

“Um-what…”

“You seemed like you were in pain when I held your arm,”

“Oh yeah,” You bring your arms up and pull down your sleeve to revel a thin layer of bandage around your wrist.

“My goodness,” Says a shocked Joan

“Oh no! It’s not what you think! Jun is just easily suggestible, and it’s just on until the bruise vanishes”

“Bruise?” She says, even more worried than before

“No – I mean yes, I ran into a small accident, but it’s no big deal really!” You flail your arms around in denial, trying desperately to mend her concern

“There you are!” A familiar jolly voice interjects you

“Robert!”

“Jun!”

You both shout in unison, a wave of relief unapologetically obvious in your voices.

“You ladies have a grand time?” Robert asks as he walks up to you and Jun trails behind with a wide grin

“Just wonderful” Joan answers, her blinding smile re-embellished on her features

“It was great, I learned a lot” You reply, taking a peek at Jun and his suggestive expression. He was holding in a laugh.

“Now that’s what I like to hear ‘round here!” Robert laughs out loud, “Me on the other hand loves this goofy fella” He pats Jun on the back

Jun jokes back at the senior, “Not as much as we love Thanksgiving dinner” he winks

You pale at the horrendous joke, while Robert cackles louder and pats Jun harder as he holds his abdomens with his other arm, seemingly in better spirits than in the morning. Joan covers her mouth and lets out a tiny giggle as well, while you make a strange ‘ha ha’ sound.

“See, see, what I tell ya, he’s goofy!”

Jun looks at you with accomplishment while you subtly roll your eyes at his ‘charm act.

“Alright then, I’ll see you both here in the early morning! Your baptism will be right in front of the chapel, after the service!” Robert informs you

The four of you exchange a few other pleasantries, and before you know it you’re on your way home with a slushy and a new pair of shoes in your hand.

“I didn’t know there were so many cake varieties before!” You chirp, marveling at the cake shop you had stopped by in the mall.

“Well I for one, am excited to try out this new electric hand mixer” Jun takes out a box from his shopping bag of said item, “Always wanted one of these”

“$4 bucks says you break on the third try” You squint your eyes, teasing the tall boy next to you

“And where will you get that money?” He asks as a matter of fact, making you ‘hmph’ in return

“…Do you like the church?” Jun questions

“…I do” You return, looking at his expression for something hidden. You just could never tell what he was thinking.

He smiles, “Robert’s quite the character, huh?”

“Yeah, Robert’s…something”

As you’re discerning, you make a turn at the intersection just to trip over one of your shoes and fall onto the pavement. Thank god your drink was almost empty, you think as the slushy falls by your side. You catch your body on your hand and knees as your bag slips out of your hand and into the ditch on the side of the sidewalk. Jun shouts your name as he bends down to check on you and you let out a curse watching the bag roll down the patchy green hill, toward the canal. Quickly, you get up and run after it while Jun runs after you, still yelling your name and telling you to stop.

Before your bag goes anywhere near the water, a long silhouette halts the object and picks it up with one hand. When you get closer you recognize the figure to be a young man, wearing a white suit. Your running ends and you stand a feet away from him, when he turns to look at you, taking away your breath for a good minute.

In the serenity of that afternoon, when the sun was at it’s highest and the nightingale sprung it’s chorus; the water reflected the colors of the rainbow and the winds softly whispered through your body, you met an angel.

“Hi, I’m Namjoon. Is this yours?”

He hands you the bag you had already long forgotten about. You stare at him, as motionless as a feather while you watch his face turn to one of confusion.

“Yup, that’s hers! Thanks man!” Jun breaks you out of your daze as he takes the bag from his fingers.

“Um, yes. Thank you so much!” You splutter, embarrassed

“It’s nothing” He smiles and your jaw drops open

Dimples.

“Bye the way, you took quite a fall back there. Are you alright?” He asks

When you fail to answer, Jun nudges you, breaking you out of your daze for a second time.

“M-more than! I don’t feel any pai-ow!” You grab your wrist and remember your injury. It feels suggestively worse than when you first got it. It couldn’t be that you sprained it…could it.

“Shit, I knew it was just a matter of time!” Jun shouts, grabbing your wrist to take a look himself

“Owwww, don’t pull it!” You whine tugging your arm back

You play tug of war for a bit, before you feel someone else gently grab your wrist and you both freeze. Namjoon opens your sleeve, and places his fingers on your wrist. He delicately presses down a few times,

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” and it didn’t. All the pain had evaporated just like that while a strong warmth spreads in place of any discomfort. Namjoon concentrates on your bandage, and it appears as if he could see through it, which makes you subconsciously draw your arm back. He couldn’t notice it, could he. While you stare at him, Jun’s head awkwardly angled to the side slides into the corner of your eye.

“I’m glad, must’ve been temporary” Namjoon says, releasing your hand and backing away, “Are you both new in town?”

“Yes, we just moved in a week ago!” Jun responds

“And how do you like my town?” He asks, putting his hands in his pockets.

“It’s been well, the house is old so adjusting’s a bit tough but we’ll get the hang of it”

“Where did you both move in from?”

“One of the inner cities from the north”

Namjoon becomes silent. “The one where they…uh…I-I’m sorry”

“It’s no big deal” Jun thwarts his worry, “Everyone’s reaction is the same, so we keep it hush-hush, but yeah”

“We’re town-folk now” You add

Both men look at you for a moment before they laugh.

“That’s right” Jun says through a gummy smile

“Of course,” Namjoon pipes in with his dimples

“We should get going, I need to make a few arrangements,” Jun shakes Namjoon’s hand as they exchange names, “See you around Namjoon? At the pub maybe?”

“Maybe, but not there,” Namjoon chuckles, “I’m still in school”

You and Jun look like a fish out of the water. I mean, he looks so mature? So wise? Which high schooler could be this angelic?

“So maybe I’ll see you around” He winks at you

You feel your legs give out but you hold still to not further your humiliation “H-how-”

“Every kid at FallHaven high wears those” He points at your shoes “Which grade are you in”

“S-senior year”

“Me too! Hopefully we’ll be class buddies”

“But I haven’t seen you around before?” You say

“I’ve been on a trip, just returned today. Monday will be my first day back”

“Wow! This is so cool cause she doesn’t have a lot of friends but you look like a popular guy, Namjoon! Take care of her! Hey come on over after class sometime and I’ll make you my famous choco-“

“Let’s go!” You push a rambling Jun, red-faced at his blabbering

“Wait, I’m just talking to the nice young ma-”

“Jun, we’re leaving!” you shout at the older boy

“B-bye, see you at school” You shyly shout back at Namjoon through the idiot’s screeching. Blushing harder when he waves a goodbye with an amused expression

As he leaves your view, you thought you spotted someone running up to his side, but maybe you were mistaken.

“I like him!”

“I get it Jun, you’ve said it a hundred times” You giggle at the child-like expression on his face. As you take one step after the other, almost at your house, Jun wouldn’t stop talking about the encounter with Namjoon. You liked him too. He was such a gentleman, so much class. School was going to get so much more interesting. Wait…Why was everyone at your school so good-looking. What’s up with that. How’re you going to survive being surrounded by hot people? Especially that one guy,

“Jimin”

“Who?”

It takes you a second to figure out you’ve said his name out loud, and when you take your eyes off the ground, Jun is glaring a hole right through your face.

“W-what?”

“Who’s Jimin” He questions with his breath in your face

“Nothing, go away” You avoid him

“First you’re a blushing mess in front of Namjoon, and now you’re whispering a name of a boy I never heard about?”

“I-I wasn-”

“I guess it’s time to tell you this” He looks ahead suddenly, his features hardened and serious

You watch him breathe through his nose, and blink slowly and you find yourself becoming nervous “Tell me w-what”

“The moment has come” He stops walking as your right in front of your house and puts all his focus on you, which in return makes you gulp.

“Princess…” the wind picks up and you gaze at him with goosebumps on your skin

“When a man and woman fall in love, sometimes they get these urges to become one, now what those are-”

“Say one more word and you won’t be able to pee standing up again”

You were making your bed after setting up the alarm clock Jun had bought you. It was time to sleep for tomorrow’s big day and your teeth were chattering just thinking about it. That and it was really cold inside the house. Uncle Alp had told Jun he would talk to some guy he knows, but so far you haven’t heard anything further. Hopefully it would be fixed by the end of next week. You don’t know how many more nights you’ll have to survive sweating through your house in the middle of the day and becoming a frozen statue on your bed at night.

In the mall, before you had lunch, Jun reminded you a hundred times to get a heater, but guess who forgot. Honestly you did it on purpose so he’d take you shopping again, but he doesn’t need to know that. What you didn’t like about today was Joan calling Jun by his name. I mean, adults call each other Mr. last name unless they’re close, right? Especially respectful ones like ‘Joan’ but here she was “hahaha Jun this hahaha Jun that.’ Ok, maybe you were being a bit mean. You felt really bad when Joan got yelled at by that elder lady. There is something about the old people in this town that freaks you out. Learning more about the town was a good thing. You were gonna revisit that Scripture and see what else you can find out about FallHaven. At least there’s no cannibalism.

You walk by your closet and take off your dress. It was when you were changing into your pajamas that you notice your wrist. The bandage was still wrapped around it but it didn’t hurt. It hadn’t hurt all day. Curious, you remove the tape and unwind the white ribbons off your wrist. Your heart beats a bit louder as it clears itself off your skin.

You let out a gasp.

Smooth, clean, no signs of staining or any discoloration. Twisting your wrist around, you decide to give it a flick. And still, no pain, no ache.

This morning, you had opened up the bandage to find a light purple bruise. Then just a few hours later…it vanished? Something wasn’t adding up. You recall how the pain had disappeared when Namjoon had touched it. Could he have somehow healed you?

Did people like that exist?

But then again. Those marks were still there. The reminders of your hell still scarred into your vision. If he had healing abilities…wouldn’t he have healed these? Definitely. So he’s not a healer, just a very good-looking boy. But then…where’s your bruise?

Argh, it was giving you a headache. Either way you won’t need this stupid bandage anymore, you think as you stand up and throw it in the dust bin. Shutting your door closed, and lights off, you cheerily skip onto your bedside and jump onto the springy mattress. Lying in bed and wrapping the covers around yourself tightly, you close your eyes in hopes to doze off into a new bright and sunny day. Today was over, and you and Jun were safe. In the end that’s all that mattered.

Bzzz Bzzz

It’s fully dark when you regain conscious and there’s something light knocking into your face. With your eyes closed in discomfort you swat away at whatever’s bothering your slumber.

Bzzz Bzzz

You sigh, as you fan yourself. Why was it so hot? Did Jun get the heat to work again? You kick off your covers, but then realize that there’s nothing to kick off. There was nothing covering your body but your pajamas.

Bzzz Bzzz

“Fuck” You sit up in your pitch black room. Turning to check the time, you spot 2:57 on your clock. That’s when you see a little black dot fly into your view, and you work quickly to stamp your hands together. It works because you feel something between your palms. Hesitant to let go, you move your arms away from you and open them up.

“Ew what the-”

You say at the sticky black goo encasing both your palms. Examining in through the moonlight, you stare at the icky gunk on your hand as the curtain from the window brushes your shoulder.

Wait, what?

You whip your head toward the missing glass above your bed in horror. Why was your window open?

Who opened it?

Before you know it, you’re breathing heavily and you turn around into your dark room once again. The quiet no longer giving you a sense of calm, instead replaced with the terror of reality. Someone broke into your room, the alarms go off in your head, and your sense of rationality goes flying out the open window. It’s dark, but you can make out most of the furniture in your room. And that’s where you see it.

In the corner of your room, by your dresser stands a long, bulky dark shadow, the recognition had you tightening your fingers on your sheets.

At this point your hyper ventilating as tears stream down your face.

“W-who” Is all you manage to make out, closing in on yourself to protect your body from any potential harm.

Bzzz Bzzz

There’s a minute that goes by before the shadow moves closer, and this time there’s buzzing surrounding you. You look around the room and it’s filled with tiny black spots rummaging the shadows, you choke on your sobs, as the buzzing grows louder. One of the black dots land right on your hand. The moonlight exposing the common fly. Yet there was something off about it. You shoo it off, covering your ears with your hands, you shut your eyes tight as you fall over, face first onto the bed; trying to drown out this nightmare. Every second the buzzing becomes louder and unbearable and you feel the shadow right on your back.

Then it stops.

No buzzing

No shadow

No flies

You peek out from your hands staring at the spot once occupied by the thing when you feel something brush your ear

“Don’t be scared”

A deep, gruff voice is all you hear before your back is being plowed open by what seems like a claw. You scream out at the feeling of your skin being ripped open on your back. Something attaches itself to your spine as you cough out blood in the middle of your deafening shrieks. Writhing on bed as the shadow holds you down, you scream and whimper out your lungs. Flies cover your face and drown out your own ears until you can only hear your internal damnation. Years of deeply buried memories come swelling up, and you claw at your mattress for some sanity.

You feel every rip and tear of flesh, every drop of blood pour from your back, every nail of the claw digging into the deepest corners of your body,

and in that moment, you wish for death.

You wake up with a loud gasp, as tears stream down your face. Turning your eyes at every inch of your room, your hands rapidly move across your body. There’s no blood, no opening, no trace of any violence. Turning to face the window, you find it shut and barren. Shivers run up your body from the cold room. Which calms you down the slightest. Sweat pours through you like an open drain, your pores still living in your nightmare. You check your clock, the 3:00 am glares back at you in bold red. A dream.

Just a dream. You slow your heavy breathing wrapping your arms around your torso, yet there’s no end in sight for your tears.

You’re about to calm down when you feel it. There’s bile crawling up your throat, you’re aware of the suffocating substance littering your esophagus. Falling out of bed, you crawl your way out of the room. You drag your body with your hands, barely making it over the toilet. It doesn’t take long – just one groan and you’re disgorging today’s contents into the toilet bowl. Everything’s chaotic and wet, saliva attaching the last bit of your vomit to your mouth. Coughing out the last fillings of your insides, you spit into the putrid bowl, before flushing away any trace of retch. Grunting, you crawl back towards your room, there’s absolutely no sensation in your legs. You tremble as you make your way back into your mattress, pulling up the blankets on your sore limbs.

It was just a dream. You aren’t gonna tell Jun because it’s over. It was a dream. Some hellish nightmare born from the uneasiness of your past traumas and changes you aren’t comfortable with. You’re safe. There’s no shadow, there’s no monster. Dad’s not here. Jun doesn’t need to worry because of you. It’s over.

You shake like that for another hour or two, it feels like someone is smashing a hammer into the side of your skull, before you somehow pass out on your bed.

#Bts #Park Jimin #Jimin smut #Jimin angst #Bts smut #Bts angst #Yandere jimin #Yandere bts #mp;dv

167 notes · View notes

alias-b · 5 years

Text

All Fired Up

Billy Hargrove X OC!Camille Harper Smutty Drabble 🍒

Got this request from my Billy/Camille NSFW ALPHABET post(X): “Omg please write about the toy from your nsfw alphabet even just a short little separate thing. It’s so hot and original!! I love your writing and how you’ve written Billy and Camille it’s perfect” So here it is!!

Thanks anon!! ❤️ AU Scene, no fic spoilers. Just smut and dummies in love. READ THE FULL FIC HERE(X)

PROMPT: T is For Toy. Billy finds his girlfriend’s “replacement” and teases her relentlessly. Turns out that he likes it a little too much.

“You’re late, sweet face,” Camille had to speak over the music blaring from her stereo. Pat Benatar’s voice echoed into her house. She’d just been dancing to it, all the way to the door in her short summer dress. Billy flashed a wicked smile in response. Charged upon seeing her hazel eyes.

“Peace offering?” He pulled two bottles from his coat. Booze. “Got you the fruity shit you like. Schnapps.”

“Peach?” She stepped more into the doorway so he couldn’t pass. Blue eyes rolled and he waved it before her face to gain entry. “Look at you. It’s like you know me.”

“Got held up at the pool, needed a long shower before I left.” He followed her in. Mother wasn’t home. Ritzy house all to themselves. Another bottle of cheap whiskey was set down when they went into the kitchen. “Where were you all day?”

“Ah, mostly Starcourt. Shopping.” Camille had cocked her head. “Girl’s day.” Billy was already popping the cap on his bottle to drink. “You want a glass for that?”

“Waste.” He gulped again after clicking bottles with her. Peaches burned her tongue.

“Ladies at the pool again?” She noted he seemed irritated, eyes hard and intent on something.

“Fuck, yes.” Billy laughed openly about it. “Got flashed today. Trying to wipe the memory. It was great to ban this bitch from the pool.”

“Ick. Probably the one thing I can’t help with, my damn memories are flawless.” Camille joked so he relaxed. Eyebrow lifting. “Hm?”

“I do know a way you can help.” Billy watched her drink too. He rounded the island and pressed her into the granite for a kiss that tasted of spiced peaches. Camille was amused into it, tugging at his denim jacket. “Already better.” Hands cupped her ass, pulling her into his body.

“Very funny.” Camille playfully pushed at him. “Which of those hags came onto you today, huh? I’ll crush her for you.”

“Already forgot, I only have eyes for you now.” He stared across the way.

“Wow, Billy, that line was your worst yet.” She drank when he did, laughing at him. Bubbly. Blushing. Billy lingered to round the counter as she did like it was a challenge of cat and mouse. Camille Harper was no one’s mouse. “Just for that, you have to catch me.” Quick feet sent her gliding off into her huge house. Billy was game, rushing to run her off before she giggled aloud and skidded to go for the staircase.

“Camille...” That sing-song tone made her burst. A hand caught her wrist at the top of the steps so they slipped against the carpet. She was still laughing while he planted kisses all along her neck. Body pinning her in place. A throaty sound echoed along his tongue.

“Alright, Billy,” Camille reclined with a dramatic sigh. “You got me.”

“Left the booze downstairs.” He murmured.

“Booze can wait, we have all night.” She suggested so he grinned, picking her up. “Hey! Billy!” Arms pulled her over his shoulder. Broad muscles flexed. His cologne was damn near poison.

“I caught you,” Billy ducked into her bedroom to let her down on the mattress. His coat was tossed before he came to hover over her. “You’re all mine now.” Curls slipped down when he kissed her, lips opening. Camille flipped him over, straddling one thigh. She pushed his arms by his head, mouth teasing little pecks when he tried to deepen their kisses. They came up for air, eyes locked. His face looked soft in this light. Freckles barely there. Lips and cheeks a deeper cherry shade. Fingers plucked one button on his shirt then another.

“Think you’re mine actually,” she moved into him. Hands running along his chest. Too stupid happy here. Music still floated from downstairs. Sending a pulse through the walls that they both felt in their bones. Revved up an ache. Billy’s fingers dug into her hips and he hummed against her mouth, turning them over again. Camille pulled him flush into her body. He smiled while he explored her neck, edging her summer dress up over her hips. Baby blue and covered in lemons. Fitted. “Don’t rip it, it’s new.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he nestled between her thighs now. Heated kisses made their lungs work just a little harder for air. Camille was lost in him while he blindly felt above her. Fingers tugging her nightstand drawer open to shuffle about for a condom. Instead, he touched something else entirely. Camille felt him lift his head and came to kiss his jaw, loving his hard weight over her. “And what is this?”

“What?” She broke to turn her neck, spotting a pink device in his hand. A vibrator. No lying her way out of this one. “Shit!”

“Ah, it looks new too.” Billy watched her appear mortified.

“Billy, no!” She pushed at him, arm reaching but he came up to straddle her and hold it too far away.

“Billy, yes.” He teased. “Where did you girls go today, hm? They don’t have these stores in Hawkins. I’d know about it.”

“You would.” Camille was bright and blushing too hard. Smacking at him. “Put that back!”

“Girl’s day?” He mused instead. “Who did you even go with? Let me guess.”

“I will never tell, your imagination won’t handle it. And I bought it last week, if you must know. Curiosity.” She pushed at his chest. “Billy, come on. Put it back.”

“You have a whole boyfriend who worships every inch of you and yet, you think this little plastic dick can replace him? Hm?” He touched his chest. “I’m hurt, Harpy. Deeply.”

“Har har.” She huffed, stuck under his thighs. Eyelashes batted. “You’re being a huge dick now, if it helps.”

“It does.” Billy laughed openly, leaning in. “You use it to get off without me?”

“As if you don’t spend time in the bathroom with a dirty magazine still when I’m not there.” She wiggled with no avail. “Put it back!”

“My hand is no replacement and you’re welcome to play with my magazines too,” he countered. “This is clearly a replacement. We could compare size.” Billy unzipped and she broke to laugh so he stopped.

“Such a guy.” Camille came up on her elbows.

“You really use it.” Blue eyes lingered when she bit her lip. “Worth the money?”

“Maybe...”

“Oh,” he studied it and looked at her. A great deal more devilish than usual. A hyena zeroing in on prey to tear flesh from. Camille sprang to attention when it flicked on low. Even the sound made her cringe, this was too much.

“Hey!”

“Ah ah, I want to see what my replacement is worth.” He put up one finger and drew back to run it along he inner thigh. Legs kicked.

“Jealous, Billy?” She hitched a breath and teased him. Billy scrambled off her, pushing her dress up over her head to discard the garment. Shirt open, his chest heaved.

“Big words for a girl blushing so hard,” he’d whispered, lying along her body. Camille held his wrist with two hands.

“Give that back.” She tugged it from him, turning it off because the buzz was too embarrassing. “Just forget it.”

“I can’t, we left the booze downstairs.” Billy snatched it back. One elbow propped up so he rested his head on his hand, observing. Fending off her swatting was too easy. “Veins and everything.”

“Just liked it for the neon pink color,” Camille snickered and he eyed her again. A flip switched. His voice changed.

“Lick it.”

“Very funny, let’s get back to what we-”

“Lick my replacement, Camille.” He edged it to her lips and she stilled. He was serious. Blazing eyes. “Say ah.”

“I was just curious. Drop the shit now. I’m already mortified.”

“I’m curious now too. Don’t be shy.” He touched it to her lips and she opened. Experimentally, he pushed it along her tongue until it was slick. His own cock grew wet against his opened jeans.

“I want you,” Camille turned to cup him, hands slipping into his pants.

“Don’t need me,” Billy played blasé. “You have your new, shiny toy.” The buzzing clicked on and Camille felt her body quiver because she was in deep shit now.

“Billy,” she pouted. He ran it down her chest. Over her hip. Nestled the tip just so against her panties, edging it lower over her clit. Hands gripped his shirt and he held it there. Like he was mocking.

“You like it so much? Move.” He purred, feeling her hips jut.

“I want you to touch me,” Camille’s fingers dug into his arm as if to lessen the pressure. Billy came up again, straddling her leg while he leaned in.

“No point to me, I put on a show and talk and with this, you can get right to it. Bring in the heavy artillery when man power is pointless, yeah?” Billy had prattled on, eyes elsewhere before he realized she was extremely still. Taut. Camille’s chest sunk; quivering. Slick lips open and eyes hooded. Cheeks darkening. It made him freeze too so he could observe her. “That’s good, isn’t it? You fucking love it.”

“Ngh...no,” she licked her lips and he turned it up higher. “Ah!” Oh, fuck, it was hot. Watching her succumb. He didn’t expect that to build so quick. One hand gripped his wrist while the other sunk into blankets. Camille twisted involuntarily so he rocked the toy against her.

“You know, Camille,” Billy leaned in, just barely brushing her lips, “watching you demonstrate for me...I might see the appeal now.” Her hips were working into the quaking vibrations of their own accord. “But, you want me now.” He took it away when she was teetering.

“Wait.” Her eyes drew wide at the loss.

“Wait?” Billy shrugged, thoroughly entertained. Worked up. “Can’t pick a lane.”

“More.” His girlfriend whined, hand on his forearm to settle the toy against her clit again. Needy. Billy’s own blood heated. He let her savor the feeling and shifted back again when she was too worked up.

“Ah, my way.”

“Billy,” her pout was followed by a kiss. Hands pushing him onto his back. Camille pressed her hips into his, hands in his jeans. He relented and flicked the toy off when lips sank down on his cock. Pink lipstick had peppered a trail down. His head tipped back, mouth opening to moan.

“Don’t forget the replacement.” He brought the toy lower and watched her switch to suck it. Hand pumping his shaft at the same time. Eyes lifted to see his. “Needy Camille thinks she can have it all.” Her tongue swiped his tip again, running down until he was leaking readily. Coming up, she unhooked her bra to toss it aside. Crawling over him, breasts purposefully drew closer to his face when she went for a condom. “Tease.”

“I’m the tease, Billy?” Camille was flipped over. Mouth on her chest so he could torment her. She heard that damn buzzing again while he pinned her. Panties gave a tear. “Damn it, Billy!” The syllables of his name lulled into a moan when the toy made contact once more.

“Can’t hear you. I might like this thing,” he eased it against her. Slicking it in arousal. Running up and down until her legs spread wider. Billy leaned in to lick her clit once. Spitting against her. Pressure left and Camille looked down as the toy pressed inside. A cry echoed out desperate lungs. Billy sank against her some. One hand on her shoulder. Thighs inched to keep hers apart. “Shameless, Camille. You like being fucked by a toy.”

“Want you to do it,” she was panting, back curved. Working herself shamelessly.

“No, I think you want to come on this fake cock.” He hummed, working her harder. Way too into this now. Camille gasped and writhed to meet it, unable to stop. “Play with yourself.” It was a swift order. Billy pumped the device into her when fingers came to work her clit. He leaned over to kiss her. Obscene and moaning. “Come on your new toy for me.” She didn’t need to be told twice. Orgasm locked her body up. Quaking. Cursing him to pieces. Billy looked entertained. Let her sag aimlessly while he undressed and rolled the condom on.

“Billy...shit.” She whined, splayed. Hands pulled her thighs up. Palming at sensitive skin.

“Let’s compare now, shall we?” He fixed her legs upon his shoulders and watched her opening twitch. Camille squirmed, looking down before he pressed inside. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Trying to push me out. You feel so good.” He came up and pressed his hands by her head. Thighs forced up and open to take him while he drove hard thrusts into her. Flesh slapped together. “Which one do you like better, Camille?”

“Fuck,” she licked her lips, “fuck! You!”

“Hm?” The bed smacked the wall behind it.

“I like you!” Camille sputtered and gripped blindly at him. “Your cock.”

“Do you?” He was panting. Fucking her hard and fast into the mattress. Relentless. The toy pressed into her raw clit and Camille locked up again. “What about both, huh?” Billy was laughing. Moaning louder. Vibrations ruined her. A smaller orgasm was forced. Vision blurred with spots. Her head tossed back and nails raked his skin. Billy didn’t warn her before he came too, groaning as they rocked in sync. Legs slipped down and he breathed heavily over her. Her entire body was still buzzed after he put the toy on her nightstand. “Too much?”

“You ass.” She puffed and he chuckled against her neck. Tired kisses lingered. Camille hummed so they adjusted. “Not walking anytime soon. You’re getting the booze now.”

“Not a problem, I’ll deliver to you in bed. Job well done. I like the new tool. Think I’ll have to run another trial with it,” he tossed the condom away and brought her into his body. Billy ran fingertips along her back. One of her hands draped over his shoulder, idly playing with curls. They breathed each other in, pressed together and heated. Skin sparking with bliss.

“You definitely win. Toy can’t do this with me afterwards.” Camille remarked and he gave a smirk at that. Lips touched her hair so he could inhale.

“No, Harpy, I guess not.” Billy soothed her with feather light touches. Let her toy with curls. One leg inched over his. “So, where was this place?”

“Not relevant.”

“And did you buy anything else?”

“...Not relevant.”

“Camille Harper,” Billy chuckled and settled one arm behind his head. Dragging his other hand up her skin. “I think I reached a common ground with my replacement.”

“Shut it,” Camille came up to peck his lips. “Can’t replace any part of you. Dummy.” She settled her head on his chest. “Oh, I’m in trouble.”

“I thought we established that.” Billy palmed her bottom, hand slipped up the arch of her back. Camille about purred into him, lips lifted. God, nothing could beat these raw moments intertwined together. His tone lowered to continue the teasing and she was still game. “But, I don’t mind repeating myself.” She lifted her head again to see crystalline eyes.

“Maybe I won’t mind either.”

#billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #Billy Hargrove imagine #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove fanfiction #writing #mine #request #THANKS ANON FOR BEING AMAZING

65 notes · View notes