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topperscumslut · 7 months

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Kiss Me With Your Eyes Closed (Sejanus Plinth x Reader)

Summary: (Y/N) is the victor of the 9th Hunger Games and the beloved girlfriend of Coriolanus Snow, though she’s secretly in love with his best friend (in this au the hunger games progressed more quickly, for example mentors were already present before the 10th games etc etc). title inspired by Hot Freaks’ Puppy Princess!

Warnings: not much rlly tbh, a wee bit of angst but mostly FLUFFY FLUFFFFF. might write a smutty sequel if this does well (or just if i feel like it lol) but even then it would be more fluffy smut, like sweet love making rather than getting absolutely railed lmao yk? (i probably will so stay tuned if u like this and lmk if u wanna be tagged!)

spoiler free apart from references to coriolanus x lucy gray!!

ok actually it is a pretty good amount of angst nvm lmao

Word count: 2k

You sigh as you run your fingers over the tattered poster, so shiny and new only a year before, reading the now barely legible words. (Y/N) (L/N) Victory Tour, In Honor of the 9th Hunger Games, Arriving Soon in Your District. You remember your victory tour all too well. Despite the traumas you had endured as a victor, you’re grateful for how far you’ve come. Sure, you still have nightmares of your games every now and again, yet even still you have the best fate a girl from District 3 could ever hope for - you had fallen in love with a boy from the Capitol.

From an outsider’s perspective, it was the perfect love story. A doomed romance from the beginning; star crossed lovers, one might say, a Capitol boy and a District girl. When you had arrived at the Capitol for the 9th Hunger Games, near certain you had no chance of winning, your dashing mentor Coriolanus Snow had immediately taken a liking to you. He took you under his wing and coached you through your games, and when you had miraculously emerged victorious and returned to the Capitol, he decided that he wanted you for his own, and who were you to say no? Not even a few weeks before, you were just another girl from District 3, completely unknown, barely scraping by. Now you had been thrust suddenly into a lavish lifestyle with a handsome suitor to boot, adored by all of Panem; the nation’s sweetheart. After your games, you could have left it all behind. Sure, you would never be granted total anonymity being a victor, but you could have gone back to your beaten down home in District 3 and lived a relatively quiet life. After all, it’s not like the Snows had the finances to buy your freedom from your district and turn you into a full fledged Capitol citizen.

But the Plinths did.

You never particularly enjoyed Strabo Plinth as a person, but you couldn’t help but be grateful to him for what he had done for you. You had, however, immediately taken a liking to his caring wife, as well as his juxtaposition of a son, Sejanus, who clearly took more after his mother. In contrast to your rugged, analytical lover, Sejanus was gentle, complex. The two of you had become fast friends while Coriolanus had helped you prepare for the games.

And so before you knew it, this was your new life. At first you were anxious, concerned that your becoming a Capitol citizen and Coriolanus associating so intimately with a girl from the Districts would be seen as an act of rebellion and put you both in danger. However Coriolanus assured you that the nation loved you, both as an individual and as a couple. Sure, it was unexpected, yeah, it broke the (admittedly unwritten) rules, but that’s what made it oh-so fun to watch. Because at the end of the day, the games weren’t a competition - they were a show, and everyone loved an underdog.

There was only one minor flaw. You had fallen in love with a boy from the Capitol, yes, but it wasn’t the one you had so publicly given your heart to.

Your relationship with Coriolanus was practical, and that was about the only positive thing you could truthfully say about it. Neither of you were particularly wealthy or powerful individually, but together, you had potential. If you could keep all of Panem tuned in to your epic love story, you could almost certainly ensure mutual survival. You offered Coriolanus the opportunity to be known as not only a mentor to a victor, but a lover as well. And though nearly a year later his eyes had started to wander, the dapper blond had been quite infatuated with you when the courtship had begun, and Coriolanus was notoriously possessive. While his family was in the midst of financial hardship at the current moment, becoming a Capitol resident gave you the opportunity to get by still much more comfortably than you had in your impoverished home district. And who knew what volatility Coriolanus was capable of if you had rejected his advances? You had been coaxed into this very moment and had no other option but to grin and bear it. After all, all the girls you knew back home would kill to be in your position. A handsome sweetheart, financial stability courtesy of the Plinths, and the whole country all but worshiping you. Coriolanus Snow had offered you not only fame and fortune, but more importantly, security. Safety, in return for your undying affection.

Coriolanus was sweet at first. Charming, for sure. He was certainly attractive, yet he had never really had much of an effect on you. Maybe it was simply intuition. Or maybe it was the fact that he could never compare to his best friend, Sejanus Plinth.

Kind, pure Sejanus. The type of boy that, unlike Coriolanus Snow, truly made your head spin. The chemistry between you and Sejanus was unspoken, yet undeniable. However, you had already reluctantly sworn yourself to Coriolanus, and knew running off with his best friend would certainly put both you and your not so secret admirer in a treacherous situation. Sejanus Plinth was a risk you simply couldn’t afford to take.

What stung the most was that in any other situation, it could have worked. Sejanus was certainly more wealthy and influential than Coriolanus, not that that was what truly mattered to you. If you had been just a bit more fortunate, you could have had the boy you truly loved as your mentor and still have the same security and more that you were now so gracefully granted, if you had simply found your way to Sejanus before Coriolanus had set his sights on you and claimed you as his own. But unfortunately for you, your current romantic relationship was one built upon the grounds of survival rather than love.

If you were fully honest with yourself, you never truly loved Coriolanus - well, not romantically, at least. There was once a time where you had loved him as a dear friend, but in the time you had known him, he had become cruel and vitriolic. You knew from the start that he had always had it in him to become this way, though you had always naively hoped that he wouldn’t, that he would control himself, but the poison within his soul had soon taken over his cold, uncaring heart. He had become hardened by the misfortune of his family and gradually more complaisant in the ways of the Capitol, as well as secretly resentful of the great fortune of his supposed best friend and honorary brother Sejanus.

Now just over a year since you had met, the 10th Hunger Games were nearing to start. You had heard the whispers of Coriolanus sneaking around with his newest mentee, your replacement in more ways than one, Lucy Gray Baird; however it never bothered you. Lucy Gray knew that your relationship with Coriolanus was nothing more than a facade, and the two of you had become unlikely friends. You weren’t sure just how much of his affections for Lucy Gray were genuine, or how much was motivated by a desire to flatter her in an attempt to gain another victor to further his own career. Though Coriolanus’s mood was recently heightened by his new lover, he was still resentful of being assigned such an impoverished district for two years in a row and was prone to fits of rage over this perceived insult. While your home of District 3 was never much of a spectacle, Lucy Gray’s District 12 was miraculously even more down trodden, the poorest district of them all. You couldn’t help but wonder if this assignment was actually made to compliment Coriolanus, to show that if he could made a diamond in the rough out of you, that perhaps he could do the same for Lucy Gray.

As you sit alone in Coriolanus’s bed, still running your fingers gingerly along the photograph, you hear a knock at the door.

“Sejanus?”

“Oh, hey. Is Coryo around?”

You shake your head. “He’s out right now.”

Sejanus’s jaw tightens at your response. “With her?”

You nod unenthusiastically and can see the disgust and anger wash over his face as he makes his way over to you.

“It’s not her fault, Sejanus. She’s actually really sweet.”

He sits down on the bed next to you, careful to leave enough space between the two of you as to not make you uncomfortable. “I know it’s not. It’s his. Does it really not bother you at all?”

“Not particularly.”

He chuckles to himself. “You’re better than me, (Y/N). I don’t know how you put up with it. If I truly loved someone, it would kill me to see them with someone else.” He’s subtle, but you can tell exactly what he’s implying.

“Well good thing I don’t have to see it.”

“Fair enough.”

Sejanus looks sympathetically at you for a second, blissfully unaware that his kind, beautiful brown eyes are making you melt, before noticing the poster in your hand.

“Is that-”

“Yep.” You shiver, remembering your games, the things you saw… “I don’t think it ever occurred to him, the things I had to do in there.”

“It occurred to me.” He gently places his shaky hand on your knee, carefully surveying your expression to make sure you’re okay with the contact, to which you nod slightly, nearly involuntarily. “Look, I’ll say it since no one else in this screwed up place will, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

You bite your lip, feeling butterflies in your stomach once again as he gives you that look and it takes everything in you not to lean in and kiss him right then and there. Your boyfriend could come home any moment, after all, and you quickly compose yourself, breaking Sejanus’s gaze. “It’s okay. I won. It’s the Hunger Games. It’s an honor.”

He inches carefully closer to you before speaking up again, his deep voice barely above a whisper. “(Y/N), you don’t have to pretend around me.”

You shake your head in denial. “I’m not pretending.”

“Then why haven’t I seen that light in your eyes that I love so much since you’ve left the arena? Why don’t you care that he’s always off with Lucy Gray? Why are the rules different for you than they are for him?”

And suddenly it hits you all at once. Sejanus is right. If Coriolanus is sneaking around with your friend everyday, even when they aren’t training, then what’s to stop you from doing the same to him? What do you owe him when all he’s ever done is keep you like a bird in a cage?

You don’t stop yourself, you don’t even think as you lean in and kiss Sejanus. He gets over the initial shock quickly and melts into it, cradling your body in his arms and pulling you in by the small of your back. You both pull away at the same time, not quite sure what’s gotten into you, but whatever it is, you like it.

“Coriolanus has never kissed me like that.”

“Go figure.”

His nerves kick in once again as he starts to stutter an apology before you shut him up by kissing him softly again.

“Since I first got to the Capitol… Sejanus, nothing here has felt right, except for you.”

“I could say the same about you,” he muses as he leans in once again, kissing you slow, both of you pretending the moment could last forever. If only…

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k-atsukibakugou · 2 months

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you're finally being introduced to your girlfriend's friends, invited to a last minute party, any confidence melting from you when you see another girl clinging to her arm. ────no quirks

pairing: gender bend/masc lesbian bakugou x f!reader w/c: 6.7k (i need to be put down) warning/s: fauxcest (bakugou referred to as your step sister/sister), dubcon, bakugou is TOXIC, feminine/girly reader (she/her pronouns; wearing makeup; nails + a dress; long hair/out/on her face), reader referred to as a puppy (degradingly not petplay lmao), pet names (pretty + baby), emotional manipulation, cheating (on reader, implied to be with ochako but not overtly), alcohol + weed mention, reader a lillll bit of a crybaby, public/car sex, oral (r! receiving) notes: i have so many feelings about masc lesbian bkg *head in hands* um this is the most self indulgent thing i've ever written so this is my entry to @mechamedusa's self indulgence collab bc i really didn't need to make bakugou a lesbian on a power trip who treats you like a pet but who's going to stop me? NO ONE inspirations/acknowledgements: frat party playlist ; like a girl does ; soaked ; one of your girls + 10sim's art & @0301995 for always enabling me lmao

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

18+ MINORS + BLANK BLOGS DNI

fidgeting with your phone, you check the address once again, about the fourth time since you'd left home, the thumping bass worming its way through the walls to the courtyard enough to confirm it was the same party your girlfriend texted you to meet her at, reassured again seeing a group of boys crowding around something, loud whooping and cheering echoing when the tall redhead at the centre of the huddle landed the small ping pong ball in the final cup across the tabletop, the victor soaking in the cheers of his friends like he was an athlete in front of a stadium filled with screaming fans. with sweaty palms, you slid your phone away, your text to katsuki still reading delivered beneath it.

your fingers don't stay still for long, falling to the hem of your new dress, the one katsuki told you to wear when she'd sent you an invite. the hem sat at your mid-thigh, a little shorter than you usually went for, the long sleeves doing little to warm you from the cool night air, the lack of coverage everywhere else making you shiver while you made your way up to the front door.

checking your phone again, seeking the familiar sound of katsuki's text tone to soothe your nerves, your eyebrows pinched together in a small frown; the screen was still free of notifications, no reply from katsuki since she'd sent you the address hours earlier. with a soft sigh, you tucked it back away, pushing the door open. the music amplified tenfold when you stepped over the threshold, the beat making the ground beneath your feet vibrate and the walls shake, the vocals hardly legible over the sounds of speakers buzzing. tentatively, you closed the door behind you, taking a step toward the heart of the music, searching each room you walked past for the familiar blonde hair, finally spotting the spikes in the den towards the back of the large share house. your heart skips a beat in your chest at the sight of her seated on an outdated, soft dark green couch tucked in the far corner, her cropped shirt riding up on her abdomen when she leaned back, the white band of her bra poking out of the bottom, her legs lazily falling open, knocking knees with the black-haired boy beside her, her other knee nearly taking out the blond seated in front of her, his legs crossed on the floor, cradling a colourful glass bong between his thighs, the boy poking her thigh with a bright yellow lighter, not interrupting his conversation with a brunette girl just to tell your girlfriend to fuck off. an excited smile split across your face seeing her, wasting no more time, you excused yourself through the crowd separating you and your girlfriend, her eyes glinting predatorily in the low light of the lamp when they met yours.

katsuki looks you up and down, a pleased smile on her lips seeing your dress, dark eyes flick back up to your face, drinking you in. she thinks you look like a nervous puppy like this, obedient, bright, excitable but apprehensive, waiting for the order to speak, girl.

you raised your arm higher to wave to her, your anxiety melting away every second longer she looked at you, more teeth on display the closer you got to her. your movements caught the attention of the two boys with her, lazy, half-lidded eyes looking you up and down as you squeezed past the final person keeping you from your lover, the blond boy the first to speak, tilting his chin up without looking away from you, "this your newest fling, baku?"

your smile falters, your heart beating unevenly against your ribcage at the analytical look coming from the black-haired boy, hadn't she told them? she invited you to introduce yourself, didn't she? katsuki's expression hadn't changed from her minute smirk, no sign of the confusion you're sure is written all over your face, the only change being a lasting glance toward the girls the blond boy passed his bong to. brown and yellow eyes alike roam your features, everything about you is exactly katsuki's type, especially the cute, naive smile on your sparkly, glossy lips.

"huh? her?" she has a bored look on her face, vermillion eyes lazily falling from your face to inspect her chipped black nails while her friends dissected you, heavy gazes watching you fidget with the sleeve of your dress. her tone didn't leave much room for you to laugh it off, to introduce yourself properly, to smack her shoulder and whine that her joke wasn't funny.

your mouth goes dry hearing her suck her teeth, her head rolling on her shoulders like this interaction was exhausting her, languidly raising her hand to gesture to the dark-haired boy, then dropping to the blond, "sero, kaminari, meet my stepsister."

your blood rushes in your ears, drowning out her introduction, surely you misheard her?

"the old woman said i had to make her feel 'part of the family'." slender fingers make quotes in the air, her dark eyes flashing with something you couldn't place, almost amusement when they meet yours again. the blond, introduced as kaminari, climbs up off the ground, untangling his lanky limbs, arms stretching high above his head, chin at his shoulder while he cracks his neck, "so we gotta play nice?" he joked.

as if looking for guidance, or permission, you glance at katsuki, her chest rising and falling steadily, her heartbeat even under her skin a stark opposite to your deranged pulse. pulled from your thoughts by a shoulder bumping against your own playfully, kaminari held your trembling hand in his, "then we better get you a welcome drink!"

with his hold on your hand, you were whisked away before you could get another word in, stumbling through the path cleared by kaminari, dragging you hot on his heels toward the kitchen. steadying yourself, you spare a look back over your shoulder to stare back at your girlfriend, confusion and embarrassment painting your expression. a wave of anxiety washes over you, uncertainty twisting in your stomach, what did she want you to do? she didn't tell her friends she was kidding, and you were unwilling to disagree with her alone with kaminari, what if her friends just laugh off your claim?

maybe they were all high and they'd forget about it all by the next time you saw them. it was a bad joke, yes, but you'd get to try again another time.

your attention snaps back to the boys ahead of you, sero bringing you back down to earth with an arm plopped over your shoulders, boyish charm oozing from him, "what do you drink, gorgeous? you don't look like a cheap beer kinda girl."

your tense shoulders relaxed ever-so-slightly at his playful teasing, manicured fingers still fussing with your sleeves while you scanned the countertop littered with liquor and premix cans, spotting a bottle of confidence-boosting clear liquid, "vodka with raspberry soda? that's what i normally have."

your voice isn't as timid as you expected when you speak, your tone even, curious, albeit soft compared to the boisterous pair. your face warms when sero salutes you, a smile creeping its way back to your lips; he grabs a cup from the top of the stack in the centre of the counter, quickly mixes your requested drink, offering it to you after swirling it under his nose, muttering about its "bouquet".

his playfulness makes you giggle, finding easy comfort with him and kaminari.

"so you're bakugou's sister?" you choke on the chilled drink, body alight with embarrassment again, you'd nearly forgotten what katsuki had said, your gaze drops to the floor when you clear your throat. stiffly, you nodded, glancing over the rim of the cup to katsuki across the room, butterflies erupting in your twisted stomach when she winked at you. you really didn't want to make it awkward, claim you'd been dating her three months, you didn't want to see her upset with you, to storm out with you asking why you'd disagree with her, why you'd embarrass her in front of her friends. looking back at the pair, you nodded again, more certain, compelled to agree with katsuki.

"step, yeah, it's a boring story, though, i promise there's not a lot to say." you laugh, gulping down the last of your drink, wetting your dry mouth before changing the topic, wanting nothing more than to forget the spike of anxiety from katsuki's introduction, "what about you guys? how'd you three meet?"

falling back into the ease and comfort of chattering with them, you listened to sero and kaminari telling you all about their meeting in high school, stories of how crass she used to be, how smart she was, how they saved a room here for her after their first year in the share house, katsuki usurping kirishima's bed after many bar crawls; the image of your drunk, grumpy girlfriend kicking out the muscular six-foot-something guy had you in fits of laughter. apprehension melted from you the more you drank and laughed with the pair, your cheeks warm and aching after being with them for only fifteen minutes, your fingers almost permanently digging into kaminari's shirt to support you between giggles.

even with tears of joy in your eyes, you couldn't resist twisting around to check on katsuki, every atom in your body wanting her to join you, to wrap her arms around your hips and show you off, craving the way she'd toy with the hem of your dress, even wishing she would pinch at the soft skin of your thighs just to feel you squirm in her arms. instead when you spun around, the first thing you saw was the brunette girl, perched on the arm of the couch closest to katsuki, her pink-haired friend taking another hit from denki's bong beside them, oblivious to her friend leaning in front of your girlfriend to point at the newest piercing in her ear, her legs draped over katsuki's lap, even her slender fingers wrapping around the brunette's ankle to keep her steady. your eyes were glued to the couple, a morbid curiosity refusing to let you even blink while katsuki's cherry eyes idly traversed her body, her dress shorter and tighter than your own, your girlfriend's gaze was trained on her plush thighs, squishing together when she adjusted herself to tip closer again, blurred pink lips brushing against your girlfriend's earlobe as she spoke.

"you alright?" kaminari asks, you're slow to tear your eyes off katsuki, finally facing your new friends again with what you hope is a composed expression, "sorry?"

the boys snickered at the pitiful look on your face, your eyes almost cartoony with how big and sad they looked, "you look like a kicked puppy."

"c'mon, i'll get jirou to play untouched, you'll feel better." again, denki was tugging on your wrist, leaving you stumbling along behind hanta's confident navigation, the pair of them clearing a path ahead of you for you to stumble through. tripping over your own leg, you caught yourself with a hand at the back of denki's bicep, giggling at your sluggish clumsiness, your quick movements quickly making you realise how tipsy you really were, forgetting your worries about katsuki the longer you drank, laughed and danced with them, hanta returning just in time to pass you another icy cup, pulling you closer to dance.

"i love this song!" shouting far louder than necessary, hanta laughed with you, singing the lyrics along with you.

naturally, with your eyes half-closed in a smile, you scanned the crowds again for katsuki, your eyes automatically locking to the couch, your heartbeat spiking when you realised she'd moved, your slow eyes zeroing in on her in the next room by the time the next song had ended. she was lounging on the carpeted floor beside the same brunette girl as earlier, swirling a non-alcoholic beer around in her hand while the girl spoke animatedly. even as denki squeezed closer to you, his chest to your back while he danced, you studied your girlfriend, the edges of her body blurred, not missing the way her eyes raked over the girl's body, resting far too long on the low neckline while other people gathered in a circle around them; your attention piqued when the girl leaned over katsuki, taking the bottle from her grip and downing the remnants of the drink before placing it on the floor in front of the blonde.

hanta spun you around, his chest now to your back, his hands resting high on your hips, pulling your body in rhythm to the music blaring through the speakers scattered around, glancing up at him, you flashed a small smile, certain it was lopsided this far into the night.

"what are they doin' in there?"

"huh?"

blinking slowly, all your movements outside of his hold in slow motion, you peered back over your shoulder to stare at katsuki again, catching her staring back at you with a wicked glint in her eye before she turned her hungry gaze on the brunette crawling over her, leaning back on one hand with an arrogant air around her, the other snaking around the girls neck to drag her into a deep kiss, the pretty girl melting into it the moment their lips met.

squeaking, you snap your head back around, your embarrassment apparent on your face when you face denki again, his curious yellow eyes trained on your mouth open in shock. the wolf-whistling in the adjacent room catching his attention, his lips tugging up into a smirk, "don't tell me you wanna play that."

hanta chuckles, bloodshot eyes shining with a mix of curiosity and judgement, what kind of step-sister were you to want to join their game, and where could he find one?

laughing nervously, you shake your head, mumbling something that has denki leaning closer, his pierced ear coming in line with your mouth, "say again?"

"i wasn't expecting to see that…" you repeat as loud as you can muster, suddenly shy once more, denki's eyebrows furrow until he looks back over again, watching the same thing you had, your girlfriend and the other girl he recognised as katsuki's ex from high school, kneeling beside her, a delicate hand tangled in blonde spikes, the other squeezing, pawing at katsuki's hip, travelling down the outside of her thigh while their lips were locked together in a kiss far more sensual than ever necessary in a game of spin the bottle.

dazed, you couldn't speak, couldn't tear your eyes away, watching the shadows cast from eyelashes stretch across katsuki's high cheekbones, edges of her lips tugging into a smile in the kiss, even as your eyes blurred at the edges. unsure if it was the alcohol or tears, you shook your head in an attempt to clear your thoughts, to ground yourself again by focusing on hanta's hold on your hips and denki's soft shirt under your fingertips, too drunk to think straight, too drunk to think of anything but her.

inhibitions clouded, you gulp down whatever is left in your cup. determined to have a good night with katsuki, you spin back on your heel, stupidly excusing yourself to go make another drink. upside down on the sink you spot a shot glass, emblazoned with the logo of some random city you'd never been to, deciding it was good enough to pour vodka in, holding it in your hand while you scan the counter for the bottle, only finding dregs left in countless clear bottles. about to take a wobbly step back to the dancefloor, you were stopped in your tracks when you were face to face with your girlfriend again. well, your face to her back.

your throat closes seeing her on the stairs, stunned into silence watching her heavy black boots climb higher and higher up, the brunette already around the corner, all you could see of her were her fingers sliding through katsuki's belt loops, the belt hanging uselessly either side of her hands while she dragged your girlfriend closer. blinking dumbly, you catch one last glimpse of katsuki before she eagerly submits to the girl pulling her along, her frame disappearing behind the wall, and you even think you can hear a door slam and lock above you over the sound of the music.

stunned, you stand still, stuck in the same spot by the cluttered counter, staring at the landing at the top of the stairs katsuki had just disappeared behind, questioning yourself if that's even what you just saw, trying to convince yourself it wasn't, mentally counting the amount of vodka raspberries you'd had. before you could fall too far into your delusion, denki manifests beside you again, snatching a packet of chips tucked away at the top of the cupboard closest to you, "lookin' for your sister?"

your eyes are slow, your head turned toward him entirely before your eyes caught up, meeting his citrine irises, a polite smile pulling at the corners of your mouth, the rest of your smile tight. just as quickly as denki appeared, hanta did, slotting himself beside you, slinging his arm over your shoulder to offer you his cup. you eagerly accepted, taking it in two hands, finishing whatever mix of liquor was in it in one gulp.

"yeah, what's with the sad puppy dog eyes? we're not enough fun for you?" sero jokes, squeezing you closer, your face burning his skin through the fabric on his shoulder, their teasing, the alcohol and your anxiety making your face only grow warmer. you tried your hardest to laugh off their joking, to play into it, your mind clouded by the look on katsuki's face when she told her friends you were her sister, the look on her face when she watched you dance, the look she had kissing another girl, the look on her face being dragged up the stairs.

even after shaking your head, trying to jostle the invasive memories, all you could see was her face staring up from between the pretty brunette's thighs, red eyes sparkling in the moonlight cascading in through a window, dishevelled but still smug.

you're not quite sure how long has passed since you were dragged over to the couch, your eyes flicking back and forth between hanta, denki and the bottom of the staircase, occasionally distracted by their banter and body heat, your eyes drawn back to the flashing screen each time your shoulders and thighs bumped with theirs. they don't keep your attention for long, every sign of movement having your eyes snapping back to the staircase, hoping every hint of blonde was her. stuck in a loop, their jeering and impish jabs dragging your attention back to the screen long enough to see the blood red fatality light up the TV before you were again checking over your shoulder for katsuki, losing every match against one of your newfound friends before they grew bored of watching your character idle; denki whining nearly immediately when hanta takes the controller from your hands, "that's so unfair, han, i had more to smoke than you did."

with the two bickering like siblings, you gave into your compulsion once more, looking through your hair to the bottom of the stairs before watching the pairs rematch; doing a double take when at last, you spot katsuki sauntering down the wooden stairs.

her spiky hair was mussed, a tuft gathering at the centre as she pushed it off her face, her lips glittering under the lights with a sparkly pink gloss that you knew wasn't her own, the tip of her tongue smearing golden flecks over her bottom lip as her slender fingers hooked through her now empty belt loops, bringing your attention down to her dishevelled shirt and band of her boxers poking out of the top of her baggy pants. without even a second glance behind her for the brunette girl, katsuki beelines for your trio, the hem of her pants hanging over her shoes only adding to her self-assured aura, nothing like your own perfect outfit, meant to impress katsuki and her friends, emphasise your assets, now crumpled between two sets of thighs.

reaching your group, katsuki drops onto the couch beside denki, her legs taking up far more space than necessary as she squeezed between him and the arm, scarlet eyes shining as you squished further between the two, your arms pushing against your chest and pillowy thighs pressing closer together with the space getting smaller. sheepishly, you spare a glance at your girlfriend, her eyes glimmering with a strange look you can't place your finger on as you shift again, your hem rising further up your thighs the more you adjust your position, timid again around her as she lounged back on the couch, draping her arm around denki to brush her fingertips along the nape of your neck behind him.

as quickly as she touched you, you jumped forward, your cheeks burning hearing hanta's wolf whistling, busying yourself with pouring yourself one more drink, something to busy your hands as the pair began interrogating katsuki about what happened upstairs.

katsuki doesn't respond with a single word, her dishevelment, glossy smirk, and a picture she flashes them enough of an answer; her phone screen dimly displaying the cute girl she had gone upstairs with, now with her brown bob messily strewn over the pillow she laid on, fringe sticking to her forehead when she smiled up at the camera, holding up two fingers as she posed with her the top of her dress buttoned up unevenly.

you want to look closer, a morbid curiosity washing over you, simultaneously wishing katsuki would answer every question hanta and denki threw her way and wishing she had never even invited you to this party, never met her friends, never seen the look in her eyes as the girl tugged her upstairs. never met her.

you're standing before you even register your movements, stumbling a little on your feet as you stand, only just managing to steady yourself before spilling any of your drink. three pairs of eyes are trained on you, all of them curious, intrigued, denki is the only one to cringe away from you, worried you might vomit where you stood. gingerly, you spun back around to face the group, a shock of adrenaline sobering you when your glassy eyes locked on katsuki's mischievous ones.

"you wanna go, or somethin'?" her voice was rough, deep like it was when she spoke half asleep in the mornings at your place, shrouded in dim morning light with your fingers tangling in the shorter hair at the nape of her neck. again, you grew quiet, a heat swirling inside your stomach that didn't match the jealous upset circling your head.

your tinted lips part, but your wobbly voice stays stuck in your throat; looking back down to the dark timber floor, you nodded, glancing up at her through your eyelashes to see her bidding goodbye to the pair beside her with a boyish handshake and a slap on her back. coming to stand beside you, katsuki gestures towards her friends, an ash blonde eyebrow quirked in a silent command, speak, girl, only moving down the hallway for you to follow out when you mumble a quick goodbye, their names nearly running into one, "'snicemettingyou."

katsuki walks ahead, each confident step thumping against the flooring, her hands tucked deep into her pockets to search for her keys; you wanted desperately to reach for her hand, to loop your arm through hers and walk beside her instead of trailing behind her with wide eyes and a trembling lip. your need for her only grew as you stepped outside, the night air far cooler than the humidity, the air growing stale from too many cigs, vapes and bongs littered around the house.

"you need to stop poutin', baby." your heart swells at the pet name, desperate for a hint of affection after being denied the whole night. she's just a blurry figure ahead of you when you glance at her through your eyelashes, slowly beginning to clump together with unshed drunken tears stuck in your lash line. katsuki observes you over her shoulder, studying the way you wring your hands together, how your dress slowly rides up your thigh with every step, and how hard you're trying to blink your tears away, she especially pays attention to the way you wobble on your feet, tripping over a stray pebble at the edge of the pathway.

the blonde steadies you with a warm hand at your wrist, gently guiding you the rest of the way to her car, parked in her usual spot. finally, alone together again, katsuki was back to being the perfect girlfriend, keeping her hand firm at the small of your back, opening the back door to her car for you as the first tear broke free, sliding down your cheek, holding out her other hand to you to pull yourself into the backseat.

your eyes easily focus on your girlfriend still standing outside the car, the courtyard a mix of blurry colours and shapes, but her image clearer than ever, the shock of cold air and your tears making you feel far soberer than you did when you'd started playing video games with your newfound friends; you looked her up and down, sniffling a little when you locked eyes with her again, the dark of her pupil staring intently at you while she gets herself comfortable slotted between your legs still dangling out of her car.

you're even more focused on the scent of her pistachio caramel shampoo in the car, sucking in a deep breath of the night air to clear your mind when her hand settles at your thigh, the very tips of her painted fingers crawling under the hem of your dress. you're unsure if it's her touch or the weight of her gaze making you squirm, her fingers twitching on your plush thighs just to analyse your reaction, like you were a specimen, like she was dissecting through your brain tissue to read your thoughts.

they'd be boring, you think, everything was just an echo of her.

your bleary eyes dropped back down to your wringing hands, only watching katsuki from the corner of your eye, she looked… soft in the blurry corner of your eye, all unclear, soft planes, like you were looking at her through an unfocused camera, instead of her typical jagged, harsh spikes, even her eyes looked nearly adoring.

"what are you doin', baby? what're my friends gonna think if you keep gettin' jealous over me like that, huh?" her fingertips are so soft underneath your ear when she cradles your jaw, tracing gentle shapes while she reprimands you. her voice dropped lower, inching closer to you hidden in the dark, her mouth only a breath away from yours, pink lips could easily brush against yours if she just dipped her head, "you gotta behave around them, pretty, or they're gonna think you're some kinda pervert… you want that?"

you shake your head rapidly, your mouth opening to defend yourself, to tell her you wanted her friends to like you, you liked hanging out with them, your throat too tight to get anything more than a whine out, "oh, baby, it's alright, i know."

your chest blossoms with heat, your stomach burning like a heath set alight by her matchstick words, a single fat tear falling from your eyes to roll down your cheek, running down your neck until it was joined by another. katsuki catches your tears as they roll down your face, slowly swiping a thumb over your bottom lip, sucking her own between her teeth before closing the distance between you.

her lips pressed to yours felt euphoric, the feeling of her tongue licking the remaining salty, raspberry taste from your lips as close as you thought you'd get to heaven. katsuki deepens the kiss, parting your lips with her own, her hand on your jaw keeping you hard against her while her tongue slides against yours. the kisses between the two of you are always messy, charged, full of hot, wandering hands, sharp teeth, her raspberry-sweet tongue and a foreign-tasting lip gloss tacking your bottom lip to your chin.

you sigh into the kiss, a whiny, needy sound that you never made until her, your eyelashes tickling her face when you press your lips harder to hers, pouring every ounce of your love and affection into her through your connected lips. a perfect, manicured hand travelled up her chest to tangle in the blonde spikes at the base of her neck, an apprehensive tug at her hair tilted katsuki's head back, your kiss deepening with the practised movements; always starting slow and sensual before devolving into a mess of neediness, swollen lips, sharp teeth and insatiable tongues.

"you're the one i take home, though, aren't you?" katsuki rests her forehead against yours, her breath mixing with your heaving gasps, her deep garnet eyes flicking back and forth between your own, blown pupils staring back at her. adoration bloomed in your chest at her confession, nodding your head as much as you could against hers pressing hard to your own. you paw at the collar of her shirt, intoxicated by her proximity; her figure clouding your thoughts, the image of her towering over a brunette, smiling up at your girlfriend as you did, katsuki's hungry eyes devouring her when her head falls back and her spine arches, the girl's hands digging into the same spot on her abdomen you clung to when you came, their lips wet with each other's affection. glancing down to katsuki's clenched fist at your hip, gathering the fabric higher and higher, you cleared your mind of the girl, you were the one in her car, going home with her, you were the one katsuki was comforting, the one she'd take home and cook for, she'd have probably offered to wash your hair for you if you'd cried any longer.

"you want me?" she asks, revelling in the way you vigorously nod, 'want' nowhere near what you felt anymore, only increasingly more pathetically needy for her.

"do you want me?" you repeat her question between heaving breaths, a sweet sigh escaping you again when katsuki's lips find their place under your jaw, kissing, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin until your ankles cross behind her back and your head falls backwards with a whine. her grin is like saccharine against your skin, slender fingers topped with chipped polish trace the crease of your thigh, only pausing when she feels the heat at the peak of your thighs, "you need me to show you, pretty?"

her forefinger follows the seam down the centre of your panties, huffing out a laugh when your hips buck at her touch, your free hand finding hers under your skirt, manicured fingers gripping her wrist to guide her to your puffy clit, "huh? this is what got you so desperate?"

you don't answer her, can't answer her, your hips bucking off the cloth seats into her touch, scratching at her scalp with your nails, hoping the gentle bite of your manicure at her skin is enough to tell her you need her, need this, the comfort of her touch, her lips, her tongue, whatever it was she usually did when she made you forget how cold she was, to remind you how your heart raced beneath her.

"let me give you what you need," you're not certain you hear her entirely, the blood rushing in your ears drowning out her low voice when she drops down to one knee on the pavement outside her car, her hair looking nearly black in the dimness of the night when she disappears under your skirt; although you're certain you hear a chuckle when she snaps your cold, wet panties against your skin. katsuki sets your skin alight with every expert pinch at your trembling thighs, never giving you a chance to worry about the open courtyard her car was parked in, instead already getting you squealing and whining out her name in the sweet voice you saved just for her ears.

"katsuki–" she rewards your needy gasp of her name with an animalistic stare, her eyes bright even in the darkness watching you, her breath warming the seam of your panties, "people might see."

katsuki thinks you're like a little mouse when you whimper her name, not even trying to hide from her sharp, hawk-like gaze; a dumb field mouse, lying with your stomach exposed to her talons. her clouded eyes drop back to your drooling pussy right in front of her face, the peak of your thighs slick with what your panties couldn't catch, "i'll make it quick."

there wasn't another word whispered into the night when she finally gave you what you needed; pressing her lips to the junction between your thigh and your cunt, not even bothering to slide the panties you wore just for her down your legs, instead settling for holding it out of her way to expose your pussy to her ministrations, a sigh against your skin the only indication of your effect on her.

not wasting any more time, her tongue was at your cunt, your euphoric gasps drowning out katsuki's own moan at your taste, her tongue flat against you to taste as much of you as possible in a single wide lick to your clit. your jolt flicks a switch inside the blonde, her nose pressing so hard to your pubic bone it nearly hurts when her tongue swirls around your throbbing clit, her saliva mixing with your wetness, the mixture already starting to gather on her bottom lip, not bothering to catch the string of cum dripping from her lip to the backseat.

your grip on her hair never weakens, pulling and tugging whenever your hips rose to meet her tongue, muttering out a swear between breathless murmurs when her tongue flicks over the bunch of nerves, following your movements every time you try to escape the pleasure washing over you, simultaneously grinding onto her tongue like you needed more. you can feel her smile against your skin when she licks at the wetness dripping from your cunt, her tongue and lips sliding against your skin like a debased makeout session with your pussy.

not ignoring your clit for long, katsuki's lips drag up your skin to suck at your skin, your noises only getting louder and higher with every flick over it, your girlfriend insatiable, refusing to give in until your thighs were clamping around her skull, "uhnnn, please, 'tsuki, i need it."

you can't see her face under the skirt of your dress, but you can imagine the evil twinkle in her eye, the same ravenous shine pooling in the blood red whenever she got you begging, whenever she had you humping her face, your nails leaving parallel marks at the base of her neck.

"tell me what you need," her words run together in her desperation to get her lips wrapped back around your clit, her tongue still half hanging out of her mouth when she speaks. your mouth bobs open and closed dumbly, wracking your mind for a word other than please or katsuki.

"you know what i need–ah" you try, raising your hips again, whining again when she licks back down to your wet hole, dipping her tongue inside only enough to feel how you clenched your cunt around the muscle, "cum on my face, and i can take you home and give you everything, baby."

katsuki's voice is rough and deep and it breaks on the last syllable.

your eyes roll back in your skull at the broken pet name, your hair knotting against the cloth seats when you nod, a string of unfiltered babbling leaving your lips when her mouth closes back around your puffy clit, "please, 'ki, yeah, i-i think i'm gonna cum, i wanna cum, i need you to cum."

your long moan echoes through the car to your own ears, too blissed out to feel embarrassed at how ruined you sounded for her, too dazed to do anything but buck your hips at her groan vibrating against your soaking cunt, sticky with cum, saliva and glittery lip gloss.

your cheeks burn feeling her tug your panties back in place, fighting the urge to lock your legs around her head and shield yourself from the chill, the loss of her body pressed between your thighs making the damp spot on your panties feel even colder than it was, "c'mon, pretty, let's get you home."

the smile she flashes you when she climbs back to her feet is sweet, despite the point of her incisors shining under the moonlight making her look viscous, like a vampire ready to sweet talk her way to your jugular. you'd fall for it, you think to yourself, the girl beneath the harsh lines so sweet, sincere when you were alone with her, you'd be disarmed, too powerless to deny.

a loud holler at the back of the house reminds you where you are, your thighs snapping shut, your ears hot when katsuki laughs at your sudden bashfulness again, your hands flying to tug your skirt back down your thighs, shielding your exposed skin like she wasn't just kneeling, face to face with your drooling cunt. you finish adjusting where the hem brushes your pillowy thighs at the same time katsuki finishes brushing stray, crisp leaves from her knee with one hand, her other on yours, pulling you from the backseat, both of you as dishevelled as the other; lip gloss smeared over chins, matching tangled hair and slick thighs.

you stare at her like she hung the stars in the sky just for you when she opens the passenger door for you, deep vermillion studying the way your bottom lip tucks between your teeth at her sweetness, the way it did every time she did something like this to you, leaving you waiting on your front steps for an hour for her, whenever she cancelled a plan an hour before when she knew you'd already be getting dolled up, suggesting you both just play video games at her place instead of whatever nice date you'd planned. and yet, it ended with her lips and fingers slick with the tartness of your cum and you, staring up at her with lovesickness shining in your eyes, every time.

katsuki winks at you when she closes the passenger door with a soft thud, hardly loud enough to be heard over the party still raging nearby, the fact giving you some comfort in knowing your lover was the only one to hear your desperate whines and moans.

you track her movements around the car, unable to tear your eyes away from her sharp beauty, amplified even more so by her smile; all dangerous teeth and silver tongue on display, still watching her when she turns the key in the ignition. the engine vibrates and purrs with life, the headlights and radio flickering on with one last turn of the key in the ignition, "wanna put on our song, baby?"

reaching into the cup holder for her phone, the picture of her friends reminding you to ask her to tell her friends the truth about you, maybe tomorrow, not wanting to staunch the adoration pouring out from her. leaning close enough to smell her shampoo and perfume again, you queue your song, katsuki turning the volume knob with one hand, reaching her other arm behind your seat, shifting the car into reverse. effortlessly, she manoeuvres between the countless other cars, each of them parked wonkier and messier, most people pulling into any spare spot they could get.

excited for your and katsuki's song, you lean forward with your tongue bitten in concentration, attempting to press the small skip button beside the obsolete CD player embedded in the car, sluggishly bumping a button, the song skips back, a curse leaving your lips. still trying to press the correct button, you're oblivious to the flash of her phone screen, the illumination dim but clear, unmistakably the same contact photo your girlfriend showed off earlier lighting up the screen, only a pink heart as the contact name beneath it.

i can't wait to see you again x

© all works belong to @k-atsukibakugou, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost or recommend my work on other platforms or translate my works, i do not give permission for my works to be bound and sold. 18+ minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

#katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #bakugou smut #lesbian bakugou #lesbian bakugo #lesbian bakugou katsuki #lesbian bakugo katsuki #lesbian katsuki bakugou #lesbian katsuki bakugo #livedeliciously🐐collab #「kat <3」#「mercury writes」

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dfortrafalgar · 3 days

Text

I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem. But sometimes, you just need a little bit of love... and a little bit of science.

Warnings: read chapter 1 for warnings

(also it's far too late in the game for me to be asking this but can someone help me figure out why everyone's blogs outside of the first five people in the tag list dont show up. ive been on tumblr since like 2014 and still cannot figure this stuff out im sobbing)

Chapter 28

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Your maternity leave had started early, not helped by how active one of your babies was at the crack of dawn. Every morning when you woke up to the sound of your alarm and rolled over to hoist yourself out of bed, you felt a kick against your abdomen. When you stood up, you felt that familiar fluttering sensation. One morning, you slept in only a few minutes longer than you normally did, and were punished with a small shove against your bladder that had you involuntarily unloading your urine into your pajama bottoms.

That one made you cry, Law keeping his chuckles to himself as he helped you clean up in the bathroom.

“Stop berating them through my stomach,” you sobbed. “I just pissed my pants.”

Your husband had answered you with a soft kiss to your swollen skin as he bent down to pick up your soiled clothing and bring them to your washing machine. “It happens, darling. It wasn’t your fault.”

Needless to say, it had been an emotional third trimester thus far.

On a Friday evening, you were sitting reclined against the arm of your couch, a book resting on your belly as you munched on some apple slices when Law came bursting through the door. He was frantic to kick off his shoes and shrug off his lab coat, hanging it on the hooks in the entryway before scrambling into the living room and plopping himself down next to you. He was holding a notebook in his hand.

“Hello to you, too,” you stated sarcastically, placing a paper bookmark in your novel to mark your spot and adjusting yourself on the couch to sit with your legs crossed under you.

“I was busy on my break today,” Law stated matter-of-factly, flipping through the wrinkled notebook with a fervor. When he found the page he was looking for, he folded the journal in half and held out the exposed page to face you.

A bunch of squares and barely legible writing covered the lined paper. You squinted. “I have no idea what I’m looking at, babe.”

Law rarely had moments where he got so excited that he couldn’t speak, but this was clearly one of those moments. He would forget that other people didn’t have over 20 years of medical training going back to the age of five. “Sorry, sorry.” He turned the notebook back toward him, using his finger to point out what he had scribbled down. “These are genetic predictions. It’s estimated that about 50% of fraternal twins will be opposite genders, so a boy and a girl. Which means about 25% will be both boys, and about 25% will be both girls.” He moved his finger from one scribble to another. “I have black hair, which I’m assuming to be the dominant gene among the two of us. However, I’m also a carrier for brown hair, because my mother and sister both were brunettes. Accounting for your hair color, I’m estimating that it’s a 75% chance that both of our babies will have black hair. At least one of our babies will have my eye color, but I believe your eyes are the dominant trait. I remember you saying at one point that someone in your family had curly hair, right? I’m estimating a 25% chance that at least one of our kids will have curly hair. If both of our babies are boys, the chances are 75% that they’ll be colorblind, and 25% that only one of them will be colorblind. If both are girls, it’s a 75% chance that both of them will be carriers for the colorblind gene, 25% that only one of them will be. But again, this is all approximations. So then I started thinking about more technical stuff. I have B+ blood, but I couldn’t remember what your blood type was, so we have to go off of the Rh factor, which is dominant with positive Rh, which means that at least one of our babies will have Rh positive blood, likely both. Male pattern baldness is also a dominant trait in most families, but I’m 26 and still have a full head of hair, so hopefully if we have a boy, he won’t have to worry about hair loss. Funnily enough, I learned today that having six fingers on one or both hands can actually be a dominant allele in some genetic lines, but neither of our family members have had any form of polydactyly that I can recall. Just an interesting thought. Anyway–”

Your shoulders were shaking with your laughter. “Law, slow down! Breathe!” Your hands reached forward to grab his shoulders to settle his excited rambling, his face slowly losing color as he was speaking more than he was absorbing oxygen.

You watched as your husband took a long gulp of hair in before blowing it out slowly. “Sorry. I got excited.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re adorable,” you replied, stroking your hand along his cheek. “How long did it take you to write all that down?”

Law glanced one more time at his notebook before closing it and discarding it on the coffee table. “About 15 minutes.”

You snorted. “I hope intelligence is a dominant trait so that both of our kids will be as smart as you.”

“You’re smart too,” he argued back, his voice light and content.

“Not ‘scribble down multiple punnett squares in 15 minutes’ smart,” you countered. “Have you eaten anything yet?”

He shook his head, stretching his arms behind his back. “Nope, I came straight home. I was too excited to show you that.”

You grinned, struggling to lean forward to kiss the tip of his nose. He assisted you by leaning forward on his own legs, pressing his forehead to yours.

“How have you been feeling?” he asked suddenly, diverting the topic. One of his hands came to rest on the crest of your belly, petting the taught skin through your shirt.

“Tired,” you replied. “It’s hard to stand up. Robin said both babies are probably around 2 or 3 pounds by now, but honestly it feels like I’m carrying lead weights when I stand. I feel like a turtle.”

“Any more movement?” he asked, scooting over the cushions to be closer to you, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders to pull you into him. You gladly followed his gesture, dropping your head into his neck.

“One of them moves in the morning still, the other likes to kick when I go to bed. The only reason I’ve been able to tell is because I feel them on different sides,” you groaned. “I don’t know what it looks like with them folded up in there, but they haven’t made it easy on me.”

Law hummed in response, his free hand stroking your belly. The feeling of his palm against your bump felt more soothing than the finest lotion. “I’m just glad that they’re both okay… not like I’m thrilled that you’re in pain, obviously, but…”

“No, trust me, I am too,” you sighed, closing your eyes. “I’ve made it this long now, and both of them are still alive. And pretty soon…”

Your husband knew exactly what you were going to say when your voice trailed off. It was a subject the two of you had been tip-toeing around for quite some time.

The birth.

“That’s the one thing that’s still scaring me,” you admitted. “I’m already high risk, and anything could go wrong. I might have to be ripped open while awake to get them out. I might die, even.”

Law felt his chest clench. “Don’t say that, you won’t die.”

“But we don’t know that,” you sighed, your voice growing more nervous by the second.

“No, you won’t die,” he replied firmly.

You felt mildly guilty for broaching the subject. You knew how difficult it was for him to even think about the slim chance of losing his family again, not when he had come so far and achieved so much with you. You leaned your head upward to kiss the soft skin of his neck, his sideburns tickling your forehead. You felt his arm around your shoulder pull you even closer to him, his breaths shallow.

“I’m sorry…” you muttered.

“Don’t be,” he responded quickly. “I mean it. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His hand dropped from your belly to grasp your own, tilting his head down to meet your own as his lips gently pressed against yours. Your eyes slipped closed, leaning into his tender kiss and wrapping your free arm around his torso. The size of your belly made it hard to be flush against him, but you made do. After all, you would have to get used to cuddling with two babies soon enough.

You pulled away from his lips. “Hey, so how’s the studying been? For that surgery?”

Law groaned, not at you, but at the mere thought of the looming procedure that had been bearing on his mind for the past eight weeks. “I feel like I’m back in med school, that’s for sure. I feel ready for it, but at the same time I can never be too prepared. It’s going to be… a lot.”

Dual heart-lung transplants were very, very rare, and used for the most severe of cases. The procedure had never been performed at Law’s hospital before. Single heart transplants had been done, and a few lung transplants, but never at the same time. Law’s cardiac ward was specifically chosen for the operation because of the young doctor’s expertise in the field. The patient’s life was quite literally in Law’s hands.

A small smirk flashed on his face. “I started wearing gloves in that patient’s room with his family. I don’t want them to see the tattoos on my fingers.”

“Do you not wear gloves for any other patients?” you asked with a small giggle.

“No, I do, when performing treatments. When I’m on rounds, I just stick my hands in my pockets,” he explained. He had one dimple on his cheek that showed up when he smiled. You couldn’t help but peck a quick kiss to it. His stomach suddenly grumbled, startling the two of you.

“You stay right here, I’ll make us some dinner,” he said, making a move to stand up.

“Pancakes,” you demanded with your own mischievous smirk.

“We had pancakes a week ago,” he replied with a smile.

“And?”

Law leaned down for one last kiss on the crown of your head. “Alright. Pancakes it is.”

—

Your pregnancy journal had gone from an anxious possession that you worried would jynx your good luck to a vice that you crawled back to whenever you were bored. The pages were filled with the ink from your pen as you used the prompts to delve into some of the thoughts you kept to yourself, your feelings about your body, your babies, your relationships, the hopes and dreams and the worries and troubles you tried not to stress about. You kept track of the gifts you had received, the words of advice from your doctor, and the unprovoked comments from elderly ladies at the supermarket who liked to comment about how cute of a couple you were when you shopped for food with your husband.

The grouchy, black-haired surgeon with bags under his eyes and a resting bitch face, and you, his slightly shorter, glowing wife with a very large pregnant belly and a polite, shining smile on her face. You were truly a match made in heaven, one might say.

Law had been busier and busier in the weeks getting closer to your due date. As the weather got colder, the holidays came and went, and the new year began, he was diving more and more into his studies preparing for what was easily the largest, most intense, and most serious surgery of his professional career. Some might assume that you would get tired of the neglect, growing frustrated that he wasn’t around to spend time with you in your third trimester, but in reality, you couldn’t be more proud.

The sight of him hunched over your kitchen table surrounded by old textbooks and papers was an image straight out of your college days, where you’d let yourself into his single dorm room close to midnight and find him on his floor in the dim lighting surrounded on all sides by professional journals, research papers, and textbooks from every esteemed surgeon in his field. You’d sit down next to him and diligently push french fries against his lips as his eyes stayed glued to his studies, rewarding you during his sparse downtime with awkward kisses that tasted like salt and firm yet shaky hands that were obsessed with traveling up and down your body.

The only difference now was that Law was that professional in his field, that he was in an apartment, and that you both had rings on your fingers. The french fries stayed the same, but he at least had a piece of mind to feed himself while you watched from the couch and giggled. Every once in a while, he would lean back against his seat and pop his spine with a satisfied groan, toss you a fond look across the room, and go back to reading. Sometimes, you would stand behind him and rub his stiff shoulders, encouraging him to stand up and stretch his legs just as he would do to you to ensure you remained strong during the final weeks of your pregnancy.

The only thing weighing on your mind was the panging worry that he would be in the middle of this massive procedure when you went into labor. You were both informed by your doctor that most twins would be delivered either naturally or induced at around 36 weeks, almost a month before single babies were usually born, and with your due date at 38 weeks being in the middle of May, you had a nagging feeling in your head that he would miss it.

You both tried to hold onto hope that your babies would be delivered any other day that month. He would be gone for only a day, a full 24 hours, in total the day of the surgery. What were the odds that your babies would be born on that specific day? Slim, to say the least.

At around 32 weeks, it was getting hard for you to stand up. Your movements were slow and labored, and you were spending most of your days in your apartment either on your couch or in your bed, standing up when instructed by Law, or Shachi and Penguin when he was at work, to walk laps around your home. The fear of blood clots forming in your legs and traveling to your lungs, as described by your lovely husband in far too much detail, was enough to make you more determined to keep the blood pumping in your body.

“Alright, ready?” Law stated, standing behind you in the kitchen as you slowly made your way through a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

“Ready,” you stated back, your eyes focused on washing the silverware in your hands.

His inked hands traveled around your torso and under your belly, lifting up against the bottom of your bump. The sudden relief of having the weight lifted off of your back made an almost erotic moan leave your lips, your grip on the silverware releasing slightly as the tension in your entire body flooded from your veins like a broken dam.

“Feel good?” he asked from behind you with a smirk, his chin resting on the crown of your head.

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “I saw a lot of posts that said that it feels good, but I didn’t think it would feel this good. I wish you could do that constantly.”

Sparse kisses were placed to the back of your head as his hands slowly released their pressure against the bottom of your bump, leaving your back aching once more as your body was forced to bear the brunt of the weight in your abdomen. You stifled a whimper as you were forced to hold what felt like 50 extra pounds on your own again, but Law’s lingering presence behind you with his hands resting idly on your belly soothed your aches subconsciously.

“Busy spring, huh?” he asked, filling the room where the only other sound was the sloshing from your dish washing.

You hummed in response, rinsing your hands and turning off the tap, drying your hands on a towel that lay on the counter beside you. “You could say that.” You turned around to lean against the counter, Law’s hands remaining on your body as you rotated. He leaned forward to capture your lips in his, you rewarding him with a smile.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be more physical with you…” you sighed.

Law pulled away. “Why are you sorry for that?”

You shrugged. “You seem like you’ve been a lot more handsy with me lately, and I can’t reciprocate. And I’m probably not going to be able to reciprocate for a while after I give birth.”

Your husband chuckled, planting chaste kisses across your cheeks. “I’m not ‘being handsy with you’ because I want anything. I’m ‘being handsy’ because I want you to be happy and comfortable. I’m not expecting anything in return. And by the way,” he pulled away to stare into your worried eyes. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking about your post-birth body being somehow inferior to how you were before pregnancy, I know it.”

You averted your gaze, your lips pinching together.

“And I know you don’t like the stretch marks on your belly,” he added.

“Where are you going with this?” you asked, your voice quiet.

“Because I’m going to remind you every day how beautiful you are. Always. Even the changes that come with having a child. You’re always going to be beautiful to me. I’ll never be repulsed by your stretch marks or wrinkled skin or cellulite like you think I’m going to be. The person standing in front of me is a beautiful woman who has given me a life worth living, and I’m going to cherish her and support her through everything.”

Your eyes darted toward his neck, where his glass necklace still sat between his collarbones. He religiously wore it every single day, only taking it off to shower, sleep, and perform surgeries. Likewise, you never removed your glass ring. Hot tears began to form in your eyes, but your lips curled into a smile. Your expression fought for dominance over being happy or sad, and what resulted was a shaky grin, furrowed eyebrows, and watery eyes.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you asked, letting a few lose tears escape the corners of your eyes.

Your husband kissed the damp streaks that your tears left behind on your cheeks. “You fed me french fries on the floor of my dorm room in college. I think that’s when I knew you were going to be my wife one day.”

A bubbly laugh left your throat as your hands gripped his shoulders for stability. “I think I knew when you found me out behind my dorm building that night.”

Law leaned in to kiss you one more time, but a sudden gasp left your lips as your entire body tensed up. A stinging cramping sensation rippled across your abdomen, lingering in your muscles. It lasted about 30 seconds, where your shaking hands clenched the cotton of Law’s shirt, his eyes wide and frenzied as his hands supported your upright posture, before the pain finally dissipated into a mild buzz, then nothing at all.

You stared into Law’s eyes. “Can you help me sit down?”

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

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roosterr · 5 months

Note

I had a cute little idea for the requests where it could be a platonic Simon and Reader where they can tell Simon’s stressed post-mission possibly from flashbacks or just a mission going wrong and whatnot and gets him to go with them for take out just to try and let Simon know they have someone to lean off if need be 🥺

this is so sweet :,) please enjoy anon!

(platonic) simon ghost riley & gn!reader

wc: 1k ao3

ghost is an expert in disguising how he's really feeling. you can only glean so much from just his eyes, the rest of his expression perpetually hidden beneath his mask and leaving most people oblivious to his mood.

you, however, are not most people.

it subtle, but the tells are there if you know what to look for. lately he's been more irritable than usual, snapping at people and losing his patience at things that typically wouldn’t faze him. you don't think anyone else has picked up on the tension in his shoulders, something that’s clear to you after all the time you've spent with him.

it's made especially obvious that something’s going on with him in the way he jolts when you open the door to his office. his head snaps up to look at you, the icy look he sends you only fueling your concern for his out of character reaction.

"haven't you heard of knockin'?" he growls from behind his desk, papers scattered over the surface, and if he wasn’t still wearing the balaclava you’re sure his hair would be in a similarly dishevelled state from how his fingers worry his head.

"...i did." you shut the door behind you, and with dismissive a roll of his eyes ghost looks back down to his work and does his best to ignore you.

the longer you watch him, the more exhausted he seems; you can see the bags under his eyes now the eyeblack has been washed away, and the slight tremor in his hands as he attempts to write in a legible way.

people have been talking, you hear them gossiping about how they’ve seen ghost roaming the halls late at night. none of them thought anything of it, but you knew that meant it was getting bad again, so you decide to just bite the bullet and try your luck. "you got a sec?"

he glances up at you, eyes sharp under his furrowed brow, letting your question hang in the air for a moment. you wait in silence for his response, only the rhythmic ticking of the clock for background noise.

"just spit it out." he finally grumbles, dropping his pen and crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back in his chair. you take it as a good sign that he didn’t outright tell you to piss off.

"i'm going for takeout, do you wanna come with me?" you try, a hopeful little smile on you lips as you slowly approach his desk. his eyes follow your movement, unreadable, and there's another pause before he answers.

"ask one of the others."

"i would’ve if i wanted to." you reply, smile deflated slightly by his clipped tone. he doesn’t react, simply observes you with the same deadpan stare, but you won’t give up that easily. "c’mon, mate, i'll pay?"

at that ghost releases a long sigh, letting his eyes fall shut in a slow blink before pushing himself to stand. "...if you insist."

you grin, a sense of triumph coming over you as he rounds his desk and gestures for you to move. both the walk to your car and the drive into town are spent in relative quiet, the space where ghost would usually respond to you with quips of his own filled only by his short hums.

you don't push or pry, you know he's not quite himself at the moment – it was the whole reason you were doing this, after all.

you let ghost choose where to eat, despite this being your idea, and he settles on that greasy pizza place you always seem to end up at on a night out. he still doesn't say much as you're ordering, or while you're leaning on the wall outside waiting for your food, until you speak up and voice what you’ve been thinking for the last week or so.

"look, i know you like keeping it to yourself, but," you start, watching the cars go by to avoid his gaze, "you can always talk to me, ghost."

"cheers." if you were anyone else, you'd be fooled by the ease in which he brushes you off, but there's something else in his voice as he replies. "you gonna give me a motivational speech?"

"i know you don't think anyone notices, but i do." your voice is low as you look over to him, the look on his face decidedly sadder than earlier in the dim evening light. "if i can help you, i want to."

his movement stutters, pausing with his hand halfway through rubbing his eyes like you'd caught him of guard with what you said. you're almost worried he'll shut down completely, but a second later he mumbles, "...you don't have to do that."

you huff. "you heard me, i want to."

"why? you got your own issues, no point boggin' yourself down with mine too."

"you're my friend, ghost. that's how it's supposed to be." you reply, nudging his arm with your elbow. he's stiff under your touch but, unlike earlier, his shoulders sag and his hands have stopped trembling. "you tell me your troubles, and we deal with it together. two heads are better than one an'all that."

"thank you."

you almost miss the whisper. you do your best not to react before he looks away again, trying not to make a big deal out of his vulnerability. instead, the two of you go back to standing side by side in silence, watching the world go by with a lot more peace than before.

your order is eventually called out, and ghost goes inside to collect it while you wait outside. it may not be much, but you're glad he didn't completely shut you out. you're not sure you know anyone who deserves a shoulder to lean on more than ghost.

when he comes back out you reach to take the boxes from him, but he just shoves a twenty pound note into your hand, and before you can react he's already marching back to the car.

"hey, i said i'd pay!" you call, a fond smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you jog after him.

"course i'm not lettin' you pay, you twat." he glares back at you, but the look holds no malice. a beat passes before his face softens almost imperceptibly and he adds in a quiet murmur, "not after all that."

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #simon ghost riley #mw2 ghost #roosterr writes

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lunarw0rks · 7 months

Text

slasher!graves 🩸 in honor of spooky season !!! w/c; 2.7k

warning(s): implied violence/gore, drugging, fem!reader

endless crop fields surrounded the dirt path, crunching under the tires audibly, overbearing the hum of the pickup's old speakers. as soon as you crossed county lines, only the two local stations played: gospel or vintage country. any tuning of the knob, and it was buzzing static.

mellow country music it is. preferable to a pastor lecturing you about the ins and outs of hell. don't worry father, i'm already there. or i've made it halfway to purgatory — east Texas backroads.

though, you don't need the faceless pastor; the decaying signs along the way are enough. hell is real, God bless, repent — every single one rusted, scratched, peeled in some way.

limitless, barren farmland; half-murky swamp the further east you go.

who's feeding the lumps of livestock you see grazing? what about the herding dogs that lay by rickety fences and intently watch your car pass? if it weren't for the occasional passing truck, you'd assume no one inhabited this county at all.

your pupils retract, blinded by the sun glaring off the hood. vibrant hues of orange and yellow, that would otherwise be soothing if you hadn't been in the driver's seat so long. for once, the lack of traffic and straight and narrow is a blessing, otherwise, you surely would've caused a collision.

the blinding sunset fades over time, indicating that you drove through golden hour instead of lying back and enjoying it. though, the thought of pulling over in this area sounded like a painful ordeal.

from straight, unpaved roads to skinny windy ones with taller grass on the border. as the sky darkens, the foliage is surely full of critters, snakes, and spiders that would crawl and tickle your flesh the second you stepped foot. the thought alone makes you shiver against the leather seats.

as the tires climb a particularly steep hill, the engine sputters, as if hacking and choking from the exertion. please don't let it happen here, is all you can think. the vintage pickup creaks and moans the further along you go — but thankfully doesn't let you down. it's any wonder you've made it this far in your trip.

your fingers reach across the seat, peeling back the page of your guide. the map you snagged at the first — and only — rest stop in the area. a few pages, tainted with coffee and grime, aside from hints of its original eggshell stain. the booklet is rough in texture but still partially legible, so you decided to take what you can get.

besides, once you finished up in the bathroom, bought water, and felt the judgment of the locals, you weren't in a position to ask for a clean map. and the geriatric clerk, brandishing a crucifix and eyes so blue they could pass for pearl, staring at you with grief.

for what, you couldn't wager. your unsaved soul?

your unwise decision to stop there? at least you can agree with the latter.

at last, your finger skimmed the section of road you were supposed to be cruising on. a straight one, like you had been on before. not the thin, windy dirt you're nearly stuck in — which doesn't exist on the map. either you're trespassing in some form, or you really have gotten lost in purgatory.

muttering a curse, you twist and turn your heads in hopes of finding an opening. somewhere, anywhere to turn the truck around and get back on your intended route.

once you spot the first opening, you turn into it. the truck travels down the short path, mud squishing underneath the overworked tires.

up ahead, the first residence you've seen that wasn't moldy or collapsed. three floors, milky paneling, original windows older than two of your lifetimes, and steps sure to give you splinters and creaks under the slightest movement.

from the outside, it's... average.

only slightly unsettling at best, which was a major improvement from the rest of town. frankly, it was shocking there wasn't a higher fence around the perimeter. you imagine this property being prime pickings for bandits and adventurous country teens.

after taking in its appearance for a few moments, you begin to reverse, now feeling the most resistance in the entire trip. the harder you push your foot down on the gas pedal, the deeper the back tires go into the thick mud.

the engine sputtered louder, beginning to spit out smoke from under the hood. considering your efforts, all you'd successfully done was splatter mud on the windows and kill the engine, hopefully not permanently.

you slumped forward and lightly smacked your head against the rim of the steering wheel, cursing yourself for literally ending up deeper in the mud.

through the cracked window of the truck, the windchimes sounded, reminding you of your only way out. raising your head, you laid eyes on the white farmhouse again, taking in its mystifying essence. the decor rustled in the gentle breeze, as did the fuzzy white clusters blowing off the cottonwood trees.

against the unforgiving summer elements, the outmoded residence stood still — as if the stoic constant stuck in the middle of a brewing summer storm.

motionless and deathlike; if a tornado dipped down through the dusky clouds, you were mildly convinced the residence would be the only structure left standing.

as it stands, your options are either to sit in the truck and sulk or take a gamble and knock on the old farmer's door. deciding on the latter, you step out, not bothering to shut the car door behind you, in case you're met with a cliché shotgun barrel for trespassing.

the rickety porch creaked under your weight when you stepped up, occupied with examining its every detail. there were the chimes you heard. some were standard, high-pitched jingles — others made from small animal bones were dull clicks — all suspended with twine.

aside from the roadkill and rocking chair, there were few signs of life in terms of decor. through the windowpanes, you were only met with pearly, lace curtains blocking any view inside.

caving, you raise your fist to the door. it's slathered in the same blanched paint as the rest of the exterior, only riddled with indents and scratches from age. three small knocks against the wood, and you're hoping whoever's behind it won't lead with hostility.

the house settles and croaks from inside, its joints as noisy as the deck you’re standing on. eventually, the door opens. behind it, the owner reveals himself; and it’s not the stereotypical image of an old man with overalls and a noisy coonhound at his side.

your prediction couldn’t have been more inaccurate.

“how can i help you, ma'am?” the voice speaks, oozing a subtle regional twang. casually, he leans against one side of the doorway, blue eyes sweeping you up and down.

younger than expected, and clean despite the gritty environment he lives in. his blond locks are carefully groomed and swept, and an aroma of musk and cedarwood permeates from him.

"i don't mean to be a bother," you stammer a bit, then motion behind you. the man's demeanor remains unbothered by the intrusion. "my truck is stuck in the mud, and i was wondering if you could get it... unstuck?"

he hollows his cheeks as if taking a few moments to consider your request.

but Graves already decided the moment he saw you. with a click of his tongue, a rumble rises through his chest, "no bother in askin' for help, is there? why didn't you just say so?" a faction of a smile spreads on his lips, easing the tension in your shoulders.

you return the break in tension with a small chuckle, biting back the urge to start twiddling your thumbs. he glances at the truck, "i'll pull her out for you. keys in the ignition for me?"

you nod, and he steps out of his relaxed pose. "i would really appreciate that. thank you, sir."

but instead of stepping out toward the vehicle, he moves to the side and flicks his head. "don't mind waiting inside, do you? 'sides, young lady like you shouldn't be shivering."

you really were helpless, or at least, that's how it felt.

the desire to reject is futile and forgotten. before you knew it, you stepped inside and followed him. the entryway was quaint with only a coat rack and mat, and open to the kitchen. the gray and white tiles were patterned like a checkerboard, blended with natural wood cabinets that matched the original wood everywhere else.

in the middle, a circular dining table with two chairs, brandishing hack marks — some fresh, some old. with a scrape, he pulled out a chair for you, and you settled on it.

rather than asking first, he went straight to the vintage refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher. he reached into the ice bucket and dropped a handful of cubes into two glasses, then tipped the pitcher and filled them with lemonade.

you stopped watching when he turned, instead setting your attention on the decor. it was as average as the exterior; a country kitchen that was slightly rough around the edges. Graves slid the glass in front of you, then set his own on the opposite side, sitting instead of heading straight outside to deal with the truck.

he sighed when he sat down again, holding onto the glass but not sipping from it. for a few moments, there was silence between you; a studying stare making you feel like you were in a fishbowl. swallowing dryly, you raised the glass and took a sip from it.

lemonade, a partial punch of citrus, coaxed by tons of added sugar. you let out a polite mhm and smiled, hoping to let your courtesy break the silence again.

"gets awful lonesome out here, don't it?" the man finally spoke, and you took another gulp to pass the time. "can't say i mind the company. not a lot of tourists in these parts, i guess."

you nodded in agreement, eyes darting toward the ticking clock behind his head, "i'm sure it does." you really should be back on the road by now.

he must've noticed your eagerness, because he gave his knee a slap and sat up, "here i am, talkin' your ear off again. should only take a few minutes if you don't mind waiting here."

his footsteps retreated back down the hall, leaving you in silence except for the ticking, which now sounded louder. you glanced down at the glass and swirled it around, deciding it best to finish your drink off before you left the man's seemingly good graces.

once the front door opened and closed, you took a better look around at the kitchen. the knickknacks along the wall, and the dusty china in one of the cabinets.

further along, you skimmed past the doors leading to the rest of the home. the l-shaped staircase came down to the kitchen, steep and rickety. adjacent, was a door similar to the one in the foyer.

when curiosity got the better of you, you stood up and crept over. pressing your ear against it, you heard no one behind it; not even the drone of a television.

you wrapped a hand around the knob and twisted it, pushing the door open. it led to a sitting room of sorts, or perhaps the only living room in the farmhouse. an old-fashioned wood fireplace in the corner, a brown couch against the wall facing the back windows, and the box TV posed on an end table.

the windows had the same sheer, white curtains as the kitchen, blowing gently from the breeze outside. custom shelves covered the other wall, filled to the brim with outlandish decor.

you first stepped closer to the window, seeing his figure outside. there was your truck, still in the same position you'd left it; the door still cracked, and its tires were embedded in mud. and the man, a distance away and moving toward the red barn in the distance — a more powerful, agile stride than he'd shown with you.

thinking nothing of it, you occupied your boredom with snooping. the shelves were what caught your attention, so that's where you ended up.

standing in front of them, you scanned through every item, growing more unsettled the longer you ogled. first, it was ancestral photos old enough to be in black and white, eerie but not abnormal. then, on the second shelf, the appeared uncanny.

quaint, mason jars and teeth.

fangs from coyotes and bobcats alike, mixed with bloodied molars that only could be pried from human mouths. the sight was akin to a gnarly car wreck, causing your morbid curiosity to overtake your sense of danger.

you glanced out the window again, seeing the barn door cracked open, indicating he was still occupied. crouching down, you examined the lowest shelf. the only clutter visible was VHS tapes, thick books, and small chests and boxes.

you took the first one that caught your eye, undoing the clasps and opening the velvety chest. newspaper clippings and passages alike, and a mini-Bible lay in the mess of words.

shaking your head, you set it aside and grabbed one of the tiny boxes, taking off the lid. your blood flow went icy, and your fingers trembled as you set the lid aside and continued processing.

possessions; watches, necklaces, wedding bands, and choppy strands of all hair types. when you noticed the hair, you gasped and ejected the box from your grip.

they weren't belongings; they were trophies.

the front door creaks from across the house, then slams shut again. you scramble to put the lids back on and pinch your finger in one of the latches, reflexively dropping it. all its contents clatter against the wood floor, compromising your cover.

"find somethin' you like?"

his voice appears behind you, effectively sending you into a startle. graves glances at the mess below you, still maintaining an eerie stillness about him.

frantically shaking your head, you begin to feel sweat cake your hairline. you ball your fists and go clammy, taking steps back, "this is my fault— i shouldn't have let my curiosity get the better of me." he remains untouched by your apprehensive shift, only worsening your instinct to run.

but he doesn't lunge or creep closer; all he does is linger by the shelves.

despite how dry your throat is, you gather saliva and gulp tensely, "i should get going. long trip ahead." that's hopeless; you know he didn't move the truck. you would've heard an engine. how far could you make it on foot?

your words come out sluggishly as if your brain is working at half speed. you peer down, stepping around every morbid souvenir — though all you do is stumble, rather than make any distance.

"won't be necessary, sweetheart." his voice echoes, stance unchanging while he observes your struggle.

you grasp at one of the walls, lids drooping as your feet drag. the lemonade he never once put his mouth on, laced with some sort of sedative. it all hit you too late; too late to retch it up or bolt down the hall ahead of him.

eventually, he steps closer, watching as you make an 'attempt' to swat him away. all you do is whack your hand at the air, thoroughly wasting more of your dwindling energy. instead of words, all that comes out are slurs or whimpers of intense turmoil.

your view of the doorway tilts and twists, turning blurred and doubled the further you stagger. a swirl of nausea erupts in your stomach, causing your knees to buckle. your head collides with the edge of the coffee table, leaving you stunned.

as the tranquilizer pumps through you, the drowsiness is indomitable. you roll onto your back and cough, lying at his feet. with the last of your remaining lucidity, you tug on his jean leg, as if in one last ditch effort to get to your feet again.

despite his opportunity to kick away your pleas, Graves stands idle, his neck craned down to watch every moment of it, a sick rendition of his favorite hobby. the most noticeable sensation — the tender skin of your temple throbs from the impact, until any and all discomfort fades away.

eyelids weighed with bricks flutter shut, squirming limbs cease, and the heave of your chest slows into gentle waves of slumber.

"atta' girl."

‧˚₊ divider cred. - cafekitsune ‧₊˚⊹

#what's the verdict fellas #i'm iffy about my dark writing #slasher!graves #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves cod #shadow company #phillip graves x you #graves x reader #philip graves x reader #graves x you #mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #mw2 fanfic

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mysticmunson · 1 year

Note

can we have a blurb about reader returning to school and being cornered by jason? 🙃

so funny enough i almost wrote this in the original post but i decided not to last minute so this is perfect. i hope you enjoy this darling! i wrote this in one sitting so just let me know if i fucked something up lol.

tw: language, a/o/b dynamics, unwarranted touching (not assault)

word count: 2.1k

Waking up just as the sun peeked behind the huge oak trees in the yard, you woke to an empty bed for the first time in days, Eddie returning to his place before you both made your return to school.

Nerves had kept you tossing and turning, wondering who knew or who would notice. You felt different, physically and mentally, and when Eddie came back from presenting, most figured it out, although an alpha’s transformation is more drastic visually.

The warmth of your sheets comforted you as you stared at the popcorn ceiling, making shapes from the ridges. The birds outside chirped to each other, rustling by and landing on a branch. Your smile at the peaceful scene was cut short by your alarm clock, jumping out of your skin before slamming it to snooze.

Applying makeup with shaky hands and putting on a blue, cotton dress with sneakers, you tried to regulate your fears before they got the best of you. Grabbing a snack on your way out, you took a long exhale once on the opposing side of your front door, wishing you could hide for a bit longer.

Your stride gained momentum as you neared Hawkins High, grateful to see Robin being dropped off by Steve, rolling her eyes at something he said from the inside of his BMW. She caught your gaze and let a grin spread across her freckled cheeks, signaling you over as Steve drove away.

“Hi Rob, thanks for your help last week.” You said as you approached her, feeling blood flood to your cheeks at your compromised state. She snorted, swinging an arm around your shoulder, her jean jacket rubbing against your bare arm.

“Anytime, just owe me a movie night this week since it didn’t happen on Friday.” She compromised, making you laugh and agree, knowing she didn’t say this with accusation. The tiled halls were bustling with students, not taking much note of who was coming in and out of the doorway.

Thankful for the busyness, you felt a significant weight being lifted from your shoulders, but still kept your eye out for Eddie. He was notoriously late, so you figured it would be awhile till he returned.

Robin rambled about her movie night with Steve and how he hogged the popcorn and burnt it, something you always managed not to do. As she continued her rant, you saw a quick glance of a basketball player whose name you couldn’t recall. He quickly disappeared into the sea of teenagers.

Trying to shake it off, you figured it was awkward eye contact, knowing you usually cowered away with awkwardness yourself at that. You bid goodbye to Robin as you entered your first period, taking a seat at the end of the middle section, attempting to garner as little attention as possible.

As class went on, you could feel sets of eyes lingering longer than usual, blaming it on your heightened nerves and that it would all calm down soon enough. The math equations scribbled in your notebook were barely legible, foot bouncing beneath your metal seat until the first bell rang.

Grabbing your bag, you took one step out the door until a hand grabbed you, yanking you into their chest. While the action startled you, the recognition was instant as you saw his curls, smelled his potent aura, and the lips pressed to your cheek.

“Hey pretty girl.” Eddie greeted, intertwining your fingers as you both descended down the hall. He was in an Ozzy Osbourne tour shirt from ‘84, a pair of black ripped jeans, and bracelets on his wrists with one dangling cross earring in his right ear. You wanted to bite him.

“Hi Eds.” You smiled, quickly wrinkling your nose, “Did you skip first period?” Your question made him scoff, shooting air as if he couldn’t care less. While you did care about his education and making sure he graduated this year, you both knew this past week was eventful to say the least.

Forcing glares to anyone giving less than a smile or not looking at all, Eddie was on high alert with you on his arm, his chest puffing in authoritative nature. He had the urge to stay by you in every class, but knew the teachers would either give him detention or kick him out.

So he dropped you off at every class, racing back when class finished to repeat the action. The only time he didn’t was when they were going to lunch as the cafeteria was right between both rooms, a bit of distance between it.

The fluorescent lights felt more intense as your exhaustion settled, rubbing your upper brow as another scientific theory was explained poorly by the P.E. teacher who was brought in to substitute. As he began to describe Newton’s laws, the bell signaled lunch, your stomach grumbling as if on cue.

Filing in with the array of overly energized underclassmen and chronically stressed upperclassmen, you went in the direction of the lunch room until someone called your name. Walking to the side to fully turn around, you didn’t see anyone looking your way besides for quick glances, making your brows furrow. As soon as your back turned, you heard it again, this time closer until a majority of the students were down the walkway, getting their daily dose of cold meatloaf.

“Well hi there sweetheart.” You heard a chilling voice, not belonging to the one shouting your name previously, only to notice Jason and two of his teammates beside him. Their looks made you feel two feet tall, biting the inside of your lip to avoid crying which made you even more frustrated.

The influx of emotions were too much, if this would’ve happened weeks ago, you’d just walked away with no comment. However, your feet now felt cemented in place as he loomed over you, a few strands of his blonde hair falling out of place.

His friend backed away, continuing a conversation aside from you as Jason smiled, leaning against the lockers beside you. His eyes sparkled with mischievousness, unable to read his direct intentions.

“So a little birdie told me you had a life changing weekend…” He trailed off, his fingers trailing against your elbow, “I could take care of you, would never have to lift a finger or be scared ever again. I would keep you safe.”

Swallowing the lump building in your throat, you could only muster up a whisper, barely recognizing your voice. “Eddie takes care of me.”

This made him chuckle, rolling his eyes as he grabbed your arm lightly, his golden skin warm against your tricep. His rough fingers brushed against your dainty dress, feeling much too thin at the moment, making the tears come to your waterline.

“I could truly take care of you, want you to be my omega,” He cooed, his free hand catching the stray tear, “No need to cry, I’ve got you. I’ll drive you home today.”

As he finished his sentence, you felt your feet be lifted from the figurative quicksand, turning on your heels. A burn blossomed within your ribcage providing you a shortness of breath as you wiped away the dampness on your cheeks. Breezing through the now empty lunch line, you bought a lemonade and treat from the end cart, the older woman giving you a look. One that meant you better eat something better tomorrow, you smiled at her in appreciation, knowing her for years.

Eddie was looking amongst the crowd before he met your sight, shoulders relaxing visibly as you walked to him, sitting at the seat saved beside him. The boys of Hellfire gave you a kind smile and a hi before going back to their campaign talk.

“Where’s your lunch?” Eddie questioned as you popped open the plastic covering the small rice krispy treat. You shrugged, taking a bite of the sugary snack as Eddie began quietly reminding you how important it was for you to eat well, particularly after heats.

The anxiety didn’t leave as you took a sip of your drink, nearly choking on it as you saw the basketball team sitting at their typical table, including their MVP. His touch taunted you, his voice grating as he spewed false promises, but nothing felt worse than seeing his false smile and almost trusting him.

You didn’t like Jason, but the nature aspect of alphas and omegas was irrefutable in the beginning stages. He was telling you what you wanted to hear, things Eddie didn’t have to directly vocalize because you already knew he was your alpha, knowing he would provide for you.

“What’s wrong? You’re scared.” Eddie interjected your psychoanalysis as you twisted a sticky piece of puffed rice in between your fingertips. Shaking your head, you tried listening to Gareth describing their next attack, but Eddie reigned you back in.

“Hey, talk to me, please.” He whispered, his hand grabbing your knee in a comforting manner, the best feeling you had experienced all day. Yet the whiplash of feelings made the tears resurface, opening your lips to speak before clamping them shut and scurrying out of the lunch room.

You didn’t look back as you went straight to the parking lot, inhaling the fresh air intensely as if you hadn’t breathed in a minute. The sound of sneakers followed behind you, feeling Eddie behind you mentally until his hand reached your lower back.

“It’s nothing.” You muttered, wiping your black stained tears, sniffling. It was naive to believe you could hide things from each other anymore as every interaction was more intense than the last, feeling your bodies mush into one cohesive response system.

He didn’t need to edge you on, only raising his eyebrows and staring down at you. Damn those soft, brown eyes that always made you melt, enticing you with every blink. He hugged you close to his chest, hearing his heartbeat evenly.

“Jason talked to me in the hallway,” His body instinctively tensed, “S-said he wanted to be my alpha, drive me home, and take care of me. I don’t want that, you’re my alpha.” Nuzzling deeper against his band tee, his jaw clenched in an attempt to reign in his anger.

“He’s not going to lay a hand on you, baby doll, but let me pay him a visit.”

The final bell rang to signal everyone out for the day, escaping as fast as you could for the gravel filled parking lot. You waited near the steps for Eddie as cars sped off, blasting the newest Billy Joel or Soft Cell record, much different from your alpha’s taste.

Peace only lasted so long though as Jason drove around the road, looping back to pull up in front of you. His car purred to a stop, hopping out and pushing his sunglasses to his hairline.

The green letterman jacket on his arms squeaked as he outstretched his arms, waiting for you to come closer until he saw your hesitation, sauntering a few inches closer. His breath fanned against your face, tickling your lower lashes to make you blink harshly.

“You have two seconds to back the fuck off, Carver.” Eddie all, but growled at the shorter man before him, leaving the double doors a foot behind you.

Anger was laced with every word as his disdain for the spoiled rich kid interfered with his newfound alpha protectiveness. His knuckles cracked as they clenched at his sides, only opening a hand to push you behind his frame.

“How about you learn to treat your girl right-” Jason began until Eddie grabbed him by the collar, lifting him from the ground.

While they both were newfound alphas, having an omega meant enhanced results, like an increase in strength. He saw the flash of fear in his light colored eyes, making his brain produce serotonin.

“Say one more thing to her and you’ll never speak again or be able to have children, got it?” He ordered, watching as the boy in his grasp rolled his eyes before he slammed his body into his car, grunting in pain.

“Eddie, please.” You begged softly, not wanting to risk suspension or a crowd of people who couldn’t give less of a shit of his well being. Thankfully Jason nodded, making Eddie release his firm grasp before walking you back to his van.

The ride was quiet as he drove down the winding roads of Indiana, the leaves going from green to orange, some scattering the ground. His hand rested on your upper thigh, tight as if you would vanish right beneath him. A part of him feared you would really leave him for Jason, someone who could take care of you financially and not have the town's eyes on them in a negative light.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you, handsome.” You spoke as if to his thoughts as he smiled, eyes still trained on the black road before him, lifting your hand to put a gentle kiss on your soft skin.

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sketches4mysw33theart · 2 months

Text

Dear Chef

Title: Dear Chef Synopsis: Willy Wonka receives an unexpected letter and, after asking you to read it, gets extremely excited about its contents. Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: None

You couldn’t find Willy. And that was unusual. You could always find Willy. He made his presence known wherever he went, one way or another.

He wasn’t in the wash house, pretending to work hard while his mind eloped to faraway places. He wasn’t in his room, pacing carelessly along the creaky floorboards, absentmindedly dodging the drip-catching buckets and mumbling to himself with one of his knuckles pressed to his mouthing lips. He wasn’t in Noodle’s room, talking the poor girl’s ear off about anything and everything his wicked mind settled upon. He wasn’t pacing the streets of the city, searching for vital ingredients or sharing his chocolate with the world; this you knew as the others were all still down in the wash house, playing cards for washing chores.

At a loss, you snuck back upstairs, heading to your own room to see if you could spot him sunning himself on the neighbour’s roof through your window, which he had been known to do on occasion – not that it ever made much difference to his milky complexion. However, you were stopped in your tracks as you turned into the open door.

Willy was there, standing by the window, a rakish splay of rich purple along the canvas of open blue sky, the soft curls of his hair shining in a chestnut glow beneath the streaming sun. The light breeze lifted the netting curtain as gently as breath, which stroked at the bareness of the arms sticking out of his rolled-up sleeves, but he was too entranced to notice. He didn’t even acknowledge you when you said his name.

Louder, you called for him, broaching the enclave of the room with lithe steps. At the echo of your voice, Willy turned his head to face you, an unreadable expression spread across the soft angles of his face, from his full doe eyes to his rolled-thin lips. There were bags under his eyes, heavy, foreboding, unforgiving, and it only added to the tension on his face. Immediately you stopped. “What’s wrong?”

His expression did not crack, but he swivelled his body to face you. “I got a letter, Y/N,” he said quietly, amazement tainting each inflexion of his whimsical voice. Emphasising his point, Willy threw up his hand, revealing the creamy envelope clutched in his nimble fingers. You caught his name on the front, above that of the city, but no other details besides. This letter must have travelled a long way.

“Oh, wow! Who’s it from?” you asked, enthusiastic but relieved. He’d seemed awful worried when you’d first walked in to find him there. To your surprise, his face did not lighten at your enthusiasm; if anything, it worsened, a crestfallen expression dawning on his countenance.

“I’m not too sure. I haven’t opened it.” He sounded as disconsolate as he looked, and you drew closer to him to take his free hand in yours. He smiled at that, his cheeks rounding and eyes illuminating.

“Are you okay?” you asked. Willy nodded, and with that smile on his face, you believed him.

“Yes, but…” A rosy glow spread across his freckled face, and he looked at you with his big eyes. “Y/N, would you mind, er… could you read it for me?” You gave him a gentle smile and reached to take the letter from his hand as you said, “Of course, Willy.”

The envelope was heavy and smudged with black marks and grubby fingerprints, with the shimmering red ink just barely legible. Letting go of Willy’s hand, you shuffled to your makeshift desk to retrieve a pair of broken scissors you kept around – it was surprising how often they came in useful.

Once you’d ripped open the letter, you turned to find Willy sitting cross-legged on your bed, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees and chin balanced on his fists, looking over at you expectantly. It relieved you to see that the thundercloud had been blown from his face, replaced by its usual sunlight of ages.

Opting to sit on the floor, you leaned back against the bed, your head resting lightly against the chocolate maker’s legs, ensuring he could see the letter over your shoulder. Little did you know, he spent the time with his cheek pushed into one of his balled-up hands, watching his other run through your hair as soft and free as water.

“Dear Chef,” you began reading, leaning into his touch.

We hope this letter finds you well. We miss you onboard! It’s still tough at sea but we’re planning to make port near you once more, around March. Have you opened your magnifique chocolaterie yet? Will we see you? Hoping so! We’ll be in town in a few weeks. Look for us in King's Market – we'll be looking for you.

Sincerely,

Each person on the ship had hurriedly scribbled down their signature, sending their previous chef plenty of goodwill, and you read off each name diligently.

“This is only dated a couple of weeks ago,” you commented enthusiastically as you finished the letter, giving the scattered handwriting a quick final once over. “You’ll be able to see your shipmates again, Willy!”

You leant your head back to look up at him, where it fit perfectly on his lap. To your immense relief, he was smiling down as he stared dreamily out of the window, cupping your head in his soft hand.

“Yes,” he said, dreamily, “that’s wonderful.” Then, suddenly, he sprang up, unravelling his legs as nimbly as a gymnast but keeping his hand momentarily against your head to cushion its sudden release. “Gosh, so much to do now. I’ll have to wash this overcoat, clean my boots, make plenty more chocolate, collect some rose petals…” He continued mumbling to himself, some common domestic tasks and other ridiculously insane activities, as he raced to your desk and flung open one of the drawers, now alive with inspiration.

He came up with a pencil and grasped the smudged envelope, turning it over to scribble quickly along the back of it. You, now propped up on the edge of the bed and watching him with a fond smile, folded the letter up carefully as you spoke. “Willy, they won’t care what you look like – they'll only want to see you.”

He looked up at you with a small hum of acknowledgment, as though he’d already forgotten you were there. “Oh, this isn’t for them, Y/N!” He turned the envelope to show you a list of drawings of his to-do list – boots, coat, chocolate, rose etc. - finished off with a rough sketch of a shop, clearly labelled Wonka and surrounded by carefully drawn stripes and stars.

“If I want to get my chocolate shop before they arrive, I have to be in tip-top shape.” He tossed the envelope down and started pacing, twiddling the graphite pencil between his fingers as he spoke. “Now, we’ll have to start tomorrow, no, tonight, I’ll need to make much more chocolate, and we’ll have to be out early in the morning, plenty of city to cover. Where’s Noodle? She can help me, and I owe her a day’s worth of chocolate anyway, so I can…”

You were giggling, and that’s what finally stopped his rambling. “What?” he asked innocently, smiling, but it did little to stop your giggling fit. It worsened it, in fact, and as tears formed in your eyes, he couldn’t help but laugh with you.

“You think I’m going over the top, don’t you?” he asked when you’d both calmed into a silence of smiles and red faces, walking back over to you. Once he’d situated himself down beside you on the edge of the bed, he nudged your leg teasingly with his.

“No,” you said almost immediately because it was true. “You want them to be proud of you, and there’s no shame in that. But, we’re not going to get a shop overnight, no matter how clean you are or how many chocolates you sell.”

“Oh, stranger things happen every day,” he said confidently, but you looked at him with your eyebrows raised. “But I do think, on this occasion, you may be right,” he conceded with a smile. “Still, that doesn’t mean they’re not important. It just means that they can wait until tomorrow.”

As perfect a time as any, Willy yawned wanly, curving a finger somewhat uselessly to cover the cavern of his mouth.

“And that sounds like a good thing,” you laughed, as he smacked his lips, allowing his head to fall onto your shoulder. “Mm, I am rather tired,” he mumbled. With a contented hum, he nuzzled his nose into the soft skin of your neck, and you poked him gently in his side.

“It’s mid-afternoon, Willy, we are not sleeping.” Undeterred, he snuck his arms around your waist, snuggling in closer to the heat of your body. With a barely disguised grin, you were quick to hold him back.

“No, but we can just have a little lie-down, right? Then I’ll clean those chocolates and make those boots and collect those overcoats and… hm, what else was there?”

You laughed. "Yes, the chocolate shop will wait until tomorrow.” At that moment, the cathedral bell rang across the city, four pronounced bongs echoing along the cobbled streets.

“We have an hour until roll call.” Willy groaned as you pulled away from him, but was quickly quietened as you ushered him to lie down properly so you could join him. “We’d best make the most of it.”

#willy wonka #wonka #wonka 2023 #wonka movie #timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #fanfic #timothee chalamet x reader

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blasphemous-lies-and-deceit · 1 month

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67: tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin

With GerryMichael because as a fellow tall people I know Michael's hands are unbearably cold from lack of circulation but his face is easy to go red 🥰

Tall people with bad circulation 🤝 office workers working in cold offices

Michael wondered if Gertrude would let him help her kill Elias.

It was only a matter of time. He'd had his eyes wrenched open, no longer blind to reality. He knew who they were working for, and while he didn't necessarily like it, he knew Gertrude hated it. She was not quiet about her criticism, and while he was glad she wasn't keeping him in the dark anymore, it was still quite a thing to listen to his boss openly plot murder.

He didn't care if Elias was dead at her hands- really, the Head of the Institute was just as guilty as the others, and worse. What Michael did resent was the relentless busy work that he was being assigned, probably to keep them busy so they couldn't plot their boss's demise. The amount of incoming statements was so relentless, they nearly didn't have room to put them all. Gertrude was busy with her own plots, so she was no help, of course. And Elias's ever-so-helpful suggestion of "digitizing" the hand-written statements just meant more work for him.

Michael groaned as he flexed his fingers against the keyboard. He was a fast typer, but the statements were usually rambling, and the handwriting nearly illegible. The Eye helped a bit, but that left him with an awful headache at the end of the day, and exhausted beyond belief. He was even beginning to have dreams about the statements, which was incredibly annoying since he couldn't even have a break in his sleep.

The most current annoyance to him, however, were his fingers. He felt like he couldn't warm them up, they were like stiff icicles against the keys, and blowing on them or tucking them against his chest made no difference. Fingerless gloves might help, but he didn't have a pair on hand, and he'd been too tired to knit recently, so he couldn't whip up a pair either. It wasn't enough to slow him down, but it did make his mood worse, and he was more than ready for a break.

"Gerry," Michael sighed, leaning back limply in his chair to watch his boyfriend descend the stairs with a bag of takeout. "My love, the light of my life, the greatest joy, my absolute treasure-"

"That bad, huh?" Gerry grimaced, crossing the distance between them to drop a kiss on top of his head. Michael just groaned, long and whale-like, and spun his chair around so he could bury his face in Gerry's chest. "I'm sorry, love."

"It's awful," Michael moaned, slinging his arms around Gerry's waist. "It's like they don't realize someone's going to actually read what they've written. They don't even try to make it legible."

"Ugh." Gerry leaned over him to peer at the papers next to his computer. "Their handwriting is worse than mine."

"And it's so pointless! It's just busy work." Michael leaned back so he could see Gerry's face. "Next thing you know, that bastard'll have me recording them or something."

"I'm sure you'll do a fantastic job regardless," Gerry assured him, staring down at him with a terribly fond expression. He raised his hands to cup the back of his head, gently rubbing the tension away. "You're too damn good for this place."

"Flatterer," Michael rebutted, helplessly charmed. Gerry just smiled and bent down to kiss him, so soft but full of meaning. Michael kissed him back, feeling all of the tension drain right out of him, leaving him soothed and relaxed. It meant everything to him to have Gerry by his side, sympathetic and caring and exactly what he needed the most. As if Michael couldn't possibly be more in love with him.

And to show his appreciation, he rucked up the back of Gerry's shirt and plastered his hands to the small of his back.

Gerry yelped and jumped away, gaping at Michael incredulously as he fell into giggles. "What the hell?" he gasped, sounding aghast and offended. "Why are your fingers so cold?"

"Because its cold down here!" Michael pointed out. "And my jumper doesn't cover my hands." He wiggled his fingers to prove his point, and Gerry rolled his eyes, coming back to take his hands in his.

"Poor guy," he commiserated, rubbing his hands and bending to breathe warm air over them. "I have some fingerless gloves back ho- back at Pinhole, I'll run over and grab them for you."

"Thank you," Michael murmured, touched that Gerry would step foot back in that place for him. Over the past few months they had been removing Gerry's clothes and personal items and relocating them to his flat, slowly moving him in where he belonged. Michael couldn't help but feel a deep stir of pleasure at the thought, of getting Gerry away from that awful place for good. It's what he deserved.

Gerry knelt next to him, tucking his cold hands under his chin as he smiled at Michael, happy and content. "Can you take a break for lunch? Get out of this basement for a bit?"

"Of course." Without looking, Michael put his computer into sleep mode and guided Gerry back to his feet, pulling him in for a hug. This time, when he cold hands wandered under Gerry's shirt, he didn't pull away.

#gerrymichael #gerry keay #michael shelley #doorkeay #rebelwriting #thanks for the prompt!

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delopsia · 11 months

Text

Blow Your Mind | Bob x Reader x Rhett

Word Count: 7,900 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, who does briefly wear a skirt, aphrodisiac chocolates, oral sex, unprotected sex with two different men, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, anal sex (Rhett riding Bob), there is absolutely no plot to this one.

"They're just chocolates!"

"It says 'sex chocolates' right on the fucking packaging!"

Rhett's not lying, either. Right on the front of the box, scrawled in hardly-legible cursive, lie the words 'Sex Chocolates,' with an even harder-to-read slogan of, 'they'll blow your mind.'

Next to you, Bob shifts his weight, fingers tapping on the box of deceptively sweet box of chocolates that you've all just had a bite of. Sweet, tiny little things that disguised themselves as a run-of-the-mill assortment of chocolates until you'd caught a glance at the lid. Who would have thought bite-sized candies could be so devious?

They've already deceived the original attendees of Perry's so-called house party before it had gotten out of hand. When there were just fifteen people and not over fifty. When the house wasn't so packed that walking into another room was easy as breathing. The good old days, when Rhett and Perry's bickering wasn't drowned out by the worst choice of music you've ever heard.

"One little piece can't hurt us, right?" Bob murmurs, barely audible, over the thumping of the speakers. "We don't even know if it works."

Shaking your head, "The serving size is half a chocolate per person." If only you'd seen this before you'd eaten the entire piece. When you still had the chance to decide if you wanted to play with aphrodisiacs or not.

"Half?" His glasses are the only thing that can stop his eyes from bugging out of his head. "Rhett had more than one!"

And they've evidently made Rhett invisible, too, because he's completely disappeared from the kitchen. Leaving you and Bob alone with a kitchen full of strangers and the one and only Perry Abbott. The beloved son who absolutely will not get in trouble for raising his foot and kicking a hole into the drywall.

"Rhett?" You say it as if he can hear you; Bob can't even hear what you've said, and he's barely a foot away.

He couldn't have gone far, not that quick. This house had might as well be a can of sardines, with how packed it is, but as you twist and turn, straining your neck to get a better look, you can't find him. Not with this crowd.

You'd jump if you weren't worried about your skirt catching on the air vent behind you.

Leaning towards Bob, you raise your voice a little, struggling to be heard over the music. "Did you see him leave?"

But Bob shakes his head, light bouncing off of his glasses as he does so, "I'll check and see if he went outside again."

"And I'll..." Your words die in your throat as you look out into the living room.

You won't be finishing that sentence.

There's no point; you can hardly even hear your own thoughts as you worm your way through the crowd. Between the raised voices and the obnoxiously loud music, it's a wonder that you don't develop a migraine during the time it takes you to walk from the kitchen to the couch. Or, at least, what used to be a couch.

The cushions are missing; Cecelia's delicate decorative pillows lie in a heap in front of it, crushed beneath the sharp heels of a woman you've never seen before. You wonder what she'll be more upset about, those beloved pillows or the visible crack in the middle of the couch's frame, bowing inward.

"Hey, girlie!"

You don't recognize that voice, hardly even know which direction it's coming from, until an unfamiliar hand curls around your shoulder.

Don't roll your eyes, don't roll your eyes, don't roll your—

"Hi, Maria." And you'll pretend you know the names of the two Tillerson brothers standing behind her. Wyatt and Luke or something. You hardly recognized the names Perry invited, but you know for a fact that these three were never invited.

"I was hoping you'd seen Rhett around?" Twisting freshly manicured fingers through a lock of her hair, "he and I have some catching up to do."

"Haven't seen him," brushing her cold hand from your shoulder, "you should try asking Perry."

Her eyebrows raise, "Perry? You want me to ask the one man Rhett doesn't like?" Here we go. "Do you even know Rhett?"

You know Rhett well enough to understand that his feelings about Perry aren't as black and white as one would think. Just like you also know him well enough to recall that he's got a birthmark on the underside of his cock, but that doesn't contribute much to this conversation, now does it?

"Who cares if they know Rhett or not," the older of the two brothers says, and you're pretty sure that this one is Luke Tillerson, "what I care about is getting to know them a little better."

"You don't look like you're from around here," the youngest speaks overtop of Maria, and you can't say you're upset that you missed out on what she had to say, "where you from?"

Fighting the urge to sound surprised. "What gave it away?"

"You're too pretty to be from around these parts." He says it so quickly that you almost wonder if he's been planning that for some time now. Bold, straight to the point, no if's and's or buts about it.

Even from a few feet away, you can smell the alcohol on his breath, something strong that has you fighting the urge to wrinkle your nose and put more distance between the two of you. "I'm sorry, I don't—"

"Rhett!" Maria's eyes light up like a goddamn disco ball, absolutely sparkling.

Your only indication that Rhett's behind you is the hot breath tickling the back of your neck and the nose that bumps into your head in the way that it always does. Hands appear on either side of your waist, gently urging you to step away from this conversation you've been roped into.

Maria's talking, mouth moving a million miles an hour, but Rhett can't hear it. Her dwindlings about how she hasn't seen him in oh so long do nothing but illicit the laziest 'uhuh' you've ever heard from your cowboy.

You know that high school crushes tend to die hard, but damn, you don't think he even smiles at her as he carts you away. One arm loops around your waist, just about crushing you into his side as he forces his way through the unwelcome crowd.

"Rhett?" You chirp, stumbling as you fight to keep up with his pace.

No dice.

Maybe something's happened because Rhett doesn't seem to hear you either; just keeps marching along like a soldier headed into battle. Right for the stairs, damn near knocks a guy over in his quest to head up them.

He doesn't acknowledge the profanities that man spews as he passes by, either.

Nobody is upstairs, much to your surprise. You'd really expected someone to have snuck off to one of the many bedrooms up here, but the doors are all wide open, seemingly untouched. If Rhett wasn't practically dragging you down the hallway, maybe you'd be able to tell for sure.

"Rhett!" You try again, heels digging into the hardwood floor. That little protest should have been enough to at least cause his stride to falter.

It does nothing.

Rhett damn near hauls you into his bedroom, protest unacknowledged as he points towards his bed, "Sit." Then, pausing, "Please." A little softer now, starkly different from how he kicks the door closed.

Your feet move on their own, carrying you over to his soft, plush bed. Such a shame that Royal and Cecelia bought him a new one after he moved out. The moment you've settled on the bed, Rhett takes two steps forward and drops.

Knees hit the floor with a painful thunk that you're certain the guests downstairs heard, but you can't pay it any worry. Not when there are hands running up your thighs, familiar eyes peering up at you from between your legs.

"Rhett?" Trying once more. "Are you alright?"

His curls bounce as he nods his head, "uhuh." And he'd probably say more if he weren't kissing on the inside of your knee. A soft pressure that tickles all the way up your thighs. Adds fuel to the fire already kindling in your core. Up, up, up, tongue leaving a wet trail that catches in the dull lighting of his bedroom.

The blunt tip of his nose bumps into your panties, and almost instantaneously, those eyebrows raise, "You got wet for me pretty fast, doll."

Abnormally fast. You don't remember a time when you've ever been squirming so quick—

oh.

Wait.

"Chocolates," you breathe, voice barely there, "it was those fucking chocolates."

A hot tongue laves across the front of your panties, darkened blues peering up at you, "So it's not just me then, hm?" Rhett's always been eager, but he's never been so eager that his idea of foreplay shortens to nothing but a few kisses and licks. You don't think he's ever bypassed an opportunity to steal kisses.

And if that singular chocolate really did affect you...

"Rhett," it's the only thing that'll get his attention again, and even then, it doesn't stop him from hooking his fingers under your waistband, "...how many did you have?"

Pause, just long enough for a single thought to cross his pretty little mind. "Three." And then down come your panties, skirt left snug around your hips because he's developed an obsession with how it moves when you squirm.

He doesn't even have the patience to get the garment past both your feet, letting them dangle from your left ankle in exchange for leaning back in quicker. Downright diving between your legs, hot tongue licking a fat stripe up your cunt like a man starved.

"Rhett—!"

Those eyes flutter shut, the hem of your skirt bunching up against his nose as he spreads you open with a rumbling hum. Doesn't seem to hear you repeat his name, only hums again when you curl your fingers in his messy hair and tug.

"Taste so good," speaking directly into your sex, deep voice rattling up your spine, "'m s'prised I could wait to get you upstairs."

There's a soft pressure at your entrance, delicately opening you up with that wet muscle, just enough to feel you involuntarily squeeze around him. Then up, up, up, until he can swirl around that rapidly swelling bud that he loves to abuse, yanks a gasp out of your throat when he wraps his lips around it.

"You're gonna suffocate yourself," struggling to keep your balance when big palms settle on the backs of your thighs, lifting them until they're hooked over those wonderfully broad shoulders. "Rhett."

A familiar belt buckle jingles, "Keep whinin' my name like that 'n I'm gonna cum, doll."

That zipper of his goes down in tune with his tongue, and that shaky gasp into your cunt is all you need to know that he's grasped himself through the thin material of his boxers. Those eyes of his open, downright black as he falls back into his rhythm, stroking himself in perfect synchrony with his devilish tongue.

Surprise suction on your clit has your thighs clamping around his face, "Rhett." Repeating his name like it's the only word in the dictionary. Shit, if you don't loosen your legs—

"Don't you dare," and even though he drags your legs right back to where they were, you get the feeling that it's not enough for him. Not until he can drown himself in you.

He's leaning forward, downright drooling as he hungrily laps at you, has you bringing a hand up to cover your mouth. There are people in this house, people who can hear right through these paper-thin walls. The whole damn house can probably hear how his belt chimes as he strokes his leaking cock, breathing heavily into your pussy because he can't breathe but is too addicted to quit now.

Footsteps thump outside the door.

The very unlocked door.

But before you can fight off a whimper and get a word out, the knob begins to twist. Stuns you into silence while Rhett laps noisily at your entrance, unbothered by the slowly opening door behind him. One look at the frame creeping inside is all it takes for your shoulders to drop, tension rushing out just as quickly as it appeared.

Bob holds a finger to his lips, locking the door behind him.

"Fuck," your body jolts as Rhett's tongue pumps into you once more, "just like that." Words just loud enough to conceal the creaking of hardwood as Bob settles behind Rhett, something devious flashing through his soft features. He's reaching forward, around Rhett's hip...

"Ah!" Poor cowboy damn near comes out of his skin, just about jumps out from between your legs like he's been burned.

One firm arm barricades over Rhett's heaving chest, anchoring him down; between his legs, Bob's hand remains firm, grasping the base of that pretty, flushed cock. Before Rhett can start fussing, though, Bob's talented hand begins to move in such a way that all it takes is one stroke before Rhett's hips are squirming, chasing after the feeling.

Bob's chin hooks over Rhett's shoulder, glasses glinting in the light, "surely you didn't think I wouldn't find you, sugar."

Rhett huffs, loud and exaggerated, "Wasn't tryin' to avoid—hah!" Even from here, you can see the whites of Bob's knuckles, hand firmly squeezing the base of Rhett's cock. "Figured you'd...figured you'd know where we went."

"Is that it?" Bob's hand doesn't move; if anything, you think he's squeezing a little tighter, "and it's got nothing to do with your crippling impatience?"

Eyelashes flutter, gaze dropping. "...'m sorry." Adam's apple bobbing as Bob's teeth tease the shell of a very, very red ear. "Couldn't wait for you to come back inside."

There it is.

Slowly, Bob's hand loosens, gives an experimental stroke that sends Rhett gasping so sharply it echoes. He's squirming, head tilting back to rest against Bob's firm shoulder, mouth agape as Bob messes with him. Can't seem to see how dark those pale blue eyes have become, how they threaten to swallow you whole without a second thought.

"Y'gonna listen to me, sugar?" There's a twinge of that old accent in Bob's words, fighting to come out and remind you of his Texas roots.

Licking his lips, Rhett nods his head. His lips move, but nothing quite comes out.

Just like that, Bob's attention flickers back up to you, briefly catching on the wetness between your legs. "Still wantin' both of us to fuck you, peaches?" He's not even halfway through his question before you're nodding your head. "On your back."

Classic. If given the opportunity, you could have predicted he'd say exactly that. Already know that he's about to settle behind you, resting his back against the headboard because he's got an unofficial thing for watching you fall apart and then having his way with you. But even as Bob does just that, creeping up behind you like it's the first time he's ever done it, Rhett doesn't move from the floor.

"What happened, cowboy?" Bob's smile evident in his tone, "Afraid of what'll happen if you cum first?"

All of a sudden, Rhett's moving, rising up from the floor and crawling onto the foot of the bed without so much as a ghost of a complaint. One of his hands disappears into a back pocket, returning with a familiar packet of lubricant that he tears open with his teeth. Must get some on his tongue because his nose wrinkles at the taste.

"How's that taste?" Behind you, Bob chuckles while his hands move on their own accord. Fingers stroking past your shoulders and down to the thin shirt concealing your breasts from his greedy gaze, nothing more than a tickling touch for the time being.

You can hear how Rhett strokes the lubricant over himself, wet little noises accented by his inward gasp, "like shit." The last thing you expect is two wet fingers nudging at your entrance, gently pushing in. Completely unnecessary; you can tell by how easily those thick fingers push inside that you don't need it. That and...

"Do you not remember this morning?" Huffing when those wandering digits intentionally avoid a particular spot, "or last night? When you fools used spit for lube?"

Lips press against your temple. Is that stubble you're feeling on Bob's chin? "You were limpin' all mornin'."

You'd be asking more questions if you weren't distracted by the new development on Mr.I-Don't-Get-Stubble's face.

Just as quickly as those fingers pushed into you, they're pulling out in favor of two big hands pushing your legs up, a familiar frame settling between your thighs. On its own, Rhett's heavy cock smacks against your dripping core, sends your body jolting.

A giggle ripples out of you, cut short by the sensation of a plush cockhead beginning to press into you. It's only been eight or so hours since your shower escapades, but you can already feel the uncomfortable stretch as that obnoxiously thick cock of his opens you back up. Did those chocolates make him bigger? Because fuck, you think he's gotten bigger.

One of Bob's hands slips beneath your shirt, spanning out over your chest, "breathe, sweetie."

Rhett's hands on your hips are the only thing preventing you from squirming away completely, anchoring you down while he splits you wide. You can hardly recall when you closed your eyes, but you're afraid to open them and see how much of this cowboy you have left to take.

The cold metal of his belt buckle presses against your inner thigh, and finally, finally, you feel him bottom out. Even now, you're afraid to open your eyes, fearing there's still more of him you haven't taken yet. It takes a moment for you to pry them open. And when you do.

It's been a while since the last time you saw Rhett's face so flushed, unusually pink in the cheeks, sweat already beading at his forehead. Involuntarily, your muscles clench down around him, and he shudders.

Laughter bubbles out of you. "Am I that good, or is it just the aphrodisiac getting to you?"

It's the aphrodisiac. You know it's the aphrodisiac, but when he shyly admits that you're the cause of his unraveling, you can't help but find yourself believing him. Higher thought process be damned.

One more involuntary clench and those hips begin to move on their own accord; short, choppy thrusts that rock your body up and down the mattress more than anything. But hell, does it send microscopic tingles rippling up your core, dancing all the way up to where Bob's wandering hands have begun toying with your breasts. Thumbs feather-light as they toy with your nipples, barely there.

"Rhett, if you don't—"

"'m sorry," those hips drawback, far enough for you to catch how the base of him is downright dripping from your cunt, before pushing back inside with a dizzyingly loud squelch. Practically covers up the gasp he punches from you.

One of Bob's hands leaves your chest, running down your belly and not stopping until two fingers can drag themselves through the wetness between your legs. Splaying out around Rhett's gradually quickening cock, feeling the thin ring of muscle that can barely accommodate your hung cowboy.

"Jesus, sweetheart," Bob's lips tickle the side of your head as he speaks, "drippin' like a damn faucet, ain't you?"

The big hands on your hips drag you down into the next thrust, skin audibly smacking against skin. Sends your eyes rolling back into your head, unable to come down even as Rhett withdraws again.

"Grippin' me like a fuckin' vice," he gasps in between his devilish motions, angle shifting, searching for—

Your back rises up from the bed, sparkles twinging the edges of your vision. Whatever noise brewing in your throat becomes lodged, not a sound coming out of your parted lips. Even when Rhett lets go of your hips in favor of leaning back and bracing himself against the mattress, smooth thrusts pummeling into that tingling bundle of nerves over and over and over.

"Is that the spot, sweetie?" Bob murmurs directly into your ear, "Or is there another part of you needin' some love, too?"

As if to feed into his point, his fingers rise, ghosting over your neglected, swollen clit. Barely there, a taunting whisper of what could be. Rhett's got your legs too far apart for you to gain any leverage on the bed, can't buck up into his teasing touch in the way you want to. Stuck taking whatever they choose to give you.

And when you do find the strength to rise up into his touch, it vanishes completely. Has you grumbling and unintentionally clamping down on the cock pumping in and out of you with its devilishly wonderful rhythm.

Rhett's eyes roll back into his head, eyelashes fluttering, "g'nna make me cum if you keep doin' that, doll." Just the thought has you spasming around him again, draws a whine right out of his throat. The thick head of his cock hits the gooey spot inside your cunt just a little harder, a little quicker. Enough to have you gasping. Not enough to fuel the fire burning in your lower belly.

You haven't given Bob his answer, but his fingers return, close enough for your clit to brush against them every time Rhett fucks into you. Still holding out. Waiting on a response to a question you've already forgotten.

"Please," strained, barely spilling off your tangled tongue.

That's all it takes for the pad of Bob's thick index finger to kiss that little button. Drenched in an instant, swirling in tune with those shaky thrusts. Something warm blossoms between your legs. Familiar, racing up your spine and up into your face. Strangles you of whatever oxygen you have left, has your breath quickening for something you can't quite catch.

Rhett's hands return to your hips, barely capable of holding onto you as he fights to maintain those twitchy movements, crumbling right before your very eyes. Curls hang low in his flushed face, bouncing back and forth. "'m gonna cum, fuck, 'm gonna, 'm gonna—"

All of a sudden, he's drawing back. Just about out of you when Bob's hand flies off your clit. Tangles in Rhett's hair and yanks.

Your vision whites.

Don't know if it's triggered by the wickedly sharp thrust that hammers into your trembling body. Or if it's the strangled cry that rips out of your cowboy. All you know is that your lungs are burning. Body going taut as you cum around Rhett's spasming cock. Mouth falling open with a noise you can't hear.

The mattress has never felt so soft beneath your aching back. Maybe that's because you're finally laying flat against it and not against...

"Bob?" Your own voice feels foreign to your still-ringing ears.

"I'm right here, sweetie," it doesn't occur to you that you've closed your eyes until after he surprises you into opening them. You don't recall feeling him slip out from behind you, but he's now standing by the side of the bed, stroking his hand through Rhett's tangled, messy hair.

Rhett's yet to pull out of you, too focused on catching his breath, but an involuntary spasming of muscles has him hissing, squirming back until he can slip out of your spent pussy. His eyes narrow, darting up to the man petting his head, "Did ya have to pull my hair that fuckin' hard, flyboy?"

Bob's eyebrows raise. But he doesn't have to say a single word because Rhett's already muttering an apology, gaze falling into his lap. The hand in Rhett's hair runs down to take hold of that stumbled chin, manually tilting his head up.

"You want to get on your knees for me?"

Even from where you lay, you can see the way Rhett's eyes light up at Bob's words, brighter than the lamp shining next to your head. Nothing needs to be said. He's already halfway to the floor, wood creaking beneath him as he kneels.

"Sometimes I wonder if you've got an addiction to me," Bob muses, settling onto the side of the bed, attention flickering back to you, "that goes for you too."

Your foot kicks out, bumping him in the thigh, "me?"

There's a hidden deviousness in Bob's smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "You two literally flipped a coin to settle who got to suck me off first."

If that hadn't happened just last night, maybe you'd be able to defend yourself.

Alas, the dull, barely there ache in your jaw keeps you quiet. Choosing instead to watch Rhett fumble with Bob's zipper, too shaky to get ahold of it for more than half a second until Bob caves and helps him. One hand disappears into his slacks, the other lands on the back of Rhett's head.

The room may be dimly lit, but even the poor lighting cannot hide the angry red of Bob's plush tip as he finally draws himself out. Neither can it hide how Rhett practically drools as he parts his thin lips, too impatient to wait as he wraps them around Bob's length. A shiver visibly rattles up Bob's spine, head tilting back with what you can only identify as a silent moan.

"Do you think..." running his hand up your ankle, seeking something to hold onto, keep him from floating away, "do you think you can handle one more round?"

Despite his mouth being full of Bob's cock, Rhett's eyes tell you that he has no problem finishing this soft-spoken WSO off if you're not feeling up to the task. Reflex tells you that you probably aren't up to it, not with how you haven't been able to keep your hands off each other all weekend. The aphrodisiac still coursing through your system suggests that one more round is easy.

"I think so," licking your lips, "gotta see if these chocolates really work, right?"

They must be doing quite the number on Rhett because he's skipped foreplay again, forgoing the teasing kisses and licks, opting instead to dive right into bobbing his head. Taking a little more each time, he takes Bob's cock into his mouth, so utterly invested that his eyes have shut.

Bob's body jolts in that tell-tale way it always does when his cock hits the back of a plush, hot throat, "easy, boy," tightening his fingers in Rhett's hair, "don't choke yourself."

But Rhett's stubborn, defying that gently-worded order by hollowing his cheeks and pushing forward. Downright forces Bob's cock into his throat, visibly fighting his gag reflex as he holds him there. Just like that, Bob's once stoic demeanor crumbles, head dropping, hands flying up to brace his weight on Rhett's broad shoulders.

On their own, the corners of your lips rise, a barely there smile that has Bob fighting the deep-rooted urge to close his eyes.

"Quit," his own words cut off by a loud gasp, jaw flexing with the effort it takes to fight off his own involuntary noises, "quit lookin' at me like that."

"Why?" The exhaustion twinging at the edges of your psyche isn't strong enough to keep your mouth shut. "Afraid to admit that those little chocolates are getting to you?"

You can already hear that stuttered denial, and he hasn't even gotten the words out of his mouth yet. Words that you're sure would do nothing but dig him an even deeper grave to lie in.

But he doesn't get to say them because Rhett finally plays his ace.

Draws his head all the way back. Until he can open his mouth and let Bob's heavy cockhead rest against his tongue. Long enough to give the impression that he's catching his breath. Then dropping back down. Taking him as far as he possibly can. Nose just barely able to reach the fabric of Bob's slacks before he's being yanked back by the hand twisted in his hair.

Bob cannot make a sound.

Cock spasming in the open air. Twitching. Teetering dangerously close to the edge of something he can't come back from. Nearly jumps away when Rhett's swollen lips wrap around him once more.

"Fuck," that whimpered word sounds so strange when it's coming from Robby, "hold...don't wanna cum yet."

On the floor, Rhett grins. Doesn't say a word. Just grins. Too proud of his little stunt to do much else.

"Up here," Bob's hand idly pats the fraction of empty space next to you, a subconscious thing that he never realizes he does, "off the floor."

It's hard telling if Rhett's huff is from the actual effort of dragging himself off the floor or if he's returned to his usual post-orgasm melodramatics, but he does as he's told. "Maybe I wanted to watch from the floor."

"Maybe I don't want you hobbling around tomorrow morning because you upset your knee again," Bob's watchful gaze is already fixated on that left knee. The one that swells when Rhett's been on it for too long and sits a little differently compared to his right one. One of many, many free bull riding trophies.

While Rhett's settling down beside you, Bob's careful hands take hold of your hips, guiding you to roll over and drag your jelly-filled limbs up until you're on your hands and knees. Such a strange feeling, being crammed up on this full-size bed, Rhett looking up at you while Bob fumbles around from behind.

A cock smacks against your oversensitive clit, audible, wet little noises that seem to bounce off the walls. Over and over until you're squirming away from the assault of it. You'd probably wriggle halfway up the bed if it weren't for Rhett reaching up and planting a big hand on your shoulder, steadying you.

Even now, with his hair splayed out beneath his head like a halo and his eyes clouded with something you can't yet identify, he still manages to look up at you like you're his entire world. You'd get to think more about it if there weren't a familiar pressure blossoming between your legs.

And maybe you'd get to speak if you weren't silenced by an obscene squelch as Robby's cock slips into your exhausted cunt. Rhett's sheepish smile suggests that it's not just your own wetness creating such a sound, either. It hasn't been more than five minutes since Rhett was in you, and Bob's not that much bigger, but your aching walls are already stretching again, unable to do more than take what you're given.

"Breathe, sweetie," Bob's fingers trail down your spine, tickling until you gasp, "just a little more."

Little by little, it becomes harder to breathe. Lungs burning for a full breath as inch by dizzying inch pushes into you; until your head is too heavy to hold up and your legs tremble with the effort to take him. Rhett's hand rises to stroke your cheek, a futile distraction from how you can just barely take Bobby's cock.

Until finally, fucking finally, his hips are flush against yours, nothing left for you to take. Teetering on the border of too much and just enough.

Bob's fingers dance across your skin, stroking circles into your trembling hips, "how are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"Full," it's hard to speak, words cut short by desperate gasps for air, "thank god those chocolates didn't make you bigger than you already are."

"Careful," Rhett's chuckling before he even gets to the rest of his sentence, "Some say he's got a button in his thigh that'll make his dick longer than it already is."

A yelp cuts through the air.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Babbling, his frantic hands smacking away the palm that's wrapped around his oversensitive cock. Body writhing, squirming further up the bed until Bob is forced to quit squeezing him.

If you weren't in this position, you're sure you'd be able to lock eyes on the red birthmark hidden on Bobby's left thigh. Strawberry in color and concealed in the sensitive space of his inner thigh, so perfectly round that it almost looks like a button.

There's a comment brewing on your tongue. Teasing, meant to add fuel to the fire that Rhett's lit. But a careful roll of hips into yours has your thoughts going blank; unable to focus on anything other than the gentle drag of Bob's cock, shallow motions that do nothing but emphasize how fucking full you are.

But just as quickly as he began moving, Bob freezes. "Did that hurt?"

"No," pushing yourself backward until your hips are flush with his once more, "just move."

You can't see it, but you know that his cheeks pinken at that, has the audacity to blush as he pulls that big cock of his halfway out of you and push back in just a little quicker. Bashful to the core, even when his heavy balls audibly smack against your cunt. His hips twist, angle shifting every so slightly and—

"Fuck."

And it's about the worst thing you could have ever done because now that Bobby's found it, he's not letting it go.

Each snap of his hips rubs against that little bundle of nerves, punches a noise out of your throat. So sensitive that you can't keep yourself quiet anymore, the party raging downstairs long forgotten as your arms crumble, vision blurring. Head landing on Rhett's soft belly, clutching weakly at his shirt, thighs trembling, sliding out from beneath you.

"Those boys downstairs are lookin' for ya, Peaches." Bob's voice has dropped so deep that you can hardly recognize it, almost mistake him for Rhett. Only figure it out when he pulls you up by your hips, and you catch a glimpse of Rhett's unmoving mouth, "ain't got a damn clue you've got two different men mountin' this cute little pussy of yours."

Your only response is to bury your face in Rhett's stomach, something, anything, to muffle yourself.

Rhett's calloused fingers brush against the side of your face, drawing you to look up at him, "are those good tears, doll?" And the best you can do is nod your head, unable to stop the sniffle he wrings out of you when he cradles your cheek.

One of Bob's hands falls off your hip, dropping down to wrap around Rhett's cock again. Gentler, this time, loose as it strokes up his half-hard length. Elecits a pitchy gasp from him that has you fluttering like a damn butterfly around Bobby's positioning cock.

"Can't tell which of you liked that more," Bob muses, chest brushing against your back as he curls around you. Closer, faster, quicker. Plush cockhead dragging against that sweet spot of yours with every fucking motion. Gives you no time to recover before he's hitting it again. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you can't think.

"Bobby," Rhett's trembling voice wavers through the air, "don't you—fuck, don't you fuckin' rile me up again."

But it falls on deaf ears. Even your barely open eyes can see how that hand quickens. Perfectly matches the short, choppy thrusts that plow into you. You can't hear the noises tumbling off your drooling tongue. Too busy drowning in the melodic whimpers being ripped out of the cowboy beneath you. Familiar heat blossoms in your belly once more. Rekindled by his whined beggings.

Rhett's voice is barely strong enough to babble your name once. Twice. And then, "Make him stop, please, fuck, fuck—"

Without warning, your body goes taut. Muscles tremoring. Head spinning. Orgasm washing over you for the second time this hour. Don't know if it's tears that make your vision blurry. Or if you've gone cross-eyed. A loud ringing blossoms in your ears. For a moment, your head floats off your shoulders and up into the clouds. Weightless.

It feels like it takes hours for you to return to your exhausted body. Like waking up after a nap became a full night of uninterrupted sleep.

And you almost wonder if you did fall asleep because you've entirely moved.

Cuddled up to Rhett's now naked side while someone runs a frigid wipe between your legs, a futile attempt to clean up the sticky mess your boyfriends have so lovingly created. Only a long shower can fully wash it away, but you can't complain when the cold feels like heaven against your burning skin.

Rhett's right bicep flexes before your very eyes, busy with something between his legs. Messy hair clings to his sweaty forehead, lips bitten and swollen, gasping for a breath he can't quite catch. But his dripping cock lays neglected against his belly, angry red in color, bordering purple.

Deep blue eyes flicker over to you, almost surprised to find you staring back, "Hey, darlin'," his voice shakes with the efforts of whatever is going on between his thighs, "you okay?"

Smiling, borderline dopey, "very."

There's not enough room for Bob to sit next to you, and there's just barely enough space for him to sit on the other side of Rhett by his feet, but he manages all the same. His attention flickers up to you for a lingering moment, but wet little noises have him looking back to what Rhett's doing. What even is he...

oh.

Oh.

"Didn't you just cum?"

Rhett nods, "Uhuh." Leg rising, then flunking back against the mattress, can't find the position he wants. "'n I keep fuckin' gettin' hard again."

Your body begs you not to move, but you're pushing yourself up anyway. Too hungry for a familiar sight that you can't be bothered to pay attention to anything else. Rhett's legs part for you lets you catch a glance of the three thick fingers frantically pumping into his hole. Desperate, needy for something more.

"It's a shame we didn't think to pack the strap-on," Bob mumbles, running his fingers up Rhett's pale, milky-white thigh. "And to think we almost didn't pack lube, either."

"I tried to pack it," Rhett twists, trying and failing to kick him, "you said we wouldn't need it."

Admittedly, you three were only meant to be gone for a weekend. Not a whole damn week. But visits to Wabang never go according to plan, and yet, none of you ever think to pack according to past travel histories.

"Actually, you know what?" Your cowboy's pulling his fingers out of himself, already beginning to sit up before they're even fully out, "you're the asshole who caused this. You're helping me out."

"Well, if you lay back and let me lube up my fingers..." Bob's idea of helping out must not be the same idea as Rhett's.

Because in one smooth motion, Rhett grabs him by the forearms and practically shoves him onto the bed. Can't even be bothered to wait for Bob to lay back before he's crawling into his lap, pouring another packet of lube in his hand and diving down to seize his oversensitive cock. Stroking, leaving him so wet that he shimmers.

"Rhett!" Bobby fusses. "My refractory isn't...I just—I just came!"

"I warned you not to rile me up again," and that's all Rhett has to say before he's lining himself up and sinking down on that big, half-hard cock of Bobby's. His fingers weren't near enough prep for it, but it's hard to prep for that.

Bobby's already whimpering, shaking palms pressing against Rhett's belly as he tries to push him off. But Rhett's got the upper hand, even when his mouth falls open in a silent gasp as he gradually pushes himself down, further and further. Bob's back hits the bed so hard that it jostles you and Rhett, surrendering to this problem he's caused.

"You can't..." he pants, head thrashing back and forth, "you...you can't..."

Sleep may be calling your name, but you're too distracted to answer it. Laying back on your side, running your hand up Rhett's heaving chest, just for a feel of those flexing muscles. Bob catches it on its way back down, practically disappears when he clutches it in his big palm.

Rhett's barely even halfway down when he has to brace himself against Bob's chest, head dropping, broad shoulders shivering with the effort of taking Bob's cock.

"Bite off more than you can chew?" Bobby teases as if the right joke will save him from the inevitable. "Hm?" Before Rhett can try to respond, Bob's squirming, rocking his body from side to side as he tries to shake the cowboy right off of him.

The muscles of Rhett's thighs flex, squeezing Bob much like he would one of those fifteen-hundred-pound bucking bulls; hasn't ridden in over a year, but damn, has he not lost that talent. Hardly even sways, despite the efforts below him.

Just as quickly as he'd started, Bob gives up, instead pawing at Rhett's forearm, unable to decide what he wants and if he wants it at all. All the while, Rhett's panting grows louder, trembling as he sinks further and further and further. You don't realize you've been holding your breath until Rhett's hips come flush with Bob's.

This room doesn't have enough oxygen for the three of you.

"Too much," Bob's voice strained, "it's too...I can't..." You're not sure if he's aware of how he grinds up into Rhett's ass in those teasing little circles. The same ones that make your mind go blank.

Rhett's knees dig into the soft mattress, and slowly, his hips rise by an inch or so, then drop back down. Testing the waters, gradually working himself up to a lazy rhythm, eyebrows knitting with the effort of figuring out what he likes. Doesn't seem to hear how Bob babbles beneath him, letting go of your hand, over-sensitive. Fussing for him to stop, but hasn't broken out that trusty safeword yet.

"Liar," Rhett huffs, the bed beginning to squeak, "can feel you gettin' hard in me."

Like a live wire, his body jolts; finally found his prostate. Chases it but can't quite handle it when he hits it again, arms crumbling out from under him. Hardly able to catch himself before his head knocks into Bobby's.

For the briefest moment, their mouths meet, sloppy, panting too hard to properly lock their lips together. As soon as it breaks, Rhett's leaning over to you, steals a kiss before you've even realized what he's doing. Likewise, it's not until your hand has wrapped around his weeping cock that he realizes what you were reaching for. Grinds his movements to a screeching halt.

"No," there's a firmness to Bob's voice that wasn't there before, his knees rising as he plants his heels into the bed, "you're not stopping now, cowboy."

Despite it all, it's Bob who takes hold of Rhett's hips and pulls him up by a couple of inches, holding him there as he snaps his hips up. Skin smacking against skin, jerky, unpredictably quick thrusts that have Rhett crumbling.

"There," he sputters, hair bouncing with Bob's movements, "there, there, there."

Tightening your hand on his cock, stroking properly now. So close, already, mouth hanging open, once deep voice now a shadow of what it once was as Bob fucks into him with an inch of his life.

It takes a moment to find your voice, but when you do, "You gonna cum, cowboy?" That pretty head nods, unable to give more than a meek "uhuh."

"Cum for me, Rhett," Bob gasps, words punctuated by every slam of his hips into Rhett's ass, "cum around my cock."

Rhett's head tilts back, shimmering eyes rolling into the back of his head. White paints your hand, hardly enough to make a mess, cock spasming, twitching in your grasp. Beneath him, Bob goes still, absolutely silent. The fluttering of his eyes is your only indication that he didn't pass out.

The only lucid one in this room, you reach over with your clean hand, wiping the stray tear out from under Rhett's eye, letting him lean into it. You don't know when the sniffles started, but now that they've started, it'll be a while before they stop.

"I know we agreed to spend the night over here," Bob croaks; it's a question of whether his mouth even moves or not, "but I think tonight is one of those nights where we would be better off in a hotel."

Rhett nips at your fingers as they drift away from his cheek, "I bet now you're glad I was too damn lazy to carry our luggage in."

Every ounce of your body would rather play a night of Tetris and try to squeeze all three of your frames into this old, full-size bed. Uncaring of the rowdy guests downstairs and of what could happen if the wrong person kicked in Rhett's old, questionably sturdy bedroom door.

Alas, Bob is the word of reason, and you find yourself leaning into Rhett's side as you waddle back downstairs. An ache between your legs and Rhett with a hell of a limp; Bob is the only one of you remotely sane, even has the forethought to shove the bed comforter in the wash before stumbling out to the car to join you and Rhett.

You vividly recall the sight of Bobby crawling into the driver's seat because that's when Rhett leaned over and kissed your cheek first, just to get a rise out of your WSO. But the next time you open your eyes, you're lying in an unfamiliar hotel bed, surrounded by two very, very familiar bodies, whilst unidentified vehicles drive on your naked belly. Wheels tickle your skin as they venture further, vaulting over your breasts; Rhett crashes at your waistband, and Bob sticks a landing on Rhett's ass.

"Ow!"

"That's what you get for riding me without enough prep."

"It wouldn't have been an issue if you weren't hung like a goddamn..." Rhett falls silent, suddenly aware that you're awake. Like a switch has flipped, his features soften, "good morning, baby doll."

Next to you, Bob's wracked with an earth-shattering yawn, "You feeling okay, peaches?" His nose is so cold that it almost distracts from the kiss he presses to your shoulder. Almost. "I don't think you even so much as stirred when I carried you in last night."

Last night...good lord.

"Was last night real?" You're sure it was, but...wow. It feels like recalling a fever dream.

"The pain in my ass says yes," Rhett murmurs, fumbling with his toy car, "'m never touchin' chocolate again."

Bob parks his car on Rhett's ass in favor of draping his arm over you, "I'd still like to have a few words with Perry."

You have half the mind to take over for the now-abandoned toy, but you can't bring yourself to move even a muscle. Not sure if you even have the strength, actually. "What's stopping you?"

"Don't wanna..." another yawn overtakes him, "move."

Now it's Rhett's turn to yawn, squirming closer to you until he's able to throw his leg over top of yours. In a few hours, you're sure he'll have something more to say, hell to raise with Perry, a destroyed childhood home to fix, but for now, he's perfectly content to simply snuggle up. Driving his toy car up and down your belly until your conversation with Bob unravels into sleepy-eyed silence as well.

You really should move the toys before you fall asleep. Someone is inevitably going to roll overtop of one and wake up to a painful hunk of metal digging into their side. But that's going to be a problem that will be dealt with down the road when it happens.

And maybe, just maybe, you'll make a well-informed chocolate purchase later in the afternoon.

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bobfloydsbabe · 1 month

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I know you’ve definitely mentioned Bob taking care of Imogen when she’s had a bad day. Running her a bath, reading to her, rubbing her back. I can totally picture her snuggled up against his chest in bed, wearing one of his T-shirts, while he brushes her hair and presses soft kisses to her neck after a particularly stressful day 🥺

- @bradshawsbaby 💕

My darling Sarah, you really understand these two so well! I love writing these sweet and tender moments between them, so I couldn't stop myself from writing a short ~450 word blurb. Thank you for indulging me and for loving them. Enjoy 💕

SHARE YOUR THOTS, GET A BLURB open for: eccentric professor bob

Imogen comes into the bedroom looking bleary-eyed and exhausted. Bob puts the book down in his lap and watches as she strips out of her clothes, then rummages through one of his dresser drawers.

“You okay?” he asks, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“Just tired,” she mutters, unclasping her bra and slipping a tattered grey cotton t-shirt over her head. He would recognize it anywhere, and he’s not surprised she picked it out. She once mentioned that wearing it makes her feel smart because it has Oxford University written across the chest. That it smells like him is just an added bonus.

She crosses the room to his bed as he watches, loving the way his old t-shirt is too big on her and makes her look even cuter than normal. Now, like so many times before, he wonders what he did to deserve her. She pulls the covers back and climbs in, pulling them back up and crawls to him.

He lifts his arm and lets her settle into his side. She sighs against his bare chest, her breath tickling the skin, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Long day?”

“Yeah,” she tells him, not quite managing to stifle a yawn. “I’ve been trying to decipher a letter all day, but the writer switches language in the middle of sentences, and his handwriting is barely legible. My brain hurts.”

He runs his hand through her hair, feeling the wavy locks weave through his fingers. She hums in satisfaction, and he can tell the tension is leaving her body. “What languages?”

Imogen tightens her grip around his torso. “Ottoman Turkish mostly, but there’s also Greek and even some Latin,” she says and yawns again. “It’s a mess.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he assures her and uses his unoccupied hand to close the book and set it back on his bedside table. He slides the glasses off his nose and put them on top of the book, then reaches over and turns off the lamp.

Darkness engulfs the bedroom, and he shuffles until he’s flat on his back, and Imogen’s cheek rests against his shoulder. Her arm drapes across his chest, fingertips absentmindedly tracing freckles on his pec.

Imogen’s breathing slowly evens out and gets heavy as she doses off. Her fingers still against his skin. He buries his nose in her hair, letting the familiar scent of crisp green apples from her shampoo fill his nostrils. He presses his lips against the smooth skin of her forehead, still unsure if letting her this close was a mistake, but unable to regret it either way.

#mail #answered #bradshawsbaby #bob floyd #bob floyd x oc #bob floyd blurb #bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #otp: bob x imogen #oc: imogen van doren #THEY'RE SO CUTE I LOVE THEM #lewis pullman

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nonobadcat · 2 years

Text

A real world AU Gothic Romance - part 1/3

Pairing: Ghost Shigaraki X Fem!Reader

Rating: Chapter one is PG-13. The other two chapters will be for readers 18+ only.

Content Warnings: Dead dog mention, cannon typical parricide

Eventual Kinks: Toys, V/oy, relations with a literal ghost

Chapter One Word Count: ~3k, Ao3 Mirror

Part 2 ---❤--- Part 3

Saturday October 15th, 2022

“So…?” gesturing like a vaudeville showman, you held out both hands towards your new house. “What do you think!? Great, right?”

Your best friend, Serenity, shoved her purple box-frame glasses up her wide, button nose and pursed her plush lips. Clicking her tongue, she curled her pointer finger into a loose coil of hair. Two tone sarcasm purred into her one word reply: “M-hmmm…”

Scratching the back of your neck, you glanced up at your new purchase just in time to watch one of the old tiles slip from the upper pitch of the dual-hipped roof. It bounced off the attic dormer, rolled past the mildew coated eaves, and slid across the mossy porch awning before tumbling a mere foot into the patchy, overgrown taxus bush.

You forced a smile and pointed to the ancient, untamed yew. “Well, at least the roots are strong.”

Serenity pinched the bridge of her nose. "Please tell me you didn't use the realtor's home inspector."

"Oh come on Ren-Ren," you laughed, waving her off. Your eyes rolled to the side as your smile fell by one tooth. "I mean… I checked the plumbing myself, so…"

Brown eyes narrowed at you as your voice trailed off. With a deep, motherly sigh, she squeezed your shoulder. "Listen, you know I love you, right?"

You nodded.

She hooked her thumb over her shoulder. "It's a dump."

"It's a historical home!" You protested, crossing your arms. "It has good bones!"

Serenity eyed up the dingy, chipping brick and sun bleached slate tiles before shaking her head. "How many square feet?"

You fanned your hand across your chest. "3.5k with an acre of property plus a full attic and root cellar."

She blinked. "Hold up. That's like $400k+ most places! I thought you said your budget was $220,000?"

You grinned. "Yeah, and this was only $130,000 including closing costs. Crazy, right?"

Your best friend did a double take, staring at the ramshackle Second Empire with renewed interest. "Well… at least that covers the roof and siding." She thumbed her chin and cocked her head. "You're sure this thing has indoor plumbing?"

You shoved her shoulder. "Don't be a dick."

Serenity snickered into her palm. "Okay, so aside from having a friggen 'root cellar' and all the curb appeal of a haunted house, what else is wrong with it?"

You pointed to the far edge of the property where a line of grizzled pines swayed in the autumn breeze. "Busiest train tracks in the greater metropolitan area."

She whistled. "That's gonna blow."

"Literally," you agreed, massaging your temples.

She elbowed you in the ribs. "Still quieter than living with your ex."

You grinned. "No kidding!" With a wave of your hand, you beckoned her around the side of the building. "Wanna see the cool part?"

"Your definition of 'cool' is sus."

You grabbed the sleeve of her caramel colored duffle coat and tugged. "Just come on!"

Across the clover riddled lawn, Serenity trudged behind you in her knee high, slouch boots. She wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed to fight off the cool October wind. You pulled to a stop beside a massive old swamp oak and opened your purse. A wax coated paper sack appeared from the depths of your handbag. Scrawled in inky cursive were two words: "Doggone Delish".

You squatted low, and reached between tumbling roots. Gently brushing the leaf litter aside, you unveiled a carved piece of lichen encrusted soapstone. Time had worn the words smooth, but they were still legible.

"Mon: 1885?" Serenity murmured the text out loud before her eyes fanned wide. "Don't tell me that's a—"

You laid the oatmeal biscuit on the gravemarker and patted it fondly. "He was a Corgi. I found an old picture in one of the drawers." Rising to your feet, you brushed your hands on your jeans and grinned at her. "I always wanted a pet Corgi, and now I've got one."

Serenity eyed the long, dark branches of the towering giant above you. Their bare, grasping fingers crawled at the breeze. "Yeah well, hate to tell you this but your new dog is up the stump and fattening the squirrels by now."

You scoffed and flashed her a playful smile. "So? Ghost dogs are cheaper than live ones."

"Freak," she teased, kicking your heel.

You stuck out your tongue and wiggled your fingers at her.

A low rumble tumbled in on the wind. The train's whistle shrieked out in the distance. Serenity covered her ears and grimaced. You shrugged and pointed to the house. She nodded, trailing behind you.

When they spotted the biscuit upon the gravemarker, the pair of crimson eyes in the upstairs window wrinkled with delight.

After a brief climb up the sagging porch steps and a short war with the new latchkey, your party arrived in the entryway. Pastel grey and tar black tiles arranged in geometric patterns lay just before the lanky old staircase. To the right, sunlight streamed through the bay windows of the empty, blandly colored front parlor. As Serenity handed you her coat, she examined the silk rose print wallpaper of the foyer.

"The previous owners have all tried to renovate, but all of them had to stop the repairs before completion for some reason." You patted the yellowing flowers. "So a lot of it is still the original turn of the 20th century decor."

"Okay…" A puff of dust fluttered through the air as your companion tapped one of the old gas landliers in the entryway. With a grin, she turned to face you. "This place is kinda old-timey cool."

"Keep your shoes on," you told her, shuffling her coat onto the hanger. Tucking it into the cedar-lined hall closet, you toed the chipped porcelain tiles. "I haven't finished sweeping yet."

Serenity rolled her eyes. "Nobody’s got time to clean this much house by themselves!" She huffed and crossed her arms. "Why do you think my trunk looks like I scrubbed Mr. Clean’s bubbles?"

With a squeal of happiness, you flung your arms around her shoulders and crushed her against your chest. "Marry me, Ren-Ren."

"Keep that talk up and Marcus's paranoid self is gonna blow my phone up with his 'Baby, where you at?’-s," she laughed.

You released your friend and toed her boots. "You sure keep that boy under your heels."

"Mistress Ser knows what he likes,” she agreed, using the sleeve of her hubbie's hoodie to wipe the dust off the flecked glass of an old, gilded mirror. Tracing the ornate brass with the pad of her finger, she turned to you. “I’m loving this. Where’d you get it?”

“Came with the house.” You nodded to a cabriole legged, mahogany console just below the looking glass. Though the deep auburn shellac had silvered with sun damage, crystal knobs and burled wood spoke to its posh pedigree. A square shaped water ring in the dead center hinted at the old flower vase which must have once graced the hall. “Anything fabric was mouse eaten, but I saved the bedroom set.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You’re gonna sleep in some dead person’s bed? Gross.”

“Don’t make that face, Ren. I’m changing out the mattress.” You sighed. “Besides, this is legit heirloom stuff. When will I ever be able to afford fancy antiques on a my salary?”

Serenity patted your shoulder. “Long as you don’t go banging a ghost or something.”

You shoved her down the hall. “You're really gonna go putting those thoughts in my head?!”

“You love it,” she teased back, running her hand over the dusty glass shades of the wall bracket lamps. “Are these oil?”

You shook your head. “Natural gas with an open flame. The seller said they capped the lines years ago though. Apparently, they caused a huge house fire back in the day and killed everybody except the little boy who lived here. After that they switched to kerosene and candles.”

“Open flame?” Serenity pulled away from the light as if it had teeth. “Small wonder the place went up.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, cupping your elbows. “Sounds like the people who owned it in the forties tried to repair the damage to the gas when they added the electricity. Supposedly the lines were sound, but the gas never worked right. The flame was always going out, leaving the gas running unchecked. They think it was low pressure or something. It made them annoyed so they sold it.”

As you walked, your companion eyed the soaring twelve foot ceilings and ornate transoms above the massive box doorways. “Well duh. If you make your walls friggin fifty foot tall, of course you’re gonna have pressure problems!”

“Yeah, but the water pipes work fine,” you pointed out, grabbing the round brass handle to the empty parlor. Chantilly parquet floors creaked below your feet as you strolled to the old coal burning fireplace and rested a hand on the chipped marble mantle. In the center of the elaborate plaster medallion, a dusty teardrop crystal chandelier hung above your heads. You flipped the wall switch. The light flickered to life with a painful click, illuminating faded scarlet walls. “The electrician says the wiring is safe, but it still sounds sketch to me.”

“Like it’s grinding or something.” She pressed her ear to the peeling, geometric patterned paper before shaking her head. “Well, at least I don’t hear any bees. Marcus’s mom had them in her walls one summer and Memorial Day turned into a horror movie real fast.”

You strolled to the old pocket doors on the far wall and pushed them wide. Beyond the thick walls, worn stain and gouged wainscot welcomed guests to the formal dining room. Ready for eight, the solid mahogany table stool proudly on hand carved, reeded legs. Beside the bay windows, a matching buffet complete with a wide, oval mirror and rosewood inlays awaited crystal bottles filled with port and brandy. Between twin hall doors, the empty hutch cried out for platinum-edged bone china and silver candlesticks to fill the empty shelves encased in its diamond mutins.

“I had to strip the cushions from the chairs,” you explained, resting your hand on the glossy table. “But the wood cleaned up nice with some mineral spirits and paste wax.”

Serenity shot you an incredulous look. “You've been watching too much ‘This Old House’.”

“It’s only $10 a quart at the hardware store. Way cheaper than a new table.”

Your companion rolled her wrist and beconked you to her. “Show me your hands.”

You cringed, holding out dry, peeling fingers.

Her eye twitched. “That’s it. After we finish this tour, I’m gonna drag your scaley self to Sally's Beauty.” She ripped her phone out of her pocket, furiously thumbing the keyboard. When the signal lit up with one bar, she snarled. “If there even is one in this podunk town.”

You shrugged. “It’s a well water and septic world out here.”

Gripping her head, Serenity groaned. “I’m buying you a Brita filter. Asap.”

Heading down the long foyer, you made a sharp turn onto a narrow, walnut trimmed staircase. The dark, hand carved banister wobbled in your grip. You frowned at the loose fourth baluster. Not another one! Stupid Victorian hide glue! The original carpenter did some beautiful dovetail joinings but that stuff could not handle the humid summers in this area. More and more, the only dates you seemed to go on were with Norm Abram, Titebond and wood clamps. Now… the question was should you Amazon Prime some of the original stuff for authenticity’s sake or go with the stronger, cheaper wood glue you could get at Milton’s Hardware?

Cheaper probably. Considering the cost of Mansard roof repairs, cheaper was about what you could afford.

Leading her to the creaky upper hall, you bypassed the largest of four bedrooms on the south side of the house. Serenity paused, peaking through the crack in the old, tilted door frame. You shook your head and jerked your thumb down the landing.

“I got stuck in there last week. The house shifted so much over the years that it jams on humid days. I have to sand and rehang it before next summer.”

“Stuck? With cell service this bad?” She glanced out the far window at the long, overgrown expanse of forest which blocked any sight of your neighbors. A shiver rippled down her body. “Creepy.”

You paused, shaking hand rattling the old brass knob to the northern bedroom. “Tell me about it. I’ve left a crowbar and one of those fire escape ladders in there ever since.

Past the solid, double hip door sat a time capsule to the late nineteenth century. The original oak floors had yellowed with age but even the home inspector was impressed by their lack of seam gaps. Overlooking the front of the property, late 2000s double hung bay windows (a testament to the seller’s half-finished remodeling) encircled a small sitting area near the original coal burning fireplace. After hours of fighting with cast iron grating and a stubborn chimney flue, you’d managed to seal out the worst of the draft. The elegant brass chandelier surrendered its tarnish after two hours of polishing, leaving it capped with a luxurious glow every time the sun peeked through the gauzey Walmart curtains. Unlike the worn examples downstairs, dark wallpaper with golden peony blooms looked untouched by the years.

You flopped onto your new, plastic wrapped mattress and stretched your hands wide. “Behold! Antiquey expensive stuff!”

Serenity’s jaw dropped as she took in the six part, solid mahogany bedroom set. As lovely a red as the day it was made, each piece of satin smooth craftsmanship testified to its owner's fortune. Capped in gothic embellishments and trimmed with burr wood inlays, the queen sized bed looked more like a cathedral than a sleeping space. A marble topped, tiered dressing table with dangling pewter drawer pulls stood ready for silver backed, boar bristle hair brushes and ambergris scented perfumes. You could hide four bodies in the massive armoire. Deep dresser drawers would hold six full skirted walking costumes with ease. Loveliest of all, the free standing, body length mirror reflected your companion’s flabbergasted gawking.

She pointed to the tall, narrow door. “Ho-how’d they even get this stuff in this room?!”

You snickered, rising to your feet. “That era was all knockdown furniture,” you explained, turning the dressing table around. Tracing the dovetail seam between top and bottom, you tapped your temple. “Not like they wanted to haul all this stuff up the stairs anymore than we would.”

Serenity whistled. “Smart.”

“Oh! I almost forgot!” You dashed across the room to the six foot tall secretary desk and pulled down the writing table. In the center cubby, a luscious painting of olde English foxglove, Narcissus, and Lily of the Valley graced the Purpleheart inlays. You turned the small brass key in the latch and extracted a yellowed, black and white photograph of two children and a pudgy Pembroke Welsh Corgi. “Meet Mon, Tenko, and Hana Shimura.”

Your friend studied the picture. Hana, decked in high pigtails, stood solemnly in her dark pinafore and pristine, lacey apron. Tiny lips smashed in a thin line hinted at her efforts to control her smile. Under a messy flop of black hair, Tenko’s bright eyes gleamed with delight as he forced the Victorian portrait frown while clutching his new puppy.

“Hold up,” Serenity demanded, tapping the picture with her long, lavender nail. “Aren’t those Japanese names?”

You nodded, returning the old photo to its hiding spot. “I think so.”

She crossed her arms. “Japan had its borders forced open by Perry in 1854. We’re supposed to believe some super rich Japanese family just packed it up, moved to Gilded-Age America, learned the language, and built a mansion in the middle of Podunk, USA just a few decades later?” Jabbing an annoyed figure at the elaborate plasterwork around the chandelier, she added: “Possible, but unlikely much?”

You shrugged. “Deus ex machina?”

Serenity clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “I guess, but it’s a terrible one, even for a smutty fanfic.”

“Eh… it’s Halloween. Gotta get our fix somewhere,” you replied, kicking the cotton batting. “Help me get this on the bed?”

Bustling to your side, your companion tore through the thin plastic. “So… which one of the Shimuras burnt the house down?”

“I think it was the dad,” you explained, hefting the edge of the mattress above the bed frame. “Might have been rich, but rumor has it he was a perfectionist and family beater. According to the librarian, local gossip was that, after he killed the kid’s dog, the wife tried to take them and leave.”

Serenity grunted as she swung her side up and over. The mattress flopped into place with a woosh before sinking down into the platform base. “Yeah, bet a man like that doesn’t take too kindly to his favorite punching bags up and walking away.”

You scoffed. “Anyone who hurt Mon-chan deserves to burn.”

All at once, your hackles rose. Pricked ears caught the tail end of a distant cackle. You whipped around scanning the room.

“What’s up?”

Rubbing the back of your neck, you shook off the feeling like a wet dog. “N-nothing. Just swore I heard a…” Your voice trailed off as you fixed your gaze on the old looking glass before glancing to the window. “Weird…”

“Hey!” Serenity grabbed your shoulder. “Don’t be pulling that ‘I thought I saw something�� nonsense when I’ve gotta sleep here tonight!”

You laughed and threw up your hands in apology. “Sorry, sorry. Just caught a glint of sunlight in the mirror. That’s all.”

Inside the glass, body shaking with laughter, Tomura’s pale hand clamped tight over a skeletal grin.

Part II coming Saturday October 22nd, 2022

Taglist:

@THE-LADY-WRITES-WHAT @wonwoosbestbuddy @OCEON6 @dabisqueen @shig-a-shig-ah-ah @feral-creep @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-loveuet-love @smilinghowever @imaginedheroine @CLOUDS-NO1-FAN @MOONTHECREATOR @HARLEYWRITESFANTASY @MANJIROSGIRL @vamperilous @MADDY-HAT @cakernofakers @builtd-different25 @kurtasim @shiggyniggy @koreluvsspring @smilee-spooks @beware-thecrow

@m0nim0ni @minnieplier-blog @blehitsriot @moonwad @saikis-seceretcoffeejelly @nainainairi @bakuhoe37 @un-deadinsomniac @nonominchan @utena-akashiya @molita111 @nekolover93 @pimp-in @slaughterbat777 @chxrryvibes @blackchemicals @coldsaladpiecop-blog @flamme-meuf2-shiggy @aphorditeslust @just-yer-average-key @rekoii @justnothingguys

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jurdanhell · 1 year

Text

For the kindred

Read it on AO3!

Word Count: 1,737

“We’re here!” Jude called as she pushed open the door to the small apartment Madoc and Oriana had taken to renting. Icy wind whipped inward, snow drifting in and melting as it came in contact with the hardwood floor. Cardan shuffled in behind her, closing the door as she kicked off her boots.

Madoc opened his mouth to greet them, opting for a disapproving grunt when he noticed Cardan had tagged along. He turned from the small hallway that led to the door and disappeared around the corner into the kitchen. Oriana spun around the dining table and traded places with him. She helped Jude shed her coat, giving her a small, private smile. “Dinner is almost ready,” she said quietly. “Oak would like to show you his new game. He has not stopped talking about it,” she said, gaze shifting to Cardan. He gave her a short nod and slipped out of his own coat.

He placed a hand on Jude’s lower back when she stood rooted in place. She took a deep breath, staring straight ahead. Another. She turned, looking at the wall just passed him for a moment before meeting his gaze. She gave him a funny look before reaching up to snatch the beanie he’d insisted on wearing off his head, revealing the sharp points of his ears. He gave her an awkward smile.

She hung the hat overtop her coat on the rack and laced two of his fingers through her own, dragging him onward.

The small living and dining rooms were separated by a couch as the hallway opened up. Vivi, sitting cross-legged on the floor, looked up as they came in, giving them a small wave. Oak sat on the couch, glued to the small box TV that had been propped up on a well-worn, pre-owned stand.

Jude walked around the side of the couch, resting on the arm as she squinted at the show that played on the TV, trying to recall its name. A loud clanking of dishes came from the kitchen just behind them, and Jude turned to watch as Oriana shuffled between where Madoc stood over the stove with a turkey, trying to set places at the table.

“What’s all this?” She said, inclining her head toward Vivi.

She huffed a small laugh. “Oriana said we were going to have a Christmas the ‘mortal way.’ You know. To blend in.”

Jude raised a brow as she watched her foster father bring the turkey on its serving dish to the center of the table, bells jingling. Cardan turned, brows furrowing at the sound before bursting out in laughter. “What,” he said, wheezing. “Is that? ” He pointed to the sweater Madoc was wearing, a glittery red, covered in Jingle bells around the bottom hem. He made a face that might have sent his enemies running, grumbling something under his breath as he turned away, fiddling with the stove.

Oriana gave a tight smile. “It’s a Christmas sweater,” she said. “To blend in with the mortals.” Jude made a face somewhere between amusement and a grimace as Cardan struggled to catch his breath.

Madoc reached into a cabinet and pulled out a handful of glasses, turning back to the table to put them in their places. Cardan swiped at his cheeks as he jingled with every step. He looked up, reading the now-legible text on his sweater. Jingle my bells. He doubled over again, bracing himself with his hands on his knees.

Jude hid a grin behind her hand as Oak looked up from the television, deciphering the sudden commotion. Madoc set the glasses down roughly, earning an annoyed look from his wife.

Heather stepped out from the back hallway, casting Vivi a wary glance as Madoc ground his teeth.

Oak tugged on Cardan’s sleeve, pulling him around the couch to show him his new game. Cardan hiccuped as he sat down, still wiping tears from his eyes.

Taryn swept through the front door, pushing it closed with her back and unwinding her scarf at the same time. She twisted the lock in place as she kicked off her shoes, sliding her coat off and hanging on the over-full rack. Oriana swept her into a hug, leaning over her swollen belly.

As Madoc finished setting the table, placing the mismatched forks in nearly the wrong places, Oriana herded everyone to the table.

“Are we saying Grace?” Heather asked, turning to Vivi.

Madoc made a face. “Who’s Grace?”

Heather opened her mouth. Closed it. “That means no,” Cardan said, fighting a smile as he slid into his seat. Jude pinched her nose.

“I am glad you all have come,” Oriana said, swatting her husband as he fidgeted with the silverware at his place. “Will you carve it?” She turned to him, folding her napkin onto her lap.

Something ticked in his jaw. “I cannot.”

The air stilled for a moment, heavy and thick enough to cut. Cardan pulled the collar of his shirt over his nose as his shoulders shook. Madoc shot him a glare.

“Of course,” Oriana said, trying to amend. “I suppose it need not be so formal.” She winced, urging everyone to carve what they wanted.

Heather shot Vivi a look as she scooped a large serving of mashed potatoes on her plate. “Your parents are weird,” she whispered.

Vivi grinned and whispered back, “I told you you didn’t need to be worried.”

Jude sipped lightly from her glass as she listened to Oak talk about the strange classes in his mortal school. His latest science project. Something called geometry.

Cardan watched Madoc butter his roll with a spoon. He bumped Jude’s knee with his own and nodded in his direction when he’d caught her attention.

“He can’t lift a weapon,” she’d said lowly. “A knife is a weapon.” Cardan’s face went blank the way it did when he was really trying not to laugh.

Madoc’s sweater jingled as he shifted in his chair. “So, Madoc,” Cardan began. Jude shot him a warning look. “You’ve been very festive so far.” Madoc raised his chin, awaiting the blow. He brought his elbows to the table, fork in hand. “Will you be dressing up as the Grinch tomorrow, then?”

Madoc tilted his head quizzically. Cardan nodded to the movie that had been left playing on the television. He glanced over just in time to see the live-action Grinch argue with his echo.

He whipped his head back to Cardan with a fire in his eyes–Cardan, who looked entirely too smug–and dropped his fork like it was hot beneath his hands. “Anything’s a weapon if you’re brave enough, huh?” Madoc bared his teeth. Jude smacked her husband's shoulder.

Madoc stood and made his way down the hall, the bells on his sweater revealing his every step.

“Six thirty, dinner with me.” Cardan said as Madoc stormed away. “I can’t cancel that again.”

Heather’s knee hit the table as she snuffed her laugh. Cardan caught Vivi’s eye and burst out in laughter again. Vivi made jazz hands at him, teary-eyed. “Five thirty,” he said as he tried to catch his breath. “Jazzercize.”

“Oh, are we doing costumes now?” Oak said, standing. “I have one!” He dashed down the hall before anyone could protest. Oriana rest her chin on her fist, formality forgotten.

Oak came back draped in a white bedsheet, tossed over one shoulder and trailing behind him.

“Are you a ghost?” Heather asked. “Like one of the ghosts of Christmas?”

“That makes Madoc Scrooge,” Cardan said, breathing heavily.

Taryn cast Jude a look. She shrugged, having no idea what they were talking about either.

“No!” Oak said as he rearranged the sheet. “It’s a toga.

“Toga Oak,” Cardan said thoughtfully.

“Toaka,” Heather said whisfully, a laugh bubbling up through her throat.

Cardan turned back to Jude. “Do you think if we buy him the costume he’ll wear it?”

Jude gave him a blank look. “Definitely not.”

“What if we double-dog dare him.”

Jude sat down her glass. “What?”

“You know, double-dog dare. It’s like a normal dare, but spicier.”

She made a face at him. “Who told you this?”

“It’s true.” Oak said, nodding solemnly.

Vivi turned to Oak as he slid back into his seat, toga and all. “Since when did you become so wise?”

“It’s the power of the toga. Not many can bear it.”

Cardan snapped his fingers. “Snowmiser!” Jude looked back at him, lost. “Madoc could be Snowmiser.”

Vivi took a second serving of mashed potatoes. “So who’s Heatmiser?”

“Grima Mog,” Cardan said. Jude shook her head. “I just feel like she’d be capable of filling the role.”

“Hear me out,” Heather said. “Jack Frost from The Santa Clause. ”

Cardan coughed. “Oh my god.”

Vivi swallowed heavily. “Does that make you Scott Calvin?” She pointed her fork at him. Oriana looked to Jude for an explanation. She shrugged again, eyes wide.

Oak sat up straight, dusting off his toga. “And I will be Lucy.”

Cardan took a long sip from his glass. “No, wrong sibling. Jack Frost kidnapped her, remember?”

Oak nodded again, all seriousness. “Then I should be Charlie.”

The table was silent as they digested the exchange. Cardan diverted when he caught Jude looking at him, moon-eyed.

“Why a toga?”

“You can get anywhere with a good costume and any amount of confidence.”

Cardan raised his glass in salute. Oak followed.

“You should join Greek Life,” Cardan said.

Heather shook her face, puzzled. “I don’t think you know what that means.”

The conversation drifted a dozen different ways before Madoc returned, wearing a different sweater that his wife had bought for him. To blend in, she’d said. As if he wasn’t green.

He frowned as he sat back down in his chair, taking his wife’s hand beneath the table. She gave him a soft smile and used her knife to butter his roll. He looked away, gaze drifting back to the TV. The Grinch was handing back the gifts he’d stolen. Apparently, his heart had grown three sizes. Ridiculous, he’d thought. He’d seen hearts, both beating and not. They do not grow like that.

He turned his attention back to the table. To Vivi, joking with her girlfriend. To Oak, laughing and sitting in a sheet, to Taryn, who was laughing at something Cardan said. To Jude, holding his hand.

Hearts could not grow, he decided. But perhaps they could make room.

Masterlist

for lex; happy birthday <3

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transmutationisms · 11 months

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I apologize if there's something already on your blog about this and I didn't find it, but I was watching tailgate party and realized that Shiv had spent the entire episode pacing around one apartment complex 6000 steps over and that the Roys do this a lot.

My memory of the last few seasons is fuzzy (<- binged it before and now doesn't remember shit) but I feel like the Roys spend a lot of time in very large, usually open spaces, with wide walls and tall ceilings, and usually ones we've seen before or are expected to see again and that a lot of important scenes happen *outside* of these spaces. Important meaning either big moments or iconic ones or sometimes just transitonary. Kendall had his Next-Jesus moment out in the ocean, Tom started throwing water bottles in that cramped ass escape room or talked about his marriage out on the beach, the entirety of Kill List happens outside of ATN offices, Logan meets Mattson for the first time on a personal island, Roman went to a random one story office environment for a fucking business school and was never the same character (well. compared to S1 Roman) again, they have that reverse Jesus thing over cruises on a cruise ship, etc. I feel like plane scenes could both fit into this or break it depending on the season but at least for other scenes I feel like there's a pattern here.

Outdoor spaces or parts where they actually put their shoes outside onto sidewalk always feel semi important to me but it doesn't even have to be outdoors specifically. Like, even just the honeymoon suite was different enough from every other building we'd seen the show have, and that's when Shiv admitted to cheating!

Do you think there's something to this, or do you have your own thoughts? I'd be interested to hear more if only to appeal to my ego ;-). There's other things that could connect to this like the grey-white-brown-dark blue color palette damn near every scene is in vs. scenes with real color inside of them and Kendall's asking why Sophie was "on the street" being indicative of how he thinks she should be raised (based on how he was raised and also how he can recognize the manipulation and abusive inherent to his father's parenting but not the more subtle isolation and neglect) and the fact the Roys are literally running an actual rat race while trapped inside Waystair Rocyo 1/2 the time but I have to stay focused on one thing when I write shit down even if I'm connecting dots in my head or else this ask won't even be remotely legible.

[If you already wrote about this - sorry! I hope this makes sense. Either way, have a good night, and fingers crossed something fun happens at Logan's funeral. I still want Tom to fight someone. It won't happen but it'd be funny as hell lol]

yeah i haven't really written anything comprehensive on this, but i do think there are a few interesting points with regards to how the show uses the characters' environments. forgive me for bullet-pointing lol, maybe you can help string these things together into something more cohesive. but:

yes, the characters often spend most of an episode trapped in one location, even one building. in part i think this is a function of the presence of playwrights on the writing staff, and the way many episodes flirt with the three classical unities of tragedy writing (time / place / action). so, lots of episodes are 1 day only, or 2 or 3 max, and often a character will be mostly confined to one location during that span. in part this helps make each individual episode really tight internally, but it also contributes to that persistent sense that the characters are trapped (within their circumstances, company, family, etc)

indoor vs outdoor is an interesting thread. one thing that has always stood out to me is that the show has a tendency to use natural sunlight not as refreshing, enlightening, etc, but as blinding, overwhelming, and even dangerous. the sun almost kills logan in s3, there are those shots in 2x10 and 3x09 where everyone's squinting in the bright light, there's a similar effect in 'austerlitz', etc. this contributed to the overall sense of discomfort that the roys experience, despite all their material luxuries; it also contributes to the sense that nature and the natural world is an alien, external force that appears threatening—this sense also comes out in all of the animal metaphors they use, which emphasise the brutality they see in the animal kingdom and in nature generally

if we're talking places, i also must bring up the presence of bathrooms on the show. these are quotidian rooms, but also dangerous ones, in the sense that they exist to purge a civilised society of its filth, and the whole process tends to be marginalised and wilfuly ignored. so, i've always liked that succession has a lot of scenes set in bathrooms, and often characters are able to speak differently in the bathroom—sometimes more intimate (kendall and stewy, tom and logan in 3x05), or more direct (greg and logan in 2x08), or they're allowed to say things they couldn't elsewhere (roman and mencken). bathrooms are also sheltered personal spaces, where the characters can retreat and hide (kendall using them to do coke, shiv practicing a smile in 1x02, greg rehearsing his congressional testimony)

the waystar offices obviously have that very 21st-century glass-and-steel aesthetic that telegraphs new money, a certain neoliberal attempt at severance from systems of social and cultural meaning-making, etc. so, moving the characters to other locations is effective because, in contrast to the kind of soullessness of the waystar building, it makes the other places stand out and emphasises the meaning we can glean from the sets alone (like, the gut-punch of dodds's house in contrast to the sort of corporate default)

in regards to the idea of control and confinement within luxe spaces—yes, this is clearly something we see many of the environments convey (the ultimate expression of this being the anti-suicide wall that logan puts up to pen kendall in). this is really a discrete material expression of how waystar operates in a broader sense, constraining people whilst appearing to create more options and more freedom (also a basic characteristic of neoliberal modes of production, lol)

again i'm not sure i have a thesis statement here unifying all of these observations lol. but i do think the show does well at using its environments and settings to tell us a lot about the characters, the company, and the broader world they inhabit.

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m4gp13 · 8 months

Text

Day 6: Songs / Gods

OctaBryThanBaster (Octavian x Bryce x Ethan x Alabaster) but this just features Ethan and Bryce

Word count - 2767

@them-awesome-rarepairs

Standing in a snowy corner of Central Park, Ethan shifted on his feet and heard the snow crunch under his heavy boots. “And you’re sure this will work?” he asked of the boy standing next to him.

Bryce cast him a sidelong smirk that showed off his long canines. “What? Don’t you trust me?”

Ethan frowned. “I’m standing in front of a pile of rocks with a guitar, in order to sneak into the Underworld. Forgive me if I’m a little sceptical.”

Bryce hooked his arm over Ethan’s shoulders and brought him in close; messing up his hair with a loose fist. “I always do. And if it all goes even further to Tartarus than it already is, just remember it was your boyfriend’s idea.”

With a huff, Ethan rolled his eye but made no attempt to dislodge himself from the crook of Bryce’s elbow. “He’s your boyfriend too.”

“Eh, you had him first.” It was a decent perk of having a son Hecate as a boyfriend. Instead of taking one of the less pleasant and more permanent ways of ending up in the Underworld, Ethan could just get Al to point him in the direction of the Musical Rocks route. Bryce used his hold on him to tug him up the snowy path to the big pile of boulders that was supposed to take him to the Underworld. Ethan straightened his back as much as he could under Bryce’s weight and tried not to look too nervous. It was only hell. And he only had to play a little ditty on the guitar to get there.

When they were but a few feet from the stones, Bryce stopped and removed his thick winter coat to lay it over the snow like a picnic blanket. “What are you doing?” Ethan asked, a few steps of legibility away from a groan.

Bryce sat cross-legged on the blanket like an eager elementary schooler in circle time, and beamed up at him. “Getting us a comfortable spot for the show. Won’t you join me?”

“We won’t both fit on that.”

“You can sit on my lap.” Bryce leaned back and patted his thigh while Ethan frowned at him with an unimpressed look. “I’m not joking,” he said, smile growing wider. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

Ethan held the guitar up by the fretboard, feeling a little like a butcher hoisting an animal carcass by the ankle. “I barely know how to use this thing.”

“I’ll help.” All the logical parts of his brain were telling Ethan to throw the guitar in Bryce’s face and stomp back to Mt Othrys. He could face whatever consequences Kronos wanted to throw at him later. But the other parts of his brain, his body as well, looked at Bryce’s stupid, goofy smile and got snagged on his hook, begging to be reeled in. Ethan heard his boots crunching over the snow and before he knew it, he was indeed tucking himself into Bryce’s embrace and relishing in the soft heat of his hands on his hips while they got themselves comfortable.

Taking stock of exactly what he was doing, Ethan tipped back against Bryce’s chest with a defeated sigh, still rigidly tense. “I’m serenading a pile of boulders so I can go to hell, while sitting in my boyfriend’s lap like a child.”

“Underworld,” Bryce corrected, and before Ethan could elbow him in the ribs added, “And does it count as serenading if you don’t use your voice?”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask.” Ethan twisted around and hefted the guitar in his hands. “Now what do I do with this?”

Bryce’s chuckles reverberated into Ethan while he raised his hands to his boyfriend’s. He took a gentle hold of Ethan’s left wrist and guided his right hand up to the fretboard, resting each of his fingers on the equivalent on Ethan’s hand. Leaning forward, he propped his chin up on Ethan’s shoulder, which looked a little ridiculous given that Bryce was almost a foot taller and had a good few inches on Ethan, even with him perched on his thighs.

“Just follow my lead,” Bryce said. His lips were close enough that his warm breath tickled Ethan’s cheek and forced the blood to rush to his face. He really should have come alone. With Bryce here, there wouldn’t be any blood left in his hands to keep his fingers moving across the strings.

“What will we play?” he asked.

Bryce hummed to himself before a wicked smirk cut across his face. “Pick at the ready,” he ordered and Ethan fought back a groan. He did as he was told while Bryce arranged his fingers on the cords and steadied Ethan’s other hand in preparation for the strumming. “Keep your wrist loose and follow my lead.” He rocked his hand to move the pick pinched between Ethan’s fingers up and down the strings. He didn’t recognise the first few notes as they adjusted to the arrangement but after they got the hang of it–

“Is this fucking American Pie?” He tipped his head back and tried to grumble through his grin. “It’s so long!”

“And we’ll love every second!”

As much as Ethan wanted to kick him in the shins and smash the guitar against the rocks, he couldn’t easily prove him wrong. Growing up, Ethan always got told he had his dad’s taste in music and he supposed there was some truth in that. Older songs were just fun to him. And Bryce, the asshole that he was, knew it. He knew guitars much better than Ethan and although he gave it a valiant try, he wasn’t quite good enough to make up for his co-player’s lack of experience. Ethan tried to follow his right hand on the cords as close as he could but a lot of the cord changes were too fast for him to keep up, often making their strums hit at the wrong time and sending discordant wails echoing from the instrument.

Bryce didn’t seem at all dismayed. His dopey smile didn’t falter for a second while he nodded his head or tapped his foot to the time they were supposed to be keeping. Every time Ethan cringed at a sour note, Bryce chirped, “Don’t worry, we have plenty of time to get the hang of it!”

And, gods damn him, they did. Sort of, but it was better than how they started. The song had its repetitive parts and Ethan started anticipating when to put his fingers where, which stopped the chord changes from being a flailing mess of digits getting tangled up together. It went from sounding like a mangled dirge to something almost passable as a functional song. With Bryce’s soothing presence, it even started to become a little relaxing. Ethan’s rod-straight back eventually softened as he allowed himself to lean into Bryce and his warmth; a gentle shield against the brisk cold.

“Bryce,” Ethan murmured under his breath, watching as it froze into a small cloud before him, “Do you think the Underworld gods like music?”

“I think everyone likes music to some degree,” he answered, not taking his eyes off the guitar or his hands off of Ethan’s.

“I mean more than usual,” he said. “More than the other gods.”

Briefly, Bryce flicked his eyes up to Ethan’s. “I’ve never thought about it. Why?”

“Just the entrances. The LA entrance to the Underworld is a record label and this one opens with music. I know it’s because of Orpheus, but it was his music that cut his path to the Underworld and charmed the gods into letting him try to get Eurydice back. I just thought there might be something to it.”

“That’s . . .” Bryce leaned his head closer to Ethan’s and the lengthening tips of his shaggy hair brushed against his face, “An interesting point, actually.”

“Actually?”

“You know what I mean.” Bryce nudged him with a shoulder. “To be honest, I’ve never really given it much thought. Underworld gods and songs, that is.”

Neither had Ethan until about five minutes ago. “Do you think it’s like a ‘chicken and the egg’ scenario?” he asked, and at the look of bewilderment crossing Bryce’s face, he clarified, “Maybe the connection stems from Orpheus’ influence or maybe Orpheus only had influence because of the connection?”

“Well,” Bryce said as he teased a softer melody from the guitar. The way his deft fingers worked their magic across the board was almost mesmerising. Ethan could have watched it all day. “They are Underworld gods, right?”

“Yeah. What does that have to do with songs?”

“Think about it.” Bryce shrugged. “They’re all a bunch of ancient, immortal beings doomed to spend an eternity surrounded by death. Everything just stays exactly as stale and dead as it’s been for the past several thousand years. It’s all stagnant.”

They were getting to Bryce’s favourite part of the song and his hands started moving faster with firm intent but Ethan wasn’t paying much attention. He was too busy trying and failing to work out Bryce’s logic in his head. “You’re losing me.”

Bryce snorted a laugh that hummed through Ethan’s back. “Songs are art,” he said, emphasising each word in time to the beat. “They’re inherently reflective of when they’re made, so they’re changing all the time.” A smirk slanted up his face. “In New Rome and Camp Jupiter, they liked to emulate the ancient Romans as much as they could. But we’re not ancient Romans, and it shows in everything except the latin.”

“So,” Ethan drawled as his hands tried desperately to keep up with Bryce’s effortless movements, “You think the Underworld gods like music because everything is the same down there but songs are always changing?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” His strumming thankfully started slowing as the song began winding down to the last few repeats of the chorus. His hair kept falling in his eyes but he didn’t seem to take much note of it. “If I was a god living in the Underworld, the only people I’d ever let in were the people who could handle a melody.”

“Would you make them all play for you?”

“Probably. That’s the nature of godhood, right?” He slashed the pick down the strings. “Mortals like us are just entertainment to them.”

“Oh?” Ethan glanced over his shoulder at Bryce’s face, trusting him to carry on the tune on his own. “Rather dissenting for a Roman.”

“Well, you’re rather obedient for a Greek,” he huffed under his breath.

Ethan stiffened and sharpened his look at Bryce. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bryce sagged with a sigh, but his hands didn’t skip a beat as they kept plucking the last few melancholy notes from the strings. “She doesn’t love you, you know,” he said, making Ethan stiffen even further against him. “She’s a goddess. It’s in her nature to use you. You’ll never be anything but a resource to her.”

The ending of the song drifted on the air and before Ethan could snap back, a deep rumbling drew his attention to the mound of rocks before him. The thin layer of frost coating them was shaken off to drift to the ground as the old stones grinded against each other. As if a knife had been stabbed into it, a long, thin slice of blackness appeared gouged into the surface and widened from its tapered tip to a flat bottom. The rumbling stopped, and Ethan felt Bryce’s hand grip tighter onto his.

They sat in silence as they assessed the triangular crevice that appeared where the boulders used to be. A serpentine shiver snaked its way down Ethan’s spine and curled up into an uneasy knot in the pit of his stomach. The scent of mildew and rot drifted from the open passage to assault his senses and give him harsh reminders of his time in the labyrinth a few months ago.

Instead of getting up or shoving Ethan off, Bryce let his fingers trail further down the inside of Ethan’s wrist and forearm. “You know–”

“If you’re going to tell me that I don’t have to do this, and that it’s too dangerous, and that I’d be much better off if I just ran away with you to hide until this war blows over–” He cast him a dull look over his shoulder “–Save your breath. We’ve been over this.”

He watched Bryce transform before his eye. “She doesn’t deserve your help.” His voice cut like a knife, his eyes narrowed into pointed shards and all the softness he’d enveloped Ethan in for the past several dozen minutes had been instantly chipped away to form a serrated edge.

Ethan set the guitar on the ground beside them. “That’s not for you to decide.” He got up to go but Bryce wrapped his arms around his waist, keeping him down and pressed against him. “Bryce!” Ethan snapped. He couldn’t wriggle his way out of Bryce’s grasp so he twisted around in his lap to face him and shut up any protest working its way to Bryce’s lips with a militant glare. “You have no right to tell me what I can or can’t do for my people. Not when you’re no better.”

Bryce’s head snapped up and his eyes locked onto Ethan. “Excuse me?”

His arms had loosened so Ethan took the opportunity to haul himself to his feet, looking down at his boyfriend. “What’s Orcus ever done for you? Or the legion, for that matter? And yet you still defend them, you’ve never considered joining the army and you’d kiss their boots in a heartbeat. You have no ground to stand on when it comes to me and my mother.”

“That’s completely different.” Bryce braced his hands on his knees and hunched forward. Even sitting on the ground with his head craned back to look up at Ethan, he still appeared as if he was looking down his nose at Ethan. Probably from being so used to being the tall one. “You don’t see me running around doing errands for them.”

“You would if they asked you.”

“What’s that got to do with this?” Bryce demanded.

Ethan didn’t care for his deflections. “If the legion came for you right now and offered you a place with them, would you take it?” Bryce didn’t answer. Not verbally. But Ethan watched the shameful drop of his head and the way he let his hair fall like a curtain before his eyes, shielding them from view. “See?” Ethan said. “We’re both servile little mortals.”

“It’s–” His voice broke. “It’s not easy, being an exile.”

Ethan sighed. “I know.” He was well acquainted with that kind of lifestyle.

Bryce flicked his eyes up to meet Ethan’s. “But you’ve never asked me to join the army.”

“It’s not easy being in the army, either.”

Bryce opened his mouth as if to snap a retort, but his eyes skipped past Ethan to the yawning mouth of the cave before them and wisely shut his trap. Ethan turned around, taking a deep breath to steady himself, and started walking towards the entrance.

The snow crunched behind him and in an instant he was facing Bryce again, his wrist clenched in his hand. His eyes were wide and desperation was etched into every line of his face. “If you don’t come back–”

“You’ll what?” Ethan cut in and arched a brow at his boyfriend. “Kill me?”

“No,” he huffed. His shoulders sagged and for a moment Ethan thought he was about to let go and send him on his merry way down to hell. He didn’t do that. Instead, he tugged him forward by his wrist and enveloped him in a hug. “Just remember that I know how to get down there too.”

Bryce’s body was a bastion of warmth and Ethan couldn’t help but bury his face in his chest, savouring it in case he’d never get to feel it again. “Yeah,” he murmured against him. “I won’t forget.”

Bryce pressed a shallow kiss to his forehead and stepped back. His lips were quivering but he forced them into a smile nonetheless. “I’ll see you soon,” he said. “And if I don’t, you can tell Hades and Persephone to expect the concert of an unlifetime.”

Ethan gave Bryce’s hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll pass it along.” This time, when Ethan turned to leave, Bryce didn’t stop him. He could still feel his eyes on his back and when he stepped into the shadow of the dark cave, he held Bryce’s warmth close to his chest; his shield against the surrounding cold.

#pjo #percy jackson #hoo #ethan nakamura #bryce lawrence #Ethyce #Brythan #???#idk #pjorarepairs2023

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