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tommyspeakycap · 3 years

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nsfw alphabet - andy robertson

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's a sweaty cuddler after sex. He doesn't care that neither of you have cleaned up or that you're both hot, sweaty and sticking together. He couldn't care less. Andy loves to pull your naked body as close to him as you can get with his fingers drawing lazy patterns on your bare skin until you fall asleep comfortably in his arms.

B - Body part (their favourite body part of yours and of their own)

Of yours, has to be your boobs. He just loves them. Loves to knead them between his hands, rolling your nipples between his fingers to arch your back into off the bed so your body is flush against his. However, more innocently he loves your stomach. It's always so soft and warm and it harboured your little kiddies for nine months three different times. He loved to talk to it when they were in there and now whenever you get time to be together, he makes sure every single mark, scar, stretch of skin is kissed and named as beautiful as he truly knows you are.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically…)

Ohhhh in you. He loves to cum in you. Got a bit of a breeding kink to be fair but we'll get into that later. To know you're full of him even when he pulls out of you or to think about you leaking him until he pushes his fingers up to stuff you full of him again is one of the greatest turns ons of his life. However, Andy would also argue there are few sights more fascinating than that of you on your knees in front of him, his cum dripping down your chin as you look up at him through your lashes.

D - Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He gets turned on when people call you Mrs Robertson or (y/n) Robertson or even Robbo's mrs. Anything like that just sends him fuzzy headed. You're his and only his. You have his name, you wear the rings that he gave you and he gets enthralled by calling you "Mrs Robertson" a million times a day and occasionally in bed. Get's him ready to go any time of the day to be honest. Also it’s not dirty, more fluffy and adorable but he gets really, really excited after you get married and he gets to refer to you as his wife. He loves to point you out and just be all awe struck with sparkly eyes as he proudly announces “That’s my wife.”

E - Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not necisarrily experienced but he is very good with what he does know. You've been together so long that you've learned just about every nook and cranny of each other so no one is left un satisfied at the end of the time you get to spend together. He's learned your body like the back of his hand and even on a day where the sex is as vanilla as can be, you always finish it feeling very satisfied. Also, for some reason that man has absolutely mastered the art of using his fingers.

F - Favourite Position

I get the feeling Andy probably prefers plain old missionary. It's the easiest, risks the least injury possibilities and allows him to see every single reaction and movement of your face as he bottoms out of you before plunging back in balls deep. He loves watching your eyes roll back as his name dances off of your tongue.

However he does also love taking you standing up. He loves the feeling of your legs tight around his waist because your knees were too weak from him to hold you up anymore and despite the fact it is much harder work, it's always well worth it. This usually doesn't happen at home, it tends to be the hidden corridors and empty rooms of Anfield after matches that are subject to said against the wall sex.

And finally, possibly his favourite is also watching you sink down onto his length, eyes fluttering shut. You take the reigns and he just melts, turning to putty in your hands. He rests both large palm on your upper thighs, fingertips bruising the soft skin of your bum, but they usually wander to your boobs until he’s reaching his high, where on will return to your bum and the other will grab a fistful of the bedsheets in a white knuckle grip as hips buck instinctively until he shoots his load into you with a loud shout. He loves when you ride him whether that’s lying on the bed, sitting up on the couch where he has an angle for his thrusts or if it’s simply you, rubbing yourself against the material of his shorts until he tugs them from the way and allows you to coat his bare thigh in your juices. He loves to be ridden.

G - Goofy (are they more serious or humorous in the moment)

He's a goofy guy through and through. He actually strives to make you laugh during sex because its the most intimate way and space a person could ever make the person they love giggle. It's usually when he's going in hard, almost always afterwards anyway. He'll share or tell little jokes or one liners that make you giggle, a blush heating your cheeks because he's still literally balls deep inside of you and you're giggling away. He just adores everything about it and making you laugh during sex always feels like an extra accomplishment.

Although if he's frustrated or got a lot of pent up energy then no ones laughing. The only noises that can be heard as slapping skin and you on those occasions and no one is complaining.

H - Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes etc)

We've all seen that video from Jordan Henderson's insta story so we all know it appears as though he is completely clean shaven down there. He's not necessarily got a strict routine, he just maintains himself how he likes it as he pleases. It's his beard you think about. Andy likes to keep his faint beard and when between your thighs, it definitely makes all the difference.

I - Intimacy (how they are during the moment? are they romantic?)

He can be quite romantic depending on the occasion (birthdays, anniversaries, valentines etc) but romance is subjective. Some may like rose petals and candles, but you're happy with just Andy really. He can make things romantic sometimes and other times he's just Andy, making jokes and making you feel ridiculously good. Although he certainly can dress up nice, putting on suit, lighting some candles and dimming the lights kind of evening. Those are few and far between but you're certainly not complaining.

J - Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doens't do it a lot really. Maybe in the beginning of your relationship but almost never now. The time that he does want to get it on is always when you're there. Otherwise he's at training or with the kids or something like that. He's rarely not busy. When off travelling, Andy may opt to take things into his own hands purely for a release that he needs if he's feeling a bit wound up and missing you. There was one particular point however in your first pregnancy where you got all embarrassed one morning before admitting that the hormones raging around in you had conjured up a dream about Andy jacking off and you getting to watch, so occasionally he'll treat you with that in a nod to that little thing you love that has stuck around ever since.

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Like I mentioned earlier, he has a bit of a breeding kind and further to that, he was absolutely always turned on for pretty much the whole of your pregnancy. He found himself doing a lot of jacking off then because you unsurprisingly weren't up for it most of the time that he was during the course of those nine months. But he was absolutely ravenous seeing you all swollen with his baby. He wanted to be all over you all the time. It just made him wild with desire.

He also has a hefty thing for winding you up in public. One time, at a players gala he fingered you under the table while everyone was eating and you had to sustain a conversation with Jordan Henderson, his wife and Jurgen Klopp. Andy just got so hard knowing what he was doing to you under the table and no one has any idea. It was marvellous; watching you fight everything back as he felt you clenching around his fingers, trying not to arch your back or buck your hips against him. You had a white knuckle grip on your silverware by the time your orgasm rippled through you and you had to pretend that you had chocked on your meal in order to cover up the small cry you let out.

To this day, Andy still whispers about it in your ear when you're in public and you're still waiting for a time to get one over on him for it.

L - Location (favourite places to do the deed)

He’s not really got a preference. Like i said earlier he really like to take you up against the wall, but he’s also partial to bending you over a counter or sinking you down onto him in the front seat of his car. He just is willing to take you anywhere really. Personally though one of his favourite is the shower. Your body can be all slippery, soapy and warm, reactive to his touch and despite the slight danger of possibly slipping, the heat of one of your legs hooked up around him, as he uses the stamina he’s gaining from being a professional athlete to pound himself into you as you yelp and shout out his name. The heat and steam just makes everything better.

M - Motivation (what turns them on/gets them going)

He is also insanely turned on by you in the mornings, groggy and messy haired with a sleepy smile and tired eyes. Watching you clamber out of bed ready to take on the day again with those little kids who laugh like you and yell instead of talk like Andy. You'll also usually emerge from bed wearing one of his old shirts or strips - like an old Hull City training shirt he hasn't worn in 5 years or a stupid cheap t-shirt he bought when he was 18 working in M&S that he thought he lost but actually had ended up being yours. You'll sit up on the bathroom sink while he showers, brushing your teeth ridiculously early just so you both get some time with each other before the little devils wake up. He'll stand between your legs, going in for a kiss that deepens until he's lining himself up with your entrance having pushed your very unflattering underwear to the side and you'll have to be as quiet and as quick as possible. He just loves every minute of living his life with you - even sneaky sex in the bathroom at not even six in the morning. He'll gladly take it.

N - NO (turns off, something/s they won’t do)

Andy is not at all interested in adding another person to the mix. He's surprisingly private as a person and he doesn't ever want your sex life to be something that comes out into the open to be talked about. There is always a risk with another person, plus he doesn't see either of you actually getting any pleasure out of it when sex is so good already. He probably will also never record or take pictures of the ac because he knows how easy it is for these things to end up in anyones hands. When he was younger, he used to. Andy had a really favourited picture of you on your knees in front of you with his hand in your hair as you look up at him after sucking him off. Cum and saliva were dripping down your chin and he still thinks about that long since deleted picture to this day. Andy is great at remembering things in his mind anyway, so he doesn't feel the need to create sex tapes that one day his kids might have to deal with when they're older if it ever breaks onto the news.

O - Oral (are they good? do they prefer giving or receiving?)

Honestly he prefers receiving but he definitely does not shy away from giving. Oh my god the beard burn he gives you is literally to die for, the perfect amount of friction he talks so much that his tongue is his lost exercised muscle so he is very, very good with it when it comes to going down on you. To be fair, it is one of those things that he wasn’t always very good at, but he has vastly improved and now it is something you will never ever turn down.

However, being sucked off by you is probably one of his favourite things ever. He literally cannot get enough of it, watching you get him off. God it’s unreal. Meanwhile he’ll have his head thrown back against the ball, hands on your hair muttering, “That’s it, pretty girl, fuck, perfect. Beautiful.” And you’re soaking wet waiting for him already.

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

He’s usually going for fast and hard. It’s all sweaty bodies and rapid breaths, whimpering out his name as his skin slaps against yours. He can be very sensual but rarely ever slow. His pace lets him reach every inch of you, pushing into you in every way as your nails drag down his back with your ankles linked around his waist. The way his muscles ripple quickly and his body clashes with yours is hot and fiery and perfect. He loves it, you love it. Why bother doing anything else?

Q - Quickie (their opinion on quickies. do they prefer it? how often?)

Dear lord Andy loves a quickie. Slamming into you with his finger over your mouth, warning you to be quiet in a Hampden park back room? Bliss. Pure bliss. He could get off just thinking about it. Post-match quickies are very common and when you become parents, quickies are also necessary when short on time. He prefers to have all the time in the world to take on you, but he will never complain about having a quickie.

R - Risk (do they think to experiment? willing to take risks?)

Andy loves the risk. He loves to pump his fingers into you under tables or have his fingers wound in your hair as you suck him off in a fancy marble walled bathroom at a gala. The rush of potentially being caught always heightens the pleasure. When you were younger and he used to still live with his parents, he didn’t care for the thumping of his headboard against the wall as much as you did. He just loves that he can have you like putty in his hands wherever. It’s not about the people there, it’s about the fact he can drive you crazy and he is in full control and nobody even knows. Although, you too like to get your own back on him, shuffling around in his lap during movie nights so he has to stay glued to the couch the rest of the night because of the hard bugle in his jeans. He’s also into experimenting. Anything that could bring you more pleasure? Bring. It. On.

S - Stamina (how many rounds? how long do they last?)

Everybody says that Andy is one of the biggest grafters in the team in terms of his engine. He could run forever, so i don’t see him being at all different in the bedroom. He could genuinely probably go forever and he very, very much loves to do so. When you’re wildly overstimulated, muscles tight, skin shining with sweat as you pant and gasp for breath beneath him, he gets intoxicated by it. His eyes drink your in, flicking over your face and taking in every little bit of you. He commits it to memory every time, each better than before.

But yeah, Andy could go for hours and honestly he will. It’s a very special treat for you always. Plus, who doesn’t like a guy who can go hard and fast four three rounds and still be fully ready to go down on you afterwards?

T - Toys (do they own any? do they use any? if so, preference?)

He does own a few, all funny little things he bought to tease you with. Like little vibrators that he can press again your clit and stuff like that. He doesn’t use them often and many he got when he was injured and couldn’t have sex with you the way usually would it would want to.

U - Unfair (do they like to tease? if so how much/often)

Aaaaabsolutely. He’s a massive tease. Andy absolutely loves having you writhing and whimpering beneath him, begging to have him fully in you or to go faster, to just move. Loves it. Definitely a big fan of edging you so close until you’re hazy, incoherent and begging for an orgasm that’ll ripple through your whole body so every in a five mile radius will know his name. Whenever you’ve got the time and the freedom, he’s teasing you and sometimes it’ll start in the morning before he leaves for work and he won’t finish it till much later it the day, making for an even more intense orgasm.

V - Volume (are they loud? what sounds do they make?)

Not necessarily loud, but he is very very very into dirty talking right into your ear. His hot breath tickling at your neck between kisses, grazing his teeth against your sensitive skin, god it drives you crazy. He’ll hum against your clit about how wet and ready for him you are and tell you the whole time how beautiful and perfect you are. It’s both romantic and painfully attractive. Apart from that he’s mostly grunts and some groans of your name but the sound he makes when he cums is *chefs kiss*. It’s deep and guttural, coming straight from the base of his throat when his eyes screw shut and his mouth drops open. It’s unbearably hot.

W - Wild Card (random headcanon)

He low-key loves to be marked by you. Not even actively, just passively almost?? Like he doesn’t think about it at the time but afterwards when he’ll spot the scratches down his back when he passes the mirror or if the guys comment on it in the changing room, it makes him feel good. He’s glad everybody knows he belongs to someone in every way, from the most romantic and simply to the most intimate. And knowing you have the faint, painless bruises from his fingertips on your hips with little nipped in love bites around your breast makes him feel satisfied that he’s left you with a memory of the evening. Even just you wearing your wedding ring or looking down at his own on his hand proudly makes him silently happy and all fuzzy inside in a completely non-sexual way because you’re so happy to show off to the world that he’s yours and your his you both love each other so so much.

X - Xray (what’s doing on beneath the belt?)

Again, i’m sure we all seen that video on Jordan Henderson’s insta story the other week, so we all know he is fairly packing. He’s not got anything extravagant or jaw dropping, but it’s still moderately bigger than bang average. It’s honestly just more about what he does with it and how he reaches every but of you that’s the wow factor.

Y - Yearning (how high is their second drive?)

Pretty high, to be fair but nothing out of the ordinary. like it’s not overkill but it’s usually completely unscheduled. Some weeks you’ll want to jump his bones every single night and he’ll fuck you twice a day and other time they’ll be a week between it. Schedules can be awkward and after you get married and have kids it’s a lot harder for things to run to any kind of plan. At the moment, it’s more of an ‘if we have time let’s just fucking go for it’ kind of thing. Although his sex drive is always higher when you’re pregnant or if the team are having a winning streak.

Z - zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

Both of you fall asleep pretty quickly after sex now to be honest. You’ll usually fall asleep first because he’s tells sweet, soft jokes while stroking your hair and drawing circles on your skin softly. It’s very soothing. And then once you’ve fallen asleep, fatigue usually finds him quite quickly, but he’ll get up out of bed and clean you up a little because he’s ever the gentlemen. Then he’ll climb into bed and fall asleep pretty much instantly once you’re wrapped back in his arms.

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ill-skillsgard · 3 years

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Anything faust!valter

I usually don't enjoy vague requests like this, but I was writing a Faust!V piece anyway. So, I'll just put this here.

Warning: 18+ smut, mature language, anti-religious themes. **In this part: consensual sleep sex, family conflict, angst.**

Summary: Faust and Faith get caught in the act, propelling Faith to do the one thing she never thought herself capable: defy her father.

- Not based on Lords of Chaos. I use Faust!Valter’s likeness only as inspiration.

Read more Faust x Faith here [x]

A warm prodding awakened Faith in the early hours. Faust was pressed against her naked back, chest and stomach soft and contoured to her spine. Lower down, he nudged her with a growing erection. It twitched across her tailbone once, twice, and so on, in reflection with the man's heartbeat. He felt enormous behind her. Drawing his knees up, his thighs balled her and squeezed.

His breath spread over the back of her neck, followed by a crawling moan. Faust curled his hips under hers, seeking out the sleek warmth between her legs. They had fallen asleep with the TV on, and the same non-stop pornographic advertisements played with the volume low. The ruddy morning glow swirled up the moans, tenderizing the bedded bodies in low heat.

Faust whispered through strands of hair, "can I be inside of you?"

Faith raised her right leg, providing him access which he took with a slow but forceful stab. He trusted her whimpers and went along with each one, finding a steady rhythm guided by her noises. Sleep still licked at his eyelids, teaming with comfort to lead Faust back into a restful embrace. Even her enclosing wetness wasn't enough to keep his eyes open.

This process repeated. Faust fought lazily to stay awake, to stay hard inside of her. Faith didn't seem to mind the five-minute doses of lovemaking with a reprieve to doze. Car alarms, porn trailers and a gentle buzzing went off, ignored by the sleepy couple.

Faust picked up the pace eventually and lifted Faith's leg for less resistance. He slammed into her, wrapping one long arm around her midriff to keep her from bouncing across the bed. Anchored, Faith let the stretch soothe her to the core. Having him inside, muted and reserved to the pleasure and not the filth, was a rarity she longed to savour. Too often, Faust spent their time together teasing, making her feel like the hungry one, the desperate one. Now, he was the one who couldn't hold back.

"Faith... I'm gonna come soon."

Before she replied, he angled her face to smother her mouth with a kiss. His lips devoured her moans, tongue licking hers. He sent his hand down to her groin and pressed his index and middle finger together to create the perfect cushion for her clit.

"Does that feel good?" He asked.

"Yes," she smiled. "Yes, that's amazing."

"Mm, good. I need you to come at the same time as me."

The request struck Faith softer than his usual demands. Faust always told her exactly what to do, at the precise time, through clenched teeth, and if she failed to meet his expectations, he hissed and scolded her. Not this time. Faust paused his movements to get her up to speed.

"Mm, more, please," Faith said.

He fed her half his length. Anything more, and she would clench and mewl. Faust didn't want that kind of thing today. Working her clit with his fingers and pumping himself into her with care, Faust forgot everything.

Faith's cell phone continued to rumble. The first few rounds of vibrations had gone unnoticed, but now Faith was starting to worry. It broke her concentration, robbed Faust's caresses of poignancy. It was Sunday morning, and she hadn't checked in with her parents in a few days. By the shade of light filtering through the rust-coloured drapes, she deduced it couldn't be later than noon.

"Faust...I should answer my phone."

"No, baby. Just stay here. Get close with me."

"I can't," she said. "What if it's..."

"Don't answer. What's more important? Me, or him? You're a big girl. Make your own decisions."

Faith closed her eyes and waited for the vibrations to cease. Faust had not stopped slowly easing his cock inside of her, then out and back in. He delivered one stroke that was harder than the others and hooked her attention back to him.

"Come on, beautiful. Help me come."

It was another hour before Faust came to his shuddering end and spilled a shocking amount of cum both inside Faith and between her thighs. It dripped onto the bed, soaked the sheets and continued dribbling from her cunt even as he climbed down the bed to position his face there. He licked her from hole to clit, over and over until she moaned animatedly.

"Oh my god, Faust."

"You like that, baby? Let me lick that cum-soaked pussy for you."

Faust pinched the sensitive crest, revealing her clit and applying pressure. He used the months he'd spent eating her out to pull out all the tricks. He teased her opening with his middle finger, flicking her clit periodically to make her nerves jump.

"So much fucking cum in there. Oh, it's so nice watching it all dripping out of that perfect hole."

Again, the commotions of the outside world faded into obscurity while they played in their private bubble. Not even the indecency on the TV screen compared to Faust's green eyes watching her reactions while a perfect pair of lips toyed with every inch of her womanhood. She stroked his long hair back, but the black tresses fell over his face until he shouldered them out of the way.

"Are you ready to come for me, Faith?"

"Mm, yes. I'm ready."

"Yeah? What do you want? My fingers a bit harder? Suck your clit?"

"Both," she gasped.

Faust served two equally measured stimulations, enhanced by the slippery sound of his tongue. The peak fell into line, nudged forward by the mix of incentives working together to tickle her beyond pleasure. The noise delighted Faith, filled her with arousal, and she twisted and writhed as her climax approached. Matched with Faust's deep moans, the television and cars passing by on the street faded into obscurity. All thoughts of her neglected cell phone disappeared.

All of this smashed against an invisible wall and shattered before realization. There was a temperamental rapping at the door, followed by the boom of Faith's name from the other side. Faith shot up and away from Faust, clutching for a pillow to block her nudity.

"Faith! You better get out here, girl!"

"Daddy?"

"Oh, shit," said Faust. "Go to the bathroom. Now. Go on!"

Faith scrambled off the bed and grabbed her shredded panties from where Faust threw them the night before. In her haste, she missed her top and only brought her skirt into the washroom for coverage.

Faust wiped his glistening mouth, let the pounding at the door go unanswered until he caught his breath and climbed into his boxers. Prepared to face Stan, he wrenched open the door and found the man fuming, ready to throw his fists.

"Where is she?" Stan asked, bowling through the door and into the motel room where pornography still flashed on the TV.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Faith! Get out here now."

"You need to get the fuck out, right now. Faith's not here."

"Bullshit! Her phone's right there on the table."

Stan went to the bathroom door and banged hard enough the wood jumped from its frame. Faust hauled the man away from the door and met swift resistance.

"You can't be in here!"

"Don't tell me what I can't do. You have my daughter!"

"Daddy, please stop!" Faith cried from the other side of the bathroom door.

Stan glared at Faust with heat snapping behind his eyes. Not one to succumb to intimidation, Faust planted his feet and motioned for the man to leave.

"Don't make this violent, Stan. Faith's with me. She's a fucking adult."

The father noticed the television and spat on the carpet.

"She will never see you again if I have anything to do with it."

"That's just it... There's nothing you can do. So, I suggest you get the fuck out of here before something bad happens."

Stan ignored Faust and knocked on the door again.

"Faith, get dressed. You're coming with me."

"Daddy, you have to leave. I don't have any clothes."

"You son of a bitch," Stan hissed. "What the fuck have you done to my daughter? First, you don't answer calls, then I find you in here fornicating with this scumbag? What the hell is wrong with you, Faith?"

"Look, man, she doesn't have any clothes. Get the fuck out so she can at least get dressed. Or do you plan on dressing her yourself?"

Stan ignored Faust's comments with a sneer. "Have you forgotten your phone's tracking? How did you think this would end, Faith? Your mother and I thought you were taken! Get dressed right now, young lady. You are in for the punishment of your life!"

Faust followed Stan outside and watched the preacher thrash his fists. He recognized the car in front and smirked. The father's anger spread, fuelling Faust's urge to retaliate.

"You'll never keep her away from me," said Faust with a laugh.

"Shut your mouth."

"Can't handle the truth, can you? You hate that she loves me. You hate the thought of someone like me with her."

Stan whipped a warning look at Faust. The air outside was cool and raised goosebumps over his bare skin, but inside, his guts boiled. Faust longed for a more violent reaction. He wanted fire and destruction.

"I fucked her. You've no idea how many times I've fucked her."

Faith made it outside in time to witness her father advance on Faust. She shrieked as Stan's fist made contact with Faust's jaw and sent him reeling backward. He clenched the side of his chin and laughed, blood already coating his teeth.

"Oh, nice shot, big man. Come on. Beat the shit out of me. Show your daughter how a man handles things."

"Get in the car, Faith," Stan pointed.

"No, Daddy. I'm not leaving."

"Faith! I said get in the car!"

"No, Daddy! I won't go with you!"

Faith ran to Faust and threw herself around him, burying her face under his arm. Faust popped his brows and snickered.

"It's okay, babe. I'm fine. It was a good punch, though. Enough for an assault charge."

Faust kissed the top of Faith's head, eyes pinned to Stan while he licked his teeth.

"Get over it, preacher. She's mine."

"Stop it! Both of you stop, right now!" Faith pushed off Faust and stood in the middle of them. "Daddy, you have to go. I'm not a baby, and I'm not going to church. You can move the whole family across the country if you want to, but I'm staying and going to school."

"You are not missing church," Stan said.

"I'm old enough to make my own decisions. And I'm disabling my phone's tracker. This is an invasion of my privacy. And Faust... You keep quiet, too! Both of you."

The manager of the motel stepped out of the office, interested in the source of the commotion but not concerned enough to call the police. Fights broke out on the property all the time. Drapes pulled back, and anonymous eyes surveyed the scene as well. Faith suddenly felt far too exposed to the possibility a gust of wind might lift her skirt and reveal her nakedness. She reserved to make a point to Faust to stop ruining her underwear, but that would have to wait.

"Get in your car, drive back home, and maybe I won't press charges, old man," Faust negotiated.

"I'm not leaving without my daughter."

"Fine. You can stay here and explain to the cops why you punched me in the face and how you're trying to abduct an adult who has already stated multiple times that she doesn't want to leave. I'm sure that will all sound really nice to your congregation."

"Faith... You have one more chance. Get in, or else," Stan opened the car door.

She shook her head while disbelief of her actions sickened her stomach. Not once had she ever defied her father. Before the morning's incident, she didn't believe she had it in her to refuse him. The sky didn't turn red, and the earth refused to break open and swallow her. Faith understood what Faust had been saying; she didn't have to listen to anyone but herself.

Defeated, Stan got into the family car, staring at his daughter through the windshield. His oldest daughter, who he barely recognized, returned the stare until he drove off. Once the car turned the corner and was out of sight, Faust began to laugh.

"Stop laughing! Why do you think this is funny?" Faith asked.

"I dunno. It just is."

"No, it's not! Do you understand the trouble I'm in? You don't know what my dad will do. I'll have to move! I can't afford my own place working part-time."

"Baby, don't worry. You're not moving away from me. I won't let you."

Faith's delayed reaction hit all at once, like a storm cloud bursting above her head. Fiery tears stung her eyes as panic erupted from within her ribcage.

"So, what? You're gonna let me move in with you? Live in your tiny room with your weird roommate, who you hate? Because I highly doubt Mister Solitary will want me around twenty-four seven. You already can't handle more than a couple of days around me at once."

"Faith...Baby, come on. Don't say that kind of shit. We'll find our own place, obviously."

"You don't have a job anymore! You quit your band!"

"Doesn't matter. Just trust me. Stop crying, and trust me, okay? I'll get it all worked out. You have two more months at school before we have to make any moves. Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?"

"No," Faith peeped. "I guess not."

"I got this, Faith. Stop worrying. You're with me, and that's all that matters, right?"

She nodded. Faust pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"Everything's gonna be fine. I promise."

#faust x faith #Faust!Valter #Valter Skarsgard fanfiction #Valter Skarsgard imagine

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manicmarsupial · 3 years

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You know, I don't think I'll ever have coherent thoughts when it comes to story writing. I literally barf out ideas. So, yeah...enjoy

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Hosea had managed to trap the strange little thief in his satchel. He desperately wanted to examine the curious oddity he had captured, but a crowded saloon was not the best place. He kept one hand securely over the flap of his bag, preventing the tiny creature from escaping until he’d finished eating.

Hand firmly on his satchel, Hosea left the saloon and mounted up on his horse, trotting to outside the town. Based on how much he could feel the little thing fighting against his hand, he decides not to risk his fingers and puts a thick glove over his hand before gently grabbing the tiny creature.

It could be mistaken for a human…except for the obvious size difference and a long tail. The little thing is squirming, trying to scratch and bite the gloved fingers holding its waist. Hosea changes his grip to a light fist, stopping the flailing arms. He extends a finger toward the tiny creature, who tries to snap at the digit.

“Now that’s not very hospitable of you,” he smiles at its attempt to be fierce.

He can feel it wriggle against his fingers as his other hand moves closer. He carefully runs his finger through the tuft of hair on the creature’s head. The tiny thing looks startled.

“There now, I’m not so bad,” Hosea smiles, keeping his voice soft.

A normal speaking volume might hurt the tiny ears. There were folk tales about races of miniature people, but he never thought he’d ever see one, let alone have one in his hand. The tales called them ‘borrowers’ he recalls. This one, however is not slowing in its struggles.

“Oh, come now. Surely a fearsome creature like yourself isn’t afraid of a frail old man?” he gives a toothy grin.

The borrower takes one look and flails harder, managing to squeeze out of Hosea’s grasp. It pounces off the top of the fingers, only to be grabbed around the waist.

‘Stupid,’ Hosea scolds himself mentally.

‘It probably doesn’t speak English.’

“Slippery little thing, ain’t ya?” he chuckles as the borrower leaps away from his hands, trying at times to clamber up his sleeve.

Eventually he catches the tiny creature, grasping its tail gently between his gloved fingers.

“Shh, little one. I won’t hurt you,” he whispers soothingly, trying to calm them down.

The borrower completely ignores him and tries to swing around, biting and clawing at his leather glove.

Hosea hums in thought, then calls over Silver Dollar. He digs through the saddle bag with his free hand and retrieves a bowl. He holds it just below the flailing borrower, noting with sadness how its eyes widen in horror as it stops attacking his hand and begins trying to jump away.

“It’s alright, you’re going to be safe,” he soothes, placing the borrower into the bowl.

It makes a few unsuccessful attempts to scrabble up the steep edges before curling up at the bottom of the bowl staring at Hosea with wide, terrified eyes.

“There, you can move a little more now,” he places the bowl on the ground, and crouches down, getting a proper look.

It’s absolutely adorable with its tail and oversized ears. Hosea’s stomach makes a grumble, and he rubs his hand over the offending noisemaker.

“I should eat something, you think so?” he smiles as he stands up.

Satisfied his little acquisition can’t escape, Hosea busies himself concocting a mixture of berries and herbs for the borrower, while he can use the rest for dressing. Once he’s satisfied with the mix, he turns to see the tiny creature readying to pounce.

“Don’t even try it,” he laughs, sitting down next to the bowl.

The borrower disregards him entirely and launches itself out of the bowl, to Hosea’s surprise.

He catches it before it lands using the spoon already in his hand. The tiny creature tightens its grip as Hosea bring them closer to his face.

“Now now, don’t be naughty,” he wags his finger at them before dropping them back into the bowl.

Hosea feels sorry for the little wonder, even as he hands them some of the mix, the borrower’s eyes widen. It glances warily at the food, then back to him. Hosea chews his bottom lip in thought.

“Eat,” he gestures to his mouth, hoping it would understand.

The borrower cowers in fear.

“You’re tricky to talk to, ain’t ya?” he smiles.

He runs his tongue over his dry lips. Even his reassuring tone would have gotten past the language barrier, unless…

Hosea extends one hand slightly behind the borrower, the little creature intently watching his face. Hosea snaps his fingers behind the borrower.

It doesn’t react at all. Not even an ear twitch.

“Huh, that explains a bit,” he sighs.

Making sure the borrower is paying attention to him, he takes some of the mix and eats a little of it, then points between the borrower and their portion. He sits back a little, trying not to scare them. It sniffs the mixture tentatively and takes a handful of it. It brings the stuff close to its mouth and looks up at Hosea with a questioning expression.

Hosea nods and smiles, trying not to show his teeth. The borrower eyes him warily as it nibbles the food. Hosea slowly takes off his hat and places it on the ground, then uses his gloves to line it. He cautiously puts his hand in front of the borrower, who flinches back.

He waits patiently and the borrower eventually places a tiny hand on Hosea’s palm before looking up at the man for reassurance. Hosea nods, letting the borrower climb onto his hand. He carefully transfers the small creature to his hat, letting it slide down to make itself comfortable.

Hosea sets up a small camp, glancing at his new acquisition occasionally. It’s watching him with wide curious eyes.

A soft tapping sound prompts Hosea to look at the borrower, now standing on the brim of his hat. It gestures to Hosea’s hand, then does the ‘come here’ motion. Hosea places his hand carefully in front of the creature, who climbs on hesitantly. It fiddles with the cuff of his shirt and taps the button fervently, looking up at Hosea. After making sure he’s watching, the borrower points at themselves, then the button, repeating this sequence several times.

“Button? Is that your name?” Hosea asks.

The little borrower nods happily.

“Well, I’m glad to meet you.”

Button looks startled and leaps off Hosea’s hand.

“What’s wrong? Did something scare you?” Hosea instinctively moves a hand closer to his gun belt.

Button seems to ponder this, then hops forward a little. They put a front paw in the dirt, then drag it along. Hosea realizes Button is drawing. His joints protest as he leans closer to get a better look. Button’s drawing, he realizes, is of a mouth. Button points to the mouth, then to Hosea. Next, they point into the mouth, then at themselves, looking with a horrified expression back up at Hosea, who realizes Button thinks he wants to eat them.

Hosea shakes his head and draws a cross through the mouth. He thinks for a few seconds, then draws in the dirt. Button watches in confusion, squeaking in fright as Hosea’s hand appears beside them. They cautiously climb onto his palm, bracing as Hosea slowly lifts them up. He points at his little drawing and points to Button. Button points to themselves with a questioning expression. Hosea nods, adding a picture of a button next to the drawing of the borrower.

Hosea was quite proud of himself, and that was saying something. He’d made the strange little creature trust him. Not completely, but they weren’t running away or trying to bite him. For someone who prided himself on being an eloquent silver-tongued conman, he was admittedly out of his depth when he discovered the tiny creature had no hearing. However, Button had proved to be quite an artist and fairly intelligent, managing to communicate their name to him.

Currently the borrower was curled up in his hat, soundly sleeping, its tail coiled in front of their nose. Deciding to turn in, carefully moves his hat under his tent, trying not to wake Button, before going to sleep on his own bedroll.

Button wakes up trembling from a nightmare. It’s no secret that humans are cruel, the green scarves especially. Button alone, has had many bad experiences, but this human has been nice, which was incredibly confusing. The man, though surprised, was patient and understanding. It struck Button as highly unusual, even by the standard of their own family. But human or borrower, this man was being nice.

Button, now wide awake, peeks over the brim of the man’s hat, studying the human in the dim moonlight. The lines on the face aren’t as pronounced while he sleeps, and the moonlight seems to make his white hair shine. Around the man’s waist, Button can see a brown belt, with two metal things. They don’t know what the things are, except for the fact fire erupts, then death and destruction is delivered. Button’s only knowledge that these things are loud is the rattling shake when the fire erupts.

Many green scarves have these things, and do not hesitate to deliver death. This man, however, has a scarf, but red, and only went to reach for the metal death-bringer when Button was afraid. But he didn’t bring it out when he realized it was him Button was scared of.

Pondering for a moment, Button clambers up to sit on the man’s chest, finding the slow breathing soothing. The man’s red scarf sets him aside from the other death-bringer carriers, and he’s alone rather than with a group. Button slides down to curl up under the man’s red scarf, a reminder this man is not a cruel green scarf. The slight, constant tremor of the man’s pulse lulls Button to sleep.

The slight discomfort under his Adam’s apple startles Hosea awake. A life on the run has honed his reflexes to respond to anything that could remotely be life threatening, in this case, pressure on his windpipe. Though, as he opens his eyes, expecting to see someone throttling him, there’s nobody there. Curious, he glances down at where the pressure is. He almost laughs in relief when he sees Button’s tail swishing slightly from under his scarf. Grinning to himself, Hosea carefully reaches for a book, letting his new friend sleep.

Hosea had read a few chapters when he felt Button move, the little paws almost tickling his neck. When their head pops out from under the scarf, the poor thing still looks frightened of him.

“Hello Button,” he gives a smile, slowly moving one hand closer.

Button remains wary, even as Hosea extends a finger. A look of surprise spreads over Button’s face as Hosea gently strokes them behind the ear. The old conman is pleasantly surprised when, as he goes to take his hand away, Button wraps their arms around his fingers and pulls it back to near their ear. Hosea resumes stroking, chuckling as the borrower leans into his touch.

Hosea was a bit concerned. He’d been nothing but nice to Button, yet the borrower kept casting wary glances. He can’t take the suspense. He gently taps Button on the shoulder, giving them a little scritch behind the ear. Hosea uses his free hand to gesture to his face, imitating Button’s expression, then points to Button. Button alternates between looking at Hosea, then off into the distance.

Suddenly jumping away from of Hosea, Button starts drawing in the dirt. First, two borrowers, one with a button logo. Hosea points to the other one and gives Button a questioning look. Button taps their chin in thought, then holds two hands out as fists, then wraps the fingers of one hand around the fist if the other, before putting both hands to their chest with a content expression. Given the context, Button probably means friend. Hosea nods in understanding.

Button takes a while to draw out the story. They finish drawing a hat on one human character, before giving Hosea a startled look, then bolting off into the undergrowth.

Hosea feels a sad ache deep in his heart. Taking a breath to compose himself, he grabs his magnifying glass and studies Button’s story. It appears Button and a friend were caught by a human and tortured. Hosea nearly drops his magnifying glass when he finds out this human ate Button’s friend while Button saw it all.

Pattering footsteps make Hosea look up. Button has returned with an armful of leaves. They take one to the drawing of the eating human, placing the bright green leaf around the neck of the drawing like a scarf.

Hosea unsheathes his knife and stabs the image of the O’Driscoll, startling Button to jump in fright to avoid the blade. Hosea scoops up the borrower, holding them against his chest, finger curled around them protectively.

He immediately realizes it was a stupid thing to do. Part of him wants to be selfish and keep Button with him, but he doesn’t want the borrower to feel trapped. Curiously, Button doesn’t seem to be fighting. Their tiny hands and feet are light enough to only tickle his palms, and he can feel the tail swishing lightly. Hosea opens his hands slightly, trying not to frighten Button. Button, however, upon poking their head out from between Hosea’s fingers, is grinning broadly despite narrowly avoiding a knife blade then being swept up into a giant’s hands.

#hey look i can write #I'm still on an RDR2 G/t kick #that won't end any time soon #RDR2 G/t #Red Dead Redemption 2 #g/t #giant tiny #Hosea Matthews #is the best giant #pry that headcanon from my cold dead fingers #he'd use little people to rob other humans #but he'd spoil them too

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

OHHHH WE NED SOME OREO SMUT!!! PLLLEEEEAAASSEEEE !!!!

Anon 1: Could u do Cap fucking Loops? Pretty pls with a cherry on top! 🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒🍒

Anon 2: Pls do one with Regulus walking in on coops lmao

Ask and ye shall receive! We haven’t done smut in a while...

Side note: I LOVE the term Oreo smut and would like to clarify for folks that this is the evening/ night after Jules left in the babysitting fics series! Coops certainly earned their Oreos! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for smut, praise kink, showering together

They barely made it to the couch. Remus’ mind was too foggy already to even consider the living room windows—he whined when Sirius broke away to reach up and close the blinds, and pinned his shoulders back down as soon as the sunlight dimmed. “Come on, come here,” he panted between biting kisses, cupping Sirius’ jaw in his hands and grinding down until he made him moan. “There you are.”

“God—fuck—Re, I want you.” Sirius’ hands pressed hard into the muscle of his back and he shivered as a wave of tingles washed over him. Three weeks and they had only managed a single rushed blowjob before their game. It was a miracle neither of them had popped a blood vessel.

“Lube’s upstairs.” Remus hitched the hem of Sirius’ shirt up and threw it to the side, immediately running his palms down the warm, smooth skin. He bent down to bite along Sirius’ collarbone.

“Off, off.” Sirius had his shirt halfway over his head before Remus could blink and he reached back to tug it away, drawing a harsh exhale from Sirius’ chest.

“What?”

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” A broad hand closed around the back of his neck and pulled him back down as Sirius wrapped his other arm around his waist and rolled his hips, making them both gasp. “Sweetheart, please.”

The nickname raised a million goosebumps across his whole body and he nodded, fumbling Sirius’ belt off before attempting to get his button undone with clumsy fingers. “I’m so horny I can barely think right now, holy fuck.”

Finally, the button came free, and he yanked Sirius’ jeans down his thighs as two warm palms slid down the back of his pants to cup his ass. “I missed you.”

“That’s so not fair.” His grip tightened and Remus arched into the feeling; the front of Sirius’ boxers was already turning dark with his arousal and the clear outline of his dick pressed against the tight fabric. “I love you so fucking—”

The front door flew open and someone stumbled in. “Am I late—oh, shit!”

All three of them shouted in alarm; in a flash, Remus was on the floor, disoriented and wincing as his tailbone smarted with pain. “Regulus, fuck off!” Sirius spluttered as he held the knit blanket over his entire front.

“What the hell are you doing here? Close the fucking door!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Regulus didn’t take his hand off his eyes as he stumbled backward and shut the front door. “I promised I’d say goodbye to Jules, but my interview ran long and—”

“Get out!” Sirius and Remus shouted at the same time.

“Sorry!” He blindly felt for the doorknob and ended up bumping into the end table, which he apologized to as well.

With an infuriated huff, Sirius stood up and grabbed the back of Regulus’ shirt collar, wrenching the door open and carefully guiding him onto the porch without showing the entire neighborhood his underwear. “I love you, Reg, but I’m confiscating your key if you don’t learn how to knock.”

“I did knock!”

“Knock louder!”

“Jules already left, I assume?”

Sirius closed the door and locked it. “Uncover your eyes before you walk down the steps, they’re slippery!” he called through the wood.

“Thanks!” came Regulus’ muffled reply.

Sirius trudged back to the couch and flopped facedown into the pillows with a groan. “I love you, but I’m going to murder your little brother,” Remus said from the floor as he stared at the ceiling.

“Be my guest.”

“Are you still horny? Please tell me you’re still horny.”

Instead of responding, Sirius stood up and grabbed Remus’ hand, hauling him upright into a bruising kiss that turned his knees to jelly. “Upstairs. Right now.”

Remus stuck his lower lip out and rubbed his tailbone. “My ass hurts.”

“I can fix that.” Sirius reached down and swept him off his feet into a cradlehold. “Voila.”

“Careful, I might get used to this,” Remus teased, draping his arms around Sirius’ shoulders and leaving lovebites on his neck as he walked up the stairs; they both winced when his shin hit the bannister and Sirius carefully maneuvered them through the bedroom door before dropping Remus unceremoniously on the bed.

“Distracting me while I’m carrying you up a staircase may not have been the best idea, mon coeur,” he said as he pressed his mouth to Remus’ sternum and worked his pants down his legs.

Remus smiled and stretched his arms over his head. “I’ve got faith in you.”

“For someone who was just scolding me for fairness—” A quick squeeze of his hipbones made him gasp. “—I would hope you’d be less hypocritical.”

“Lucky for me you like it, hmm?”

“I guess so.” Warm weight pressed Remus into the sheets as Sirius finally reached his face, pulling him closer until their noses bumped. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“How’s your ass?”

Remus shrugged. “I mean, nowhere near as great as yours, but—”

“I meant are you okay?” Sirius laughed, pinching his ribs lightly. “You hit the floor pretty hard.”

“I’ll live,” Remus assured him with a brief kiss, licking into his mouth a bit. “Now hurry up, handsome.”

Sirius raised his eyebrows and propped himself on his elbows, just out of kissing range. “Hurry up? After three weeks of chastity? Hell no, sweetheart, I’m taking my time with you.”

A thrill raced through Remus’ belly and he ran his hands down Sirius’ sides. “Okay.”

“Yeah, you like the sound of that.” He grinned, leaning down to suck a hickey on the hinge of his jaw. “Want me to take my time? Go nice and slow?”

Remus angled his chin upward, but Sirius pulled away and he made a grumpy noise. “Not that slow.”

“Turn over.”

Captain voice!!! A small portion of his brain began throwing confetti and whooping, and he slowly turned onto his stomach, pillowing his head on his arms. Sirius waited there for a moment, straddling Remus’ waist and tracing patterns over his back; can’t make it too easy for him, he thought as he ground his hips upward.

Sirius smacked his thigh lightly. “Hey.”

“What?”

“You know what you did.”

“Do I?” Remus craned his neck to look over his shoulder and Sirius rolled his eyes.

“You always know what you’re doing. Are you going to be a brat today?”

Remus quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

His gaze darkened into tarnished silver and he snapped the band of Remus’ briefs before sliding them off and dragging open kisses down his spine, vanishing from his sightline. Remus gasped as his hand dug into one side of his ass and his teeth sank into the other. “You’ve got a bruise on your tailbone.”

“Sirius,” he warned.

“I know.” The light bite turned into a gentle kiss. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t. Just relax.”

Relax. I can do that. Remus settled his shoulders back into the pillow and exhaled slowly as Sirius littered his back with kisses and small bites, rubbing his thumbs in the divots on his lower back. “We haven’t been like this in a while,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

He felt Sirius smile against his shoulder blade. “We haven’t. I still want to see you, though.”

“That can be arranged.”

“Good boy.” The unexpected praise sent a jolt down Remus’ entire body and he shuddered; Sirius’ chest hitched. “That was fun.”

Remus definitely did not whine, and anyone who tried to claim otherwise had no proof. “Come on, baby.”

“I’m savoring the moment, sweetheart,” Sirius said with a smile in his voice as his breath ghosted past Remus’ ear and made his eyes fall shut. “Are you going to melt on me that quick?”

“I might.”

“Then turn over, I want to see how pretty you are.”

“I love it when you call me pretty,” Remus sighed, stretching his back as he rolled over again. His knees bracketed Sirius’ hips and he gave him a playful squeeze. “Nobody else has done that before.”

“Then everybody else is missing out.” Sirius took a deep breath as Remus drummed his fingers on his ribs and ran a palm down to slip under the elastic waistband of his underwear.

“These have been on too long. Off.”

Sirius gave him a look, but removed them all the same. “Who’s in charge here again?”

“I guess we’ll have to find out.” From the look in his eye, Remus could tell Sirius knew he was messing with him. He pushed upward in challenge, as if he was going to flip their positions, and Sirius firmly pressed his hip back down.

“It’s me.”

“Yes, Captain.” Remus bit his lower lip and saw Sirius’ eyes track the movement with a steady stare.

“You have done so much these past couple weeks while your family was here,” he said while he retrieved the lube from their nightstand. “And you were amazing with Jules, as always.”

Remus reached up and tucked a stray curl into its proper place. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Maybe. But right now, your only job is to lay there and relax, alright?”

“So I get to be a pillow princess tonight?” he laughed.

“A pillow prince,” Sirius corrected as a grin tugged at the side of his mouth. “A pillow lord. I’ll get you a crown if you want one.”

“But I like doing things for you.” Remus ran his thumb under Sirius’ eye, and he leaned into the touch, kissing his wrist. “And doing things to you.”

Sirius hummed in thought, settling onto his elbows as he uncapped the lube. “Let me rephrase, then. Your only job is to lay there and take it like a good boy for me. Think you can manage that?”

Remus tilted his head back and swallowed down a moan. “Yes.”

“You don’t have to be quiet for me,” he said, making his way down the column of Remus’ throat; his hands gently guided Remus’ thighs apart and first finger slid in after a moment of resistance. Teeth scraped against the long scar on his shoulder. “Just like that, sweetheart, you’re doing so well.”

“Yeah?” Remus breathed.

“Yeah. You can get a little melty if you want, I don’t mind.” Sirius moved his finger slowly, crooking it only once before resuming his steady presses. Remus almost missed the second and pushed back into it with a low noise of approval. The heavy warmth faded from his torso and neck as Sirius sat up—one of his palms wrapped partway around Remus’ thigh, pushing it back toward his chest and using his side as a brace to keep it there.

Remus’ eyes flashed open and he gasped; his hand flew over his head to grab the headboard as his other twisted in the sheets at the new angle. Sirius added a third finger and, after a minute of adjustment, began prepping him in earnest. “Fuck, that’s good,” Remus groaned, pushing back onto his fingers.

“Easy, sweetheart, no need to rush.”

“But I want to.” Remus pried his fingers off the headboard and pulled on Sirius’ shoulder. “Come on, fuck me already.”

“Not with that attitude.”

“Please, baby?” He made eye contact with Sirius and pouted his lower lip a bit; not enough to be true puppy eyes, but just on the right side of needy that it would catch his attention.

“You’re adorable.”

“And you’re drop-dead gorgeous.” A lazy smile spread across his face when Sirius hit his sweet spot and he arched into it, pressing his knee into the side of Sirius’ ribs. Thank god for flexibility, he thought. “Yeah, like that.”

“Like that?” Sirius pushed a little higher and Remus’ jaw went slack with a huff. He nodded, feeling desperation seep in, and Sirius’ lips twitched up. “Ready?”

“Been ready for fifteen minutes, but—oh.” Remus gripped Sirius’ forearms as he began to push in; between the lube and his special talent that still drove Remus half out of his mind, the glide was smooth. “Oh, fuck, I missed this.”

“Remember to breathe, mon coeur.” Sirius’ voice sounded tight and Remus took a shaky breath that turned into a whimper when he pulled out again.

“Wait, no, come back.”

Sirius laughed, a little strained as he dropped to his elbows and pressed their foreheads together. Remus wove his hands in the soft locks on pure reflex. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s so good with you every time.” The last few words came on a punched-out exhale as Sirius’ dick grazed his prostate; his leg spasmed at the feeling and he wrapped it around Sirius’ mid-back, doing his best to keep the other from sliding up as well.

“Are you sure?”

“Every time,” Remus said, firmer. “Every time, because it’s you oh my god keep doing that.”

“This?” Sirius pressed the pads of his fingers into the muscle of Remus’ lower back and ground into him, pulling a soft cry from his throat. “Good job. And you kept your leg up, too?” Remus nodded, breathless. “You’re doing so well. Remember, sweetheart, all you have to do is take it. That’s it.”

“Useful,” Remus panted. “Wanna be—wanna be good for you.”

“You don’t have to be useful to be good for me,” Sirius said softly, guiding one of his hands out of his hair to kiss his pulse point. “I always think you’re good.”

Remus gave him a playfully skeptical look. “Always?”

“Most of the time.” Sirius smiled and laced their fingers together, pressing his hand into the mattress by his head. “But you do that on purpose.”

“Looks like you’ve got me figured out.” He turned his head to the side as the next thrust made his vision speckle with black. “Need to get some new tricks.”

“Hmm.”

The pressure on his palm increased as Sirius transferred his weight and wrapped his hand around Remus’ shaft, giving him a quick tug that drew a strangled noise of surprise form him. His straight leg kicked out and nearly connected with Sirius’ ankle. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to.”

“It’s alright, I know you didn’t.” How the fuck does he keep his voice so even? Remus shuddered and squeezed Sirius’ waist between his thighs. “God, you’re strong now.”

“ ‘m I hurting you?”

“Nope.” Sirius kissed him, gentle in contrast to literally everything else he was doing that made the bed creak and Remus unravel. “I like it. I love you.”

The words made Remus feel all syrupy, like molasses replaced the blood in his veins. “I love you, too.”

“We’re getting married in five months, sweetheart.” Sirius mouthed along his neck and jaw, paying special attention to the edges of his scars and the freckles that had mostly faded throughout the winter. “Do you know what the best part of that is?”

“Huh?”

“I’ll get to tell everyone how amazing my husband is. How pretty, and strong, and talented, and wonderful.” Remus’ chest prickled with a blush and Sirius shushed him softly, skimming his thumb over the crown of his dick until he whined. “It’s the truth, mon coeur. You always get so flustered, it’s so cute.”

“Sirius—Sirius, baby, I’m gonna come if you keep doing that.” Remus gripped his hand and slid his thigh along his side, unable to stop the trembling in his torso. Sirius’ hand was tight and quick around him and the pressure—fuck, the pressure—was deep enough that Remus could practically feel it in his throat. “Sirius, Sirius, please.”

“Any time you want, Re,” Sirius said, though his voice had become breathier. “Any time. You deserve it.”

Remus came with a gasping moan, pressing the side of his face into the pillows and flexing his fingers around Sirius’ as he arched his back. Sirius stroked him through it like the absolute sweetheart he was, and after taking a moment to collect his scattered thoughts, Remus pushed him onto his back.

His hip was a bit sore from holding his leg up for so long, but not so sore that he couldn’t ride out the aftershocks and bring Sirius over the edge as well. He ground down slowly, bringing one of Sirius’ hands up to kiss his wrist between heavy breaths. “You with me yet?” he asked into the sweat-salted skin. He pulled off his dick and laid on top of Sirius’ chest, running a hand through his hair.

Sirius muttered something unintelligible and draped his arms over Remus’ back, pulling him close enough to hug. “We rocked parenting this week,” he said after a few heartbeats of comfortable quiet.

“Damn right we did.”

“We totally deserved the last…” He cracked an eye open to glance at the bedside clock. “Hour of activity.”

“Except Regulus.”

“Except fucking Regulus, mon dieu,” Sirius laughed. “I really am going to take away his house key.”

“I think he’s going to need therapy,” Remus snorted and tossed the lube into the drawer again.

“He didn’t see anything terrible, it’s fine.” Sirius closed his eyes with a smile and tucked his face into Remus’ neck. “Hmmm, goodnight.”

“Oh, no, no, no, we’re showering.” A truly spectacular pout made him laugh. “At least, I’m showering, and you’re welcome to join me.”

The pout disappeared into a puppylike grin and Remus clambered out of bed, pulling his ridiculous fiancé along by the hand as they stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the water.

“We’ll need to buy more lube soon. We’re almost out,” Sirius said, snagging Remus’ shampoo off the bathtub ledge.

“You know that’s mine, right?”

“Yup. Turn around.”

“Every now and then I get a little bit nervous, that the best of all the years have gone by,” Remus sang under his breath as Sirius’ carefully ran a hand through his hair.

“Turn around.”

“Every now and then I get a little bit terrified, and then I see the look in your eyes!”

“Turn around!”

“Every now and then I fall apart!” they half-sang, half-shouted together.

Remus closed his eyes as shampoo began running down his forehead. “And I need you here tonight!” he belted with far more drama than strictly necessary. “And I need you more than ever!”

“And if you only hold me forever…?” Sirius trailed off slightly.

“It’s ‘and if you only hold me tight’,” Remus said, mock-exasperated. “God, Sirius, it’s like you don’t even want to be Bonnie Tyler.”

“My bad,” he laughed, kissing the back of Remus’ shoulder. “Ugh, I got soap in my mouth.”

“Thanks for washing my hair.”

“Thanks for correcting my lyrics.”

“Anything for you, love.” Remus leaned in for a kiss, making sure to keep his face out of the shower spray. He was pleasantly sore and absolutely exhausted—a good night’s sleep sounded like well-deserved perfection right about now.

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binniesthighs · 3 years

Note

Ooo ooo ooo seungmin naughty?? And if possible felix nice??

skz hard hours are open! naughty or nice~

these are two very powerful combos anon 😏 thanks for sending it in!

seungmin + naughty

~your body is screaming, practically ripping apart from his fervor between your legs. its no help that the spray from the water cant make you any cooler. your footing feels slippery where you teeter on the marble floor of his shower, but he would never let you fall. seungmin growls tiny kisses to your neck where he leaves behind the pressure from his mouth. he's almost distracting you. with your nails you claw down his back: right over his muscles that twitch from holding you upright. up and down they go while you make sense of his pace. even though its merely his fingers, the long digits still fill you entirely, and screw into you with a perfect curve. he hoists your thigh up for better access, and it only sends him deeper. "h-harder..." you can barely whisper.

felix + nice

~sunday mornings are your favorite with your boyfriend. no where to go, no where to be. just a mess of blankets, and the feeling of being so safe you almost forget that there's an outside world. its a bit too hot for the summer all tangled like this, but you don't dare move. felix kisses the tip of your nose, and then your forehead with a little giggle. your happy fingers mix up with his shirt and draw little squiggles around his back and to his sides; it tickles him. his laughter floats over to your mouth when you kiss him right on his peachy-pink lips. the vibrations on your skin feel like the euphoric buzzing of bees. he cradles your face to pull you in closer and part your lips with his. your boyfriend has never tasted sweeter

#skz hard hours #stray kids hard hours #seungmin smut #lee felix smut #binniesthighs 💌

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

Note

sub jk?? 😶😶😶

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)

Wordcount: 2,0k

Genre: drabble, pwp, fluff, established relationship

Rating: 18+

This was SO! MUCH! FUN! TO! WRITE! Thank you, nonnie. Also, sorry if I got carried away with wordcount, I couldn’t help it 😳🥴🥴🥴 This is literally pwp. Just a drabble where bestest boi Jeon Jungkook is super sweet and begs a lot.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: sub!Jk (obvs), Domme!Reader; Candy is super horny and has a severe case of wandering hands. Brief handjob male receiving (just very casual palming); boobjob and blowjob; use of lube (again, let’s normalise using it); edging; hand pinning; mild mommy kink; grinding/humping with clothes off; praise kink; brief unprotected penetration (please don’t do that unless you and your partner(s) are safe); cockwarming; creampie; switch!Jk at the very very end.

Jeongguk standing at the kitchen counter, fixing breakfast, shirtless at the crack of dawn was something that always made you horny.

Simply watching those back muscles flex and flutter was a sight to behold.

He was humming a tune under his breath as he cut and cleaned an avocado, your chocolate milk already on a cup as it cooled down a little, so that you could drink it without burning your tongue. He always made it a bit hotter since he knew you always took your time before waking up — or rather, before getting out of bed.

Your feet padded softly against the linoleum floor, lazily walking toward him.

As you stood behind him, you placed your hands around his waist before sliding them to his front spreading your fingers against his taut abdomen, dragging them upward, toward his pectorals, flattening your palm against the thick muscles.

“Good morning to you,” he said with a teasing tone.

“'Morning,” you replied, placing your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Your breakfast is ready.” He said, spreading some sliced strawberries over your toast.

“Mhhh...” You commented nuzzling your nose against his spine, your thumbs toying with his nipples. “How long do we have?”

“I have a free morning...” He said, chuckling.

“Free morning on a Saturday? Am I dreaming?” You asked, incredulous, letting one of your hands roam down, to the waistband of his sweats.

He stopped your wandering hand. “Are you feeling needy?” He asked, his chin resting on his shoulder as he looked at you from the corner of his eye.

“Can you blame me? You're hot first thing in the morning.” You said, standing on your tiptoes and kissing his nape.

He let go of your wrist, silently giving you the green light to slide your fingers into his sweats.

You inhaled his scent, leaning your forehead against him before tentatively teasing his pelvis by raking your nails gently against his skin.

“Do you want breakfast or shall we go back to bed?” He asked, feeling your small hand skim the sensitive length of his cock, up and down before wrapping your fingers around it, exploring how it hardened and fluttered and pulsed into life, tracing the spot where his shaft met his balls.

“Let's go to bed.” You murmured, cupping him and teasing his skin with the edge of your teeth.

He chuckled and tugged your hand out of his pants. “I need to walk.” He said, grinning down at you with the most mischievous expression.

As soon as you both reached the bedroom, he stood with his back to the bed, you standing right in front of him as he pulled his sweats down, taking them off entirely before sitting on the bed and crawling backward.

"Aren't you going to take off your shirt?" He asked, staring at you. "Well, my shirt, but you're wearing it..."

"Semantics," you commented, crawling toward him, settling down in between his spread legs and removing the problematic item.

"How do you want me?" He asked, sitting up, ready for you to direct him.

You pushed him with his back to the mattress, the soft light coming in through the blinds making the atmosphere intimate enough for a steamy rendezvous. “Just lay there,” you said, straddling his waist as you stretched to the bedside table, his hands landing on your ass lightly, your body laying on top of his as you fumbled with the drawer, finding a small plastic bottle and taking it with you, climbing down his body even though his hands felt so good groping your ass.

You kissed his strong thighs in the process, making sure that you teased them a little with your teeth and tongue. “Hands off,” you said as soon as you felt him touch your hair.

He obeyed. “Kinky.” He said grinning, crossing them behind his head and watching you get to

“Quiet.” You warned.

When he heard your voice, he immediately changed his attitude. “Sorry.”

You smirked and stood on your knees, uncapping the bottle and squeezing a line of lube from his base to his tip as his cock arched invitingly all the way to his belly, leaning slightly to the left. Looking at it felt almost forbidden at the beginning, but now here you were, considering how its proportions fit you perfectly, the long shaft matched with a less conspicuous girth. You doubted you could have handled him had he been even a millimeter thicker.

Drawing another line of lube, you heard him hiss.

You looked at him with a small sneer.

“Cold,” he pouted, as his glutes twitched with a tiny thrust.

You grinned and poured some lube on your palm, “Don’t worry, I’ll warm you up baby.” You said, leaning down, rubbing your wet hand to your chest, focusing on the valley between your breasts.

His eyes opened wide. “Oh god, yes.”

You smiled, placing your mouth on his thigh, tempting him before biting down, eliciting a tight growl.

“I said quiet.” You scolded him before caging his cock between your breasts. “You answer when I talk to you. Got it?”

He nodded quickly.

“Be verbal, baby.” You encouraged him.

He looked you in the eye, feeling slightly insecure, out of his depth. “Yes, Candy.”

“Good boy.” You said, sliding up and down, just once.

He began purring, but he managed to control himself, holding back after half a second.

“That’s my good boy.” You praised him again, watching as his arms started moving a little, struggling to stay still.

Slowly you gave him another pump. “Feels nice, sweetie?” You asked, looking up at his lovely face, scrunched up as he tried to restrain himself from pushing his hips against you.

“Feels nice, Candy. So nice.” He replied, trying to be ‘verbal’, as you had asked him, but also barely managing to stay sane.

You picked up your rhythm. “Look into my eyes, baby bun.” You called, staring at his sealed eyelids, waiting for them to flutter open.

Licking his lips, he obeyed, his dark pupils dilated because of the darkness and all the lust.

Lewdly, you lolled your tongue out, licking his tip and kissing it, sucking on it until it popped into your mouth, your teeth grazing the sensitive spot where his glans met his shaft, your head bobbing a couple times before you released him and started stroking him again.

"Oh god, Candy, I'm..." His eyes held your gaze for a second before you let go of your tits just slightly, reducing the pressure on him.

He threw his head back and groaned. “Please.”

Oh, that was the first of a long series. You meant to make him beg at least twenty times. Minimum.

You gave him a couple tentative licks, watching him catch his breath and unwind.

As soon as he looked like he had a grip, you went back on him with all your might, immediately sucking his tip aggressively while your boobs worked his shaft.

“Oh, please. Please, Candy, so good.” He whined, his voice so sweet as he softly, unconsciously switched to his satoori. “It’s too good.” He rumbled, giving a few thrusts up before you let go of your tits and placed your palms on his hips, pushing him down, momentarily denying him the privilege of your mouth.

“Stay put. No pushing.” You warned him, laying small pecks all the way from the base to the tip before swallowing him.

His arms immediately tried to go for your hair, but he managed to control himself and grip the sheets at his sides instead.

As you saw him behave, you added your boobs in the equation, immediately conjuring a moan from him that slowly turned into a breathy whimper. “Please, baby. I need you. Please, wanna cum. Lemme cum, I'll be so good to you.” He begged, desperate. “I've been so good.” He reiterated, trying to appeal for your mercy.

You pulled him out of your mouth and worked him with your hands a little. “You've been a good boy?” You asked, using your thumb to tease his slit, bringing your finger to your mouth once it was smeared in his precum.

“I've been so good.” His light voice contrasted with the tone he usually used for satoori. It was so sexy, the dragging of the vowels, the consonants with their smooth edges. It was a light mumbling.

You got on your knees and crawled until you found yourself straddling his hips.

“How good?” You asked, bracing your palms on his pecs, the pads of your thumbs circling the small areolae of his nipples, a few shades darker than his skin.

“I was making breakfast… I made you feel so good last night…” He tried to defend himself. “I'm always so good to you.” He babbled as he felt the warmth of your cunt cover his shaft. “Please, I'm your good boy. Please, Candy.”

Your pelvis started grinding against him.

“Please… I— I need it so bad. Please, baby.”

Your eyes rolled back as you felt his taut, slippery, hot flesh rub against your most intimate part. “What do you need, pretty boy?” You asked, moving one hand to cup his cheek.

“Inside, please, love.”He said, his abs twitching, his eyes struggling to stay open. You looked down, noticing his abdomen stained in a mix of lube and precum, pouring frequently and abundantly from his slit.

“So close…” He whimpered. “I'm begging you. Inside, Candy, ____.”

“Say the magic words, baby.” You said, licking your lips and smiling deviously as you felt him whine like the loveliest puppy.

“I love you, please inside…” He said, placing his hands on your ass. “Love you so much… God, Candy… I—”

You caught his wrists with a tut and pinned them atop of his head, stretching forward so that your breasts were bouncing right against his chest, your clit pressing more harshly against his sex.

“Please, Candy please, so good. Mommy please, inside.” He whimpered.

You felt your body melt. He'd never called you that before.

Never.

And you never thought you could like it, until it blossomed from his lips so gently and desperately, his body weak with tiny hiccups and moans, sweat covering his forehead, his soft chocolate locks fanned on the pillow like tender tendrils of darkness blooming around him.

“Mommy, please let me… I need it.” He cried out, his eyes watering as he opened them with so much difficulty.

Freeing one had, you brought it between your legs and slipped him in.

“Yes,” He moaned in relief, “thank you, mommy.” He said with a strained voice before you gave him a squeeze with your kegels.

Two thrusts and he was gone, completely blissed out, his eyes so grateful as they met yours before shutting down, his mouth opening in voiceless pleasure, his abs pulsing with the same pattern as his cock inside you, his chest staying wide and full for half a minute as he copiously spilled inside you, his lungs deflating as his high subsided, his seed pouring out of your hole and dribbling down his cock.

“Koo,” you said, letting his wrists go, his hands immediately coming for his face, covering his eyes.

“I'm so sorry, that's so embarrassing…” He said, trying to escape your curious gaze.

“It was so sweet, baby.” You said, kissing his cheek. “It was a little out of the blue, but it was really, really cute, Koo.” You said, nuzzling your nose against his jaw.

“It was amazing.” He said, hugging you to his chest. “And, I'm sorry for… That. I don't know what happened…”

“We can talk about that whenever you're ready. Or we can completely forget about it. Still, I think I sort of liked it…?” You said, dubious. “So I'd really like it if we talked about this sometime… Take it into consideration. If you're comfortable, that is.” You clarified.

Jeongguk looked at you silently for a minute. “Yes. Sure. I mean, I never really brought that up because it's something… It makes me vulnerable, but… I'd like it if we… took it into consideration.” He said, titubant but also relieved. “However…” He mused, “I think we have more pressing matters to consider.” He said, thrusting gently inside you before throwing you on your back.

All shyness gone, he spoke with a grin. “Your turn.”

#Jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook #Sub!jungkook #bts blog #bts smut #bts fanfic blog

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novelconcepts · 4 years

Text

fic: heading into the dark (and we’ve got to hang on to each other)

Life, as Dani Clayton sees it, is full of darkness. Little darknesses, like a mother who draws away even as she continues to draw breath, and big darknesses, like loss that comes out of absolutely nowhere, and all the variations in between. Life is unpredictable. It’s ugly. It’s cruel.

Life also grants the laughter of small children, and wonderful dinners prepared by good friends, and Jamie’s hand in hers.

There is, certainly, no shortage of lights in the dark.

***

“Teach me,” she says one day, a month or two into the great experiment that is Moving to America with Jamie. “Come on.”

“Teach you,” Jamie repeats dryly. “To incur lung cancer?”

“You do it,” Dani points out, aware that she sounds rather petulant and not particularly caring. Jamie’s smiling the half-smile she gets whenever she’s about to let herself get talked over the edge of something. “Come on, I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

Jamie shakes her head, but she’s already lost this battle, and she knows it. Her foot braced behind her on the wall outside their apartment, she turns her head toward the setting sun and exhales a long stream of blue smoke. “Fine, sure. But when you love it, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I hardly think I’m in danger of--”

“Shut up and c’mere.” She cups her hand around the half-smoked cigarette, holding it up for Dani’s assessment. It’s awkward, the pass-off between her hand and Dani’s more of a fumble than anything else, and Dani nearly drops the damn thing. Jamie laughs. “Easy, now, don’t go wasting it. Now. Put it--”

“I know where to put it,” Dani laughs. Jamie raises her brows teasingly.

“I’ll just bet you do. Okay, right, here’s the thing. When you inhale, you’re gonna want to take it slow. Nice and easy, but make sure you’re pulling the smoke deep into your lungs, or it’ll defeat the whole--”

Dani’s already sucking in a breath, and she’s just realized Jamie’s eyes have gone wide when her body recoils from the invasive swirl sweeping into her lungs like a hurricane.

“Easy, I said!” Jamie pries the cigarette from Dani’s suddenly-limp grasp as she doubles over on a gagging cough. Her lungs burn, her hand groping for Jamie’s sleeve, and even though it feels fucking awful, there’s something so wonderfully steadying about Jamie’s hand rubbing circles between her shoulder blades.

“Now’s not the time for an old-fashioned I-told-you-so, is it?”

Eyes streaming, Dani tries to fix her with a glare, but Jamie’s outlined in the red-gold of a setting sun, her lips pursed around the cigarette once more, and she can’t find it within herself to do anything but laugh.

***

“You really don’t know how?”

“Don’t laugh,” Jamie grumbles. “Never got around to it, is all.”

Dani’s leaning forward, practically falling off the beach chair in her excitement. Jamie, she has learned over these past few months together, is not the sort of person who doesn’t know things. She may not be good at everything she tries--she’s a rotten cook, for example, though a passable baker--but it sometimes feels like Jamie’s lived more in thirty years than Dani will if granted twice that time. Sometimes, when Jamie is sweeping a billiards table, or fixing a door hinge, or replacing a bit of questionable wiring in the bathroom without managing to electrocute either of them, Dani catches herself thinking there’s nothing Jamie doesn’t know.

She can never decide if this is more overwhelming or reassuring, truthfully.

But this. This is just too damn good.

“You have to let me teach you,” Dani says. “You have to, come on.”

“I think you’ll find I don’t,” Jamie says, arms crossed over her chest. Dani slides from her chair, darting a glance around. It’s unseasonably chilly for June in California, the sky a mottled blue-gray that suggests a storm could strike at any moment. The beach is blessedly clear, and she takes the opportunity to slip into Jamie’s lap.

“Please? It’ll make me so happy, to get to teach you something, for once.”

She can see Jamie doing the calculations, brow furrowed over uncertain eyes. On the one hand, if learning how to swim had been on her radar, she likely would have picked it up ages ago; on the other, Dani’s arms are around her neck, nails tracing lightly under the tousle of her hair, and this is not the sort of conversation starter that often leads to Jamie saying the word “no.”

“Right,” she says grumpily at last. Dani isn’t quite sure whether it’s the batting of her eyelashes or the scrape of short nails across the nape of Jamie’s neck that gets the job done, but Jamie is hoisting them both out of the white plastic chair. “Fine, then, Poppins. Lead me to the slaughter.”

The rain holds off all afternoon, long enough for Jamie’s uneasy flapping in shallow waves to transition into clumsy-yet-useful buoyancy. When Dani places a hand lightly beneath her back and eases her into a calm float, her brow creases.

“Hey,” Dani says quietly. Her free hand cups Jamie’s cheek, smoothing salty water into her skin. “Look at me. You trust me?”

“Always,” Jamie replies, the word coming almost before Dani’s question is complete. She opens her eyes, and Dani smiles.

“I’d never let you drown, Jamie. Promise. And who knows? This might come in handy someday.”

***

“It’s...big,” Dani says, a bit nervously. Laughter explodes out of Jamie like a firecracker.

“It’s not! It’s wee as all hell, Poppins.”

“Bigger than I thought,” Dani amends. “You sure we can keep a place like this afloat?”

The idea of running a business still seems like something out of an extended fever, if she’s honest with herself. At first, it had been a laugh--a conversation held over an empty pizza box and two spent bottles of wine, with her head in Jamie’s lap and her legs all twisted under a blanket. She’d told Jamie she felt weird about getting back into teaching, about the idea of subjecting any kids to whatever mad road her mind might lead her down.

“They’ll need to be able to rely on me,” she’d said, a little too drunk to really feel the weight of the sentiment. Jamie’s fingers drifted through her hair, her thumb catching on the shell of her ear. “Can’t do that if your teacher’s in the middle of losing her marbles.”

“You’re not,” Jamie had said, with that soft resolution Dani loved so much in her. “But s’all right. You don’t have to go back just yet--ever, if you don’t want to. We can do something else for an honest buck.”

It was a conversation, a way to make herself feel better about the imminent future and all its secrets...and then, seemingly all at once, it was real. A real little shop, just down the block from their apartment, with a real counter and real shelves and a real back room for custom arrangements. Jamie could grow here, anything she liked. And Dani could bask in the peculiar sensation of having a purpose again, even if not the one she’d expected.

It’s a lot those first few days--weeks--months, but a year in, Dani finds she’s taken to the shop like almost nothing else in her life. She loves talking to the people who bustle in looking for arrangements for mothers and wives and graduation events. She loves the way Jamie tends to the flowers with a gentle hand, always willing to pop off a fact or insight about any given type. She especially loves the way Jamie looks at closing time each night, the way she combs her shaggy hair back from her eyes and leans over each bud in turn to murmur reassurances. Back in the morning. You all get on, best behavior, until we meet again.

She slips up behind Jamie, arms around her middle, and rests her chin on Jamie’s shoulder. “I like that you do that. Talk to them.”

Jamie favors her with a soft, tired smile. “Nothin’ ever blossomed without good communication, Poppins.”

***

Dani starts saying I love you so much faster than either of them is prepared for. The first time the words slip from her mouth, they’re standing in the devastation of what once qualified as their kitchen. Batter drips down the side of the refrigerator. There’s flour caked in Jamie’s hair, giving the effect of a grumpy old witch woman whose magic potion rebelled in the most cataclysmic sense.

“Swear to Christ,” she says gruffly. “I had the damn mixer in the damn bowl.”

The way Dani sees it, there are two ways to respond to this: with scolding, or with hysterical laughter. She settles on the latter almost without conscious decision, scooping up a handful of flour and tossing it into the air like confetti. Jamie’s mouth opens and closes, words not quite enough for the moment.

“You,” she says, “are irreverent.”

“And you,” Dani replies, skating across the slippery tile until she has Jamie backed up against the postcard-bedazzled front of the fridge. “You’re wonderful.”

Jamie looks like she wants to contradict this statement, perhaps thinking of the cake that now decorates the walls. “This was going to be for your birthday, you--”

Dani is kissing her, hands gripping Jamie’s collar. She hasn’t felt this relaxed in weeks, melting against Jamie when hands settle around her waist like Jamie’s been looking for a reason to give in all afternoon.

“I--could still--” Jamie’s mouth moves down her neck, more than half distracted from her own words. “--fix it--”

“You’re right where you’re supposed to be,” Dani tells her, or thinks she does; it’s a bit hard to focus with Jamie’s hand sliding around and down that way, with Jamie’s hips bucking lightly against her.

“It’s like you don’t even want a birthday cake,” Jamie murmurs, biting her shoulder gently through the thin fabric of a co-opted Blondie shirt. “Did I say you could borrow this?”

“Take it back, then,” Dani breathes.

Later, tucked together against the cabinets, she turns her face against Jamie’s neck. Her hand is trapped between the tile and Jamie’s back, going steadily numb. Moving isn’t even a concept.

“I love you,” she says. It comes out a little slurred, a little sleepy, but entirely true. Jamie raises her head, shifting to look her in the face.

“It’s all to do with my grade-A baking talents, isn’t it?”

***

Jamie doesn’t say it back right away. Most of the time, Dani gets it. Doesn’t want to push. There was so much of that in her old life, in what she sometimes thinks of as the Era of Danielle--every step of the way with Edmund felt like someone was standing behind her, hands pressed into her back, shoving her along. Into a man, yes, but more than that: into a preconceived notion. Be somebody’s wife. Be somebody’s answer to the question of who they want to be in the world. Be small, be quiet, be the person who says yes and yes and yes, absolutely, even when you want to scream.

The last thing she’d ever do is push Jamie, so she doesn’t make a big deal out of it. If Jamie loves her--and Dani’s fairly confident she does, at least on the days when the old ghosts aren’t cracking out of the walls to tell her otherwise--then Jamie will get around to it on her own merit.

Still, when Jamie does, it takes her by surprise.

“I’m pretty in love with you, it turns out,” she says, like she’s been steeling herself for this moment for weeks--and, Dani thinks, judging by the single moonflower on the counter, she probably has. Jamie, who pretends to play the game of life with such casual disinterest. Jamie, who pretends it’s all one-day-at-a-time. Jamie, who spent hours in secret cultivating this one tiny symbol that says so unbelievably much about her, just so she could tell Dani all this in the right way.

There’s a couch in the back room, a wide squashy old beast that Dani had been adamantly opposed to when Jamie first pointed it out. “It’s ridiculous. What are we going to do with that?”

She has to admit, pulling Jamie along and latching the door behind them, that it seems like an excellent idea now. It’s only by the thinnest grace of self-preservation--she likes this shop, likes this life, would very much like not to be run out of Vermont by some old-fashioned jackass peering through their window and seeing too much--that they make it to the couch at all.

“It’s okay, then,” Jamie says, falling backward onto overstuffed brown leather and pulling Dani with her. “This problem of ours?”

Dani kisses her, the giddiness and desire so powerful a combination, she almost feels drunk with it. Jamie laughs into her mouth, one hand already working the buttons of her blouse, that laugh turning into a low, liquid groan. Dani, fingers slipping between waistband and skin, has already beaten her to the punch.

It’s in moments like these, she thinks. Moments like these where everything falls into place. Not just being with Jamie, but being with Jamie here, in a place they own, on their own terms. Not just being with Jamie, but being with a Jamie who has been clarifying her love for a year, doing so with hot tea and cool smiles and repairs around the house and gentle reassurances. She said it here, planned out like a proposal, and she’s saying it again and again--”love you, fuck, love you--” as Dani winds them closer together, but it wasn’t the first time. Not really. Jamie’s been saying it since the moment she took Dani by the hand and asked if she wanted company while she waited for the darkness to consume her.

Jamie rocks under her, making a softly desperate little noise into her mouth, and Dani has never felt so understood. Never quite put it together like this before. That Jamie thought she had to say it a certain way, show it a certain way, is wonderful and absurd and silly.

“I like this problem,” she says. “Best problem I’ve ever had.”

***

“You like it?”

Jamie’s voice is too-casual. The kind of casual that says, look, if you don’t like it, I’ll understand, but I’ll spend the next six months going slowly crazy coping with that knowledge. Jamie gets this kind of “casual” only so often, and usually, Dani likes to string it along before reassuring her. It’s a little mean, maybe, but the way Jamie always sags against the nearest bit of furniture with a hand over her eyes, groaning, “Jesus Christ, Poppins, you could just be gentle with me” does something exceptionally pleasant to her stomach.

This time, she’s not even thinking about teasing Jamie.

This time, she’s just staring.

“If you don’t like it,” Jamie says, a bit more hurriedly now, “you can say so. I mean. Can’t do much about it, truth be told, but we can work through the issue. Get into some couple’s therapy, talk it out...”

“Stop talking,” Dani says through a shockingly dry mouth. “Please.”

Jamie’s mouth swings shut with a little click. Dani rises from the chair she’d been curled in, feet tucked under as she flipped through a Stephen King novel that hit just a little too close to home. She moves across the living room like a sleepwalker.

Jamie, expression somewhere between warily anticipatory and genuinely frightened, is still holding the hem of her shirt aloft. Dani pauses, swaying slightly, a magnetism rising between them that she sometimes thinks should fade with time, should logically become less as the years become more. For a long beat, they just look at one another.

She’s sinking to her knees before she realizes, hand sliding up Jamie’s stomach to grasp her fingers, the shirt hem, clutch both tight. Jamie drags in a breath.

“Oh. S’like that.”

“Apparently,” Dani mutters, closing her free hand around Jamie’s hip and pressing her mouth to the line of flowers rising from the band of her jeans, coiling around the left side of Jamie’s stomach. Jamie sucks in a breath.

“Okay, when I was sitting for the thing, I certainly wasn’t thinking, Poppins has a thing for tattoos, but can’t say I’m complaining...”

“How long?” Dani asks, the words muffled around slow, deliberate kisses. Jamie rocks back on her heels, one hand sliding down into Dani’s hair for balance.

“I know you are not asking me detail-oriented questions while you do that.”

Dani pauses, grins, waits. Jamie groans.

“How long did it take, or how long have I wanted a bloody tattoo?”

“The latter.” The flowers are blue and white, strung along a twisting vine. Dani is presently making it her personal life goal to kiss each and every one, licking gently upward as she goes. Jamie’s eyes flutter, grip tightening.

“You are a truly--”

“Tread wisely,” Dani murmurs, biting at her hipbone. Jamie inhales.

“’Bout a year. Or maybe six weeks. Or maybe my whole life, I dunno, sometimes these things just sneak up on you.”

“Tattoos sneak up on you?” Dani tilts her head back, grinning. Jamie peers down at her, hair falling messily across her forehead, expression soft.

“Wouldn’t be the first thing.”

She gets more as the years go on--little yellow daffodils, chains of wildflowers, small, carefully rendered roses--almost always in places easily hidden. Each time, the sight of ink on pale skin, the patient way Jamie quietly explains each one in bed, letting Dani map them out beneath curious palms, sets her heart racing in a way she can’t explain.

It’s the permanence, she thinks the day Jamie comes home with a small moonflower on her inner forearm. It’s the promise of the thing.

It’s the tomorrow of it all.

***

“How hard can it be to put together a bedframe, Dani,” she mimics. Even to her own ears, her voice is shrill. She’s making too big a deal out of this, and she knows it.

But for fuck’s sake, sometimes Jamie is hard-headed.

“I’ll have it done in an hour, Dani,” she goes on, hands windmilling above her head. “I know you’ve got a busy day, so just leave it to me, Dani.”

“Okay,” Jamie says, “okay, I know you’re upset, but in what world have I ever used your name that many times in a sitting?”

Dani freezes, turning slowly on her heel. Jamie takes a step back.

“Right, correct, this is not the moment for glib.”

“Jamie,” Dani sighs. “You promised.”

“I did,” Jamie agrees, “and I could say I tried, but we both know how I feel about lying...”

The apartment is a little bigger than their last, and everything fits all different. Dani knows it’s going to be good for them--they outgrew the last place far sooner than either had wanted to admit, and this one has a beautiful view of a park. Plenty of space for Jamie’s ever-growing plant collection. Plenty of space for stretching out and warming the cozy little world they’ve built together.

Still, it’s different, and different has a way of setting Dani’s teeth on edge. There’s something about a new home that reminds her of moving into Bly a lifetime ago--the exhilaration mixing with trepidation mixing with shadows she doesn’t yet know the names of. They've been here a week, sleeping in a blanket fort in the living room, Dani waking most mornings with carpet marks dug deep into her skin. She wants their room situated. She wants to sleep in their bed.

She wants Jamie to build the damn frame like she promised three days ago.

“I sometimes have trouble telling,” Jamie says, her accent thicker as it always is when she’s reasonably sure she’s stepped in it. “Am I actually in trouble?”

Dani sighs. “Jamie...”

“Oh.” Jamie edges closer. She’s dressed for battle, Dani notes, in shorts that barely qualify as legal and her softest flannel shirt. The very shirt, if Dani looks closely enough, Dani herself slipped into after a shower about two weeks ago and sent Jamie gaping at her like she’d been hypnotized.

“Don’t,” Dani warns, remembering all too well the way Jamie had behaved the last time this shirt saw daylight. “Don’t, Jamie. I’m trying to be mad at you.”

“I can see that,” Jamie agrees. “You might say that’s why I’m making this desperate bid for, ahh, not being in the doghouse.”

“Jamie.” Dani manages to turn the word into about eleven syllables, which usually has some effect, but Jamie’s already within the proverbial walls. Her hands are riding up Dani’s ribcage, dangerously high, her smile the kind of charming only a heart of stone could resist.

It’s cheating, and Jamie knows it, and Dani wants to point this out, but Jamie’s got her backed up against the mattress. The mattress that should be on a nice, well-made, sturdy frame. The mattress they could both be on top of right now, if only Jamie had just--if Jamie had--

“This is incredibly unfair,” she groans. Jamie, busy kissing her throat with slow, open-mouthed abandon, says nothing. Dani grasps at her shoulders with both hands, squeezing flannel between her fists, and lets her weight fall backward. Jamie holds her up, one hand up the back of her skirt, the other testing the resistance of her sweater.

“You,” she gasps, even as Jamie moves a leg between her thighs and rocks gently, “are still in trouble.”

“Mmhmm,” Jamie agrees, a million miles away. She’s nipping at Dani’s earlobe now, and Dani can feel her grinning.

“You are still putting the goddamn bed together, Jamie.”

“Sure,” Jamie says, husky, and presses her harder against the mattress. “Later.”

“Honestly, how do you do this every time?”

***

“You sure about this?”

“Yes.” The answer is kind of actually no, but curiosity is getting the best of her. Anyway, it won’t be like before, the first time she ever tried to bum a cigarette off of Jamie and wound up nearly throwing up into the street. A couple of years and an indeterminate amount of cigarettes later, she’s got the art of it down, though she’s not what she’d call a smoker, per se.

(She’s not, but try telling Jamie that. Just because she sometimes slips the cigarette from between Jamie’s fingers in a restaurant, or when they’re lounging outside after a long day, or in bed after a particularly effective round of Jamie getting herself out of trouble. Dani finds the act soothing, but only if Jamie has already lit up and taken a puff. Then and only then does it feel like sharing part of Jamie.)

“It’s different,” Jamie warns. “Not saying you can’t handle it, mind, but--”

“Just show me how it’s done, Jamie.”

This challenge, she utters in her lowest voice, and Jamie raises an eyebrow. “I see what you’re doing, Poppins.”

“What am I doing?”

Fact of the matter is, she’s having a very specific kind of day. The kind where her mind keeps drifting. The kind where memory feels heavier than it has in years. It’s not the first time she’s had a day this heavy, nor will it be the last, but it still bothers her.

She hasn’t told Jamie. Doesn’t feel like she needs to, not yet. This doesn’t quite feel like beast-in-the-jungle territory so much as that old twisting panic, the old sense that she’s missing a test everyone else has studied for. When her mind edges her down this path, all she ever wants--all she can ever do about quieting it--is to hold close to Jamie.

Jamie, who is giving her a searching look now, even as nimble fingers roll a joint. “Sure you’re sure? Only, if you’re not up for it, I’m not going to judge.”

“Jamie. Do you trust me?”

Jamie’s mouth turns up at the corners. “Always.”

“Then get it started and hand it over.” She’s laughing a little, a nervous burble laugh that makes her feel more tethered to her own body. Jamie reaches over, closing a hand over her wrist and squeezing.

“Your wish and all that, Poppins. But do me a favor? Go easy this time.”

She takes the first hit, and then a second, leaning back against the green granite counter and exhaling slowly toward the ceiling. For a minute, it’s enough for Dani just to watch her: relaxed posture in a long-sleeved black shirt, rolled to the elbows to give her more room to make a mess of dinner an hour previously. Her hair is getting longer, shaggier, her makeup reckless in that half-attention way Jamie has of barely caring what she looks like for anyone who isn’t Dani.

“Your turn.”

Dani takes her at her word this time, careful to draw a small amount of smoke into her lungs and hold there. Even so, she coughs once, a slow, clean burn sliding outward through her chest. Jamie nods approvingly.

“Did you grow this yourself?” she asks after another careful hit. She hands the joint back, letting her hip press against the counter an inch from Jamie’s. There’s a comfortable heat between them this evening, slow-simmer ease that makes her think of early days. She likes the lingering way Jamie rests her hand against Dani’s on the countertop, pinky finger lightly caressing the edge of her skin, like the world’s most comfortable seduction.

“Nah,” Jamie says, with the joint between her lips. There’s something about the way she closes her eyes on the inhale, about the way her free hand never leaves Dani’s skin. Warmth works its way through her belly, and she thinks, bad day, maybe, but a good night.

“Would you grow it?” It’s just something to say. She’s already starting to feel the smoke coiling around her thoughts, her head growing soft, buzzing gently around the edges. She imagines she can feel Jamie’s hand all the way through her body.

“Not in our shop, if we wanted to keep the place.” Jamie’s eyes twinkle, the joint outstretched. “More?”

Dani shakes her head. The world is very slightly fuzzy, the kitchen warm, and Jamie has never felt more real. She watches Jamie carefully put out the lit end, setting the joint in an ashtray, liking the authority with which Jamie moves.

She’s always like this, always so focused on the little details that make up a day. On days where Dani feels like she’s coming up from the ground in one horrible jerk, Jamie is always there to root her again. It’s a good feeling, knowing Jamie is there. Knowing Jamie is only getting more there with time.

Later, she’ll look back on this as the moment. The one where she first decided to do it. The actual question, the actual plan, the actual ring won’t be here for years yet, but this is the moment the spark takes hold.

It would be different, she decides, as her fingers curl like vines around Jamie’s, bringing their joined hands against her chest. It would be so different than last time. No push. No expectation. Just a promise. Just us.

She likes being high with Jamie, she decides very quickly. Likes how it makes Jamie’s already-firm confidence firmer. Likes how it makes her already-sensitive skin buzz with pleasure. Likes the way Jamie folds her against the counter, hands gentle on the back of her head, and kisses her like it’s the first time.

She’s all exposed nerve and heavy limb and giggle as Jamie leads her to the bedroom, eases her down, cups her face between soft hands. For once, the shadows seem to work in her favor, curling around them as they move together, as cloth becomes skin, and she’s sighing, sighing, crying Jamie’s name into the darkness.

Jamie said once, a lifetime ago, that sometimes you have to drop everything too heavy to carry in order to hang on to one another. Jamie said it with such intensity, it didn’t even cross Dani’s mind to think of it another way. That, if you’re going to march into the dark, having a hand to hold as you go can make all the difference in the world.

The lights are on, for now. The lights are on, and Jamie holds her so tight with hands so soft, and Dani knows it’s not forever. Can sense it, like you sense the return of a childhood bad dream. Can feel it, shifting below the surface.

Maybe closer now. Maybe a little bit more awake than before. She can’t say for sure.

What she can say is that a night like this--kissing her way down Jamie’s chest, kissing flowers and bellybutton and that spot just above her hip that makes her writhe with laughter--is a torch. A ward against the monsters. A little light to carry them through the dark.

She’s got Jamie on her skin, in her mouth, imprinted on her soul, and she thinks it’s the best anyone can ask for. The only thing anyone can hope for.

And when Jamie clutches her hand right back, flashes that I’m-out-of-trouble smile, drapes one of her worn flannel shirts around Dani’s bare shoulders, she thinks, as long as I can have this. As long as she’ll have me. The shadows can’t possibly swallow me whole.

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #fanfiction #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #dani clayton #hi. hello. can I interest you in...ahhh...#roughly 5k words of domestic bliss and general pleasantness in this the show of our emotional pain?#look I wanted an excuse to see them in the happy years and that excuse sort of bowled out into all this #also a little more ~mature than previous incarnations if that's a thing you're into. or like to be warned against.#I'll crosspost it to AO3 reasonably soon and update the masterpost as well but for now it lives here

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wolf-and-bard · 3 years

Text

Proper Procedures for Wooing Witches

for @littoraly-art because you are amazing and I already said this, but I hope you have an awesome birthday <3

Pairing: Yennefer/Jaskier

Word Count: ~2.2k

Rating: T, some explicit language

„My darling Yennefer,“ Jaskier calls out as he swoops into his Oxenfurt apartment with a flat carton wedged under his arm. It already nicked the lavender mesh overlay of his newest doublet, but for once, he absolutely cannot be bothered by that. It’s too nice of a day. “Hello?” He kicks off his shoes.

High noon’s just gone by and Jaskier doesn’t expect Yen to be up yet – which means she will hex his ass if he wakes her. His giddiness outweighs his fears though, heart warming, as he takes in the cluttered entryway. Several pairs of shoes are strewn about, his and hers mixing on the ground. Yen’s all look like they could double as a lethal weapon and are some variation of black and white (though one pair is tinged brown from blood that crusts the bottom, he doesn’t want to know). It’s awfully domestic, a product of the temporary living situation they are in.

When Yen requested to use his rooms for a week or so, she explicitly asked for Jaskier not to be there, but, well, he is weak, he wants her, he couldn’t have stayed away if he tried. Yen’s been snippy from the moment he welcomed her with open arms and the prospect of sharing a bedroom, snippy to the point of grumpiness. That’s fair, Jaskier supposes. It’s also fair that she slips out at the most random times of day, coming back only when Jaskier’s gone to the academy for lectures or the pub for drinks with his colleagues. All fair and good. He catches her about once a day which is more than he can say for most of the year. Fair, yes. Nice, even though Yen is rarely, if at all, impressed with his affection for her. A bard can dream.

“Yenny,” he shouts again and whistles to himself as he slides through to the main room. To his surprise, she lounges at his dinner table by the window, one hand curled around a steaming mug, the other holding up one of his most beloved poetry collections (not only because he wrote several of the entries). Her hair falls in rich raven curls that cover her chest, barely concealed by the sheer black dressing gown she wears. It’s the only thing she wears, Jaskier notices, gulping heavily. Yen doesn’t look up from her reading, her lips are pursed and her tone clipped as she replies.

“For every time you call me that, bard, your balls will grow the tiniest fraction until, one day, they will explode, never to grow back.”

Jaskier considers it. Directs his attention downward. They do feel a bit strange, don’t they? But that’s only because he’s thinking about them. Right.

“I shall not be fooled,” Jaskier says, grinning. “But if you so insist, ‘beloved’ will do just as well. I brought you a gift.” Brushing past his dusty bookshelves and cluttered desk, he struts towards the table and drops the carton on it. It lands with a thud and swirls up more dust – how is it this dusty already, Jaskier could swear he cleaned the place, like, last month?

Yen licks her finger to turn the page which makes Jaskier laugh out loud. He rounds the table to glance over her shoulder, but immediately has to retch. There, catching Yen’s precise attention, is Valdo’s vomit-inducing sonnet about his first time taking a tumble with what Jaskier assumes was a professional. It has to be, no self-respecting person would bed the man free of his coin. Jaskier makes a mental note to spread another rumour about Valdo and various sexual diseases, then plucks the book from her hands and lets it drop to the table. She sighs softly under her breath and allows him to put a hand on her shoulder. Is that… does she lean into him? The tiniest bit? Oh, dear.

“That better not be a dress,” Yen says, reaching out. Her fingertips trace the edge of the carton as if she’s in deep debate on whether to pop it open. This is a game they’ve been playing excessively, him bringing her gifts, her making a show of whether to accept them or not. On the few occasions that Yen invites him for a drink or gives the acoustic properties of his lute a small magical boost, Jaskier fails to reciprocate her cool attitude. He’s too in love to feign indifference and it’s not like she would believe him either.

“If we’re using dress in terms of the precise cut it implies then no, no dress,” he replies, thumb rubbing her skin through the slippery material of the gown mostly to work through the tightness in his throat. It hurts sometimes because this farce makes him think she doesn’t want him. Hell, most things Yen does are aimed at making him think she doesn’t want him. But then there are fractions of admittance like this, like when her gravity shifts towards him or he finds her in his rooms, barely dressed, that make him think there might be more there. Jaskier simply has to practice patience.

“Julian, do I seem like a woman easily impressed with shallow gifts of clothes? In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a very particular style.”

“Oh, I noticed. Trust me, Yenny, you are very much one of a kind,” he replies, mesmerized by her fingers dancing on the cardboard. She loses no time in jabbing back.

“And yet you revert to common courting techniques? That’s pathetic and you know it.”

“Bold of you to assume I am courting you.”

“Bold of you to claim you are not. If I remember correctly, the last time Geralt was with us you got drunk off your ass and asked him for his permission to woo me. Which was sweet but not at all his place to allow. Then you continued to exert yourself into my life on every possible occasion with flowers and picnics and awful love songs. How else am I going to interpret all this?” Yen asks, craning her neck to look up at him from under dark lashes. Gods, she is gorgeous.

“Touché. But do not think I would waste the efforts of my best tailor on just anyone. This is advanced courting, dear.”

“I fail to see its distinguishing qualities.”

“The difference is that these clothes are hardly a gift and more a means to an end.” Jaskier winks which has her eyes narrow, fall back to the carton.

“You want to take me somewhere” Yen asks and, of course, she untangles his intentions immediately.

“Not just somewhere. My cousin’s forwarded me an invitation to a ball put on by some countryside nobleman or other. His work keeps him in Kerack so I’m to go in his stead. That is to say, I’d hoped you would go dancing with me.”

Yen looks up once more and Jaskier starts a little. He will never get used to the vibrance of her violet eyes, how they see through him. Once, she said it took no effort at all to pick at his thoughts, that she always feels as though he’s screaming them right at her. So, he does.

Please, he thinks, mouth twitching into a soft smile. Please, just this once. It would mean the world to me.

Yen huffs a small laugh and shakes her head, then draws the box towards her. Inside, she finds a slim-cut blouse made from the finest black cotton in the city, complete with white lace trim down the front and flaring out at the cuffs and collar. With it, Jaskier had the tailor make a white corset belt and a pair of deep black pants that have applications of the same lace. It would look precarious, almost edgy, on anyone else, but on Yen… the thought alone makes Jaskier’s chest tighten with adoration.

“Jules, this is beautiful,” Yen murmurs as her fingers trace the line of the seams on the blouse. Jaskier puts his other hand to her shoulder and holds on for dear life as his ear twitches. Was that? Did she just? Oh, how he itches to make a quip about the nickname. Because it’s funny, yes, but it also gives him palpitations. He feels like a lovesick puppy trying to befriend a wild cat. Which also means that any violation of trust can ruin what they have. It’s just so fucking precious, this whole affair, and if he were on the outside of it, he would squeal in delight and write a whole novel about it. He still might.

“I’m glad you like it. And it will look absolutely stunning on you. You will look stunning in it. Ah, not implying that you don’t usually look stunning. What I am saying is, the other attendees will be stunned.”

“You’re ridiculous… and stupid too. Are you certain you want to take me to the ball? I’m not exactly popular with the local nobility.”

“Quite the tragedy,” Jaskier says and because he feels daring, he bends down and kisses the top of her head. Then, he saunters over to the stove, pours himself a mug of tea and takes the seat next to her. “And yes, I am certain. In fact, there is nothing I’d love more. Let the people talk.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Yen says on another sigh. “Not about what they say or think or do.”

“Which is part of what makes you so damn sexy.”

Yen rolls her eyes and folds the clothes back into the carton.

“These are lovely, but I will not wear them to the dance,” Yen says. Which means she will go with him at least. It’s not enough, Jaskier is dying to see her wear what he picked out, dying to show the world that such a brilliant woman would choose to spend the evening with him. Most of all, he wants to make her happy. “Trust me on this. You have a reputation to worry about and bringing me along already risks that. Bringing me along in that can and will mess with your career.”

“Trust me, when I say that it won’t matter. I’m already famous and folk love to gossip about famous people. Probably more than they love my songs. I could imagine worse truths to be spread about me. Besides, didn’t you just say you don’t care what people think about you? Why then would you worry about what people think about me?”

"Well I never," she says, but her lips soften into a smile and her hand rises to fiddle with her pendant. Jaskier gently pries it off and brings her knuckles to his lips.

"I don't care either," he whispers. "I just want to go dancing with you."

"I'll portal to my rooms in Kaedwen and get one of my old dresses.” Her face is all smiles, but an edge has stolen into her voice which makes her sound forlorn, sad even, and her eyes flicker over to the folded clothes in the box. Jaskier’s throat tightens.

"Why are you so stubborn? It’s obvious you want to wear them. You don’t need to start giving a fuck now.”

"I'm trying to do something for you here, Julian. I don't usually go out of my way to attend stuck-up parties with peacocks such as yourself."

“Please,” Jaskier says. He still holds her hands in both of his and because he has no shame, and because this really does mean the world to him, he sinks off his chair and onto his knees before her legs. Yen’s eyes widen a fraction. “For me.”

-----

They dance. Oh, how they dance. Jaskier always considered himself a great dancer, he has music in his veins and has flirted and whirled his way through every ball room and banquet hall on the Continent, and it’s clear that Yen is no stranger to this art either. They are exuberant, relentless, they laugh and pirouette and demand their ground, much to the detriment of those with lesser skills. The lack of a dress doesn’t subtract from their flair, if anything, it allows for a broader range of motion

"The only way we could draw more eyes is if we'd brought Geralt along,” Yen giggles. Fuck. She’s so carefree it brings tears to Jaskier’s eyes.

"Gods no," he laughs. "He would ruin all the fun with his growling and brooding. If you're looking for more attention however..."

"Jules-"

Jaskier twirls her and, in that motion, catches her around the waist and dips her low, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips which are parted on a yelp. Before he can tug her up again, her hands come forward to cup his face and she presses into him, grins into the kiss.

“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” she whispers.

“Admit it,” Jaskier drawls as he brings her back upright and they fall into an easy basic waltz, closer to each other than the dance strictly necessitates. “You love me.”

“That is awfully presumptuous of you.” But she laughs, and kisses his cheek, and Jaskier thinks that maybe one day, she will. “Don’t bet on it, bard.”

#the witcher #witcher #jaskier #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer x jaskier #yenskier #I'll reblog with ao3 link later #ficlet #my writing #fluff

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bansheeoftheforest · 3 years

Note

Uh, is there still an angst break? Ignore this ask until your ready if so 👉😎👉

What was the au where Jekylls pushed down the stairs and experiences a skull crackening again? Oh well but I've been thinking of a branch of that where Jekyll doesn't know hes dead like all day. I also cant remember if that was already discussed or not

The lodgers patch him up, he complains of a headache, and goes on his merry way! He's confused why all the lodgers are so nervous and being nice to him all of the sudden, why creature is looking at him with a stange mix of empathy and pity. He was told he fell down the stairs, fell unconscious, and obtained a bit of an injury. He cant fathom why Frankenstein is "The only doctor who can treat him" why he has to constantly go to her for checkups. Why Maijabi is suddenly following him practically everywhere.

Hyde squeezes back control for a moment and tries the potion but it doesn't work. Maybe a bit of pain but certainly no transformation. Jekyll assumes his injury or whatever medication they're giving him to treat it somehow negated the effects

Jekyll complains about "suddenly blacking out" the lodgers know its because his soul is slippery. They tell him it must just be a side effect of the injury and not to worry

How long can they keep it secret from him? When does he find out? Does he? Does it get to be years only for him to realize that he hasn't aged? That he still needs checkups from Frankenstein? Does he learn sooner? Does a lodger crack and say it? Does he rot? Does he notice how so very cold he is. How animals act around him? It's all very interesting,,

I actually did think a bit of Jekyll's kidnappers for the amnesia kidnapping au! When drawing that lil sketch of Henry and O'Leary meeting Robert I had considered making it so O'Leary was suspicious of Lanyon like "Oh theres no news anywhere of someone matching Thomas' description who's missing. But some random people walk up claiming to know him? Begging to take him back with them?" And he'd think they were the kidnappers. But ultimately I decided against it as I felt Lanyon and Rachel were pretty clearly, genuinely concerned for "Thomas" :p

I tried playing assassins creed once, the first(?) one. But the controls were confusing and everything was sorta thrown all at me at once, and I got bored of it quickly

But! I went to the store the other day and just so happened to notice Syndicate was being sold for 15 dollars 👀 So I bought it because funky Victorian assassins and your influence! It's a bit less confusing then the first ac game I tried but why is going down or dropping so hard bdksnks. I'm having quite a bit of fun! If you dont count my rage and annoyance-, the B button refuses to cooperate with me unless I'm looting corpses >:(

The b button being the bane of my existence aside, I AM having fun! I like the funky outfits and I want to play as the girl twin (evie?) forever because her clothes are good and shes better at attacking than jacob(?) For some reason. Probably the stun her weapon has? Oh well! I have not unlocked any new outfits yet, nonetheless I wish there were more.

Also! I was thimking, and my current quests are taking place at 1868? Did I get that right? And Jekyll is like 35 in 1885. So in game he'd be 18! An au like I believe you mentioned sounds very interesting 👀 but I must play more to know what's going on and daydream about it

That would be the resurrection au <3

But god, I really like that branch! Especially combined with the hc that he can't feel pain bc the HJ7 and the transformations made him immune. Frankenstein patched him up and made fleshweaver to heal the crack in his skull but it still has to be bandaged, he surely broke a few bones, yet all he has to do is to be careful because it doesn't even hurt. He doesn't even realize how severe the injuries are because it doesn't hurt, it very well might just have been that he accidentally slipped at the bottom of the staircase and accidentally hit his head on the railing during his fall, rather than getting physically pushed and flying down the stairs, shattering his skull upon impact with the marble floor. Y'know what would be extra fun? If he only starts getting a bit suspicious about how severe the injury was once he realizes his lungs stop breathing for minutes at a time when he gets distracted, or his heartbeat stops dead in his chest. I know that that's not how biology or even creature works but lets say the HJ7 is funky, Zombie Jekyll my beloved. Perhaps he would only fully grasp what had happened once he blacked out too much and 'passed out', but his soul slipped out enough to leave his body unconscious on the floor while his soul/ghost was just... Watching. And it's not until Maijabi (who, as you said, follows him everywhere) immediately calls for more Lodgers saying that Henry's soul is getting unstable and Frankenstein's lousy job is starting to shine through that he fully understands that it was not a mere hit to the head. Or maybe it is when days, weeks, maybe months has passed and the headache never goes away, he only feels how his body starts feeling so much more... Fragile and delicate, that the guilt has eaten Helsby up alive and he corners him and spills everything, knowing he is going directly against what the group agreed to but not being able to keep it a secret much longer-- or maybe Creature would tell him immediately, once Henry is, for once, alone perhaps days after the initial accident. He cannot see Henry struggle to understand what is going on when he already knows what's happening to Henry, his mind, and his body. He doesn't listen to the plan that Frankenstein and the Lodgers has set up and immediately tells Henry the first moment they are alone. That would certainly be horrifying, I can only imagine how the Lodgers would find Henry after that, once he actually knows and manages to process everything. He would be so mad, not only to have been killed in the first place, but also because he was robbed of an afterlife because the Lodgers were selfish and could not accept the consequences of their actions. He would be mad, he would be so pissed and I have no doubt he might actually be mad at Maijabi too for even agreeing to help Frankenstein and the rest of the Lodgers. That anger would not stay long, though. That anger would soon turn into misery and sadness and paranoia so even as Henry has tried to push Maijabi away, Henry still ends up on his doorstep begging him to help him make sure he is not rotting, because no matter what anyone says, he is sure he can see rotten spots and patches on his skin and he is just so scared and jdhfjsdfdsfsfs... <3

Ooooooohhh, I was actually daydreaming about this just this morning! Granted, I woke up at 5 and began to daydream to fall asleep quicker but I still like the thought of O'Leary being suspicious of Robert/Rachel/Jasper/the Lodgers bc he is protective of 'Thomas' and doesn't want anything bad to happen to him and especially with the idea that Henry still has hallucinations and they both think he was abandoned by his family, left to rot at a mental asylum. O'Leary might very well think that it might be Henry's friends and family that dumped him that Henry had 'escaped' the hospital and that's why they knew he was missing since the Asylum itself obviously wouldn't have posted the news... I really liked Jeks idea, okay? Like a lot, I absolutely love it <3

Oh, the oldest AC game I played was Unity bc it was free after the Notre Dame fire, and I can confirm, I played 15 min and could not get through it even if i would have wanted to, it absolutely sucks so i have no doubt the older games are just as frustrating <3

BUT!!!! I'M SO GLAD MY CORRUPTION IS SPREADING AND YOU BOUGHT AND PLAYED IT AND ARE ENJOYING IT SO FAR!!! Trust me, Syndicate truly is an absolutely amazing game and is definitely one of my top 3 games of all time. I sometimes play it w my friend watching me play and trust me, I know that rage of trying to do smt but the character does smt else... or you try to do smt but the game doesn't react and you miss your chance... Oh well, still a wonderful game <3

My friend loves to play as Evie as well but I'm definitely playing Jacob every chance I get and I honestly get a lil pissy when I have to play as Evie bc I always prefer to play male characters, plus, I just like Jacob better bc he is a sweetheart. He is also canonically bisexual as hell!!! Have you met Abberline yet? The police officer? Him and Jacob together is one of my fave ships for the game. I also bought the ultimate/golden/whatever name it was edition so I had a bunch of extra outfits, I love the sherlock holmes outfit for Jacob but my friend keeps bullying me for it </3

Honestly? The time difference is the bane of my entire idea for the au bc if it's during their time Henry hasn't even graduated yet, and definitely not well-known enough for them to actively meet for whatever reason, and if you use the timeline for the jack the ripper dlc (in 1888) a lot of... Less than pleasant things happen so it wouldn't really make a lot of sense for a crossover to happen at that point but maybe it's just bc im a pussy and refuse to play the dlc. Rn, while imagining the au, I just imagine the 1868 timeline to be the same as the TGS timeline. I like to imagine the Frye Twins hearing about Henry and the Society and promptly breaking into his office to ask him to make poison and stuff for them. I also have a feeling that Jacob would flirt wildly with Henry and that Henry would be less-than-amused. It would also be a very fun thing with the fact that there would be two Henrys, with TGS Henry Jekyll and AC Syndicate Henry Green, soo... XD

#Man I really want to hear your journey through syndicate!!!#Oh man I cant wait until you meet Maxwell #and Crawford for that matter #he was the guy I based the crawford in the fic off of bc i had no idea what else to do <3 #OHH there would also be a lot of mixup with Lucy Thorne and TGS Queen Lucy #oh i can imagine them being rivals #that would be fun <3 #ask #darling-dolly-darlene #banshees au #resurrection au #amnesia kidnapping au

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mist-sly · 3 years

Text

Sing of the moon

Chapter One: Coffee talks

This is a Wolfstar MMA AU that's on AO3 that I have been writing. However I'm gonna start posting it on here too because its easier for me to kept track of what I wrote. Any ways Hope you enjoy!

It was the biggest fight of the year. The middle-weight title on the line. Millions of people watching around the world. The champ, Sirius Black facing one of his biggest rivals, Severus Snape. It was a long overdue fight, the two constantly targeting each other on social media and making comments to the press.

The hype had been real. Every press conference was another layer of added tension and anticipation to the fight. No one wanted to miss it. Sirius was athletic and had every technique known to fighting in his arsenal. A predictable fight many had said. Others argued that Snape’s slippery, submission style could be enough to beat the champ.

Either way, it had drawn the attention of everyone. Even those who shied away from the bright lights of UFC. It lured those who lived in the shadows of the fighting scene.

A large flat screen TV had been set up in the old underground stadium. A crowd of fighters all gathered round to watch, each one sitting on some old create or broken chair. “Its not looking good for him wolfy,” said a teenager with dyed grey hair. He was sitting cross legged on the floor. The TV screen reflecting of his blue eyes. “Ill say. Every punch Black is receiving is drawing blood,” a big, bulky red-haired man said. He scratched at his beard and looked over to his left staring at the young man who was sitting back on the old, patchy red couch. The young man’s eyes darted around the screen, zoning in to one thing specifically as Snape aimed a body shot. “You see something, don’t you wolfy.” The other fighters dragged their eyes away from the screen to look at the young man.

Remus Lupin sat forwards, his elbows resting on his thighs, his hands covering his mouth and nose as he stared at the TV. Remus’s golden amber eyes narrowed right as Snape connect a light jab to Sirius face. He watched as a small cut formed on the champ’s cheek, drawing blood. He drew his hands away from his face showing his frown.

“There’s always something with an opponent like Snape,” he said in a low voice. The camera angle changed on the screen. A close up of Sirius’s face, enlarged for everyone to see. One eye was swollen shut, the other turning a mix of blue and purple. You could not see where cuts began, and trails of blood ended.

This should not have been the outcome. A total of three rounds the fight went on for. Thirteen minutes and a gory scene that would make any viewer feel sick. Three minutes into the third round and it was over. The champ got hit and did not get back up. The group of fighters where quiet. This should not have been the outcome.

However, everything happens for reason.

It had been exactly thirty-seven days since he lost. Thirty-seven days of thinking how? How did he lose that fight? Sirius had gone through it a thousand and one times in his head. He was quicker than Snape. Had a harder punch than Snape and was far more intelligent when it came to thinking on his feet?

Sirius shook his head to rid him off the thoughts. He was on his daily run to clear his head, not bring back more memory’s and questions. He stopped, his breaths heavy, panting as he ran a hand through his incredibly dark locks of hair. “Shit,” he muttered as he looked around. The area was unfamiliar to him. Small shops and old building surrounding the street he had just came down. Clearly it was in the more run-down part of Gryffindor. Sirius didn’t even know there was a run-down part of Gryffindor.

He spotted a small coffee shop further on down the street. A few people where sitting outside it but other than that, the street was relatively quiet.

A bell rang over head as he entered. The smell of coffee and baked goods immediately hitting him like a bus. It was warm inside, a delightful change from the nippy autumn air outside. The walls were painted a vibrant orange, the furniture looking old giving the whole coffee shop a warm and vintage feel.

“Hi, what can I get you?” asked a girl behind the counter. She had long, flowing red hair and beautiful green eyes. A sweet and pleasant smile on her face. “Sorry, I’m a bit lost. Could you tell me how to get to the upper side oh and a coffee, black?” he asked the girl.

The girl snorted turning away from him. “An up sider? How did you end up down here?” the girl asked as she started to brew a fresh pot of coffee. “Went for a run, got lost in my head.” Sirius give the girl a smirk as she looked over at him. Her eyes travelled up and down his body, taking in his appearance.

“Guess that explains why your sweaty. What about the bruises?” she asked staring at the faint mix of yellow and brown that covered half his face. Sirius smirk dropped. The girl knew she struct a nerve but before she could apologise, the bell above the door went again.

“Hey Lils. Can I get the regular for the trio and a peppermint tea for me?” Said a young man who walked towards Sirius. Tall, Sirius first thought upon seeing him. Skinny too. He watched as the young man walked towards him. His hair was curly, a caramel brown colour that Sirius doesn’t think he has ever seen before. He wore an old orange jumper that had seen better days and a pair of grey sweats that were rolled up at his ankles. Sirius looked at the bottom on his sweats surprised, surly no one that tall would need to roll up their cloths.

The young man nodded at Sirius before standing beside him at the counter. “Three sugars wolfy?” the girl, ‘Lils’, asked. The young man nodded.

It was quiet after that. The sound of coffee machines running and ‘Lils’ humming echoing around the small coffee shop.

“Here you go Up sider. One Back coffee to go.” The girl slid the coffee over to Sirius before scribbling something down on a piece of paper. “Up sider?” The man asked suddenly. Sirius looked over at him. His amber eyes sparling with curiously as he looked at Sirius.

It was now that Sirius got a good look at the young man. He had handsome features, that was for sure. He had a nice jawline, not to strong and not to soft. Freckles littered his face likes stars in the night sky. He has long eyelashes that seemed to make his amber eyes brighter.

He would have looked soft, too soft, if it weren’t for the scars on his face. He had one across the bridge of his nose and another one on his left cheek going down to his jawline. The young man had a fresh cut above his right eye that was bruised.

However, as Sirius looked at the man, the man also looked at Sirius. That was not good in Sirius’s head. The last thing he needed, was for the media to know where he is.

“You shouldn’t have lost your fight,” the young man said bluntly as Lils set the piece of paper down with directions in front of Sirius. The statement had taken Sirius by surprise. So, the guy knew him, that was great but to say something like that irritated Sirius. He didn’t see Mr tall and skinny facing a world class fighter like Snape.

“Excuse me. I’d like to see yo-“Sirius started only to be cut off by the young man saying, “Snape’s gloves were loaded.” Sirius blinked at the man, “tampered with,” he added in case Sirius didn’t understand.

Sirius couldn’t help but burst out laughing. Who the hell was this guy? Some losers who clearly knows nothing. Sirius took a deep breath and looked at the man. “Look. I’m not sure how much you know after fighting but official gloves have to be worn, not to mention that the gloves got checked and nothing was off with either one.”

The man however kept looking at Sirius with those amber eyes. “That wouldn’t necessarily matter. There’s always ways around the system.” He shrugged. Sirius could feel the laughter starting to bubble in him stomach again. “Ok then. Enlighten me, how were the gloves tampered with?” The man narrowed his eyes, a darker look falling over his once soft face. “A layer of padding was taken out of the gloves. That would have been obvious if they had not replaced it with something else. That other layer would have had to been roughly the same weight as the padding. My guess is that they used soft cast.” Sirius snorted.

Sirius knew what soft cast was. What fighter didn’t? It was an old scandal back in the day with a boxer. It had long since been forgotten though. The man continued, however. “It would make the hits harder on your face not to mention as the soft cast scratched the leather of the glove it would wear the material down.” He raised an eyebrow at Sirius to see if he was keeping up.

Sirius nodded and gestured for the man to continue, taking a sip of his coffee. Sighing the man rubbed his eyes, as if he were trying to teach a child how to read a simple word that they couldn’t quite grasp. “The soft cast would scratch against your skin and the impact of each punch would increase as the match went on because the cast would harden over time. Didn’t you notice when you were fighting, how the first hit was not hard but still drew blood? How as the fight went on Snape put less effort into each hit but was still able to increase the impact every time?” Sirius stopped drinking. His coffee cup frozen at his smooth lips. He blinked at the man as he thought back to the fight. When Snape landed his first punch, he was off balance. The punch shouldn’t have had enough force to bruise his cheek so badly, the way it did.

The more Sirius thought about it, the more he realized how much of what the tall, skinny man was saying, was true.

He shook his head and narrowed his eyes on the man just as ‘Lils’ brought over four take away drinks in coffee cups. “Here you go wolfy! One hot chocolate with cream for Seb, a black coffee with two sugars for Harley, warmed milk with coco powder on top for Cain and your peppermint tea, three sugars,” ‘Lils’ said happily with a bright smile. The man, ‘wolfy’, nodded his thanks and took the four drinks.

“Wait! How did you know about the gloves?” Sirius asked before ‘wolfy’ could leave. “I watched your fight. Noticed what was happening and put it together with an old street fighting trick.” He shrugged and opened the door with his back.

“A little too good to be true, don’t you think?” Sirius said with a laugh, but the young man didn’t laugh back. He shrugged and turned his back to Sirius. “If you don’t believe me then check for yourself.”

Sirius watched as the door closed behind the man. He stayed in the coffee shop, not taking his silver eyes away from the door. The conversation replaying in his head like a broken record. He turned back around to ‘Lils’ who was wiping the countertop. “Do you have a phone I could borrow,” he said in a rush. Like somehow, he would forget everything the man just told him.

The girl smiled at him and nodded. She took out her iPhone from the pocket of her green apron and handed it to Sirius. He wasted no time in dialing a number. Listening as it rang in his ear.

“Hello. Yeah, James it’s me. I need you and your dad to check something out for me……”

P.s this is my first proper time writing so I'm not the best.

#wolfstar #remus Lupin #Sirius black #MMA AU #Sing of the Moon #chapter 1 #lily evens

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13lov · 5 years

Text

too hot to sleep. (m)

# pairing. fiancé!yoongi x reader

# genre. established relationship au, humor, fluff, smut.

# word count. 2.4k

# warning(s). fluff, reader doesn’t like cats yoongi’s cat, smut [marriage kink(?), unprotected kitchen sex, small hint of yoongi having a possession kink]. \\ will be edited at a later time so my apologizes for any mistakes

# a/n. this was originally supposed to be a drabble but i liked the prompt a lot...so this is the cute fluffy version but i’m also MAYBE gonna write a uh...rougher version. i tried to write an impreg kink since that shit is mad hot but it wasn’t working out for me :(

↳ summary. “ Umm can’t wait to get rawed in our kitchen when I’m living with the love of my life ” *soft ver.*

“You never listen to me,” you whisper to your fiancé’s sleeping figure, “I ask you to pick up the air conditioner on your way home from work,” you shove his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, “but instead, you buy a new bed for your demon cat.”

Yoongi stirs in his sleep, turning himself to face the bedroom window. You can’t help but get annoyed at the fact even when he’s sleeping, your fiancé barely istens to you. Every ounce of annoyance fades away the moment you hear the soft sound of Yoongi smacking his lips together, a habit he developed whenever he was in the midst of a deep sleep. Even unconscious, he was still the cutest thing you had ever seen.

But, nevertheless, it was too hot for you to sleep. Your growling stomach also proves you’re otherwise too hungry to sleep as well.

Slowly and quietly, you retreat to the apartment’s tiny kitchen, striding past the various wedding decor that consumed your home in hopes Yoongi bought enough food for you to prepare a late-night snack.

He didn’t, of course, so you’re left to scrape up anything you’re able to find within the fridge and kitchen cabinets. Your struggle meal consists of bread, butter, and what you can only hope isn’t a few expired slice of American cheese. The only reasonable meal you’re able to make with these few ingredients is a grilled cheese sandwich, not that you’re complaining.

The only thing you do complain about is Yoongi’s cat, Pearl, hopping on the counter and knocking the loaf of bread to the marble floor. Watching the bread fall to the floor startles you, speaking that you hadn’t even known Pearl had woken up and followed you out of the bedroom.

You wave your hand at Pearl, as if you were swatting away a nuisance fly, “Get off of my counter, lazy.”

Pearl ignores you, getting more comfortable on the counter before closing her eyes. As silly as it may sound, you sometimes you feel as though you’re at a constant war with the feline; like she was competing for the role of being the number one woman in Yoongi’s life. You really can’t blame her much. Though, her attendance at your wedding (per Yoongi’s request) shall tell her who the true winner is.

“Fine. If you’re not gonna move then I’m gonna...” you’re careful to grab Pearl’s torso, not wanting to startle her enough to accidentally break something. You aren’t surprised when she makes no effort in making herself lighter to carry and instead drifts off to sleep. “...then I’m gonna let you just stay here.”

Everyone in this apartment loved to ignore you.

Still, there are other things more important than arguing with a sleeping cat at two in the morning.

Drawing your attention back to the task at hand, you put the stove on low heat before grabbing a pan from the cupboard and setting it on one of the burners. Grabbing a knife from the wooden block, you slice off a piece of butter and stir it in the pan, watching it dissolve and make the pan slippery.

Pearl meows as a way to tell you you’re being too loud and she’s trying to sleep, you blow a raspberry and tell her to get a job.

The literal cat-fighting has your bedroom door opening, Yoongi had finally woken up.

You’re facing the stove with your back facing him, so he takes the opportunity to rest his chin on your shoulder, raking his hands up your shirt and giving your breasts a small squeeze. “Guess who.”

You take the slices of white bread and carefully lay them side by side on the sizzling frying pan, “The ghost that haunts this apartment.”

With closed eyes, Yoongi chuckles, his laugh causing your shoulders to vibrate. “I sure hope he or she doesn’t like you that much. By the way, were you just telling Pearl to get a job?”

You aren’t even the slightest bit embarrassed that he heard your dispute with the animal, he was used to it by now. “If Pearl thinks she can live here rent-free and tell me to shut up while being job-less, she has another thing coming.”

“Ah, go easy on her,” Yoongi brings one had down to your waist, the other reaches over to scratch Pearl’s chin, “she’s my good girl — you both are.” He sighs through his nose, moving hair out of the way to plant a kiss on your neck.

“You both are,” you mock in a voice that sounds nothing like his own, “the worst days of her life were when you met me and when you proposed; please get her off of the counter.”

“You heard her,” Yoongi gently pats Pearl’s bottom, coaxing her to hop off, “up, up, up.” She does as told, of course; you roll your eyes.

“Why’re you up?”

“I can’t sleep, it feels like hell in this apartment,” you answer, using a metal spatula to flip both slices of bread on the pan.

“Oh, I’ll pick up the a.c. tomorrow, I promise.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

It falls silent, but not awkward. You assume Yoongi is still somewhat tired; the boner pressing into your ass tells you otherwise. It’s early, both of you are still weak after having such a long day. You don’t want any teasing to lead to something that can’t be finished. “Yoongi, don’t—”

“I’m not doing anything,” he interrupts in a mumble, “just wanna talk. What’re you making?”

“Grilled cheese,” you try your best to focus on the food in front of you. Yoongi presses against your backside harder than before. You convince yourself it’s unintentional, but Yoongi knows exactly what he was doing.

“Why do you cook the bread longer?”

“Because I like the edges burnt.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Good thing this isn’t for you then, yeah?” You turn your head slightly, enough to press a kiss on his forehead.

Yoongi grunts like an ungrateful child who doesn’t get their way, burying his face in the crook of your neck and using his teeth to nip at a sensitive area. You unwillingly toss your head to the side, giving him more access to your bare skin before coming to your senses and re-focusing on your food. “Make me one?” he questions.

“Maybe if you picked up the air conditioner like I asked you to...”

Yoongi hums, a hint of laughter laced with his tone. “Maybe there’s something else I can offer you in return.” The sudden husk in his voice as you raising a brow, intrigued at what he was planning on offering.

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hm,” he hums, moving his hands to your front, lifting your shirt up slightly as his index finger settles between the waistband of your panties and the area right below your belly button. “Yoongi, I’m trying to cook.”

“Okay...and...?” his finger continues its path downwards, you find yourself turning the stove down to an even lower heat than before. “What, I’m not allowed to touch you while you cook?”

He slips is finger in between your folds, moving around in teasingly slow circles. His boner is still pressed right up against your ass, seemingly get harder as seconds pass. “Not down there, Yoongi.”

“Why shouldn’t I? This,” he suddenly slides his index finger into your entrance, giving you no warning or seconds to prepare. The action had caused the metal spatula you once held drop to the floor, your fingers now gripping onto the marble counter, Yoongi chuckles at how quickly he managed to get a reaction out of you.

“...is mine anyway, you said so yourself” he continues. Yoongi’s breath was hot against your neck, his deep and lustful voice and the things they were saying only making you crave him more than you already did.

Yoongi’s words slip into the back of your mind once you’re starting to feel the pleasure caused by his finger alone. He notices how silent you are, barely letting out a moan as he slips in a second finger, making no effort to slow down the increasing pace he was thrusting them at. “Why’re you quiet now? Cat got your tongue?”

“Don’t mention that fucking cat.”

“Sorry,” he really isn’t, though. He loved to work you up like this, especially considering how easy it was. It was selfish in his case, seeing you even the slightest but frustrated was such a big turn on for him. In all honestly, he could name all the times he started pointless arguments just to end it with angry, passionate sex.

Yoongi rubs the pad of his thumb against your clit, all while his two fingers are still pumping. You’re so slick and wet around him, making it easier for him to quicken his pace; your eyes shut, mouth falling slightly open and a lustful gasp leaving you when he does. He curls his fingers, in that way where they hit your g-spot perfectly. You gasp at the feeling, and whine when Yoongi ruts his cock against your ass.

“Oh, fuck,” you mewl.

“God, I can’t get enough of you. I swear, we’re gonna fuck everyday once we get married.”

The moan you let out causes Yoongi to grin, moving his left hand up and under your shirt to grab one of your breast; squeezing a lot harder than before, this time rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger. “Mm-hm,” he hums, “gonna put a ring on that finger, then put my fingers inside of you.”

You really could come right now, then Yoongi would put his cock in you and you’d come again; but, you don’t want to come twice in a row. It’d only make you tried and weak, and, truth be told, you’re still hungry.

“Yoongi.”

“Hm?”

“Fuck me.”

“You have such a bad mouth,” he teases, “just talk nice and I’ll give you whatever you want, _____.”

You sigh, “Please, fuck me. Want you to fill me up,” you sound so desperate, neither you or Yoongi seem to mind. He responds to your words, pulling his fingers out of you immediately, you nearly groan at the feeling of sudden emptiness.

Yoongi raises his hand to your sight of view, separating his fingers to make a V shape, completely in awe of how soaked you’ve made his fingers. “Open,” he says, and you do as told. He inserts them quickly, thumb underneath your jaw as if he was holding your head in place. Your tongue laps around his middle and index until you’ve successfully rid them of your juices.

Yoongi releases his fingers from your mouth, using his own to tug down his pajama pants and boxers enough to free his cock. The two of already know he won’t last long, but he’s way too hard to not even give it a chance.

He pushes your cotton underwear down a bit, grinning when you bend over slightly to give him a better view of your ass. He takes his cock in his hand, pumping himself a few times, watching pre-cum ooze from his practicality swollen tip. “Ready?” he asks, teasingly rubbing his head against your folds. It takes everything in you power to not back yourself onto him.

“Y—oh, fuck,” you moan. Barely giving you time to answer, Yoongi can’t help his impatient tendencies and was already easing his tip into your pussy. He swears at the feeling of you already starting to clench around him. It takes a few moments until he’s fully inside of you, not daring to move because of how wrapped around him. Truly, he could stay in the position forever.

But, he wasn’t in the mood to do cock warming. And he lets you know that with a sudden thrust that has you bent over the counter. You can’t say it doesn’t feel good, but it was surely unexpected considering how tired you assumed Yoongi would be.

A few more slow thrusts later and Yoongi’s finally moving at his desired pace, his large hands firmly gripping your waist. He presses his forehead against your shoulder, already feeling his orgasm approaching — he just knows he won’t be able to hold on longer.

“Baby, I’m—”

“Shit, Yoongi, I’m gonna come,” you interrupt. He’s glad you’re on the same page.

“Hold on just a little bit longer,” he says. Though it’s a demand, it comes out as a question you don’t mind saying yes to.

He’s groaning into your neck now, pressing harsh kisses against it and definitely leaving marks. When he closes his eyes shut, he feels completely wrapped up with pleasure and feels bad for neglecting your clit. He decides he’ll make it up to you later by going down on you. Right now, he feels way to good and won’t be able to focus on anything else.

His high is approaching and he knows yours is too just by the way your moans have increased in volume. “Oh fuckfuckfuck...fuck,” seems to be the warning that he’s going to come, and he does, filling you up completely. Your own orgasm happens seconds later and has you seeing stars.

The two of you are stood panting in silence for a minute, Yoongi still buried deep inside of you. He places a sloppy, open-mouth kiss alongside your neck, giving you various praises of how good you are to him.

“I love you,” he says, readjusting your panties before fixing himself properly.

“And I love you,” you turn around to kiss him, to which he groans into and pulls you in closer. “Now go pee,” he pulls away, giving your ass a small tap, “I’ll watch the food.”

Yoongi does as promised as you walk towards your bathroom. “You got a text!” you yell on the way there.

Confused as to who would be texting him at such an hour, Yoongi strides into the bedroom and snatches his phone from the nightstand.

hobi [ 2:44 am ]: u know the walls in this building are thin, why would u subject me to your porn re-enactments

“It’s just Hobi,” Yoongi informs you, smiling away at the text as he replies.

yoongi [ 2:44 am ]: oops

yoongi [ 2:44 am ]: lol

yoongi [ 2:45 am ]: we’ll try to be more quiet next time

“Is he RSVP-ing for the wedding?”

“I’ll ask.”

yoongi [ 2:46 am ]: are u coming to the wedding btw?

hobi [ 2:50 am ]: pull another stunt like this and i won’t even show up to ur funeral

hobi [ 2:51 am ]: on a completely unrelated note, put me down for the chicken

hobi [ 2:51 am ]: also, what kind of toasters do u guys like?

8K notes · View notes

whump-tr0pes · 4 years

Text

HB4-29/Whumptober day 7

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3.

AO3

Masterlist

Sam burrito with forehead kisses requested by @endless-whump and @butwhatifyouwrite

Content warning: permanent injury, nerve damage, past torture, mild dissoci@tion, flashbacks, pain medication mention, self-blame

Sam groaned and rolled onto their back. Finally – finally, after almost two weeks, how did Isaac cope with this? – they could lie on their back without pain shooting through them. The whip marks were healing. The wound in their arm was healing.

The nerve they were almost certain was severed, was not.

An afternoon breeze rustled the curtains in their room, making the room waver light-dark-light-dark as they billowed in and out. Their gaze moved slowly over the ceiling, the thirteen dark wood beams that stood out against the white. Thirteen, from one end of the room to the other. They’d counted them so many times in the time they’d spent holed up there.

It was… exhausting, sometimes, to be around the others. Not that the others were doing anything wrong; it was just so hard to look at each of them and seen pain tighten in their eyes every time they looked at Sam. Watching the guilt drag at them all, especially Isaac, with his own wounds healing to scars, was like trying to tear a bullet out of their chest with their bare hands. Never fully sure if they would tear something vital as they did. Wondering if maybe the guilt was something that would stay buried in this family forever. Something they should just get used to, learn to breathe past.

They couldn’t take the guilt. Couldn’t take the way everyone’s hands would jerk towards them when they went to stand, as if they needed something to help them balance every time. They couldn’t take how the others would trail off in the middle of a sentence, their gaze fixed on Sam, as if stunned into silence by the magnitude of Sam’s pain. It was more than frustrating, it was maddening.

Edrissa treated them the same as she always did.

Sam’s stomach growled. I wonder when dinner is?

Their stomach growled again, and louder, as if protesting the notion of waiting until dinner to eat. Sam groaned and pushed themself upright.

They were getting better at it, now, moving with only one hand. Their right arm was still slinged, and the surgical cut Finn had made was nearly closed. The infection was gone. Finn was encouraging them to do small, simple exercises, more just letting their arm hang and slowly using their left hand to move the arm in its socket. Finn said it would make healing progress better.

I don’t think it’s going to get much better than this.

Slowly, they stood, savoring the feeling of the rug beneath their feet. They’d slept on concrete for three weeks, the only respite being when Colleen had forced them to kneel on the soft plush rugs wherever she chose to chain them down. Chain them down and strangle them or beat them or drown them or whip them or—

They shuddered and shook their head. No. No. Can’t fall in. They adjusted their arm in its sling – made of very nice, light fabric, and blue, Edrissa made it for them herself – and walked to the door. They pulled it open and were greeted by the soft brrp? of the black cat sitting right outside.

Sam smiled and bent to pet him. “Hey, Nata,” they said softly. Nata pushed with fierce adoration into Sam’s hand. “Hey, sweet boy.” They straightened, and steadied themself against the wall as the hallway went black for a moment. They breathed slowly through their mouth as their vision returned.

They wandered down the hall towards the kitchen, shivering slightly in their thin shirt and shorts. The house stayed so cool during the day, even though summer was around the corner. They didn’t mind, though. It made it easier to sleep. The heat made Sam’s wounds itchy. They rounded the corner into the living room and stopped.

Isaac and Gavin sat on the couch, their heads together as they looked at the puzzle on the coffee table. A new one – Finn and Ellis had been finishing a puzzle about every three or four days since they’d arrived north, and Gray had an entire closet filled with more. This one was of a seascape, the sun glinting off the water in a thousand different colors if you looked closely at the brushstrokes of the painting that had been printed onto the pieces. It was the hardest one yet, mostly blues and greens, with only a single sailboat to break the design of the ocean waves.

“Ellis will kill you if you mess with that puzzle,” Sam said with a gentle smile.

Isaac’s head snapped up, and his look of shock and near-terror at being caught near the puzzle made Sam burst into a snort of laughter. The laughter drew out into a groan as their cracked ribs throbbed in pain.

Isaac shot to his feet and took a step towards Sam before they could even draw a breath.

“I’m okay,” they gasped, holding their hand out in front of them. Isaac hesitated and fell back a step. “Wh-what are you guys up to? Other than taking your lives into your hands breathing on Ellis’s puzzle?” Sam’s lips quirked into an unsteady smile.

Isaac rubbed the back of his neck. “Um… no, pretty much just that. Just finished up sparring practice with Vera and Edrissa, and I just… kinda zoned out looking at the puzzle. It’s nice. I don’t know if it looks like the actual ocean, but…” He shrugged. “What’re you up to?”

“Um… I was gonna get some food,” Sam said, glancing behind Isaac and meeting Gavin’s gaze for a moment. For once… for the first time since they reached the north again… Gavin didn’t look down and away. Warmth and relief spread faintly through Sam’s chest, like bracing for pain and receiving none.

“I was getting kinda hungry, too,” Isaac said, and glanced at Gavin behind him. “Gav, you want—” Isaac’s mouth snapped shut and he flushed a brilliant shade of red. Gavin’s cheeks flushed to match, and Sam could feel heat on their face, too.

Gav? How did we get here? They bit their lip as for a moment, a memory swept through them, Gavin grinning as he forced their head back where they sat in a chair, their hands tied behind them, holding a knife to their throat as they sobbed and pleaded…

Sam shook their head to clear it. It was a slippery day today, and Sam kept sliding back into their memories.

But I don’t hurt as much today. Please let me stay here…

Gavin got to his feet, his cheeks still pink, his hands buried deep in his pockets. “I could, um… V-Vera showed me how to make eggs benedict last weekend. I could… um…”

Sam’s stomach grumbled loudly in the quiet room. The three of them burst out laughing. Sam winced and bit down hard on their lip.

“Eggs benedict for lunch,” Sam said tightly, counting their heartbeats and waiting for the pain to fade. It was all they could do anymore, now that Finn was slowly weaning them off the morphine and Vicodin. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six… Slowly, the pain in their ribs eased. On the next breath, it would hurt again, but in this precise moment…

Appreciating precise moments free of pain was the only thing that had kept Sam going for almost two weeks.

They looked up at Gavin and Isaac. They were both looking at Sam with almost identical expressions: worry, grief… guilt. Both of them, blaming themselves for the pain Sam felt every day. Both of them, the reason Sam was alive.

Sam couldn’t push that little voice down forever, though: the voice that said that if Gavin had never hurt them in the first place… and if Isaac had killed Gavin in his warehouse, when he was unconscious and bloody…

They gritted their teeth. They hated those thoughts that had crept through their mind more and more, ever since they’d been shot. The pain was poisoning them, and twisted, bitter thoughts had crawled out of that festering place inside them that never felt any relief. Maybe if they had just a day without pain, an hour, a minute, they could push those thoughts away, sweep them out of their mind completely. But they hurt, they hurt, and the only thing that made them feel better were the pills that were slowly, slowly being taken away.

The pills, and Nata. And seeing everyone safe. Seeing Tori when she was herself, tucked under Vera’s arm with a fragile smile. And feeling the wind on their face after three weeks of chilly, stagnant air in their cell. And tasting real food again, Gray’s cookies and Vera’s spicy beef stew and Edrissa’s fresh-baked bread. And looking out over the lake, bigger even than the lake at their first foster home, where they’d chased frogs and swam after spring melted the thin crust of ice over the surface…

All those things made them feel better, too.

Sam blinked, and realized none of them had said a word. They smiled, and the expression felt… tight, but like something they’d been good at, a very long time ago, and were just now trying again. The smile felt comfortable.

“Eggs b-benedict for lunch,” they said again, their tone softer. “Sounds good.”

Gavin let out a gusty breath. “Good,” he huffed. “Because it’s one of the only things I know to make on my own.” He turned and headed for the kitchen. Isaac took a step towards the kitchen as well, then paused, as if realizing he’d moved.

“Gavin,” Isaac said. “Do you want… do you need help, or…?”

“No!” Gavin said, and nudged him back towards the living room. “I can do it. I can… I can do it, Isaac. Stay with Sam.” He blushed and turned away again, and disappeared into the kitchen. He was visible again a moment later over the counter that made a sort of window between the kitchen and the living room, lined with barstools looking in.

Isaac turned back to Sam, a hint of pink still on his cheeks. He flushed darker when he saw them staring at him. “What?” he said weakly, and sat down on the couch near the puzzle.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. “‘Gav’?” they said with a grin as they made their way to the couch and slowly eased themself down.

Isaac rolled his eyes, smiling back. He sat down on the couch beside them. “It just slipped out, okay? I didn’t… I haven’t been—”

“What, you haven’t been calling him Gav-Gav when you’re alone?” Sam said with a laugh.

“Oh my god, Sam,” Isaac whispered, his face turning an almost painful-looking red. He buried his face in his hands. “No.”

“Thank god,” Sam said, and nudged Isaac with their left shoulder – their good shoulder. “Because I don’t think I could have tolerated that.”

Isaac snorted and looked up towards the kitchen. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Neither could I.”

Gavin was visible over the half-wall of the counter. He was bustling about the kitchen, wearing a look of intense concentration as he gathered the ingredients, wearing… an apron. Edrissa’s baking apron. Sam tried to suppress another snort of laughter.

Isaac nudged them back, gently. “What?” he said softly, his cheeks burning.

Sam grinned and shook their head. “Nothing,” they said, returning their gaze to Isaac. “He’s just…” Sam shrugged, gently, careful with their arm. “He’s… different.”

“He is,” Isaac said, and sat back against the cushions. Sam shivered slightly. Isaac’s eyebrows pulled together. “You cold?”

“A little,” Sam admitted. Something inside them bristled, just the slightest bit, at Isaac’s concern.

He was like this with me before I got hurt like this. He’s always been like this, with everyone. He can’t turn it off.

“Me, too,” Isaac said, and reached for the thinner blanket draped over the back of the couch. “It’s just been so hard to get… warm since…” He trailed off as he shook the blanket open and laid it over both their laps.

Sam pulled the blanket up around their shoulders and leaned against Isaac. Isaac automatically opened his arm to them and they cuddled against his side.

Just like before.

“S-so,” Isaac said softly, and Sam’s heart ached at the familiar sound of his guilt. “How’s the arm?”

“Um.” They squeezed their right hand into a fist – or tried to. Their thumb and first two fingers twitched, and their thumb shook as they forced it to bend. They bit their lip and grimaced, straining with all their might to just make a fist. Something they could do without even thinking with their left hand. But their right… Maybe there had been a little bit of improvement over the past few days. Or maybe there hadn’t. They couldn’t tell, not with the pain that drilled into their arm every minute…

But the pain was fading. Every day. Some days were worse than others, but every day there was a moment that hurt less than all the other moments. And every day, that moment was better than the day before.

They looked up and saw Isaac looking warily at them. They cleared their throat. “Oh. Um. Honestly, it’s… it’s better.”

Isaac’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? That’s… that’s great. What’s been different? Has the feeling come back yet? Have you—”

“N-no,” Sam said, and stared at the pattern of the blanket over them. “Not like that. It just… doesn’t hurt so much all the time.”

Isaac blinked and sat back. “That’s still great, Sam.”

Sam chewed their lip. Tears formed in their eyes. They didn’t know why, they were just there. They sniffed and wiped their eyes with the blanket.

“Hey,” Isaac said gently, and he… god, he really was starting to sound like himself more and more. More of the kind person Sam knew before… all this. Not that Isaac wasn’t kind now, but there was… a desperation to him. There was a sense of terror under his every movement, like he was one wrong touch or loud sound away from losing himself and hurting… anyone that got too close. That had been going away, too, though.

Sam glanced up at Isaac, just to catch him gesturing with his chin at Gavin. Sam hadn’t even realized the kitchen had gone silent until they looked over at Gavin, who was standing stock-still in the opening of the half-wall, his apron and the English muffin in his hand seemingly forgotten, looking at Sam with grief written plainly over his face. He jumped and hurried over to the stove, where Sam could hear the eggs poaching in water.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” Sam said, swiping at their eyes.

Isaac snorted. “Whether I give you the list chronologically or from best to worst, it would take too long.” He wrapped his arm around their shoulders again, but didn’t squeeze. Sam was grateful. Although, out of everyone Isaac probably knew best how to avoid whip marks… except possibly Vera.

“No, it’s just… nothing’s going on now…” Embarrassed, Sam pressed their face into the blanket, the more they tried to hold back, the more their eyes seemed to leak tears.

“Doesn’t have to be,” Isaac said evenly, and Sam relaxed slightly with his even tone.

“It’s stupid,” Sam mumbled, and blushed with their voice broke.

“Sam. Hey.” They lifted their head and forced themself to meet Isaac’s eyes. He smiled and gently ruffled their hair. “You’re fine.”

Sam shrugged as they wiped their nose. They could smell the butter, could hear the ham sizzling in the pan as Gavin worked.

Isaac laughed weakly. “It’s… good to see you, Sam,” he said, sadness lacing the edges of his voice.

Sam grimaced. “I’ve been around.”

Isaac dipped his head. “You have. But… in your room a lot of the time. Which…” He held out his free hand in a supplicating gesture. “…if that’s where you need to be, you be there. Okay? It’s just…” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to their forehead. “It’s just good to see you out.”

Sam picked at the seam of their sling. “Yeah. I… I’ve been… hurting, and—”

“I know. And you aren’t obligated to see us. Ever.” Isaac leveled his gaze at them.

“I… I know. It’s just…” Sam bit their lip and pulled their knees in to their chest under the blanket, tucking their arm against their chest. “It’s just…” They shot a glance at Gavin, whisking something now, and back at Isaac. “So much of… I mean, you guys…” Sam huffed out a breath. “You all just look so… guilty. When you see me.”

Guilt crossed Isaac’s face. Sam braced for their own guilt, and disappointment, and… then Isaac’s face changed. He smiled ruefully. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Sam gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Which, you know… I… It’s hard. And… and I feel guilty, too.”

Isaac’s eyebrows pulled together. “For… what, Sam?”

Sam tilted their head back against the couch cushions, tears brimming in their eyes again. “Same old, I guess,” they murmured. “I just… so many of you have been, um, hurt. Because of me. And I… I know that… last bit, with C-Colleen, when she…” They winced as the healing whip marks on their back suddenly burned. “…when she, um, made you say those things. And when I, um, got shot. I…” Sam gulped, and they were helpless against the tears that rolled back into their hair. “If it weren’t for me, you… would never have gotten hurt in the first place. With, um, Gavin. And I… I wanted to come on that mission. I know you didn’t want me to, and I went. And I… when we got taken, all I could, um, think was…” Their eyes slid closed, sending a stream of tears down their cheeks. “Um… all I could think was… ‘please let it just be me this time.’”

Isaac blew out a forceful breath. Sam blinked their eyes open and looked at him. “Oh,” he croaked, his own eyes faraway. “That’s um… exactly what, what I thought, um… too.”

“Well, um…” Sam swallowed the ache in their throat. “Yeah. That’s… that’s why I’ve been, um, in my room a lot. Because, uh… I hate seeing your guilt. And it makes me a hypocrite because I, ah, hate feeling, um, guilty.” They shrugged. “When I see your scars.”

Isaac turned his free arm over, and his gaze moved over the scars there: flat, silver marks from the heated blade of Gavin’s knife, and dozens of thin, pink slashes from his shoulder to his wrist, where Gavin had cut him at Colleen’s house. Those were healed, now, along with the fading ring of pink scars around his wrists where he’d been handcuffed, and fought against the restraints, every single day. Fighting to get to Sam.

“There are a lot more, now,” Isaac said softly, his voice trembling.

“We all have a lot more, now,” Sam said.

Isaac looked at them. “Sam, I… I know, I’m, I’m sorry…”

Sam glared lightly at Isaac. “You’re doing it again.”

Isaac blinked. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I don’t… I swear to god I don’t even… notice…”

“I know, Isaac,” Sam said sadly. They reached out and gently took Isaac’s wrist in their hand, moving their thumb over the scars on his wrists. “It’s just… what you do.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Isaac whispered, his eyes unfocused, like he wasn’t aware he was saying it out loud.

Sam’s lips pulled into a smile. More tears rolled down their cheeks, but they didn’t try to force them down, now. They leaned forward and pulled Isaac into a one-armed embrace. He held them gently, his breath huffing warmly against their hair.

“Um…”

They both glanced up to see Gavin standing over them, his eyes shifted down, one plate in each hand. The smell of Hollandaise and English muffins and ham and eggs washed over them. Their stomach grumbled again, and louder than before. Sam grinned and sat forward.

“We should probably eat at the table so we don’t, um, disturb the puzzle,” Gavin said, eyeing it. “I guess I…” He wandered over to the table and set the plates down. “I guess I could have, um, set that there, and…” He hurried back into the kitchen to grab one more plate and a handful of silverware.

Sam pushed off the blanket and got to their feet. “Smells good,” they said quietly.

Gavin’s head shot up as he set the third plate on the table. “Thank you,” he breathed, wide-eyed.

Sam sat in their seat, watching the curls of steam rise from the plate. Their mouth watered. Almost without thinking, it seemed, Isaac reached for their plate to cut up the food.

“Isaac,” Sam protested weakly. “Yours will get cold. I can, um, I can wait.”

Isaac froze, Sam’s knife and fork already cutting into the eggs benedict. Bright yellow yolk oozed across the plate.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Isaac said. “I didn’t think about it. I’m sorry. I can…” He glanced up at Sam. His lips slowly pulled into a smile. “How ‘bout I alternate? Cut a bite for me, cut a bite for you?”

“That sounds okay,” Sam said quietly.

Isaac cut a bite, carefully spearing the English muffin, ham, and egg, and sauce. He pushed the plate and fork towards Sam and cut a bite for himself.

Gavin had a bite almost all the way to his mouth when he shot to his feet. “You guys eat this with hot sauce,” he gasped, and sprinted to the kitchen. He was back in seconds with the bottle of hot sauce Gray had bought from a woman who grew the best peppers in Crayton – she said so.

Sam took up the fork in their left hand. Even that had gotten easier in the past two weeks. They lifted the fork to their mouth and took a bite, their eyes sliding shut at the hot food. It was delicious.

Continued here

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bobbys-naughty-corner · 4 years

Text

Imagine buying a body pillow case of your fave character and it turning into the actual character.

NSFW

Bokuto Kotaro x reader smut.

Body Pillow

I light candles around the room. Tonight is a very special night. It’s my birthday night. This day has been really perfect. I hung out with friends, they treated me to dinner and entertainment. They made me nearly forget about tonight’s actual celebration. I pulled out the Amazon box that I had tucked under my bed and finally opened it. I closed my eyes praying it was my birthday order and not some other order I forgot about. I peeked open my eyes and squealed. I saw Bokuto’s face smiling and a brand new vibrator. I pulled out the pillow case and immediately stuffed it over the satin case that’s already over my body pillow. I leaned him against my head board and went to tear open the new vibrator. I immediately charged it and looked around. You deserve this. Yes the hell I do. I picked up my phone and shut it off, I don’t want any interruptions. I then went into my draws and pulled out my new lingerie and ran to the bathroom to get in the shower. I shaved nearly every inch of my body, even my anus too. After my shower I put on lotion and coconut oil.l, to make me smooth. I used Shea butter on my bare areas. I came out the bathroom and tossed my towel on the side of my bed. Just in case I need it later. I check the vibrator and it was working pretty well. I unplugged it and started my night. I climbed over my new pillow, looking at every crease and fixing them. His body looked nearly real, nearly. My hands rubbed against his flat silky chest. My hips started to move too. I was grinding over the pillow, the new thong I brought now tugs at my clit when I move and I let out little huffs as a result of the smooth friction. I reached for the vibrator and turned it on. Changing through the different pleasure options. I settled on a constant vibration, a masturbation classic. I moved my thong to the side and gently placed the silicon toy on my clit. I jumped at the contact. I put the vibrator on my clit again and my legs shook a little. “Oh,” I said unconsciously. I rubbed the toy up and down until it touched a area that had my legs wanting to wobble. “Ah! Hmm!” I let out little high pitched moans and bit my bottom lip to stop me from getting too loud. My stomach caved and I squeezed my eyes shut. My body collapsed backwards onto the bed. I raised my legs and literally gave my pillow a view from the south. My legs were spread and the vibrator still on my clit as I shuddered from the toy. As if a gust of wind came in my room, which is impossible since all my windows are closed so is my door, all the candles went out. It was pitch black for a second before they lit back up again. But I was too busy chasing an orgasm as I had my eyes shut tight to even notice. “AhhH Bo!” I let out a strangled moan calling out his name. I gasped sharply when I felt something pull me. I opened my eyes a little and saw his head eyeing my vagina. Who? Bokuto dumby. He had his arms wrapped around my thighs as he stared at my clenching hole. “You’re really leaking.” I blinked and he was still there. “B-bo?” I stuttered. When his eyes looked up at me I instantly orgasmed. My eyes rolled back and my hips bucked in his face. I cried as he watched me descend from the high I climbed. I quickly removed the vibrator so I wouldn’t overstimulate myself. Bokuto’s hands held my thighs tightly as he ducked his head and sucked my my clit. I squeaked and he chuckled against my sensitive nub. “No, stop!” I pushed his head but it didn’t do anything except make him growl. His eyes were closed as he literally made out with my clit. “S-stop! ‘S too mu- Ahh!~” I moaned out during my next orgasm. He slowly let my hips hit the bed as I bucked against his tongue. He left my vagina with a long lick and kissed my pelvis. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world. I could watch you cum 24/7.” He trailed his kisses up my body. I covered my face embarrassed that this is really happening and I’m letting it. I mean I daydream about this man everyday, I prayed a man like him would come into my life and here he is. The man himself.

I watched him kiss my nipples and play with them in his hands and mouth from under my hands. “Bokuto?” I called for him. Turning my head to the side, afraid of making eye contact with him. “Look at me.” He said. I glanced at him from the side of my eyes. His lips still kissing my flesh. “You can do better. I want to see your whole face, beautiful.” He lifted his body and towered over me his hands caging me in. I turned my head fully, and stared into his golden eyes. His stare was intense but it filled me with a nice sensation. Like he was shouting “I LOVE YOU!” through his eyes. His lips tugged into a smile. “Can I?” I pointed down to his erection. His shorts weren’t high enough to cover the tip that was sticking out and leaking cum on me. “By all means baby. Just be gentle with me.” He kissed my cheek and leaned back. I followed and laid on my stomach. “Damn your ass is fat.” His long arm swatted my left cheek and it jiggled. The he did the same to the right, and soon he started to just make it bounce in his hands. I pulled his shorts down as he was occupied and his member continued to leak out small beads of cum. I stuck my tongue out and caught a dripping bead and used my left hand to push him back into his spine as I tried to catch all the cum on my tongue while pulling myself up enough to engulf his huge erection into my mouth. His hands went back to touching me though. One hand hooked the back of my neck while the other pushed my hair up trying to help me keep my hair out of way. He slowly helped me sink further down his shaft. My lips passed the tip and I started gagging when he pushed my head down more. “It’s ok, just breathe through your nose.” I pulled back suddenly and coughed. “Oh baby. We can stop if you-“ “NO! I wanna make you cum just like you did me.” I interrupted him. My hands wiped the saliva from the tip of his dick down the shaft and I drooled over my hands making them more slippery and wet as he moaned from my stroking. “Ahh ha, just like that. C’mere!” He pulled my bra and kissed my lips. His other hand squeezed my ass and gave my butt a hard slap. I yelped into his mouth, he soothed the pain away by massaging my bum. His hips jerked a couple of times. I used one hand to find the vibrator as we continued to kiss and I continued to give him a handjob. When my fingers brushed across the toy I immediately placed it on the tip of his dick. He didn’t seem to care or know what it was. I clicked the vibrator on and he moaned loudly. “FUUUCK! Don’t stop!” His hand gripped my wrist and helped me pump him faster. He stared at me as groaned, a hand clutching my hair forcing me to look at him as he was about to climax. “Can’t wait to fuck you stupid. Make you dumb for my cock. Ahh oh princess!” His hips stuttered as he came all over me. I watched as ropes of his cum landed on my stomach, breast and thighs. He yanked my head back and crushed his lips on mine. He pulled me back as he climbed on me. Using his other hand to push up one of my thighs and angle me. “Bokuto, I’ve never d-“ he shut me up with a chaste kiss. “I know. Trust me I’ll make sure you love it dirty girl. You’ve treated me so well now I want to make sure you see stars.” He aligned himself and my breath hitched. Was I ready for this? I gave him a scared look and he smiled at me, reassuringly. “Tell me when to stop.” He pushed against my vagina and I felt the tip trying to squeeze its way in. I hissed at the feeling of him slowly tearing me apart. He slowly dropped his weight on me, trying to keep me from moving away. I clutched sheets with all my strength trying to ignore the pain. Bokuto planted kisses on my jaw. I whined and let out tiny cries. The further he pushed in the thicker he got and the harder it was for him to fully be inside me. “I know I know.” Do you fucking know?! I yelled in my head. He entangled his hands in mine and placed them above my head. “You’re doing so well. I’m almost in.” He sat up, leaning his weight on my hands and his knees. I stared at him in awe, taking in every inch of his body as he was becoming one with me.

Suddenly his hips thrusted forward. Pushing the rest of his dick in me. I cried and felt a terrible sting at my vagina. I tried to pull my hands out of his but he was too strong. “Shh shh shh. It’s over now. Give me a kiss.” He kissed me but I moved my head and continued crying. “It hurts!” I yelled at him. Each move of my hip rekindled the pain and I kept on crying. He leaned in my ear and whispered, “forgive me.” His hips raised and slowly came back down. His hips moved up and down, sliding his dick in and out of me. “Bokuto, please wait.” I pleaded. “It’ll feel better I promise.” His hips kept moving slowly. He kissed my neck as his dick made my vagina puffy and sensitive. “You have no idea how amazing you feel. Your pussy wraps around my cock so perfectly. Such a good girl for me. You’re taking me so well, so proud of my big girl. I love you YN, I love you so much. Feel good with me.” He said into my neck before sitting up to stare down at me as I tried to hold back my cries. He began to drag his hips against mine. His pubic hair brushing against my clit making me clench around him. “Moan for me. Say my name, I wanna hear you.” He commanded. I bit the insides of my lips and held back my lewd sounds because, why not? He grinned at me sadistically and removed his hands from my wrist. His hips stopped moving, halting his thrusts. His nails raked down my breast, even scratching my areolas, and down my belly making me suck in my gut and shudder. His hands settled on my hips and held me tightly. His hips quickly clapped against mine making them slap loudly. I let out a moan/groan from his thrust. Each slap made me wetter from the sound alone, it was so erotic. I kept groaning between my teeth as he repeated his assaults on my gentals. His dick was hitting what I assumed to be my cervix. It hurt so nicely, I nearly let out an actual moan from it. My voice picking up pitch. I shut my eyes trying not to moan like a porn star but it was getting harder and harder. I felt myself melting more and more. My eyes, half lidded and clouded with lust. My hands held the sheets in a tight grip, my knuckles nearly turning white. “My my, I seem to have a very stubborn little puppy.” He laughed. His pace was slow but hard. One of his hands lift up one of my thighs. He kissed my leg and sucked on some of my fatty flesh. “Oh, look at that face. You like me kissing your body? Do you like being worshiped physically? I can do much more for you, I just need you to say so. Beg for my touch I promise it’ll be worth your wild.” I stubbornly reached to touch my clit but he slapped my arm away. I tried again and he smacked my hand again. He stared at me, eyes full of impatience. I’m sure he wanted to threaten me, or force me to actually beg. But he just waited it out, mentally timing how long it would take for me to give in. I couldn’t handle his eyes anymore, they were getting too intense. So I started begging, with my eyes. He didn’t like that though. His hand quickly grabbed my neck, squeezing with two fingers under my jaw. My eyes rolled back and I finally let out a moan. “Ahh Kotaro! Please! Touch me please!” I yelled, hands gripping his wrist and body rocking with his thrusts. My bed hit the wall every time our hips collided. “Oh now you want to speak?” His hips came down pretty harshly. Sending sharp pain throughout my body making me babble bull shit and moan out ridiculously. “Kotaro! Oh fuck! Slow!- Down!” He didn’t stop though. He had me drunk in lust and pleasure. Drowning in a sea of my juice. “Damn baby. You gonna cum?” His other hand went to flick my clit with his thumb. My body spasmed, I couldn’t handle the sensitivity. Nearing my next climax he slowed down. He put all his weight on me and pushed my thighs to my torso, trapping me under him in a mating press. The position had him hitting my cervix more. He pushed three fingers in my mouth and his other hand flicked my clit. He raised his hips high and quickly dropped them, a scream erupted from my mouth. He did the same thing again, my cervix now feeling abused too much.

My vagina felt swollen. Abused. Weird. I screamed in his ear but he ignored it as he pumped deeply inside me. Pushing my walls apart with each insertion of his dick. “Kotaro,” I whispered his name. It being barely audible to him because of his fingers. “Come with me! You’re taking me like such a good girl. Oh fuck yeah! I’m going to fill that womb up! Fuck! Fuck! Shit!” My eyes crossed as he got rougher. He felt my walls pulsing around him. His tip giving my cervix a hard pounding. My nails raked down his back. Leaving huge red scars down his shoulders and spine. He groaned from my finger nails clawing him. He bit down on my shoulder and as if things couldn’t get better I felt a snap in me and so much pleasure washed over my body. I bit his fingers and he gave me harder thrusts in return. This man was unbelievable. My toes curled and my thighs were about to get a cramp. His hips stopped and he clenched his teeth. Pushing in further as he came inside me. “You’re squeezing everything out of me.” He pulled out and ran out of my room. I felt so sore. It hurt to put my legs down and I was too weak to even move. My mind too clouded to even wonder where he went. I felt wrecked. My eyes were slowly closing as I stared at the ceiling. It was hard to stay awake, but I wanted to wait for him. I wanted to see him again. I want him to hold me. I fought the impending fatigue that was plaging my whole body. When I heard my door open, I wanted to turn my head but I couldn’t even move my neck. His lips pecked my cheek and his hand played in my hair. I wished I wasn’t dreaming. His arms scooped me up and moved me further into the bed. He laid beside me and sling an arm over my body. He gave me a final kiss good night and my eyes shut finally. My subconscious dreaded the wait to the morning. I didn’t want to wake up next to a pillow.

#bokuto x reader #haikyuu bokuto #Bokuto Kotaro smut #smut #x reader #haikyuu smut #body pillow

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mageicalwishes · 3 years

Text

Read on AO3: Here

Rating: Teen & Up

Chapter: 1/? (More chapters to come a little later in Dec + Early Jan!)

Summary: A loose crossover between Carry On and parts of I'll Give You The Sun. "He’s haloed under the streetlights, and I’m trying not to stare. But, it’s hard. His face is celestial - The sunshine of his soul peeking through his features. I want to say more, just so that he doesn’t leave. Our houses are right there but, I feel so ... multicoloured."

Carry On Countdown, Day 10 - Crossover @carryon-countdown

Tags: Fluff, Getting Together, Meet-Cute, Social Anxiety, Crossover, Pining Baz, Artist Baz, Space Enthusiast Simon, Star Gazing, Anxious Thoughts, Carry On Countdown 2020 Day 10

Words: 2,145

Baz

I need to stop thinking about grey, slippery roads and black shrouds. About the purple under my Father’s dull eyes, and the red of my Aunt’s anger. I need to stop thinking about me - About my life. My head is too loud. Too noxious. I need someone else to take my mind for a while. I need to see. To paint. And so, I search for a subject.

Dragging my binoculars across the bleak, colourless houses, I search, desperately, for even a glimpse of a hue. But the colours are slipping from the world again. They always do when I’m trapped in my head.

And then I see them - The movers - so far from colourless that I’m dizzied. They’re great work horses, both of them - One chestnut, and one palomino - Hulking a grandfather clock up the house-next-door’s stairs. I’m zooming in, before I have time to reconsider - Into the stretch of navy against the flex of their arms, the rose flush of their foreheads, the tan swath of smooth stomach revealed each time they lift their arms. And then ... Shit.

I drop the binoculars onto the floor, my body following swiftly behind them. Because, on the roof of the house, there’s a boy pointing a telescope directly at me. Fucking Hell. How long has he even been there?

I risk a glance over the top of my windowsill. He’s wearing a tatty purple jumper, and there’s a mess of bronze curls tangled atop his head. Even without the binoculars, I can see that he’s grinning at me. Is he laughing at me, already? Does he know what I was doing? That I was watching the movers? Does he think that I’m ...? He must. Why else would I be ogling them. God. I feel the dread pinching at my throat, and try to tether my mind, so that it doesn’t get away from me again. Maybe he’s just a smiley person. Maybe he thinks I was looking at his clock. That’s equally as plausible, surely? And, I mean, he has a telescope. Dickheads don’t tend to have telescopes, do they?

Tugging at the ends of my hair, I stand. When he sees me he waves, but before I have a chance to reciprocate, he’s reaching into his pocket, drawing his arms backwards, and lobbing something straight at me. (Maybe he is a dickhead, after all).

On reflex, I stick out my hand. The unknown object slapping hard against my skin, as I close my fingers around it.

“Nice catch!” He yells. His voice deep and bright, with a definite Northern tinge. I decide that I like it. It suits him.

But, I don’t know what to say back. So, I don’t. Instead, I examine his potentially dangerous ‘gift’ - Spinning the rock around in the palm of my hand. It’s small (About the size of a pound coin) and covered in irregular lightening-like cracks. What am I supposed to do with it? Do I throw it back? Why did he even throw it at me, in the first place? I don’t know, but I slip it into my back pocket for safe-keeping, anyway.

When I look back at him, hoping for some kind of explanation, he’s turned himself back towards the sky. Too focused on looking through his telescope to notice me. Which, to be honest, is odd. I mean, it’s daytime. What could he possibly be looking at?

Even though I’m curious, I don’t stick around to find out. I’m worryingly off-kilter, and I need to rebalance. I hadn’t prepared myself for meeting a new person. I wasn’t ready. And so, I run to the place that I know best, to recuperate - The Art Institute. Where I can carry out further recon on the studio.

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

It was a good, productive sketch session. Nobody caught me peeping through the window, and I was able to get a few decent body references down. But … I don’t feel my usual post-art calm. My mind is still racing (Although, with a different genre of thought than earlier).

Every over time I have visited, the models have been women. Posing demurely, with a bowl of fruit or silks. Arms placed, to partially protect their modesty. I’m used to that. I’m prepared for that. But today … it was a bloke.

I don’t have a problem with that (Not really). There’s nothing wrong with blokes. And there’s nothing wrong with naked blokes, either. I’m mature enough to handle that. A body is a body. A sketch is a sketch. And I’m an artist first, queer person second. I just … hadn’t expected it. And I don’t like to be caught off guard. So, I’m feeling slightly rattled. I just need to get home, and get back to normality. To safe things - Like a beach scene, or a self-portrait. Familiar things. No more surprises.

And yet, a few steps into my walk back home, I see the guy from the roof leaning against a nearby tree, the same lopsided-grin aimed over at me. I blink, confirming his existence, and then he’s talking. Stood, barely 3 metres in front of me, in the dirt.

“How was class?”

He says it like it isn’t the strangest thing in the world that he’s here, with me, where he really has no reason to be. Like it isn’t only just slightly beaten in its absurdity by me, sketching propped-up on a wall outside, rather than inside, the studio. Like we aren’t complete strangers (Because, no matter how much he may be smiling at me, we don’t even know each other's names yet).

‘Yeah, sorry, I kinda’ followed you. I wanted to check out the woods, but I wasn’t sure of the way. So … I just tagged along. Figured you wouldn’t mind. Don’t worry though, I wasn’t watching you the whole time. I was busy with my own stuff.”

He points to an open suitcase filled to the brim with ... rocks? As if that’s normal.

“My meteorite bag’s all packed.”

I nod like that explains something, but it really doesn’t. Meteorites? I thought those were in the sky, not on the ground. And what does that even mean? He just carries around pieces of infinity. For what?

I look at him more closely, studying his face for any sign of disingenuity. For any sign that he’s just having me on. But I find nothing. Nothing … bad, anyway. Just a deep dimple accompanying his crooked smile, and miles of tawny skin, speckled with moles. He exists in shades of orange and gold. He’s the sun. And I can’t look away.

“Stare much?”

I drop my gaze, embarrassed - Staring down at his scuffed Nikes, as my neck prickles with heat. I don’t talk. What am I even supposed to say to that? Yes?

“Well ... you’re probably just used to it from staring at that bloke for so long. You know … for your drawing.” I look up - Grey meeting blue. He’s eyeing my pad curiously. “He was naked?” He breathes in as he says it, like the words stole his oxygen. It makes my stomach plummet, but I try to keep my face calm. I think about him watching me, watching the movers. How he watched me, watching the model. He must know. And ... I don’t know how I feel about that, just yet.

He looks down at my pad again. I don’t understand why. Does he want me to show him the drawings of the model bloke? It seems like he does. And some disturbed part of me wants to. But I doubt it. ‘Hey stranger, wanna’ see how I draw dicks?’ said no sane person ever. My stomach twists tight, and I’m out of control - My brain hazy amongst the moment’s tension.

“Look, man,” he sighs, half-smiling as he scrubs at the back of his neck. “I legit’ have no idea how to get home. I tried, but I just ended up back here. I’ve been waiting for you to lead the way. You don’t mind do you?”

I don’t think I mind. Do I? I don’t know. I shake my head, anyway, and point him in the right direction.

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

It’s a long way home, and we walk the majority of it in silence (Well, near-silence. The bumping of his suitcase creating a constant accompaniment to our steps). I try and resist the urge to look back at him. The urge to ask him all of my ‘Why?’s - Why did you follow me? Why are you still following me? Why are you collecting meteorites? Why were you looking at the stars in daylight? Why were you looking at me in the daylight? It would only make me more muddled. So, rather than relent, I take out my invisible brushes and start to paint behind my eyes.

And, after a while, I feel myself settling back into my skin. The dancing trees and setting sun relaxing me, in spite of the moment’s unsteadiness. Or ... maybe it was him. He’s an alarmingly relaxed person (I mean, I don’t know anybody else who would just follow a stranger around, with zero self-consciousness), so it wouldn’t surprise me if he had some sort of ‘Realm of Calm’ thing going on around him.

When we emerge from the woods, returning to our familiar concrete-laden pavements, he spins around and jumps in front of me. Ecstatic.

“Holy shit! That is like ... the longest I’ve ever gone without talking in my life! I was holding my breath just trying to keep the words in. How do you even do that? Are you always like this?”

He’s a mile a minute, and I’m lagging behind.

“Like what?”

And then he’s laughing at me. I can tell that he’s a person who laughs a lot, from the way he lets it take him over so easily - His whole being lightening up, as the sides of his eyes crinkle, joyfully. But it’s alright, I don’t mind. It’s not a mean laugh. It just makes me feel a little bit fizzy inside (In a good way. I think).

“Dude! Are you kidding? You do know those are the first words you’ve said all day, right?”

I didn’t, actually. But I don’t tell him that. He’d probably just think that I’m more strange than he, no doubt, already does.

He’s properly cracking up now (Although, I don’t know what, exactly, I did that was quite so funny). “And then you’re all just like ‘What?’”. </p>

He makes an absolutely atrocious attempt at imitating my accent (Which leaves him sounding like some kind of drunken Prince Charles impersonator), and before I can stop it, I’m laughing outright, alongside him. Both of us hunched-over cackling, wholeheartedly, probably looking more than a little mad.

Once we’ve calmed down, he starts staring at my pad again. Jesus Christ. I really wish he wouldn’t. I’m not going to show him my sketches. Not even if he begs. I’d never survive the embarrassment.

“So ... lemme’ guess. You do most of your talking in there?” He points down at my pad, and I feel the tips of my ears flood scarlet.

“Yeah. Something like that.” My voice comes out mumbled and gruff. I didn’t mean for it to. He probably thinks I did it on purpose, though.

He’s haloed under the streetlights, and I’m trying not to stare. But, it’s hard. His face is celestial - The sunshine of his soul peeking through his features. I want to say more, just so that he doesn’t leave. Our houses are right there but, I feel so ... multicoloured.

“I paint in my head sometimes,” I blurt. Dumb. So unbelievably dumb. “That’s why I was so quiet, I was painting.”

“Oh that’s cool. Saves paper, I suppose. Better for the trees, and that.” Stalling. He’s stalling. I’ve made it weird. I always make it weird. “So ... were you painting anything specific?”

“You.” Oh, fucking hell! I’ve ruined it - I’ve smeared on that last glob of un-erasable acrylic and ruined the painting. I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t even mean to say it, it just ... popped out. And now he’s stood, gawping, eyes wide and face flushed. I’ve embarrassed him. I’ve gone and dumped all my greedy keenness on him, completely uninvited, and now he’s drowning in it.

Everything feels tight. The air, suddenly too humid to swallow. I’m gasping - Waves of breath crashing, loudly, in my ears. Panic. I’m panicking. I need to - I have to go.

So, for the second time today, I run. Spinning on my heels and darting back towards my house, without as much as a ‘Goodbye”. Away from him. Away from humiliation. Back to my room, where I pull the blinds shut and open up my pad - Briskly skipping over today’s work. A blank page. A fresh start. I really am no good at talking the normal way.

#carry on #carry on countdown #coc 2020 #simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #my fic #my writing

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mexicancat-girl · 4 years

Text

Quiet (with you)

Another MarcNath fic written for #MLPrideFest2020 and Pride month in general

AO3: Link, 3600 words

...

Even after making friends, Marc still likes to write under the stairs.

Maybe it was just an ingrained habit at this point.

Marc didn’t do well with crowds, or loud places. It was all too chaotic. Ironic, considering he loved loud music; but dealing with people in real life was different than listening to his favorite albums.

Either way, Marc started his habit of siting and writing under the stairs since the start of the school year, too anxious to deal with both the cafeteria and his crippling loneliness of not having any friends to sit with. He has friends to sit with now, but his anxiety was a fickle thing. Sometimes he just didn’t want to seem like a bother.

The stairs were a place he enjoyed, though. They were quiet. Out of the way. And no one looked under the stairs, so it provided a nice little hidey hole. He could be isolated, while not being wholly alone.

After all, if he stayed under the stairs in the courtyard, he could hear and see when lunch let out and he had to go back to class. He couldn’t do that if he wrote in, say, the Library. The Library was too quiet, too out of the way. Marc would forget altogether about needing to leave, entranced in his writing, making him accidentally skip classes like some sort of delinquent.

And he wasn’t a delinquent! He just got lost in his head when he wrote…

Marc fiddles with his pen. Someone takes that moment to step close to him on his left.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says in a yawn. Marc snaps up his attention to Nathaniel, who hovers over him for a few seconds, before unceremoniously dropping to the ground to sit next to him.

Or, well. It looks more like he collapsed to the ground.

“Are you okay?!” Marc yelps, nearly chucking his pen and notebook aside in his haste.

Nathaniel just blinks back at him blearily, posture horribly slouched. He has dark circles under his uncovered eye, as if stamped on the pale skin there. His vibrant red hair is mussed, like he’d just been sleeping.

“M’fine,” the redhead sighs out, giving another jaw-cracking yawn right after. “Just tired.”

Marc frowns over at the other boy in concern. “Nathaniel…”

“Mmm?” he hums listlessly in reply.

“Did…did you get any sleep at all, last night?” Marc hedges, staring at the exhausted-looking artist.

“…Maybe.”

“How many hours?” he presses carefully, concern welling up even stronger as he watches Nathaniel duck his head and slump down even further.

“…A few.”

“How many exactly?”

“Like…Four?” is the weak response.

“Nathaniel!” Marc gasps, scandalized and concerned.

Nathaniel just groans, burying his face in his hand. “M’fiiiine.”

“You’re sleep deprived! That’s not fine!” he retorts, setting aside his notebook and pen to turn in place and put his full attention to his friend-slash-crush.

“Well, I’m still alive. So I think—” a yawn disrupts Nathaniel’s drawl “—I’m good.”

“You have to sleep,” Marc decides, quite logically. “You’ll pass out any second if you don’t. And you’ll end up missing class.”

“Bold of you to assume I didn’t already,” the redhead laughs dryly.

“You what?!”

Nathaniel just shrugs, looking vaguely sheepish as he says, “I fell asleep in class again. No big deal.”

“Is this a common occurrence?” Marc asks, brows flying up in shock. “Does this happen all the time?”

“Well, not all the time…” Nathaniel hedges, pink dusting his cheeks and uncovered eye darting away. “Just…Every once in a while.”

Marc sighs, shaking his head. His crush doesn’t seem like he’s jumping to elaborate, and Marc knows how stubborn the boy could be.

One more thing the two have in common to add to the pile: they both had a shit time asking others for help.

“Why did you only get four hours of sleep anyways?” Marc can’t help but ask, curious.

“…I forgot to?” the redhead cringes.

“You forgot to sleep?!” Marc yelps, leaning forwards to gawk in horror. All he gets in reply is a sheepish, tired laugh. “Nathaniel! How can you just forget?”

“Marc, when you have ADHD, it’s easy to forget a lot of things,” Nathaniel deadpans, looking a bit more dead inside as he does so.

“That’s not an excuse, and you know it.” Marc chides, giving a pointed look. “You have a phone. Set an alarm to remind yourself to go to bed.”

“…I do that. It doesn’t work.”

“Set multiple alarms, then?”

“If I do that, I just get pissed that my phone keeps interrupting me. And then I keep drawing anyways.”

Marc sighs, tapping a finger against his cheek. “There has to be a solution…”

“Prob’ly,” Nathaniel shrugs, another jaw-cracking yawn spilling from his mouth. “Look, I just… really wanna take a nap right now.”

“Go ahead. I’ll wake you up when we need to go back to class,” Marc tells him automatically, freezing slightly when he realizes what he’d just offered.

Oh God, was that weird? Who the hell would want to take a nap under the stairs? Not only is it creepy, it’s all solid concrete down here, hardly a comfortable place to sleep for any amount of time—

Nathaniel, however, doesn’t seem bothered by the offer. In fact, he smiles back at Marc, bright and genuine even through his apparent exhaustion.

“Really?” the redhead asks, as Marc awkwardly sputters and nods. “Thanks, Marc, you’re the best…!”

With a concerning amount of cheeriness and enthusiasm, Nathaniel flops right onto his back and throws an arm over his eyes, apparently settling in for a nap then and there.

“Y-Y-You’re welcome…?” Marc tells him weakly.

The redhead hums, but doesn’t do anything else in reply. He just shifts to his side, facing Marc, and…completely zones out.

Marc watches in fascination as the other boy instantly falls asleep. Just like that.

For someone that apparently had trouble going to bed, Nathaniel didn’t waste time actually falling asleep, it seems.

Marc slowly and carefully picks his notebook and pen back up, making sure he’s quiet and doesn’t startle the other boy awake.

And then he writes.

-----

Every once in a while, Marc looks up to check up on Nathaniel.

The redhead keeps on sleeping, dead to the world.

It’s probably creepy to do, but after more and more time passes, Marc’s gaze is drawn to watching Nathaniel’s sleeping form. Like a magnet. And eventually, he just sort of. Watches him sleep.

After all, there’s not exactly many opportunities for him to stare unabashedly at his crush without possibly getting caught by said crush. There’s also the factor in play that sleeping is a private and intimate thing, and Nathaniel had no problems just…hunkering down and taking a nap by Marc’s side.

Either Nathaniel really trusts him and isn’t bothered by the possibility of Marc judging him, or he’s so exhausted he genuinely doesn’t give a fuck about anyone’s opinion.

Both options make Marc’s stupid gay heart flutter, just a bit, in his chest.

Nathaniel looks so… peaceful while he sleeps. His face is slack, lips parted slightly as he breathes slowly and deeply. The exhaustion and stress melts from his features. His lashes are delicate as they fan out across his cheekbones, kissing the small smattering of freckles there. His bangs are mussed and out of his face completely for once, hair feathered out, fire spilling against the concrete.

The other boy doesn’t snore, either. But he does drool, just a bit.

The sight makes Marc smile. It’s probably achingly lovestruck and fond. He doesn’t fight it.

Marc shifts—slowly, carefully—until he’s sitting level with the sleeping redhead. He pauses, heart in his throat, when Nathaniel mumbles and shifts a bit. And then tenses when the boy butts his head against Marc’s thigh.

Marc watches with bated breath as Nathaniel snuggles against his leg like a cat, apparently drawn to Marc’s body heat. He even curls up a bit and throws his leg over Marc’s extended one, knee hiked up, the weight trapping Marc’s right leg in place.

Marc’s face feels like it’s on fire. He tries very, very hard not to squeal. And also tries to ignore the fact that if Nathaniel migrates further, he’ll end up in Marc’s lap.

Though Marc honestly can’t complain about that, even if the prospect makes him want to go into cardiac arrest from mingled embarrassment and joy.

Fumblingly, Marc brings up his unoccupied leg, balancing his notebook precariously onto his raised knee. He doesn’t even know what he writes—if its cohesive at all, or just the ramblings of a madman desperately in love—but he has to at least occupy himself. If he doesn’t, he’ll die on the spot, or his mind will overthink everything.

If he doodles a few too many hearts on the page than is considered normal, well. No one’s around to see him.

-----

“Damn it, Nath…! Where are you?!” Alix seethes under her breath, stomping across the cafeteria.

She was a woman on a mission.

Somehow, in the five seconds Alix took her eyes off Nathiel in Miss Bustier’s class, he managed to slip past her. He was a slippery one, and too quiet for his own good.

Alix was pissed. Mostly concerned for Nath’s health and continued wellbeing, but pissed all the same.

That dumb tomato-boy was probably off somewhere, passed out in a corner of the school like a homeless person. Vulnerable and ready for any old bully to waltz by him. All because he was avoiding Alix, since she tended to strongarm him to stay awake and eat a proper lunch and wallow in his mistakes of staying up til nearly four in the fucking morning. Again.

Either way, Alix was going to find his stupid ass, and drag him to eat lunch so he could have enough energy to not pass right the fuck out and end up in the nurse’s office.

She’s checked his favorite hidey-holes in the Art Club Room and the Library. With those options eliminated, she has no reason to really stay on the top floors. So she ends up stomping all the way back down to the main floor.

And then realizes that she may have forgotten one last spot.

Quietly, she moves away from the stairs. And when she’s got enough distance, carefully hiding behind a column, she crouches and looks under the stairs.

Marc is there, as she expected. His bright-red hoodie and messy hair are fairly recognizable.

Passed out next to Marc is a very familiar form that Alix instantly recognizes as her dumbass best friend, one Nathaniel Kurtzberg.

Alix would normally stomp on over and wake Nath up. But the actual sight before her makes her pause, and consider.

Marc is sitting down, one knee propped up and seemingly trying to write in his notebook, and looking to be struggling at it. Probably because Nathaniel is half-using him as a pillow, his head all but in Marc’s lap, a leg thrown over Marc’s extended one.

Marc’s sort of trapped under Nathaniel. Though he looks so enraptured and awed at the fact that he’s being used as a pillow, he probably wouldn’t move from his spot in a thousand years.

It’s…an incredibly cute sight.

And it’s also a bit surprising, too.

Not the fact that Marc’s looking down at Nathaniel with a look so gooey and lovestruck, he pretty much has hearts for eyes. Alix’s picked up near-instantly that Marc has a bit of a hopeless crush on her best friend.

No, the more surprising part is Nathaniel taking a nap on Marc.

Nathaniel never feels bothered about taking naps at school, just plonking his head on his desk and diving straight into dreamland. But sleeping around other people is a bit different.

Nath likes to cuddle when he sleeps. But he only does it to people he really, truly trusts. He won’t just sleep on any person.

So far, the phenomena only extends to family. Which includes Alix and Jalil, because Nath all but considers them his siblings. But he doesn’t sleep on any of his other friends.

The fact that he’s sleeping on Marc shows that he trusts him. A lot, at that.

It shows that he even considers Marc family.

“Interesting…” Alix mutters quietly under her breath, her mouth breaking into a shit-eating grin.

Feeling devious, she carefully fishes her phone from her pocket, and clicks it on. A few swipes later, and she’s zooming in on her camera to take a dozen photos of Marc and Nathaniel in their current position.

She’s so going to tease the shit out of Nath later over this.

Hell, she might as well start a new album for them, at the rate that this is going. She hadn’t even realized Nath was crushing back on Marc.

Hell, Nath might not even know he has a crush on Marc.

This is ironically hilarious.

And hey! They’ll all make great photos for the wedding, she’s sure. She should know; she’s going to be Nath’s best man. They pretty much made a blood pact on it when they were younger. She’d be his best man, and he’d be hers, if they ever got married.

With a smirk and a cheery hum under her breath, Alix carefully and quietly backs away, so she won’t be seen and ruin their cute little moment.

She could let it slide. She’ll let Nath sleep, this time.

-----

It feels both like an eternity, and no time at all, before the sounds of students migrating out of the lunchroom get louder and louder.

With a pang of regret and longing, Marc realizes he has to wake Nathaniel back up.

Well. It’d been good while it lasted.

At the very least, Marc can make some corrections about his daydreams of a blissful domestic life with his crush. Including the newly revealed fact that Nathaniel’s a cuddler.

“Nathaniel…Wake up,” Marc says, ducking down and gently shaking his shoulder. “We have to get back to class.”

“Five more minutes,” the redhead half-groans half-whines, raising his head slightly just to plop it straight on Marc’s thigh, burying his face there.

Marc all but jumps out of his skin. He’s so startled, he yanks his leg away, watching in horrified mortification as Nathaniel smacks his face slightly on the concrete.

“I’m up, I’m up!” the redhead yelps, jolting up, blue eyes wide and staring around himself wildly as he shifts himself into a sitting position.

“I-I-I’m so sorry,” Marc gasps, instantly hovering over his friend. “OhmyGodNath—”

“S’fine! S’fine,” Nathaniel says, shaking his head wildly, before bringing a hand up to carefully rub at his face. “My fault for smacking myself anyways.”

“A-Are y-you okay?” Marc worries, hands fluttering to and fro.

“I think so…?” the redhead blinks, cheeks dusted pink. “Ummm…Sorry, c-can you see if I have a bruise, or—”

“Y-Yes, of course.” Marc quickly leans his face in, scrutinizing the other for injuries. Other than the growing blush (no doubt of embarrassment) on Nathaniel’s face, there’s no major change in color that’s a warning sign for an injury. “N-No, you’re fine. Your nose looks a little red, but that’s it.”

“Thanks, man,” Nathaniel sighs, leaning back and rubbing at his nose, eyes averted. “I mean, I’ve had worse on my face after waking up, but still. It’s nice to have someone to check.”

“I’ve fallen asleep on my notebooks before…” Marc offers, wincing sympathetically. This earns him a small smile in return, which is worth the slight embarrassment of his admission.

“Oh, same. I’ve conked out right on my notebooks and sketchbooks before. Woken up with writing from my notes or smeared marker on my face,” the other says, laughing awkwardly, obviously self-conscious even if he jokes about it.

“I-If you need to, you probably have enough time to double-check in the bathroom…But I think your face looks great,” Marc starts, before his too-authentic words catch up to him. “Um! I-I mean, fine. Your face. Is fine. You’re fine.” Marc nearly closes his eyes and drops into a prayer for God to smite him where he sits. “S’fine.”

“Uhhh…Right,” Nathaniel coughs, smiling, blue eye glimmering with mirth. “Anyways. Sorry for making things, like…awkward? But I appreciate you letting me nap with you. Really. I felt like dying.”

“N-No problem! It’s no problem at all!” Marc is quick to wave his hands in front of himself to wave away the other’s concern. “I’m glad I could help.”

“Yeah, Alix doesn’t let me get away with sleeping during lunch anymore,” Nathaniel sighs, smile turning crooked and abashed. “She says I’m scrawny enough that I can’t afford to be skipping meals.”

“I don’t think you’re scrawny,” Marc answers automatically and loyally. Apparently, his brain-to-mouth filter has gone and died on him in the past hour. He would blame Nathaniel for being so cute, but honestly, this is more of a him problem than anything. He’s too big of a gay disaster for his own good.

Nathaniel just smiles and laughs. Not in a mocking way, but in a way like he’s thought Marc made a funny joke.

“Alix would say otherwise, but thanks,” he says warmly, tugging his bangs behind his ear. Marc is hit with both of Nathaniel’s blue eyes crinkled in fondness. It all but punches the breath straight out of him. “Did I bother you at all, by the way?”

“N-Not at all!” Marc is quick to assure, even as he averts his gaze in a way that’s no doubt guilty. “I-I still got a b-bit of writing done…”

“Good. I didn’t want to mess up your flow or anything…Y’know, since this is your spot to write and all,” the redhead says, self-deprecating, averting his gaze. “And…Thanks again for letting me chill here. It’s actually really peaceful.”

“W-well, this isn’t my spot, per se…I-It’s not like I own it?” Marc starts, a bit mystified, but backpedals a bit so he doesn’t seem rude. “B-But you’re welcome! You can come by anytime. It’s not like I’d ever turn you away.”

Wait. Why did he say that?

Marc freezes, trying not to panic. Did he just admit he’d never turn Nathaniel away? What if that blows his cover? What if Nathaniel realizes he means it genuinely, but like, in a very non-platonic and incredibly gay way?

“Ooh, permission to sit here in your secret spot…? I’m honored,” Nathaniel grins back at him toothily, before finally moving to stand. “I’ll come by more often if you come sit with me at lunch more. Deal?”

Nathaniel holds his hand out to Marc, smiling expectantly back at him. Face warm and heart aflutter, Marc reaches out. Nathaniel clasps his hand and heaves him up off the ground, nearly over-balancing in the process.

“Woah! You’re heavier than you look,” the redhead laughs, obviously teasing as he makes a show of wiping his forehead.

Marc huffs, bending down to snag his pen and notebook. “Or maybe I have a solid three inches on you, so I have more body mass.”

“Well gee, thanks for reminding me that I’m short,” Nathaniel drawls back.

The two eye each other with mock annoyance, before they burst into laughter.

Marc feels a potent mix of fondness and joy settle in his chest, nestled with the swarm of butterflies there.

It’s always…freeing…to laugh with Nathaniel. It reminds Marc that they really are friends. That Nathaniel doesn’t just tolerate him. That he maybe even enjoys Marc’s company.

“Get back to class, sleepyhead,” Marc teases, using his unoccupied hand to wave as he starts to step back.

“You get back to class!” Nathaniel retorts, grinning wide, raising a hand in goodbye.

Marc’s already a few meters away, when a thought strikes and a surge of confidence fills him. He has one more thing to say.

He turns around and walks backwards to look at Nathaniel, who’s still standing in the same place as before, yawning and rubbing at his eye. Marc makes an exaggerated and over-the-top pantomime of smoothing his hair down, as he calls, “You should probably fix your hair, while you’re at it!”

Nathaniel startles, staring back at him. Marc can’t help but smirk back, amusement growing as the other boy blushes and instantly starts to comb his fingers through his hair, flattening it back in place and re-arranging it so he doesn’t look like he’d just tripped out of bed.

Even with his efforts, his red hair looks tousled, full of flyaway strands that just won’t sit still.

And coupled with his blushing face, well. Nathaniel looks like he’s done more than just take a cat nap.

Marc turns right around and speed-walks away before Nathaniel can say anything else, or his own mind can fall deeper into the gutter.

-----

As Marc makes his way to class, he clutches his notebook to his chest and bites his lip, but the smile spreads wide and crooked in his mouth anyways.

He just…He just made Nathaniel blush.

He giggles a bit under his breath, pressing his knuckles against his lips, no doubt smearing his lip gloss. But he can’t even bring himself to care. He’s too giddy. The butterflies buzz and flutter in his chest, alongside his heart.

He can’t wait for Nathaniel to join him under the stairs again.

Marc may like the quiet and solitude, but…He thinks he likes being quiet with Nathaniel even more.

#MLPrideFest2020 #Nathaniel Kurtzberg #Marc Anciel #Alix Kubdel #MarcNath #NathMarc #Miraculous Ladybug #fanfic #pride month #mexicat writes

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