#cw: rpf
Text
Emblem of Roses - 5
Hi, everyone, sorry for the radio silence. I have been dealing with a lot of issues in my life, with both my health and my job. I'm doing better now, so don't worry. I'll try to keep Emblem of Roses updated more regularly from now on. Thank you for everyone's support and patience. Your asks and messages meant a lot to me and they really pulled me through a tough time.
Special thanks to @gyllenhaalstories for countless encouragement and beautiful wishes.
Pairings: Jake Gyllenhaal x reader, Maggie Gyllenhaal x reader (Medieval AU)
Summary: You were content with your quiet life as an illegitimate daughter of the King, hanging out with the maids and learning your craft. All that ended when your father married you to Lord Gyllenhaal, the Usurper, as a peace offering and a hostage.
Word count: 5,400
Warnings: 18+ MINOR DNI , RPF, DUBCON, angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, hate to pining, polyamory, slow burn with smut, political marriage, mean!Jake to pining!Jake, cunning!Maggie, kind!reader.
*** Your online experience is your responsibility. You have been warned. If any of these content upsets you, DO NOT READ!!! ***
Divider credit: @/firefly-graphics
"Who are you?"
Lady Maggie's voice turns cold and distant. An immense presence you have never felt corners you like a helpless animal. Your feet grow heavy as though they are chained to the ground. Thousands of thoughts race through your head as you contemplate how to respond to ensure your head will remain on your shoulders. Ultimately, there is no other way but to speak the truth.
"I am the bastard daughter of the King." You try to still yourself, preventing the cracking in your voice.
Relief. In a split moment, that is all you feel, relieved that you no longer have to carry the burden of a lie. You tell them your given name, at which the Lady doesn't seem surprised, leaving you to wonder how much she has learned about you. And for how long.
"It is never my intention to deceive you. The King ordered me to marry Lord Gyllenhaal in the princess' stead. I was not given a choice, my Lord, my Lady." You attempt to look at the Lady in the eyes but quickly avert your gaze.
Lady Maggie eyes you like a hawk, searching for any sign of deception. You don't even want to know what kind of expression is on the Lord's face right now. The silence suffocates you like tangling vines. You hang your head low, making yourself appear as humble as possible. Now, you have said all that you can. Only Gods know if the Lord and Lady Gyllenhaal believe you. If they do not find your answer satisfactory, well, you fear your fate has been sealed.
"And you have no nefarious intentions? Another order by the King, perhaps." The Lady asks, her voice calm but grim. The cold glint of the dagger and the King's command flash through your head. There was indeed another order. One you would never have the courage to obey.
"Never, my Lady. I swear on my life that I never had a single ill intention." You reply, struggling to keep your voice from shaking. Your ears are ringing from the dread so much that you cannot even hear yourself speaking, only your thundering heartbeat. What you said is not a lie. You have no intention of taking anyone's life. You can only hope your nervousness doesn't make you seem guilty.
"No? So you are not spying on us?" The Lady's eyes gleam as she looks upon you with a mocking expression. Or it could have been her disappointment, not that you can discern what she thinks. "Well, I wonder why the Lord's little wife has been dressing as a servant and running all over the place."
As you hear the Lady's inquiry, you feel the life force being sucked out of your limbs. Blood is drained from your knuckles as you tighten your grip on the fabric of your dress. Being cast aside by the Lord has made you careless. You have guessed that the Lady knew all about your activities but were too foolish to realize how incriminating they were.
"What is the meaning of this?" The Lord frowns. It's not just you who are caught off guard. He is also stunned by Lady Maggie's revelation.
"Oh, my dear brother. You truly ought to spend more time with your wife." The Lady's tone is nonchalant, with a drop of sarcasm pointing toward her brother. She is not entirely pleased that her brother sees you as her responsibility.
"Who gave you permission to act freely within our premises?" The Lord demands an answer. His sharp tone and piercing gaze reveal his apparent distrust toward you, making you almost jump from your chair. "Speak!"
"I... I was merely trying to be useful during my presence here. I swear my motives are without malice." Another attempt to diffuse the Lord's hostility seems to be in vain.
In a brief moment, your eyes met with his. The creases between his brows remind you of the first time you saw him. It is the same hatred he always has for the royal family. The Lord's hand never leaves the dagger by his side. And you know, just one wrong word could cost you your insignificant little life.
"Do you truly expect us to believe the words of someone sent here by the King? How can we trust that you are not here to do his bidding?" The Lord questions your pleas. The idea of letting a spy run amok inside these walls makes him regret not being able to just sever your head right now and end all doubts. A quick swing of his blade for peace of mind? It is very tempting.
Ever the diplomat, Lady Maggie interferes after sensing the Lord's mounting thirst for blood. Her hand raises with grace in a gesture of restraint. "Rest assured, my Lord. My people have kept a watchful eye on her since her arrival. The girl can do no harm... even if she wants to."
You are somewhat thankful for Lady Maggie's intervention. Even if the Lady's scorn is carefully concealed in her sophistication, at the very least, she is more level-headed than her brother. However, it makes you wonder why she didn't deal with you or inform her brother sooner. Why force you to face him now?
You open your mouth, wanting to say something, but soon are cut off.
"Before you say anything, I wish to remind you that lying will not benefit you nor us." Lady Maggie raises her hand to shush you.
As you wonder about the Lady's implication, a steady footstep draws everyone's attention. The steward comes carrying something in her hand. The middle-aged woman leers at you before approaching her mistress, presenting Lady Maggie with the objects she has brought. The Lady nods in acknowledgment before dismissing her loyal servant.
You freeze in place, and your heart cannot stop drumming as you notice the familiar roll in the Lady's hand. You recognize the yellow hue of the parchment, the dry ink, and your very own unfinished sentences.
Your body is quicker than your brain as your composure crumbles, lunging forward, trying to take the letter from the Lady's hand. An act you greatly regret as soon as a tremendous force blocks your airway. You only have enough time to cast your fearful gaze over the Lord, who is closing his fingers around your throat with the intent to kill.
"I wonder who this 'mother' could be. I am quite flattered you speak so highly of our House, princess."
Lady Maggie's slender fingers brush across the material, unbothered by your predicament. Her casual remarks obscure the threats bubbling underneath a peaceful facade. You struggle to draw a breath, starting to feel light-headed as you try to claw at the grip on your neck. Even as your chest burns and your vision blurs, your eyes fixate on the parchment as you mouth the phrase "give it back."
As suddenly as it has started, the chokehold is gone. The Lord huffs with disapproval. His fingers loosen after his sister's discreet hand gesture. You fall on the ground, choking on your own spit as your body becomes greedy for fresh air. Your hand reaches out for the letter as if it were a lifeline. In a delirious state, you can only make out the embroidered hem of the Lady's dress. The patterns swirl in front of your eyes, digging out old memories you thought you had forgotten. In a dreamlike trance, you crawl to the Lady's feet, the cold stone floor beneath reminiscent of another time.
You are back at the King's castle once more. A long time ago. Before Mother was there. Before you could fight back. Tiny hands and bare feet, riddled with blisters and scabs. Groveling at someone's shoes, pleading for them to give you little food scraps. You no longer know what you are begging for, only an echoing desperation to protect your little peace.
Lady Maggie's demeanor shifts. Her feigning smile disappears as she looks down at you. While she has anticipated a response, the depth of your emotional upheaval catches even a seasoned strategist like her off guard, though she swiftly conceals her surprise. A delicate touch brushes under your chin. Lady Maggie lifts your face with deceptive grace.
"Now, care to enlighten us about the intended recipient of this letter?"
The coolness of her fingers brings you back to the present. Something in your head is gnawing at you, warning you to keep your secret. You do not understand. It should not matter whether you tell the Lady about your mother. And yet, you cannot help but feel a sense of dread, as if you were curling up, fearing you would be disemboweled by a great bear.
"I... it's... it's no concern of yours." You catch yourself stammering.
The Lady's smile widens, seemingly unoffended by your refusal to cooperate. "Oh, but I am genuinely curious. I did not mean to frighten you, my dear. It's my duty to know more about those under my care, after all."
As you hesitate, the Lord, who has been observing silently, interjects, "Get to the point! What are you trying to hide?"
The Lady shoots him a glance, a mix of annoyance and amusement dancing in her eyes. Ignoring her brother's impatience, she refocuses on you. "I promise, no harm intended. Just a little explanation to satisfy my curiosity."
You finally relent under the pressure.
"She's just an old healer, my Lady. She took me in and treated me like her own flesh and blood. I only write to ease her mind about my well-being."
The Lady shoots you an inquisitive eye that you cannot decipher. "Ah, the blood of the covenant is always thicker, is it not. I can only surmise your father wasn't particularly benevolent toward an illegitimate child."
You lower your gaze in response, your silence serving as a confirmation of the Lady's assumption. As she speaks, the Lord notices a rare glimmer of empathy in his sister's eyes. Well, even he pities you a little, not for whatever misery you went through but for the road you are being led down by his sister. He knows her well, and he understands her convoluted games even better. She pokes and prods until she uncovers people's weaknesses, then uses them to either control or break those who cross her path. But her showing guileless compassion? This is an unfamiliar territory even for him.
The silence lingers until a sudden knock echoes through the door, with the steward's voice soon following suit, announcing the arrival of the royal delegates. The Lord grimaces, a flicker of frustration crossing his features as he is not amused by the abrupt conclusion. He exchanges a secretive look with his sister before shifting his focus to you.
Lady Maggie nods at her brother, who maintains his ever-present frown. "Please escort your Lady to the Great Hall, my Lord. Let's not make our prestigious guests wait. I will join you later." Then, she turns to face you. Her words carry an unwavering seriousness, no pleasantries, no pretense.
"We'll resume this conversation when the timing is more fitting. However, bear in mind that whatever you were before, right now, you are Lord Gyllenhaal's wife. And every step you take will be subjected to scrutiny."
Your head lowers as you can only muster a quiet "Yes, my Lady" before the steward enters the chamber to help you back up on your feet. The Lady orders the woman to aid you in fixing your appearance into a more presentable state. Afterward, the steward leads you to the Lord, who awaits you in the hallway, seemingly lost in contemplation.
A swift glance is all he affords you before turning on his heel and taking long strides toward the Great Hall. That is your cue to follow. You make your best effort to keep up with the Lord's unforgiving pace but deliberately trail a few steps behind him, mindful not to stay too close. For whatever it's worth, you are grateful that he stays silent throughout the trip. His thoughts remain unknown to you while you take the time to admire the impressive breadth of his shoulders and his steadfast posture, reminiscent of a warrior marching to the battlefield.
On the way, you notice quite an unusual presence of heavily armed guards, roses insignia carved into their armor plates. The air is stagnant, and the festive mood of the previous days is replaced by caution. As the Lord and you approach the towering double doors of the Great Hall, your pulse quickens with the palpable uneasiness permeating the stone walls.
"Raise your head." A voice, as measured as it is unexpected, cuts through the silence. The Lord's command disrupts your thoughts, momentarily catching you off guard. It is the first time he has ever addressed you in such a manner, devoid of either contempt or revulsion. Instead, it reminds you of the words Lady Maggie told you last night.
Do not let anyone think that House Gyllenhaal is to be trifled with.
You are a lady of the House.
The Lord and Lady are indeed kin, you observe. They are different from each other in every way, and yet, at times, they are almost the same person.
As the heavy doors swing open and the servant loudly announces the Lord and his wife's arrival, you step into the grand chamber where the esteemed guests are waiting. Your eyes lock onto the royal delegates seated at the long table, their opulent attire embroidered in gold threads, contrasting the austere clothes worn by House Gyllenhaal's people. Two sides greet each other with false flattery, an intricate interplay of feigned courtesy and veiled intent.
The Lord leads you to the front, reserved for the heads of the family. His presence makes heads turn, though you can tell many of those gazes fall on you. This is only the second time you walk next to him as his wedded wife. You focus, keeping your posture poised and expression composed, trying to mirror the image he presents to his people and guests.
The delegates, sent by the King, rise from their seats and bow to the Lord in an exaggerated display of etiquette. Honeyed words drip from their lips, laden with poisonous insincerity. The Lord reciprocates with polite nods and faint smiles. You are somewhat surprised to see this stone wall of a man can be such a diplomat. Now that you think about it, he used to be a respected general in the King's court before the rebellion. He must have been no stranger to court intrigues.
Among the delegates, you catch the subtlest of glances, fleeting stares that linger for a heartbeat too long. You don't recognize anyone, but you have no doubt that a few of these nobles know your true identity as the King's bastard, a pathetic replacement for the real princess. Some of them can't even hide the condescension on their face. Even as they address you with the princess title, a trace of mockery flickers in their eyes.
"Your Highness, rest assured that we shall bring the news of your well-being to your father, the King. The magnificence of Goldenhall undoubtedly befits your greatness." One of the delegates gives praise, a middle-aged man whose smile, though broad, carries an underlying tone of sarcasm towards both you and House Gyllenhaal.
You hold your head high. Compared to the things you've heard, this is next to nothing compared to the spiteful words you heard. You reply with humility and ambiguity, avoiding saying too much as you have never had to participate in diplomatic affairs. It feels surreal to stand here on the same footing as the people who see your whole existence as a disgrace. Within these walls, they will not be so foolish to bare their fangs at you. You do not want to admit it, but you feel almost invulnerable with the Lord by your side, as strange as the idea is.
"Indeed, my wife is doing well. We are not the treacherous monsters who imprison and torture the guests coming into their homes." The Lord sneers with an edge to his voice, his words masking a touch of disgust. A wry smile appears as he raises his cup toward the delegate. The man returns the Lord's gesture with the same broad smile.
Before long, the musicians begin to play their songs, signaling that the feast has started. You finally get to see with your own eyes how the Lord and his people enjoy the festivity. Unlike the servants, whose idea of celebration is basically an abundance of food and drink, for the nobles, it involves people presenting their gifts and good wishes to the Lord's family. That, and the endless praises being thrown back and forth.
The whole event is exhausting. Your face and neck go stiff after having to smile and nod every other second. Even the Lord himself appears to be weary of the constant pleasantries. With the royal delegates' presence, he cannot allow himself to be reckless for even just a moment. One can tell Lady Maggie is definitely the more adept navigator of these delicate interactions.
Nonetheless, seeing how the Lord puts on such a courteous mask is very eye-opening. He appears to be much less threatening than he was during your wedding, that, or the wedding was much more miserable for him than practically anything else.
An old couple whose clothes are embellished with House Gyllenhaal symbols approaches, bearing a modest wooden box. With respect, they place the container before you, emitting a subtle fragrance of herbs. Inside the box are three rare flowers that exclusively grow far up north. The plants immediately pique your interest as you have only ever seen drawings in your mother's book.
"Milady, we hope you accept our humble offering. May you soon be blessed with the Lord's sweet fruit." The elderly woman speaks, her smile radiating warmth and kindness.
"Allow this old man to offer a piece of wisdom." Her husband, who seems to have had one too many drinks, turns to the Lord. "Children are important, yes, and hardly any pleasure in life can beat a woman's embrace. But please do not exert your wife. For the soil must be well tilted before the seeds can thrive." After his slight jest, the man holds his drink up to the Lord, provoking a chorus of laughter among the guests and a scolding from his elderly wife.
The words of the wife and husband send warmth surging to your cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and discomfort. Surprisingly, the Lord appears unbothered, raising his cup to thank the couple for the gift. Instead, he leans over to you with his elbow on the armrest and his face resting lazily on his hand.
"My sister's handy work," He murmurs, his voice a hushed undertone meant only for your ears. You cast a quizzical glance in his direction, perplexed by his unexpected initiation of casual conversation. "I do not know what tall tales she has spun about you, but it seems to give the elders strange ideas," the Lord elaborates. "Whatever puts our elders at ease."
You don't know what to say, nor do you think the Lord wants your input. You have undoubtedly noticed a subtle shift in how you are regarded by House Gyllenhaal. Their caution around you still lingers, yet hatred has given way to a more neutral stance. You even receive the occasion curtsy from the lower-ranked members of the House.
The light of day in the winter is fleeting. Soon, the Hall begins to bask in the fuchsia hues of dusk. With a polite request, you ask permission to leave the chamber for fresh air, earning a nonchalant dismissive wave from the Lord.
As the chattering of the guests is left behind you, a moment of respite envelops your body and mind. In the crispness of the outside air, you finally find solace, and the pent-up breath you have been holding is released in a gentle exhale.
Without a destination in mind, you wander through the courtyard, feeling the chilling night air seeping through your clothes. In your solitude, your mind wrestles with your current situation. You have not forgotten the King's order to assassinate the Lord nor the threat hanging above your mother's life. But you have never had the gut or heart to commit such an act. You have no intention of taking anyone's life. And even if you did, getting the chance to do so would be an entirely different problem.
The mere thought of obeying the King's command sends shivers down your spine. The memories of your miserable life are hard to ignore. You want nothing but to stay far from this power struggle between House Gyllenhaal and the King, and to live your life in peace. But you understand with your circumstances right now, it is a luxury you know you cannot afford.
The letter is still in Lady Maggie's possession. Neither she nor her brother are going to simply trust your words. Your life under the King was pathetic, but people treated you with disregard, allowing you to just disappear. Here? You are, at best, a useless captive and, at worst, a threat. The only silver lining is when you are not playing the unwilling role of a princess, your life here is fine, good even.
A daring idea flashes through your mind. One doesn't have to be well-versed in politics to know that the peace between the King and House Gyllenhaal is incredibly fragile. This uneasy balance can shatter at any moment. When things come to that, you need to find a stable ground to stand on, and you know you will never achieve that by the King's side. Not that there was ever a place for you. If, and this is a big if, you are able to secure favor with House Gyllenhaal, it could guarantee your safety here and dispel a little bit of their ill will against you. Such an endeavor might improve your situation considerably. And then, maybe, just maybe, you can find a way to bring your mother here with you.
The problem? It's one thing to put on the servant's garb and duck your head to avoid being seen. It's another thing to actively support the King's enemy. Your sense of self-preservation keeps tugging at your soul. What terrible fate awaits you and your mother were the Gyllenhaal to fail? At times like this, you wish the old healer were here to tell you the right thing to do.
The biting cold reminds you that you must return to the feast soon. At least there is a large fire in there, you tell yourself. Looking around, you find yourself having wandered to the servants' quarter. The guards are spread thin in this part, and most servants are busy tending to the guests. You cup your hands over your mouth to warm them up before making your way back, not noticing a group of people wearing the King's symbols approaching.
"You are late, lady Maggie."
The Lord snorts, displaying his displeasure of being left alone fending against these diplomats. Lady Maggie lets out a hearty laugh, apologizing to the guests with a socially acceptable excuse. She then takes the seat beside the Lord, positioned opposite your now vacant chair. The Lord leans closer to his sister as the music and revelry shield their conversation from prying ears.
"What is it that you're scheming, sister?" The Lord inquires.
"Ah, is this about the girl?" The Lady lifts the cup to her lips, musing at her brother's annoyance. She takes a small sip, allowing the aromatic liquid to warm her from the inside. "Have you frightened her off, my Lord?"
The Lord scoffs at his sister's evasion of his question. "I am curious as to why you seem to take pity on her? Has House Gyllenhaal's ruthless strategist suddenly grown a conscience?"
The Lord expects his sister to retort with her usual witty remarks, but they are nowhere to be found. Instead, she falls into silence, pondering ideas only she herself knows of. After taking another sip of her drink, the Lady speaks in a soft voice while watching her distorted reflection within the ripples of the wine.
"Brother, I have been wondering. Would it not be easier to throw away something you do not want?" The Lady doesn't look up from her drink. She speaks as if to herself.
The Lord knows full well that she is speaking of you. He has not really given much thought about you unless he has to. However, his sister's question gives him pause. That's right. It should have been far simpler for the King to consign you to a family of peasants or abandon you in the forest. Why did he keep an illegitimate daughter all these years?
He glances at his sister, who is exchanging courtesies with several guests. He has so many questions but this place is not suitable for them. Well, he suspects Lady Maggie has already sent out her little ravens searching for information. This is not his domain to worry about, anyway. He never doubted his sister. When has she ever led him astray?
After all the ordeals you have gone through today, the last face you want to see is the one standing before you. You recognize this woman - the Head Maid from the King's castle, undoubtedly bringing back many unsavory memories.
"Oh my, isn't this our princess? Thriving, I see, unlike us humble servants." She stands at the forefront of a dozen servants brought here to serve the needs of the delegates, effectively blocking your path. You haven't seen them with their masters as they are not allowed in the Great Hall.
Wishing to avoid confrontation, you maintain a stoic expression, refusing to acknowledge her jibe, and press on, determined to walk past the group. However, a vicious force yanks on your arm, almost making you lose your balance. You glare at the Head Maid's chilling face. It reminds you of the past when her authority and cruelty loomed over you like a shadow.
"Why the rush, princess? Forgot your manners?" She sneers. The mockery in her voice sounds unpleasantly familiar.
Resisting the urge to retaliate and risk tarnishing the image of the Lord, you fume in silence, baffled by her audacity to assert power over you even beyond the castle walls. You are no longer the lowly bastard subjected to her whims.
You wince as she pinches your arm, something she often used to do any time she believed you were out of line, which is every time. As you attempt to push her away, a sinister grin twists the Head Maid's features as she deliberately invokes your mother's name.
"Well, well, princess. Perhaps you've forgotten the lessons I taught you." Her words are full of malicious intent, and her fingers dig into your arm like a crab's pincers. "I may be unable to teach you another lesson here, but mark my words. If you don't learn to behave, your mother will pay the price for your insolence."
Like a spark to dry hay, the threat ignites a torrent of anger within you. The frustrations of the day, the weight of your struggles, and the danger your mother has to face because of you all converge into an explosive outburst. You can no longer contain the seething rage that boils in your blood. Everyone wants something. You just want to be left alone.
Summoning every ounce of strength, you push the Head Maid away with a force that sends her tumbling into a freezing puddle. The unexpected defiance leaves the other servants stunned with disbelief. Clearly, the Head Maid's distasteful tales of your supposed powerlessness have given them the idea that you are underneath, and they never anticipated such resistance.
Some of them rush to help the sputtering woman up from the icy water, while others cautiously encircle you, uncertain what they should do. They look at each other with hesitation, for this place is not their territory, and your status is not exactly their equal.
"Make the bitch pay!" The Head Maid, shrieking at the other servants, declares that you must pay for your transgressions. The notion that even within the Gyllenhaal's fortress, the King's authority still holds sway takes root among royal servants. Tentatively, one of them reaches out to subdue you just as the guards arrive, alerted by the escalating commotion. However, they are not the only ones to have come.
The guards soon part to make the way for the Lord and the head of the delegates. You don't know how much of the unruly display the Lord has seen, but he has a look on his face you can only describe as "heads will roll tonight." You look down, fumbling with your dress, unsure what will befall you now.
The Head Maid, soaked and enraged, scurries to the delegate, seizing the opportunity to blame the altercation on you. She launches into a mad tirade, claiming the incident was an unprovoked attack when she was simply trying to greet you. A knot of anxiety tightens inside you as you can only stand there, unable to meet the Lord's gaze, grappling with the fear that your actions may have brought shame upon him.
"Come here." The Lord's voice cut through the wailing. Indeed, he sounds angry, but the anger is not directed at you. Furthermore, there is an underlying assurance in his words that steadies your racing heart. The chaos seems to recede as you approach him. His presence should be apprehensive but now oddly comforting.
"Tell me what happened?" He offers you a chance to defend your name, a gesture you did not expect. The residual rage clears your head, and the threat the Head Maid had made about your mother still rings fresh in your mind.
Rolling up your sleeves, you reveal the vivid red marks inflicted by the Head Maid, some even breaking the skin. "This woman attacked and threatened me. I had no choice but to defend myself,"
The Lord's brows knit together as he examines your injury. It seems his sister was right about your miserable life at the castle. He turns to the delegate, his voice grim. "Handle your people swiftly, or I'll deal with the perpetrator myself. I assure you, you will not like my methods."
Sensing the gravity of the situation, the delegate acts decisively. The delegate detests House Gyllenhaal, but he is not keen on upsetting them, at least not for the sake of a mere servant. The Head Maid's eyes widen at the turning tides. She opens her mouth to spew more of her venom but is immediately cut short with a resounding slap that almost causes her to fall again.
"Beg for the Lady's forgiveness, NOW!" The middle-aged nobleman orders.
The woman is flabbergasted. It finally clicks in her head that her master will not be on her side. The Head Maid reluctantly takes a step forward and bends her knees. Her usual arrogance crumbles, replaced by a forced submission. With a hesitating voice, she never imagined she would have to say to you, unwillingness evident in every syllable.
"I... I apologize, my Lady. I beg you to forgive my impudence." She mumbles insincere words.
"I want you gone." The words escape your mouth before you can rein them in. The metallic sound of a sword being unsheathed echoes, accompanied by the Head Maid's fearful cry. The Lord has drawn his sword and is aiming for the woman's neck. Realizing your sentence has been taken the wrong way, you catch the Lord's hand to prevent any more escalation.
"I... I mean, I want her out of my sight. I want her to leave the Keep." Desperation colors your voice as you tightly cling to the Lord's arm. He exhales sharply before sheathing his weapon in disappointment. The delegates had given him the urge to spill blood the whole evening, and he was really looking for an excuse, any excuse.
"I'll make sure this maid departs before dawn." The delegate rubs his hands together, relieved that this matter is finally resolved.
"Before midnight." The Lord commands.
One of Lady Maggie's servants comes forward, bringing a cape made of soft fur, and hands it to the Lord. He accepts the cape and drapes it over your shoulders, shielding you against the lingering chill. Of course, he completely ignores your sheer bewilderment. The unexpected gesture and the weight of the fur leave you awestruck.
"Return to your chamber. I'll have the physician look at your arm." The Lord instructs you. You are still so speechless that you can only nod. He then turns to the delegate and his servants, issuing a warning to those who even think about overstepping their boundaries.
"The moment she crosses those gates, she is no longer a princess or whatever she once was. She belongs to House Gyllenhaal and is under my protection. Tell your people to remember that."
Tag List:
@looloolily
@boydhoebrook
#jake gyllenhaal x reader#maggie gyllenhaal x reader#fic: emblem of roses#jake gyllenhaal fanfic#maggie gyllenhaal fanfic#nat writes#fics#cw: rpf
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Who would be interested in a NIN fanfic recommendation list? It's been something I've considered for a long time now, and I'd be happy to take suggestions as well.
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WINTER STORM
30 Days of Bad Omens
PAIRING: Nicholas Ruffilo x Taylor (OFC)
KINK - Breeding Kink
SMUT PROMPT - "Relax angel" ; "Ruin me"
CW: breeding, established relationship, mentions of pregnancy, family planning, unprotected P in V sex, use of pet names, FLUFF, ITS CUTE OK
SUMMARY: Taylor spends the holidays with Nicholas and his familly in the cabin in the mountains. The pair get snowed in before his family arrives. Oh what will they do with all their time?!
Word Count: 2k
Crossposted - Wattpad / AO3
unbeta'd ✨
Story for my beloved @itsmrsfuentes 💜
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Taylor looks out the large window and onto the balcony below. She shivers just thinking about how cold it must be outside in the Colorado mountains, snow-covered and shimmering against the morning sun. She sips her hot mocha savoring its chocolatey scent that warms her body.
“There’s my princess.” Nicholas’ voice is thick with sleep. The old wooden floors creak against his bare feet. He slows his breath so as not to startle her as she peers out into the cold beyond.
“It’s beautiful outside, just like you,” he mumbles against her hair as he wraps his arms around her waist.
Taylor hums in agreement imagining the dark winter storm that blazed through the mountainside last night; it’s amazing how howling winds and heavy snowfall could produce something so breathtakingly beautiful.
“Looks like we are going to be snowed in for a while,” he whispers against the shell of her ear before trailing kisses down her jaw and neck. “What could we possibly do with our time?” he sighs against her, snaking his hands up her shirt. “
Taylor's breath hitches when his hands graze over her breasts pulling her against his chest. Nicholas’ calloused fingertips begin to draw lazy circles over and around her perk nipples making her moan and grind her ass against him. Her beautiful sounds go straight to his dick.
Nicholas slips one hand from under her shirt to grab the mug from her hands. At the same time, he sets down the mug and twirls his girl around to face him. The small excited yelp from her pretty mouth sets his core ablaze. Grinning, he stares down at her breathtaking bright green eyes, etching each freckle decorating her skin to memory, silently hoping their kids will look just as gorgeous as she does one day. He takes her hands in his and squeezes them gently.
“This time of year has me feeling so sentimental… so thankful for you,” he starts, his throat tightening slightly with emotion. “We’ve been together for a few years now and I know my life has been crazy with touring and recording an album. But I want to settle down with you. You are my home Taylor and I want to have a family with you, whenever that may be.” Shy from his heartfelt confession, he tucks a loose strand behind his ear, waiting with bated breath for her response.
“Can we start no-” Her request is answered with a heated kiss. Sighing softly, Taylor tilts her head slightly to deepen the kiss, licking at his lower lip.
Nicholas chuckles. “Relax, angel we have all day.” He caresses her flush cheek as he gazes deeply into the eyes of the woman he loves.
She grins back at him before hoisting herself up on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck. Large hands slide down her side and grip at her waist. Taunting, she brushes her lips against his lips only to peck a kiss on the cheek. Giggling, she whispers in his ear, “I can tease too,” as she rakes her fingers through his scalp. Nicholas buries his head into the crook of her neck groaning as he decorates the delicate skin with little love bites. Taylor doesn’t let up as she tugs again.
Nicholas nuzzles her neck “Baby,” he warns before pressing a heated kiss to her jaw. She quickly relents with a defeated huff, returning her hands to his shoulders. “That’s it!” he chuckles lifting Taylor over his shoulder. She starts to protest but finds herself being dropped onto the green velvet sofa with Nicholas straddling her.
“Nicky I-” her voice erupts into giggles as he tickles her sides- the spot he knows will be her undoing. He laughs right with her, watching as she screws her eyes shut tight and throws her head back as the laughter consumes her. “Pl-ease,” Taylor gasps for air between breaths and hiccups. Instantly, Nicholas stops and leans back to give her space. “Sorry babe, you are just so cute when you laugh,” he snickers.
“It’s ok,” she rasps, her breath steadying as she sits upright. She scrubs her face with her hands before tying her hair up into a messy bun. She flashes Nicholas a mischievous grin before pouncing on him to tickle him back. She yelps when he rolls them over and onto the floor, grateful for the layers of blankets and pillows from the movie night before. He pushes himself up onto his hands to alleviate some of his weight from her chest.
His long hair tumbles over his shoulders as he stares down at her with a wicked grin, pupils blown wide like saucers. “Look what you started now.” He presses his hips against hers, his hard cock aching against his jeans. “Feel it, baby, that’s all because of you.”
Taylor’s breath catches when he grinds against her, his large size apparent in his skin-tight jeans. His sea-glass eyes turn stormy as he stares down, and before she can say something witty- full lips crash into hers, wet and desperate, just like the mess between her thighs. A soft moan escapes from her throat when he pries her lips apart with his tongue. She can’t get enough of him; his taste of mint and tobacco. Tilting her head slightly she deepens the kiss as she snakes her hands through his tousled hair. When she reaches her destination, she tugs his roots while biting his lower lip- “Fuck, I need you,” her boyfriend moans, his breath hot against her cheek. “I need to put a baby in you,” he growls lowly into her ear, making her skin tingle and pussy throb.
Taylor hesitates for just a second, before coming to terms with the wild and nerve-wrecking thoughts in her head. Has she thought about them having a family together, yes- they have talked about it countless times. Gone through the ‘what ifs’ and even crunched the numbers to see if they could afford this new chapter in their lives. She took a deep breath to silence the worry and when she looked at the love of her life again in the eyes, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she wanted to spend her life with him.
Empowered by confidence, Taylor shifted her hips to hook her leg over his. “Do it,” she says before positioning her weight to roll them over, getting on top.
She adjusts to sit lower on his torso, feet planted firmly on either side while her hands remain flat on his chest. Quick as a cat, she silences his question with a finger to his lips. His raised eyebrow gave him away instantly.
“Before you ask, yes I’m serious. I wouldn’t have said so if I hadn’t. Plus we’ve been talking about this for months now.” The hand on his lips moves to caress his cheeks. “We are happy and healthy what’s a better time than now?” A warm hand envelopes hers and he leans into the soft touch. A heat simmers in her belly as she leans down to plant a kiss on her lover’s lips. When he kisses her back, it's deep and passionate yet guarded– gentle.
She lets her body takeover- tossing away her sweater along with any lingering insecurity and doubt. Nicholas works quickly to unfasten her bra, casting it alongside the clothes on the floor. Before Taylor can lean down to continue ravishing her boyfriend, two tattooed hands press against her chest- stopping her.
“Get up.”
The quiet demand turns her core molten and Taylor is quick to obey. Before he asks, she sheds the other layers of clothing just as he does the same. Suddenly, a chill spider crawls up her spine so she turns to face the lit fireplace, finding solace in its heat. She glances over at the family Christmas tree adorned with lights and ornaments. Dreams of their first child’s Christmas morning flash through her head and her heart flutters.
“Come here, princess,” his soft voice calls to her. When she turns, she finds Nicholas sitting surrounded by pillows, propped against the bottom of the sofa. “Here,” he instructs, patting his thigh.
Her eyes scan his large erect cock and her throat tightens slightly. They have fucked and made love and everything else under the sun, but this moment feels different. This moment is different- it means so much more. There’s a weight to it, not a pressure but rather a comfort. She trusts Nicholas wholeheartedly and she knows he trusts her too.
Slowly, she makes her way to him- teasing as she juts her hips with every purposeful step. When she goes to straddle him, he stops her with a pat on the thigh.
“Turn around, darling.” Taylor’s thoughts begin to swirl as she turns away from him and then-
“That’s right,” is all Nicholas gives her as she stares at herself in a full-length mirror draped with twinkling lights.
Slowly, she positions herself over him-watching Nicholas’ expression in the mirror with bated breath. He notices her hesitation as she hovers above him so he puts pillows around her legs for support and grips her hips to steady her. “That’s it, pretty girl, you are doing so good.” His praise makes her pussy wall flutter with anticipation as she sinks lower, keeping her gaze locked on him. He throws back his head and groans as her slick walls lure him in.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” At this point, his words come out breathless and whiny. She feels so full… of him, yet she still needs more. “So good,” he repeats between tender kisses to her shoulder blades. A soft giggle tumbles from her lips as he brushes his nose over her spine. When she opens her eyes, she finally sees the way he makes her feel; cheeks flush and bitten lips. Taylor catches Nicholas staring and she follows his path- straight to where they connect.
“We fit perfectly together,” he purrs peering up at her in the mirror. “Ready for more?” All she can muster is a nod before planting her feet firmly on the ground. It’s slow at first, the way they move in tandem; her rocking her hips and him thrusting into her. Nicholas digs his nails into her hips, the sharp and quick pain urges her faster.
“God, Nick I’m close -please,” she whimpers. He knows exactly what she needs as he snakes his hand to her front, separating her lower lips with his fingers before reaching the sensitive bud. With one quick swipe of his finger, her eyes shut tight and her head falls back onto his chest.
And suddenly, it all stops. Taylor lets out a whine as the sensations start to dissipate. “Eyes on me, doll.” Her eyelids flutter open in response and quickly finds his primal gaze. “Good.” The only reassurance she gets before he continues his relentless pursuit of pleasure. The sound of skin slapping and ragged breathing fills her ears as the coil tightens in her core. Her legs start to tense as the pressure builds between her thighs.
“That’s it, mama, ruin me-”
“Oh shit,” she whines, baring down on him as she drenches him with her release. “Fill me, Nicholas,” she pleads as he releases rope after rope of his seed inside her.
Sighing, she lets her tired body fall against his warm chest, legs falling limp to the side. As her eyelids flutter closed, she basks in Nicholas’ body heat that comforts her as her heartbeat steadies. “You look gorgeous in the afterglow, little mama,” he whispers the new nickname in her ear. It makes her tummy flip with delight.
Nicholas wraps his arms around her tummy watching as it expands with every breath she takes. Taylor looks down at where his hands meet by her belly button and she smiles imagining a little baby bump.
“Soon my hands won't be able to fit like this,” he says before kissing her cheek.
“It can’t wait,” Taylor beams, resting her hands on his.
#bad omens#bad omens band#nicholas ruffilo#bad omens fanfiction#nicholas ruffilo fanfiction#bad omens fanfic#bad omens fic#nicholas ruffilo fanfic#nicholas ruffilo fic#nicholas ruffilo smut#bad omens rpf#nicholas ruffilo rpf#nicholas ruffilo x ofc#cw: breeding kink#ladyveronikawrites
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saw this guy on campus the other day and i just thought. tzegras
#never thought it was possible to lean so demurely against a wall.... hood up cigarette in hand gazing into the middle distance.......#trevor zegras#anaheim ducks#hockey art#yjart#hockey rpf#hrpf#cw smoking
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You Will Not Be Mine, So Give Me The Night
Noah Sebastian x OFC
Content Warnings: Fingering, P in V sex, and infidelity. There are no miscommunications, no misunderstandings here... just two people making the conscious decision to be unfaithful.
Contains sexual situations with a fictionalized version of a real person. This is fiction, none of this is real. But if RPF isn't your thing, please hit that back button.
This was a smut prompt request from @itsvictoriaarose with #189 "You're really telling me to stop while both your hands are up my shirt?" and #182 "You can't leave marks." I kinda went back and forth over this for a while, trying to figure out what direction I wanted to take and then I got hit with an angst spell and decided to take it out on Mr. Noah Sebastian. So enjoy?
Special thanks to @signs-of-ill-portent for beta-ing this and just overall being the amazing person you are, and to @throwingmetothelions for telling me to just go for it haha.
tag team: @signs-of-ill-portent @ladyveronikawrites @nerdraging4point0 @cncohshit @jxstthisonce, @shaydayhere @kingdomof-omens @thebadchic
If you would like to be added to a taglist, feel free to send me a message
My master list can be found here
~~~~~~~~~
It starts innocently enough. She's the new guitar tech, shadowing JB and learning the ropes to take over for him now that Jimmy needs him more. Noah can’t help but be a little standoffish. It’s always hard to bring someone new in, but it goes well. She’s good at what she does, and she’s a quick learner when it comes to all their little idiosyncrasies, technical or otherwise, noting Jolly’s preferences and taking them to heart. His people are happy, so he’s happy and he starts to relax into this new normal.
Three stops in, shit hits the fan and while the rest of them are bustling around, trying to fix it and not lose their collective shit when new girl steps up pulling a fix from God knows where. It gets them through the night and off to the next city, where they have a day off to figure out exactly what went wrong. He stops worrying for a bit after that.
They’re three weeks into their eight-week run when Noah realizes he might have a problem. At first he notices the way her nose scrunches when there’s something she can’t fix right away, how she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she thinks it through. He catches himself staring at her mouth more than once, wondering if her lips are as soft as they look. With a mental shake, Noah forces his eyes away from her, letting the sparkle of the ring on her finger taunt him as he unlocks his phone.
His girlfriend’s face smiles back at him from the home screen, and it’s enough to get his thoughts off of her for the time being.
But it only works for so long. The more time they spend together, the worse it gets. He starts to catch her looking at him when she thinks he’s not looking, her head quickly turning away when he looks back, their friendly touches beginning to linger a little too much on the side of Too Long. So he tries to put as much distance between them as possible, but it's not exactly easy when they’re practically living on top of each other on the rig.
She corners him by week five, appearing at his side to lean against the bar next to the stool he's parked himself on.
“Did I do something to upset you?”
Noah can feel her gaze as it burns into him, the same stare he’s felt the past few weeks when she thinks he’s not paying attention. It was one thing when he thought it was one-sided, but he doesn’t think it is anymore.
“Nope,” is all he says, refusing to look at her. Instead, he lets his eyes wander to the other side of the room, watching a few of the others face off at the pool table.
“You sure?” she asks, incredulous. “Because, apart from a sparing glance, you’ve barely been able to look at me for the past two weeks.”
He sighs, letting his head hang as he closes his eyes. "I think you know why…"
"I know," she replies, voice quiet.
"I'm not the only one who feels it, right?" Noah asks as he finally lets himself look at her. She looks tired as she sits on the stool next to his, running her hands up and down her thighs. He tries not to focus on how thick they look under the tight material of her leggings, and how they might feel under his own hands if he were to reach out and touch her; instead, he keeps his eyes trained on her face.
“No. No, you’re not.” The confession makes something flutter in his chest. Excitement, maybe, but it’s quickly tampered by the cool wave of dread that settles over him when she continues. “So, where do we go from here? I really like this job, but if it’s better for both of us if I--”
“Hey, wait, no,” he cuts her off quickly, reaching out to take hold of her hand. “That’s not what I want, and that’s not what I think you should do… because you’re good at this. That shit the first week? The whole show could have gone south if you didn’t figure out a way to fix it. I don’t want to lose you as a tech just because we’re attracted to each other… okay?”
“So what do we do then?” she asks tiredly, staring down at their joined hands. Her skin is warm under his and he can feel the beginnings of electricity sparking under his thumb where he runs it across her knuckles.
Noah shrugs, “We deal with it, okay? You’re engaged for fucks sake, and I have a girlfriend, that’s more than enough for us to push whatever this is to the side and remain professional. We can even use JB as a go between if we need to.”
She scoffs, but it’s more amused than derogatory. "Just ignore it. Is that really the solution you’re suggesting? Healthy.”
That pulls a laugh from him as he raises both of his hands in a mock surrender. “I’m all ears if you have any other suggestions… besides quitting.” He needs her to know he’s serious, because apart from JB, she’s the best tech they’ve had and Noah’s pretty sure Matt would strangle him if he had anything to do with them losing her.
“Okay…” she says, exhaling loudly. “You’re right. We’re both adults here, we can be mature about this. It doesn’t need to be anything more than a strictly platonic work relationship.”
“Exactly.”
Their new found understanding is shaky at best, and it only takes JB’s departure for it to all come crumbling down.
~~
It's the last week, the home stretch. JB's gone off to do his own thing with his own band, and in his absence, all the things that hold them back seem to not matter anymore. Without him as a buffer between them, the ring on her finger doesn't sparkle quite as bright, and the face that smiles back at him from his home screen doesn't carry the weight it once did. Not when she throws her head back to clear the hair out of her eyes and his eyes trace the line of her throat, wondering what kind of sound she'd make if he did the same with his teeth.
He tries not to over-indulge when he’s around her. She feels magnetic when he’s sober, sparks crackling under his fingertips where they brush against hers when he’s riding that first beer feeling, and he knows it’ll only increase the more he puts away. Noah can’t tell if she’s doing the same thing for the same reasons, but he always notices when she stops at one as well. And much as he loathes to say it, he knows right then that it’s only a matter of time before they do something they shouldn’t.
It all comes to a head after their last show. The night goes off without a hitch, and everybody's riding that high, despite how tired they all are. At the after show party, he stops at one, like he always does, but it’s not enough this time.
He tells himself that it’s not a conscious decision to offer her his hand. That it’s the alcohol’s influence as they sneak away hand in hand, out to the rig while everyone else is otherwise occupied.
Noah’s the one who kisses her first, but she kisses him back with fervor, sitting on the table by the small kitchenette, spreading her legs to let him into her space. He gasps into her mouth when her hands slip under his shirt, trailing fire in their wake as they wander the broad expanse of his back, heat pooling in his gut when her tongue slips into his mouth to slide against his. His hands grip her thighs, tugging her closer and it’s not until he pops the button on her jeans that she breaks away.
“Stop…” she pants, the words slipping out between gulping breaths. “We… we gotta stop.”
She’s right. He knows she’s right, but. “You’re really telling me to stop while both of your hands are up my shirt?”
That pulls a breathless laughter from her chest, and Noah tries to ignore the way he mourns the loss of her touch when her hands leave his body, a chill quickly replacing her warmth. “You know I’m right… we can’t do this.”
His head falls forward to rest against her shoulder. “I know.”
But he doesn’t move, doesn’t back away to let her go before they do something they can’t take back. Instead he kisses her bare shoulder, and she doesn’t stop him. Nor does she stop him when he skips over the thin strip of her tank top before letting his lips mark a path to the curve of her neck. She just tangles her hand in his hair with a sigh of his name, tipping her head back as he continues his way around throat where he whispers into the skin, “I don’t want to stop.”
He can feel her throat bob as she swallows before taking a deep breath, her following sigh loud in the empty space around them. It’s quiet as the minutes tick by until she tugs at his hair, pulling his gaze up to meet hers. “You can’t leave marks.”
It’s all the permission he needs.
Noah tears at her jeans, pulling harshly at the zipper before shuffling the denim down her legs until she can kick them off. Sucking two fingers into his mouth, he steps back in between her legs to push her underwear aside, circling her clit before he sinks them into her, all the way to the knuckle.
“Fuuuuck.” Noah curses. She’s so wet inside, and the knowledge that it’s all for him makes him delirious as he fucks her with his fingers. He works her to her orgasm quickly, the sound she makes when he thumbs at her clit just before she shudders around him makes it hard for him to think about anything other than getting his dick inside her. He shoves down his shorts and underwear, trying not to trip as he steps out of them before kicking them somewhere behind.
Noah grips her thighs, pulling her closer to the edge of the table underneath, spreading her legs wide with both of his hands. She’s still spasming when Noah pushes his way inside, the clench and release of her pussy as he bottoms out forces him to pause as he tries to hold his own release at bay, and he refuses to think about anything but her as they rest their foreheads together, panting into each other’s mouths.
“Hey, look at me,” he requests, setting his thumb beneath her chin as his palms rests against the soft skin of her cheek. Her eyes slide open just as he pulls his hips back and the way her mouth falls open in a silent cry as he thrusts back into her is nothing short of beautiful.
For a moment, he wishes things were different, that he could have her spread out beneath him on a bed and take his time, instead of a hurried fuck in an empty tour bus. But then she cants her hips up to meet his, and he’s rocketed back to the present moment so hard his head spins. She floods his senses; all he can see, all he can feel, all he can smell is her, them, as they rock together.
She clutches at him as she cries out, hands fisting into his shirt when he feels his dick brush against a particular spot inside her and he can feel her cunt begin to tighten around him.
“Shit,” Noah gasps, “A-Are you gonna cum again? Gonna cum around my cock?”
She nods, working one of her hands between them to play with herself. “That’s it… that’s a good--” he cuts off with a groan as the quiver of her inner walls threatens to pull him over the edge. Pulling her mouth to his, he smashes their lips together, swallowing her moans as he fucks her through it.
“Oh god…” he pants against her lips, rhythm slipping, “oh fuck, I’m gonna--”
Noah groans, kissing her deep one last time, pumping into her twice more and then he’s pulling out, working a hand around himself until he cums, his release spilling onto the curls above her center and the soft part of her lower belly.
Her hands find his face, brushing the hair that's fallen forward back before pulling their foreheads together. He knows exactly what it is, this soft moment in the afterglow; it's a goodbye for something that never even started and he lets himself bask in it.
With ears still ringing, he pushes away from her, stumbling towards his bunk to pull out an old shirt lodged at the edge of the mattress.
Noah grimaces as he hands it to her. “Sorry, I didn’t have anything else to--”
“It’s okay.” She interrupts.
Noah waits for the guilt to creep in, but nothing comes. Nothing but more want when she pushes past him on the way to her own space, bare ass in full view. He can feel his dick stir back to life at the thought of nipping at the soft cheeks with his teeth, griping the full flesh in both of his hands to hold her open while he fucks her from behind. But he lets it go, choosing instead to find his shorts.
They don’t talk as they redress, crossing in the parking lot silence and returning to others a few minutes apart, just in case.
.
.
.
.
He gets the wedding invitation three weeks later.
#bad omens fanfiction#bad omens fanfic#bad omens fic#bad omens rpf#noah sebastian fic#noah sebastian fanfiction#noah sebastian fanfic#rpf#noah sebastian/ofc#noah sebastian x ofc#smut fic#noah sebastian smut#smut prompt fic#cw: infidelity
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interlude: MADE BREATH and SKIN
Watcher Noah Sebastian x oc (Taylor)
Word Count: 2.7k+
A/n: so up to around chapter six, I was up in the air over whether Taylor would a) start a relationship, and b) go with Nick or Noah. The interlude was bare bones until Taylor made up their mind, but I always had in my drafts a version where they went with Noah. Some talks on the discord happened and I just went "fuck it we ball" and I expanded the draft to a full-blown one-shot. Also: I KNOW ANTLERS AREN'T SENSITIVE LIKE THAT, BUT HE'S A DEER GOD. THE RULES DON'T APPLY TO HIM.
In other news, I tried to write without limitations like last time, cuz non-binary folk who are okay with their body parts and being called "good AGAB" exist out there too, people! So, if mentions of female body parts or female terminology shuts you down, then this won't be for you.
Cw: language, supernatural themes, sexy stuff: oral (oc receiving), slight monster fucking (monster, demi-deity, whatev), pet play if you squint, unwrapped p in v (be safe, kiddos), telepathic dirty-talk
“I don't need to be babysat. Like they're gonna try to break into my house and kidnap me,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Well, too bad. Like I have anything better to do than babysit you,” Noah said, shedding his leather jacket he had over his hoodie. I could hear the playful undertone in his voice, thankfully. And to be honest, I was kind of glad he was here.
“Need help?” I commented as he pulled his hoodie up.
“Nope,” he said, lifting it up above his head. I mainly watched just to see how he could manage to get it over the antlers that were sprouting from the sides of his head, but I would be lying if I said I didn't sneak a peek at the part of his stomach as his shirt rode up. “Jeez, do you have to keep this place like a sauna in here?”
“It's not even seventy degrees in here,” I said, trying to avoid staring too long after he managed to get the hoodie off, but I still couldn’t get over the fact that he was actually that… big under all that clothing. He was now down to just a cut-off tank, leaving all the binding sigils that ran up and down his arms and across his collarbones and shoulders on display. Honestly, combined with the muscles, it made me want to punch him.
But still, after a while, my eyes were drawn back up to the antlers. While not as wide and impressive as the last time I saw them, they still seemed to make him seem taller and bigger than he already was.
“My eyes are down here.”
His words snapped me out of my reverie before he flipped down onto the couch beside me. “What're we watching?” he asked. When I looked down into his eyes, with his face drawn up into a smirk, I was almost taken aback when I noticed the smattering of freckles under them. The Lost Boy Who Would Become King.
“Does it hurt?” I blurted out.
“Does what hurt?” Noah asked.
“The antlers… when they grow out. Do they hurt?” I clarified, curiosity getting the better of me.
He blinked. “N-no?” he replied awkwardly, like no one had bothered to ask that question of him before. “Mostly they’re just sensitive until they reach their full point. Kinda itchy, too.” His thigh bumped against mine.
“Has anyone touched them?” I asked.
“No, usually people are too busy screaming ‘Ah, don’t kill me’ if I get—“ I cut him off with a backhand to the chest. “What? It's true!”
“I meant like Nick and the others,” I huffed, leaning back.
“Nah, they're not stupid enough to–” Noah said, but then stopped dead when I pressed my thumb against one of the points.
“Shit, I’m sorry, did I hurt—“ I stammered, pulling my hand away until I noticed his eyes. They seemed to pin me to where I was sitting.
“No, you’re fine, it's just…” Noah swallowed thickly, “I didn’t expect it to feel like… that.”
“Like wha…?” I trailed off as I realized what he meant. Oh.
My hand, which was still hovering near his head, fell back down to his antlers. Curiosity getting the better of me, I traced a light line from where they met his skull up to one of the first points. He shuddered under my touch, a small moan slipping out.
“Stop that,” he gritted out.
“Stop what?” I asked. I meant for it to be an honest question, but I didn't think he took it to be like that. Especially when his hand shot up and snatched my wrist away from his head.
“Stop teasing,” he said with a low rumble, dipping his head down to where he was eye level with me. My heart stopped when I saw how dark his eyes were.
I felt his other hand snake around my waist, pulling me closer to him. As ironic as the comparison was, I felt like a deer caught in the headlights. “Is that why you asked about them? So you could see me like this?” he asked. I was practically on his lap at this point, my knees straddling his thighs. He dipped his head lower to nuzzle his lips against my jaw.
The movement snapped me out of my paralysis, and I finally found my voice. “Aww, is Bambi sensitive?” I cooed, reaching my free hand up to run a finger up his antlers again. He shuddered against me, breath panting and ragged, and I froze up again when I felt his dick begin to harden underneath my core.
“I said watch it,“ he growled, grabbing that hand as well. “Do you like being a tease? Touching me like that?” He pushed me onto my back, pinning my wrists to the armrest above my head. He easily was able to hold both of them with one hand, those long fingers wrapping around them as he freed a hand to roughly grab my jaw. “Touch me again, and I’ll build you up to just leave you here wet and needy.”
My eyes widened a little bit as I took in what he said. “No—“ He cut me off with a small squeeze. The little puffs of breath he let out ghosted over my ear, making me shudder in his hands. When he finally let go of my jaw, it was to only run it over the hollow of my throat and stop. He leaned down, his lips leaving light but wet kisses along my neck.
A soft whimper escaped my throat, and my legs squirmed under his. He chuckled, my only warning before he bit down on the sensitive flesh between my neck and shoulder. A sharp gasp left me, which turned into a moan when his teeth retracted to let his tongue sweep over the mark.
“I want everyone to know what’s mine, little rabbit,” he whispered. “I want them to know that you belong to the Watcher of the Woods.”
The possessive tone he used slightly pissed me off, but as he alternated between biting and soothing at my tender skin, I could barely care. That's when I realized, despite my fogged-up brain, my mouth was close to the base of his antlers. So between keening, I let out a breathy moan that I knew would hit them.
His reaction was instantaneous. He let out a loud moan against my wet skin, hips involuntarily shunting forward against mine. The straining in his jeans pressed against my covered core, earning a sharp inhale from me. I didn't know how dizzier I could get.
Noah pulled away to look me in the eyes. “Seriously, Taylor, if you want–”
“Noah, I want you, monster or not,” I panted.
For once, Noah was stunned into silence. He hovered over me, jaw slightly dropped as he took in my words. He then brought his lips down to lock with mine in a messy, heated kiss.
There was no gentleness in this kiss, and I didn't expect any. This was a man starved. He finally let go of my wrists and trailed his hands down my chest, my waist, to my hips, then trailed them back up, under my shirt this time.
His thumbs ran small, feather-light circles around my nipples. “No bra?” he asked, smirking against my lips.
“Never wear one,” I admitted.
“Good. Off,” he commanded. “I wanna look at you.” He pulled away to give me space.
Somehow I knew what he was talking about through the sex-addled white noise, and I lifted my shirt up and over my head. I flushed under his gaze that slowly raked over my body.
“I could absolutely devour you,” he admitted, leaning back down, lower this time. He ran his tongue up my sternum, up the small slope of one breast, and closed his mouth around my nipple. I keened and squirmed as he flicked the tip of his tongue over the hard peak, feeling helpless as he teased the other between his thumb and fingers.
Eventually, after both tits were given enough attention, he pulled off with a soft pop, biting into what flesh there was. He left little nips as he trailed down my tummy until he finally reached the waistband of my jeans.
“N-Noah…” I whimpered, trying to get his attention.
“Yeah…?” His eyes flicked up to mine as I gazed down my body at him.
“Please… not here,” I pleaded.
He blinked, his dark brown eyes darkening further. “You don't want me to fuck you on the couch?” he asked.
“P-please n-no.”
Suddenly, with supernatural strength, he hitched my waist over his shoulder, pulling up and taking me with him. I let out a small yelp of surprise, but soon he was taking me back to my bedroom. My world was just an upside- down view of the back of his top and ass. If I could just manage to get my arm up, I could just–
Before I could smack anything, he roughly tossed me onto the bed. He crawled up between my legs, undoing the button and zipper of my jeans. I wriggled my hips as he pulled my jeans and underwear down in one fast motion. With a groan, and without tearing his gaze from between my legs, he carelessly tossed the garments somewhere on the floor. “Fucking hell, you've been wet this whole time, haven't you?” he asked, leaning down.
“Noah–”
“Are you okay with this?” Noah asked. I stared at him in surprise, and he rolled his eyes. “I might be a monster, but I'm not that kind of a monster.”
“Fuck, of course Noah. Just fucking–” My tirade was cut off as he dove down like it was his last meal. My hips lifted off the bed in surprise, and he lifted my legs over his shoulders, wrapping his hands around my thighs and pulling them down against him.
I couldn't think of anything past the feeling of his tongue flicking over and around my clit, spearing into my pussy and then flattening as he licked long stripes up and down my slit. All I could do was grab the top of his head, tangling my fingers in his long tresses as I tried to keep myself grounded.
“Oh, God, No… ah–” was all I could manage to get out as I shook like someone possessed. His fingers dug into my thighs, the pain of his nails pressing in only adding to the pleasure. It felt like the more I reacted to him like this, the harder he worked to make me feel good.
I looked down at him to see that he was already intently staring at me. Somehow his dark eyes seemed to be bright when they met mine. I felt him smirk against my lower lips and then I heard,
YOU TASTE SO FUCKING GOOD.
Speaking into my head, hearing that praise, sent a bolt of pleasure through me that had me arching, releasing onto his tongue as I swore up to the ceiling. He lapped it up, not relaxing his movements one bit, and the overstimulation carried me into my second orgasm, my scream tearing through my throat.
THERE IT IS. THAT’S IT, GIVE IT TO ME.
He slowed down, kitten-licking me through my aftershocks, and then finally pulled away, settling me back down onto my bed. “You good?” He asked, like he didn't just completely shatter me.
Through ragged breaths that hurt my throat and my swimming vision, I nodded. Dear God, that was–
“He's not here, and by the end of tonight, I'll have you screaming my name like you worship me.” His growl sent ripples throughout my body. Noah crawled up on top of me, caging my face between his hands, and kissed me roughly. I could smell and taste myself on his lips.
“Noah, please I need you,” I managed to say between fervent kisses.
“Say my name,” he demanded.
“Noah.”
“Louder.”
“Noah–”
“Pray for me.”
“Please, Noah.”
When I opened my eyes, it was him shoving his jeans off, but what made me gasp was the sight of his antlers, now the crown of bone that I remembered. With his hair wild and tangled from my fingers, and the tattoos spread all across his now naked body, he truly looked like the forest god he was.
He perched over me, leaning down to kiss me hard enough to stoke the fire in my belly again, and trailed two fingers up and down my still-slick folds. He slowly pushed them into my hole, alternating between curling, scissoring, and pulling them out before repeating the cycle. I was a moaning, whimpering mess that could barely talk when I realized that he was lining himself up.
“N-Noah, f-fuck… please,” I near sobbed.
“Shhh, I've got you,” he said quietly, gently brushing some damp hairs off my forehead. He then slowly, tortuously, pushed in, making me cry out in pain and pleasure.
“Ohh god, Noah, a-ah!” I said. “'s n-not gonna f-fit.”
“Yes it will,” he rasped. I was so glad that he too was having a rough time handling me like I was handling him. “I know you can do it.” He then pulled my legs up and hitched them around his waist, nearly folding me in half. With a few more shallow thrusts, he finally bottomed out, hitting a spot in me that turned my moans to something primal.
“There we go, good job. I told you you could do it,” he muttered, kissing the bridge of my nose. The feeling of me clenching on his cock had him groan, a sound that seemed like it came from somewhere deep inside him. “You ready?”
“Y-yes, Noah.”
His pace was steady at first, torturously slow. I rolled my hips to meet his, and his hands flew down to them to encourage the movement. “Go on… Take what you need,” he said, voice hitching at the end. I reached up to wrap my arms around his wide back, feeling the muscles flexing underneath my hands. His forehead dropped to mine and our lips brushed together in unison.
FUCK, IT’S LIKE YOU WERE MADE FOR ME,
he said, a hand reaching up to cup my cheek, tilting my face so our lips could finally press against each others,
MY LITTLE RABBIT.
Noah, I’m gonna - I’m gonna… I was desperately close, and his pace just kept getting hastier. I knew I was about to topple over the edge, and Noah was going to push me over with no remorse.
LET GO,
he said,
I’M RIGHT BEHIND YOU.
When I opened my eyes, I saw his big doe eyes focused on me. I couldn’t hold it anymore, and I screamed his name as my head rolled back against my pillow. I swore I nearly blacked out, or at least the edges of my vision turned black, as my vision blurred. I felt my sweat-slick skin press against his as my back arched completely off the bed.
Noah chased his own release a little bit later, thrusting into me while growling something that might’ve been words in the other tongue, or just gibberish. Soon after, his hips stilled, and his body sagged onto me, the weight and warmth being welcome.
We lied there, chests heaving as we tried to catch our breath, and I found myself gently scratching at his scalp. My fingers gently brushed against the base of his antlers, and I stilled.
“You’re fine, I can’t feel anything when they’re fully grown,” Noah muttered against the skin of my neck.
“You know that, but not when they’re forming?” I asked.
“Like I said earlier, it never came up.” He chuckled airily.
We stayed like that for a while, his body like an anxiety blanket, until my body decided I needed to get up. Noah thought otherwise, as he wrapped his arms around my midsection and pulled me back against him every time I tried to leave the bed.
“Lemme up, I have to go to the bathroom and take a shower.”
“Only if I get to join you,” he said with a sly grin.
“Those things aren’t gonna fit in the shower,” I said with a momentary glance up at the antlers.
“Oh, I’ll make them fit.”
“…Gross.”
#bad omens fanfiction#bad omens fanfic#bad omens rpf#bad omens au#bad omens smut#noah sebastian fanfiction#noah sebastian fanfic#noah sebastian au#noah sebastian smut#noah sebastian x oc#tag: non-binary character#tag: afab character#cw: supernatural themes#cw: language#fic: lost in the labyrinth
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*slovenian staring noises*
[Open for better quality!]
#käärijä#jere pöyhönen#joker out#bojan cvjeticanin#käärijan#cw rpf i guess? fhjdhk#esc 2023#eurovision#eurovision 2023#traditional art#ballpoint pen#solar draws#girl staring at guys chest meme#esc finland#esc slovenia
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So the Jet Lag boys had a conversation about fanfiction on the podcast last week. I know some folks won't have Nebula subscriptions, so here's the funniest part.
Transcript below the cut:
Sam: Oh wow.
Scotty: Jesus.
Adam: That's worse, I would say--
Ben: No, it's not worse.
Adam: --than if it's erotic.
Ben: No, it's not worse. Cause I've read some stuff that you haven't read.
Adam: I haven't read any of it!
Scotty: My question is, how do you know that that's not erotic?
Adam: I don't want to read any of it! That's what I'm saying! None of us should read any of it. It's not--
Ben: I had my cousins read it for me.
Adam: That's the weird--you always say that--that's the weirdest thing you've ever said. You had your cousins read erotic fanfiction about you.
Ben: That's what cousins are for.
Adam (wailing): No it's not!!
Ben: You're not utilizing your cousins well enough.
Scotty (laughing): No, no...
Adam: Things have gotten so off the rails here at the end!
Scotty (dying of laughter): No, no, no, no...
Ben: And that's a wrap on season six.
#for the record they were generally positive re: the existence of fanfic#and just disagreed with each other re: the level of contact they personally wanted to have with that part of the fandom#reminder that you can lock your ao3 fic to be visible only to ao3 user accounts if this freaks you out#jet lag the game#jet lag season 6#jltg#ben doyle#adam chase#scotty strange parts#(as adam repeatedly calls him)#sam from wendover#sam denby#rpf#rpf cw#rpf fanfiction
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Emblem of Roses - 4
Pairings: Jake Gyllenhaal x reader, Maggie Gyllenhaal x reader (Medieval AU)
Summary: You were content with your quiet life as an illegitimate daughter of the King, hanging out with the maids and learning your craft. All that ended when your father married you to Lord Gyllenhaal, the Usurper, as a peace offering and a hostage.
Word count: 5,300
Warnings: 18+ MINOR DNI , RPF, DUBCON, angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, hate to pining, polyamory, slow burn with smut, political marriage, mean!Jake to pining!Jake, cunning!Maggie, kind!reader.
Chapter warnings: light smut, dubcon, dry humping, drinking.
*** Your online experience is your responsibility. You have been warned. If any of these content upsets you, DO NOT READ!!! ***
A/N: @gyllenhaalstories I did it, I finished the chapter. *cry* The chapter in which we learn why milord doesn't remember reader's face.
Divider credit: @firefly-graphics
The pungent aroma of fermented fruits and honey invades your senses as you tumble on the earth, bearing the burden of an entire grown man. His Lordship keeps muttering his apologies into your ears in his intoxicated stupor. His drunken struggles only push you further into the ground.
"My Lord, please move."
You croak, elbowing his chest to prevent the man from collapsing on you. The disgrace of your wedding night resurfaces in your mind as his body heat and musky scent envelop you, making the winter night almost too hot to bear.
"Shifty rabbit, I am no Lord to you."
His words come out slurred and a little upset. He pushes himself up with his arms, but his entire lower body weighs you down on the cold, dusty stone floor. He gazes longingly at your form in the dark, licking his lips dry from the excessive drinking.
With a subtle shake of your head, you dodge the air saturated with alcoholic vapor. You are grateful, at least, that Lord Gyllenhaal is oblivious to the identity of his own wife, or so you pray. Whatever ale-infused fever dream has taken hold of him, you decide to comply and bide your time, waiting for the opportunity to wiggle away.
"Cat's got your tongue? Have you forgotten the stupid name you call me?"
With his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, the Lord runs his fingers on your lips, giggling like a fool. Then, as if he has found an entertaining plaything, he begins to rub and stretch your cheeks like a pile of dough. He does not seem to care if you even want to participate in this nonsensical, one-sided conversation.
With a deep inhale, you marvel at this frivolous facet of his personality while suppressing the temptation to knee him in the groin. The last thing you want is for him to regain awareness. Fortunately, his childish antics fail to amuse him for long. His hands slow down to a halt as he cups your face delicately. Your eyes begin to distinguish his quiet, slumping silhouette in the dark. A comforting warmth spreads across your stomach, then your chest, as he descends to be closer to your face.
"Have you forgotten me?"
The Lord is now so dangerously close that the very tip of your nose brushes against his. You reflexively tilt your face to the side, extending your arms in an attempt to support his weight and maintain a distance between you. His cold lips, seeking the softness they desire, land on your cheeks instead, eliciting a displeased grunt. The roughness of his beard scrapes against your skin as he continues his search, led by his mouth. The frigid touch of his lips explores your cheeks with tender care, worried he would miss a single inch.
"Are you angry?"
Unable to get what he wants, he sounds defeated. He is so close to you that you can sense the vibration in his broad chest as he groans. You have no desire to answer him, and the drunkard probably cannot comprehend whatever you say.
"You must be. I didn't come back for you."
His incoherent monologue goes on as he cradles your face with adoration, fingertips dancing on your cheeks. The heat from the palms seeps into your skin, making you feel the rough patches formed by many years of wielding the sword.
You want to say something in response, but the sudden firm grasp on your breast stops the words in your throat, followed by the ragged breaths of the man looming over you. The Lord ceases apologetic fussing, and the underground chamber falls into silence.
Though you have never considered yourself feeble or fragile and are used to arduous manual labor, you find it a monumental task to dislodge him. Despite your best efforts to shake him off, his superior grappling skills, honed through years of wrestling with the bannermen, ensnare you like stubborn vines. Every time you successfully worm your way out, he finds a way to recapture you, trapping you once more in his arms.
The pathetic wriggling presents the Lord an opening to make his way between your legs. His body causes the thick linen skirt to hike up your knees. Any leverage you may have is nullified by the thighs pressing into yours. Your right arm is stuck between your body while you try to push him away. And your remaining arm is left flailing blindly as he keeps one hand underneath your neck. His free hand runs down your side, fondling and squeezing every inch of you he can reach.
Your breaths hitch as the sudden touch catches you by surprise. You can neither see nor move, but the hard protrusion grinding against your pelvis is a tale-tell sign of the Lord's craving. His boots dig into the ground like an anchor as he slowly rocks himself into your hip. Audible sighs of pleasure escape his lips while he looks for release.
The sound of your teeth grinding together fills your ears as you struggle to determine if you feel humiliated or upset. The Lord has never spared you a kind word since the moment you set foot in these walls. To him, you have always been nothing but the wretched royal spawn. Yet here he is, seeking pleasure from you, mistaking you for his dearly long-lost beloved. He is capable of displaying affection and tenderness, just not towards you, his lawfully wed wife, not even as a farce. You cannot help but feel envious of the woman you have never met, the servants, everyone. Your pride is injured, and a stew of repressed bitterness begins to simmer within your heart.
Inexplicable greed creeps into your thoughts, causing a yearning that is both intense and insistent. It whispers into your ear, urging you to seize what is being offered. And, as the Lord's grasp tightens and his fingers manipulate with dexterity, it becomes increasingly difficult to resist the lure of this inner impulse. The warmth emitting from him is simply too comforting.
Sensing that your resistance has stopped, the Lord loosens his hold, falling on top of you as his breathing roughs. You let your free arms lie still on your sides as you bear witness to the Lord's charade. His dry thrusts become more urgent as his fingers fumble with your clothes.
The chilling air current of a winter night licks your skin like the edge of a sword as your chest and belly are exposed after a sharp tearing noise. You instinctively bring your hands up to cover your breasts, only to find the Lord a step ahead. Your breath is caught in your throat when an unfamiliar blistering heat covers the frigid skin of your mounds. The direct sensation is wholly different from being felt through clothes.
You cannot hold back an embarrassing whimper when a hot, wet mouth encloses one of your nipples, sucking in earnest. The hand on the other breast moves in tandem, a motion you can only describe as a hungry kitten pressing its mother's teats for milk. Your face burns with shame as the Lord nibbles on your bud like a scrumptious morsel.
The noxious aroma of wine and the dank air of the basement make your head loopy. You must be ludicrous as the thought of indulging him until he is sated begins to seem plausible. Your hand rises, your fingers brushing against the side of his head, where you feel the heat of his flushed cheeks. The Lord emits a soft groan, interpreting your gesture as encouragement.
Your body and his entangle as he starts to rub against you with vigor. His fingers refuse to let any bare inch of skin escape, caressing and pinching your naked flesh. You whimper and writhe underneath the Lord, unable to cope with the unfamiliar pleasure slowly building up. Although your lower body is still clothed, you can feel his hardness sliding along your untouched private part. The nasal growls in his throat get increasingly desperate as he inches closer to his rapture.
Guiding by instinct and lust, the Lord props himself up and fiddles to undo his trousers, freeing his painful erection. Then, not having enough patience to get rid of your remaining clothes, he searches for your hand and pulls it toward his stiff manhood before wrapping your unwilling fingers around it. The Lord's shaft throbs as his precum slathers your palm, allowing him easy movement. You do not want to know what is in his fantasy as the Lord thrusts into your hand while vocalizing his ecstasy.
With a final jerk, the Lord lets out a shaky breath. Hot, sticky ropes of him land on your breasts and stomach. He falls on top of you, breathing heavily, having been spent and exhausted. Unbeknownst to your husband, a hidden contraction in your core makes you flustered and frustrated. You cannot explain the yearning emptiness you are made to feel.
However, you soon realize you do not have the luxury of caring about your needs. As you struggle to push the man off, you hear approaching footsteps from the stairs leading down the basement. Panic grips your heart as torchlight illuminates the previously unlit storage chamber. Quietly, you free yourself from underneath the unconscious man and seek refuge behind the stack of barrels, holding your breath and desperately clinging to your disheveled clothing as the footsteps draw near.
Loud splash echoes inside the chamber, causing the Lord to grumble in protest as freezing water dumped over his head. You strain your eyes, trying to peak at the yellow flame of the torch. Two feminine figures, Lady Maggie and the middle-aged steward, still holding the empty bucket, stand over the Lady's troublesome brother. Their presence starkly contrasts with the moment of intimacy that had just transpired.
"My Lord, please stand up. The guests are waiting for you."
The Lady's composure conceals her inward frustration at the shameful spectacle. Although you cannot discern her expression through the narrow gap between the barrels, it is clear that she is not happy. The Lord's eyes sting at the torch's lights as he looks up at the women. Finally, he tenses up and comes to his senses. The fleeting remnants of his drunken hallucination vanish, but the sage's fragrance lingers, albeit almost too faint to notice. With a muttered curse, the Lord fixes his attire, salvaging what is left of his dignity, before furiously storming out of the underground chamber.
Lady Maggie's blue eyes resemble two inky pools under the faltering torch as she stands motionless in the middle of the chamber. The sudden departure of her brother amid the feast has left her juggling with the phony sycophants and inebriated nobles. She correctly suspected that her brother was hunting for more wine to drown his thoughts with, so she went to the basement to look for him. With the feast going on, the basement is frequently visited by servants. She does not want the Lord to be caught in an intoxicated state or seen defiling a hapless kitchen maid. These could ruin years of her effort to build up her brother's image as a righteous man.
"My Lady." The steward cautiously approaches her mistress and whispers something in the Lady's ears, which you cannot hear. You can only see the Lady's brows furrow for a moment before she goes back to her mellow impression.
"The guests are demanding his Lordship's presence. What would you have us do?"
The steward asks. Though she is nervous, her voice is as calm as ever, befitting the Lady's most trusted servant. Lady Maggie's eyes finally shift from the empty space where her brother was only moments ago to the steward, and she lets out a deep sigh.
"Gather the servants and inform them that the feast is to be concluded early. Tell everyone my brother had one too many drinks and has excused himself back to his chamber. Ensure guests are properly escorted back to their quarters."
With that, the Lady turns on her heel and strides out of the basement, with the steward quickly trailing behind. The underground chamber once again becomes a dark, cold hollow. You wait until you no longer hear footsteps and leave your hiding place.
Lord Gyllenhaal stumbles up the stone steps leading to his chamber, his thoughts a jumbled mess. His mind berates him for his irrational behaviors. He cannot explain what came over him in the basement, and the pleasant scent of sage still clouding his senses only adds to his confusion. Pushing through the decorated door, the Lord collapses onto his bed. He finds himself in torment, struggling against his desire, still slowly burning inside. Despite his best effort to suppress it, he cannot resist the fixation on the past.
As he lies on the bed, the Lord is consumed by doubt. He tries to make sense of what has just happened in the basement and questions the authenticity of the experience. Was the woman just a figment of his imagination, a manifestation of his longing? The uncertainty plagues him, leaving him to wonder if his mind has played tricks on him.
In that fleeting moment of bliss, the Lord believed the person in the basement was her. The sensation was so familiar and endearing that he felt it ingrained into his flesh and bones. His nerves were ablaze with excitement as the Lord reminisced about the warm body beneath him back then. It was too dark, and he only had his senses to rely on. Yet, there is an earthy aroma that lingers in his memory.
The Lord takes a moment to calm himself, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves and regain clarity. He shuts his eyes, racking his brain in search of the source of the scent. As the memory slowly returns, the Lord realizes the last time he encountered the smell was in your presence. He had overlooked it then due to its subtlety, but the realization now causes a wave of frustration to wash over him. The Lord rises from his bed and begins pacing the room, trying to rid himself of the strange feeling that has taken hold of him. He feels conflicted. He is not so blinded by hatred that he would blame a mere illegitimate daughter for everything her father has done. If anything, you are but a pawn in other people's twisted schemes. He knows that. And yet, he has been disturbed by your presence since the moment he saw you.
As if possessed, the Lord makes his way toward his so-called wife's chamber. He pushes the door open and scans the room, expecting you to be inside. But you aren't there, just like the other day. The space is empty, save for a few pieces of furniture and a burned herb's scent drifting gently. The bed is neatly made, and the hearth is cold. He notices small herb plants dotting the windowsill that he did not see the last time he was here. The Lord walks over to them, inspecting the leaves and little flowers, finding it puzzling that they can grow during the harshest days of the year.
Lord Gyllenhaal gradually takes control of his emotions as he stands in your room. Despite his dislike for you, the subtle scent has a soothing effect on him. He inhales slowly, letting the air fill his lungs as a reminder to keep his composure. As he looks around the room, taking in the sight of the properly tended plants, he cannot help but feel a twinge of ill-suited sentimentality. He finds it laughable that this place brings a semblance of peace to his troubled mind and that he keeps giving himself to these late-night wandering.
As much as he is irritated that this feels like a game of hide and seek, where you have wandered is none of his concern. Any place you should not be is well-guarded enough to prevent you from doing anything stupid. He decides to let the matter be for now and takes a final deep breath, savoring the scent of herbs one last time before leaving the room and closing the door behind him, lost in thoughts.
You stand by the well, cleaning yourself with haste. The freezing water serves to wash away not only the dirt but also whatever the Lord has left behind, dissipating the heat on your skin. Your bones are creaking from the piercing cold, but you do not care. You only want to rid yourself of the evidence of tonight. Once done, you quickly get dressed, securing your torn clothes with a rope, and make your way back to an empty chamber, oblivious to the fact that you have narrowly escaped the Lord's sudden visit.
With a strike from the flint, the fireplace begins to crackle. You breathe a sigh of relief when you feel the soft bed underneath your back, snuggling deep under covers, trying to get warm from the chill that has seeped into your bones. Your thoughts drift to the ordeal you faced in the basement. You wonder if the Lord recognized you, and the idea of being caught by him is frightening. But the fear is accompanied by a strange intrigue. An odd warmth rises on your cheeks as the images of the night are replayed in your head. You ponder the nature of the Lord's beloved one and what kind of person could bring out such vulnerability in his Lordship.
Unable to sleep, you jump to your feet and quickly retrieve a piece of parchment from your belongings, along with a quill and a small bottle of ink. Your promise to your mother weighs heavily on your mind, and you know she must be worried sick. But writing to her has been a challenge for two reasons. First, the constant demands of the fortress have kept you busy day and night, with little time for anything else. And second, you need to figure out how to get the letter to her. You are skeptical about asking Lady Maggie or the steward for help. The thoughts race through your mind as you dip the quill into the ink.
You stare at the blank parchment for a moment, unsure of what to write. You have been through so much since you arrived at the fortress, but you do not want your mother to worry more than she already has. You tap the quill's tip on the ink bottle, trying to find the right words. You tell her you are well, and the Gyllenhaals treat you kindly. You write about the feast and how things are different from the capital. At this point, you realize you have yet to see much of the fortress apart from the inner bailey. You stare at where the words trail off, having nothing more to say. Nothing that will not burden your mother. With a sigh, you roll the parchment and place it back in your chest. You may try again later when your thoughts are less muddled.
A series of knocks on your door makes your heart skip a beat. Your chest tightens as you wonder who could be seeking you out at this ungodly hour. The door opens slowly, and in walks Lady Maggie, wearing a soft expression, accompanied by the stern stewart. You can't help but feel a knot forming in your stomach.
"I apologize for disturbing your rest so late," Lady Maggie greets you with a smile. "But I must speak with you."
The steward places a finely crafted gown on your bed before departing, leaving you alone with Lady Maggie. She gestures for you to take a seat, and as she sits in the upholstered chair next to the desk, the soft glow from the hearth illuminates her graceful figure. Right now, Lady Maggie seems like a divine being from ancient mythology, and you can't help but feel that your modest, bare room is not fit to receive someone of her stature.
"I hope you are feeling well, my dear," Lady Maggie looks at you, noticing the distress on your face. You don't know if she knows about the mess in the basement. Your eyes fixate on the floor, unable to look straight at the Lady. Otherwise, you would know she has been observing you closely since she stepped in, taking in every change in your body language.
"I must request your presence at the feast tomorrow. There will be delegates sent by the King himself in attendance. People will question if the Lord is not accompanied by his wife."
"What?"
You are baffled by the news, and your tongue slips. The thought of meeting the King's people makes you uneasy. Not many of the King's council know your face, but those who do look at you with disdain. Moreover, you can't fathom why the King would send anyone here in this current state of affairs. You quickly apologize for being blunt, but the Lady doesn't seem to mind. Instead, she replies with another question.
"My dear, what do you think about this war?"
The sudden question catches you off guard. You don't know how to answer. Lady Maggie patiently waits for you. The room falls into an awkward silence. You wonder what the consequences are if your answer crosses her.
"I... I believe the Lord's cause is just."
That is all you can mutter. It is a laughable answer coming from the princess. If anyone resented House Gyllenhaal and this forced marriage, it would be you. There is no good reason for a member of the royal family to side with the man who has vowed to kill them all. But this is your genuine thought. You loathe the Lord for how he treats you, but you can't deny that he is a hero in people's eyes. On top of that, you are not the real princess and do not feel any connection to the King.
The Lady bursts into an uncharacteristic fit of laughter. You can't tell if she is mocking you or truly feeling amused by your answer.
"Clever little kitten." Lady Maggie murmurs to herself, seemingly satisfied with what she heard.
"The King has suggested a truce with House Gyllenhaal. Thus, his majesty has sent delegates here as a gesture of peace. That is why I would love for the princess to personally welcome the convoy. After all, you were the key that led us to this peace."
"Of course, my Lady. It would be my honor."
You don't want to meet whoever the King sent, but you have no choice. Despite the Lady's courtesy, this is an order. Someone like you has no place to voice your opinion. Within these walls, hers and the Lord's will is absolute.
"Has Jacob done anything to offend you?" The Lady suddenly changes the subject. The tone of her voice softens.
"No, my Lady." You still need to get used to hearing Lady Maggie call the Lord by his given name. Your mind wanders to the time he noticed you weren't wearing warm enough and the time he saved you from the horse. You realize this would be an excellent opportunity to be in the Lady's good graces.
"The Lord has actually been very kind."
Although not to the "princess."
"That's good, then. If Jacob does something unbecoming for the head of the House, you can always come to me."
"There is one thing I would like you to remember." Lady Maggie stands up from her chair and approaches you. She reaches out and runs her slender fingers on your cheek, making you flinch. Her fingers are cool to the touch but don't make you uncomfortable.
"My brother may not be tender towards you, but you are still a lady of our House. Therefore, do not appear weak or easily intimidated. Do not let anyone think that House Gyllenhaal is to be trifled with."
The fingertips brush ever so lightly on your face. Then, not sparing a second, the Lady quickly returns to her chamber, leaving the ghost of her presence lingering on your cheek.
Lady Maggie sits before her brother, her expression stern and disapproving as she chastises him for yesterday. The early morning light filters into the room through the window behind her, casting a golden glow on the scene. The Lord listens quietly to her scolding, his head slightly tilted, showing little remorse. Despite her reprimands, he can't help but find comfort in the rays of sunlight that warm his skin. His mood seems to have improved from the past few days of sulking.
The Lady takes a long sip of her morning tea after she feels like she has done venting. She can absolutely complain until her brother's ears fall off, but there are more pressing matters concerning the King's recent move. And you, the Lord's wife.
"The old pig demands a truce?"
The Lord mulls over the news his sister has told him about, not caring to hide his contempt for the King. Lady Maggie nods and quietly hands her brother the letter detailing the King's proposal.
"What is he planning now? He sent us a fraud, but he still wants to pretend she is the princess?" The Lord expresses disgust as his eyes scan the scroll ridden with false flattery.
"The King thinks he outsmarts us, sending an illegitimate daughter, but he has dug himself into a hole. The seaport was opened again under the condition of a marriage between Lord Gyllenhaal and the royal princess. What happens if words get out that the old pig failed to honor the terms of our demand?" The Lady asks, sharing her brother's scorn.
"The port is under Gyllenhaal's control. Betraying us means he would risk our retaliation. But there is no reason for him to go this far... unless the girl has other uses besides being a decoy."
"Perhaps she was ordered to take my life." The Lord speaks as he remembers the gleaming dagger underneath your pillow.
"Unlikely. If the girl was an agent, she should at least make an attempt to get closer to you, not run around like a lost kitten." The Lady stares into the golden liquid in her cup. There is no telling what she is thinking about. Lady Maggie's lips tighten into a thin smile before she replies.
"No need to do anything rash for now. My eyes are on her. The girl is harmless."
The Lord's eyebrows relax slightly at his sister's words. If the Lady says you pose no threat, he will leave you be. Not that he worries about you causing any harm. The fortress has eliminated more than a few spies and assassins. But Lord Gyllenhaal remains skeptical. He has yet to understand the intention of Lady Maggie. Without a trueborn princess, House Gyllenhaal will have no claim to the throne as their original plan dictates. The royal family and pesky nobles would never allow such a thing. A bastard daughter is more a less discardable in their eyes.
"You knew the moment she stepped foot in our Keep, did you not?" The Lord turns his gaze to his sister. Lady Maggie has lost interest in having you give the Lord an heir. If what his sister assumes is true, should the solution not be annulling this marriage and letting the girl go.
"The King agreed to our demand so easily. Naturally, I had my doubts... Say, brother. Would you willingly marry me off to your enemy?" Lady Maggie asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The Lord narrows his eyes as his question is met with another question. He stops and thinks for a moment. His eyebrows crease as his mind races through the scenario.
"No." He finally responds curtly. "I would never hand you to the enemy."
Lady Maggie nods in agreement. "Exactly. And neither would the King willingly give up his precious daughter just for a few trade routes. This bargain was risky from the start."
"So why keep her here?"
"Her illegitimate status is not ideal. But a bastard she may be, the girl is still the King's daughter and bears the King's mark. She is more valuable than you may think, brother." The Lady sets her teacup down.
"And one more thing. I ask that you treat your wife with honor and dignity. Regardless of who she used to be, she is married to you, as witnessed by the Gods."
The Lord scoffs at Lady Maggie's request. He finds it ironic that you avoid him like the plague, yet it was his sister that led you to be bound in this unfortunate union. He wonders what his dear sister would ask of him if you were the actual princess. Perhaps he must force himself on a drugged-up wife until you produce a child or something worse. Despite her talks of honor and dignity, Lord Gyllenhaal knows his own kin enough to know she is not above using despicable means to achieve her goals.
"You do not know where her loyalty lies." The Lord retorted. He does not feel obliged to be kind to the King's blood, bastard or not.
"Do not let your anger cloud your judgment. I know you are still mourning, but the girl is not to blame for what happened." Lady Maggie sighs. The topic clearly ticks her brother as the calm atmosphere is destroyed. She knows mentioning the past upsets him but has grown impatient with the Lord's constant brooding over a woman he spent a few weeks with.
A woman whose face he cannot even recall because at the time, his eyesight was temporarily lost due to an infection, having been imprisoned in a dark and filthy place for too long.
"Keep your nose out of my affairs, sister." Lord Gyllenhaal snaps.
The Lord stands up as he has done talking. He pulls the mahogany door open to find you standing there, wide-eyed and petrified at what you have overheard.
"How much did you hear?" The Lord's brows knit together as he questions you in a menacing voice. His pulsating vein on his temple tells you he is not too happy. You open your mouth to explain but can only gasp for air. The apprehension is simply too much. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see he has closed his fingers around the dagger by his side, ready to slit your throat if you can't give a satisfactory answer.
"Lower your voice. I called her here." The Lady speaks up from her seat.
You grip the front of the new gown until blood is drained from your knuckles. The last thing you remember is the steward told you Lady Maggie had requested your presence. You had presumed the Lady wanted to speak to you about the meeting with the royal delegates. But you did not expect to hear the Lord and Lady openly discussing your true identity. This whole time, they've known you are an imposter.
"Sorry to make you wait. Come." Lady Maggie calls to you with an ever-present smile as if nothing has happened. You swear you almost cry. The Lady could not possibly ask you to just squeeze your way past the Lord, could she?
Hearing Lady Maggie's reassurance is good enough for the terrifying man before you. He steps back and flicks his head towards the Lady, signaling that you are allowed to enter. You mutter a greeting to the Lord before walking in, keeping your head as low as you can, fearing it will be taken off your neck if you don't. You don't need to look to know the Lord's gaze is burning on your back as you approach the Lady.
"Beautiful." Lady Maggie compliments. "This one fits her perfectly. Do you not think so, my Lord?"
Her brother completely ignores her question. He follows you back in, closing the door behind him and trapping you between the two of them. The Lady pays no mind to his deathly silence. She asks you to take a seat opposite of her. The Lord leans on the wall, eyeing you like a cat watching a mouse unable to escape from an empty pot it has fallen in.
"Let's start from the beginning and properly introduce ourselves, shall we?"
Lady Maggie's smile vanishes.
"Who are you?"
Tag List:
@looloolily
#jake gyllenhaal x reader#maggie gyllenhaal x reader#jake gyllenhaal fanfic#jake gyllenhaal imagine#maggie gyllenhaal fanfic#maggie gyllenhaal imagine#fic: emblem of roses#nat writes#fics#smut#cw: rpf#tw: alcohol
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"The Lights In The Sky" Ch. 4: "The Midnight Hour"
Read on AO3
A/N: So sorry about the lateness of this chapter, life happens unfortunately.
Chapter Summary: Sneaking out.
June 4th, 1994
12:00 AM
Clark Residence
He had been pulled out of sleep by the loudest thud he had ever heard.
Then everything started to shake.
It was only lasted ten seconds (if that), but in those ten seconds Trent feared he was going to die, like the roof was going to collapse and crush him. The bed was yanked back and forth, and he felt like he was going to be knocked right out of it. His Star Trek posters fell off the walls, and his action figures and model airplanes were knocked off his shelf. Every inch of the house rumbled. Inside his chest, his lungs quivered.
Before he could cry out for his grandparents, it ended just as soon as it started.
Trent laid still. His blanket and pillows were a mess around him. The only thing he could bring himself to do was stare at the ceiling, too afraid to move - like if he did, the earth would move under him again. And this time the ceiling would fall on him and kill him.
Knock-knock.
He rubbed his eyelids and forced himself to sit up. So far, no aftershocks…just a slight return of his headache. ”Yeah?” He groaned.
The door opened and Mrs. Clark rushed in and turned on the lightswitch. “Trent, are you okay?”
Trent clenched his eyes shut. “Gah!” He blinked a few times, forcing himself to adjust to the light. “Um, I guess…”
Downstairs, the phone rang. Trent caught sight of his grandfather, clad in his favorite plaid bathrobe, stumbling down the hallway. “I’ll get it, I’ll get it!”
His grandmother, apparently satisfied with Trent’s answer answer, gazed around the room. “It’s a mess in here…” She walked towards the bed, avoiding as much of the fallen items as she could. Her eyes landed on the water glass that had been left on Trent’s nightstand, now lying on the hardwood floor with a long crack running through it. She bent over and picked it up, letting out a labored groan.
“What was that noise?” He asked, voice dry.
“That crack you just heard? In fifty years, when your knees and hips are as bad as mine, you’ll know that noise by heart - but you’ll wish you didn’t!” She laughed to herself.
Trent rolled his eyes, something he didn’t usually do when his grandmother could see him. “Not that . There was like…a loud thud outside. Just before the earthquake.”
“Really? I didn’t hear a thing, and I don’t think Grandpa did either.” She looked down at him sadly. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worth fussing over. Why don’t you go back to sleep? You must still be tired.”
Trent scowled. “I’m feeling way better now.” Another ache struck his head, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it. “I wanna find out what that noise was.”
“Well…” She paused. “Maybe you will in the morning. Would you like some more water before sleep?”
He crossed his arms, his scowl turning into something that could be better described as a childish pout. “Grandma, I’m thirteen! You don’t have to treat me like a kid anymore,” He said, unaware he was coming off as extremely childish.
“I know that, believe me.” Mrs. Clark brushed his russet brown hair back, something she had done since he was a child. “But it’s so late right now. And grandpa and I, well, after what happened we’re just…”
She didn’t finish her sentence, but Trent knew what she was going to say. “Worried ” .
Heavy guilt settled into his stomach. Trent wasn’t the best at reading people’s emotions, but his grandparents were different. Whenever he saw them worried, it pierced him like a knife in the chest. What twisted the knife was if it was because of him , and Trent was the first to admit that he wasn’t always the best behaved kid. Getting into a fight, getting sent to (and then escaping) detention, fainting out of nowhere…and that was just yesterday.
He gazed back at his grandmother with glassy eyes, and noticed wrinkles on her face that weren’t there before. “Okay…I’ll go back to sleep…”
She ruffled his hair and smiled. “Then I’ll see you in the morning. Okay?” When he gave a heavy nod, she went back to the doorway and turned off the light. “Goodnight, Trent.”
“Goodnight, Grandma.”
The door closed behind her. Blocked from the rest of the world, Trent had nothing better to do than get comfortable and stare up at the ceiling and wait to be taken in by Dreamland’s warm embrace. Maybe by morning his head would be completely fine, and he would be ready for the true start of Summer vacation. Maybe he and his friends will go out and see a movie. Maybe they’ll go out to the pool. Maybe they’ll finally crack the parental lock on Tori’s TV…the morning, like all of summer, was an infinite ‘maybe’.
But first he needed to fall asleep.
Which he would be doing soon.
Any minute now.
Any second now.
Just needed to close his eyes…
Trent stared blankly at his window and scowled. Next door, the Maandigs’ house was lit up. He wondered if Mariqueen was staring out her window too. Maybe she was trying to fall asleep just like him. Then he wondered if Richard or Tori or Robin or Danny felt the earthquake. Or if they heard the noise.
The noise. The thud . His mind raced. What made that thud? It had to be big. Maybe it was what caused the earthquake. But what was big enough to do that? Did a plane suddenly drop from the sky? A really, really big airplane?
The house groaned softly; his Grandpa was walking up the stairs, a little slower at it than he used to be. Carefully, Trent snuck out of his bed, went to his door, and pressed his ear against it. He could just barely make out his grandparents’ conversation.
“...something landed in the forest.”
“Was it…tree or…”
“Not sure…police are…”
With every barely audible syllable, Trent’s skin broke out in goosebumps.
Their volume became even weaker, and Trent strained to hear the rest of their talk. Within seconds, their bedroom door closed, closing him off.
He saw the opportunity before him, and grabbed it.
Trent put on his shoes without another thought, then went to the window and opened it as high as it could go. He knew from countless excursions that sneaking out of his grandparents’ house was far from difficult - exit out his window, quietly walk onto the roof, and carefully climb down the trellis. He was light enough to prevent making too much noise, and frankly his grandparents didn’t have the best hearing as it was.
The crisp night air hit his skin as he secured himself onto the sloped roof, and he shivered. Early June nights in Lavender Creek still had a slight chill to them, not yet overtaken by the cruel heat of the rest of the summer. Trent had to stop himself from going back inside to grab his jacket - he would survive, jacket or no jacket. It wasn’t like he was going to freeze to death.
Carefully, Trent lowered himself down the aged shingles, which his grandfather always talked about replacing but never got around to. Despite his caution, the roof creaked uncomfortably. The trellis leading to the front yard wasn’t any stronger, and Trent swore he heard the worn out wood crack just as he put his left foot on the soft green grass. When both feet were flat on the ground, he looked back up at the trellis and frowned - his grandmother would probably be wondering why the vines suddenly looked so flat.
With a deep inhale, Trent rushed to the sidewalk. The bushes and darkness camouflaged him and he smiled to himself. He hadn’t been caught yet in all his time sneaking out, and he felt more than a little proud of himself for it.
The loud shriek of a siren shot that pride down in flames. Trent, face pale, flung his head around. Flashing in all of its blue and red ‘glory’ was an aging, seen-better-days police car. To his horror, it was a mere block away from him and coming all too fast. His heart started pounding - at the rate it was going, there was no way he could outrun it. If the cop caught him, they’d take him back to his grandparents, and that would probably give his grandmother a heart attack.
In his peripheral vision, Trent realized something: he was standing right next to a bush. Not just any old bush either, but one that was large enough for his short frame to hide in. With nowhere elsw to turn, and with the cop car getting closer, he jumped into the bush…
…and immediately regretted it. The leaves and stems poked and prodded at his face no matter how still he kept. He hoped at the bottom of his heart that no one, no one , heard the unmanly yelp he made.
His hopes of getting out quickly of his uncomfortable hideout were dashed as the cop car sped by, only for another one to chase behind it, and then another. Trent’s eyes widened; what the hell was going on in this nothing town that multiple cops had to be called in?
A minute went by, and when he realized he was alone under cover of shadow and starlight at last, he clawed his way out of the bush. He pictured himself like a chestburster in an Alien movie, well, bursting out someone’s chest. He stumbled to get on his feet, and then brushed multiple leaves out of his hair - ruining the feeling. No, he wasn’t a monster from outer space, he was just a dumb teenager struggling to get out of a bush.
“Fuck…” He groaned, burying his face in his hands in embarrassment.
He shook his head, then remembered why he was there in the first place: finding out what was going on in the forest, and what the cops were doing there. Trent wasn’t going to be like his grandparents and be resigned to his bedroom for the rest of the night, not caring much what caused the thud and the earthquake and trusting the police would take care of it. He had to know the truth, and if The X-Files taught him anything, it was that “the truth is out there”.
And he was going to find it.
Maandig Residence
She pretended to be asleep, but in reality she hadn’t slept a wink even before all of…that happened.
No, she had been sulking in her bed the whole night, still in her clothes from school, and fidgeting with her new necklace. The moment Mariqueen came home from Lulu’s Boutique, she had been met with the disappointed visages of her parents. An entire hour passed by of them arguing. Started with “we got a call from your principal”, reached its half way point with “‘everyone smokes weed at school’ is not an excuse”, and ended with “you’re grounded for the next week.” Before she could protest, they had sent her to her room.
How unfair, she thought…it was just a little joint (and not a particularly strong one), and suddenly she wasn’t going with her friends to the coast for a week…teen angst flowed through Mariqueen’s veins, and she didn’t bother responding when her mother knocked on her door for dinner. For hours on end she clutched a stuffed bear tightly to the point that had it been real, the poor thing would have been strangled to death.
The earthquake snapped her back to reality.
Reality was far from calm. Reality was panic shooting through her like a bullet. Earthquakes were no stranger to a girl who spent a good chunk of her life living in southern California, but it didn’t mean they were her best friend. When her bed began shaking, she cried out in terror, still clutching the bear as if it would protect her from all harm.
When it stopped, her mother threw the door open not even a minute after.
“Mariqueen, are you okay?!” She shouted.
Mariqueen, wide-eyed, sat up. The thought of an attitude-heavy reply of “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” disappeared when she opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Panic was choking her.
Without another word, Mrs. Maandig, dressed in her favorite lavender satin nightgown, and to the bed and wrapped her arms around her daughter. Before Mariqueen could protest, her mother started breathlessly babbling. “I thought we’d be done with earthquakes after moving here, my poor baby, you must be so terrified after that, I knew we should have moved to a sturdier house, this whole place is going to cave in on us one of these day I swear to the Lord himself, that salmon colored house we looked at would have been stuedier but your father is a cheap-”
“Mom !”
Mrs. Maandig, realizing that she was holding her daughter a bit too tight, released her, but still kept hee hands on her small shoulders. “Are you okay? Really?”
Mariqueen nodded, not entirely sincere, and swallowed. “Yeah.”
Looking at her with sad but convinced eyes, her mother pulled her in for another, mercifully shorter and gentler hug. Mariqueen’s face went hot with embarrassment, glad her friends weren’t here to laugh at her. Granted, they made fun of her for everything regardless. Her name, her clothes, her hair, her crush on-
“I’m gonna go back to bed.” She stood back up, then tilted her head at her daughter. “And please don’t go to bed with your day clothes on. You don’t to get those messed up, do you?”
Mariqueen rolled her eyes. “Okay, Mom…”
When the door closed, Mariqueen got out of bed and went to her window. What an absolute mess her room had become. Sure, she wasn’t the neatest person in the world, but at least she tried to keep her vanity in neat order and her radio, well, not lying face down on the floor.
She opened the window and stuck her head out. Curiosity had beaten her anxiety, and she had to know if outside was as much of a mess as it was inside. However, to her amazement nothing was disturbed outside, the road and trees intact, not even a single downed powerline. The whole neighborhood was as sleepy and boring as it always was.
And of course, she hadn’t died. There wasn’t even a scratch on her.
She laughed at herself. All that panic for absolutely nothing.
Mariqueen yawned, and finally realized how tired she was. Not just from how late it was, or from the stress of the earthquake, but from today (or was it yesterday, considering it was midnight? That sort of thing always confused her) as a whole. She might as well get some beauty sleep, even if the morning didn’t hold anything fun or exciting considering that she was still grounded.
Before she could close the window, Mariqueen noticed someone standing next to the bush in front of her bedroom. She squinted at the figure. Too short to be an adult but…
Her eyes lit up. It was Trent, standing alone under a dim streetlight. His stance was determined, as if ready to face the world with nothing but his bare hands. And nothing would stop him.
The illusion of coolness evaporated when he jumped into a nearby bush, letting out a too loud yelp. Even she had to chuckle at that. Within seconds, three police cars sped down the street, painting houses, concrete, and her face in bright colors.
She arched an eyebrow. When did cops speed in Lavender Creek? Even she knew they were too busy smoking pot they confiscated from teenagers to drive with any sort of urgency.
When the cops were well out of sight, Trent emerged from the bush like a shadowy cat and ran down the sidewalk, and soon she was no longer able to see him, even when she stuck her head out.
Mariqueen’s curiosity was piqued. This wasn’t the first time she had seen him sneak out of his house, far from it. As far back as the week she moved to Lavender Creek, she caught him climbing down the lattice by the roof. Each time she watched him do it, she couldn’t help but wonder where he went on nights like this. Did he and his friends go hang out in some place the adults didn’t know about? Maybe to some secret hideout? Oh, or maybe he went and took walks by himself, just to clear his head…
Whatever it was that he had done previous times, tonight he seemed…different. There was something more serious, purposeful about the way he was walking. Something was happening.
Mariqueen found herself smiling in excitement. Grounded or not, she was going to find out.
--
Patrick Residence
Plunk. Plunk.
Richard rubbed his eyes open and groaned, hearing the familiar sound of rocks being thrown at his window. He hadn’t been asleep for very long - he had decided to celebrate his new three-month long freedom by trying to stay up as long as he possibly could. In practice, it ended up being until around eleven-thirty. How embarrassing…everyone in his group could could stay up past midnight since they were all nine . Trent boasted about staying up until five AM once. How could he hope to catch up with that?
Plunk. Plunk.
“I’m coming, I’m coming…” He mumbled to himself and stumbled over to the bedroom window. In the darkness, barely visible in the moonlight and darkness, was Trent standing in his pajamas.
Richard scrunched his forehead, then lifted the window up. “What are you doing here?” He whisper-yelled down at him, not wanting to wake anyone up - least of all his parents.
“Did you feel that?” Trent yelled without-whispering, evidently less concerned about his volume.
“Shhh! Do you want my parents to hear you?” Richard then blinked in confusion. “Wait, feel what?”
Even from their height difference, he could make out Trent rolling his eyes at him. “How could you not- whatever, just get down here! Now!”
It didn’t take much more to convince Richard, not when it came to Trent at least. Trent always had something interesting going on; at the very least, something more interesting than laying around and watching talk shows. He grabbed his shoes and jacket, and walked down the stairs and out the backdoor quietly as humanly possible.
Trent had started impatiently kicking around an old soccer ball by the time Richard got out. He stopped when he saw him. “How did you sleep through that? It woke my grandparents up and they’re old as hell!”
Richard carefully closed the door behind him. “I was tired, gimme a break!” He threw his hands up. “What are you talking about?”
“There was an earthquake, dumbass,” Trent lowered the volume in his voice.“I- I think it was because something crashed down in the forest. I saw three cop cars driving over there, I think there’s something more going on.”
“What, just a tree falling or somethin’?”
Shrugging, Trent said, “I don’t think so, I think it might be something like…like…I don’t know…Do you wanna come with me or not?”
“Yeah, I do!” Said Richard, completely unphased by the fact that he was going beyond the edge of town in the dead of night, with his parents not knowing where he was going. If Trent was going, why not take the risk? “Alright, an adventure! You and me!” He added with fist pump.
“Yeah, we just need to grab Tori, Robin…Danny…maybe…”
The gleam in his eyes faltered. “Um yeah, I guess.”
That wasn’t exactly what Rich wanted to say, but he didn’t want to argue. Still, it sat at the front of his mind as they walked to Robin’s house, gnawing at him. When they were little, before first grade, it was just the two of them doing everything together. Sleep overs, trick or treat, sunday afternoons after church…but now Trent never wanted it to be ‘just them’. And yeah, Tori, Robin, and Danny were his friends too, but it was always all of them together. Weren’t they best friends?
As they approached Robin’s backyard, Richard wondered if he was even Trent’s best friend after all.
--
Finck Residence
The process ended up taking around half an hour - Robin had no idea it would end up taking so long. The barbershop always felt like ten minutes when his mother dragged him there. He walked out the bathroom with a spring in his step, fascinated by how the air now felt against his scalp. His parents had long returned to their bedroom, apparently no longer worried about the commotion at midnight. At that, he yawned. It was getting late, summer vacation or not. Time to climb into bed and-
He opened his door to find Trent and Rich sitting on his bed, the window open and letting the breeze into the bedroom.
Trent looked up at him nonchalantly. “Hey.”
Richard said nothing, too busy holding Robin’s acoustic guitar and playing the same two strings repeatedly, wearing an oddly melancholy look on his face. When he looked up, his jaw dropped. “What the hell happened to your hair?”
Instinctively, Robin brushed his head against the now shaved sides of his scalp. In hindsight, he chose a bad night to do this. Then again, how was he supposed to know that there would be an earthquake just as he put the electric razor to his head, making him lose control and make a long streak in his scalp? His mother wasn’t too happy about it either way, but the earthquake and the late hour meant that she wasn’t in the mood to deal with that. By morning, she’d probably be grateful that he hadn’t cut his ear.
While his parents were busy making sure nothing was damaged from the quake, Robin swept up the discarded brown hairs off of the bathroom floor. Staring at the clumps as he moved them into the dustpan, he realized he wasn’t sure why he decided to do it. He just felt like it
When he was about to put away the razor, he caught his reflection in the mirror. His hair was a bizarre offspring of a pageboy on one half, and the other half a partial military buzzcut given to some poor kid who decided “fuck the military I’m out of here”. He squinted at his reflection; was he really about to go around town like this? Well, maybe…maybe he just needed an adjustment or two.
Thus, an uneven mohawk with a ridiculously short rattail in the back. He wasn’t sure how his parents were going to react, but the more he thought about it, the less he cared. What were they gonna do, un -shave his head?
Robin waved his hand over his head like he was presenting an incredible art piece. “What, you don’t like my new ‘do?”
“You look like shit,” Said Trent.
“It’s a little crooked, so what?” A smirk crept onto Robin’s face. “Want me to give you a mohawk too? All I need is some practice.”
The color drained from Trent’s face. “Fuck that! I still remember that time I fell asleep at Danny’s and you guys shaved my head.”
Richard tried tuning up the guitar, not realizing how tight they were getting. “Hey, that was three years ago.” He looked up at Trent, grinning, only to see the other shooting a glare, then went back to tuning the B string.
“Oh yeah…” Robin mused with a chuckle. “Did you know we were gonna draw, like, an asshole and a dick on the back of your head with a Sharpie? But you woke up before we could?”
If the angry flash in his eyes was any indication, Trent did not know that. “I will kick your fucking ass-”
“Sure you will,” Robin interrupted with a smirk.
“Anyways ,” Trent growled through gritted teeth. “If you’re not still busy fucking with your hair, wanna come with us?”
“Where?”
“Over to the fo-”
Snap. Twing!
Richard stared at the guitar’s broken B string, then looked at the wide-eyed Robin. “Um…oops?”
--
Lohner Residence
Aside from the earthquake, it had been a pretty lucky night - and not even that could ruin it. His dad was out on a weekend fishing trip with his friends, his mother was working the graveyard shift, and it was the first day of summer. To top it off, he was too old for a babysitter, leaving him alone in the house to do as he pleased. That sort of power could go to a kid’s head if they weren’t careful.
For someone like Danny, ‘power’ meant chugging any soda in the pantry he could get his hands on, and watching whatever he wanted without his mother nagging at how inappropriate it was.
Danny hadn’t heard his friends knocking on the front door, at least not at first. When he got home, he had begun a seemingly endless marathon of the types of movies his mother didn’t want him watching: gory horror flicks. Not that it phased him - horror movies hadn’t phased Danny since he was eight, when Trent somehow convinced his grandmother to rent The Exorcist for Halloween.
(Danny insisted it didn’t scare him one bit, making fun of Trent for crying during the movie, all the while he himself couldn’t sleep the entire night)
By the time he downed his third can of Coke that evening, the knocking at the front door turned to balled fists pounding on the living room window, paired with muffled threats.
“Danny you piece of shit, open up!” Shouted Trent between fist poundings.
Robin joined in. “Don’t make us break the window!”
“Or your arms!” Added Richard, as if he was strong enough to do that.
Danny turned his head and saw the three of them pressing their faces up against the glass. On the TV, a geiser of blood was shooting out of a bed. Letting out a belch, Danny threw the empty can behind him. “Yeah yeah, I’m coming! Don’t get your fucking panties in a twist!” Launching like a rocket off the carpet, Danny sprinted to the front door and threw it open. “‘Sup, fuckers?”
Robin pushed Danny out of the way and rushed inside, followed by the other two.
Trent grinned when he caught sight of the TV in the living room. “Oh shit, you’re watching Elm St -” He shook his head, expression serious. “Whatever, that’s not important. When’s your mom gonna be home?”
Danny plopped himself back onto the ugly plaid sofa, reaching over to grab a fistful of Doritos from an open bag on the coffee table. “I dunno. Four, I think? Why?” He shoved the chips into his mouth.
“Wanna-?”
“Hell yeah, dude!” He replied with chips mashing between his teeth.
“...do you know what I was going to say?” Trent asked.
“Yeah, how do you know he wasn’t going to ask if you wanted to jump off a cliff?” Robin asked, stealing some chips from the bag.
Danny swallowed, and licked the orange dust off his lips. “Hey, jumping off a cliff sounds like fun.” He sheepishly added, "If I don’t die.”
“Alright, cool,” Said Trent. “Let’s go get Tori. She’s definitely gonna want to check this out.”
--
Amos Residence
“You have got to be kidding me,” She whispered.
For Tori, the unexpected sight of her friends sitting on her family’s aging swing set in the dead of night was far from welcomed. It was bad enough that the earthquake had woken the entire house up, and that she couldn’t go back to sleep because her Midol hadn’t quite kicked in. Now those four dumbasses were pelting rocks and missing her window, not caring if they woke up her parents or broke something in the process.
Pain pulsed inside her, and she hugged herself. Whatever they were doing, she wanted no part in it. Not tonight.
In the future, Tori would know that had she ignored them, she could have avoided all the pain and trauma that would soon be hers. But present day Tori had no way to know that. She just had to waltz all the way downstairs and into the backyard to tell them why she wasn’t going. Like she always had to.
When Trent saw her coming out the back door, he said, “Finally, I thought you’d never-”
“I don’t know what you guys are doing,” She said, not trying to hide her annoyance, “But I’m not interested.”
Trent’s mouth curved into a frown. “You don’t even know what we’re doing!”
“And I don’t care!” Tori threw her hands up in the air. “I’m tired, I’m cramping, I’ve got blood coming out of my-”
“Ahh, don’t talk about that!” Danny yelled from his seat on the swingset. “We don’t need to know!”
Tori narrowed her eyes at Danny. “Period,” She stated flatly. “Period. Periodperiodperiodperi-”
Danny, Robin, and Richard collectively gagged and covered their ears, as expected. Fucking men . It was times like this that she wished she wasn’t the only girl in their group. Why is it that teenage boys were all too happy to talk about what puberty had done to their bodies (“ Oh yes Robin, I saw the barely visibly whisker on your chin. Oh yes Danny, I can tell you haven’t deodorized today”)? Why is it that if she even alluded to that time of the month, they acted like it was the most disgusting thing in the universe? The only good thing about that was she found a way to get them to shut up. Oddly, the one person that it didn’t work on was Trent, who somehow was unbothered by that sort of thing.
“Oh, get over yourselves…” She turned around to go back inside, only to be stopped by a finger tapping at her shoulder. “ What ?!”
“Please come with us?” Trent said, giving her his usual kicked puppy expression. “Something landed in the forest and we have to check it out. Like, the cops are checking it out.”
“Come on, Tor,” Said Robin, who was sitting and twisting the chain of his swing. “Don’t act like you’re too good to sneak out all of a sudden!”
“Yeah!” Exclaimed Danny. “You spray painted a teacher’s car! Like, not even a day ago! You can’t pull that ‘Preacher’s Perfect Daughter’ shit now!”
She pursed her lips, then raised her right index finger. “One - Jesus Christ Danny, turn your volume down, you're gonna wake my parents up and get us in trouble. Two - call me Preacher’s Perfect Daughter again and I’ll strangle you with the swing’s chain. Three, I still have no idea how you guys keep convincing me to…” Her face fell. “...do you guys even have flashlights?”
All four of them went blank. Then their eyes began awkwardly sharing glances with each other.
“Um…”
“I thought Robin would have brought them…”
“Danny was supposed to…”
“But I thought Trent had them…”
Holy shit, she was going to have to come with them just to make sure they didn’t get lost in the woods. Or kill themselves.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “You guys are so hopeless… Fine , just gimme a sec.”
In record time, Tori went inside and grabbed her reading flashlight, her shoes, her favorite jacket, and an old jacket once worn by her brother in a box destined for the nearest Goodwill. When she was outside again, she threw the old jacket at Trent. He responded with a high-pitched “Hey!”
“That’s the thanks I get for making sure you don’t freeze, Stimpy?” She asked, mockingly. “I can see you shivering.”
“You didn’t have to have to throw it in my face.”
“Yes I did. This isn’t going to take that long, is it?”
Trent shrugged. “Maybe, depends on what we find.”
“What if ‘what we find’ ends up being our gruesome deaths?” She asked, tilting her head sardonically.
“Um…you can beat the shit out of me in heaven?”
“For all eternity?”
“Okay , for all eternity, whatever, can we just get to the stupid forest already?”
“I call dibs on the flashlight!” Danny yelled before yanking the flashlight out of Tori’s hand.
Tori wasn’t in any mood to argue about that, not trying to reinforce her grip when he took it. Danny clicked it on and waved it like a wand, grinning stupidly to himself. Though she could feel the Midol finally starting to take its settling effect, she knew all too well that it would be a while until the cramps stopped completely. Privately, she was glad no one brought their bikes, otherwise the stress of trying to keep up with them would have made her feel even worse.
At least Danny volunteering as “the keeper of the flashlight” meant she had one less thing to do. She cared about her friends, she truly did. But sometimes it felt like a full time job just making sure they didn’t do something stupid.
Yet she couldn’t keep them from making her do something stupid…
God, was this what being a mother was like? She hoped to God or whoever was out there that it wasn’t.
--
Ross Residence
He was convinced he would never sleep again.
It had been almost an hour since everything happened, and Atticus was still no closer to falling asleep. Not that he had been asleep before then; his insomnia had been increasing in the last few months, and the move to the US didn’t make it any better. When he was still in England, in that miseable private school, there were nights he wouldn’t sleep at all, still wide awake when the alarm clock went off and exhausted when he went to class.
It was probably why he was the only person in the house to see the light fall from the sky.
He had a front row seat to it all, their house being so close to the edge of town and his window facing the forest. That night, he hadn’t felt like reading, he wasn’t brave enough to go downstairs and turn on the computer, and Leopold - who was snoring in the bed on the opposite end of the room - more likely than not wasn’t in the mood to be woken up and talked to. That left two options: stare at the ceiling, or stare out the window. Since the latter had more pleasent scenery, he went with that.
He had been staring for who knew how long when it happened. Among the endless night sky, a great flash of light streaked across the night sky. Almost like a shooting star. But this was…a bit too close. Like an airplane descending for a landing.
Maybe an emergency landing.
Then came the sound of something crashing into dirt and trees.
Then came the earthquake.
When the ground had finally calmed down, the house woke up in a fury. Atticus, his siblings, and his parenrs poured out of their rooms. While everyone was bemoaning their rude awakening and the state that the house was in (everything had been knocked from their places, many fragile objects were scattered across the floor, but otherwise no severe damage), Atticus only stared blankly and kept to himself the entire time. No one mentioned any sort of light.
Once Mrs. Ross had decided she was not in the mood to deal with the mess until morning, the family tiredly filed back into rooms. While Atticus found himself with his eyes glued to the ceiling, Leopold had passed out the moment his head hit the pillow. Secretly, Atticus wished that he hadn’t fallen asleep so quickly. If he had still been awake, then perhaps then he would have at least considered talking to him about the light.
The light.
The image of it was burned into his brain. He had read books about this sort of thing - people who saw the slightest glimpse of strange objects coming from the sky, and the only evidence (if any) being a blury photo. Did he just see a UFO? Maybe he could go out and look for…no, he couldn’t. He’d get in trouble with his mother, surely. No, best to just lie in bed and twiddle his thumbs, like a good child.
He sat up in his bed, sighed, and took another look outside the window. And outside was something happened that would change Atticus’ life forever, more than the light had already changed it.
Four boys and one girl, close to his age, were sneaking through the backyard. From the look of it, they - guided by a single flashlight - were heading towards the forest.
Atticus, for maybe the first time in his life, could feel his curiosity getting the better of him as he put one foot on the floor.
#fanfic: the lights in the sky#nine inch nails fic#nin fics#trent reznor fanfic#trent reznor fanfiction#my fanfiction#rpf safe#cw: rpf
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you've heard of shotgunning Rosquez and VR46 Marc? you can now have both
Marc crashes in Japan [yes it pains me to write this after the actual race we had but I need this timeline wise] and it's not gonna cost him Indonesia but it does damage his previously injured hand a litte.
A couple of days after Marc has come back to Madrid, Valentino appears at his front door. He says "I had stuff to do around and I thought I could check up on you" and there are a lot of things going on in Marc's mind when he hears those words but he's too tired to call Valentino out on something he doesn't even understand, so, he just lets Vale in.
When they move to the living room, Valentino finds out about the football game Marc was watching and he apologizes for interrupting him and they end up watching the end of the game together. [And there is Valentino with a smile on his face every time he watches Marc react in Marc fashion to one of the Barça actions, but we don't talk about that.]
After the final whistle, Marc says, "You really didn't have to come, I'm fine."
Valentino looks at the way Marc is flexing his hand -he promises it's more out of habit than anything-, tilts his head to the side, considering him. "Are you on any meds right now?"
Marc shakes his head. "Finished the anti-inflammatories this morning, didn't feel like taking pain medication tonight."
Valentino nods and grabs the jacket he had discarded earlier next to him, pulling a small box out of one of his pockets.
Marc can't say he expected the joint and the lighter that Valentino pulls up in front of him. "Do you mind?"
It's not an offer, not quite. Marc shakes his head again. Valentino gets up to open the large window to their right. When he sits back down, he's much closer to Marc than he was during the game, maybe a meter of space between them.
Valentino lights up his joint and Marc watches the line of his throat as he leans back to blow a heavy cloud of smoke over himself.
"Did you really roll this before coming here? Can you even roll? Don't tell me Uccio did this for you."
That makes Valentino laugh in the middle of a puff and he starts coughing, his voice all fucked up when he says, "Yes, Marc, I can roll. I've been a teenager with time to kill. You can't really use the bike to keep busy at night, so."
Marc's mind is immediately assaulted with the image of young Vale -blue haired Vale or longer hair Vale (he doesn't know which version is the more damaging for his brain right now)- using a grinder with a focused face and licking rolling paper with his tongue.
"It's not like you haven't seen me smoke before," Valentino comments when Marc is fully blanking out on an answer there.
Marc watches as Valentino grabs the now empty beer that he'd grabbed for him earlier during the game and uses it as an ashtray to discard the ashes building at the end of the stick.
"Yeah, I know, I do remember [name of the city that I have to decide at some point]."
"You do?" Valentino's eyebrows go up a little and Marc wants to pull them back down. Don't act surprised, fucker. "I almost thought you didn't considering you never mentionned it again."
Valentino has a smirk proudly sitting on his face. Marc feels hot. The smoke must be getting to him.
Eventually, Valentino takes pity on him and he says, "It's fine," with a smile and yeah, fine, Marc will be even finer if they don't mention that night again, he already had too much trouble trying to stop thinking about it the first time around.
"You've never taken a puff on your own, have you?" Valentino asks when they've both been half watching TV, half smoking (Valentino) or half pretending they're not watching Valentino's face when he pulls on the joint (Marc).
"I think you already know the answer here," Marc chuckles. "Not really interested in trying, don't think I'm ready to cough a lung on you just yet."
He's also fairly sure it would hit him harder than someone else blowing already inhaled smoke back into his mouth. He's been severely drunk around Valentino but high? He's not sure alone with Valentino is the smartest context for that.
Valentino laughs but it's not mocking so Marc can't have said something that silly. He feels observed for a moment, Valentino considering him, and then— "Do you want a shotgun again?"
Marc's survival instinct should probably have him say no.
[Something something about how the last couple of months have him gain trust in Valentino again, Marc thinking about some memories, etc etc. And as things stand, he nods.]
Valentino scoots himself closer and places his left hand on Marc’s neck, thumb at the hinge of his jaw. He almost expects Valentino’s fingers to move -squeeze, rub, pinch; whichever- but they don’t. Marc shivers anyway.
I can stay still on my own, he doesn’t voice outloud.
I trust you, he doesn’t say either.
Marc watches Valentino pull on the joint and he closes his eyes, waits for the impact like he’s just been thrown off his bike from a highside.
He's more ready than the last time and it might have been a decade but Marc's a good student. He opens his mouth when Valentino's lips touch his and he takes a sharp breath in, manages to hold it in for a hot second before he exhales, only coughing once despite the burn in his throat.
When Marc opens his eyes, he finds out that Valentino hasn't moved. He's still close to him, bright blue eyes even more dizzying than they usually already are.
Maybe Marc will blame the drug that has barely been processed by his body at that point. As it is, Valentino’s mouth is right there and Marc has to chase it.
He’s a little too brutal with it, too eager maybe, and their teeth click for a second. Valentino does apply pressure on his neck, then. Marc readjusts.
The next press of his lips to Valentino’s is gentler but still hungry, Marc pushing and Valentino keeping him steady.
[Some more kissing and Marc freezing when they both break apart to take a breath and he realizes what he's been doing.]
"I'm sorry," Marc says while feeling the most mortified he's ever been.
"No you’re fine, don't worry." Valentino tries to reach for his wrist. Marc draws back like he’s been burnt.
"I wasn’t thinking," Marc says, his eyes struggling to find a place to look at. On TV, journalists are still analyzing the game.
"Weed will do that to you," Valentino comments in the most matter-of-factly voice possible. It sounds odd. Marc doesn’t know how to read it.
"Look, is it really a shotgunning session with your friends if you don’t make out with them a little?" Valentino asks. His tone is awkward and Marc’s face is on fire and they still can’t meet each other’s eyes. "I can even make a list of the people this has happened with, if that can make you feel better."
Imagining Valentino kissing other people is the last thing Marc wants to do, what in the actual fuck. He can’t be hallucinating, can he?
"Maybe I should go," Valentino eventually says when Marc’s brain refuses to come back with anything for a long moment. "I have an early plane tomorrow and you need to rest."
"Right."
Valentino grabs his abandoned bottle of beer when he gets up and disappear in the kitchen with in, to dispose of it despite not knowing where the glass trash bin is, Marc assumes.
He closes the open window and stands behind Marc, forcing him to crane his neck around from where he still hasn't left the couch.
"Take care," Valentino says. Marc sees his right hand move, almost expects Valentino to squeeze his shoulder or ruffle his curls, which— silly.
Marc’s heart is still going haywire by the time Valentino has closed his front door. His pulse is throbbing in his hand.
It hurts.
#rpf#valentino rossi#marc marquez#my writing#vr46 marc au#cw drugs#fun fact : I haven't shotgunned in a very hot sec so I had to do some research and I found this discussion from 2009 in a forum#and people were like “I've seen two dudes do it but it was pretty gay”#oh internet#also yeah I refuse to create a gdoc until I have a full timeline ready so tumblr it is for now#we don't talk about how this is 1.4k
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PolyVerse Cam Boy AU
Nicholas Ruffilo x Holly(ofc) x Noah Sebastian
Content warnings: sex work, consensual voyeurism, exhibitionism, oral sex (fem receiving), P in V sex, fwb to lovers
Contains sexual situations with fictionalized versions of real people. This is fake, none of this happened, but if its not your thing, please hit the back button or scroll on.
I don't even know what to say for myself here... you can thank/blame the lovely @throwingmetothelions who asked for a PolyVerse take on her Cam Boy HC and... well. This happened. This is an AU and unrelated to the main PolyVerse canon.
<DISCLAIMER> THIS IS BLOG IS SEX WORK POSITIVE and if that's not your thing then please keep scrolling.
tag team: @ladyveronikawrites @nerdraging4point0 @cncohshit @jxstthisonce @kingdomof-omens @deathblacksmoke @signs-of-ill-portent
please let me know if you would like to be added to a tag list
Part of the PolyVerse AUs // Master list
~~~~~~~
Noah’s stunned when Nick comes to him with the idea.
“Are you sure she’s okay with this?” He asks, staring his friend down. “I know you guys hook up sometimes, just like I know she knows we hook up sometimes, but…” Noah lets the rest of it go unsaid.
It’s different when it's on the cam streams.
They’ve both been doing this for a while now, jerking off online for money. It started off as a joke at first, an offhand comment by one of his exes about how he could make some quick cash, with Nick starting his own shit up not long after and while they don’t really need to do it anymore, it’s kind of fun. They jerk off anyway, so why not keep it up? Help keep some money in their pockets for the lean times.
They’re no strangers to collaborating, they always make the most bank when they’re together, but something about bringing someone else in makes him pause. He understands where Nick’s coming from, though. There’s been a few requests���mainly from women—that they should show others how to get a girl off properly. Because they seem to know exactly how to talk to get a pussy wet, they might be pretty damn good with women too.
Nick rolls his eyes. “Yes. I’m sure she’s okay with it… Who do you think I was on the phone with earlier?”
He watches the gears turn in his friend’s mind and Nick’s certain he’s going to say yes, Holly’s a fucking catch. She’s hot as hell, not to mention cool as shit, and he knows… he knows Noah’s curious, just like Holly’s curious about Noah. Neither of them would ever admit to it, but he knows they’ve thought about each other like that. He’s seen the look on Noah’s face when he’s face-timed with Nick and caught an accidental eyeful of Holly in the background. Not to mention, he knows Holly’s seen a stream or two. What, you really think I wouldn’t support my best friend and his other emotional support best friend/fuck buddy?
“Look. She said yes, and before you ask, yes, she knows what she’s getting into… She’s watched a couple of our streams before. But she’s only going to do this if you’re on board with it too.”
Noah takes a deep breath, exhaling noisily as he narrows his eyes at Nick. “Fuck, okay, fine. I’m in.”
~~
It takes a few days to put it all together, and in that time, Noah’s been able to convince himself that everything is fine. It’s just Holly, and it’s just sex, he tells himself. They’ve all known each other for years, but thanks to him living in California most of the time, he’s never gotten as close to her as Nick has, but her wicked sense of humor tells him they’d get along great if they had a chance. And as for the sex thing…
As much as he’d never tell Nick or Holly, he’s not gonna try to lie to himself and say he’s never thought about her like that. She’s beautiful; all dark hair and soft curves, curves he’s gotten a glimpse of a time or two when he’s video called Nick right after they’ve been together. He can’t actually say what’s got him so twisted up about it, so he pushes it away because, it doesn’t really matter.
Yet it all comes rushing back the minute he opens the door and sees Holly standing there. It’s been a while since he’s seen her. Her dark wavy hair now just barely brushes her shoulders, the remains of a bright color on the ends, and he wonders if it’s as soft as it looks. His eyes track down her body, noting how the thin straps of her white cotton dress leave her shoulders bare, save for the smattering of freckles that he itches to map with his tongue. A weight drops in his stomach, cock stirring in his jeans when he notices the strappy leather harness and the way it frames her breasts.
Noah doesn’t realize he’s been staring too long until she clears her throat. “So, uh, you wanna let me in?”
Shit. He mentally curses himself, stepping aside. “Sorry—yeah, come on in.”
“Thanks.” Her smile is almost shy as she moves past him and, fuck, if it doesn’t endear him to her more.
He’s just about to ask her how she’s been when Nick comes out of the bedroom to greet her.
“Hey--” Nick starts, trailing off when he fully sees her. “Wow. Look at you, huh?”
Holly laughs, “I’m sorry… You were the one who told me to, and I quote, wear something pretty you can get fucked in. Is there a problem?”
Noah can’t keep his laugh to himself when she drops her voice down an octave, trying to imitate Nick. “She’s got a point, dude.”
“I have absolutely no problem with it… I just might have a hard time keeping myself on the task at hand.” Nick says with a roll of his eyes, and his hands curl into fists at his sides briefly before he lets them go, reaching one out to pinch the white skirt, “You know how I feel about this dress.”
She smirks. “Why do you think I wore it?”.
~~
“Everyone’s different,” Nick settles himself behind Holly on the bed, his chest to her back so he can touch her and still be able to see what’s being said in the chat. “But sometimes Holly likes it with a little sting..” She makes an agreeable noise when Nick nips at her neck, head tipping back against his shoulder as he soothes it with his tongue. His hands rake up her thighs, tangling in the soft material of her dress, pulling it up the higher they go, and Noah almost chokes on his tongue when he realizes that save for the trimmed thatch of curls, she's bare under that dress.
Noah watches the tattooed hands pet down her inner thighs, fingers fluttering against the skin as they make their way to her pussy. They skirt around her folds, brushing everywhere but where she seems to want him the most. Nick chuckles lowly when she whimpers, his hands moving to her hips to hold her still when rocks them slightly, trying to entice him to touch her.
“Oh, come on, Holly. You know we’re just getting started.”
She huffs. “You know it’s not nice to tease.”
“Yeah,” Nick laughs, “but we have an audience this time… and foreplay is important."
Noah follows Nick’s eyes to the computer monitor where the chat has been going wild while their attention has been elsewhere
<Sherry_Bomb29> He hasn’t even really touched her and it’s still so hot
<Alotta2love> foreplay? what’s foreplay?
<HannieBanannie> this has to be the best friendship in the world holy shit
“Oh, I hope you’re joking, Alotta2love. Foreplay is awesome.” Nick’s always been good at this. He can work this type of audience in ways Noah can’t. “Doesn’t matter what the main event is, you still should warm each other up… even if one of you is impatient.”
Holly scoffs at the dig, biting back playfully. “You’re such a shit. Like you’ve never been impatien--” she cuts off, gasping when Nick’s hand delves back into her center, slotting his fingers into her folds, avoiding her clit while the other hand grips her thigh tight. He can see the way her flesh indents around the digits, and Noah wonders if Nick’s ever left bruises on her, if that’s what he means when he said she likes it with a little sting.
Holly whimpers just as Nick dips a finger into her and he cusses, “Fuck. How are you already this wet?”
“Gee… I—I wonder.” She huffs, breathless. “Nick… Please--”
Nick nods, snickering, “I got you, Holls. Come on.” He moves out from behind her, letting her settle on her back before stretching out on his stomach between her legs. “You know,” he says, voice muffled in the skin of her inner thigh, “you’re lucky there’s more that needs to happen here. Having you all needy like this makes me want to spend all night seeing exactly how desperate I can make you.”
He noses along her folds, pulling another whimper from her before he lifts his head, raising his voice a bit as he addresses the stream. “Now when you find yourself ready to put your mouth to work, you never want to start full on… You need to build it up before you just suck on your partner's clit. Holly like’s little swipes of the tongue along her clit at first before I bring my fingers into it.” Nick lowers his head and does just that, swiping and rolling his tongue on her as Holly moans, hands curling into Nick’s sheets, and the sound goes straight to Noah’s cock. God, he’s so hard it hurts. He presses his palm down on the bulge in his jeans, desperate to soothe the ache that’s done nothing but grow the longer he watches the two of them together.
Noah can hear the pings of the chat going off, the clinking noises of the money coming in, but he can’t bring himself to look away, especially not when Nick slides a finger into her. She gasps, her hips already canting up in search of more.
“Do you want another?” Nick asks into her pussy, not even bothering to raise his head for her answer. Holly mumbles something unintelligible, and he wonders if it’s part of some sort of shorthand they’ve developed because Nick just nods and slides another finger in right along the first, spreading his free hand across the expanse of her lower belly.
“Some people don’t need or want penetration with oral, it all depends on your partner's preference.” Nick’s voice is low, strained, as if it's taking all he has to speak when he would just rather keep his mouth on her. “But Holly does… and see my other hand up here?” His fingers drum on her stomach. “She really enjoys it when I put a little pressure right here while I got my fingers inside her.” He pushes his hand down slightly, pulling a sharp cry from the woman beneath him.
Noah has to readjust, leaning forward so he can watch as Nick presses open-mouthed kisses against her folds before he sucks her clit into his mouth. One of Holly’s hands digs into his friend’s hair, holding him to her while she rolls her hips against his face, muttering fuck fuck fuck fuck before she cuts off with a strangled moan as her back bows and she cums on Nick’s fingers. Nick groans against her mound and he keeps going, fucking her through the aftershocks until she’s tugging his hair and gasping. He can smell her in the air when Nick pulls his fingers free with a curse, pushing himself up to fit his mouth to hers.
It’s needy, the way they kiss. Holly’s legs hitch around Nick’s waist and they groan into each other's mouths when he drops his hips down to grind against her. Noah wonders if it’s always this intense between them and he can’t help but feel like an interloper here, watching as they clutch at each other.
“I told you I was going to have a hard time keeping myself in check,” Nick mumbles when they pull apart, resting their foreheads together. “All I wanna do right now is sink myself inside you.”
“Yeah…” Holly breathes. One of her hands grips his backside, urging him to do it again, “I want it too… but… you—you can’t tell me you’re not looking forward to what’s happening next.”
“I know… You're right.” He kisses her one more time and then he’s pushing himself away from her with a grunt. "You good to keep going?"
Holly's smile is blinding, and Nick feels that tug in his chest again, the one he usually gets whenever they're together, the one he's gotten pretty adept at ignoring lately. "I'd tell you if I wasn't."
It takes everything in his power to leave her on the bed and trade places with Noah, but he does it nonetheless, planting himself in the chair Noah has vacated while the other man approaches the bed. He glances at the chat, curious, and what he sees makes his cheeks heat.
<Alotta2love> where do I sign up for a friendship like this?
<Amy357> are we sure they’re just friends $10 says they start dating soon if they’re not already.
<Sherry_Bomb29> I couldn’t care less, as long as they do this every once in a while.
<Sherry_Bomb29> I haven’t been this turned on in ages and they’re not even done.
Nick shakes his head. That’s enough of the chat for him, he decides, choosing to give his attention to Noah and Holly instead.
~~
Noah's no stranger to sex, to casual hookups with no strings attached. Yet his hands twitch against her thighs when he fits himself between them, like he doesn't know where to start… God, she's beautiful, smiling up at him all loose-limbed and relaxed from the orgasm Nick gave her. It's almost overwhelming how much he just wants her. Fuck, he wants it all.
"Whatcha thinking about?"
His face heats.. “I uh—I just don’t quite know where I want to start.” He runs his hands up her thighs, letting them continue their way up her body, and he enjoys the way her breath hitches when he rubs his thumbs over the hardened peaks of her nipples showing through the thin material of her dress.
Her mouth opens, but Nick cuts in before she can say anything. "You're going to need to work her up again. What better way to start by kissing her?”
Holly rolls her eyes, raising herself on her elbows, and tilting her head to the side as she looks behind him. "I'm sorry," she replies, "are you the one driving here? Because I'm pretty sure it's just me and Noah on this bed."
He follows her gaze to see Nick put his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry… I’ll stop… Just thought I’d help you out a little.”
Judging by that smirk on his face, Nick’s not sorry at all, and Noah’s sure this isn’t the last time he’s going to be helpful. But he turns back to Holly, tipping her attention to him with a finger under her chin. “Is that where I should start, huh? Want me to kiss you?”
She bites her lip, nodding her head, and fuck, he can’t wait to nip at it. “Let me hear you say it, Holly.”
“Yes.”
He’s vaguely aware of Nick saying something to the stream about the importance of consent, but he’s too busy sliding his fingers through the dark waves of her hair, cupping the back of her head and pressing his lips to hers to fully pay attention. The first touch is soft, a little shy, but it quickly turns heated quickly when he feels her tongue sneak out to tease the seam of his lips. Noah groans, nipping at her bottom lip before opening his mouth to let it in to curl against his. He cups a breast, thumbing the nipple as he tightens his grip on her hair, lightly tugging her head back to grant his mouth access to the skin of her throat.
She fists her hands in his shirt as he nips and sucks his way down to her chest, where he can push a triangle cup out of the way so he can suck her nipple into his mouth. He remembers what Nick said about her liking a little sting, so he scrapes his teeth across the hardened bud and Noah can’t help but smile against her when he’s rewarded with a soft cry as she tries to grind her hips against his.
“Did you use your teeth? She really likes it when you use your teeth.” Nick cuts in again, causing Noah to roll his eyes before he pulls off her tit to level his friend with a look.
His eyes cut to the chat, and he almost wants to laugh.
<HannieBanannie> omg is someone jealous??
“Nah.” Noah answers, “he just wants to show off when he should be narrating for all you fine folks. Now,” he glances at Nick, “are you gonna let me get her off or not?”
He doesn’t wait for Nick to answer, turning back to Holly without another word. With new confidence, he caresses her thighs teasingly. One of his hands follows an invisible path to her center, while the other settles at the base of her throat. Her pupils expand and she tips her head back, baring her neck for him once more.
“You can choke me, if you want.” She murmurs, biting her lip again when he teases her folds with his thumb.
“Yeah?” he asks, enjoying her whimper when he pushes a finger into her. “Is that something you like?”
“Y—yeah… I do.” Holly stutters when he adds a second digit.
“Hm. Okay, then.” Noah nods, allowing his fingers to flex slowly around her neck as he lazily fucks her with his fingers. She’s so soft inside, so wet, and god, the sound she makes when he curls his fingers drives him insane.
She whines when he relaxes his hold on her throat, “You can handle me a little harder than that… I’m not made of glass.”
“Oh, I can tell.” His mouth pulls into a smirk as he squeezes her neck again, lowering his face to hers. “And that’s good… Only a tough girl could handle what I wanna do to you,” he whispers with satisfaction curling in his gut when he feels her juices drip down his fingers, “and some day, we’re gonna see just how much you can take—open up.”
Noah taps her lips with wet fingers, groaning when she opens her mouth to let the digits glide along her tongue, eyes zeroing on the way her cheeks hollow as she licks and sucks every bit of herself from his skin until he can’t take it anymore. Fuck, he thinks, he could play with her for hours without getting bored.
He squeezes tight around her throat one last time, pressing his mouth to hers briefly, letting his tongue drag across her parted lips before he pulls away; shuffling back until he finds himself face to face with her cunt. She’s so wet, her folds glisten with slick gathering around the edges of her hole and Noah wants nothing more than to drown in it.
“Would you want to try something?” He asks, abruptly pushing himself up to look at her.
Holly laughs, exasperated, “as long as it finally gets your mouth on me, I’m down for anything.”
“Will you sit on my face?”
~~
“C’mere.”
Noah’s voice is soft as he settles on his back, tapping his chest as if to show her where she needs to go. She bites at her bottom lip, and tries to focus on the man below her, not Nick, or the camera and the laptop where she’d be able to see herself and what everybody watching is saying. His hands are comforting where they rest on her thighs as she straddles his head, slowly lowering her pussy to his mouth. The first touch of his tongue earns him a soft moan as her mouth falls open and one of her hands weaves into his hair. Her hips rock on their own accord before she can think to stop and Noah groans, pulling her up minutely to utter, “That’s it, ride my fucking face.”
Holly nods, gasping when his hands dig into her thighs to pull her to him once again, but she does as he asked; planting her knees beside his head, she tightens her grasp on his hair as she grinds on his tongue. Everything else fades as she loses herself in the feel of Noah’s mouth against her, her head falling back when she takes one of her nipples between her thumb and forefinger, pinching and rolling the sensitive flesh until she’s whimpering.
“Holly, look at me.”
There’s no room for embarrassment as arousal floods her gut when she immediately follows Nick's request. He looks wrecked and Holly swears she can feel his desire across the small distance separating them. It heats her blood, adding to the ecstasy flowing through her when Noah slides three fingers into her without warning and she can’t look away, doesn’t dare to, as her orgasm takes hold. She cums with a curse, muttering Noah’s name in a choked gasp as she rides the wave out on his fingers and tongue.
~~
He feels scattered, frayed. Out of all the ways he and Holly have fooled around, they’ve never done that, but after watching how the pleasure played across her face as she rode Noah’s face, he’ll be remedying that the next chance he gets.
The chat has been long abandoned; he stopped keeping track the second Holly started whimpering. His entire brain went offline, his head empty except for one thing and one thing only: want. Even now he has a hard time dragging his attention away from the two on the bed, as Noah finally releases his iron grip and she collapses beside him. Nick watches his friend turn to press a kiss to Holly’s thigh, saying something about how he could have kept going if she would have just let him. He clears his throat, attempting to pull himself together so he can address those watching.
<Amy357> fuck that was hot
<Amy357> who knew he had a control thing
<Hannie_Banannie> did you see the way she immediately looked at him?
<Hannie_Banannie> i’m gonna need new batteries after this
<Alotta2love> I don’t even care that he stopped talking
<Alotta2love> i haven’t came that hard in ages
Nick coughs. He’s not in the mood for his usual spiel tonight, desperate as he is to get his hands on Noah and Holly. He keeps it quick and simple, and if anything he can make up for it next time, but for now…
“Sorry I lost track there, but, uhm, thanks for hanging with us tonight and, uh, make sure to check your emails for info about next time,” then without another glance at the stream, the chat, any of it, he’s pressing the little ‘x’ in the left-hand corner.
The stream is barely closed before he slams the laptop shut, and he turns around just in time to see Holly and Noah crash together in a heated kiss. She tugs at his jeans just as he pulls off his shirt and once it's gone, he's helping her shove the denim down just enough for him to fit his cock inside her.
She cries out when he pushes his way inside, pulling away from Noah’s mouth to briefly meet Nick’s eyes over his shoulder before her lids flutter closed as Noah pulls his hips back, only to thrust into her sharply. They both groan as he finds his rhythm and the sound cuts Nick straight to the core. It spurs him into action, and his shirt finds the floor quickly, followed by his pants and underwear.
“Couldn’t wait for me, huh?” He asks as he crosses to the bed, kneeling in the space beside her head.
“Y—you snooze, you lose,” Holly stutters. “But—oh fuck—you’re free to join… any… time.”
“Shit.” Noah makes a frustrated noise, and his hips pause mid-thrust before he pulls out of her completely. “I, uh, I need a second…” he pants, resting his forehead on her shoulder, “god, how do you feel so good?”
“Probably… the same way… you do?” Holly replies with a breathless smile, tangling her fingers in his hair to scratch at his scalp.
It's not jealousy that fills him as he witnesses the tender moment, it's something soft. Something that heats his insides in an entirely different way than the need coursing through him, and when Noah steps away to finish kicking off his pants, he takes his opportunity to join: asking Holly to sit up so he can slide himself between her and the headboard.
“I think you’re a little overdressed,” he says, reaching for the buckle of her harness. “How about we fix that?” Holly nods, turning her head to fit her mouth to his as he pulls the small strip of leather free from its buckle, sliding the straps down her arms before helping Noah with her dress. Her bare back is warm when she rests against his chest, the skin of her belly soft under his fingers where he touches her as Noah guides himself back inside her with a groan.
Her lower back rubs against his cock with every thrust of Noah’s hips, and Nick can’t find himself to care about the smear of precum that’s spreading on her skin as she tries to match Noah’s rhythm. It’s almost enough to send him over the edge, but then she arches against him, back bowing upwards, one of her hands reaches behind her to grasp his head, the other clutching Noah close as she writhes between them, mouth open in a silent cry.
“Shit shit shit,” Noah curses, “god that’s good. Sooo fucking good. I’m gonna—can I??”
Holly nods, swallowing thickly before uttering a hoarse, please. Almost immediately, Noah’s thrusts stutter. Cupping a hand behind Holly’s head, he pulls her mouth to his, letting her swallow his whimpers as his hips finally still.
They both groan when he pulls out, sharing one last kiss before he breaks away, leaning up into Nick’s space to press their lips together too. He tastes like Holly, but not so strongly that he doesn’t taste what’s uniquely Noah underneath.
“Well, that’s even hotter in person.” Holly pipes up, and they pause. “Do you think I could get a longer show sometime?”
He feels Noah’s mouth curve into a smile that matches his own as they part. “If that’s something you want, beautiful, anytime,” his eyes grow dark, a glint of mischievousness sparking to life as he tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, “but right now, I think there’s another show I really wanna see instead.”
~~
Nick’s hands grip her sides at Noah’s words, and if he thinks Holly forgot about him, he’s got another thing coming. She wasn’t lying when she said she picked her outfit for today based on Nick’s preferences; anytime Holly’s worn that dress since they’ve started hooking up, she quickly finds herself pressed against the nearest flat surface.
“What do you say, Holls?” Nick asks quietly, and it doesn’t matter that both of them have already taken her apart. Doesn’t matter that she can feel the soreness taking root in her cunt. Because this is Nick, and Holly knows beyond a doubt that she will always want him… always.
"Yeah… I'm good."
~~
He's learned to trust her when she says she can keep going, so he nods and taps her hip. "Okay, then… c'mon."
It takes no time at all for her to get to her knees, maneuvering until she’s got one on either side of him, still facing Noah. Nick grips her waist with one hand while the other holds his cock steady so she can sink down onto him. He curses when he slips inside, wracking his brain for anything to distract him from the way her pussy feels around him as she takes him all in one go. She’s so wet, and it drives him crazy, knowing it's not just her, that some of it is Noah too; that he’s got both of them coating his dick, and he hopes this isn’t the last time because he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt this good.
With an iron grip, he digs his fingers into her waist as she starts to move, thighs flexing as she rises and falls on his cock and he'll be surprised if she doesn't have bruises in the morning, but Nick knows she likes it sometimes. Enjoys having reminders of this left over on her skin, especially when it’ll be months before they see each other again. He runs his other hand up the length of her back, enjoying the way her breath hitches when he takes hold of the back of her neck.
Nick wishes he would have asked her to turn around, so he can see her face when he rocks his hips, fucking into her with shallow thrusts, but the desperate noise Noah makes as he watches them is worth it. His balls start to tingle, the coil in his gut winding tight and he knows he’s going to lose it soon.
“Do you—do you think you can cum again?” he bites out.
“Maybe—oh shit--” Holly cuts off with a gasp as he feels Noah’s long fingers swipe across the both of them, gathering whatever has leaked out of her and onto his cock. Nick can feel his hand work as he rubs circles around her clit, spreading their combined juices on the sensitive skin.
“What about now, Holly?” Noah asks.
She nods. “Ye—yeah… Yeah.”
His eyes slip closed as he feels her inner walls quiver around him and he grunts, trying to hold on until she goes.
“Yeah… yeah you can,” Noah replies, and he can hear the smile in his voice, can see the cocky smirk in his mind’s eye, “because he feels good, doesn’t he?”
Holly whimpers, the ends of her hair tickling his hand when she nods.
“Then show me… let go.”
Holly cums with a wail, strangling his cock and pulling him over the edge with her; white noise fills his ears as he lets go, spilling into the clutch of her wet heat. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulls her close as they continue to move together, grinding against each other until it becomes too much.
“Well, fuck. That was hot.” Noah says, cutting through the post-coital silence, “Is it always like that with you two?”
Holly and Nick both laugh as she pulls off him. “I mean… Yeah?” Holly replies from where she comes to lie at his side.
“Yeah, it is.” He agrees, reaching out to slot his fingers through hers.
And later, as he watches Holly and Noah share soft smiles with each other over pizza and card games, Nick knows; it's all about the change for the three of them.
~~
Three weeks later, Nick refunds Amy357 $10 from the last stream, along with a note: 'A bet is a bet.'
#bad omens fanfiction#bad omens fic#bad omens fanfic#rpf#bad omens rpf#nicholas ruffilo fanfic#nicholas ruffilo fic#nicholas ruffilo smut#nick ruffilo/ofc/noah sebastian#nick ruffilo/ofc#noah sebastian/ofc#noah sebastian fic#noah sebastian fanfic#noah sebastian smut#cam boy au#fic: polyverse au#cw: sex work#cw: mentions of sex work
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hi i would love an ianthony fic where one of them is sick and the other is caring for them?? Couldn't stop thinking about this since Anthony said he would "nurse ian back to health" back when they got covid lol
Congrats on 500 followers btw!!!
Ian/Anthony - Ianthony - Sick
--
“You suck. You did this to me,” Ian complains.
“I’m sorry,” Anthony says, pressing the back of his hand to Ian’s sweaty forehead, “I think you have a fever.”
“I have covid because a certain someone gave it to me.”
Anthony withdraws his hand and looks down at Ian. The two of them are sharing a bed, Ian under the covers and Anthony on top, a blanket wound over his shoulders. The both of them are sick as dogs, and to be fair, Ian isn’t wrong. It is Anthony’s fault.
He ignores Ian’s bitching and picks up his phone, checking the alarm he has set.
“We can’t have medicine again for an hour still.”
Ian groans and flips on his side so he’s facing away from Anthony. He coughs, the sound of a bark in his throat, and Anthony curls up against Ian, pressing his front to Ian’s back.
“You’re lucky I’m cold right now,” Ian mumbles.
Anthony squeezes gently around Ian’s middle.
“I’ll keep you warm. You want soup or something?”
“You’re going to make soup?”
“I was thinking I’d get it delivered,” Anthony says, setting his chin over Ian’s shoulder, “I don’t want to make you even sicker with my cooking.”
Ian laughs, the sound rumbling through Ian’s body and into Anthony’s.
“I’m sorry for traveling to Prague and getting covid and then giving it to you,” Anthony says.
Ian turns in Anthony’s hold, so they are face to face.
“It could be worse. At least we’re suffering together. This would suck so much more if I was trapped in my house alone and sick as fuck.”
Anthony runs a hand through Ian’s hair, brushing it away from his damp forehead.
“When we’re better I’ll make it up to you.”
“Yeah?” Ian asks with a smile, “How?”
“Um…all the blowjobs you can handle?”
Ian laughs and then coughs into his elbow to keep from coughing all over Anthony’s face.
Anthony rubs Ian’s back. He also doesn’t feel well but if he focuses his energy on caring for Ian, it’s easier to forget his own illness wreaking havoc on his body.
“How about this? I’ll order dinner to be delivered. We can lay here and rest until it gets here and then take our meds and eat a little something?”
Ian nods, his eyes already slipping closed.
“Sound perfect to be honest.”
Anthony fishes out his phone and begins setting up an order for their usual favorites and he leans in and presses a sweet kiss to Ian’s cheek.
#ianthony#smoshships#polysmosh#smosh rpf#my writing#my fic#my ficlets#tumblr only writing#500 follower prompts#prompts#hurt/comfort#sorta#fluff#cw: mentions of covid#smosh fanfiction#anon#anon asks#asked and answered#answered
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AU interlude: MADE BREATH and SKIN
Noah Sebastian (The Watcher of the Woods) x onbc (Taylor)
Word Count: 2.7k+
Cw: language, supernatural themes, sexy stuff: oral (oc receiving), fingering, slight monster fucking (monster, demi-deity, whatev Fuckface McGee thinks he is), pet play if you squint, unwrapped p in v (be safe, kiddos), telepathic dirty-talk, overstimulation
“I don't need to be babysat. Like they're gonna try to break into my house and kidnap me,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Well, too bad. Like I have anything better to do than babysit you,” Noah said, shedding his leather jacket he had over his hoodie. I could hear the playful undertone in his voice, thankfully. And to be honest, I was kind of glad he was here.
“Need help?” I commented as he pulled his hoodie up.
“Nope,” he said, lifting it up above his head. I mainly watched just to see how he could manage to get it over the antlers that were sprouting from the sides of his head, but I would be lying if I said I didn't sneak a peek at the part of his stomach as his shirt rode up. “Jeez, do you have to keep this place like a sauna in here?”
“It's not even seventy degrees in here,” I said, trying to avoid staring too long after he managed to get the hoodie off, but I still couldn’t get over the fact that he was actually that… big under all that clothing. He was now down to just a cut-off tank, leaving all the binding sigils that ran up and down his arms and across his collarbones and shoulders on display. Honestly, combined with the muscles, it made me want to punch him.
But still, after a while, my eyes were drawn back up to the antlers. While not as wide and impressive as the last time I saw them, they still seemed to make him seem taller and bigger than he already was.
“My eyes are down here.”
His words snapped me out of my reverie before he flipped down onto the couch beside me. “What're we watching?” he asked. When I looked down into his eyes, with his face drawn up into a smirk, I was almost taken aback when I noticed the smattering of freckles under them. The Lost Boy Who Would Become King.
“Does it hurt?” I blurted out.
“Does what hurt?” Noah asked.
“The antlers… when they grow out. Do they hurt?” I clarified, curiosity getting the better of me.
He blinked. “N-no?” he replied awkwardly, like no one had bothered to ask that question of him before. “Mostly they’re just sensitive until they reach their full point. Kinda itchy, too.” His thigh bumped against mine.
“Has anyone touched them?” I asked.
“No, usually people are too busy screaming ‘Ah, don’t kill me’ if I get—“ I cut him off with a backhand to the chest. “What? It's true!”
“I meant like Nick and the others,” I huffed, leaning back.
“Nah, they're not stupid enough to–” Noah said, but then stopped dead when I pressed my thumb against one of the points.
“Shit, I’m sorry, did I hurt—“ I stammered, pulling my hand away until I noticed his eyes. They seemed to pin me to where I was sitting.
“No, you’re fine, it's just…” Noah swallowed thickly, “I didn’t expect it to feel like… that.”
“Like wha…?” I trailed off as I realized what he meant. Oh.
My hand, which was still hovering near his head, fell back down to his antlers. Curiosity getting the better of me, I traced a light line from where they met his skull up to one of the first points. He shuddered under my touch, a small moan slipping out.
“Stop that,” he gritted out.
“Stop what?” I asked. I meant for it to be an honest question, but I didn't think he took it to be like that. Especially when his hand shot up and snatched my wrist away from his head.
“Stop teasing,” he said with a low rumble, dipping his head down to where he was eye level with me. My heart stopped when I saw how dark his eyes were.
I felt his other hand snake around my waist, pulling me closer to him. As ironic as the comparison was, I felt like a deer caught in the headlights. “Is that why you asked about them? So you could see me like this?” he asked. I was practically on his lap at this point, my knees straddling his thighs. He dipped his head lower to nuzzle his lips against my jaw.
The movement snapped me out of my paralysis, and I finally found my voice. “Aww, is Bambi sensitive?” I cooed, reaching my free hand up to run a finger up his antlers again. He shuddered against me, breath panting and ragged, and I froze up again when I felt his dick begin to harden underneath my core.
“I said watch it,“ he growled, grabbing that hand as well. “Do you like being a tease? Touching me like that?” He pushed me onto my back, pinning my wrists to the armrest above my head. He easily was able to hold both of them with one hand, those long fingers wrapping around them as he freed a hand to roughly grab my jaw. “Touch me again, and I’ll build you up to just leave you here wet and needy.”
My eyes widened a little bit as I took in what he said. “No—“ He cut me off with a small squeeze. The little puffs of breath he let out ghosted over my ear, making me shudder in his hands. When he finally let go of my jaw, it was to only run it over the hollow of my throat and stop. He leaned down, his lips leaving light but wet kisses along my neck.
A soft whimper escaped my throat, and my legs squirmed under his. He chuckled, my only warning before he bit down on the sensitive flesh between my neck and shoulder. A sharp gasp left me, which turned into a moan when his teeth retracted to let his tongue sweep over the mark.
“I want everyone to know what’s mine, little rabbit,” he whispered. “I want them to know that you belong to the Watcher of the Woods.”
The possessive tone he used slightly pissed me off, but as he alternated between biting and soothing at my tender skin, I could barely care. That's when I realized that despite my fogged-up brain, my mouth was close to the base of his antlers. So, between keening, I let out a breathy moan that I knew would hit them.
His reaction was instantaneous. He let out a loud moan against my wet skin, hips involuntarily shunting forward against mine. The straining in his jeans pressed against my covered core, earning a sharp inhale from me. I didn't know how dizzier I could get.
Noah pulled away to look me in the eyes. “Seriously, Taylor, if you want–”
“Noah, I want you, monster or not,” I panted.
For once, Noah was stunned into silence. He hovered over me, jaw slightly dropped as he took in my words. He then brought his lips down to lock with mine in a messy, heated kiss.
There was no gentleness in this kiss, and I didn't expect any. This was a man starved. He finally let go of my wrists and trailed his hands down my chest, my waist, to my hips, then trailed them back up, under my shirt this time.
His thumbs ran small, feather-light circles around my nipples. “No bra?” he asked, smirking against my lips.
“Never wear one,” I admitted.
“Good,” he commanded. “I wanna look at you.” He pulled away to give me space.
Somehow, I knew what he was talking about through the sex-addled white noise, and I lifted my shirt up and over my head. I flushed under his gaze that slowly raked over my body.
“I could absolutely devour you,” he admitted, leaning back down, lower this time. He ran his tongue up my sternum, up the small slope of one breast, and closed his mouth around my nipple. I keened and squirmed as he flicked the tip of his tongue over the hard peak, feeling helpless as he teased the other between his thumb and fingers.
Eventually, after both tits were given enough attention, he pulled off with a soft pop, biting into what flesh there was. He left little nips as he trailed down my tummy until he finally reached the waistband of my jeans.
“N-Noah…” I whimpered, trying to get his attention.
“Yeah…?” His eyes flicked up to mine as I gazed down my body at him.
“Please… not here,” I pleaded.
He blinked, his dark brown eyes darkening further. “You don't want me to fuck you on the couch?” he asked.
“P-please n-no.”
Suddenly, with supernatural strength, he hitched my waist over his shoulder, pulling up and taking me with him. I let out a small yelp of surprise, but soon he was taking me back to my bedroom. My world was just an upside- down view of the back of his top and ass. If I could just manage to get my arm up, I could just–
Before I could smack anything, he roughly tossed me onto the bed. He crawled up between my legs, undoing the button and zipper of my jeans. I wriggled my hips as he pulled my jeans and underwear down in one fast motion. With a groan, and without tearing his gaze from between my legs, he carelessly tossed the garments somewhere on the floor. “Fucking hell, you've been dripping this whole time, haven't you?” he asked, leaning down.
“Noah–”
“Are you okay with this?” Noah asked. I stared at him in surprise, and he rolled his eyes. “I might be a monster, but I'm not that kind of a monster.”
“Fuck, of course Noah. Just fucking–” My tirade was cut off as he dove down like it was his last meal. My hips lifted off the bed in surprise, and he lifted my legs over his shoulders, wrapping his hands around my thighs and pulling them down against him.
I couldn't think of anything past the feeling of his tongue flicking over and around my clit, spearing into me and then flattening as he licked long stripes up and down my arousal. All I could do was grab the top of his head, tangling my fingers in his long tresses as I tried to keep myself grounded.
“Oh, God, No… ah–” was all I could manage to get out as I shook like someone possessed. His fingers dug into my thighs, the pain of his nails pressing in only adding to the pleasure. It felt like the more I reacted to him like this, the harder he worked to make me feel good.
I looked down at him to see that he was already intently staring at me. Somehow, his dark eyes seemed to be bright when they met mine. I felt him smirk against my lower lips, and then I heard,
YOU TASTE SO FUCKING GOOD.
Speaking into my head, hearing that praise, sent a bolt of pleasure through me that had me arching, releasing onto his tongue as I swore up to the ceiling. He lapped it up, not relaxing his movements one bit, and the overstimulation carried me into my second orgasm, my scream tearing through my throat.
THERE IT IS. THAT’S IT, GIVE IT TO ME.
He slowed down, kitten-licking me through my aftershocks, and then finally pulled away, settling me back down onto my bed. “You good?” He asked, like he didn't just completely shatter me.
Through ragged breaths that hurt my throat and my swimming vision, I nodded. Dear God, that was–
“He's not here, and by the end of tonight, I'll have you screaming my name like you worship me.” His growl sent ripples throughout my body. Noah crawled up on top of me, caging my face between his hands, and kissed me roughly. I could smell and taste myself on his lips.
“Noah, please, I need you,” I managed to say between fervent kisses.
“Say my name then,” he demanded.
“Noah.”
“Louder.”
“Noah–”
“Plead louder for me.”
“Please, oh god, Noah.”
When I opened my eyes again, it was to see him shove his jeans off, but what made me gasp was the sight of his antlers, now the crown of bone that I remembered. With his hair wild and tangled from my fingers, and the tattoos spread all across his now naked body, he truly looked like the forest god he was.
He perched over me, leaning down to kiss me hard enough to stoke the fire in my belly again, and trailed fingers up and down my still-slick center. He slowly pushed two of them into my hole, alternating between curling, scissoring, and pulling them out before repeating the cycle. I was a moaning, whimpering mess that could barely talk when I realized that he was lining himself up.
“N-Noah, f-fuck… please,” I near sobbed.
“Shhh, I've got you,” he said quietly, gently brushing some damp hairs off my forehead. He then slowly, tortuously, pushed in, making me cry out in pain and pleasure.
“Ohh god, Noah, a-ah!” I said. “'s n-not gonna f-fit.”
“Yes it will,” he rasped. I was so glad that he, too, was having a rough time handling me like I was handling him. “I know you can do it.” He then pulled my legs up and hitched them around his waist, nearly folding me in half. With a few more shallow thrusts, he finally bottomed out, hitting a spot in me that turned my moans to something primal.
“There we go, good job. I told you you could do it,” he muttered, kissing the bridge of my nose. The feeling of me clenching on his cock had him groan, a sound that seemed like it came from somewhere deep inside him. “You ready?”
“Y-yes, Noah.”
His pace was steady at first, torturously slow. I rolled my hips to meet his, and his hands flew down to them to encourage the movement. “Go on… Take what you need,” he said, voice hitching at the end. I reached up to wrap my arms around his wide back, feeling the muscles flexing underneath my hands. His forehead dropped to mine, and our lips brushed together in unison.
FUCK, IT’S LIKE YOU WERE MADE FOR ME,
he said, a hand reaching up to cup my cheek, tilting my face so our lips could finally press against each others,
MY LITTLE RABBIT.
Noah, I’m gonna - I’m gonna… I was desperately close, and his pace just kept getting hastier. I knew I was about to topple over the edge, and Noah was going to push me over with no remorse.
LET GO,
he said,
I’M RIGHT BEHIND YOU.
When I opened my eyes, I saw his big doe eyes focused on me. I couldn’t hold it anymore, and I screamed his name as my head rolled back against my pillow. I swore I nearly blacked out, or at least the edges of my vision turned black, as my vision blurred. I felt my sweat-slick skin press against his as my back arched completely off the bed.
Noah chased his own release a little bit later, thrusting into me while growling something that might’ve been words in the other tongue or just gibberish. Soon after, his hips stilled, and his body sagged onto me, the weight and warmth being welcome.
We lied there, chests heaving as we tried to catch our breath, and I found myself gently scratching at his scalp. My fingers gently brushed against the base of his antlers, and I stilled.
“You’re fine, I can’t feel anything when they’re fully grown,” Noah muttered against the skin of my neck.
“You know that, but not when they’re forming?” I asked.
“Like I said earlier, it never came up.” He chuckled airily.
We stayed like that for a while, his body like an anxiety blanket, until my body decided I needed to get up. Noah thought otherwise as he wrapped his arms around my midsection and pulled me back against him every time I tried to leave the bed.
“Lemme up, I have to go to the bathroom and take a shower.”
“Only if I get to join you,” he said with a sly grin.
“Those things aren’t gonna fit in the shower,” I said with a momentary glance up at the antlers.
“Oh, I’ll make them fit.”
“…Gross.”
#noah sebastian fanfiction#noah sebastian smut#noah sebastian x onbc#cw: language#cw: supernatural themes#bad omens fanfiction#bad omens rpf#bad omens au#paranormal au#series: lost in the labyrinth
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piarles + nr 8 for the kiss prompts ("in secrecy") ❤
8) ...in secrecy.
Pierre never quite knew not to be awkward with expressing genuine affection.
Oh, he learned how to fake it. He had to, for multiple reasons, and he learned it so well that some days it felt like it was real. The fact remained that he was visibly clumsy with it, which only compounded the issue and made him more awkward, and the viciousness of that circle weighed on him as a constant his whole life. Awkward hugs to his brothers, awkward mumblings of words of love to his girlfriends, awkward kisses to his maman and papa's cheeks and foreheads... it was all too sharp, too practiced, too wooden to seem natural.
Pierre despised how much it affected him. He was supposed to be better. Better than others, better than his brothers, better than his rivals, better than everyone. Just... better. He was supposed to be better, and no matter what he did, he always felt like he was failing.
-
"This is stupid, Pear, this is so stupid, we'll get into so much trouble, oh my god, we're such idiots," Charles tries to protest, but his indignance is smothered under the barrage of giggles he can't contain.
Pierre turns to look at him, the grass underneath his cheek tickling his skin. Charles laughs so sweetly when he allows himself to relax, and that has always been one of Pierre's favourite sounds in the world. Now it's the only sound Pierre can hear, louder than the spring breeze.
"It's okay, calamar, don't worry," he tries to reassure Charles. "I got the weed from a friend, and nobody will know. It's just us."
Charles sighs heavily, dramatically, and it makes Pierre laugh. He rolls on his side so he can lean over Charles, half-pinning him to the ground with his own body.
"You're heavy, Pear," Charles mumbles, but his smile is wide, and his pupils are wider, and Pierre loves him so much, his heart hurts with it.
When he leans down, he doesn't think about his arm cramping or the awkward position. When his lips touch the edge of Charles', their noses don't bump. When he moves his lips to Charles' dimple, he doesn't dislodge Charles' glasses. When Charles reaches for him and puts his palm on Pierre's cheek, the universe in his eyes, Pierre doesn't think before he says "I love you, you know."
He doesn't have time to berate himself, or to explain, or to lie, because Charles giggles and says "I know. You, too," and then his fingers are tugging on Pierre's hair and reaching for Pierre's ribs, because Charles is the only one who knows how ticklish Pierre is and he is a little shit, and then Pierre is shrieking and cursing and Charles is rolling them over and the world spins and Pierre is happy, and in love with Charles and with life, and that's more than enough.
#idk if i like this but oh well#kiss prompts#piarles#f1 rpf#effervescentdragonwrites#my writing#cw weed i guess? idk ppl want warnings for everything
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Nolan/TK + Ring ❤
okay so this is a little fucked so like proceed with caution or whatever
CW: cheating (which like as a married person i do not condone but like this is fiction dont at me)
~
Travis puts the truck in park and rests his head on the headrest; with his eyes closed, he fiddles with his wedding ring. He knows this is wrong, and he wills his body to react in a way that reflects that— waiting for the bile to rise in the back of his throat.
It never comes.
He knows this is wrong, but it's Patty. Pat wanted to see him. Travis has never been strong enough to say no to him. A part of him thought that maybe with time, and age, and wisdom, or whatever— A part of him always thinks that next time— next time will be different.
It never is.
He thinks maybe his wife would understand, if she knew. Nolan's unlike anyone Travis has ever met— will ever meet. When their eyes met across the locker room on the first day of camp, it had only taken one tight lipped smile forced through clenched teeth for Travis to become enthralled.
Sometimes, he pictures himself like a fish on a line, the hook buried deep in his chest, tugging him always towards Patty. So yeah, he thinks maybe his wife would understand. It's not like there was any competition anyway.
Travis slides the ring off his finger, dropping it into the cup holder with an unceremonious clang. When he opens his eyes, he lets himself feel the buzz under his skin and he takes a deep breath to steady the racing beat of his heart.
He purposefully doesn't look down at the light band of skin that still encircles his finger when he gets out of the truck and unlocks the front door of Nolan's cabin.
~
Send me a player or pairing + a word, and I’ll write a mini fic about it. (I am running on quite a backlog right now so it might take me a while to get to your request).
Read other prompt mini fics!
#cw cheating#mini fic#hrpf#hockey rpf#requests#rox writes#nolan patrick#travis konecny#tknp#tk/nolpat#phi
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