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purelyfiction · 4 months

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Room for Dessert

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x F!Reader

Summary: it's date night for you and Bob and as always, he is the most doting gentleman you know. full of manners and always wanting to be up to expectations! after a gracious dinner, Bob reminds you there’s still a course you missed at the restaurant.

Word count: 1,658 words

Author notes: HIIIIIII i got this as a prompt from a prompt sheet ages ago and wanted to put this out for mr perfect in every way's birthday but i finished it maybe two hours after the day ended in EST time so!! a day late but, in honor of blorbo's birthday a very nice little birthday treat :)))) HEY THIS HAS SMUT SO IF YOU AREN'T 18+ GTFO || f receiving oral, maybe spanking? not sure it counts. some nsfw language for sure. Thank you @callsignthirsty for beta-ing the majority of this as always you are crucial for my writing :))))))

Your darling and sweet man had gone the extra mile for date night. A white tablecloth restaurant, reservations, bottle service to your table, and the whole nine yards. He’d gotten himself all dressed up just so you could do the same. He’d held doors, played your playlist the whole way in his beat-up classic truck – the perfect man. There was even a fresh set of flowers on the counter when you’d returned home. Amazed by all of this, you look back at him as you drift into the kitchen.

“You have really outdone yourself, Bo.” Your fingers caress the petals, looking over the roses with such delicate motions. You catch Bob’s reflection in the window as he comes up behind you.

“I wouldn’t call it outdoing myself if this is what I deem the standard.” Hands wrap so delicately around your waist, finding themselves at home as the two of you linger in the continued feel-good endorphins from the night.

You have work in the morning. He has training. Yet as his palms flatten against the elegant fabric of your dress, you hum with ease and let your head sink back to his shoulder. Bob takes this new spot as an invitation to pepper minute and delicate kisses up your neck, to your jawline. If this keeps going, the two of you might end up miserable and sleep-deprived. His hand grabbing the flesh of your thigh convinces you to ditch the bedtime.

“Your standard is far from the industry’s,” you tease, looking at how his blue eyes seem to shift in the low light of your kitchen.

“Guess you’ve got the top-of-the-line product then, now don’t you darlin’?” Hands travel from where they’d been innocently tracing little circles on your hip bones. Instead, slinking down to your thighs to toy with the hem of your skirt in this wonderful dress (which he’d bought you just for tonight).

“It would seem that way. And it’s still running like a dream three years later.” There’s an amused huff of air deposited onto your skin, hands busy entertaining the softness of your thighs, fingertips paving a path of goosebumps under them.

“You sure about that? No need for a diagnostics run? Make sure there aren’t any lingering bugs that might be screwing up the hardware?” There’s an easy giggle that leaves you while his hands busy themselves spinning you back around to face him, guiding you so you are flush against the counter of the island.

“I mean, everything seems to be in working order.” Your own arms wrap up around his neck as he gets impossibly closer, lips gluing themselves back to the skin of your neck, moving downward this time. One hand takes yours, holding onto it innocently as his tongue draws a hotspot to your skin. In one swift movement, he’s flattening your hand against his groin, smirking at the way your breath catches when you make contact.

“I think you’re right, baby.” He’s rock-hard. Instead of letting you linger in the sensation, Bob’s moving before you can even indulge in his previous action, hands gripping under your ass and carefully lifting you to rest on the counter. His lips meet yours for the first time since arriving home, his tongue pushing its way to its rightful place against yours. One hand continues to toy with anything he can find under your skirt, his fingers skating to the lace of your underwear, tugging at them with no real defined goal. You're like magnets, Bob's large hand hopelessly drawn to your waist, your chest, fingers desperately grasping at you through the padding of your bra. There’s a resistance as his lips pull back, moving back to the spot right under your ear. “You know, I just realized something.” The low baritone of his register vibrates the shell of your ear.

“Did you get a notification on your operating system?” The tease leaves him nipping at your ear.

“Something like that,” he huffs, hands still gripping onto you as if you will vanish if he lets you go. “We completely skipped over the dessert portion of dinner.”

“Was it on the agenda?” The response comes quick, but not nearly as instant as the following one. “Or is this fine-tuned machine starting to break down?” His hand is gripping your chest again, an almost punishing response to your question.

“This machine would like to self-correct if you’d just be patient enough.” He finally breaks the magnetic spell he’s under, blue eyes a heavy, royal color by this point. His hands easily glide back under your skirt, both of them working in tandem to tug the cotton from your hips. You shift to help him rid the fabric from your body, the cold granite of the countertop making you shiver on contact. With your panties on the floor, his hands drop to the counter, boxing you in as you rest on a makeshift pedestal to your most nerdy—yet flushed and intoxicating—boyfriend. The cocksure demeanor has begun to fade ever so slightly, uncertainty creeping in at the most inopportune time. “I- ugh-” his fingers are chilled from the stone when they return to your waist.

Your eyes meet with his, the softness of your boyfriend suddenly on full display as his hands make laps on your thighs, running up and down. A cautious hand comes up to his chin, forefinger and thumb gripping it. “Honey?”

This happens from time to time. He’ll be on such a roll, so easily matching the energy that you ignite in him, then suddenly shut down as if he’s rebooting. Once, he told you that he would get so overwhelmed with how many emotions he felt toward you—so turned on—that he would short-circuit and need a minute for all systems to come back online. Bob’s gaze returns to yours, no longer spaced out, hands pausing their continuous motion in favor of gripping at your thighs once more.

“Would it be too crass to say I want you to come on my glasses?” All systems go. Your hand shifts up to caress his jawline, carefully guiding his lips back to yours.

“No. It’s fucking hot-” Your answer evaporates into the air as you tug him close again, his hips slotting between your easily parted thighs.

“Should I–?” he gasps, eyes flicking toward the floor before they return to your mouth.

“If you want me to cum on your glasses, Bo?” You run your tongue over your kiss-stung lips. “Yeah.”

Bob surges forward, eager to lick into your mouth, claiming it before falling to his knees. You card your fingers through his hair and shift your legs further apart to give him more room to work with. “God, baby, you look so good like this,” he groans. The praise jolts you as large hands settle on the inside of your thighs, careful lips starting a trail of kisses from the top of one knee, up your leg, and right to your dripping center. His breath staccatos over your skin, hovering as a thumb carefully spreads you, basking in what he’s done to you. “Oh, this never gets old, angel, never, never.” The sound of his voice fades as his tongue expertly glides up your folds, making a lap or two at the top that sends your breathing pattern into a fit. You attempt to brace against the counter as he works, your hand gripping taut to the curls you adored.

You aren’t sure what code Bob has written in his brain that gives you the benefit of duality: the charming and beyond kind gentleman at dinner this evening and the absolutely rogue man between your legs.

“You taste so good, baby, so fucking amazing—fuck dessert,” it’s muttered against your cunt, eagerly lapped away to send your stomach spiraling. You have half a mind to let the counter behind you morph into a mattress as your eyes fall shut. You’re tempted to let the stone cool your skin from the burning sensation Bob is supplying you.

Instead, you jump, eyes shooting open when his hand comes to the outside of your thigh. Glancing down, blue eyes drill into yours, Bob pulling away with the hardest focus chiseled into his features. “Eyes on me.” Oh, fuck, he was taking it to the extremes. Bob’s ability to hyperfocus was an advantage and a disadvantage. Such as right now, when he is insistent on making you watch as he devours you, barely getting enough air as he fastens himself even more firmly against you.

As his tongue pushes into you, a shrill sound escapes you. You’re not going to be much longer, if he stays down this path. Bob just might get his wish. And he does, not even minutes later, your legs viscerally shaking, large hands clamping them to the counter to prevent you from locking your thighs around his head in an effort to stop. Gasping for air, slapping the palm of your hand against the countertop, your words are short off your lips, “Bob, baby, you can- shit- honey that’s enough,” however, he hasn’t powered down yet, with no intentions on stopping. When you try again, an arm crosses over your hips, pushing you down just enough to keep him centered right where he needed to be to tie the knot in your stomach again. You can’t help the way you squirm and writhe under him, strong arm gripping to your hips as he frantically swipes his tongue against you - until you break, nearly screaming under him, possibly - no, likely disturbing the neighbors.

You’ve laid fully back on the stone by this point, unable to will yourself to move after all Bob had put you through. There’s a pop of his knee when he stands up, hands coming to either side of your body, leaning onto the counter and over top of you. Glasses not only fogged up to no end, but in dire need of a cleaning.

#bob floyd #bob floyd x f!reader #bob floyd smut #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #robert floyd x f!reader #robert floyd x reader #robert x reader

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petersbaby · 2 years

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Alright here we go

Soft!Billy x Harrington!reader

Warnings: smut, fingering, spanking but otherwise nothing too bad

A/N: Steve is a shit head in this story, and Billy is actually soft and sweet. Just the right amount of fluff, with a little extra at the end. reader and Billy having lil crushes on each other then having sex, basically. Reader goes to a different school so they never met before tonight. Reader is shy/emotional and clingy

The party was loud, you could hear the music, chatter, and footsteps all muffled but still very apparent. You sometimes hated having a brother as popular and extroverted as Steve Harrington because you were pretty much the opposite. With your parents never home, it was a party seemingly every weekend at times. The house was big, but not big enough to give you adequate space to get away from all the commotion.

This particular night, you were trying your best to get some work done for school. You did homework on Saturdays so that you could have a stress-free Sunday. As the night went on, you got more frustrated. Finally, you head downstairs to try to find Steve. You squeeze in between probably two dozen warm and sweaty bodies trying to maneuver your way around the different parts of the house. You finally find him outside, near the pool with some other people. Grabbing his arm, you pull him aside after smiling politely to his friends.

“When are you gonna wrap this up? I can’t hear myself think, and you’re stressing me out with this partying bullshit.”

“It’s only, like, 10pm. What are you, our grandma?” He replies sarcastically.

“I’m trying to concentrate on something.”

“Just join everyone, get a drink and calm down a little.” He suggests. “You could definitely use it.”

You sigh frustratedly, deciding that, fuck it, you may as well. You never even thought to participate in these things, it’s not your crowd and not your idea of a good weekend. You’d rather relax and do something productive like school work or something you enjoy like drawing.

You walk into the kitchen and open the fridge, grabbing a beer in a glass bottle. From across the kitchen, leaning against the wall and sipping on a beer himself, Billy saw you for the first time. Instantly, something shifted, something changed noticeably inside him.

You definitely wanted to be able to calm down a little more, and thought maybe this would help. Popping off the cap, you took a sip, you were expecting it to taste bad so you were prepared but couldn’t help the sour expression that came across your face. He had watched you as you took that first sip, smiling slightly at your reaction. Adorable, he thought. And so pretty. You were the prettiest girl he’d seen since getting to this town, even in loungewear, glasses, and hair tied up with no shoes on. You had socks, but didn’t think about shoes because it is your own house, after all.

You stood around for a minute, feeling completely invisible. These were not your friends. You headed back towards your room, opting to just retreat, but stopped to just sit for a little while. People-watching, you guess.

He was enamored, he needed to know you. But he lost you in the crowd somewhere as you slipped away from his field of vision. He knew you came from somewhere outside from when he first laid eyes on you, so he decided to look out there. stepping out of the back door into the cool night air. Still, it was Steve and a small group of friends talking.

“Hey, Harrington, who was that girl that was just out here?”

It takes Steve’s drunk mind a little while to process the question. “Uhhh”

Billy just stares at him.

“OH, Her.” The memory came back to his head. “That’s my sister. She was just being annoying.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister, where’s she been hiding all this time?”

“Probably in her room like a hermit or something. Being lame. Wait- why are you asking? Don’t try anything, I’m s-serious,” He slurred, poking a finger at Billy in the chest as if to warn him.

“Yeah?” Billy asks mockingly, knowing Steve couldn’t take him even sober.

“Yeah. Don’t try anything with her. You’re bad news.”

He rolls his eyes and heads back inside, leaving Steve behind. He starts to scan the rooms for you, much like you had done for your brother minutes earlier. He’s about to check the other entrance in the front, where you’d maybe be sitting outside or something, when his eyes fall on you on the staircase. You were sitting about halfway up it on a step by yourself, drinking and watching all the other people mingle.

His face lights up in a smile when he finds you, a smile so blindingly white and perfect that it drew your attention from the corner of your eye and your gaze lands on him immediately. You smile politely, contemplating just going back up to your room. This boy was pretty, gorgeous actually, but he was also intimidating. He was a known bully and certified asshole from what you’d heard. You weren’t sure what he wanted with you or why he was staring at you like he was.

You look down at your hands, unsure whether you should say something or not, and when you look back up, he’s sitting down next to you. A strong scent of cologne and leather was very evident in the air surrounding him.

“Hi.” You start, with a nervous smile.

“Hi, sweetheart. I’m Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

He reached out a hand, and you took it in yours to shake it. His fingers were big, rough and calloused. His palms were the same, except ever so slightly softer. Your hand looked as if it had disappeared inside his, the size difference enough to make you blush like a little kid.

“Are you really Harrington’s sister? You don’t seem like as much of an asshole as him, it’s kinda hard to believe.”

“Hey. Only I’m allowed to insult my brother.” You start. “But yeah, he’s kind of an asshole.” You laugh.

You continue to talk, starting with small talk and introductions and leading to a conversation that just naturally flowed and flourished.

“You know,” you eventually say, “it’s actually you who is said to be the asshole around here.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before. What do you think?”

“I think- you’re actually… not that bad.” You smile.

“Cmon, give me more credit than that. I’m nice! Say it.” He smiles back, joking around.

“Fine, Billy, you’re nice. You’ve been very nice to me, so far.”

He acts offended at the “so far” part, but it was true. You weren’t expecting this to be the way he actually was. The guy you’ve heard so many bad things about was being so sweet to you, you didn’t know what to think. It was almost like a switch flipped with you. When he saw your face, there was instantly and suddenly not a mean bone in his body.

“You want another?” He asks, gesturing down at your empty bottle sitting beside you and shaking his own to signify it was also gone.

“Sure.”

He returns to you with two beers, handing one to you. “So sitting on the stairs is your thing? Doesn’t seem like much fun.”

“I don’t really like people.” You shrug. He turns to you with a challenging look.

“Okay, fine, maybe you’re an exception. Maybe.” You warn, holding up a finger feigning seriousness.

“There ya go, good girl. Thank you. I’m flattered.” He says the last part sarcastically but not the first. Those certain two words had your stomach in knots and squirming uncomfortably on the spot you were sitting on. You look down again, fiddling with your fingers, trying to forget about it.

“What are you getting shy again for?” He chuckles, noticing your nervousness.

“I’m not.” You state firmly.

“Mhm.” He says, doubting.

He reaches over and grabs one of the hands you had fumbling with each other. He holds your hand so very gently, almost as if he was afraid to crush it. You look down at both of your hands and he rubs his thumb over yours, tracing mindlessly.

The way he was treating you had your heard completely melting, and you were wondering if this was the same guy that everyone else is talking about. Also thinking about the fact that you like him, a lot. His energy is still daunting, though, and you don’t really know what you can do.

You decide to chug the rest of your drink, hoping to calm your nerves that had briefly washed away but now returned since he found your touch. You weren’t very much of a drinker and you had barely eaten that day, meaning only two beers had you relatively tipsy. He noticed this, amused and only slightly buzzed.

“You fucked up already, pretty girl?”

“No,” you say blushing, “not fucked up. Just… relaxed.”

He noticed your shy demeanor dissipating and couldn’t help but be attracted to your energy.

“And you’re the pretty one.” You add.

He smiles at this, never having received that compliment before.

“Well thank you, sweet heart, but you’re definitely prettier.”

“You wanna come to my room?” You ask boldly, figuring it’s now or never. The truth was that you wanted to kiss him bad, wanted him to hold you tight. But you didn’t want to risk being seen with him either by Steve or one of his friends.

It was an automatic yes, he didn’t even need to answer you. He just stood up, offering a hand down to you and you take it, pulling yourself up. You head the rest of the way up to the stairs and turn right, letting him in your room and closing the door behind you.

He looks around at all of your things and decorations. It wasn’t a very girly room, not what he expected.

“Don’t look too much, I haven’t cleaned it in a while, it’s messy.” You rush out embarrassedly when you notice, getting self conscious about him seeing all your stuff.

He chuckles. “I’m not judging you, sweetheart.”

sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart. He kept saying it. Did it mean something or was this just something he called every girl? Why did you fall apart every time the word left his mouth? Why did the way the words fell off of his tongue light a fire inside you?

You started to clear off your bed, textbooks, notebooks, paper strayed across the comforter from when you were attempting to study earlier, setting it all on your desk and plopping down near the headboard. You decide to take your hair out of the messy bun it was in, as it was starting to give you a headache, and he watches with anticipation as your hair fell around your face and over your shoulders with a slight waviness to it. You slipped the hair tie onto your wrist and sat for a moment.

“You know you’re fuckin’ beautiful, right?” He asks.

You kind of wanted to crawl under your covers and hide, not knowing what to do with all of his sweet words.

“I mean it.” He reaffirms, reaching to tuck your hair behind your ear and afterwards letting his fingertips linger for a second on the skin of your soft cheek. The way he was staring as if you were the most invigorating thing he’d ever seen was unbearable and your body was heating up all over so you decided to lean in.

Pressing your lips against his, you relish the moment briefly but pull away to gauge his reaction, to see if you moved way too fast. Apparently not, because he returns his lips to yours, moving closer to you and eventually climbing on top of you where he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His tongue was in your mouth in an instant, fighting against yours and winning. You loved the feeling, the way this kiss felt so absolutely vulgar and pornographic.

You reach down to unbutton his shirt which was not fully buttoned in the first place and pulled it off his shoulders along with the leather jacket. His figure was breathtaking, you’d never seen a body like his. You kept getting distracted by his abs and biceps, the tiniest bit of sweat beading up on his chest.

He must’ve noticed you staring, and smiles at you knowingly. You weren’t embarrassed, couldn’t possibly be. It was a sight to behold. You reach for the bottom of your own t-shirt, starting to pull it up over your head so it would be even, but he stops you before it gets past your chest.

“You sure you’re not drunk? If you are, we really shouldn’t do this.” He warns.

“I’m sure. Promise.” You breathe out, continuing your undressing. You truly weren’t, just high on what you think may be adrenaline from this rapidly unfolding romance. Once your shirt is off, he reaches behind your body to expertly unclasp your bra and then marvels at the beauty of your bare top half.

“Jesus Christ.” He groans, taking one of your tits in his large hand and kneading it while returning to kiss you again. You whimper at the feeling of him groping your chest and repeatedly rubbing his calloused thumb over your hardened nipples. You’re swapping heavy and hot breaths, the air around you starting to feel thick with warmth and desire. Hovering over you, he presses himself up against you as you spread your legs greedily for him.

The hard thickness of his cock pressed against your core, four barriers of clothing between the two of you.

“Fuck, I need it, feels so big” you whisper through shallow breaths. He reaches down in response and pulls your sweatpants off your body, his hand coming to cup your pussy over your little blue thong panties which left little to the imagination. You threw your head back at the contact, and it seemed like he did too.

“God damn, so wet.” He comments the obvious. “Mhm” you mumble desperately, quickly nodding your head in confirmation that it was all for him and he couldn’t take it any longer. He pulls the fabric aside, away from your pussy, entering a thick middle finger right away. The sound of your wetness at the point of contact filled the air. You pant, lazily attempting to keep eye contact with him but failing to when he adds his index finger too.

“Mmh” you moan, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure.

He started out normal, maybe even gentle, but soaking in your reactions gave him confidence to go faster, harder. He fucks his fingers in and out of you while his eyes scan your naked body, taking in the sight. You reach to pull his head down to you, kissing his lips in attempt to keep your noises under control, but he soon starts the curl his fingers deep inside you and the breath catches in your throat.

You fall away from the kiss, struggling to maintain it, lazily meeting his lips with yours when you could. Your whimpering and moaning got so frequent that he assumed you were close, and he was right, as you soon gush around his fingers when they curl for the last time. Instead of little noises, it was a huge high pitched moan that came out in response to the overwhelming pleasure of your orgasm and he smiled cockily as he listened to you. He pulls away his fingers, wiping them off on his jeans before unbuckling his belt.

“Turn over for me, sweetheart.” He instructs you.

You can only assume he means he wants you on your hands and knees, so that’s the position you assume. So when he finishes getting his pants and boxers down and looks back at you to find your ass arched up in the air, he groans. He delivers a harsh smack to your ass and you whine in response, relishing in the sting of it.

“You like that?”

You nod your head, unsure if he was expecting an answer or not.

Another smack, this one to the other ass cheek.

“I asked you a question.”

“Mhm, yes Billy I like it.” You managed to get out. He smiles, satisfied, from behind you.

You want to be patient, to take whatever he gives you, but it’s incredibly hard to do when you can feel the tip of his dick barely pressing against your entrance. Every part of you want to push back, to sink down on it all at once, but you don’t. It’s worth the wait as he finally enters, pushing to about halfway with his nails digging into your hips. He stays this way for a little too long, and you whine out, trying to let him know you want it all.

When he finally moves more, he goes for it completely, bottoming out with the tip hitting a spot deep inside. Your face fell forward into the mattress which helped muffle your loud sounds while he fucked you. His hands keep a firm grip on your ass for leverage and he fucks you harder. Having watched you take it all, he was confident in your abilities. He filled you up so perfect and every thrust felt like it took the breath out of your lungs. His hand moves to your lower back, pushing down on it with a flat palm to ensure your back is arched as far as it can be.

“Fucking Christ, so fucking sexy.” He mumbles to himself, barely loud enough for to hear but you did and you loved the praise.

You rest your weight on one arm, reaching in between your legs to touch yourself in order to speed up the journey to your next orgasm. Before long you were cumming again, just around his dick this time. It was intense and blinding, something you have never felt before. Nothing has ever even come close to the orgasms given to you by Billy fucking Hargrove. The way your pussy clenched and practically sucked him in when you reached your peak made him stutter, faltering in his movements.

His thrusts became lazy and sloppy as he continues, abruptly pulling out and cumming all over your back, going from the top of your ass, up your spine and even to your shoulder blades. He pulls out and you lower down onto the mattress, now laying on your stomach. You can sense that he’s panicking, unsure of what he should do to help you, you tell him to just use the t shirt you were wearing before. It wasn’t nice by any means so you didn’t mind it being used as a cum rag.

He cleans you off the best he can and pulled his jeans back up, closing them and starting to search for your clothes in the floor. He finds your panties first, then your pants, handing them to you and you slipped them on. You look around on the bed and find your discarded bra and put that back on too before standing up to go to your closet to throw a new shirt on.

You come back to your bed, sitting down on the edge and going back to your nervous habit of messing with your fingers.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, when he notices you go quiet.

“Oh, um, nothing.” You force a smile.

“Come on, tell me.” He persists, sitting down next to you.

“It’s just- I know this was a one time, random thing but I wish it wasn’t. I like you. And I know that’s crazy to say since we just met but I have this feeling I can’t shake. I’m gonna miss you.” Your eyes tear up and you feel like the biggest idiot in the world, immediately wiping them before even the slightest watering could be noticed.

“You don’t have to miss me. We’ll see each other again, okay?” He tries to comfort you, not fully knowing exactly what to do in an emotional situation.

“When?”

“Uhh… tomorrow work for you? We’ll go on a date. Ice cream?”

“Really?”

“Why are you so surprised? I like you too. I don’t know the word for the feeling but I have it too. You’re something special.”

#billy hargrove #billy hargove smut #billy hargove x reader #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x harrington reader #billy hargrove x female reader

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canmom · 11 months

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I was tagged by @baeddel and charged with the following questions:

Last song: Mephisto by Queen Bee. This is the ED for Oshi no Ko, and that is indeed the context I first encountered it. But I've kind of become obsessed with Queen Bee ever since I saw this video of Avu-chan:

youtube

There is definitely an element of "I want to learn to sing but I cannot sound like a cis women no matter what so I have to figure out some other sort of voice to aspire towards". Not that I could ever have Avu-chan's ridiculous range lol. But they are sort of the coolest person I've ever seen.

After that I learned that I'd been hearing Avu-chan a whole bunch. For example, Avu-chan voices Inu-oh! All the fantastic songs I enjoyed in that film...

youtube

And that's not even the first time Avu-chan worked with Masaaki Yuasa. You remember that amazing version of Devilman no Uta from Devilman Crybaby?

youtube

Yeah, guess who.

But that's just focusing on the anime link. Queen Bee is the shit. Like check out this duet between Avu-chan and Avu-chan:

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Or King Bitch with all the martial arts. Or Inu-hime which manages to pack a whole gory jidaigeki story into a three and a half minute music video. I'm still working my way back through Queen Bee's videos.

Forgive me, this is way more than one song ^^'

Currently watching: Besides Animation Night tonight? ^^

I recently finished Tengoku Daimakyou - which was imo strong right up to the end, and there's a bunch to write about it. But this says 'currently' so...

I'm presently catching up on Oshi no Ko. (Hence the Queen Bee listening.) Which is the one where the gynecologist is reincarnated as the son of an idol alongside one of his patients; said idol gets murdered, and then as a highschool student our boy's attempting to solve her murder while getting caught up in all sorts of showbiz drama. I've written a bit about Oshi no Ko before; two eps further on, the story continues to have some delightful swerves and I'm fascinated to see where they're going with all this. I can see it steadily orbiting certain themes - falsehood, performance, self-identity and so on - but what the ultimate thrust will be, remains to be seen.

I ended up rewatching a few episodes with @footsteps-on-the-dance-floor a couple weeks ago. On the rewatch, I was struck by how, in this show about acting, just how much attention is indeed paid to the acting of the characters. Not so much flashy sakuga, just lots of carefully observed interactions that I came to appreciate a lot as I understood the characters better.

Currently reading: [whoops, forgot this one, editing it in] Ghost in the Shell for fiction. Shirow's manga is fascinating. In some ways you can see all the material that made it out into Production IG's various adaptations, but in some ways the tone is so different, way less dry, way more unabashedly nerdy, the characters much more emotional. I'm fascinated by all the little asides and margin notes by Shirow.

For non fiction, I've got this book called "Queer British Art 1861-1967" by the Tate that I'm steadily reading. It's fascinating, I didn't know shit about most of the people they write about in here.

Current obsession: What do I do that can't be characterised as an obsession really ^^'

But besides work, and writing long posts on here, and drawing pictures, I've been trying to learn music. I mentioned singing, but the other strand is trying to learn the zhonghu. So let me tell you about zhonghus.

This is a Chinese musical instrument, a close sibling of the erhu. Like a violin, it's a bowed instrument; unlike a violin, it's held upright on your lap, it has only two strings, and the bow is held in between them.

The bowstrings are very loose compared to a violin bow, and you use your fingers to press them against one or other string. There is no fingerboard, let alone frets, so pitch depends on how hard you press the strings as well as where your fingers are positioned. Not to mention a million other variables to do with your specific instrument.

The zhonghu and the erhu are almost the same instrument; the zhonghu is tuned slightly lower, similar to a viola compared to a violin. Also? The soundbox is covered by snakeskin, so if you import an erhu (or zhonghu) from China, you have to go to some effort to certify that the snake in question was from a farm and not a wild snake. And you have to be really careful that the bowstring doesn't catch on the scales.

Why am I learning the zhonghu? Well. That's a long story but the tl;dr is my friend suggested I should be a zhonghu player and I was like you know what sure. So now I have her old zhonghu.

I used to play the violin, but I think the way I learned the violin left a lot to be desired in terms of actually understanding music. I could translate sheet music into finger positions, and fulfill my role in an orchestra for kids, but I lost the thread at uni, where I tried to play with the ceilidh band and found I was completely at sea in a more improvisational setting. Add like a decade of rust on top of that.

So it's safe to say that right now I'm really fucking bad at playing the zhonghu. Nevertheless, I'm trying to persevere. In the month or so since I started, with very irregular practice, I've gone from 'can only make a horrible scratching sound' to 'can play an open string' to 'never hitting a note first try' to 'can mostly hit notes until I try to move my hand', so I'm inching forwards. It's a long way until I can make the kind of beautiful music that the erhu is known for, and I don't have any belief I'll ever be notably good at it, but there's nothing to be lost in trying to learn a new thing, even if it's one that is not coming naturally to me at all. Better to struggle than to go my whole life never picking up an instrument again you know.

Tagging - uhhh let's say - @mogsk @schizsune @sisyphication @catnumbers @argyrocratie @centrally-unplanned @hamiltonianflow @sapeami-scalps-whites [if you'd like, in each case!] The questions are 'last song', 'currently watching', 'currently reading', 'current obsession', answer in as much or little detail as you like

#Youtube #ask meme #chain meme

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lobster-tales · 1 year

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Beat the Daylight

Sequel to Face the Noise, an Arcane Rock Band AU

Rating: M

Chapter 20: The Jam Sesh

Summary: All is well. 3 months later || Springtime

This work is available here on AO3. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19

Powder had missed her bed. Sure, the one at the hotel had been comfortable, with its satin pillows and heavy comforter. But there was nothing like her bed, the mish mash of blankets from her childhood that were layered on top of each other in artful chaos, arranged to allow the best combination of weight and airflow.

And particularly this morning, with Lux sleeping beside her, she didn’t want to leave.

She heard heavy footsteps in the hallway, the scent of coffee a few minutes later. Careful not to disturb Lux, Powder slipped out of the sheets and tugged a Hextech hoodie over her shoulders. She’d been surprised at how comfortable it was, way more than any of Shimmer’s merch–no wonder Vi and Mel wore theirs all the time.

Vi was pouring a cup when she walked in. “Morning.” Even after a few months, her eyes still had that shine whenever she saw Powder, that awed relief. Powder pretended not to like it. Vi asked, “Lux here? What time did she get in last night?”

“Late.” Powder pulled out her favorite mug and her second favorite for Lux.

“She likes one splash of vanilla creamer and a splash of hazelnut,” Vi advised. “I picked up both last night. She also likes a little sprinkle of cinnamon on top but not too much because it’ll sink to the bottom.”

Still so weird. Powder wondered if she would ever get past it. “Thanks.”

“What are you two doing today?”

“I’m gonna show her the town,” Powder said, sipping from her own coffee. “We’ll pick up Ekko once he’s done with his meeting. You want to come with us?”

“Nah, I got work.” Vi stretched her fingers skyward. “New hire’s settling in, though. He’s been closing the last couple nights on his own.”

“Good. Give you more time to train for your tournaments.” Powder smirked at her. “Cause you’re gonna need it.”

“Oh, I need it, huh?” Vi scoffed playfully, rising from the table. “Come say that to my face, I’ll whoop you right here and now.”

“No thanks,” Powder said, taking Lux’s cup. “I’m not paying your hospital bill.”

Vi shook her head, grinning. “See you tonight, Pow-pow.”

“Later.” When Powder returned to her bedroom, Lux was just stirring. “Good morning, Starlight,” Powder purred. “Want some coffee?”

Lux blinked at her, and gasped. “Yes!” She accepted the cup, murmuring, “Did I ever tell you that you’re my favorite person ever?”

“Mmm I wouldn’t mind hearing it a little more,” she said, kissing the tip of Lux’s nose.

They took their time getting ready for the day. Of course, Powder wasn’t very helpful, since every time Lux put a piece of clothing on, Powder eventually worked it back off of her again, distracting her with kisses.

“Powder,” Lux giggled. “Come on, I have to do something with my day.”

“I’m something.” And she bit her neck.

They spent a few hours tangled in each other’s arms, enjoying each other in lazy bliss, until Lux glanced at her phone and gasped. “Oh, we gotta go! Ekko finished his meeting a while ago.”

As they arrived at Ekko’s place, he bounded up to the car. “Yo, Crownguard!” Ekko reached in through the window to clasp Lux’s hand and draw her in for a half hug. “What is up, girl, how you been!”

“Good,” Lux said with a grin.

Powder cut in. “You better watch those hands, Boy Savior.”

“Only if you can catch them.” He slid into the back, propping his forearms on the back of their seats. “What’s our first stop?”

“The school,” Lux sighed. “Have to convince my parents this was a productive trip.”

They cruised through campus: the weekend left the area empty, with only a few students trailing through. Powder had familiarized herself with the buildings, and pointed them out as they went. “There’s the chemistry building, environmental science. That’s where Viktor and Jayce’s lab used to be when they were grad students.”

Lux asked, “Which one are you going to be in?”

“All of them,” Powder huffed. “The boys said I can’t start my Hextech internship until I get my basics out of the way.”

Ekko reassured her, “You’ll knock it out in no time. As long as you don’t get distracted by Starlight over here,” and he pinched Lux’s shoulder.

“Hey, what’d I say about hands, bitch?” Powder reached back to swat at him.

They stopped at the top of the parking garage, leaning over the concrete wall to survey the city. The trees were full and lush, cars passing by lazily in the mid-spring day. Ekko and Powder switched off their tour notes, pointing out different landmarks.

“There’s the square,” Powder said. “You can’t really see the pub from here, but you can see the top of the courthouse.”

“And that office building?” said Ekko. “When that place was still being built, we snuck in one night and tried cigarettes for the first time.”

“Oh yeah,” Powder laughed. “Vander was pissed. Vi was grounded for two weeks.”

Lux just beamed at them both, enjoying the stories, only interrupting occasionally to ask questions.

The pub was the next stop. The lunch rush had just ended, giving Vi and Vander a long enough break to greet Lux. Vander in particular was excited to meet her, curious about her style of playing guitar. Lux was nervous at first, but settled into one of her rambles, and Powder gave Vi a knowing look as they all listened.

Eventually Vi and Vander had to get back to work, at which point, Powder, Ekko, and Lux went to Shepherd’s Bridge. After handing Lux some spray paint, they cheered her on while she left her own tag, a bright blue star symbol sandwiched between Caitlyn’s cupcake and a fresh pink “Jinx”.

The trio picked up a few supplies for the evening, stocking up on sodas and chips. Powder dropped off Ekko at his car so he could go pick up Zeri, leaving her and Lux to their own devices for the afternoon.

They lay entwined on the living room couch, half-paying attention to the horror movie. Lux ran her fingers through Powder’s hair, gently massaging her scalp.

“Do you think they’d like me?” Powder asked. “Your parents. And Garen.”

“Maybe. I mean, you are rich and famous now.”

“Jinx is famous,” Powder clarified. “Powder’s just rich.” Because she was over eighteen, all of the money Silco set aside for her had become hers, even after his arrest. The problem was she didn’t know what to do with it, other than pay for school. Now, she had everything she wanted.

Lux smiled to herself. “Well, Jinx is the one in all those scandalous pictures of us, so they’ll probably prefer Powder.”

“Scandalous, huh?” Powder buried her nose in Lux’s ribs.

“They’re going to be weird,” Lux said honestly. “They always have been. Hell, I could be dating Caitlyn and they’d still complain because the Kirammans are new money. You can’t worry about what they think. Just worry about what I think.”

Powder propped her chin on her stomach, gazing adoringly up at her. “And what do you think?”

“I think…” Lux said, tapping her nose with a finger. “That you’re adorable.”

Powder scrunched up her nose, pretending she was offended. “I’m not adorable. I’m a menace.” She gently bit Lux’s skin.

“Fine. You’re an adorable menace.”

The doorknob jingled, and Caitlyn followed the sound, arms overflowing with paperwork. “Hi Lux!” she said with a smile. “How was your trip here?”

“Good.”

Powder nodded towards the papers. “How’s hunting?”

“Ugh.” Caitlyn dropped everything on the already cluttered kitchen table. “I’d rather hunt a hawk in the rain. But, we’re making progress. There’s a lot of new housing between here and Piltover. Lux, I forgot to ask, do you have any home preferences?”

“Nope!” Lux said brightly. “Just my own room and a roof.”

“That’s exactly what Vi and Ekko said.”

Powder gave Lux the side eye. “You know, you could always take Vi’s room and live here with meeee.”

“My parents barely agreed to let me live with Caitlyn,” said Lux. “That being said, I might have some early classes, so it would make more sense for me to spend a few nights a week over here.”

“Or every night.”

“Powder,” Lux chuckled. “I can’t.”

Powder huffed, pretending to be annoyed. “You’d really rather live with my sister and my ex-boyfriend?”

Caitlyn chimed in, “It was that or fourth wheel with Jayce, Mel, and Viktor.” The kettle whined and she entered a few seconds later with a steaming cup of tea in hand. “Speaking of which, Jayce said they’re on their way. Viktor wanted plenty of time to set up his equipment.”

“Perfect.” Powder stretched, rising from the couch and offering her hand to Lux. “I should also start getting set up. Wanna help me?”

“Sure!” As they entered the garage, Lux admired the string lights weaving back and forth over the ceiling, the variety of band posters on the walls. “Not sure how helpful I’ll be, though.”

“Well, you have the most important job.” Powder indicated the brown couch against the wall. “I need you to sit there, and look pretty.”

☆ ☆ ☆

Viktor and Jayce brought Sky with them, as she was visiting from Noxus. While they set up, she regaled them with stories of her new job and coworkers, her love life and friendships. Lux asked constant questions, fascinated. The two had only met over Caitlyn’s video calls, and were fast friends.

Just as dusk approached, Ekko and Zeri arrived with Vi. Ekko prepped his keyboard presets while Vi and Lux tuned their guitars, Zeri warming up her vocals. Caitlyn and Sky were more than happy to plant themselves on the couch, splitting a bottle of rosé.

Vi asked Jayce, “Who’s drumming first?” but Powder answered for her, plopping down into the drumset chair and twirling her sticks.

“You ready to see a real drummer, Talis?” Powder sneered playfully.

He smiled, joining Caitlyn and Sky on the couch, inviting Viktor into his lap. “Took you long enough.”

Ekko played a single chord, considering his bandmates. “Alright. What song are we-”

Zeri interrupted him by seizing the mic and singing,

Shot through the heart And you're to blame

They all joined in.

Darlin', you give love a bad name

Vi, Powder, Lux, and Ekko launched into the instrumental, the noise rattling the walls of the garage. Zeri nodded her head to the beat, her pigtails bouncing with the movement.

An angel's smile is what you sell You promise me Heaven, then put me through hell Chains of love got a hold on me When passion's a prison, you can't break free

Oh, you're a loaded gun, yeah Oh, there's nowhere to run No one can save me The damage is done

The couch crowd sang along to the chorus,

Shot through the heart And you're to blame You give love a bad name (bad name) I play my part and you play your game You give love a bad name (bad name) Hey, you give love, a bad name

For the final chorus, the instruments fell away, leaving the band to sing acapella,

Shot through the heart And you're to blame

Zeri aimed the mic at the couch, and the small audience sang the last,

You give love a bad name

The friends whooped and cheered. Powder whispered to the other band members and they all grinned. She clicked her sticks together, “1, 2, 3, 4!” and they began an upbeat song. There was no part on the keys, so Ekko grabbed his mic and sang with Zeri.

All the small things True care, truth brings I'll take one lift Your ride, best trip

They harmonized, Zeri singing the higher part as Ekko took the lead,

Always, I know You'll be at my show Watching, waiting Commiserating

Say it ain't so, I will not go Turn the lights off, carry me home

Zeri pulled Ekko away from the microphone, dancing together in the center of the room while the rest of the band sang,

Na-na, na-na, na-na, na-na, na, na Na-na, na-na, na-na, na-na, na, na

As the song ended, Mel entered from the garage’s side door, grinning. “I can hear you down the street,” she chuckled. “Excuse my tardiness: meeting ran late.”

“You’re excused,” Zeri and Powder said at the same time.

Mel considered the couch. “And this must be the lovely Sky I’ve heard so much about.”

Sky’s eyes widened at the sight of her. “H-hi,” she stammered, rising. “Senator Medarda, it’s so nice to meet you.”

She took her hands and said warmly, “Call me Mel. I’ve heard you’ve been working in Noxus. Quite the culture shock?”

Sky smiled shyly. “Yeah, they’re a little intense over there.”

“Some things never change,” Mel said wistfully. “Here, I have something for you in the car: Caitlyn mentioned you like rosé so I brought my top six brands for you to sample. Jayce, darling, can you help me bring them in?”

Sky just stared after them, jaw dropped. “Is she-”

“Always like that?” Caitlyn asked wryly.

“Always,” Viktor confirmed, resting an arm around Sky’s shoulders.

When Jayce returned, Vi nodded towards Powder. “Alright, Pow-Pow, it’s Jayce’s turn.”

“No!” She crushed the sticks to her chest, but her possession was more playful than sincere.

Ekko smirked and said, “You’re gonna make her sing this next one alone?” And he played the opening synth riff.

Powder practically threw the sticks at Jayce, taking the microphone in hand as he scrambled to get behind the drumset before the beat dropped.

The sisters sang the first verse together.

Here we stand Worlds apart, hearts broken in two, two, two Sleepless nights Losing ground, I'm reaching for you, you, you

They harmonized together on the pre-chorus.

Feeling that it's gone Can't change your mind If we can't go on To survive the tide Love divides

On the chorus, Ekko and Lux joined the vocals, but paled in comparison to the passion that Vi and Powder shared.

Someday love will find you Break those chains that bind you One night will remind you How we touched and went our separate ways

Vi sang,

If he ever hurts you

Then Powder,

True love won't desert you

And together again, grasping each other’s hands as they belted,

You know I still love you Though we touched and went our separate ways

Lux shredded through the guitar solo, a cocky smirk resting on her lips. Then it was just Ekko, running the synth hook, the song ending with the final two notes of the bass drum.

When the applause and cheers died down, Powder pointed at Viktor. “Alright, Vik, you’ve had it too good for too long. It’s your turn, DJ.”

“Eh, good things never last.” He took his spot behind his equipment, playing a few warm up beats and house music. The couch was too small to fit all of them, so Powder, Jayce, Ekko and Zeri grabbed some lawn chairs.

After his series of beats and tracks, Viktor nodded decisively towards Lux. “You ready?”

“I was born ready,” Lux said. She left the mic in the stand to free her hands.

Viktor started with a snapping, electropop beat. Lux raised her hands, grinning slyly at Powder as she sang. The notes were simple, but she added vibrato to the notes, made the sound her own.

We are the crowd, we're c-comin' out Got my flash on, it's true Need that picture of you, it's so magical We'd be so fantastical

Leather and jeans,

She spread her arms wide, indicating the space.

Garage glamorous Not sure what it means But this photo of us, it don't have a price Ready for those flashing lights 'Cause you know that, baby, I

Lux took the mic in hand, stalking towards Powder in time to the music.

I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me Papa-paparazzi Baby, there's no other superstar, you know that I'll be Your papa-paparazzi

Standing directly in front of her, legs between Powder’s knees, Lux’s free hand toyed with her braids. Powder lifted her hands and claimed the back of Lux’s thighs, holding her there. She gazed up at Lux with adoring, hungry eyes.

Promise I'll be kind But I won't stop until that girl is mine Baby, you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me Papa-paparazzi

Lux’s voice was playful as she went through the verses, gliding around Powder, brushing her fingers over her shoulders, never quite close enough. But as the bridge ended, Lux fell to her knees in front of her, crawling towards Powder as she sang the chorus once more, her voice fiercely possessive.

I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me Papa-paparazzi Baby, there's no other superstar, you know that I'll be Your papa-paparazzi

Powder held her breath. She was spellbound by Lux’s intensity, fixed in place by those bright eyes and the carnal rawness of her voice. Lux added in her own high notes to the final chorus, belting the song as she climbed into Powder’s lap.

Promise I'll be kind But I won't stop until that girl is mine Baby, you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me Papa-paparazzi

The mic dropped to the floor as Lux took her mouth in a rough kiss. Everyone cheered except for Vi and Caitlyn, who averted their eyes and clapped politely, charmed but embarrassed at the fiery display.

The jam session went well into the night, with each of the band members switching off instruments whenever they got too tired. Even Caitlyn at one point felt the rosé enough to show everyone her under-practiced, jerky rendition of Moonlight Sonata, to which Zeri chose to do an entirely inappropriate dance to, making everyone laugh. They went through a variety of genres, and the original Firelights even played a few of the songs from their past performances. Eventually, the group decided to call it, with Powder taking the mic to lead them into one final song.

Acapella, Powder sang the lead, with Vi and Ekko backing her up with harmonies,

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landside, No escape from reality Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and see,

Powder belted out,

I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy, Because I'm easy come, easy go, Little high, little low, Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to Me, to me

Ekko played a gentle, modified scale on the keyboard. The rest of the group joined in, all singing together for the first verse.

Mamaaa, Just killed a man, Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, Now he's dead Mamaaa, life had just begun, But now I've gone and thrown it all away

Powder took the lead again on the second half of the verse,

Too late, my time has come, Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all The time Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go, Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth

During the instrumental break, Vi tore up a guitar solo. Her fingers pulsed against the fret with each note, creating a vibrato sound. When the solo ended, Ekko’s piano took over again. Powder sang,

I see a little silhouetto of a man,

The rest of the band sang,

Scaramouch, Scaramouch, will you do the Fandango!

They all broke out into smiles during the operatic third verse. Powder alone,

I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me

Zeri and Lux both grabbed her, dramatically fawning as they sang,

He's just a poor boy from a poor family Spare him his life from this monstrosity

As the verse built towards it’s climactic end, they all sang,

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me,

“Go Starlight!” Powder yelled, and Lux belted the high note,

For me!

Vi shredded out another guitar instrumental, screaming into the microphone with the rest of the band,

So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye? So you think you can love me and leave me to die? Oh, baby, can't do this to me, baby! Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here

She kept up the pace, the energy building until finally the music collapsed back into a slower tempo. The couch audience held up their phone flashlights, swaying back and forth to the muted end of the song.

Powder took a moment to look at them, her family. It had grown so much in such a short time. She smiled at each of their shining faces, ending with Vi, who returned the joyful grin. Powder sang,

Nothing really matters,

Lux took her hand, drawing her attention, and sang,

Anyone can see

Powder pressed her sweaty forehead against Lux’s, singing,

Nothing really matters

Lux echoed,

Nothing really matters

Then they harmonized,

To me

Ekko played the gentle piano outro, Vi joining quietly on the electric guitar. And here, surrounded by the music and her family, Powder felt completely and totally at peace.

Any way the wind blows

#arcane #lightcannon #vicait #jinx #vi #rock band au #battle of the bands au #my fic #face the noise #beat the daylight #fluff #final chapter #completely 100% wholesome and happy family vibes #the happy ending our babies deserve :')

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fenimores-book-nook · 6 months

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Day 12 of self care writing!

December 6th, 2023, Wednesday 9:51 pm In my room with candles burning, an Arizona green tea, and hot cheetos. :)

Gooooood evening, a late one once again but that's alright. I was debating on doing a self care writing tonight but then I decided to after I got off facetime with my besties. Since I'm not going to college, I don't have homework like most of my other friends so my "homework" is this. Except, I actually want to do it. So it isn't really homework. Well, it's mental health/self care homework. ;)

Events of the daaaaay ~

6:30 am - 1:00 pm, I woke up, did some morning yoga, and got dressed/ready for work. Left for work and, well, worked until I got off at 1. I think work was pretty good today, it was sort of a slow day but that gave me plenty of time to start working on my friends' Christmas illustrations I'm making for them! I got two friends' ones done today. One of them is Taylor Swift themed and has the lyric: "I love you to the moon and to Saturn" on it. That lyric is used by us a lot, so it's kind of a thing between us. :) Then, the second one that I finished is The Owl House themed. I copied this photo I found on pinterest/from the show and made my own drawing of it:

Because that friend is the only one out of my friends that has watched The Owl House and we both love it. *OWL HOUSE SPOILER AHEAD* We also act like siblings together so I'm convinced that we are versions of Luz and Hunter in our universe. Since they basically become "chosen siblings," or, well, yeah, I'd say Hunter becomes a Noceda by the end. So of course, I had to incorporate that into a Christmas gift. ;)

1:30 pm - 7:00 pm, after work I grabbed lunch and headed home. Then I kind of just chilled, watching Doctor Who. A bit after, I took a shower and changed into comfy clothes and worked on my illustrations and watched Wizards of Waverly Place until my mom came home from work and we headed to the vet to pick up Charlie; our doggo. He got 'fixed' today, poor thing is probably tired out. When we came back home, I chilled a bit more and ate supper, then headed up to my room to just *ahhhhhhh.* You know?

7:30 pm - 9:30 pm, I was on facetime with my besties chatting about when we wanted to get together for Christmas, before some of us leave for the holidays. Which was a much needed facetime. Every time I facetime my friends it always brightens my day in the perfect way. After we got a date set and chatted for a while most everyone got off the call except for me and one of the besties, so we stayed on for quite a while longer and just talked about random things. It was so silly and great, I loved it. :)

My babes, Delilah, from this morning when she was very comfortably sitting and cleaning herself like this on my bed. (she's such a pretty lil' baby tho)

Self care writingggggg ~

Three things that I am proud of myself for today: One, for completing two illustrations for my friends! Even if it wasn't "for me," in a way it sort of was, because I really enjoyed illustrating them. :) Plus, I've been wanting to do more illustrations. Two, for putting in some of my therapy things into actual practice. It was a little difficult but hey, I tried and that's something to be proud of. Three, for trying to get myself out of an iffy mood instead of just letting my moodiness take over. Even if it included watching silly little tik toks that make me laugh, it counts.

Two things that happened today that I don't want to forget: One, how I remembered the feeling of how much love I feel towards musicals and just productions in general. They make me so happy and seem so magical to me. Like, MAGIC. The cast, the writing, the music, the SHOW. Magic. Two, how I felt when I was facetiming my friends and after too. I felt like that was the thing I needed to make my day really great. <3

One thing that I should recognize more: How lovely my life really is. Not necessarily the things that make my life "easier," but the things that just, make my life. The lovely things.

Chip and Dale Christmas gif for you because Christmas is ONLY IN 19 DAYS. :D

Have a lovely night/day/afternoon, you lovely human.

Until next time,

Thalia <3

#blog #journaling #self care writing series #self care #christmas #cat #the owl house #illustrations #my day #day twelve

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ogamagirl · 8 months

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Tagged by my bestie @phoelipop yaaaaaay ty Phoe uvu

favourite colour: red forever and ever baybee 🔴🟥🍎

currently reading: n-nothing orz;;;; I read a lot of longform articles at work but I haven't read a novel since the summer, I need to get back into reading...I keep saying that...wah.........

last series: Yes Precure 5/GoGo! I wanted to finish before Otona Precure started but I didn't manage to until a couple days after the first ep aired, which isn't too bad, all I wanted was to be caught up so I could watch Otona! it's a good two seasons of Precure, felt very cozy uvu

sweet savory or spicy: Because of Life Circumstances I can't have sweet stuff too often anymore, but I think I like both sweet and savory in equal measure? depends on my mood. sweet and savory/salty together is also an unbeatable combo ✨

currently working on: nothing, surprisingly |D I've been EXTREMELY productive this year when it comes to art and slowly over the past couple months I've felt myself slowing down; since I've been busy with company for the past two weekends I've had less time to draw this month in general so I've got nothing in the oven rn...trying to be kind to myself about that; kind of feel like I do need a break but also feel guilty that I'm not drawing orz;;; I'll just take it one day at a time and try to both not force myself to draw/not stop myself from drawing if I feel like it!

very eepy/a little anxious tonight so no tags but if you read this and wanna fill it out consider yourself tagged 💖

#asks #it me

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pbandjesse · 1 year

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I feel exhausted. Today was a good day but I was not my best self at all. I wish I could fall asleep. I have been struggling so hard to fall asleep. It sucks. I really hope I can do it easier tonight because I have a long day tomorrow.

But even with being so tired I had a good day. I woke up briefly when James was leaving for their appointment. And would come home and would wake me up for real before they left with Gabe, who is in town this week, and they went for a bike ride to Annapolis.

It was really windy out today. Colder then I expected it to be. I didn't get out of bed until almost 10. Which we all know I hate. I want to be up and doing stuff. But I was so tired.

Once I did get up I made the bed and went and got dressed and things were done. I had breakfast. I watched videos. I just wanted to lay on the couch and do nothing. I did not want to go to my awah class. I did not want to go to my meeting. I was just very upset that I was so tired.

But I tried my best to shake it off. I got myself together. I did my makeup and felt cute. I would feel alright enough. I brought a cup with a straw to encourage myself to drink water. But would forget it in the car like a dumby.

I left for the hospital a little at noon. And it was a quick enough drive over there but people driving behind me were making me nervous. I idea what their problem was but I felt like they were annoyed with me not going super fast. But I know there are speed cameras on that road.

I lucked out though and got free street parking. And I was early but I figured that was fine. I actually had to go back to the car twice. Because I forgot my apron. And then wanted my sunglasses. And then I still forgot my water. Ugh.

I went up to the floor where I thought the classroom was but couldn't find it. So I went back downstairs to wait for Julie, the other teacher, and thankfully she had all the materials so she was very easy to spot.

I introduced myself and helped her carry stuff upstairs. And we found the class in the second try. Excellent.

We got set up pretty fast. And things were great. The project was decoupaged boxes and affirmations. And soon students started coming. They were all adults, but one young woman brought her baby and toddler. The toddler would draw and watch videos. But the baby, Bailey, was in the move! She was so stinking cute. Didn't cry the entire two hours. She was giggly and fun. I got to hold her and play with her once everyone was doing their art. I would carry bailey around and show her everyone's art and made her laugh which was great.

I also made my own box. Because I like to do the art with the class if I can. Feels weird to just stand there when they don't need me. But they were all so nice. And Julie is a very good facilitator.

I didn't realize this was an hour and a half class. Which honestly is better. And our clean up didn't take long. Some because I organized everything and tidied as we went. I washed all the brushes and we cleaned the tables and said goodbye to everyone!

And then it was a hop skip and a jump over to Hamden. I had to get to my meeting with Craig at the craft castle. I hate parking on the avenue but I found side street parking and got there just before 3.

And Craig was so lovely. The space was super nice. And he was so welcoming. We talked for about an hour. About what I do. His goals and aspirations for his space. And like even if it never leads to anything it was so nice talking to someone who has such similar values and wants to build community and encourage making.

I was starting to talk about James when I saw them walk by the door!! So I would say good bye and go and catch my husband.

We walked back to the car together and then drove to the grocery store.

We got all caught up on each other's days. And got some groceries. We didn't need a lot. Some staples. Some snacks. Paper products. James panicked at the register and felt rushed for no reason. I couldnt reach everything in the cart. It was all fine but James was stressing.

Soon we would head home. And I was really tired. And I would basically spend the rest of the evening resting. I painted my nails. James made us some food. And eventually they would go do this podcast and I would get in bed and just was. A little potato. I was just really exhausted. I didn't want to sleep because I want to sleep better tonight. So I forced myself to stay up.

Eventually James came and laid with me. We had cereal. Sweetp was here. And then I took a shower and washed my hair. I feel better right now. But man am I sleepy. I really hope I can sleep great and feel great tomorrow.

Tomorrow I have a long day at the museum. And then I have to run over to target. I hope it's fun. I think it'll be fun. I hope you all have a great night tonight. Sleep good. Be safe!

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ghostmoor · 1 month

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was listening to Human by All We Are waiting for the bus tonight and got thinking about Aubrey and Zenith now that i'm shifting back into Lost In Transit gear and how they both had their humanity stripped from them in much the same ways and how different yet similar they are in their responses to it.

Zenith always struck me as not inherently weirded out by having a shopload of cybernetics but rather just not knowing where they originated from, whereas Aubrey does not like or appreciate hers and at worst they feel like... a sort of body horror to her. and yet! they are a core part of her, and she would be even more bothered by not having them at this point.

anyway to circle back to my original point: i was thinking about the whole losing-your-humanity-to-chrome deal, being a weaponised person, and being human vs being a person. Zenith is like... laid back and more secure in hir humanity i think. doesn't like when other people are insensitive about having cybernetics but ze can crack a joke and pretend to be a robot sometimes. it's fun. it's silly. there's some hangups back there but it's whatever.

but then for Aubrey it's like: i think humanity (or metahumanity) is deeply important to her but she struggles to reach it. at her core she still sees herself very much as a Thing that was Made as a Product and has never really been able to properly address that. on bad days she feels like an imitation of a human who missed out on life lessons that everyone else got, which... she basically did! so it is not fun for her and it's a self-perpetuating problem.

then from there i got to thinking about their big fears and it's like, same thing again. Zenith is afraid of losing control, indiscriminate violence through lack of boundaries; Aubrey is afraid of being taken control of, indiscriminate violence through her boundaries being forcibly broken. two sides of the same coin. the method is different but the end result is the same. i could sit here and draw comparisons between them like this forever. i don't have a neat way to end this post so great job if you got this far. here's the rest of the lyrics

#talks #transitverse #neoscum #zenith #aubrey

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ayatosmoles · 2 years

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late night (nanami kento)

wc: ~900

contains: hurt/comfort

a/n: this scenario has been written probably a million times but i am always a sucker for it so here's my take <3 it was originally a higuruma fic but i got nervous and changed it to be nanami ! hope you like it :)

Nanami a has made the decision to stay at the office a lot more lately. To him, it’s easier to focus and get work done quicker so he can finally go home. Trying to do work at home in the evenings is an uphill battle. He’s so easily distracted by you when he’s at home, wanting nothing more than to doze off with you on the couch or cuddle and watch some silly movie. It’s hard staying an extra few hours, but he’s glad to give you his undivided attention right when he gets home.

However, he didn’t explain this to you. He knows you would feel bad, jumping to a conclusion that he finds you annoying and overbearing. However, that isn’t the case at all. He just wants your time together to be valuable. But it slips his mind that you would draw even worse conclusions from him coming home much later than normal.

Nanami was very productive tonight. He got a lot of paperwork done and closed out a few files that were an eyesore on his desk. It’s well past sundown by the time he leaves, not a drop of sun still in the sky, and he’s anxious to get home to you. He got home even later than normal last night, and he noticed you seemed a little off when he got home and this morning.

He didn’t receive any texts from you during the day like he normally does. You like to send him pictures of the cats, and you usually remind him to eat lunch. But he understands that you were likely busy, and it’s no requirement for you to text him. He’s just gotten used to it.

When he steps on the front step, he notes the lack of light coming out the windows. The kitchen is right next to the front door, and you tend to leave that light on all day. It’s strange to him that not even the stove range light is on.

He’s met with a similar sight when he pushes open the front door. The living room light is off, the house almost entirely dark except for a ray that seeps underneath your closed bedroom door. With his coat and briefcase placed on the shelf, he quietly approaches the door and raises his hand to knock, quickly receding it when he hears sniffles on the other side. His eyebrows furrow and he taps his knuckles lightly against the door before pushing it open. The sight breaks his heart.

You’re lying on your side, curled up with a shaky hand petting over the cat that lays on the other pillow—Nanami’s pillow. Your eyes shoot over to glance at the intruder, only turning down when you realize it’s your husband.

He sits on the foot of the bed, resting his hand on your leg.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

You sniff hard, trying to clear out your throat, “Are you finally sick of me, Kento?”

“What do you mean?” He tries to mask the anxiety in his voice. What would make you ask something like that?

“What I said. Are you finally so sick and tired of me that you’d rather stay for hours at work than come home? Are you even at work late or do you go somewhere else altogether?”

Your words are laced with anger, but you sound more devastated that anything else.

“What are you trying to say, sweetheart?”

“Why can’t you just answer the question? You never told me that you have to stay late, you just randomly started coming home late for the past two weeks. We’re supposed to talk about things, not disappear without saying anything. We’ve only been married for four months, Ken. Did it really only take you four months to despise me so much you don’t want to come home?”

“I don’t despise you, darling. I love you.”

You finally sit up to face him.

“Then where have you been?”

“I decided to start staying later at the office so I could get more work done. I got distracted easily trying to do work at home, so I thought I could get it done quicker there.” You open your mouth to respond, but he interrupts you when he notices your eyebrows raised with hurt.

“Before you say anything, I don’t think you’re annoying and I don’t think you pester me at all then I’m home. I just never want to do work at home because I just want to spend time with you when I’m here. I feel bad because I feel you only ever see me working.”

“You could’ve just told me that,” you sigh as you motion for Nanami to sit next to you. He eases a bit, just a little, and he quickly gets up to go to the side of your bed. He gently pulls the cat you were petting up from his spot and replaces it in his lap after he sits down. “You should have told me, though. I don’t know why you thought I wouldn’t think other things.”

“Now that I think about it, I don’t either. That was stupid of me,” he breathes out a chuckle. “But, are we okay? Do you have any lingering doubts?”

You shake your head and pull his shoulder down to kiss his cheek.

“I’m okay now. I feel bad, though. I didn’t make any dinner since I’ve been moping all day.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart. I think we have leftovers in the fridge, or we can do takeout. Whichever one you’d like.”

You smile up at him, and he wishes he could make your now-dry tear tracks go away faster.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento #nanami kento hurt/comfort #nanami hurt/comfort #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagine #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen imagine

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theerrorofmylife · 2 years

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The Sketch Artist

Yes this is a battinson fic. I definitely did not go see it twice just to write this. hah. I’ve been practicing quite a bit to write in a gender neutral tone so I hope that turned out ok. Also, I did change a few things but nothing too major. Enjoy.

~ Error

When the sun rose in Gotham, it was as if the whole city held its breath, waiting for something to tell them that yes, another night was over, the dawn had come once again. One such morning, when the city woke up and the criminals that ran rampant among the civilians finally went back into hiding, I woke to find my alarm clock going off. 7 am, the time for workers to get ready, for children to be off to the busses, for those last-minute essays and tranquil cups of coffee. For 6 months, I couldn’t remember a time I had woken up before 10, but this was different. I had an art degree, and while I loved painting and drawing, neither paid the bills, especially not in Gotham. The police station, however, was in desperate need of a sketch artist these days, and I was happy to oblige. $10 an hour for a regular 9-5, plus I got to hang out with Gordon and the other cops who weren’t absolute sleazebags. It was an ok gig, it was a paycheck, and with the art, I did on the side occasionally, it made rent with a little extra for groceries…sometimes. But that was fine, it was just me and I didn’t have to eat every day… right? Whatever, it doesn't matter, the point was I had a job. And my alarm was still going. Rolling over in bed, I tapped my nightstand blindly in search of the beeping monstrosity. Finally, the sound stopped with the slam of a button, and I stumbled out of bed to get coffee. Coffee first, then brush teeth, then maybe shower if the water bill was worth it. By the time I left the apartment, it was 8:15, and I was hightailing it upstate to the police station. 8:15 seems like a reasonable time to leave but it’s not when you live on the other side of the city. Rushing inside the backdoor of the station, I waved to the cops and detectives as I made my way to Gordon’s desk. I could sit at my own desk, but why bother.

“5 minutes to spare. You’re getting good at this.” I hear him tease me. I look behind me to see him lounging on the banister.

“You act as if I haven’t done this before.” I had known Gordon for years, all the way back to my mom’s homicide case when I was seven. He came around the house to help my dad, and about 3 years later when my dad passed away in a car accident Gordon stepped up and took care of me. He buddied up to a Lawyer named Dent and got emergency custody of me that way he could take care of me legally, and from there he was always surrogate dad #1. I was ten then. Now, sitting comfy at 23, I couldn’t remember a time when Gordon wasn’t a guiding light in my life.

“Well, now that you’re here, we’ve got four people who need to see you. There was a homicide last night, as well as a robbery.” Wow. I jumped up and hopped over to my desk, grabbing the extra-large sketch pad and the small bag of coal pencils and mega erasers. This was gonna be a long morning.

By lunch, I had finished all the sketches, sat with a woman during a line-up purely for emotional support, and even took some time to entertain a kid while his dad was giving a statement. Overall, it was very productive and enjoyable. I left the station at about eight, staying a while longer so I could bug Gordon while he did the paperwork, but eventually, I was making my way back to my apartment. Gotham’s abyssal night had covered the city, and the endless rain was especially cold tonight. A breeze carried the chill beneath my clothes and made me shudder. I should have been watching where I was going, I should have been more careful because as soon as I stepped onto the subway platform, two rough hands took hold of my arms and threw me forwards to the ground. My hands didn’t catch my fall and my forehead hit the grimy pavement, pain coming in waves from behind and under my eyes. My eyes were so heavy, I almost didn’t realize my watch was being harshly tugged off my wrist. My bag had been tossed, and I could hear the contents being tossed about. My senses seemed to come back all at once and I ripped my hands away and began pushing myself away from whoever was near me. I kept crawling away till my back was pressed against the wall. Four to five men, all wearing different variations of sweaters, hoodies, leather jackets, and all looking in some way terribly threatening. The one who was trying to take my ring reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a switchblade that must have been the length of his forearm when brandished. I couldn’t fight against a knife like that, I had minimal combat training, I… I was going to die… suddenly everything went quiet. Deathly quiet, as if all of our hearts stopped at once. Footsteps echoed against the pavement steps, each one making my stomach tighten and my throat close. A fear I didn’t know I could feel settled over me as a man slowly approached from the darkness. Batman. Quite literally the most terrifying person in Gotham, the only one that every and any criminal ran from without shame. He was vengeance. My body was beginning to feel heavy, my arms feeling like any strength I once had was quickly drained, and my head felt… hot. Warmth had spread across my forehead and down my eyes and cheekbones. I was losing my ability to see, the visible area becoming hazy and foggy. I could hear fighting, sounds of the men yelling, the sounds of violence. Then a gun going off. Then nothing. No fighting, no footsteps, nothing. I couldn’t focus on anything anymore, my head felt like it was spinning, and I couldn’t make out who exactly was now beside me, so like any sane person moved to push myself as far away, but my arms couldn’t lift me anymore, and the hands holding my arms still wouldn’t let me.

“I’m gonna need you to stay still, ok?” a voice rumbled deep in my mind. I couldn’t describe it without sounding horribly attracted to it, but in truth, I was. It was deep, a lovely sound that might strike fear into someone who wasn’t close to unconsciousness and actually losing blood. In truth, even without the blood loss, I would probably still find him horribly attractive.

“No... what...?” I was sat back against the wall a large hand holding my head as it was gently placed back to rest. Whoever this was, they couldn’t be the same dark entity that beat criminals to a pulp. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and for the first time in the past 5 minutes, I could see clearly. The Bat himself, an extremely large man, towering over everything, imposing even in the darkness, was the one situating me to lean against the wall. He put his gloved hand up to his hood and spoke very quickly.

“There’s been a mugging, someone’s been injured… 51st street, subway entrance.” He took his hand off and I realized he hung up. It felt as if my back was slowly melting into the wall behind me, my head was so fuzzy, and it felt like someone was taking a hammer to the space behind my eyes. “I’ve called the EMTs…I’ll stay till they get here.” I nodded but it felt more like a whole-body jostle than an actual nod. My head was lolling to one side and my eyes were drooping. He was staying with me. It was a kindness I didn’t expect from him, the most dangerous man in Gotham. He sat there, hand on my knee, simply making sure I didn’t actually fall out of consciousness with a likely concussion. The heat from his covered hand bled through the leather and denim of my jeans, giving me chills all over as every nerve focused on the spot where his hand was. When I had the strength to lift my head, I caught sight of the most ice-like pair of eyes I’d ever seen. It was like stepping into an ice bath during summer, his eyes were in such high contrast with the dark kohl around his eyes and his dark armor. They were beautiful, in a way, and I found it unable to look away as I got a glimpse of the human behind the mask. I held his gaze for what seemed like forever, locking eyes with the apex predator of Gotham’s underworld. A shock went through both of us when the sirens were finally audible. I began shoving his hand off my knee with very little effort. He seemed so confused, reaching to stop me from moving too much.

“Go.” Was all I could really say, still trying to push him away, and all I got in return was a nod. Watching him leave, I saw him turn one last time, and then he was gone. It was almost like he was never there. Police swarmed the subway and immediately paramedics were crowding around me.

The next morning, I woke up in the hospital. Gordon was sitting next to me, asleep in the chair, and I couldn’t bring myself to wake him. I stared at the ceiling, tracing the edges of the tiles as I tried to make sense of last nights events. The Bat saved me. It was weird, recalling all of it. It seemed so… fake… like he didn’t actually save me, because why would the Bat have time to save me from a mugging when there were worse things going on in the city? But the more I laid there, replaying it over and over, seeing him sitting with me in the tunnel again and again, it became more tangible. Something about him, something only found in books and in comics, something wonderfully terrifying that made my mind stall. Where even was he now? Where does the Bat go when the sun purges Gotham for another day? If I walk the streets in the darkness, would I find him again? - Why the hell would I want to find him again? Why the hell would I go out after dark ever again, especially after last night? But the more I thought about it, the more useless feeling scared seemed and the more seeing him again seemed… mandatory in a way. I have to see the Bat again; I just have to. It would be about 30 more minutes of studying the ceiling before Gordon woke, then another 45 minutes before I was discharged with only minor head trauma and some cuts on my head that needed stitching. Overall, not horrible.

“Please!!”

“Absolutely not! You just got out of the hospital, you’re not going back to work after last night, you’re going back to your place to sleep and recover.” I don’t want to go home though, if I do, I’ll never leave, I’ll simply curl up in bed and stay there until I decay. Better I go back to work and do something than decay, right?

“Gordon I’m going back to work.” I say with falsified finality and the glare I received was murderous.

“Kid. Go home.” Eventually I gave up. The ride back to my apartment was tense, I could tell Gordon was still frustrated with me. When he dropped me off, I didn’t say anything, I just walked inside and left Gordon in the car. It wasn’t that I was mad at him, I just didn’t want to prove him right by going to work and potentially passing out. I placed my bag and jacket on the rack by my door and slinked farther into my apartment studio. I slept till the next day, waking up to a text from Gordon telling me not to bother coming in. Great. The other night was still swimming in my head, the bat… Getting up, I shook off any soreness and made my way around the room like some old Victorian lady. Nothing to do, no one to be with, alone with my thoughts. How wonderful… He still stalked around in my mind, his movements last night replaying over and over on its own little movie screen behind my eyes. I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. Marching through my apartment, I cornered a large 6ftx6ft canvas near the far window in the living room. Better to remove the thought altogether rather than continue to let it torture me.

It would be hours before I leave the living room, my stomach giving me a horrible pain, and I waddled off to the mini kitchen for food. From the living room, the news was going on about the attack at the late mayor’s funeral, how Batman had shown up, but the Riddler killed that guy anyways. This whole Riddle business was insane. I knew I was safe, I never dealt with the kind of stuff that the mayor or the DA ever did, but the idea didn’t cease to bother me. Sandwich in hand, as I walked back into the living room, the eyes of the cursed guardian stared back at me from the canvas. Black and bright blue stared off into the distance at an imagined object…or person. I had tried to mimic the khol around his eyes but that only made the mask harder to define, and the background was better black, making the whole situation too abstract for my nature, but perhaps it was better like that? I mean, it was the Batman after all, maybe abstract was fitting for who he is. To stare at the piece made me feel stupid; it didn’t do the real thing justice. The more I stared, the angrier I got at myself and the picture I had fabricated. My feet moved faster than my mind and before I could really think through my actions. I hated the picture so much, maybe because no matter how real I tried to make it; it wasn’t the real thing. Marching up to the canvas, sandwich forgotten, I reached out to sink my nails into the fabric only to have a strong hand grab my arm. The familiar warmth sunk into my skin, even through the glove. In a panic I threw my arm from his grasp and nearly jumped clear off the ground, hopping away. There, the B-Man himself, in all his vigilante-batshit-glory. Suddenly an indignant frustration came over me.

“Seriously?! Knocking is a thing, you know?” Forget the Batman being in my living room, this was an intrusion, and worse I felt completely stupid for having a giant picture of him in my apartment now. He didn’t answer though, he seemed to be completely focused on the painting. He blinked rapidly before moving his gaze towards me. All at once I felt ashamed. Those same ice-blue eyes; I’m a mess.

“Did you make this?” I nodded. His voice sounded the same as it had that night. Wonderfully horrible. “Its good.”

“Thanks…” He’s so weird!!!

“I need to ask; did you know any of those men who attacked you the other night?” The other night? Those men… I didn’t.

“No… why? They didn’t seem to be part of any group or organization.” I was trying to think ahead but even that wasn’t leading me to any conclusion.

“They were, they were going through your bag hoping you had police files on your person. They didn’t know you were a sketch artist with no real clearance to the kind of case they were going for.” Oh. Police files… I’ve never carried those with me, never even allowed to look at those by myself so I usually spy on them over Gordon’s shoulder, but I’d never carried one with me. “Your head, how is it?”

“Better than Gordon would believe.” His shoulders shook only once, as if he were huffing a laugh, but I refuse to believe the Batman would ever laugh at something.

“I have to go; I’m still tracking that group. You’d be safer at the precinct you know.”

“I do know. However, Gordon won’t allow me to go back to work, says I have this made-up thing called a concussion.” Again, his shoulders shook, and this time I can’t deny that that was something like a laugh. He laughed. Turning towards the window, he opened it all the way and stepped out, careful not to knock over the tiny pots and jars I had sat there.

“You know, maybe next time I’ll knock.” He jumped up the fire escape and we gone in seconds. What the absolute fuck……. wait.

“Next time?!”

The next morning, I left for work early in order to corner the commissioner and see if I could return to work. When I got there, Gordon was waiting.

“No.”

“You really can’t stop me, you know. I need the work G, I can’t be cooped up like that!” Dashing past him, I ignored him yelling after me to go home and slipped into the commissioner’s office. Sara Essen, a wonderful friend of Gordon and I, and probably the only person I’d listen to in this who precinct.

“Commissioner! Commissioner Essen, how wonderful to see you today, you look absolutely radiant, as always Ma’am!!” I’m such a kiss-up, it would be pathetic if it weren’t so fun. Sitting at her desk, she me an accusatory glare before reaching into her desk, pulling my sketchpad and pencil bag out of her top drawer.

“Gordon said to keep these from you. Said you had a concussion.” I rolled my eyes animatedly.

“C’mooooon! Those are made up and you know it! Please, Sara, you know this isn’t going to affect my work, I sit all day and draw! Please don’t send me home…” I was begging, which was somehow worse than being a kiss-up. She sighed but had a small smile on her face none-the-less. Holding out the paper with the pouch balanced on top, I grinned widely and took them gratefully. Saying a quick thank you I ran out to wave my triumph in Gordon’s face. I love him, I really do, he’s like a father to me, but trying to keep me home was just cruel. The day went smoothly, no issues whatsoever. That was, until Gordon and a few other officers came over.

“Hey, don’t freak out, but Bruce Wayne is here to talk to you.” I’m sorry, what.

“Bruce Wayne? Why?”

“He was at the mayor’s funeral, his friend there says he got a look at the guy in the crowd, came in to give a description.” Right… that whole Riddler business, and then the attack at the mayor’s funeral. I didn’t know Bruce Wayne was even there, but it makes sense, I guess. Even recluses need to pay respect to the dead.

“Send him over then, what are you guys waiting for?” Gordon shook his head and motioned someone over. A man, very tall but slouched approached. He had dark hair that hung in his face and his coloring was abnormally pale, like he lived inside all of his life. Despite that, his eyes were minimally sunken in. His eyes, such a light blue, almost like… ice. “Hello Mr. Wayne.” Immediately his eyes shot to my face and a look of recognition passed between the two of us.

“Hello again. I suppose I should have knocked, hm?” My face flushed. It was him.

“You shouldn’t have risked coming here, do you even have a statement??” Are all vigilante-billionaires this careless? Then again who would ever suspect Bruce Wayne? Billionaire shut-in who is so traumatized by his parent’s murder that he can’t stand being in public, who would ever think that such a vulnerable, terrified man could be the most brave and lethal man in the entire city. Hell, it stands to reason that if the public’s version of Bruce Wayne ever met the Batman, he’d collapse on sight. But that was the public’s view, and that made all the difference, didn’t it?

“Yes, I do, don’t worry about me right now. I saw the Riddler at the funeral, in the banister above. He was there to see what would happen.” I nodded as I shuffled my papers around, digging out a clean one along with a new pencil and eraser.

“Ok. Give me his face structure first, then we’ll move to details.” He nodded and I saw beneath the shadow his hair cast a small smile. Huh. About an hour or two later we had finished the description and I had created a decent image of the man Bruce had described. He left shortly after, saying he had business to attend to, but also extending an invitation to the Wayne Tower. He left the precinct with what only very few would come to know as a smile.

#batman #battison #battinson #batman 2022 #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman x y/n #bruce wayne x reader #gotham #vengence #pfft

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

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Secrets // D.M.

Request: CONGRATS BOO!!! Could I get a Secret relationship with Fluff 4 for Draco Malfoy pretty please at Hogwarts??? Also I was wondering if it could be with a Hufflepuff reader? (I love Hufflepuff x Slytherin pairings) THANKS AGAIN FOR DOING THIS BOO AND CONGRATS 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛 - @herstory-study

Fluff 4: “Is that my shirt?”

A/N: The first of my blurb celebrations!! Thank you, lovely!! I hope you enjoy!! It could be argued that I got carried away but there’s a large chance I could end up writing full fics for each request 😂 Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Fem!Reader

Warnings: secret relationships, some kissing, some feelings, a whole lotta fluff, a cheesy ending and an abuse of commas and semi-colons

Word count: 2.7k

There were some aspects to History of Magic that could be classed as interesting; the witch-hunts of Salem, for example or even the brief study dedicated to the founders of the very school you sit in. However, there was nothing remotely interesting about hearing the tale of the Goblin wars for the sixth year in a row.

You tap the feather of your quill to your cheek; jotting down a sentence every now and then to make it look as if you are paying the strictest attention to whatever Professor Binns happens to be mumbling about in that particular moment. You fade in and out of daydreams; letting your mind wander back to two nights ago when Draco had snuck you back into the Hufflepuff common room – stopping every few so often to draw you into another laughter-filled kiss.

You startle when a piece of parchment falls onto your desk. Folded like a paper crane, you only knew who this could be from. A sly glance over the blonde-haired teenager who’s attention is most definitely on the pacing of Binn’s ghost confirms your suspicions.

You delicately unfold the piece of parchment; smiling to yourself as begin to read Draco’s elegant scrawl: “Meet me at the Room of Requirement? 7:30pm?”

Anticipation curls in your gut like a ball.

A brief glance is all it takes for you to confirm. A brief glance in your direction from Draco; a subtle nod from you and your plans for the evening have been wiped clear and replaced entirely with Draco.

The bell rings. You stand, gathering your things together and placing them in your bag. A slight brush to your side is the only contact with the Slytherin you’ve found yourself head over heels for. A slight brush to your side and it feels like every inch of you is on fire; a reaction that only Draco has the power to elicit from you.

The day passes by slowly now that you have something to look forward to. A day where short moments are stolen behind tapestries or on less traversed corridors. Five minutes each time between lessons where you can quickly whisper a hello before dragging him into a kiss by his green striped tie.

Keeping your relationship a secret was a mutual decision; the fallout on both sides being something neither of you could be bothered to deal with right now. Instead, you were happier hiding in empty classrooms where you could have your fill of the Slytherin Prince, and he could whisper sweet nothings in your ear without the risk of anyone overhearing.

There were times when it was stressful; when the week had been too long and there had been no time to see one another. It was only then that you questioned the secrecy of your relationship.

But when you came together after a long period apart; everything returned back to normal and a smile found its way back to both your faces.

Your excitement for the evening makes it almost impossible to eat; picking at the food on your plate as you think about finally seeing Draco tonight. From your position at the Hufflepuff table, you have an excellent view of him, and he knows it. All evening, Draco sends you subtle winks and smiles from his seat at the Slytherin table.

You clench your fist; your fingernails biting into the sensitive skin of your palm as you resist the urge to throw yourself across both tables to him. You resist the urge to simply kiss him in front of his housemates.

You resist it all; every single feeling and urge because you know that in a matter of hours, he would be yours for the entire night.

Instead, you send a flirty smile back to the blonde-haired teenager before returning your attention back to your meal.

-----

The Room of Requirement is located on left hand corridor of the Seventh Floor. You knew from how he rushed out of the Great Hall that Draco would beat you to it.

With a large grin on your face, you walk past the section of wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy three times. The entire time, thinking of Draco and how you’d like to see him.

On your third walk past, the large, ornate door appears. You don’t hesitate to pull it open and duck inside.

It’s never a different layout; always the same one that Draco imagines. A large, almost cavernous room with a grand fireplace that’s already lit and warming up the room. In front of the fire sits a couch big enough for an entire Quidditch squad but you know from experience that it’s perfect for the two of you to lie down on comfortably. A great bookshelf covers one of the walls; filled to the brim with ancient looking tomes and books, all there ready to read. You’ve taken advantage of such an offer in the past; reading to Draco after a particularly bad day.

Finally, pushed up against the furthest wall is a four poster bed covered in a thick, downy quilt and topped with blankets – both green and yellow to represent both houses. It was the cheesiest section of the room, and you had brought it up to Draco before – teasing him, but he simply shrugged and distracted you from further conversation.

You throw your outer robes on the bed, leaving you in your blouse, tie and skirt.

Draco remains seated on the large couch; his gaze focused on the flickering flames of the growing fire. Your arms snake their way around his shoulders; your hands trailing down his chest as you lean against the back of the couch. Pressing a small kiss just under his earlobe, you whisper, “I missed you today.”

Draco leans his head back, kissing the side of your jaw, “I missed you too.”

Letting go of him, you take a seat on the couch. In times like this, you never stray too far from the blonde-haired teenager, worried about how long it’ll be until you have a night like this again. An arm opens for you; you automatically press yourself into his side, inhaling the familiar scent of cashmere musk and roses. It was heavenly.

“How was your day?” He asks, voice quiet.

“It was boring until a note landed on my desk. Then it started to look up.”

Draco smirks, “How odd. Mine was taking the exact same route until someone responded to my note.”

You shift out of his hold; resting your head on your elbow that’s perched on the back of the couch. Your other hand pushes his hair back; pulling it out his eyes. He’s grown it longer over this year and stopped using so much product; it’s nice, more natural and a lot easier for you to run your hands through.

You open your mouth; trying to think of something to say but nothing comes to mind.

It doesn’t matter anyway.

Draco captures your lips in his. One of his hands settling on the back of your head whilst the other pulls you across his lap to straddle him. You smile into the kiss as your hands brace themselves on the back of the couch.

Breaking the kiss, you ask, “What was that for?”

He shrugs, “Nothing. I just missed you.”

“You’re missing me an awful lot.”

He kisses the underside of your jaw, “Can you blame me?”

You hum, “I don’t think I can. I’m missing you more too.”

“Then let’s not miss each other anymore,” Draco murmurs against your skin. Lifting his head just enough, he draws you in for another kiss effectively ending all conversation for the night.

-----------

You wake up tangled in the sheets of the four poster bed; Draco’s arm heavy across your waist.

As your eyes get used to the brightness of the room, they focus in on the clock on the beside table. Your eyes grow wide as you take in the time.

You’d slept through the lesson of the day already.

You launch yourself out of bed, shrugging off your pyjamas and rustling around to find your uniform.

“Draco!” You shout, pushing your arms through a shirt, “We need to get up, we’ve missed the first hour.”

Draco rolls over, groaning. Fastening your skirt, you kneel on the bed, “Love, we have to get up before the bell.”

He blinks his eyes open, grinning sleepily at you. Your resolve almost breaks then and there; happy to say to hell with it and get back into bed with him.

“I’m free second lesson,” Draco mutters.

You roll your eyes, kissing his lips briefly, “I’ll see you later?”

He nods, stretching his arms above his head, “I’ll see you later.”

Grabbing your outer robes and your bag, you rush from the Room of Requirement, fastening your tie as you bound down the stairs to Transfiguration.

“Where have you been?” is how you’re greeted by Miriam, your close friend and dorm mate.

You shrug, biting your lip knowing that there was no way you could lie yourself out of this.

Miriam narrows her eyes at you, “You never came back to the room after dinner and then you didn’t show up at breakfast. I was seriously worried. Where did you go?”

You look either side of you; checking that there’s no-one listening to your conversation, “Can you keep a secret?”

Miriam rolls her eyes, “Of course I can.”

“I was with Draco Malfoy,” You rush out in a single breath.

Miriam’s eyes widen and she pulls you to one side, “You were with Draco Malfoy? All night?”

You nod your head. Miriam puffs out a breath, “Well I didn’t expect that. How long have you been seeing each other? Tell me everything please!”

You laugh, “It’s almost ten months now, and I’ll tell you more at lunch, I promise.”

Miriam bites her bottom lip; glancing between you and the now open door to Transfiguration, deliberating whether it would be worth skiving the entire day to hear about your exploits with the Slytherin Prince.

She sighs heavily, deciding not to risk McGonagall’s wrath, “I want to hear everything at lunch – do not leave anything out, promise.”

Laughing once more, you cross your finger over your heart, “I promise.”

-----

Until lunch, Miriam sends you excited glances and knowing smiles. In between second and third period, she comments on the fact that she didn’t even think that you were seeing someone – not to insult you, but she just assumed that you holed yourself up in the library where you studied as late as you could.

Miriam practically bounces up to you when the bell rings announcing lunch. She keeps her questions to herself until you both take a seat at the Hufflepuff table, filling plates up with whatever took your fancy.

“So how did it start?”

You take a sip of pumpkin juice before beginning, “Over last summer, my family got invited to one of the many balls thrown by his parents. I don’t usually go to those things, but my parents asked me to join them this one time; I think they were worried because I’d spent too much time in the garden studying the plants. So I went with them and Draco’s father asked him to ask me to dance and it all stemmed from there.

“He sent me a letter the day after thanking me for an entertaining evening and wondered whether I would want to meet up again. I agreed and then from there it evolved into this.”

Miriam’s smile drops into a frown when she asks her next question, “Why keep it a secret? Was it his decision?”

You shake your head fiercely, “It was both ours. We were both equally as worried about the fallout from our families and our houses.”

“But surely if Lucius Malfoy asked Draco to dance with you, he wouldn’t mind?”

You tilt your head, thinking, “Perhaps not. He wouldn’t mind the blood status, but he might mind my being a Hufflepuff,” You shrug, “Anyway we haven’t gone public yet.”

“Ten months is a long time to keep this a secret.”

“It’s not like it hasn’t been hard and that there haven’t been times where I wanted to shout it to the entire wizarding world, but for now, it’s a secret.”

Miriam nods; the frown still expressed on her face. She reaches out her hand to yours, taking it tightly, “You’ve told me now though so that’s a shoulder to lean on should it get too much again.”

You beam at your friend, “Thank Merlin for you, Miriam.”

Miriam goes to reply but she’s distracted by someone approaching the Hufflepuff table. She lets go of your hand and nods her head to something behind you.

Turning in your seat, you find Draco patiently waiting. You smile at him, “Draco, how can I help?”

“I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute… about our last History of Magic lesson? You see, I didn’t take any notes and I was wondering if you had some.”

You smirk, “Why don’t we go outside? That way I’m not cluttering up the table for the others that are still eating.”

Draco grins, nodding at you understandingly, “Wonderful idea. Lead the way.”

Hoisting your bag on your shoulder, you send a wink in Miriam’s direction. She returns one with a laugh before beginning to eat once again.

Draco follows you from the Great Hall and to a less busy corridor. You lean against the wall with a smirk, “Now did you really want my notes, or did you already miss me?”

“More the latter than the former,” Draco admits with a small smile. He frowns though as he takes in your uniform, his eyes running up and down, “Is that my shirt?”

You look down at your clothing, only now realising that the shirt you had put on in a hurry this morning was indeed Draco’s. The arms being too long that you had to roll them twice before you could even start writing something.

You giggle, “I think it is.”

“I only wondered when I had to walk back to my common room shirtless.”

“No!” You shout, delighted at the thought of Draco running shirtless through the corridors.

Draco laughs, nodding, “I had my outer robes of course, but there was very little underneath.”

You clap your hands in sheer delight, “I’d give you back your shirt, but I’ve become awfully fond of it, you see.”

“Oh you have?”

Nodding, you say, “I have. It smells a lot like you which is great for when I miss you.”

Draco groans, throwing his head back, “If we weren’t in public, I’d be kissing you senseless right now. I didn’t realise how good you would look in my shirt.”

“Why don’t you?” You challenge.

Draco’s mouth drops open, “What?”

“Kiss me senseless.”

“Are you sure? We’ve kept this secret for so long,” Draco comments, a finger pointing between your two bodies.

You shuffle closer to him, “I’m sure. Ten months is long enough to keep you a secret, I’m happy to tell everyone now.”

Draco wraps you in his arms, not hesitating to kiss you. You gave yourself entirely to the kiss; pushing yourself off the wall and wrapping your arms around his neck. Your heart skips a beat when one of Draco’s hands starts to draw aimless patterns on the small of your back, sending heat rushing through your body. You sigh against his mouth before pulling away; repressing the urge to continue as the need for oxygen has become too great.

He presses one last gentle peck to your lips before grinning widely, “Are you really sure you want to go public?”

“Super sure. So sure in fact I’d make out with you again to prove my point.”

Draco raises an eyebrow, “Tempting but I say we go back to lunch. I think your friend had more questions.”

You grin at the thought of Miriam’s reaction to see you walking with Draco, “It sounds too good to pass up,” You hold your hand out to Draco, “Lead the way.”

It was all worth it when Miriam’s reaction to seeing you sit back down at the Hufflepuff table with Draco in tow was to spit out her pumpkin juice.

**************

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @msmimimerton @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @iamobscuring

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obx-beach @obxmxybxnk @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey

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misterghostfrog · 4 years

Photo

[IMAGE ID; a digital drawing of Martin Blackwood carrying Jonathan Sims from The Magnus Archives. Martin is a fat freckled white man with curly ginger hair that is shaved close at the sides. He has a pair of round framed glasses in a bright red, under the glasses he is wearing eyeliner, and a navy eyeshadow. He has black lipstick, two black snakebite piercings under his lip, and a small black nostril piercing. His ear has a large black piercing that cuffs a chain to a small black piercing higher up his ear, and one final black piercing in the middle. He has a black choker, and then a looser chain necklace with an eye ornament on it. He has a studded lather jacket on that is covered in multiple patches and pins, mostly hidden by Jon: of the visible pins there is a trans flag patch on his chest, and on his shoulder is a large dark colored patch that has A-C-A-B on it in white. Under the Jacket is a black shirt that he has partly tucked into his pants, the shirt has a large anarchy symbol drawn on it in red. Under that he is wearing jeans that are significantly ripped as far as we can see. On his right hand he has several black rings, and his nails are painted black. Jon is a skinny Jordanian man with brown eyes and shoulder-length grey-streaked dark brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail at the base of his neck. He has a beard beginning to grow that appears to be the product of forgetting to shave. He is covered in a series of small round scars that vary in exact size. He is wearing a pair of rectangle-framed glasses, a plain t-shirt, a pair of jeans that are ripped at the knee, and converse. Martin is carrying Jon bridal style in his arms, and is looking away, he is blushing, though his expression is concerned and appears to be speaking. Jon has his arms wrapped around Martins neck, his cheeks are darkened and he is staring at hte ground with an expression somewhere between fear and the face one makes when they’re having to retrace every step they’ve taken to get here. END ID]

Punk Martin but make it Jonmartin.

Also I wrote a lil thing to go along with this under the cut, its only barely edited because it was mostly for fun so be warned its a big ol mess! But its s2 jonmartin nonsense with Martin being very cool and attractive and Jon being seven layers deep in denial (Also I may have written Jon as a touch autistic because its projection hours tonight i’m too sleepy to mask and that goes for writing too babey)

(Mentions of worms, past injuries, and Jon dealing with some internalised ableism and general foolishness)

Jon forgot his cane.

It’s a relatively regular occurrence, for a multitude of reasons. For one thing it’s something of a recent addition to the list of things he needs to keep track of when he leaves the house. Another lovely parting gift from Prentiss, a worm in his left leg that went just quick enough to start burrowing into the bone before it was removed.

For another, he really has other things to worry about. And if it doesn’t hurt, it shouldn’t matter. Most days he can get by just fine without it- it hurts of course. But not so much he can’t support himself, and really, does he need it otherwise?

Martin and Tim don’t seem to agree, though Sasha has kept respectfully to herself on the whole business. Martin, of course, he trusts. Albeit only recently. But that doesn’t make him right, his priorities are warped. Naturally. He doesn’t see the bigger picture.

(or at least that’s what Jon tells himself)

Which is what leads to this moment, sitting on a bench outside the shop, single grocery bag by his feet. He’d only run out to get a few things, but somewhere between the his flat the the shop his barely visible limp had become more pronounced as his hip began to throb, then he was halfway through the frozens when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to finish the trip. After that he’d barely made it through checkout to the nearest seat before all but collapsing into it.

And now he’s sitting, stuck. An insurmountable walk from home, without his stupid cane. Which, he notes, he wouldn’t need if he’d brought in the first place. Funny how that works.

“Jon?” A familiar voice jolts him out of his thoughts. Jon jolts upright. Martin.

He knows Martin lives in the area, a side effect of his... investigations. Though he was unaware he used the same shop. He looks up, a greeting or perhaps a question on his lips that dies as soon as he actually lays eyes on Martin.

Martin is wearing a leather jacket. Not just a leather jacket of course, but that’s the first thing Jon can process. He’s wearing a studded leather jacket covered in various patches that advertise various opinions and identities that Jon doesn’t have time to think about. His jeans are about as much rip as they are Jean, and he’s got piercings- and eyeliner. he’s dressed like he should be riding a motorcycle, not the beat-up red bike he’s got beside him.

“Are you alright?” Martin says, and Jon realizes he’s been staring.

“Are you going to a costume party?” Jon blurts instead of answering. A costume party would make sense, of course. Martin doesn’t dress like this, he dresses like- like-

It occurs to him dimly that he’s never encountered Martin outside of work, at least never in a scenario that would allow him to change out of his work clothes. And some part of him has always assumed that sweaters and khakis were simply how he dressed. It suited him, really. Or Jon had assumed, but then again he assumed anything familiar is suiting.

“Wh- A- no?” Martin answers, looking vaguely offended. Jon flushes.

“I- sorry, I just- I’ve... I didn’t think you seemed the type to dress... like that...?” Jon fumbles, pathetically trying to salvage the conversation. Judging by Martins expression, he’s failing.

Martin opens his mouth to say something, and Jon realizes there’s likely no coming back from this particular mortification. He snatches the bag by his feet and moves to stand. Some excuse already tumbling out when the reason for his sit-down, which had dulled to a shockingly forgettable throb, decides to remind him of his place in the world.

He lets out a cry of pain, and crumples. Only stopped from hitting the ground by a pair of arms that wrap around his chest and under his shoulder.

“Oh my god, Jon. Are you alright- what- is it your leg? Where’s your cane-” Martin babbles, Gently replacing Jon on his bench as Jon breathes through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine- i’m fine Martin I-” he sighs, studiously avoiding Martins gaze. “My cane is at home.” He tries not to sound chastised as he says the last part- he shouldn’t have to after all. He’s still Martins boss. He shouldn’t be looking away like he’s been caught at something.

“Jon” Martin sounds exasperated, and Jon crosses his arms. Once again, nothing like someone being scolded. He’s not being scolded. He’s an adult. “How long have you been sitting here like this?”

“I...” Jon begins before trailing off, he’s not actually sure. The period between sitting on the bench and the pain dulling enough for him to think through the fog is something is a blur. He is pretty sure someone asked if he was alright at some point. His lack of answer seems to be enough for Martin though.

“Just give me a moment.” He says, stepping away from Jon over to his bike- which has fallen over onto the ground -pulling it upright and over to Jon on the bench. He pushes down the rusted kickstand with a hearty kick- and Jon briefly notes he’s wearing steel-toed boots -and sets the bike gently upright.

“Okay, so! If you sit on the bike I can push it, and you can get home and rest that leg without jostling it too much by trying to walk without your cane.” He says pointedly. Jon makes a face,

“This... this really isn’t necessary Martin- I’m perfectly capable-” He grumbles, waving a hand dismissively. But a glance at Martins expression shuts him up quick.

“Do you think you can stand?” He asks. Jon pauses, the memory of the white-hot flash of pain still fresh in his mind. He grimaces, shaking his head. Martin hums thoughtfully. “Alright, would you be alright if I picked you up? Just for a moment to get you on the bike” He asks carefully.

Jon hesitates, looking between Martin and the bike. And weighs his options. After several seconds he nods. Martin smiles, and Jon feels something in his chest flutter. Anxiety at his decision most likely. Or perhaps nerves in relation to sitting on a bike, he’s never ridden one- of course Martin will be doing all the work but surely there’s some sort of balance required isn’t there? Really he shouldn’t be riding a bike like this-

Those thoughts are all swept away at the feeling of large warm hands gently scooping him off the bench. He instinctively throws his arms around Martins neck for support as he’s lifted into the air.

He can feel Martins chest warm against his side as Martin holds him close, one hand on his shoulder and the other supporting his legs. He’s being cradled by his subordinate, carefully as so not to jostle his leg. And all he can think about is how warm Martin is. He’s large and soft despite all the sharper accessories and he smells a bit like leather and tea on top of whatever soap he uses. Probably something that Jon wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to his head. And Jon can see the freckles on Martins cheeks and neck close enough to count if he wanted to even as he looks away, saying something Jon can’t quite parse because he’s too busy reeling from the realization he’d be happy to sit in Martins arms like this for the rest of his life.

His face goes hot and he forces himself to look down at the ground. The pain is clearly messing with his head, or perhaps the sleep deprivation. Or perhaps he’s still riding the high from that moment of realization that Martin isn’t trying to kill him, that he can trust him.

Either way he’s not thinking straight, which is why he’s dissapointed instead of relieved when Martin gently places him on the bike with the exact amount of care he took in picking him up. Which shouldn’t make him feel so oddly jittery but it does.

The ride is quiet, aside from awkward instructions from Jon on where to turn as Martin guides them carefully along the sidewalk. They miss a turn once because Jons too preoccupied with the feeling of Martins arm bumping against his shoulder as he guides the bike.

And then they’re at Jons flat, and Jon once again feels that misplaced disappointment. He wonders if perhaps Martin will carry him up to his flat, and his face burns again as the silliness of the thought hits him.

Martin does very, very briefly lift him to help him off the bike when he stumbles. But his leg has recovered enough that he can make it up to his flat without assistance, or so he tells Martin. Who looks unconvinced.

“Let me at least walk with you, yea? That way I know for sure you got home safe.” He insists, and Jon forced himself to be displeased with the situation.

It ends up being a good thing Martin came along though, a partway up the steps the railing is no longer enough to support Jon, and he ends up half-carried the rest of the way. Martins arm under his shoulder, his own loops around Martins back, gripping the jacket for support. He can feel his head drifting at the contact- Martin is just so damned warm and safe and Martin it’s impossible not to get distacted.

He forces himself to think about something else, anything else. The jacket- he can feel the leather under his fingertips and it’s as good distraction as any.

It’s a nice jacket, really. Clearly well-worn. And it does suit Martin, in an odd sort-of way.

Jon winces internally, remembering the conversation from earlier. He hadn’t meant to come off so... well. It doesn’t matter. Except that it does, even though it doesn’t, but it does.

Once they reach Jons door, he pushes off of Martin to lean on the wall while he fumbles for his keys. Martin lingers as he does so, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly in the silence.

Jon finds his keys and sighs in relief as the door swings open.

He nearly wanders inside and shuts the door before remembering basic human etiquette. He pauses in the doorway, turning to Martin. Who smiles awkwardly.

“Thank you.” He says stiffly, still leaning heavily on the doorframe. “That was... very kind. Of you.” Martin shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, really. Couldn’t exactly just leave you there, could I?”

Jon shifts awkwardly, wincing at the brief weight on his leg. He’s right of course, morally at least. If not logically.

“I... I suppose not.” He says, hesitating before adding “I’m sorry.”

“Look, Jon. I already said it’s fine-”

“No-” Jon grimaces “not for that. I- I meant... for what I said. About your clothes. They don’t... I just- I didn’t expect it, and I may have come off as... rude.” He mutters

“Oh.” Martin says flatly, Jons sure he’d forgotten about that until just now, and he wishes he could have kept it that way.

“they do suit you, though.” He says, after an awkward pause. “Your clothes, I mean. It looks- you look nice.” he finishes as genuinely as he can- he does mean it. Of course, he just doesn’t know how to make it sound like he does.

“Oh” Martin says again, brightening slightly, his cheeks going blotchy red in a blush. “I- er- thank you...? I suppose?”

“Yes. Well. Your welcome, I suppose.” There’s another awkward pause, Martin isn’t quite smiling at Jon, but there’s something soft in his expression Jon can’t quite parse. “ Have a good day, Martin.” He says finally, after a long pause. Martins cheeks redden again.

“Oh- yeah, er. You too Jon- and take care of yourself. Alright?”

Jon nods, and Martin smiles. And Jon thinks he’d like to see Martin smile a bit more.

He waves as Martin heads down the stairs, he can hear Martin humming as he goes.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #punk martin #fic #art #fanfic #fanart #ghostly doodle #ghostly doodles #Jons a mess!#and Martin has cool fashions #ghostly scribbles

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jjungkooksthighs · 4 years

Text

Claws of Carnality | jjk (5)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: smut, fluff and angst, abo/werewolf!au, soulmate!au, fantasy!au

Rating: 18+ / nsfw

Word Count: 8.7k we really out here getting longer with every chapter because a bitch is hungry

Summary: Privation looms lingeringly without your mate of whom hunts for you deep within the wood. In his absence, he still manages to fill the void even if it is only ephemeral. The sun watches while you fall prey to your desirous natures and it is only when the golden orb has begun to drip lower along the sky’s body that it is time for you to then be guided by the hands of other omegeans to prepare you for your mate upon his return even when no one yet knows, beyond you, who has already staked his claim on you. When the call of your alpha announces his incoming arrival through the forest beyond, that’s when you heed his howl and go to welcome him home, but what will you find when you get there?

Warnings: alpha!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, jealous!jungkook, dom!jungkook, sub! reader, omega!reader, mentions of breeding/ruts/heats, mentions of a mark, slick and pre-ejaculatory production, scent marking, scenting, fingering, begging, praise kink, female masturbation, cunnilingus, breeding/impreg kink, character injury (someone gets hurt, but it isn’t serious)

A/N: My fingers are literally sore from writing so much. This one got pumped out in like a day and I’m honestly a clown because we really out here going from 1.5k with the first chapter all the way to 8.7k for chapter five. I think my hands are still shaking as I write this, but hey, this beast is finally out of the cage of my mind like it wanted to be! Seriously, this one did take some hours of sleep out of me in its need to be written, so please feed my soul and let me know that all this effort was deserving of the lack of sleep in the midst of it being midterm week at my university.

You guys have been so freaking sweet with your kind messages so far and I really am floored at how everyone seems to be enjoying this story, so please keep that up, y’all! I hope that I did justice to everything that has been written so far and more than anything, I hope to have been able to please you all with this next installment. Now, without further ado, I give to you part five of COC!

Part 9 Part 8 Part 7 Part 6 Part 4 Part 3 Part 2 Part 1

Feebleness fleetingly finds you under its clutches while it grasps you within the boscage of the woodlands.

It is commanded by the titillating tendrils of your alpha’s spiced scent and your fingers tug tightly around the fine furs without thought as you stare longingly at the mound of vestments that Jungkook had so torturously left in his wake, a whine releasing itself from the bowels of your body as you try to stand on dangerously debilitated ligaments that are still too weak to bear your weight after the satori that has swayed your entire being.

Too distracted in the pheromones of him that wrap yearningly around you, you don’t remember to pick up the abandoned silken necklace that your alpha had wantonly pulled off and away from you as your wobbling knees bring you to the forsaken garb he’d peeled so salaciously from his beautiful body.

Next to it are the shredded, tattered remains of the trousers he’d been wearing and, distantly, you wonder how many pairs he has ruined in the past through the multitudinous shifts he must have gone through as a purebred alpha that must have been so prone to surrender to his wolf and trade his human feet for the paws of his beast.

Your wolf bays at you to pick both up in the need to keep as much of him near to you as you can and, with embers in your mind burning only for him that are stoked by his redolence, you heed it as your knees buckle when you bend with effort to grab them.

Belatedly, it occurs to you that your alpha had not brought an alternative change of clothes given the state of his wrecked attire.

As you slowly run your fingers reminiscently over the destroyed fabric, there’s a thought that pushes at your conscience between a pair of golden irises that flash commandingly at you and through the smoke that hazes your mind, you remember what he’d told you.

“I expect my mate to be waiting for me before I let every wolf in this fucking compound know that you’re mine when I claim you at the ceremony tonight.”

The words melt away at your insides in the clear claim that they heat you with and you really can’t help it when you bring both articles that had adorned him close to your chest as you turn to tread through the woodland back from whence you came as your cheeks run hot with realization.

Your alpha would anticipatedly await you to receive him back from the hunt he was to lead in your honor.

He wanted you to be there to welcome him over all of the other bitches in the pack and, like the dutifully loyal omega you were meant to be, your mind had already set into its stone that you would later return to the greenwood upon the sun’s setting when all the alphas would rightfully reemerge from the forest’s foliage so that you could greet your own.

You would do so with open arms that would bear not only your warmly joyous touch, but also the mended clothing he’d damaged to hunt for you that would serve to preserve the modesty that he intended only to show to the pack. Beyond closed doors, you wanted him to shred it all only for you.

Beyond all of that, though, there’s the searing flame of possession that your wolf finds its rump sat firmly against in the calefaction of the emotion that is ablaze within you and you find that you’re willing to fuel it into a wildfire so that everyone will know that your alpha belongs to you should he wear the restored vestments that you would effortfully stitch back up with the hands that longed to caress and find themselves over his perfect aureate skin.

These are what have you promptly turn to leave with the flutter of bird’s wings beating against your bosom as you amble along in obliviousness to the pair of lupine eyes that observe you protectively in the distance.

It is only when you walk so far into the rays of the reaching sun that even your striking silhouette can no longer be beheld by them that their owner whirls around, his ears flicking toward the clang of antlers that must belong to two rearing bucks some ways off and without a moment to lose, he’s gone in the rush of the autumn leaves.

Lost in the sea of pheromones that wash over you as the spray of them pools around you while you press your nose greedily into his garment, you pay no mind to the mated alphas or betas walking about at the early hour.

What does demand your attention, however, is the sudden onset of sharp, panging pains that, with every step and breathe you take, sink their teeth deeper within the soft skin of your belly, a whimper caught in the fabric your mouth is held against as a vicious torrent of feverishness has your body temperature begin to lower without the warmth of your alpha as a vicious headache starts to pound against your cranium.

In the midst of it, your own musk pungently pervades the air only to draw the eyes of unwanted wolves to your sweet smell that is enhanced due to the starting symptoms that have already set your body off in the absence of your alpha that it pines for.

It is only when you manage to close the door to your chambers behind you, with your alpha’s clothes covetously pressed against your nose as if drunk on his ambrosial taste, that you shirk Jungkook’s furs from your body to throw them on your bed as your wolf yaps insistently to nest amongst the pelt until the scent clinging to it has rooted itself to your cot so that no part of it has gone unseeded by your alpha.

Once you’re satisfied with the assortment of dips and ripples of the blackened blanket of pelts that cover your duvet in its entirety, that’s when you lay down to nestle the furs, your baser being demanding that you lather yourself in its savory smell that you wish to soak in until you reek of your alpha.

The soft, downy pelage of the pelt caresses you against your exposed calves so very tenderly and, abruptly, the dress you wear is far too rough as it grazes against your skin in your movements as you quickly divest yourself of it. Somewhere in your maneuvers to take it off, your legs rub against each other only for you to widen both eyes at the sight that greets you.

There’s slick that all but drips from your sex and it glistens along your thighs in the thick coating that marks you there and you suck in a breath as you ascertain the afflictions your body has been wracked with.

You’ve just gone into the pre-heat acutely accompanied by a fever that every omega has intermittent interludes of upon finding their alpha.

As if to remind you of this, a sudden shiver falls over your skin in the frosted frigidity that freezes the air around you in how cold your boudoir has just become under your steadily decreasing internal temperature.

Without the physical comfort of your alpha, you whine, your fingers finding his garment that you’d thrown on the bed beside his furs to quickly lay it atop your bare bosom, your nipples hardening against the flocculent material that is softer than satin as it brushes against the sensitive buds deliciously.

You sigh shakily in satisfaction as the cloth along your chest coaxes your skin with its gentle warmth through its fibrous fingers while his furs embrace you as you silently thank your alpha for leaving such giving gifts behind to smoothly soothe you in his absence.

Your moment of respite is short lived, however, when an edged twinge of a cramp bites low into your abdomen as you grimace in pain, a fresh accretion of your juices finding your folds as you cry out the only name that could ever hope to free you from such sensations.

“Jungkook,” his name is whispered from your lips, an irrational need setting itself alight within you as the picture of your alpha half nude from the forest flashes provocatively through your mind.

He’d been so profoundly pulchritudinous under the morning rays and, with those dark eyes and wet mouth that had been so eager to welcome you to him, he’d only allured you more to him between his words of letch that had left you so parched after him. You can still imagine the way his hot tongue had laved at you, can still feel the deep press of his digit that had pushed down wantonly within your own lips as you’d sucked at it like a newborn calf.

His finger had been so obscenely long while his hands had been so lewdly lined with veins over the bones that bore so much strength and you wonder how those digits would have felt deep within your velvet depths while you ponder what those lustful lips of his would do to you if they found their rightful place along your neck. You cogitate how well his defined, chiseled body would fit against yours while he’d drive his cock without abandon into the silken home of your pussy while he’d utter lascivious indecencies to you born out of lubriciousness for you.

All of this has your hand sliding down your body without pause, your eyes closing as new need begins to burn hotly within your system in longing for your alpha.

Your fingers find your neglected bud of nerves while you imagine that it is him that stands before the legs that you spread without hesitation for him as hunger flares behind golden rises that sear cravingly into you. You envision that it is him that commands you to taint yourself this way as you breathe in the igniting incense of him that has the flint of desire smoke profusely with the heat that simmers there as he clouds your mind until there is nothing but him that lingers there.

“Touch yourself for me, pretty,” his hazily hallucinated voice demands within your mind.

Helpless to deny him even in your fantasy, you obey in the want to please him even within the imaginary realm your head concocts of him. Your brows pull together in concentration as a ring finger slips between your saturated sex to collect the slick that accumulates there before finding its place atop the neglected bundle of nerves that have been ineffective for years in relieving you of your deep desire that has only ultimately and uncontrollably grown throughout your years without the aid of the alpha that you belonged to.

Upon the first glide of a middle finger over your clit, you moan, your other hand closing compactly around the bed of furs beneath you as you envision that pink tongue of his darting delectably from his mouth to lick at his lips as he stares raptly at you before uttering,” Come on, my omega. Show me how those tiny fingers try to sate that pretty cunt that only your alpha could ever satisfy,” you imagine that he leans over you to plant two hands on either side of your hips as he sniffs, his eyes rolling back at your musk as he burrs, “Let me see how you’ve tried to give yourself the pleasure that can only be granted by the alpha you were made for, pretty.”

You shakily sigh in response in the thirst that implores the sustenance of him through another deposit of slick as one finger begins to slowly stroke your clit while your other dips between your generously wetted folds to circle and prod at the hole that woefully weeps its essence in the denial of what it craves most.

Helpless in the inability to disobey him, one digit breaches your sopping entrance while your other streaks over the bundle of nerves crowning your womanhood in a figure-eight pattern as you throw your head back while imagining that it is his lips that find your neck to leave behind marks that brand you as his.

“Gods, yes, alpha...please,” You cry out, your digits inadequate next to the ones that have sinfully set your soul alight.

Your finger sinks easily into your wet sheath as you drive it back and forth before your pace inevitably quickens, your hips pitifully trying to chase the elusive hand of pleasure as they begin to gyrate atop the bed while your other hand latches tighter onto the furs beneath you.

You envision that the mouth you wish would claim you as his travels torturously down your body until he’s peering edaciously at your glistening sex, the squelching sounds that grow louder in your fastening ministrations only beckoning him further in the drenched deposit of slick that amplifies it.

You envisage that he brings one plump lip between his teeth as he stares like a starved man at you behind eyes that glint with appetite as he hums, “Mmm, look at that cunt crying for its alpha. You really are desperate for me, aren’t you, pretty?” He lowers himself down to his knees to give you a piercingly hungry glare, “Tell me what you want, my omega, and I may be merciful and give you the release you want so badly. Obey this- obey me -and I will bring you to your end that was only ever mine to give to you, pretty.”

Your fingers hasten their movements as you bear more force down and over your rapidly engorging clit, the digit that lodges itself needlingly inside you still not enough as you whimper out, “A-ah…please, alpha. I want your mouth on me. Give me your mouth, alpha.”

The desperation for him flares as you imagine the smirk born of amusement before he descends down to your folds that shine with the sheen of your slick that has made a mess of your thighs and the bed of furs beneath you. You watch as craving of the likes in which you’ve never endured settles heavily across your abdomen only to coil tightly when, with his eyes still locked on yours, his rapturous tongue licks a long, languid stripe across the delicate skin of your inner thigh only to cause you to bite down on your tongue in effort to trap the sound of sin that yearned to escape you in the fervid felicity of that alone.

You envision your alpha lapping unmercifully at you until the only wetness draped across your thighs is his leftover saliva, your back arching with each flick of his tongue against the sensitive skin as you whine in spite of his teasing.

“Is my mouth all that you desire, pretty? I could do so much more to you with my fingers. I could fuck you so well with just my hands,” your alpha muses as one digit prods at your entrance unmercifully in the way that it nudges itself back and forth between the folds of your sex as you gasp out. It’s when he extricates it from you, with your juices still soiling his finger, that he takes it into his mouth as he groans only to have you throw your arm over your face as redness sweeps over your cheeks as you pule.

Your alpha releases his digit from his mouth with a ‘pop’ as heat winds you up when he urges, “Beg for me, my omega. Only then will I give you more. I want to see how much you need me.”

The words fall easier than the waters from a river as you visualize him smirking knowingly as he dangles your pleasure before you like bait on his hook as you babble, “Want your fingers, too, alpha. I want you to fill me up with them until I’m so full of you that I can’t think anymore. Please, Jungkook.”

Without warning, two fingers push pleasantly inside you as your mouth parts in an ‘o’ shape while your alpha licks at his lips, entranced in the sight of his fingers disappearing into your sex before he brings them backward only to bury them deeply within you again without prelude. Hot breath is blown over your pussy as he separates his digits in a scissoring motion that has your walls contracting around him as you press your lips together in effort to stifle the sounds he so easily draws out of you.

It’s when he furls his fingers inside you in a perfect motion to have your toes curling that your body trembles in the sensation, your alpha noticing this as he utters, “Take it, pretty. I know you can. You’re being such an obedient girl for your alpha. I fucking love it.”

The praise has you preening as you pant and when his tongue flattens over your womanhood to trail tortuously up so that no part of you is left untouched by him, that’s when you keen.

“Gods, you are so fucking delicious on my tongue. I could do this forever and never tire of your flavor, my omega,” you imagine that he replaces his hand with yours only to cause you to writhe when two fingers circle over your clit unrelentingly while he gives a light, chaste kiss to the innermost part of your left leg before, with lips still coated in your essence, he croons, “Because you’ve been so good in allowing your alpha to taste you, I will give you your reward, yeah?”

You hardly have time to think on the words he feeds you with before his lips are planted over your vulva, the wet muscle attached to the bottom his mouth sweeping along your slit while his thumb whorls over the bundle of nerves as his nose brushes against your clitoral hood to cause you to cry out.

“Alpha, please,“ Your voice waters down into a mewl as you envisage that Jungkook, without warning, pushes his tongue so far inside you that your eyes roll to the back of your head with a stuttered sound.

You envision that you can feel the way he grins knowingly as he watches you fall apart on him, his eyes narrowing heatedly as he plunges the appendage damningly with you as he utters, “That’s right, pretty. Call out the name of the only one who can make you feel this good. Gods, you’re so beautiful all spread out and bare for me just like you were always meant to be. Fuck, pretty.”

You do as he says, stammering out his name in labored breaths as you imagine that he thrusts his tongue into you without fail as the tip of it perfectly hits the cluster of nerves buried deep within you over and over again. Soon, your walls begin to clench tellingly around him and by this point, your knuckles have gone white with how tight you grasp the furs in the hand that you’re not using to sinfully stimulate all of this.

When you envisage that it is his fingers that splay possessively over one breast only to fondle it amongst digits that twiddle your nipple between them while he looks at you with a hooded gaze darkened only with the most carnal of desires, that’s when the coil of craving within you constricts as your alpha rasps, “You’re close, aren’t you, pretty? Fuck, when I take you, I can’t even imagine how you’re going to feel around my knot,” the last word has your walls closing threateningly around him as you moan out in the need your wolf bays at to be filled fully and completely by the only cock that you want to impel itself in your silken sheath and in response, he hisses, “What, you like that? You want my knot, pretty? You want to be bred until you’re swollen and round with my pups? Is that it, my omega?”

You nod, too far gone into your indecent illusion to care anymore as your back bows when he sucks your sex between his lips as you drawl, “Yes, alpha. Please, give it to me.”

There’s a devastating chuckle between your legs that has you trembling in anticipation and when the digits of his fingers roll your nipple between them as if he’s done this thousands of times before as he pairs it with an especially fatal propulsion of his tongue that strikes your g-spot so piercingly that it has your body convulse dangerously around it. It is only when you’re squirming that your alpha’s all-consuming irises flash commandingly as he growls, “You’ll get your fucking pups out of me only if you yield to your alpha,” he says with the eternal flames of voracity blazing through golden rises that devour you whole as he eats you like a deprived man while he professes,” Surrender to me, pretty. Submit to me and show me how bad you want your alpha.”

He pairs this with a catastrophic swipe of his tongue once, twice and three more times before you’re throwing your head back in blissful pleasure as you fall hopelessly apart while you plummet into your end that wracks you to a writhing mess atop soiled furs while your walls flutter fiercely around the two fingers you had unknowingly undulated against in your search for release.

When you extricate your digits from your body, a string of slick clings to your fingers and, longingly, you wish that it wasn’t your essence on your hand, but instead that of your mate’s.

Only your labored breaths break the silence that sets in the aftermath of your indecent deeds, your muscles aching from the awakening of new ones that have not been in use before amongst the old that have been afflicted after the strenuous strain that your alpha had wrought on your body.

It takes a few minutes to come down from your high and your headache is furiously fast in reemerging once the remnants of your climax have faded as you groan in effort to sit up. It is then that you notice the tattered trousers you’d neglected before in the ravenousness that had eaten away at you for your alpha and, with a new resolve that prickles past the prominent pounding of your head, you decide that now would be a good time to mend them so that you will have something to present to your alpha upon his return to the compound.

You stand on unstable legs that are beginning to become a familiarity to you in the wake of your alpha as you pull Jungkook’s garment over you and are completely content with the way the article of clothing covers your intimate parts as you fold it over your chest to tie it together with a silken cord that had been buried inside.

Finding your small sewing kit that you’d left abandoned in the corner of your chambers, you situate yourself along the cluster of plush pillows settled along the window seat as you set to work on fixing your alpha’s attire.

You try to mind your fingers that the needle had left you privy to numerously numbed fingers because of in the midst of the late hours of the night after stitching together the ripped remains of the clothing that the pups under your care would often tear with claws that protracted and retracted in the midst of their growing bodies.

It is a futile attempt, for the sharp spikes that shoot through your digits inflict themselves in you anyway. Your attention is far too focused not on the article of clothing, but on the one who had worn it.

You wonder what he might be doing right now and if he’s been thinking about you as profusely-or lewdly, mind you- as you have been about him, your wolf wanting to howl for him to beckon him back as you longingly caress the shredded trousers while you pine for the warmth of his skin and the radiance of his smile.

Sometime later, there’s an abrupt series of knocks at your door and you smile as you fold your finished work and place it on the table next to your window seat before rising with anticipation that energetically bounds through you.

It was time for you to be prepared and groomed so that you could be received by the alpha that no one yet knew had already staked his claim on you. Every omega went through this period before their Offering Ceremony to heighten the chances of finding them a suitable mate.

The door opens and in leaps your best friend, Niva, who was mated last spring as she happily greets, “Y/N! Are you so excited? Your time is finally here, darling!”

You laugh jovially at her energy as you easily question with mirth, “Good to see you, too, Niva. I am, very much so. Is it just going to be you that has the privilege of getting me ready?”

She enfolds you in an all-encompassing embrace and you mirror the sentiment, for it is in omegean nature to be close-knit and seek the warm arms of the dynamic that is known for their nurturing, compassionate nature.

You wrap your arms around her, but upon your best friend getting one whiff of the heavy pheromones soured by sex in every crevasse of the room, her nose wrinkles as her face twists, “Ew, Y/N, did you seriously already get bedded on the day of your ceremony? It stinks in here. Your grandmother is not going to take kindly to this. You’re supposed to be pure, remember?”

You stand back with a smile lifting at your lips, “I know very well, Niva. Have you considered,” you lift a brow, “that perhaps I am still the virgin you always like to mess with me about being and maybe that there’s an alpha who might have given me his furs so that I could have some kind of relief in his absence?”

Your best friend’s eyes widen in surprise, but that is soon replaced with a knowing glint of mischievousness in one eye as she takes in the visage of your disheveled appearance amidst the only article of clothing that is entirely too large in how it dwarfs your much smaller body as she queries, “Judging by the smell, whoever it is must be quite an alpha based on how strongly your room reeks of him. Judging by how that excuse for a shirt on you totally swallows you up, he must also be quite muscular and tall. Tell me,” she leans close, “has he touched you yet?”

Your cheeks turn red as the memories flash like moving pictures through your mind in a tale recounting what had just happened and all that had occurred before and within the greenwood.

You pull your lip between your teeth thoughtfully before you quietly admit, “In more ways than one, yes. Gods, has it been amazing, Niva. He is so…so attractively alluring in every way.”

Your best friend holds you close as she watches the emotion color your irises and, seeing that in combination with the way your very voice had lilted with the sentiments, happiness dawns on her as she cards a hand through your hair to declare, “Then I will endeavor to make you irresistible to whoever this alpha is, darling. When I’m done with you, your alpha won’t know what hit him before it’s too late.”

You blush when she calls in your other two omegean friends of whom carry a large assortment of oils, herbs and soaps before the three disappear into the lavatory through the adjoining antechamber in your boudoir to set to work on readying your bath.

You busy yourself in the meantime with thoughts filled only with your alpha despite the cacophony of chatter echoing excitedly off of the walls, your attention drawn elsewhere and when Niva comes to retrieve you, that’s when you look away from the window that you’d been trying to squint through in effort to locate your alpha that still hunts for you within the greenwood.

When you step into the copper basin that is much too large for your smaller body, the waiting waters wrap tenderly around your ailing body as the steam wafts around you in the heat of the fluid that births it. A long, drawn out breath leaves you as your tautened muscles loosen while your friends pour vial after vial of lavender, spruce and rosemary oil over you, the viscous solutions draping themselves over your skin to coax open your pores so that more of your pheromones are released to further attract prospective alphas with your scent.

Niva takes care to drizzle you in pink salt sold out of the exotic Himalayas that she’d acquired from an especially friendly merchant after being told it had the power to make the skin glow with the might of a goddess. After that, she then spritzes the waters around you with roses, passion flowers and red clover blossoms that decorate the watery landscape around you until its canvas has been painted a magnificent magenta while you’re lathered in the herbal bath, a sigh of satisfaction falling from your lips before your best friend starts her work cleaning your hair.

Usually, you would purr at the gentle glide of fingers over your scalp, but not today. Today, there’s only one pair of hands that you want on you and they are much too far away for your liking.

Once the suds of soap have been rinsed from your hair, that’s when you’re left to bask in the warm water that had been drawn especially for you, for each omega has their own variation of scents that they prefer to bedeck themselves with for their Offering Ceremony in effort to lure more alphas through an amplified air of pheromones surrounding them.

You ruminate on what Jungkook might do once he catches your naturally enhanced aroma that he’s already admitted to liking so much and, for good measure, your fingers find a floating rose and draw its soft petals over your shoulders before rubbing it along your neck.

When the water has gone cold and you’ve been immensely imbued with the essences of nature, that’s when your friends return to retrieve you from the depths of the basin that you’ve sunken into through your calming contentment.

Your hair is aired with oaken fans brought all the way from China before they twine and curl it around until it rests artfully in a braided bun along the crest of the back of your head, two twin strands nestled right in front of your ears to petitely frame your face.

You really wish that you could focus on the gossip that falls freely as leaves from the trees this time of year as they labor over you, but you can’t. Not when your head swims with thoughts only of your alpha.

Caught as you are in the tides of him that drag you along, you do not feel the bristles of a brush along your eyelids as Niva tips your head back to apply the powdery coloring that will accentuate your brilliant silver orbs before your best friend lines your lids with the blackened stick of kohl.

Even when a light smattering of the dust of crushed rose petals is painted over your cheeks, you do not look into the mirror, for your eyes are trained on the sliver of sun that begins to wane through the rays that begin to reach backward toward their parent as your wolf bays in expectancy to receive its mate.

Once Niva is done with her masterpiece, that’s when you’re made to stand and close your eyes before you’re walked over to the mirror that spans from the floor to the ceiling in the corner of your chambers as your other two friends produce the gown your grandmother had had made for you for this very day out of an ornately sealed box that had been left outside your door upon your return from the woods.

You hear the clicks of the chest that signal its opening, excitement enthusiastically running amok within you when there are three collective gasps behind you as they stare in awe at your gown.

It is lifted gingerly and delicately in its fragility and your friends help you into it slowly while slightly stiffened organza material skims your skin as it is pulled meticulously up and over your body. Once your arms have been lifted through the hollow holes and the pleated style sleeves rest atop your shoulders, that’s when the laces lining the back of the gown are pulled taut and the bodice constricts around you as you wince at the unyielding tightness that winds around your abdomen.

Once the ties to your dress have been neatly crossed over each other in a complicated complexity that you will never see, that is the moment that you hear the distinguishing groan of aged wood being opened in the form of another box. The contents within that are unknown to you, but upon the cold, heavy material that encircles your neck, you can surmise that it is a choker meant to conceal the area so untouchable to all but the alpha whose mark you would eventually bear in its stead.

Your best friend smiles fondly at her finished piece of artwork before stepping to the side to say, “Open your eyes, Y/N. It’s time for you to see how much the moon favors her most adored daughter.”

You open your eyes in questioning, but before you can turn your attention to your friend, the image in the mirror captures it first as your breath catches at the sight it bestows to you, your jaw falling open in wonderment.

Your skin all but glows under the gleam of sunlight that tries to tread over your radiance in its dimming dance as irises the color of moonlight piercingly stare back at you from under eyelids speckled with silver like the celestial body amidst the smudges of blended eyeshadow along the sides that beseech boldness in the color that matches the soils of the earth. It is set off by a cat-eye of kohl liner that is dappled thinly along the tips of your lids to demand attention in the way that it contrasts your irises. Even your lips have been streaked with the crimson of a rose to beckon beguilingly in the wish to be looked at.

Embellishing your neck is a choker made entirely of moonstone that is set between chromium on each side. Its base rests just above your collarbones and, its thickness, it extends about two inches upward to hide away your sensitive scent glands as it covers your skin.

Below that, though, that’s what really takes your breath away.

Your gown looks to have been crafted from the threads of the moon’s core in the white of it that adorns your body in its entirety. Layers of gossamer-like fabric compose your dress and set carefully between it all are specks that shine like grayed moondust in the light that glimmers off of them.

Your bodice is styled in a plunging ‘V’ that hugs your frame and is ceased only by the firm, fitted band that wraps around and hugs your middle well below your breastbone. Tied along its end is a very thin silver cord that twists into a knotted bow before your skirt loosely trails down and out, the train of it cascading like a sea behind and around you. Your arms are bare, but the sheerer and more translucent sleeves trickle over your shoulders and flow about to join the pool of fabric along your feet as you take a shaky breath.

The woman that stares back at you is one that drips with the waters of clarity in the confidence that she exudes as she stands tall and proud. She is every bit the omega you were always meant to be as she holds her head high, her hands clasped along her front as she angles her head at you to study you and you have to close your parted maw as you stare wondrously back at her, wholly unable to move at the sight of the stranger that has your body in the mirror.

When the familiar furs of your alpha are lowered over your shoulders, that’s when you look away, your irises finding Niva’s as she coos, “I don’t even think the ancient queen of the wolves could compare to you, darling. I really have outdone myself this time.”

You stutter, completely in awe of yourself as you tell her, “N-Niva…this is… how did you-“

Your best friend hushes you with a finger to her lips,” Shhh, that’s a secret, my dear. I cannot divulge my magics lest someone steal them away from me,” she teases as she puts both hands around your shoulders to encourage, “Look at yourself, my darling. You look positively radiant. Those alphas don’t stand a chance.’

You think that maybe it is all just a trick of your senses and that it is just a hallucination, for you surely can’t actually appear the way that the girl in the mirror does, right?

You find your visage once again on the mirror in an irrational need to confirm this only to widen your eyes at what greets you, for it is you that peers curiously back at yourself, your hand reaching out to run your fingers down the image of you that is set behind it.

Your friends step back from you when your hand lowers and you turn to them with joyous tears that threaten to ruin all the work they labored so much from as they quickly fan the air around you in attempt to keep them trapped within your eyes as you laugh, your arms shooting out to welcome them all in a warm embrace that you are sure to thank them incessantly within.

You enfold them in your arms until the sun’s rays strain to reach you, it’s descent into the night being announced with the raucously reverberating howl from the forest that has your blood singing in the familiarity that it is carried to you with.

It finds your ears even here and you perk up, your wolf barking in need to go and wait for the alpha that every fiber of your being tells you is near as your best friend looks to you in understanding as she says, “Go on, Y/N. Don’t worry about us. He’s waiting for you. Go to him.”

You need no further coaxing as your feet move of their volition, your fingers closing around the mended trousers while you pull the furs your alpha had given to you tight around you, for it was tradition that omegas were not to expose skin before the Offering Ceremony and to be wrapped in an outer covering that preserved their purity until they were ready to shed it upon commencement of the event and acceptance of their alpha.

The golden disk that once sat high in the sky now has dipped halfway below the horizon, but you need none of its light to locate the alpha that calls you forth as you tread tirelessly on until your nose brings you to the edge of the forest where an old trace of Jungkook still lingers.

You crouch to leave his fixed clothing by the bark of one aged tree as you walk on, narrowing your eyes as you attempt to see beyond the long line of browned stalks that stretch on as far as the eye can see.

Anticipation flaps with the fierceness of a black swan within you and when you hear the snap of a branch somewhere off to your left, you enter the thicket’s threshold without hesitation in your baser being’s need to relish in the warmth of your alpha.

The stench of death thickly layers the air as you wrinkle your nose and as you find yourself standing before the broken limb of the tree, that’s when the dark silhouette of a figure steps out from behind it.

The sun’s fading rays blind you to whoever you’ve found, but the voice that soon lathers itself all too heavily and viscously over your skin has your hair standing on end as it saccharinely presses, “Were you looking for someone? It’s okay, omega, you can tell me that you were trying to find me and profess your love to me. Everyone else does.”

You roll your eyes at his vain vanity, “Actually, Taehyung, I was just trying to find my alpha who happens to be nearby and if he finds you here, he’s not going to take too kindly to that.”

You turn away from the alpha, but Taehyung predatorily stalks after you and before you realize what’s happened, he’s in front of you to halt your movements, a twisted grin marring his features as he sniffs you, a tremor wracking his body as he does that has your blood running cold.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, omega,” he tries to reach for you and you take a step back, not wanting his odor nor his filthy touch to stain you, “See, Jeon won’t be back for some time, sweet thing. He’s still on the mountain hauling back his kills that he’ll be too late to bargain for you with.”

Your stomach drops to the recesses of your body as you try to move away from the alpha that hounds after you while your fingers tighten over the furs that cover you from his roving irises that roam all over you, your skin crawling everywhere that his attention slithers over.

In the eyes that are glazed over from the onset of a rut, there is no care there. There is only gluttonous greed that bats away anything and everything that is not you.

Your omega harks for you to submit under the alpha’s penetrating gaze, but you resist it as your own alpha’s voice traipses through your mind.

“I will not tolerate anyone that attempts to take what is mine.”

It is that thought that has you pushing past the instinct to yield to the alpha before you now as you shake your head, the surety set in your eyes amusing Taehyung as you spew its fires, “I would advise that you move away from me before you do something that you will regret. Your pack alpha has already made his claim on me and will not hesitate to punish you if you tarnish what belongs to him.”

Your defiance has the alpha’s cock harden impossibly more amidst the divine incense you emit from freshly opened pores. No omega had dared to talk back to him before and it was inebriating.

“Stars, you really are lust if it had a form, she-wolf,” the shadow convulses with dark laughter that has goosebumps growing along your skin as you back away, “Jungkook wasn’t lying when he said you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You smell sweet as fuck, too…I wonder if you taste just as good.”

Fear has your body begin to lock into place when your back nears the rough bark of a tree, “Do not do this, Taehyung. You will face wrath the likes of which you’ve never seen if you so much as lay a finger on me. I want nothing to do with you, do you understand?”

A grin curls with malicious intent along its edges as he takes a step forward until he’s only inches away from you as he taunts, “Oh? You want nothing to do with me? Perhaps you shouldn’t be striding around smelling like temptation and sex in that little dress then, huh? You omegas always have a flair for driving us crazy when you present, but fuck, Y/N, no one holds a candle to you. I think,” his eyes glint dangerously when your back hits the thick trunk of the tree, “that you should be claimed by a real alpha that can treat you better than Jeon ever could.”

“Taehyung,” you try through a dry mouth,” Stop. I don’t want this. Jungkook is the one I wish to bear the mark of, not you.”

Panic sets in and seeps icily across every vein when one hand comes to rest next to your head, his eyes burning a hole into your neck as he makes a sound of consideration, “Such a lucky happenstance that the pack alpha didn’t think to mark what was his if he didn’t wish for others to taint it.”

The alpha nears and the ache between your knuckles warrants the incoming protraction of unguis, but before they can make their appearance, there’s a raged roar born entirely of aggression that threateningly thunders through the woodland. It is stormed by the fury that is set between the crackling of claws fulminating fiercely over the trunks of trees somewhere behind you.

It takes only one inhale through your nostrils to know who has joined you, your heart pounding faster in response as your wolf cries for its mate while his scent thaws the ice within your body that Taehyung had foolishly frozen within it.

“I thought I made myself clear to you, boy,” the sound bleeds into a menacing snarl from behind you and Taehyung stops in his tracks, seized as he is by the overpowering command of the alpha ranked higher even than him as Jungkook’s brooding aura pierces him like an icicle in the coldness of the familiar voice,” She’s mine. I would advise you back the fuck away from my mate before I do much worse to you than break both of your arms the last time you felt it wise to try to fucking disobey me.”

In the chill of the frigid air that has his beast wanting to tuck its tail between its legs, Taehyung tries to ignore it as he dissentingly jeers, “Is she yours? Unfortunate that I don’t see your mark on her then, pack alpha,” Taehyung sneers, his eyes still settled on yours, though your attention is far from him at this point as you stare longingly towards the origin of where nails scrape furiously into the skins of the trees as he dares to challenge, “You are not the only wolf that thirsts for a she-wolf as parching as this one, Jeon. I could get drunk off her scent alone and you expect me to just sit back and allow you to take such an appealing aperitif away from me? Sorry, but I want to taste her myself and there’s nothing that you can do to-“

The rest of whatever the younger alpha had been wanting to say never makes it past the confines of his mouth, for there’s a blur of golden skin that flashes before you and suddenly, Taehyung has been launched several feet into the air only for his spine to collide into the back of an old, stocky evergreen tree.

The bark screams against the contact in the deafening series of snaps as the foolish alpha is slammed so forcefully into it that, like an arrow, his body shoots cleanly through the aged integument as the oaken pillar that has been broken in half falls to the forest floor with a thud.

Golden irises find you under their attention as your alpha steps from behind you, your blood warming at his heated touch when he grasps your chin between his fingers to assess you for damage before laying his forehead against your own as you reach out for him, the pads of your fingers lightly trailing tenderly along his jawline as you quietly whisper,” Alpha.”

Jungkook nuzzles you protectively before he rumbles out, “My omega. Did he hurt you? Did he touch you?”

He’s like a furnace in the way that his skin is calefied with the intensity of the sun and you purr when he nudges at your neck as your palm finds its place where his heart beats like a drum against you as you tell him, “No, Jungkook. With you around to keep me safe, he never got that far. He was about to, but you didn’t let him, my alpha.”

Your alpha bristles at that, his irises dimming in light of your admission as he growls, “He nearly did. He would have if I hadn’t come when I did. I sensed your scent souring and it led me here. Had I been just a bit later, I nearly would have lost what was mine,” you watch in awe how his canines draw themselves out of his gums, captivated by the way that they lengthen and grow in size until they protrude out of his mouth in their large size that is much more massive than the average alpha as he pulls away from the nook in your neck to lay a callused palm along your jaw as he utters, “I need you to stay here for me, pretty. That fucking fool needs to be reminded of who is in charge here and I intend to jog his pitiful memory so that he never forgets it.”

He draws away entirely too soon as you whimper in his absence and you, with your eyes magnetized only for him, observe with interest the way that he strides heavily and imposingly through the cluster of trees to bear down upon the collapsed body that is a mess of tangled limbs under the broken arm of the oak he’d been forcefully thrown against.

Your alpha’s hair falls wildly over his face and, in the waning light of the sun, his eyes bear down balefully over the younger alpha as he stands nude save for the mended article of clothing covering his lower half that you had dutifully brought for him.

Fury is palpable in the way that it looms like a shadow off of Jungkook, in the way that it clings to his every muscle when he snaps with glistening incisors at the downed alpha as he seethes, “It seems that you’ve lost sight of who is at the top of the food chain, boy,” Your alpha towers intimidatingly over Taehyung, who hisses at him, “The one on top gets the pick of the fucking litter and that, Taehyung, has never been you. I am your pack alpha and I am the only wolf that can command all of you alphas beneath me. It’s time that I discipline you to make you aware of that fact.”

You hardly have time to process the popping sound of bones before your alpha has lodged five razor-edged, serrated claws deep into the recesses of Taehyung’s left shoulder as the younger alpha yowls out in pain that can be heard miles away in its dismal din.

Your alpha marvels at the crimson fluid that stains him as the red tears of Taehyung’s wounds pool around your alpha’s digits only to trickle sadly downward until they are one with the earth.

Jungkook snarls forbiddingly when Taehyung squirms underneath him to hound out, “What happened to that mouth you like to fucking flap all the time? Too scared now to use it, boy?” Your alpha leans forward with anger flashing in his eyes, “I would suggest that you don’t fuck with me again, little wolf. You’re going to get much more than the fucking claws next time should you be foolish enough to try.”

Your alpha draws his other arm back, your eyes widening in the darkness that is settling its dark shroud over him.

Before another set of claws can embed themselves within the younger alpha, you call for your own and through the cloak of negative emotion that has begun to suffocate him, your voice slips between it to caress the ire of his baser being.

When your smaller fingers enclose around the wrist of his bloodied hand, you gently coax his claws out of Taehyung, who crumples atop of the brambles along the woodland with a thump as you press yourself to your alpha’s back to offer with a soft voice, “Come back to me now, alpha. Your mate does not wish to see you so wracked by your fury. You’ve made your point clear to both him and to me.”

Jungkook inhales deeply only for his muscles to loosen while your sweet scent laces itself around him as he turns to utter, “My omega, it is because of my mate that I must resort to the animal within me,” You watch as the dark emotion recedes slowly from his irises as he imbibes you, entirely too parched of you for so long as an emotion you’ve yet to understand intensifies in its wake when he confesses, “I can hardly help that when you beckon me so, pretty.”

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ghostofbambifanfiction · 3 years

Text

Part 1 of ?????

Started writing this fic a while ago and then lost faith in it. Should I continue? Feel bad for not posting much lately so I thought I'd share this. Read on and weigh in.

COME OUT TONIGHT

You don't have to fucking shout?

Said the pot to the kettle?

Oh you grandmother The caps were an accidental by-product of voice-to-text Blame Siri if you're going to blame anyone

You have a Samsung Galaxy S20.

HAD. It got smashed. Worst luck. Listen, come out with me tonight.

Urghhhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm tired!

https://www.boots.com/wellness/vitaminsandsupplements/vitamins-supplements-shop-by-ingredient/echinacea

Hah (indifferent)

Just come out with me! Isaac has to go see some godawful student performance of the Antigone in wherever the fuck Chichester is and it's Sirius's flatmate's birthday party so I have to go and I don't know any of his weird mates

You don't HAVE to go.

Have to/want to Semantics

I'm not in a birthday party mood. I'm having a stressful week. My arse has been tense since Tuesday.

I will wade into the deep and massage your arse if I have to, just come It's a swank pad in Belgravia! I bet they'll have all sorts of expensive nibbles!

I read that as expensive nipples.

Those too!

Partying it up with the children of wealthy Tories. Sounds super fun.

Just come out with me, for fuck I'll pick you up at 7 and we can steal their silverware if it's boring as the grave

URGH I'll go but I'm NOT dressing up!

You don't have to dress up!

FINE!

take the drawings down please i'm begging you i'm actually begging you

Nah mate

siriusssssssss pleeeeeease

Nah

PLEASE

Nah

PLEASE ffs it's MY birthday!!!! there are going to be PEOPLE there! standing around! AT EYE LEVEL

I don't see what the problem is.

EVERYONE will see what the problem is! they literally will not be able to IGNORE what the problem is!

Sounds like a recipe for lively discussion to me tbh

that is NOT what i want people talking about at my birthday!

If I take them down, I'll have to take all the nails out and that'll leave nail marks all over the walls. It would be unsightly.

MORE UNSIGHTLY THAN YOUR DICK, SIRIUS?

My dick is bewitching.

DIE

She walks in expecting to find herself the infiltrator of a Made in Chelsea/Royal Ascot/Henley Regatta netherworld, filled with a gaggle of giggling, SW-postcode socialites wielding suspiciously powder-edged Harrods Amex cards in the place of horses and boats, but that's not what actually greets her on the other side of the lacquered front door.

What greets her is really quite ordinary.

Aside from the naked drawings of Kingsley's mate, which aren't.

Otherwise, the whole affair is pretty relaxed. People her age are clustered in their small groups, swigging beers. There's a table of oven-heated party foods, salty snacks and rapidly depleting ramekins of guac. She spies more band shirts than there are dress shirts. There's a round of Fortnite in full swing on the TV.

It's all just...startlingly normal. A normal birthday party.

And that's sort of embarrassing, really.

Where are all the visible Tory toffs, she wonders? Where is the braying laughter? The Eton alumni reunion? The glimpse of hunting-happy tweed and shotgun barrels as a coat cupboard door swings shut? Where's the indelible air of sneering superiority, of "we're richer and more privileged and better than you, so fuck the NHS and death to foxes!" that she'd been expecting? There's a fucking Henry Hoover in the corner of the hall, for Christ's sake. Lily came here to smile through her teeth at them all, to listen to the champagne problems privilege that bubbled from their lips and tell herself that she was the one who knew better, who thought better. Her plain white tee and skinny jeans and scuff-toed, high-top trainers were supposed to be a statement, a subtle setting-apart, but she's not even the most underdressed person in the room.

She pre-judged a house full of people. What's that about?

There's a lesson to be found in this. Perhaps.

James covered all of the dicks in Paw Patrol stickers that he bought from the newsagent on his way home from his mum's, but Sirius peeled them all off while he was taking a soothing lavender bath, so what's the bloody point in birthdays anyway?

It's early in the evening, and he's wedged—against his will—between the dining room bar and Shane Ruttle, who has just pointed at one of the many lamentable dicks and asked, "Is this one of yours?" which James kind of wants to thump him for. It's bad enough that he looks like a madman who stuffed his house with naked drawings of his brother, now people are actually assuming that he drew the damn things, even though most of the compositions are appallingly far beneath his skill level. He's a professional illustrator, for the love of god, and Shane is really standing before him like the posturing prick he is, asking him if he's the one who drew Sirius with one arm disproportionately longer than the other.

He knows that he should cheer up.

It is his birthday. There is cake.

Good cake, too, not the kind that gets buried in too-thick fondant that he has to pick off before he can eat what's underneath.

The problem is, there's also a party, and his friends are his friends, Peter and Sirius included, and Peter and Sirius can both get drunk much faster than James can. When Peter and Sirius get drunk, serious injuries tend to follow, Remus tends to fuck off in a flash and James tends to be the one who calls for an ambulance or mothers them back to health—physical, mental or otherwise. He has just turned twenty-six, and these repeated, drunkenly dramatic medical emergency scenes are starting to wear a little thin.

Can't a man get comfortably drunk and have a laugh at his own birthday party?

No, he can't, because Peter's already halfway to trashed, wobbling unsteadily towards the French doors that lead to the terrace, wearing that look on his face that says I'm definitely going to vomit or maybe even shit myself like I did on that one night we all spent in Munich with the Belgian handball team and the creepy tour guide who couldn't keep his sleazy hands to himself. For the sake of sparing the lawn such a punishment, James hastily removes himself from Shane, grabs Peter by the collar, shoves him in the direction of the downstairs loo and retreats to the safety of the living room, where there are, at least, no naked drawings of Sirius gracing the walls.

Most of the people in here are transfixed by Saffy Stephens, who is down to the last three in her Fortnite game and cursing like a sailor, but there are a small pile of birthday cards on the end table where James and Sirius normally keep their keys. He perches on the sofa arm, sets his half-drunk beer bottle on the carpet, pushes his dark, disheveled hair away from his forehead and begins leafing through them. It's a necessity when one lives with Sirius, who thinks nothing of swiping gift cards when the mood strikes him and he's had enough to drink.

They're mostly from his female friends, and all pretty standard, until he reaches the middle of the pile and finds a card bearing a picture of a moustached tabby and the caption: Have a Purr-fect Birthday!

The inscription inside is written in a lovely, swirling hand.

To Jasper/Jack/Jason/maybe Ja Rule?/J-something idk

(see above: everything I've learned about you from the friend* I came here with, verbatim)

(*who can't remember your name)

Happy Birthday! Thank you for (not) specifically inviting me, a stranger, to your party to celebrate this momentous event in your life. Please enjoy this festive card/social nicety/convention from me to you. My friend brought rum which you may prefer.

I'll be around. Not that you'll know.

James lowers the card and twists on the sofa arm at once, eyes darting around the room in search of its author, as if they might be laying in wait to watch him read it and see how he reacts. Nobody appears to have ducked behind the couch, however, so the situation merits further scrutiny.

Obviously, he needs to meet this person.

A mystery! At his birthday party!

He perks right up after that.

She's coming out of the downstairs loo when a short, blonde man in a garish Hawaiian shirt barrels past her and pukes all over the chequerboard tiled floor, narrowly missing her jeans.

"Oh no," he moans into his wet hands. "Oh no—"

"There there, mate," says Lily consolingly, never one to judge somebody for getting drunk early at a party. She pats him on the back before squeezing past him and rejoining Kingsley, who is standing in one of this meandering Georgian house's many hallways, chatting to a bloke in a houndstooth sweater vest and holding two glasses of something very, very sparkly that she must try at once.

"It's like...it's like everything and nothing at the same time," Houndstooth Bloke is saying when Lily draws close, gesturing to a huge canvas painting of a rain-soaked fairground at night.

"Is it?" Kingsley asks.

"Mmm. Very." Houndstooth shakes his shoulders like he's slipping out of a robe. "Meant to be esoteric, I suppose."

That sounds suspiciously like pretentious bullshit to Lily, who doesn't find the concept of a merry looking fairground all that difficult to absorb. Kingsley knows more about the art world than she does, but he must agree with her assessment because he grunts and shoves her glass into her hand when she stops beside him, and more roughly than she deserves, as if she's the one who landed him in this mess of a conversation to begin with.

Trust him to find himself stuck with the only dick (not etched by a 4B Steadtler graphite pencil) in the building, and trust her to be stuck with the person who got himself stuck with King.

"What are we talking about?" she asks brightly, just to fuck with him.

"Drink your champagne, there's a good little hen," King mutters, his teeth clenched together, hallway lights bouncing off the smoothly waxed dome of his bald head.

"We've been discussing this piece." Houndstooth nods to the painting, but his limpid eyes narrow on Lily's face. "Christ, you're very redheaded, aren't you?"

It's decided. She'll wait 'til Houndstooth is drunk and trip him up with Henry Hoover's hose.

"Ergo soulless, yes," she agrees.

"And you...enjoy that?" he asks, as if being redheaded is her profession.

"Very much, thanks."

"Hmmp. Well. I came here with Saffron," he announces, pronouncing it Sef-ron. As if Lily is supposed to know who that is. "Platonically, of course. Actually, we're some sort of cousins, I think. What do you think the artist is trying to convey?"

He's very pointedly asking her, so Lily blinks at the painting, her eyes on the outstretched arm of a child on the carousel.

"I like the pretty colours," she decides aloud.

"Right," says Houndstooth, "but that's not—"

"And the lights, too. The lights are really pretty."

"But—"

"I love funfairs, actually," she brightly continues, finding a strange satisfaction in playing dumb in front of Houndstooth and his overbleached fade. Although she does really like the colours. "Haven't been to one in years!"

"Yes, good, whatever, but what is the artist trying to convey?"

"What artist?" comes a voice from behind them.

Lily glances over her shoulder and finds herself looking up at the man whose penis she's spent the past thirty minutes avoiding eye contact with, though he is taller, better proportioned and infinitely more beautiful than any of those crudely drawn depictions could possibly convey. He is also beplumed and bejewelled like a pirate, wearing a sumptuous velvet jacket over a loose white shirt, numerous rings on his fingers and an assortment of silver chains around his slender neck, while his grey eyes and elegantly high-set cheekbones are framed by a tumble of black hair that genuinely looks like silk.

The man is so beautiful, in fact, that Lily immediately wonders why he's been taking sketches home from the life drawing class that he and Kingsley pose for—hence their acquaintance and Lily's presence at this party—when nothing she's seen tonight has done him any justice.

Most happily, his penis is tucked safely out of sight.

"Alright, Sirius?" says King.

"Alright, Marvel?" Sirius claps a hand to the taller man's massive shoulder. Kingley's muscles bulge in a way that cannot be hidden by modern habiliments. "What are we talking about?"

"Not much." Houndstooth looks put out by the arrival of yet another person. "We were just mesmerised by this piece."

Lily refrains from gesturing to the painting with both hands and a "ta-dah!" choosing instead to sip her champagne.

It's very good champagne. Mmm. Yes.

"Oh, yeah, it's really something," Sirius agrees. He brushes past Kingsley and runs a finger over the illegible squiggle of a signature on the canvas. His nails are beautifully manicured. "Local guy, young up-and-comer. I assume you've heard of Algernon?" he asks Houndstooth, fixing him with a steely-eyed stare.

"Er, yes." Houndstooth's gaze slides from Sirius to the painting. "I know him."

Sirius's eyebrows lift. "Know him personally?"

"Well—"

"That's so weird, I heard he never speaks to people."

Houndstooth chews on the inside of his cheek, weighing up the challenge. "How…funny."

"Funny?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, I know I've spoken to him before, and since you've bought his painting I assumed that you'd have—"

"That is funny, actually," Sirius interrupts, "because the artist is my brother, and Algernon is the name of his cat."

Kingsley has been tugging on his earring and almost rips it out of his ear as his body convulses, champagne spraying from his nostrils, while an alarming red flush sweeps across Houndstooth's face and he begins to sputter on his own self-importance. Sirius has clearly decided that he's done with all of that noise, however, because he turns back to Lily instead, looking her up and down with great and sudden interest.

"Who's this then?" he asks Kingsley, cocking his head to one side. "James's present?"

The champagne glass swings down and Lily fixes him with a deadpan stare. "Excuse me?"

Sirius slants a grin at Kingsley, a quick flash of teeth. "This one's queenly, isn't she?"

Kingsley wipes his nose with the back of his hand and laughs again. "Hardly."

"This is Primark, mate," Lily retorts, tugging on her t-shirt.

"Queenliness is a state of mind," says Sirius, "not a state of wardrobe."

"You had me marked down as a prostitute not ten seconds ago."

"Oh, that. I was only joking," he sighs, and grips her arm at the elbow, his long fingers cool against her skin. "But still, you're far too attractive to stand here talking to this clown. Come with me and I'll find you someone better."

James's friends are useless.

And drunk. Useless and drunk—or sort of drunk, in Saffy's case. Remus is certainly already pissed, but Remus is on meds so often that he drinks but once in a blue moon. One cocktail is usually enough to set him off, and he's been hard at the gin since he turned up with Peter at six.

"I don't know anyone with those initials," Saffy declares, once she has read, examined and even sniffed the birthday card for clues. "Except for Lisa Edelstein."

"Who's Lisa Edelstein?"

"Cuddy from House," says Remus, lowering the negroni from which he has been drinking deeply.

James pulls a face. "What the fuck is a Cuddy?"

"Oh, actually, it could mean le?" Remus suggests.

"Yes!" Saffy points at him like he might be onto something. "Like the French word for the?"

"Exactly, like—"

"It doesn't mean that!" James interrupts, unwilling to allow such profanity in his home. "That doesn't make sense, why would somebody sign their name as the?"

"Now you're asking me to explain how French people think?" says Saffy derisively, adjusting her bra strap beneath that burnt orange waistcoat she loves, the one that makes her look like she's directing a pornographic movie in the 70s when she pairs it with her tortoiseshell-framed aviators. It clashes wildly with her electric blue buzz-cut. "Am nooooo drunk enough for that."

"They could be one of those one word moniker pop stars, I suppose," Remus pipes up, smiling slyly. "You know, like Madonna?"

They think James doesn't realise that they're taking the piss out of him, but neither of them are sober enough to attempt their gambit with any kind of subtlety or grace.

"You know that's actually her real Christian name?" says Saffy.

Remus turns towards her with interest. "What, Madonna?"

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Saffy repeats. "I thought it couldn't possibly be her real name because, I mean, Madonna, yeah? But then I looked it up and apparently that's the name her mummy gave her, just goes to show—"

"I'm sorry," James interrupts, "but is Madonna relevant to this conversation?"

"Yes, always," says Saffy.

"She's an international pop megastar," Remus seconds.

James stares at his friend incredulously. "Drinking really chips away at your wit, y'know?"

"Does it?" Remus grins lazily and jiggles his cocktail in the air. "Oh, well, I'm negronly joking."

Saffy does a spit-take without the spit and clings helplessly to Remus's shoulder as she laughs, knees buckling, bangles tinkling, but James fights his own urge to start snickering.

"It's not that funny," he lies, and Remus eyes him with an alarmingly teacher-like shrewdness, despite the tellingly intoxicated flush that has crept into his thin, freckled face.

James's love of puns is tragically well known.

"You didn't get it." Remus points at his drink. His speech is starting to slur. "This is a negroni, what I said was—"

"Yeah, I got that part, I just—"

"Jesus fuck, look at her!" Saffy suddenly hisses, staggering sideways into Remus and sending him into the wall in a flurry of giggles—Remus giggling?—her voice hushed and urgent. "Who the hell is that?!"

James does look, following the direction of Saffy's gaze. Sirius has just entered the living room, casually clutching the elbow of a……

……goddess.

An actual. Like. Goddess.

A goddess. In James's house. In his living room. In the place where he eats his chocolate boulder cereal and rewatches Scrubs (even season 9, which is hilarious, and very unfairly disparaged by Joe Public) on Saturday mornings.

She's a goddess. A real one, and cleverly disguised as a mortal, sure, with her slouchy white t-shirt and her big hoop earrings and her light blue jeans that are torn at the knees, wearing her shoulder-length red hair half up, half down and slightly messy, but that doesn't hide what she is.

"Oh my god," he murmurs. His heart is pounding all of a sudden, which is so...utterly bloody stupid, but Saffy's right, bloody look at her, Jesus fuck.

"Surely she can't be with Sirius?" Saffy murmurs back.

"No, she—" He watches Sirius lean down to mutter something in the redhead's ear. A ghost of a laugh flits across her beautiful face. "She's not his—he isn't—"

"D'you think—"

"No, I—"

"Good," says Saffy firmly. She lets go of Remus and rises, lengthening her spine. It is a battle stance of some sort, presumably. "Because I saw her first."

"No!" James cries, wounded, and the redhead shoots him a curious look with a pair of eyes that are startlingly emerald green, even from all the bloody way over here. He spins to face Saffy and lowers his voice, face burning. "It's my house!"

"What are you arguing here, ownership rights?"

"No but it—it's my birthday!" James retorts, jabbing at his own chest. "And, actually, and—"

"It's in the bloody post!"

"—you didn't get me a present!" he finishes in triumph, not that he knows what he's arguing for, because the likelihood is that his tongue will glue itself to the roof of his mouth if he even dares to look in her direction one more time. "Plus I set you up with Vanya Petrich, with whom, as I recall, you enjoyed four years—"

"Stop throwing that in my face!"

"—four blissful years—"

"Is it my fault that you've never fancied any girl I've set you up with?!"

"—promised me an Easter ham for setting you up with her and I never got it—"

"So now you'll trade a woman for a ham?" Saffy accuses, though her face is too lit up, her brown eyes too crinkled at the corners—she's having fun with this and she isn't going to fool him and she knows it. "That's so low, even—"

"Don't start with that," James scathingly cuts in. "You offered me Sean Connery's autograph for Bonnie Grogan's number—"

"Which you never gave me!"

"Because you forged the bloody signature!"

"And now she's bloody married!"

"Yeah, well, Isabella wouldn't give me a counterfeit present, would she?" he retorts, and Saffy lets her shoulders drop, smirking. "This is pointless, Saf, we can't—"

"She's just left with Sirius," Remus informs them, and burps.

#Jily #Part 1 #Of 3?#Honestly I just wanted to give you guys a treat

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wandsandwheezes · 4 years

Text

Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH1

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff.

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London's best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

He was giving you that look. not the look, that look - the one that told you to stop doing what you were doing. It wasn't often that you'd layer it on thick for the press, making sure that you're giggling as you press your hand to his chest. With each flash of a picture you make sure you're striking a different pose. It was hard work being a liar, but it was even harder work without the publicity you gained.

Your Publicist Cheryl or 'cherry' as she begged you to call her, had devised her own scheming plan to generate not only some amazing press for you, a well established quidditch player, but also some well-needed hype and sales for Fred Weasley's shop. After all, it's not every day that London's best quidditch player was dating Infamous Fred Weasley, Gryffindor Star beater and all-in-all stellar man. The plan had been well and truly in action for just over four months, With Fred the main face of the shared brand with his brother George, it felt like the best option according to Cherry.

You were leaning into Fred, answering press questions about the latest win, how you were feeling about the upcoming game and, of course the all too regularly asked update on the relationship. You were 'very happy with a man like Fred', he was smiling down at you, gushing sappily "She may be the best Seeker in the game, but my god is she a keeper." The line made you sick to your stomach, When Cherry had pitched it to you both, you were groaning in disgust, but as she pulled the lollipop from her bright red lips with a pop, staring at you with raised eyebrows, you knew it had to be done.

As the interview began to wrap up, you thanked the photographers and journalists, grabbing Fred's hand and interlocking your fingers with a beaming smile, you made sure the cameras could see, after all the last issue of the Daily Prophet branded it as a 'winning smile'. You were escorted away from the press, once out of sight from them, your hand dropped from Fred's grip. "Well done for not making that so not obviously fake." you quipped at him, going to pull your coat on and check your phone for any messages. He laughed, imitating your voice, "Oh, Fred, you're so handsome, won't you just kiss me right now?" You scoffed, throwing your bag over your shoulder. Your phone had three messages when the screen had lit up, your stomach feeling like it had butterflies when you noticed the name.

>> Do I get to see my beautiful girl later?

>> I got your favourite for dinner.

>> I miss your lips already

You felt like the luckiest girl alive in his presence, he made you feel like a princess - a queen even, with every night you spent with him. It all started at Hogwarts for you two, after all, It's not often you get to see the best Slytherin seeker and the Gryffindor star beater together. It really wasn't often because you'd been hiding your relationship for that long. He taught you quidditch skills that got you to where you are today during late, late night practices, often ending with makeout sessions on the grass as you straddled his hips,giggling into the bitter Scottish air.

You fell in love with George Weasley as a teenager, and for 6 years you had kept your relationship a well-guarded secret. Even through the war, you kissed each other goodbye, praying that it was only a see you later. You knew that one day you would marry the gorgeous man you loved so dearly. You tried to persuade Cherry, who had and still has no clue about your true relationship status, for it to be George you had a public relationship with, but she quickly shut the idea down because George was 'too quiet'.

<< I miss you so much Georgie… heading back to the shop with fred now

<< btw I'm staying over tonight, I won't suffer another night without kisses :'((

>> Just kisses? ;)

<< Shut up.

<< I love you xx

>> I Love you too, babygirl xx

>> Daddy can't wait to see you <3

George stood lazily, arms draped over the balcony as he was smiling down at his phone like a muppet. He was so head over heels with you that he wasn't sure what to do with himself. George wasn't mad that you had to fake date his twin, after all, he'd rather it be Fred than some random quidditch man, or worst of all, Krum. He knew and recognised how important it was to your career plus, what good businessman turns down the opportunity to rake in some sales? It hurt to read the papers sometimes, seeing how much attention you both got together, a part of him wished it was he who got to show you off.

When you entered the shop, you caught George's eyes immediately, a bashful smile spread across your face, immediately feeling like a schoolgirl again in his presence. Fred sulked off to his office, leaving you to browse the shop until your driver arrived to take you to team practice. You were browsing the upper back wall of products when you felt his stare on you, he was meters away from you and you ached to draw him in for a kiss. You reached out to him, making the grabby hands that he couldn't resist, he checked over his shoulder, seeing nobody, before waking over to you, he pulled you into a quick and needy kiss by your neck, his other hand finding your hip.

"I'll be home after practice," you mumbled between kisses. It was common for you to travel to his via floo, arriving at the place you truly called home, leaving a vacant and empty flat behind. He shook his head, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. "Too long to wait," he laughed softly, his lips pressing to yours again, you were just about to deepen the kiss when you heard Cherry yell out, "Y/N let's go or you'll be late for practice!" You sighed, leaving your boyfriend behind, fingertips being the last thing to separate as you walked away, leaving him dumbfounded.

Practicing with your team was always a long, tough grind, your captain worked you hard and she knew it was all for the best, she was due soon to step down from her duty as captain, leaving the team in your hands, so you felt like you were learning double constantly. The warm water running down your skin made you crave George's touch even more, pushing the thought of Fred's hand on your hip out of your mind completely, you simply couldn't wait.

When you arrived home, George, as promised had your favourite dinner ready for you. He was an amazing chef, using muggle techniques and tools to help create the perfect dishes without the need for magic. You shrugged off your jacket and bag, relaxing into the dining table chair as George brought out your bowl, his hands were massaging your shoulders as you ate, "Aren't you gonna eat, Georgie?" you questioned him, he smirked, "I've been waiting for you to get home so I could have my favourite." George was on his knees, hands reaching up to pull down your leggings, you lifted your hips up, allowing him to drag the material down each of your legs, hooking them over his shoulders,

You knew exactly what he was doing, your hands found his hair and he tutted, breath fanning over your pussy as he looked up at you. "I made your favourite for you, Princess, You always liked it when we eat together." His tongue darted out to lick over your covered slit, feeling you already wet through your underwear, he hummed in appreciation, his teeth pulling the material to the side before attaching his lips to your clit.

Every time he hummed against you, it made you shake, the task of eating dinner becoming more and more strenuous, as you struggled to swallow down the food while he was pulling such sinful moans from you. George's skilled tongue was fucking your cunt, swallowing everything he could like it was the last meal he'd ever eat, and godric did he think you tasted divine, his thumb came up to circle your clit slowly, bringing you closer and closer to the ege.

Thing is with George, he doesn't stop till he's got what he wanted. "Finish your dinner, baby," he smirked, a long finger slowly teasing your entrance, "I'm not finished until you are too." he was a determined man, by your second orgasm you could hardly hold up your fork, but nevertheless you soldiered on, managing to swallow the last piece just before number three hit, your legs were shaking and you were moaning incoherent sentences. That was possibly the best meal of your life, your weak legs could hardly hold you up when you tried to stand.

George pulled you up into his arms, carrying you to the bed where he found your favourite shirt of his, helping you change into it, he left to make you a cup of tea, bringing it into the bedroom for you. sitting contently beside each other.

George's phone buzzed on the side, he read the message from fred. Laughing before showing it to you, the irony all too funny for him to resist.

>> George, if only you had to do this… Fancy swapping places at the product launch on Saturday?

<< Love to, but I'm not sure that's how the whole twin thing works.

>> With an ass like hers, I don't mind it too much… shame, she seems like your type.

The last text from him made george both laugh and be angry at him sexualising his girl. You laugh, pressing a soft kiss to your boyfriend’s jaw before taking a sip of your tea, "He doesn't know George."

He hums a little bit before typing a reply.

<< It really is a shame, she does have a nice ass.

You scoff, rolling your eyes - Men.

///TO BE CONTINUED/// Chapter Two >>>>>

Taglist // @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @whiz-bangs78 @weasleysflowr @vogueweasley @minty-malfoy @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @rip-us @witch-and-a-half @sarcasticallywitty15 @pandaxnienke @loony-loopy-lupinn

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #fred and george #george weasley fic #harry potter #mutuals innit #weasley twins #fred weasley #harry potter fic #fred weasley x reader #george weasley fluff #george weasley smut #harry potter smut #harry potter writing #Fake It Fic

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