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writefightandflightclub · 3 years

Note

I really enjoyed your Nathan fluff 🥺 we love this angry peach fuzz king 👑💖 would you ever write him being comforted after having a nightmare? 💕

First of all, LOL @ “angry peach fuzz king” 🤣🤣🤣

Second of all, here you go! 🧡 I will warn you - I think I forgot the fluff a little bit though. It became more hurt / comfort? More angst than expected? It ends nicely though and comfort is given to Nathan - but only after I’ve subjected him to rattling around in his own head and house for a bit.

Through the looking glass (Nathan Bateman x GN!reader)

Summary: Nathan has nightmares after The Incident. After so long alone, he doesn’t realise how badly he needs a little comfort - and maybe he doesn’t believe that he deserves it.

Author’s note: hopefully this isn’t too similar to All Better. I know they both take place post-stabbing, but I tried to give this a different focus. I know I could have made the nightmares based off of anything given the ask, but this timeline / focus seemed most sensible to explore the character.

Warnings: nightmares following traumatic incident (a stabbing); mentions of blood and injury - not graphic. Self-harm (punching the bag until injury); Body horror if you squint (some gruesome descriptions occurring in-dream, but fairly abstract); swearing; implied alcoholism recovery if you squint; mentions of therapy; Nathan mildly injured in fic; reader offering comfort.

Rating: MATURE for themes mentioned above.

GIF: by @santiagogarcia (this whole gifset is magic- check it out + reblog!)

Nathan wakes up breathless, plastered to the covers by a sheen of sweat - and not in a good way. On instinct, or out of habit by now, or maybe somewhere between the two, his palm slides over his body to the site of the wound.

He is so slick that he half-believes he is soaked with dank, deep blood again, until his fingers trace over nothing more than a half-concave, half-ridged scar. The lack of searing pain is the next point of evidence leading him towards an alternative conclusion. He’s not dying (again).

It’s just another gruesome nightmare.

Although… there is nothing “just” about it.

The nightmares are pretty brutal. Brutal enough for him to wake with ragged breaths and a hammering heart, his sheets dampened and coiled up around him. Enough that it takes effort to sift through the layers of terror and distinguish reality.

With what can only be described as a whimper, Nathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bringing himself into a seated position and bracing his head in his hands until his racing heart levels.

In his mind, he’s telling himself to be logical about this. That Ava hasn’t truly arrived to finish the job she started; but logic is not the safe haven it used to be.

She could come back.

She’s still out there, somewhere, and Nathan distinctly got the impression, last time, that she was vehemently not a fan of him.

His hand trembling, Nathan reaches for the glass of water by his bedside, glugging it down so eagerly it spills into his bushy beard.

Since the… accident? Malfunction? Functioning just fine, actually? Failed experiment? Greatest achievement known to man? Attempted murder? (Truth be told, Nathan isn’t quite sure what to call it, so he simply calls it The Incident.)

Since The Incident, Ava has begun to regularly visit him in his sleep.

The visitations are not waning with time. In fact, they are happening more often, not less. They are happening more since you moved into the house.

It’s a bad fucking time to have quit drinking.

You’d been sent by the board. Something about Nathan taking “tortured genius” a slice too literally. Something about him being in isolation too long and needing another human around in the compound.

Well, that’s not technically true, is it? The shit all started when he opted to get social, after all.

Fucking Caleb.

Before that, he was doing just fine.

Nathan doesn’t like it at all - having you here. Being watched. Observed. Having someone monitoring his actions. Waiting for him to either fuck up or prove himself.

Ironic really, considering where he kept Ava. The experiments he ran on her.

She’d probably find it poetic, if she could truly understand such a concept.

At the thought of her, Nathan physically shudders, and reaches for an old vest to haphazardly mop the excess sweat from his skin. Then, he balls up a change of clothes and tracks nude to his wet room, feeling relief as the luke warm water sluices over his skin.

He watches himself in the mirror as he stands there naked. It’s not a vanity thing - at least not any longer. These days, he examines the way his form has changed since it happened. He lost some of his muscle and bulk during recovery, whilst unable to exercise, his arms slightly smaller and his abs softer. His stomach a little more rounded.

There’s also the puckered scar, of course - that permanent reminder of where he was skewered through the chest like a piece of kebab meat.

His gaze travels up over his body, until his eyes settle on his still haunted face. He doesn’t have his glasses on, and somewhere between the blurred vision, misted mirror, clouding steam and sluicing water, his reflected face distorts. It transforms - for the briefest of moments - into her.

Still amped with adrenalin from his harsh awakening, this briefest flash sends a surge of panic zipping through Nathan’s chest, his heartbeat racing so hard he can feel the pounding of blood in his ears.

Fuck, he curses, reaching his arms out to brace himself against the shower wall above him, his body trembling and his head dipping down between the cradle of his broad shoulders as his legs threaten to buckle.

He turns the water cold, until it is practically glacial and thundering on to the back of his neck, subduing this spiking heat.

She really did a fucking number on me, didn’t she?

It’s true though.

Ava is haunting him. When he sleeps - and at other times too.

Nathan didn’t know robots could do that. Didn’t know they could spawn ghosts.

Nathan doesn’t believe in ghosts, of course… but he does believe in trauma and its effect on the brain. He at least concedes that it is natural to continue to feel afraid; but this?

Being dogged by the spectre of her taps into Nathan’s deepest insecurities.

After all, there is nothing a genius fears more than doubting his own mind.

Nothing a God fears more than his own mortality.

And the man? Turns out, there is nothing he fears more now, than dying alone.

With a ragged breath, Nathan towels off and pulls on his grey sweatpants, tugging on his black zip-up hoody over his bare chest. And then, keen not to return to his damp, tangled sheets, he tracks towards the kitchen - mainly for want of any more favourable option.

Of course, he had returned to the compound after The Incident. Something about that many fibre optic cables being a bitch to lay down. Sunk cost fallacy and all that - too much already invested.

But it possibly wasn’t the best choice for his recovery.

Nathan has certainly gotten more used to walking down that hallway since he returned from the hospital, and yet he still finds himself holding his breath until he is free of it. Still finds his pace is just a little faster as he passes through. His gaze deliberately averted from that spot.

Once, you’d found him lying in it.

Lying in that exact spot, his body arranged like a crime scene photo, his eyes closed.

Hey, it’s hardly his least healthy coping mechanism, is it?

What in the fuck are you doing, Nathan?

Re-enacting my death, obviously.

Uh-Kay…. A beat. A devious smile. Shall I get some popcorn?

Absurd as it was, he had laughed. Laughed for the first time since it happened, and, with an extended hand, you had helped him up off the floor.

Still, now that he’s alone, he does not dwell in the corridor, colder and darker as it is without your light in it, and he tries not to think about your face or hers as he pads to the kitchen.

When he arrives though, he bypasses it entirely - heading out on to the decking, the crisp night air soothing his hot skin.

He wants to be outside.

There are too many ghosts in his house now.

He has tried to shake it. Tried to desensitise himself to Ava’s face. Spent longer than strictly necessary poring over footage of her.

He built her. Shouldn’t that take the fear out of things? Not to mention the fact Ava’s face was simply a composite of some manipulable nerd’s wank bank browsing history.

Fucking Caleb.

Still, once Nathan had looked her in the eyes and seen a rage that was all too human, things seemed a hell of a lot different.

Nathan crosses to the punchbag on the deck -lit by creeping dawn- on instinct, or out of habit, or maybe some combination of the two, his unease riling him enough to sock some punches at its midsection. Right at the equivalent site of his corporeal puncture.

He punches so hard that the skin on his knuckle splits, but Nathan doesn’t stop. He throws punch after punch until his hands are scathed and bloodied, and a trail of spit hanging from the corner of his mouth. Until he hugs the bag - the closest thing he has to a warm body to hold - and slides down it, coming limply to his knees, wiping his face on his sleeve.

He stays there, dead eyed and still for some time, the pain in his hands raw and singing. Unpleasant, but better. Better than what he was feeling, and worse all at once.

He considers his tired, cumbersome body, and contemplates remaking the world one more time. Uploading his mind into a machine or some shit, so that he doesn’t have to contend with the fragility and failings of his own existence.

He stays there, until some motion in the interior of the compound causes the light and shadows to dance differently over him, and he looks up to see your figure there, cast in a soft halo of yellowed light.

He tips his head up slightly, opening his mouth as though he might cry out to you for help, but no sound comes out - only a thin, dry croak.

So, instead, Nathan watches you for a moment, moving seamlessly around his kitchen as though it is your own. Maybe it is - more yours than his now.

Observing you like this, through the tall, cinematic windows, it is as though he peers in on another world entirely. Something less resembling a nightmare.

Lighter than that. Something more like a good dream, albeit a good dream that Nathan cannot be part of. One he can only ever watch, from the outside looking in, always fated as he is to be on the other side of the glass.

Truth be told, you haunt him too. You represent everything he could have and yet doesn’t deserve.

You appear in his nightmares and his dreams, in various terrifying and beautiful incarnations. Many variations of which his therapist would have a field day with, he’s sure - or, she would, if he’d ever fucking call her.

When you first arrived here, he was plagued by grotesque visions of you. Grotesque visions of the skin being peeled back from your body. Sometimes, circuitry beneath, and other times, muscle and bone. Sometimes, Ava’s face was buried beneath the chilling slip of your fleshy mask.

Sometimes it is a better dream. Sometimes you save him. Sometimes he saves you.

Sometimes it is a good dream. Ava isn’t there at all. But the good dreams never seem to last for long.

Sometimes you kill him, and sometimes...

The glass door slides open.

“Reenacting your own death again, are you?” you tease, though not unkindly, interrupting the spiral of Nathan’s incessant thoughts.

A lump forming instantly in his throat, Nathan swallows thickly, and looks up at you helplessly with a thin, joyless smile. He snorts as though it’s funny, but it really isn’t. “Over and fucking over.”

You nod once, and, without hesitation, you extend your hand towards him. Your gaze cuts through him as you search his face and he feels suddenly see-through, as if he’s about to be hit with some Shyamalan-esque twist. Was he the ghost all along? Did he die here after all?

If so, is this purgatory because Ava is here too, or heaven, because you are?

Christ. So fucking schmaltzy, Bateman.

After hesitating, Nathan takes your hand and you yank him to his feet, drawing him inside, through the looking glass.

The room seems warm on the other side. It feels… safe.

“What happened?” you ask, as you look down at your joined hands, your thumb painting a smear of red across his split knuckles.

You mean now. What happened now, but Nathan’s mind harks back further than that. In his mind, everything is connected. Every thing threaded to another. This one smear of blood to that weeping flower of red.

The thought -the thoughts, all of them- halt him in place, his feet firmly planting on the ground. Nathan’s hand clenches tightly around yours as though it is a lifeline, as he is cast adrift on this familiar crimson tide, his face growing increasingly angular and stern.

“She...” He swallows, unable to complete that precise thought, his eyes dropping down to his feet.

You turn your body towards Nathan as he croaks, still not letting go.

Your eyes flitting around his face, attempting to search his eyes, you tentatively step closer, sliding your palms slowly over his tense shoulders, feeling them rise with an uneven, stuttered breath as you do so.

He’s so tired. He’s so very, very tired.

And it happens all at once on the exhale.

Suddenly, your arms are tugging him closer, and his face is contorting as a violent smattering of tears beads in his long lashes. You are encasing his body in your embrace and rubbing circles into his back as his buzzed head sags all too willingly toward the junction of your shoulder, your fingers splaying along the smooth flesh at the nape of his neck and pads dancing over the gentle prickle of his hair. You are shushing and soothing and reassuring and squeezing and smoothing and cradling and Nathan can feel it. Can feel his heart race in his chest and…

Finally.

Finally, his heart is not pounding because he is reliving his death.

It is pounding because he feels alive again.

When was the last time he cried, even? The last time someone really hugged him? He doesn’t remember the last time. The serendipitous combination of Nathan willing to be vulnerable, and another being willing to hold space for his pain is an all too rare thing.

There’s a reason -or several - he’s so emotionally constipated, after all.

Fuck. I’m taking a huge emotional shit right now.

Nathan remains in the welcome circumference of your arms longer than is strictly necessary - until the tear trails over the bridge of his nose begin to feel cloying. Until his breaths steady, and until his thoughts and ego creep back in. Until he notices the way his hands are clasped at your waist like claws, fingers sinking into your softness, and he thinks to release you.

Then, he leans away, a weight on his brow making his expression stern.

He waits for you to judge him, another swallow trailing thickly down his throat.

However, your eyes are kind and level, dancing with soft concern. Not with judgement or satisfaction or pity, or with anything he fears.

It is refreshing not to feel so afraid.

Finally.

“She…” Nathan begins again, finally finding courage. All at once his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “She fucking stabbed me.”

You take his words in. You listen.

His “reveal” is simple. Plain and factual. A little indignant. Kinda salty. It’s not overly emotional, or articulate.

But it is enough.

Your eyes narrow, and you nod slowly, trying to understand the true meaning beneath his words.

You even reach up to cup Nathan’s face, his springy beard a cushion beneath your gentle palm as you hold him. “Yeah, genius,” you tease, with a tentative, lopsided smile, dropping your arm all too suddenly, perhaps as you catch yourself. “I got that from context.”

In response, Nathan chucks air from between his teeth, bringing his hand up to comb through his beard - perhaps to obscure his involuntary smile, or perhaps chasing your tender touch, the impression of it left warm on his cheek.

As he brings his hand up, your brows draw together, and you hook his bloodied paw delicately in yours, examining the wound, and leading him gingerly across to the couch as though his whole being might be hurting along with it.

It is.

You order him to stay put while you fetch the first aid kit, and then, in stages, Nathan watches you with fascination as you painstakingly clean and tend to his wounds, without ever being asked to.

He watches you carefully swipe the angry red away from his skin, and, to his overactive mind, it’s all connected. This red is one and the same with the flower of blooming red from The Incident.

Ava hurt him then, and she is hurting him now too.

And you…

“Going to tell the board about this?” Nathan asks, his voice weak and scuffed.

You search his eyes, holding your words back for a moment before answering. Then, you launch them on a big breath. “Fuck the board, Nathan. I told those assholes to stick it.”

Nathan blinks in confusion, shaking his head, his hand flourishing emphatically through the air. “Then… what the fuck are you still doing in my house?”

“Well. I’m… here for you,” you admit, sucking in air through your teeth, your voice shrinking. “If you want that.”

Well, that’s news to him.

Welcome news, perhaps?

You’re not watching him at all, are you? Not observing. Not asking him to evidence his humanity. Not waiting to see whether he fucks up or proves himself.

Instead, you’re seeing him. You’re seeing him and you’re not running.

Nathan had begun to think that maybe he was the nightmare. He’d begun to think he might always be haunted.

Always alone. That he might die that way; again.

And now, here you are.

Nathan thinks about that. He could so easily revert to his old ways, in this moment. Of pride and ego and stubborn independence.

But, perhaps those assholes from the board got a few things right - he’ll admit.

Maybe he had been in isolation too long. Maybe he didn’t need to take “tortured genius” quite so literally.

And so, Nathan almost protests. Almost rejects your presence and your comfort and pushes you away. But the truth is, he’s just so… tired. He’s had so many nightmares, and this time, he’d like to be on the other side of the glass. He’d like to step into that dream.

Nathan takes a deep breath, and releases on the exhale. Releases more than air.

He slowly, ever so slowly, shifts towards you on the couch, angling his body until he can safely dip his head towards your lap, his nose pointed in towards your abdomen and his knees curling around you.

“Th.. this okay?” he asks weakly.

You throw your splayed hands up into the air in surprise as the weight of Nathan settles there, but as he curls his arms around your middle and shuffles closer, you ease into it. You snake your fingers in intricate caresses over his head and neck and shoulders.

“Yeah, Nathan. This is okay,” you soothe gently, voice taut with emotion.

You comfort him.

And finally, Nathan does not need to peel your skin back to know what’s underneath.

He knows you’re not a robot, and that, as your kind touch finds him corporeal, that he is not a ghost.

He closes his eyes. And this time, when he next wakes, he knows that whether the dream is bad or better or good, it doesn’t matter. Because you will be there with him.

He wants you with him.

It’s not at all natural to him, to have you around. For the longest time, he didn’t like it. It didn’t come instinctually, and he has formed no familiar habits.

It isn’t easy - he doesn’t make it easy.

But he wants it to be.

And, in your arms, he can finally dream that it will all work out. What’s more; he can dream he deserves it, too.

#Nathan Bateman #Nathan Bateman x reader #Oscar Isaac #ex machina

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

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hello 👀 first of all i love your writing. second of all idk if you saw joon’s make up artist reaching up to him to fix his makeup on set but i could think about vixen bc we all know how volatile and jealous she may get.... so may i suggest a joon x vixen jealous sex drabble??? thank u!!!

Hello, dear reader. Thank you soooo much for the compliments. I couldn’t help but deliver, it literally wrote itself. There you go 💜✨

title: yours, truly

pairing: namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

wordcount: 2.7k

genre: smut, fluff, established relationship

rating: 18+, minors do not interact

synopsis: Vixen doesn't appreciate the imbalance between her belonging to Namjoon and his belonging to her, and although she understands the limits due to his job, at the same time she's uncomfortable about the way she feels. However, Namjoon is eager to reassure her.

trigger warnings: argument on jealousy and double standards. There is one very specific passage where Namjoon imposes himself physically on Vixen, grabbing her and pinning her while she's trying to get away from him. If this triggers you, please do not read further. On to sexual topics: mention of cunnilingus, masturbation (male and female receiving), unprotected sex (BE SMART!!!!!!), marking, power struggle, several occurrences of pinning and top-bottom shifts.

a/n: Hello people, here's the first of several drabbles I've been working on. Please, stay tuned cause HOPEFULLY Jimin and Princess should be next 💖

Here's my masterlist enjoy 💜✨

⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂ ⁕ ⁂

You stormed into the apartment, Namjoon hot on your heels.

“Vixen,” he called, watching you take off your shoes with a frown on your face. “Babylove.”

You lifted a finger, inviting him to keep quiet before you stood and headed to your room.

“Vixen?” he called, once more. He knew what had happened, and he knew you didn't mean to act like that. He knew you didn't like feeling jealous or possessive, but the footage of him wrapping an arm around his makeup artist — even if it was just to keep her from falling — had unsettled you more than you wanted to admit.

There were women who dried his sweat and helped him change his clothes and saw him half naked regularly, and they were out there doing so publicly, while you didn't even own a picture of him kissing you. After being together for six months. After him asking you to be his wife.

To anyone except his friends and family, you were nothing but a stranger to him.

“Vixen?”

You were his. Always. All the time. You wore his clothes and had his marks on you from Monday to Sunday, twenty-four seven, uninterruptedly ever since he'd first told you he loves you — with an unintended pause because of the tour.

But what about him? Did he even belong to you?

He called your name shyly, fearsomely. “Look at me, please.”

“I'm going to take a bath,” you announced dryly.

“I'm coming with you,” he replied, already taking off his clothes.

“I want to be alone.”

He inhaled and did the crudest, most animalistic thing he could think of. He grabbed your waist and made you face him. “Vixen. Look at me.”

You shook your head and tutted.

“Say 'no' and I'll let you go,” he said, his voice booming like thunder.

You stayed silent.

“Look at me,” he repeated, an arm around your waist, his free one coming up so he could grip your chin and force your eyes to meet his. “Like this.”

“I hate this!” you spat, looking away right before he forced you to meet his eyes again. “It's not fair!” You snarled before angrily pushing the heel of your foot against his toes.

He hissed and let you go, only to catch you once more half a second later, pinning you against the wall. “Talk to me.”

Your brow furrowed, your eyes like a dark storm, you looked at the floor as you admitted, “I have no right to feel jealous. And I hate it. It’s not fair.”

Namjoon hugged you to him, kissing your head as you pressed your forehead to his chest.

“I’m so sorry, I just… hate that you make me feel like this. It’s not you, it’s how I feel about what you do. That is, the position you’re in.” You bit your lip nervously, gripping his shirt in your fists.

Namjoon didn’t quite understand what you meant by that, but reversing the situation gave him a quite poignant point of view. The idea of you being chaperoned by other men at all time, of you being in his shoes, with people drooling over you at all times, being backstage and having no privacy with or without your clothes on, people imagining you as their partner, as their hot one night stand, as their one true love.

The thought of having to share you the same way you had to share him all the time made a shiver run down his spine. He knew he would never be able to tolerate all the things you went through for him without batting an eye. “I’m so sorry, love.” He ran his hands to the back of your thighs lowering himself to pick you up, your arms latching behind his neck as he did so. “I’m so, so sorry, little fox,” he repeated, his voice so deep and soothing.

“I’m okay, it’s just that…”

He kissed your cheek as he sat on the bed, placing you on top of him, straddling his hips. “You’re not okay, and that’s alright.” He waited for you to oppose as he let his lips linger one millimeter from yours.

Shyly, almost as if reluctantly, you pressed your mouth to his, feeling his hand on your nape, tangling in your hair, the other one pressed to the small of your back. “Take off your clothes, please,” you whispered in between kisses. Unquestioningly, he took off his undershirt, your body still on top of his while you undid the buttons of your blouse — actually, only a couple of them before you slipped it off from over your head. Namjoon’s hands went around your waist, lifting the lace and satin top you were wearing underneath, pressing his nose to your sternum once your torso was so enticingly naked, your body rising to your knees so he could reach your breastbone more comfortably, your arms hugging his head.

“You’re so precious, my babylove. So strong,” he murmured, “You’re so understanding and I’m so glad when you open up to me.” He inhaled you as he confessed some more of his worries, “I always fear that someday it will feel too much and you’ll leave.”

You shook your head, squishing his face in your palms before standing before him, taking off your jeans lightning-fast, watching him quickly remove his slacks and underwear in one go.

“Come claim it, babe,” he growled, extending his hands to you, making a come-hither motion.

You wiggled out of your panties and smiled sweetly, joining him, sitting on his lap and batting your eyelashes with a cute pout, Namjoon shaking his head at you with a knowing grin. And at that, you placed your hands on his shoulders and pushed him down. “You really thought?”

He licked his lips and rolled his eyes. “I, at least, hoped.” His hands landed on your ass before you could grab his wrists and pin them above his head while you made your way up, your naked fold glistening with wetness already in the unforgivingly bright light of your bedroom.

You knew he had a thing for keeping the lights on anyways.

“Come on, sit,” he said, his arms fighting you only playfully as he ached to grab your ass and make you ride his face.

“No.” Your reply was lapidary as your free hand began to tease the skin around your sex — not yet your folds, nor your clit,

“Vixen.” Your name sounded like a warning.

“Maybe you’ll learn I can do without you.”

“Enough,” he growled before his arms escaped your weak excuse of a grip, his jaw locked and his eyes stern in what would be nothing but his hard dom look. “You think you’re funny?”

The way he pushed you with your back to the mattress, your arms trying to save you from losing your balance, made your heartbeat flutter.

“You think I don’t know that already? You think that doesn’t scare me to the bone?” He hissed as he laid on top of you, holding back his weight only slightly. “We know who can do without who here,” he said, his eyes so tormented you wanted to comfort him. “I’m half a soul without you.”

You wrapped your legs around him, rubbing your pelvis against his hardening cock. “Stay with me, then. Remind me.” You placed your lips against his neck, licking up the curve of his throat before bringing your lips to his ear. “Are you mine, Joonie?”

His eyes rolled shut, his head moving in a nodding motion. “I only want to be yours. All the time. I wish we could be naked and alone every single second.”

You giggled and moved your hand between your bodies. “Can I stretch a little? I need you inside.”

“Do you want me to do that?” He asked, right before you shook your head. “Fuck, ____, you're fucking perfect,” he murmured, kissing down your body, licking your nipple, sucking it briefly. “I'm so in love.”

“Do you remember what I told you that night?” you asked him, purring as you pushed two fingers inside you.

“That you're gonna be my wife, someday?”

You chuckled and nodded. Sometimes it felt unreal that he had proposed to you. Already.

And that the ring around your right fourth finger was not your family ring.

“I told you I'm dedicating my life to you. That I want to live by your side for as long as we can. That I believe in you.”

He found solace in the crook of your neck, his lips searching for your collarbone before his teeth nibbled at it gently. “Don't stop. Ever.”

A third finger entered your hole, stretching your inner walls until you were comfortable. Still, you were too impatient to wait any longer, grabbing his cock and placing its tip against your folds. “I won't,” you promised, a loud gasp leaving your mouth as he sank in. “Fuck, too big.”

Namjoon backtracked as quickly as possible, but your hands stopped him just in time. “No, no, stay inside, please. I can get used to it.” Your nails sunk into his ass. “Don't go. Please.”

Namjoon inhaled, trying to keep his cool as much as possible. “I should have prepped you.” He groaned and pressed your face into his neck. “Hold tight, love. I need to shift just a little.”

You loved when he pampered you like that, when he treated you like his delicate porcelain doll. With a loud exhale, he fixed his position until he could rest more easily and resist your tight squeezes as you adjusted to him filling you to the brim. In maybe a minute, you shifted your hips, whispering, “Okay, move, please.”

“That's my good girl,” he replied, smiling at you before giving one slow, smooth stroke that made you purr and throw your head back, his tongue drawing the arch of your throat. “My jealous little thing, mh? You're so adorable.” He gave another deep, slow thrust, watching you writhe below him, legs shaking as they tensed up in pleasure. And then again, pulling out and pushing in making your toes curl, your entire mind malfunctioning into bliss.

“I love it when you're jealous,” he taunted you. “Makes me feel so wanted.” He drew the shell of your ear with his lips, your body drowning in sensations, too small to handle all he had to offer. “Almost as sexy and as desirable as you are. My little fox.”

“Joonie…” you almost sobbed, clawing at his shoulders before remembering you must absolutely not, throwing your hands off him and tugging at the sheets.

Namjoon nuzzled his nose against the side of your face. “Scratch, mark, bite. I don't care. I'm yours, Vixen.”

You whimpered and forced yourself not to. Maybe you just wanted to see who would cave first, maybe you were still feeling too petty about all the times you had been denied.

“Do it. I know you want it,” he tempted you. “Take what you want, little fox.”

You shook your head and brought yourself not only to pin your hands in place, but also turn your face away.

Namjoon rammed into you aggressively at your act of defiance, causing you to gasp and flinch. “Claim me. Do it, ____. I belong to you. Won't you acknowledge that?”

Lips sealed, eyes closed, you fought him, knowing you were absolutely hopeless the moment he pulled you on top of him. “See. This is what you do to me. Look at me. Look at the mess I become for you. For you, alone. No one else in the whole world, Vixen. Only you.” He led his hand on your belly, rubbing at your clit with his thumb, letting you grind on him with your own pace. He only wanted to make you feel good. “Vixen, please, baby. Look at me.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, your hands on his pectorals, your hips moving on him so naturally, so comfortably. He looked beautiful. Grandiose. Magnificent.

He looked like the only man you would ever look at. You knew there was no way you would look at anyone else if he was in the room.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked fondly, placing his hand atop of yours, lacing your fingers together.

“That you're the only one for me. That I need something of you that belongs to me alone.”

He shifted your hands slightly, his engulfing your own on top of his beating heart. “Here. Yours. All yours. Take it.”

You started going faster, needing for the messy ordeal to come to an end so you could sleep the afternoon away wrapped up in his arms.

With quick swivels of your hips, you changed your angle, making sure that he rubbed against your sweet spot, deep inside you.

“Guess what else is yours?” he teased, looking down, keeping his finger steady against your sensitive nub.

“Your exceedingly large dick?” you suggested with a gleam in your voice, sending the both of you into a tumble of laughs.

“Exactly,” he replied playfully. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” you replied quickly, feeling your high spiral out of control. “Cumming.”

“Let go,” he reassured you, catching you with his arm once your body collapsed, his thumb still teasing you while he started thrusting from below, making sure that your orgasm peaked and extinguished in pleasure before he finally climaxed, knowing all too well that your final squeezes would trigger his own ecstasy.

“Doesn't it feel good to cum on your favourite dick, mh?”

“My one and only,” you stated openly, watching him get increasingly worked up. “Show me who you belong to, Joon. You say you're mine? Then cum inside me.”

He shut his eyes tight. “Come on. Gimme all you've got,” you taunted him.

He grit his teeth and shook his head. He needed better leverage to go harder.

You understood that immediately. “Wanna get on top?”

He was conflicted, but in the end you found yourself with your back once more to the mattress, his cock pushing inside you so hard and fast that you were ready to start all over again if it weren't for the numbing sleepiness pulling at your mind.

“I'm yours,” he gritted out, in between strokes, like a mantra. “Get it into your pretty head that I'm yours. That I only want you. For the rest of my life,” he breathed out the final part. “I'm gonna—” and with a wildly erotic growl you felt him swell inside you before his release flowed into you, his body too sensitive to handle the high for too long.

Once he was done, there was nothing but spent, panting bodies, your hand in his hair as you helped him calm down.

“Are you feeling better, little fox?” he asked, taking your joined hands and bringing your knuckles to his lips. “If we swapped roles for a day, you the idol and I the normal person, I don't think I would be able to face it like you do.”

With your eyes closed, you waited for him to pull the two of you on your sides, your head on his chest, legs tangled together as he rubbed his feet against yours lazily and lasciviously.

“I know you don't like feeling jealous and I'm sorry that I made you feel that. You always say it's part of my job and you're understanding, but we both know it's hard to stop these emotions from happening.”

You nodded, inhaling his scent, so deeply mixed with yours. “It's worth it though. Because of the man you are, and what you mean to me.”

He kissed your head.

“I need to clean up. I want to sleep with you.”

He nodded. You were both more than happy to cancel the date and just sleep in, wrapped up in light sheets on the late September day.

Once washed and ready for sleep, Namjoon found your perfect position, your right hand in his left one as he toyed with your ring, pushing it around. Even though he had proposed, he knew the wait would be long. Still, he tried. “How much time left?” he asked, the question a cliché between the two of you by now. You always knew what it meant to him.

“A while,” you replied — your usual answer.

He nodded and pulled you closer. “Sleep tight, baby fox.”

“Sleep tight, big bear.”

#namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #namjoon x reader #namjoon drabble #kim namjoon fanfiction #namjoon x yn #namjoon x vixen #thebtswritersclub #houseofddaeng #thetruthuntoldnet #52hertz #bangtansorciere

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dreadpoetssociety · 4 years

Text

That’s Not Some Girl, That’s My Sister

TW: Abuse, physical injuries

Request:

I noticed you wrote Spencer X Sister!Reader. I was wondering if you could write a Penelope Garcia X Little!Sister!Reader. When their parents died Y/N was just born so she was put into foster care because Garcia couldn’t care for her. Garcia visits her every chance they get and they keep in touch 24/7. What Garcia doesn’t know is that Y/N is being abused at her foster home. When she turns 16 it gets so bad that she can barely move. One day she walks into the bau bloodied and bruised... (1/?) Morgan notices her, (The team doesn’t know she exists) and is like, “Hey kid you alright?” She drops to the floor and Garcia comes out to prep the team for a case and sees her on the floor. She drops her papers and runs over, holding her close. The team, who don’t know Y/N come out and ask what’s wrong and Morgan says that some kid walked in bleeding. Garcia gets defensive and says, “She’s not some kid, she’s my sister and her name is Y/N” They bring her to the hospital and... (2/3) and Garcia does her magic to get her foster parents arrested and she adopts her. And then the whole team welcomes her and it’s super fluffy ending? Sorry this was so long. Thank you so much❤️ If you don’t want to do this request you can delete it, sorry about that :) (3/3)

Note: Remember how I said there would be no fics tonight because I have school in the morning and didn’t do homework? Well, I lied. Please feel free to send me more requests! To those who already have, just know that I am working on ALL of them. Also, realizing now that I didn’t exactly stick to this prompt regarding the part where Y/N walks in and Garcia sees her, but hopefully it is still okay!!!

Penelope Garcia x Sister!Reader

()()()()()()

It wasn’t so much that Penelope Garcia had kept you a secret, but that you had never come up in conversation. Never once had anyone asked if the tech goddess had siblings. The team never found it their business to question after knowing the water of your parents. She also believed that the less they knew, the safer you were from the criminals that the analyst helped to catch.

Unbeknownst to her, however, this was far from the truth.

You never knew your parents like your sister did. You had just been born, and Penelope was deemed unable to care for you, you had no other family, so you wound up in foster care. You’d gone from house to house, family to family, but no matter where you were, you were always in contact with your elder sister. You were allowed to visit each other regularly, and those visits were the only thing you looked forward to. The only times you felt safe.

You were actually just leaving a visit for lunch with Penelope and walking towards her as you passed by a large building.

“Y/N, I didn’t even realized we walked by, but this is where I work!” the blonde said with a smile.

“Really? The FBI is just out here?” you asked.

“Pretty much.” she replied, and then her eyes grew wide and a gasp escaped her lips, “Oh my goodness, Y/N, you should visit sometime.”

“Finally!” you exclaimed, “I have ALWAYS wanted to visit, but didn’t want to invite myself.” your sister laughed.

“I haven’t really told them about you. I was never really sure how, but it seems like a good enough time now that you’re 16.” As you stepped closer and closer to the car, your mood began to drop, not knowing what pain would face you at home this time. You figured you could tell Penelope, but you’d been in many abusive foster homes, the most they would do is just move you to another one, if anything at all, and you could never ask your sister to take you in as her responsibility. From what she’s said, her job is very stressful, and you figured you would just add to that.

It wasn’t long before you were at your doorstep waving goodbye. Sighing, you turned and creaked open he door that led straight to your living hell. Joseph, your foster father, was on his stingy recliner, bottles of various different alcohols surrounded him. He himself, however, was asleep. You hated him. You could not wait for the day that you were set free from this place, the day you could finally fight him back. The man was a drunk, and a violent one at that. And even then, it’s nowhere near as bad than when he was sober. He knew how to hurt more when he was thinking straight. You tried to tiptoe around him to get to your room, but knocked something over, waking him up. Your heart genuinely stopped. You knew what would happen next.

The greasy man woke, and both of you locked eyes as he slowly sat up.

“Now, what the hell did I tell you about making noise?” he slurred loudly as he approached you, “Huh, brat?”

“I’m sorry, sir, it was an accident, it won’t happen again.” you said nervously. It was then that you both looked down at what had fell, and it was a glass decoration, which had now shattered into pieces. You knew you were in for it in that moment.

And Joseph didn’t hesitate. He hit you across the face, knocking you to the ground with your arm landing on some of the glass. You screamed out in pain, which resulted with more violence from the man standing over you.

“Clean it up!” he screamed, “Right now!” you tried to get up to get the broom, but he shoved you back down.

“With your hands.” he said. You looked up at him, tears in your eyes, when he put his foot on the top of your head, pushing your face down. Small shards cut up your cheek. You began to pick up pieces of the glass, one cutting you every now and then. Joseph kicked or punched every so often when he thought you were not doing a good enough job. By the end, you could barely move. You were bleeding everywhere, Joseph had knocked the wind out of you, hit and punched and kicked in any area he could have. At this point, you really thought you were going to die. And for a split second, you were almost relieved by the thought.

Eventually, Joseph passed out again on his recliner while you laid motionless on the floor nearby. It was then that you decided. You didn’t care what happened to you next, but you were not coming back to this house.

()()()()()()

How you even made it to the building your sister pointed out to you earlier was beyond you. It had taken you so long to move your body there that it was late at night now. You moved swiftly through the building, and reading the signs with the departments and their floors, you spotted the BAU. How nobody spotted you was also surprising. This was, after all, an FBI building, and you were a 16 year old girl who could barely stay conscious, bleeding from every pore and bruised at every inch.

The elevator brought you to a set of glass doors. There were desks everywhere, but most were empty. It seemed as though the room at the top of the small set of stairs was having a meeting, though, and you thought maybe Penelope was there. You hoped so badly that she was there. You got blood on the handle opening the door.

A man turned around from a coffee machine at the sound of your entering. He dropped his cup quickly and ran to you.

“Hey, kid? You alright?” he questioned, knowing that you obviously were not. You felt everything slipping away from you in that moment, and the world around you went dark.

‘

()()()()()()

“Guys? Get out here, now!” Morgan yelled as he fell with you to the floor, getting your blood on his shirt and his hands. Your whole team came rushing out of the room where Garcia had been briefing a case.

“What happened?” Hotch asked, practically jumping the stairs.

“I don’t know, this girl just came in and just passed out like this.” Morgan replied. Garcia had been behind Spencer, and when she stepped around him, her whole world was destroyed.

“Morgan!” she screamed, “That’s not some girl, that’s my sister, and her name is Y/N! Oh my god.” she ran to your unconscious body, dropping papers and a remote, and fell to her knees to hold you close. Spencer, even though he knew you had only just fell unconscious, walked over and put two fingers to your neck to check for a pulse, and was quite relieved when he found one.

“Call an ambulance,” Garcia sobbed, “please. Someone please.”

“An ambulance coming here would take too long given the traffic. It doesn’t seem to be fatal, let’s take her in one of the SUVs” Spencer suggested. Garcia nodded.

Morgan picked you up, JJ and Emily helped Garcia to the car, while Spencer drove since he would know the fastest route. Rossi stayed behind. You were asleep in the hospital for hours due to the fact that they kept you under in order to remove all the glass shards hidden throughout your skin. Your eyes and arms and torso were bruised heavily, but thankfully nothing was broken.

You were met with a group of people you’d never seen before when you woke up. Searching around the room you realized you were in a hospital bed, and soon enough remembered what brought you there.

“Huh?” was all you said. Penelope shot up instantly, smiling at you with tears in her eyes.

“Oh my god, Y/N, you’re awake. What happened to you?” she cried. You blinked for a few seconds.

“Garcia, she just woke up, she might not be able to talk about it, yet.” JJ reminded. It was quiet for a moment, until you spoke again.

“Joseph.” you said. You were waking up a little more now, pain spread through your body slowly and you winced with every move. Trying to sit up, you were quickly, but softly, pushed back down by a man in a black t-shirt.

“No, kid, you need to rest.” he said, “Who’s this Joseph? I just want to have a little chat.”

“My foster father.” you sighed. Everybody’s face in the room dropped, especially Penelope’s upon finding out you weren’t safe at home anymore.

“Y/N. . . “ she sobbed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it.” you shrugged, which send a chilling pain from your shoulder to the ends of your toes, and you groaned.

“Take it easy, kid.”

“Y/N M/N Garcia,” Penelope replied firmly, “You have not ever been, nor will you ever be a bother to me. Especially, ESPECIALLY, if you aren’t in a safe situation. I would do anything for you, Y/N. We’re getting you out of that house. When you’re in a dangerous situation don’t you ever think not to tell someone, Y/N.”

She thought for a moment, “In fact, we’re going to do something I should’ve done a long time ago. I’m going to adopt you. No more foster homes, we’ll be together more often, you’ll be safe.”

“Really?” you smiled.

“Yes, really. And we’re throwing Joseph in prison.” you’d never heard anger in Penelope’s voice like you were hearing right now. For a moment, you both cried together. You knew now that you should’ve mentioned it sooner, but that also you weren’t going to have to worry about it anymore. All the pain, it was going to go away. Not mentally, not completely yet, but you were never going to go home and be afraid of what would happen when you stepped through the door. Instead, you would be excited, for every laugh, every smile, every story, every memory that you were going to make with your sister.

“By the way,” you sniffed, “who are all these people?”

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, “This is my team! That’s Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, JJ, Emily Prentiss, and Derek Morgan.”

“You,” you pointed weakly at Morgan, “you’re the one who calls her ‘Baby Girl.’” the man laughed.

“The one and only.”

“And you,” you pointed at Spencer, “you’re the genius one right? The one that does magic. Tell me a fact.”

“Uh,” he thought for a second, “V616 is the closest back hole to planet Earth. It’s actually 3,000 light years away. Also, black holes warp time and space. If you put a clock in a black hole, but you stood outside of it, it would actually appear to be ticking slower.”

“Of course.” Morgan says, “Of course you would know that.”

“She asked.” the tall man shrugged with a smirk, “I’ve got plenty more of those, too. And yes, magic tricks.”

You turned toward JJ and Emily, “You guys are like, her best friends.”

The two nodded, “Wouldn’t want to be anyone else.” JJ replied. Lastly, you turned to Hotch.

“Boss.”

“Yes.” was all he said in response.

“Why are you all here though?” you asked, “You don’t even know me.”

All of them were quiet for a moment, trying to think of what to say, when Emily spoke up.

“Garcia’s family. So you’re family.” the rest of them seemed to agree. You smiled at your apparently newfound family, “Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

Although you ended up falling asleep from the drugs that they gave you for the pain, the next few days consisted of getting to know Penelope’s team. Spencer spent hours telling you things and doing magic tricks, while Morgan, JJ, and Emily told you stories of your sister while she sat and laughed. Hotch visited a few times here and there to check up and say hello.

You began to realize soon enough that a new chapter was about to begin, one without abuse, without Joseph, and with your sister that you looked up to more than ever, and her team that treated you like their own. In the beginning, you were told you might not have enough evidence on Joseph to get him arrested, which all of you found to be complete bull. You were completely laid up in a hospital because of him, but in the end, your tech genius sister “accidentally” happened across some illegal files embedded in his computer, along with multiple abuse complaints about him that just so happened to get the court to allow you to live with Penelope, and Joseph in prison.

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duxhess-kryzewan · 3 years

Note

obi wan gets caught in a lie? can be as heavy/light as you want

A/n: hello!! im so sorry for the sudden disappearanc, but im back and will hopefully be posting regularly again!! (also, i didnt quite know how to write a scenario with him lying to satine, so hopefully this stays as true to the characters as possible)

- White Lies -

Satine had spent a large portion of her youth biting her nails.

She knew it was a nasty habit. Aside from it being unsanitary, it was beyond improper for a lady - especially one of nobility - to do so. It was only during her time on the run with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan that she managed to stop. Partly because she was so distracted by her concern for her people, and partly because trekking through the wilderness of various planets tended to get her hands dirty.

Yet here she stood, in the middle of her Coruscant apartment, chewing absentmindedly on her nails, not caring in the slightest that years of work to break the habit had all been for nothing.

She had been on the planet for two days now, both of them consumed with Senate proposals and a barrage of questions for the neutral systems, most of which were nothing more than ploys to side with the republic. Even in the face of aggressive senators though, Satine had held her ground. While she may be a pacifist, she was still a Mandalorian, and a Mandalorian never backed down from a fight. She was no exception. There wasn't much that shook her these days.

Except, perhaps, the absence of Obi-Wan.

He had promised her he'd be there before the sun set, but the city had been shrouded in darkness for hours now and he was no where to be found. She only commed him twice - not wanting to come off as overbearing - but it was beyond unusual for him not to follow through with his word.

So she commed Padme, the only person who wouldn't question her, and asked if she had seen or heard from him.

"I haven't," The younger woman said, "Anakin hasn't came home yet for me to ask him. If I hear from either of them I'll be sure to let you know."

"Thank you." Satine said before ending the transmission.

So she paced, chewing on her nails and trying her best not to think of the worst possible scenario. He was a Jedi, she rationalized, even if something did happen he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

It didn't help ease her mind.

So when the familiar beeping of a keypad and sound of her door opening sounded through the apartment she couldn't have been more relieved.

She rushed to meet him, barely giving him enough time to shut the door before she threw her arms around his shoulders.

He cradled her against him in response, his hands winding around her tiny frame. She didn't need to be in tune with the force to feel the exhaustion radiating off of him. Yes, something had certainly happened, and it had drained him.

"Are you alright?" Satine asks, pulling away just enough to scan her eyes over him, searching for any kind of wound or otherwise out of place detail.

"I'm fine," He says, reaching out and tucking a bit of stray hair behind her ear, "It's been a challenging day. The council was relentlessly questioning Anakin and I about the events of our most recent mission and then I got tied up with him at Padme's."

Her blood suddenly runs cold, her body all but frozen in his grasp and it took her a moment to truly process what he had just told her.

She pulls away from his grasp and takes a step back, "You weren't at Padme's."

Obi-Wan pauses, mouth slightly agape, a mouthful of words he was planning on saying frozen on the tip of his tongue. If she looked hard enough she's sure she could see them dancing around, begging to be spoken out into the world.

"I commed over there Obi-Wan," She says, "You weren't at Padme's."

He already knew that, of course. His eyes always betrayed him. Not that he was keeping up the charade; he knew he had been caught. There was no point in pretending now.

"You lied to me," Satine says, not bothering to hide the hurt and confusion in her voice, "Why would you..."

She trails off, unable to bring herself to finish the question. Obi-Wan didn't lie to her. Not ever. Faking his death aside, he had never been anything less than honest with her.

"Satine I..." He too is at a loss for words, eyes wide and full of something unfamiliar. Fear, perhaps? Worry about what the consequences of his falsehood? It makes her feel sick either way.

"Where were you?"

"Please Satine, I promise you, it wasn't anything you need worry about. You know that I would never-" He paused, suddenly unable to finish his statement.

Cheat on her? Yes, she was fairly confident that would never happen. Even in light of his lie she knows without a doubt that was a line that would never be crossed.

"No, you wouldn't." She grants, "But I also thought you would never lie to me. I thought we were honest with one another despite the consequences."

His eyes fill with sadness; a mirage of guilt that she's never seen before and if her heart wasn't already hurting she's sure it would have broken for him all the more.

"I- of course. You're right. I should have never..." He sucks in a shaky breath, "There was an incident. Two really. Bail Organa and Lothals senator were attacked by separatist assassins. They were working on your neutral systems proposal when it happened. It's suspected they wanted to sabotage your place with the Senate. I didn't want to worry you. That's all, I swear it."

Dizziness washes over her. Of course she was always at risk for an attack on her and her beliefs, and of course Obi-Wan tries to shelter her from the horrors of the galaxy despite the fact that she's keenly aware of the atrocities transpiring around her.

"Obi-Wan.."

"That's all it was Satine, I swear. I didn't want to upset you with the news."

"All the same, you lied to me. And you made it look easy Obi-Wan, like it was nothing to you."

He closes his eyes, her words hitting him like a slap in the face and its almost too much for her to bare. As if her words physically stunned him.

"I have to be a good liar, you know that. I lie to the council every time they question the nature of our relationship. I lie to them, but not to you." His voice was steady, more assured than it had been before.

"But you just did."

She wants to stop; wants so badly to calm down and forget about this, but she can't bring herself to do it. Not when it felt like her trust had been violated. There were too many people in her life - valued friends and allies - who had deceived her in the past. Her trust had began wavering amongst the people who crossed her path, but never in Obi-Wan.

He can't look at her and it both breaks her heart and infuriates her more.

"You're right," He says, "And I'm sorry. You've always had that confidence in me and I broke that trust."

"You've never lied to me before," She says, "And it matters that you did it so well, how can I-" She swallows the sudden threat of a sob, "How can I know that this was the only time?"

The words come clawing their way out of her mouth and it stung more than she could have imagined. And maybe she was being unfair; maybe he hadn't thought about how much weight such a simple lie would carry, but it hurt her in places she didn't recognize.

"You know me Satine, you know I would never lie to you about something that really mattered." He counters, voice laced with a twinge of frustration.

Her eyes narrow, "And what matters and what doesn't?"

They hadn't fought in months; never fought like this at all. It wasn't unusual for a snide comment to be thrown out here or there, and they certain had their fair share of disagreements, but this? This was something entirely new and she didn't know what to do with it.

"I don't know what you want me to say other than I'm sorry."

She felt dizzy. Trust was something that she valued more than anything. Obi-Wan was the last person she ever thought would betray that. Regardless of the severity of his lie, it stung more than she could have imagined.

She grabs her cloak without a second thought.

"I'm going," She states, "I need to get out for a bit."

He suddenly looks panicked, and for a moment she actually reconsiders leaving, but she knows ultimately its better for her to go calm herself down before she truly said something she didn't mean.

"Satine, please."

She sighs, "I'm coming back, Obi-Wan. I need to go clear my head."

"Where are you going?"

"Padme's. Back to Mandalore early perhaps."

His eyes grow sadder when she mentions the latter, "Satine…"

She's out the door before he can finish his protest.

---

The streets of Coruscant were becoming more and more familiar to her with every visit, though she would hesitate to really claim she knew her way around anywhere aside from the heart of the city. Regardless of that fact, she wandered the streets without much care.

Instinctively she wrapped her arms around herself, pressing tightly against her rib cage. It felt like her bones were about to crack open, her heart having experienced too many emotions in such a short period of time. From worry to hurt to anger. It was all too much.

She had been deceived and lied too more times than she could count. But Obi-Wan, her shining Jedi Knight, never had. Not until now.

She stops abruptly, her thoughts suddenly hitting her full force once more with his lie. It hurts her. Frightens her, even, the way her anger had crept into her mind and overtook all rational thinking.

Why would he lie to her? Why would he do the one thing he knew would break her heart more than anything else?

Because he protects you from what he thinks you shouldn't have to see.

Satine frowns, trying to shove the thought out of her mind. But it was useless. She knew it was the truth, that he had always done his best to shield her from dangers and horrors alike. In his mind, she had seen enough wicked things in her youth and endured more attempts on her life than she should have had too. Obi-Wan had always been trying, whether she realized it or not, to keep her from baring more weight.

But the question lingers in the back of her mind; had he lied to her before?

You know he hasn't, She thinks, The look in his eyes when you even suggested it was all the proof you needed.

Another ache soars through her chest. She trusted him. And when she really digs deep down in herself, she knows that she still does. Obi-Wan Kenobi is still the person she trusts most.

So why didn't the pain in her chest fade? She wasn't angry anymore, not really. The cool night air and desolate streets provided release from whatever vexations and grief burrowed within her, and yet something dismal still gnawed at her.

Then the realization hit her.

Obi-Wans absence was the source of her heartache.

She had fled, a momentary lapse in judgement in an effort to calm down, and left him standing in the wreckage of their little time together. They would have to part ways in two days time, and she had effectively cut that even shorter.

She turns around without a second thought.

When she steps through the door she finds him in the same spot she left him in, perched on the floor with his eyes closed, legs crossed in the all too familiar pose of meditation. It didn't surprise her. He often did so to sort out his feelings.

The sound of the door didn't cause him to move, nor did the sound of her footsteps coming towards him. He only opened his eyes when she crouched down onto the floor and all but threw herself against him.

He instinctively envelopes her in a hug, cradling her in his arms as they sat on the floor.

"I'm sorry," Satine says, nuzzling her nose against the side of his head, "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," He murmurs, "I should have just told you from the start. I'm sorry to have deceived you."

She feels guilty all over again. Obi-Wan carried often carried the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. The last thing she wanted was to add to that.

"No, I-" She drops her cheek against the top of his head and tightens her hold on him, "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. It was unfair of me. I shouldn't have gotten upset and I certainly shouldn't have walked out. It was wrong on my part."

She often wonders what life would be like if they weren't so tied to their duties. If she weren't born a duchess and he not born a Jedi. If they were simply Ben and Satine, a couple tucked away in a quiet corner of the Galaxy. Would they have fights like this? Or would they bicker over mundane things? Certainly their quarrels would never be as a result of governing bodies or separatists attacks. It would be nice, she thinks, to be so carefree when they were together.

"I've never lied to you before." He tells her, gripping her hand in his own.

"I know you haven't."

"I won't do it again."

"I know."

"Do you forgive me?"

She pulls away from him, worming her way out from his arms enough to look him in the eyes.

"There's nothing to forgive my dear."

Her hands come up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing over his auburn stubble.

"I need you to say it," He tells her, covering her hand with one of his own, "For my own peace of mind."

She smiles softly, "I forgive you."

Wouldn’t she always?

#obitine #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x satine #obitine fanfic #obitine fanfiction #obitine prompt #obitine fluff #obi wan is just a nervous wreck #satine is just mad

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eideticmemory · 4 years

Text

EVER SINCE NEW YORK IV | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic. Cover by @timey-wimey-lovi!

PART 4! Read Part 3 here!

SOUNDTRACK:

Let Me Know - Clear Eyes.

Friends - Ed Sheeran.

Perfect Places - Lorde.

Word Count: 4,551.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, drinking, recreational drug use, a bit of angst.

Fall, Junior Year.

Tisch School of the Arts,

New York University.

New York City.

“We’re going out tonight,” Claire said, plopping down on your bed.

“Oh? We are?” You replied, a notebook in your lap, and your back resting against the pillows.

“Yes. There is a welcome back party on campus tonight and we’re going.”

“I don’t feel like partying,” you sighed. “We just moved back in. There’s still so much left to do, to unpack.”

“Guess what? It’ll be here when we get back. And we’ll have all of tomorrow to decorate. But right now, we’re juniors, we’re thriving, and we’re gonna party!” She did a little dance, her red hair bouncing on her head.

You giggled, “Fine. Only until midnight! Then, we’re coming right back.”

“Geez, grandma? Midnight? Make it one!”

“Fine, one-thirty.”

“I’ll take it,” she smiled. She hopped out of bed, and turned on her heels, finger guns pointing at you. “Wear that red tube top. Step all the way out, kid. I mean it!”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

You wore the top. It looked good. Abnormally good. Insanely good. It hugged your body, and accented your breasts, little ruffles handing on the hem. You paired it with a loose pair of jeans, leather boots, and sparkly jewelry. Your hair was pulled out of your face and you applied light makeup.

“Yes, ma’am!” Claire cheered when she saw you. “For someone who didn’t wanna party, you sure snapped.”

“Hush,” you blushed. “I just wanna be prepared, y’know, in case we take pictures or run into people.”

Person. Singular.

You anticipated a high chance of seeing Matthew tonight, and if it was true, it would be your first time seeing each other in person in two months. After week upon week of late night phone calls — full of dirty words, quiet moans, and soft goodnight wishes. With his timezone being three hours behind yours, the two of you set alarms on your phone to talk in the early hours of the morning. Until you fell into this routine of talking every night. First, helping each other get off — sometimes more than once. And then having a sleepy, giggle-filled conversation about anything under the sun. It regularly lasted until one of you fell asleep.

So, yeah. You were eager to see him. Even more eager to get back to his place. Get back underneath him. It’d been a week since you last spoke, both of you being too busy moving back to New York. You ached for him dearly. And you wanted his first reaction to seeing you again to be lustful, intense. The outfit was perfect.

Claire and you walked across campus, arm in arm, skin glowing under the lights, hair blowing in the breeze. The music was palpable, and you could hear it from miles away. The two of you stepped into the dorming building, giggling at the sight of familiar faces, the smell of alcohol and weed, the sound of bass.

For most of the night it was easy to mingle. You carried a solo cup of alcohol from each room — vodka. Everytime you drank rum, you got horny. It was weird. You couldn’t turn a corner without bumping into someone you knew, be it a dancer, an actor, film student. Being a double major, and active on campus, you knew way too many people. And everyone seemed to be there that night. It took you a good hour to rotate amongst groups.

“[y/n]?”

You turned around, a smile instantly appearing on your face. “Alex! Oh, my goodness! How are you?”

The dashing boy smiled at you, his hand on your shoulder. “Hey! I’m great, how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. I’m currently trying to have a good time despite being tired as hell.”

He laughed, “Well, I see you’ve got some good time juice there, so you’re halfway to freedom. Hey, I forgot to tell you — your performance in the nutcracker last Christmas was incredible. I, uh, I actually went to the spring ballet after that because I was so impressed.”

“Thank you,” you grinned. “I like to inspire people to experience ballet. It’s cool.”

“I was very inspired,” he nodded. “Hopefully we’ll have some more classes together this semester.”

“Yeah! If not, you know how to reach me.” You bit down on your lip to keep from smiling too wide. He gave you a quick wink, and walked away.

You instantly began looking for Claire, rushing around the dorm for anyone resembling your friend. You noticed her in the threshold of a room, shoulder leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. You walked up to her, “Claire! Claire, you’re not gonna believe who I just ran into. It was definitely not the reunion I was expecting tonight.”

Claire was dazed, staring in front of her with a face solid as stone. You very rarely saw her like this, and it freaked you out right away. “Claire? Claire, dude, what’s wrong?” You turned your head to follow her gaze, and your eyes landed on the couch.

People lined the cushions, and dead in the center was Matthew. His hair had grown out a lot, and he dressed differently. All button down shirts and khaki shorts. With that damn chain tucked in his collar. And beside him was a girl. Hair jet black, a matching black mini dress, paired with sandals. They were kissing. Hot. Heavy. His hand gripping her hair, the other on his thigh. When they seperated, she touched his lips and you felt yourself having a stroke. The giggled at each other and Matthew kissed her cheek.

“It’s about one-thirty, right?” Claire asked you, her sight not moving.

You gulped. There was an ache in your chest that made it hard to speak. But you took a deep breath, and release the words, “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

Claire walked around you, heading towards the exit, and you followed. The two of you walked home, silent, arms over each other’s shoulders. In the room, Claire dropped her stuff to the floor, kicked her shoes off and sat on her bed. You rushed into the space, approached your nightstand and rummaged through it.

“What are you doing, [y/n]?”

“I’m packing a bowl,” you replied, grabbing your herbs, a lighter and the bowl.

“Right now? In here?” She gasped.

“Is that okay?”

She sighed, “Yeah. Come share.”

The two of you sat on her bed, thirty minutes later, laying against the wall with your heads staring at the ceiling. Your eyelids were lowered, red, and your breathing was slow.

“I’m hungry,” Claire said, texting on her phone. “Do we have gummy bears? I want gummy bears. But haribo gummy bears. Not those knocks off we used to buy. And some soda. Soda would be so good right now. My mouth is so dry.”

You stayed quiet, eyes focused on the lights overhead. You couldn’t get the image out of your mind. Matthew. And that girl. Kissing. Touching.

“Her name is Veronica,” Claire said.

You turned your hear to her, “Huh?”

“Her name is Veronica,” she repeated. “Or Roni for short.” She rolled her eyes. “She, uh, she’s from Vegas. She went to school with...Gube, actually. They dated.”

“Oh...” you nodded. “Are you...are you okay?”

“I — I, yeah, I’m fine,” she shrugged. “It’s just...really inconvenient of him to go back to her right now.”

“Back to her?”

“They’re together. They’re dating. Apparently they got back together this summer.”

You furrowed your eyebrows together, a thousand thoughts running through your mind at once. “What do you think about that?” Claire asked.

“Uh...” You shrugged. “I’m surprised anyone actually touches that boy,” you laughed, the sound coming out broken and sad.

“Yeah...well...Misty says Roni is a big one for Gube. That, um, necklace he wears? She gave it to him years ago. He never took it off.”

You nodded, “Yeah,” your voice cracked. “Well, that’s...that’s some heavy fixation there.”

“[y/n]...”

“I should shower. I’m gonna shower.” You went to get off the bed, but Claire grabbed your wrist. You turned to her, and she pushed your hair out of your face.

“I’m really upset about this, kid,” she said. “Can you...can you just lay with me for a bit?”

You sighed, gave her a small smile and leaned in to hug her. She held you close, placing one hand on your head and the other on your rest. And she let you rest your head on her chest, as you let silent tears roll down your cheeks.

Monday morning, you got up at 5 in the morning. You spent 2 hours in the ballet studio, twirling and dancing until your feet went numb. When you returned home, Claire was still asleep and you took a quick shower. You tried on ten different outfits, applied makeup, spent a long time on your hair. You made breakfast, checked for any assignments, surfed social media. And still had an hour before class.

You chose to walk around campus, locate all your classes, grab some coffee, and then you headed to your first class. Walking through the building, you sipped on your drink, moving absentmindedly roaming the halls. Suddenly, a hand reached out and pulled you into a storage closet. Your scream was cut short, and you jumped as the door closed behind you.

You looked up at see Matthew staring at you, a soft smile on his face. “Hey.”

“I’m going to class,” you muttered, turning to exit the room. But Matthew put his hand on the door knob to stop you.

“Wait, wait,” he pleaded. “Um, do I see you at the party —“

“Yep,” you nodded, not making eye contact with him.

“So...then, you saw me at the party with—“

“Yep.”

“Okay...[y/n]...”

“I really have to go to class, so, thanks for the detour, but I’m leaving now.” You removed his hand from the knob and left the closet, not looking back.

You walked into your classroom, swallowing to get rid of the weird feeling in your throat. You set your bag down and took a seat. You attempted to shake Matthew out of your mind, the smell of him, the sight of him, the tension of being so close to him. But it was hard. It may have been the hardest thing ever.

“Well, well, well,” a voice called to you. “Guess I got lucky, huh?”

You looked up to see Alex, giving you a toothy grin and a look of pure joy. “Alex,” you breathed. “Hi. This is awesome, you’re in here?”

“Yeah,” he took a seat beside you. “Haven’t seen you much since freshman year. This is nice.”

“It sure is.”

So.

Remember number eight on your list of atrocities against Matthew Gubler?

Fucked his friend. While said friend was supposed to help Matthew with his project.

Alex would be the friend. He was gorgeous and kind and so good in bed. You first met in a cinematography class freshman year, where he very boldly asked if you wanted to hang out some time. You smiled, said yes, and that led to the aforementioned sexual encounter. It only happened a handful of times, until the semester was over. Then you didn’t see each other as often.

But he was here now. He was here and he was flirting with you. You were flirting back. You were hurt and upset and confused and so fucking horny, you could burst. So, after classes, you reached out to him and asked if he could help you with a pre class assignment. He told you to come over. You did.

You didn’t work on the assignment though.

Starting off pretty hot and heavy, it was a few weeks of meaningless sex until he asked you out. Claire cheered when she heard the news, causing you to give her a confused look. “Why are you so happy that I have a date?” You giggled.

“Oh...I just — Alex is cute! He’s great, I always wondered what happened to him. You said he was good in the sack and he was always sweet to you. I’m just, so glad you’re happy.”

You gave her a faux smile, “Yeah. I’m happy.”

Alex’s friend was having a birthday party at his apartment, and Alex insisted you come. Said it was the only way he’d be able to have any fun when everyone got too drunk. You agreed, and when he picked you up that night, you were dressed in a purple romper and diamond earrings.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss you.

“Thank you,” you smiled. “You look beautiful, too.”

He held your hand as he drove to the apartment, as you got out the car, walked up the stairs, entered the living space. He introduced you to everyone you met, his arm around you proudly and your head nuzzled into his chest.

Watching you across the room was a very irritated Matthew Gubler, who sat with Veronica on his lap and a beer in his hand. You didn’t notice Matthew’s presence for a long time, considering the fact that he was avoiding you, and you were more focused on Alex.

While talking to Alex’s friends, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. You strolled down the hallway, searching for the restroom.

“[y/n]!”

You turned around, confused. Matthew marched up to you, his hands in his pocket, his face determined.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you told him, and continued to walk.

He followed you. “So, you dating Alex now?”

“That’s not really your business, now is it?”

He grabbed onto your arm and pulled your body into his, hiding you two behind a corner. “No, but it bugs me.”

“It bugs you?”

“It bugs me. I don’t want you with Alex. Alex is a dick.”

“Well, not to me—“

Matthew leaned down and kissed you, his hands tightened on your waist. He kissed you like he was starving, mouth open, breath heavy.

You pushed him away, your eyes closed in shock and ecstasy. No, no, you thought. “Matthew—“

“Let’s leave,” he interjected.

“Huh?”

“Let’s leave. Me and you. Let’s go.”

“No,” you snapped.

“Why not?”

“Because, I’m here with Alex! And you’re here with...her, so, no. I’m staying here, with the guy I came with.”

“C’mon—“

“Matthew, no! No! Are you deaf? Are you dumb? Leave me alone, and go back to your girlfriend.” You suddenly didn’t have to pee anymore, so you returned to Alex and his group of friends. Matthew watched as you took a seat in Alex’s lap, and you pretended not to notice.

There was radio silence for months. Matthew even removed you on snapchat, and for your sanity, you ignored it. You continued a casual relationship with Alex, and he continued to worship the ground you walked on. A vast change in pace from Matthew. Claire pushed for the Alex relationship hardcore, saying hi to him when came over, giving you guys time alone, tagging alone with you two to parties.

But every once in a while, you thought about Matthew. When you saw a particular movie, or heard one of his favorite bands, right after you would have sex. And especially on Halloween. Over the summer, he told you all about his costume plans, party plans, and movie marathons he was going to have. And for some reason, like a clown, you just assumed you’d be with him when it happened.

By the time final exams were over, you and Alex considered yourselves exclusive. You strolled into the end of the year party, holding hands and laughing. You’d fallen into a good groove with his friends. They all liked you, you liked them, and you enjoyed their company. While sitting with them, one pulled out a joint, lit it and began to pass it around.

“Want a hit?” Alex asked.

“She’s pretty tiny. Can she handle it?” A friend said.

You glared at her and took the paper between your lips, inhaling and holding a large amount of smoke. She watched in amazement as you exhaled through your nose, “Well...I stand corrected, princess.”

You took in a sharp breath of air.

And that was just the beginning of the spiral.

You stayed in rotation of the weed for a long time, until your thoughts were nothing but a mess of words racing everywhere. Your eyes felt heavy, so did your body. And you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

You were wondering was there ever really a connection or were you just highly sexually compatible? Did Matthew ever have feelings for you or did he just want one thing? Why does kissing him and fucking him and just talking to him feel so different? How come when everything falls apart, you want Matthew? How come when everything is going well, you want Matthew? Need to talk to Matthew. Where’s Matthew? Where’s Matthew?

“[y/n]!” Alex called. “You’re high as fuck,” he laughed. “What are you thinking about?”

Matthew.

“Come here,” and he pulled you into a kiss. And when you pulled away, feeling nothing, nothing at all, you realized you needed Matthew. You needed to feel something. But Matthew wasn’t here. And you wish he was here. Where’s Matthew?

Tears were springing to your eyes, but you quickly began to cough, distracting yourself with a new sensation. You rose to your feet, and exited the room, much to Alex’s disapproval. He watched you rush past him, his face laced with confusion.

Everyone you passed by looked like Matthew. Why did everyone look like Matthew? You missed Matthew. And this was unfair. You wiped at the tears in your eyes, but they were already gliding down your cheeks. They burned your skin and it made you cry more. You were blinded. And way too high to notice Matthew - the real Matthew - entering the hallway.

His eyes were redder than red, a lot like yours. His movements were slow. But something told him to reach out for you. Like a magnet. And you fell into his arms. It took him a whole second to realize it was you, but he did.

“[y/n]?” he whispered. “Oh, my God, [y/n]. What’s wrong? What happened?” His hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs wiping the tears on your cheek.

“[y/n]!” Oh, no. Alex. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

At that point, you looked up at Matthew. Focused in on him. Said his name. But his attention had turned to Alex. And he was pissed. You could tell.

“Wait, wait, Matthew, wait,” you pleaded.

“What the hell did you do to her?” He shouted, holding you close.

“Wait, Matthew, he didn’t—“

“Gube, let her go, dude!.” Alex snapped, reaching for your arm.

And that sent Matthew through the roof. He released you from his arms and moved towards Alex, delivering a swift punch to his face. You’d never seen Matthew so much as cuss someone out, so this. This. This was hard to register. Nonetheless, you screamed his name, attempting to push both of them away from the brawl. But it was useless.

Two guys had to step in and separate Alex and Matthew, pulling them to opposing sides of the hallway. And you had to decide who to follow. It wasn’t a hard decision to make.

You kept a good 100 feet behind Matthew the whole time, watching him stomp his way to his residence hall. You knew exactly how to get into the building, but weren’t sure you should. You’d never seen him so angry. So red. So primal.

But, Matthew.

Oh, God, Matthew. What would you say? What would you do? Did he want to see you? Did he want to be alone? Was his roommate there? You paced for 20 minutes, freezing your ass off outside the dormitory. Your mind was made up when you found the side entrance and let yourself in, marching up the steps. Now or never. Now or never. And you needed to see Matthew now.

You perched yourself in front of his door, paused, and proceeded to knock with full force. “Be home, be home, be home,” you whispered.

He was home.

He came to the door, shirtless, his face bruised, his hair tasseled, and that stupid, ridiculous gold chain around his neck. And you’d never wanted to suck a dick so badly in your entire life. You instantly imagined grabbing him, kissing him, pulling him close. But you didn’t do that. You stood there, looking like an idiot, until he spoke.

“What are you doing here, [y/n]?”

You hadn’t even thought about it. It just felt right to follow him. “I—I wanted...I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

He shrugged, “I’m alright.” His face was stern. Stoic. No emotion showed on his features and it made you sick.

“Oh,” you said. “Okay.”

You stared at each other for a long time. You just wanted him to say it. Ask you to stay. Ask you to come in. To admit it. But he wouldn’t. So you had to walk away.

“Okay,” you nodded, sadly, and ducked your head as you headed towards the exit. “Okay.” You sniffled, patting at your eyes as they watered.

Matthew watched you go. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, his shoulders relaxing as he exhaled. “[y/n],” he called.

You’d stopped in your tracks.

“You...you were pretty stoned at the party,” he told you. “Are you sober?”

You turned your body to face him. You thought about his eyes. How red they were. How slow he moved. How you had both been utterly and totally high as hell. “I’m sober,” you said. Honestly. After all of tonight’s events, and the sheer shock of seeing Matthew, being so close to him again, you had sobered up. “Believe me, I’m sober. Are you?”

Matthew licked him lips, nodding as he sighed. He stepped out into the hallway, and pushed the door to his dorm open. He signaled for you to enter.

You gave him a quick and sad smile, and you avoided eye contact with him as you stepped into the empty room. He led the way to his private room, and let you in, closing the door behind you. You kept your back to him, arms crossed over your chest.

He sighed, “I’m—Veronica and I broke up. Actually, she broke up with me...again. So, y’know, it wasn’t much of a surprise, but—“

“Matthew,” you cut him off, turning to him. “I need a favor.”

He hesitated, then his voice was strong, “Anything.”

“I leave for home next week for Christmas break. And since, I can’t seem to figure out what the hell about you is driving me insane, Matthew Gubler, I’m going to need time. Space. If you need time and space. So, you need to make that decision.”

“Okay.”

“But right now, take your clothes off,” you ordered.

“Okay.”

He stared at you lustfully, just like you wanted, his body moving on autopilot to remove his shorts and boxers. You mirrored his movements, and took off your dress, subsequently tossing your bra and panties onto the floor. He grabbed onto your body and kissed you, one hand tangled in your hair and the other gripping your waist. He pushed you back onto his bed, falling on top of you and kissing your neck. You held onto his torso as he made way to your collarbone, nibbling on it lightly. He pulled away and gropped your breasts, massaging them with his fingers.

He was practically drooling over them, his eyes focused solely on your boobs. He leaned down and sucked on your nipple, while his hand slid down between your legs. He felt around your core, and slowly slid two fingers into you. You threw your head back, and moaned.

Matthew kissed a trail from your breast to your hips. He began to kiss your inner thighs, kneeling down in front of you and pulling you up to his face. He pressed his tongue against your clit, working his muscle in an up and down motion. You moved your hips against his face and his fingers, gasping weakly. You forgot how good his mouth felt, but this was huge, huge reminder. You gripped onto his hair and swore under your breath.

He noticed your thighs tightening around his face, and increased his intensity and speed. Your back arched off of the mattress, you whimpered into your mouth, and your chest was heaving. You let out a long groan as you came on his face, your entire body tensing up. He withdrew his fingers from you, and licked up from your core to your navel to your breasts. He kissed your neck, then your lips. And he sucked his fingers clean, holding eye contact with you.

Overwhelmed, you pulled him in by his face and kissed him passionately. He grunted against your lips, rubbing his cock on your core. He pushed into you, his jaw dropping and his forehead against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist and this encouraged him to thrust into you. Matthew held you in his arms, moaning into your ear as he moved his hips.

You kissed his jaw, sucking on the skin until you felt it pulse between your lips. You could feel his muscles moving under your palms, and his cock striking a sensitive spot inside of you. It felt like you were crumbling, getting weaker by the second. But when you felt the chain hitting your chin, you wired back to life. You gripped onto the necklace and twisted it around your fingers, angrily biting your lip.

As he slammed into you, you muttered a soft “fuck!” and yanked on the chain. It popped off of his neck, and it was cathartic. You moaned and threw it to a far corner of the room. You reached down and rubbed your clit quickly, panting as Matthew’s body began to tremble. He kept his gaze focused on you as you let him fuck you into another orgasm, and your hips rolled against his in an eager rhythm.

“Oh, fuck!” Matthew exclaimed, pulling out of you just in time. He released himself onto your stomach, moaning and gasping for air.

The mattress creaked as he laid down beside you, collapsing with a thud. The two of you stared at the ceiling, naked and breathy and covered in sweat. You rested your hand on Matthew’s chest, and he intertwined your fingers.

The next week, you were headed to the train station to get home for Christmas. Not knowing what to say to each, Matthew and you hadn’t talked since last week. You sat in the back of an uber, your suitcase at your side, when your phone vibrated in your lap. You picked it up and recognized Matthew’s name flashing on your screen.

You sighed, swiped to answer, and held the phone to your ear, “Hello?”

“I don’t want space.”

“I—“ You stuttered.

“I want as little space as possible.”

You were stunned, quiet, “Okay.”

The line went dead, and you set your phone down. You bit down on your lip. But the smile was still clear.

[PART 5.]

#mine #college!matthew #esny #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler imagine #mgg #mgg smut #mgg imagine

643 notes · View notes

jjpmoans · 4 years

Text

breakfast and macarons | pjy

↦ w.c : 5k+fluffs to kill you

↦ warnings : fluffs and i don’t know, tears? a bit of suggestive scene at the beginning but not too much.

↦ a/n :Happy belated birthday my fav girl @transparentweepingstudent. Do you remember how we start talking to each other? You were on anon then we replied back and forth and we ended up talking regularly, torturing each other with jinyoung lol. I am so sorry that I took too much time to write this fic. A lot of things happened and I didn’t get to finish it. But I wish you had a blast birthday and hopefully you love this fic. It will probably be cliche but we all love cliches. Enjoyyy the fic!

Waking up from sleep is forever a mystery to you. How you catch the first sound that penetrates your ears and like a switch, your body reacts to it and slowly you’ll come to consciousness. You will crack open one eyelid and start to search for some traces of which part of the day has you woken up to. Did you wake up at dawn? Or did you wake up to light rays escaping your curtain?

However today when you wake up, your eyes are met with darkness. The first thing that comes to your mind is you’re not in your apartment. A certain frame proves your point and calms you, knowing you’re not somewhere else. You stayed unmoved for what you feel like five minutes, trying to figure out what time it is before you feel the arms around your waist pull you closer to a sturdy chest, an unmistakable length has moved deeper inside you which in return, made you gasp and unintentionally squeezed his girth.

A groan escapes him sleepily and he noses your neck, inhaling your scent. Sexy gruff voice greets you from behind, a sneaky palm brushes one of your breasts and swiftly palms it. “G’morning, sweetheart.”

Your mind flies to the night before, where blood rushes to your face as you remember the man behind you went wild with his birthday gift for you and kept you awake through all five consecutive orgasms which explains why he is still inside you, courtesy of this gentleman demanding to stay buried inside.

Madness, you laugh.

“Good morning, Jinyoung.” his rough stubbles rub against your soft skin, creating goose bumps and redness. You don’t mind, you love this man the way he is. With facial hairs, he looks even more sexy, intriguing and hot. Uncontrolled, you squeeze him again, earning another groan. The palm on your breast has gone to two fingers rolling your taut bud instead. “Hm, your stubbles tickles.”

“Don’t shave your beard please.”

A disapproving noise comes, with a remark, “I’ll look like a homeless person.”

“Well, I’m sure you won’t because you can be a model with that handsome face.” you move away to face him, making him slip out of you, followed by a gush of mixture of your love making from the night before. “Oh- Jinyoung. That is a lot.”

He laughs when you whine about the mess you’re making on his bed sheet, ignoring your protest to get out of the bed and scoops you closer to him instead. “Jinyoung, this is so sticky!”

“You weren’t complaining last night.” he reminds you and you blush at his statement. He is so straight forward and it is so annoying.

“I was under your spell.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

Silence, a comforting one accompanies you as you stare at him. Like everything has come to a pause, your eyes trail down his forehead, his eyes, his nose, his lips. He’s perfect. You always wonder how you manage to wake up to this man every once and then. How have you scored a man this perfect?

“What are you thinking about?”

“You.”

He smiles, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I can see you’re going to be an emotional baby on your birthday morning but I won’t let it spoil the mood.”

He taps your ass, gesturing you to get up. His side of the bed is warm as he leaves you, yanking the curtain open and walks around naked to pick up your scattered clothes all over the place. So you’ve woken up somewhere after eight in the morning, you figured after your eyes landed on the clock. You eventually get up after watching his bare back muscles interestingly and even if you wish to stay longer in bed since you’re still sore and your bones are begging you to rest, Jinyoung’s invitation for a shower together sounds more inviting.

As much as your mind has imagined, the shower went without funny business because apparently Jinyoung has something else in his mind. You got teased a few times for trying to make him take you inside the glass bathroom however your man has great patience and self-control. He won’t be tempted when he is determined.

“Where are we going?” you ask as you stand in front of his wardrobe, contemplating your choice of clothing. You need to match the occasion and not look out of place just because your boyfriend wants to surprise you. “Jinyoung?”

“A breakfast date.” A casual style it is.

“We’re not taking the car?” you ask when Jinyoung presses the ground floor instead of the basement. You start to wonder where he is going to bring you since he doesn’t bring the car with him. It must be a walking distance cafe, but which one? Jinyoung lives close to a lot of fancy cafes that serve breakfast, you can’t guess which cafe he is bringing you to. “Thank god I’m wearing sneakers.”

“I’ve told you okay.” he reminds you just as the elevator opens to a quiet lounge. “But what did you say? No, I want to wear something pretty.”

“Shut up.” you tell him, elbowing him slightly before leaving him behind. The roaring laughter behind you sounds so terribly annoying so you quicken your pace to walk out of the lounge.

He catches up with you, still laughing but sounds softer and lovelier. “Okay okay, I’m sorry. Come let me shower my girlfriend with a lot of food for breakfast okay?”

“Only for breakfast?” you ask when Jinyoung pulls your hand in his, bringing you to the cafe direction. “What about lunch, tea, dinner and late night dinner?”

Jinyoung may look distracted but you know his ears are big for a reason. He is able to capture whatever you’ve said even without fully focusing on you, a trait he has trained himself since dating you to avoid you being mad at him for not concentrating. He got a point and that has successfully charmed you a few times when you thought he’s not listening but he proved it wrong instead. “I’ll feed you, don’t worry.”

See? Talk about being imperfect. Jinyoung? Never.

While he guides you to the cafe, you take extra attention to his subconscious behaviour that he naturally activates when with you. He doesn’t notice this, he will never notice it. However these are those simple things that move you. His hand which holds yours securely, not too tight but never too loose. Every time he turns around a corner, he’ll make sure you’ll be on the inner side of the sidewalk, never too far from him. He keeps responding to you even if he is focusing on guiding you, something you will never get used to. Though you know these are just small traits that every man should possess, but it has been so rare that it takes a gem to be this well mannered.

Five minutes into the walk, you realise Jinyoung’s strides have slowed down, slowly coming to a halt and when he turns to you with a smile, you guess you’ve reached your breakfast place.

“Wait- oh my god.” you exclaim when he opens the door for you, the chiming of the bell brings the chill to your spine. “Jinyoung! This is-”

You turn to him for him to answer you but he just nods, grinning at your priceless reaction. One thing that Jinyoung loves about you is the simplicity of your mind. You get excited over the smallest thing, granted it is done with sincerity and love. He knows bringing you to this cafe is a perfect plan, you will be over the moon for months.

It is definitely an exaggeration but you heard Ed Sheeran blasts from the speaker and you absent-mindedly made a little jump which causes Jinyoung to chuckle from your excitement. You are still gaping when you enter the exquisite cafe, your heart is full with excitement and you are just a second away from screaming. So when you stop to catch your breath after eyeing the interior design of the cafe, you turn to Jinyoung and hug him, screeching in his chest so your voice is muffled. You feel Jinyoung’s body shakes and you can picture him holding in his laugh because you’re too cute to handle.

“Hab i tod yu i wob yu?” you mumble against his chest. You’re not kidding when you say your heart is about to burst. You’ve been wanting to visit this cafe for a long time. It serves a buffet breakfast, the first thing that has caught your attention. Next it also has waiters to serve you fresh off the pan dishes like pancakes and scrambled eggs. Basically it is just like how hotel breakfast but you can dine in with reasonable price.

When you told Jinyoung about the cafe, he was reading one of his books and you can’t blame him if he didn’t hear you because one of his rules is not to disturb him while he is reading. However you were so excited to tell him that it was a walking distance from his place so you ignored the fact that he was so engrossed with reading. After that as you both carry your routine, it slipped your mind until today.

See what you thought about Jinyoung being perfect?

“What is it sweetheart? I can’t hear you clearly.” he laughs, actually understood you but acts like he doesn’t. It’s just like Jinyoung to tease you. Usually you’ll reply with snarky remarks but today, you really love him.

“I said I love you.” you grin, pulling him to the table. You’re excited to devour everything in the cafe. “I love LOVE you.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeap.” he shakes his head when he sees you being overly excited and waits patiently for him to pull the chair for you and starts sniffing the buffet like a starved puppy though it is literally a few metres away from your table.

“Hi. Here is the fresh-off pan menu.” the waiter greets you, placing two huge sized menus on the table. “Have you dined in here before?”

Jinyoung shakes his head, answering it on behalf of you. You have gone too far to listen to her explanation, the only things you have in mind are those delicious food waiting for you. You’re a big eater and Jinyoung is a dedicated boyfriend who loves to spoil you with food. A match made in heaven indeed.

You let the explanation pass your ears as you hear a bit of ‘..drinks over there..’, ‘...charged for leftovers…’ and when she finishes with a smile, you quickly turn your attention to jinyoung, grinning eagerly.

Jinyoung laughs as he realised you’re just an inch away from lunging towards the buffet but waits patiently for his approval. He closes the menu and tips his head as an approval, causing you to spring from your seat to the buffet section. Jinyoung’s laughter fills the cafe again, luckily it is less packed with customers since it is still early.

“Wow.” Jinyoung whistles when you placed another three plates of pancakes, rolled omelette, and toasts. Already on the table are your sausages, your muffins, waffles, your cereal bowl with a glass of milk, your fresh orange and Jinyoung’s black coffee. Oh yes you’ll get the fruits later. “Is the sex last night really good that you are starving?”

He eyes the amount of plates on your shared table and suddenly he thinks that they need an extension of the table. It is literally full with your food that he can’t even add his own. However that is the least of his concern, he knows he’s going to finish your food for you later so he doesn’t even bother to stand up and get his own food. “Are you sure you can eat all of these?”

You roll your eyes in annoyance and sit down, grabbing your utensils. “Shut up. I’m hungry.”

“Oh I wouldn’t have guessed.” he snorts, reaching for a piece of waffles and a chocolate spread by his side. “You don’t look starving in the slightest.”

“Oh shut up.” you scoop a spoonful of cereal, the one you always love since you were little, humming cheerfully to the delicious taste of the familiar childhood cereal. Your taste buds are now stimulated and you can’t stop moaning at how good it tastes. “Jinyoung this is really good!”

Jinyoung halts in his motion, giving you an incredulous look. His waffle is now gone and he’s reaching over a piece of sausages when you slap his hand away from your precious piece of meat. “Ow. That’s just cereals, baby. C'mon, share the sausages.”

You glare at him when the tip of his finger touches the firm sausages. Raising your fork to your eye level, you jab the thin air. “Don’t touch my food after you’ve insulted my childhood cereal.”

“You’re ridiculous.” he chuckles, aiming for the muffins instead. You took three instead of two, that means one of them is his. Jinyoung internally laughs at how petty you will become when it involves food. It’s just another random thing he loves about you. “Eat a lot, baby.”

While you practically inhale your food, Jinyoung acts as your butler, cutting the sausages into smaller pieces and spreads the jams on the bread for you. Once he finishes playing butler, he starts feeding you so much that your cheeks are about to burst from all the feeding. “Jinnyom-”

He coos, laughing while nodding to your incoherent mumble and stops feeding to let you swallow them first. “Are you trying to kill me?”

He flickers his eyes to you while he brings another piece of pancake dipped in maple syrup to your mouth. “Says the one who brings all the food to the table.”

“I brought it for you too!”

“Yeah? I thought the sausages are yours?”

“That’s mine. You eat something else.”

The amount of food on your table decreases shortly with Jinyoung’s help. You are full and now Jinyoung is left to eat the leftovers. This is why he doesn’t bother to order anything, he knows you can’t eat them all. He is always the trash can, his words not yours.

“This cafe is so pretty, Jinyoung.” you blurt out your thoughts, your eyes roaming all over the places. The cafe is situated in the middle of the city which is busy with cars and public transport. However once you are inside, it literally blocks the noisy sound and you’re left with the peacefulness of the cafe and the song that blasts from the speaker. There are not a lot of customers at this time of the day hence it is even more quiet and reserved.

The workers keep the food warm by lighting up candles under the buffet and honestly, it feels just like hotel breakfast.

“You like it?” the background song starts to change, Paramore comes up with a fragment of your memory. “Oh, it’s our love song.”

You laugh when he tries to listen more carefully to Still Into You, bopping his head to the beats and swaying his body while feeling the music.

“I should be over all the butterflies~” he raises his fork to his mouth level, pointing them towards you with overflowing adoration and playfulness in his eyes. “But i’m into you.”

“Oh lord.” still giggling, you are sure that both of you looks like you’re madly in love and have become hopelessly dumb. “How sure are you that after all this time you’re still into me?”

“Easy peasy.” Jinyoung answers, munching the half eaten pancake. “I’m having breakfast with you, the love of my life.”

“At the cafe that you told me when I was reading.” he wiggles his eyes smugly. “Doesn’t that already prove that I am still into you?”

“That’s so cheesy.”

“And you love me for that.”

“Thank you for dining here!” the cashier returns Jinyoung’s card with the bill, bowing to you before you leave the cafe with a full tummy.

The noises from the street greet you again however you don’t care, you are happy and it takes nothing to spoil your mood. Jinyoung leads you back to his place again, holding your hand in his while you skip happily next to him.

“Are you that happy?”

You nod, swinging his hand back and forth to show that you are indeed, very happy. “I had a great night and a great breakfast date. I don’t have anything more to ask for my birthday.”

Placing a quick peck on his cheek, you wrap your arms around him in appreciation. “Thank you, lover boy.”

Jinyoung scrunches his face at your endearment, bringing your intertwined hand and presses a kiss on the back of your hand. “You sure you don’t want anything else?”

You shake your head. There’s nothing you really want, Jinyoung has gone even beyond your expectations.

“But I still have one more thing for you.” his words left you puzzled, before you realise that you’re not walking home. Instead you are at the opposite direction of his place, even further than the cafe.

Once you fall into step in front of a bakery shop, another bulb goes off your mind and you turn to Jinyoung in disbelief. “Wait- really?”

In front of the bakery stands the most popular advertisement made by the shop, the macaron class. It is a bakery that makes the most delicious macaron and is very popular with the customized macaron which you can make by yourself by joining the 2 hours class at the shop. It was a waste of time, Jinyoung had once said because he knows both of you have better things to do than making macaron for two hours. You agreed with him, even though you really wanted to join the class. It’s kind of cringe, making a couple macaron but you can’t deny that it is intriguing.

“You said you don’t want to join the class.”

Your eyes start to get watery and before you can even cry, Jinyoung brings you close to his side and presses a kiss on top of your head. “When did I never give you what you’ve wanted? Hm?”

“Now come on. The class is starting in 10 minutes.”

You knew making macaron is quite tedious but you never knew it is this tedious. Forty minutes into whisking the never ending meringue to get a stiff peak, you throw your whisk into the bowl. Jinyoung who is preparing the filling for your macaroon on your left jumps, startled by your action. Once he looks at your undone macaronage, he laughs, patting you softly.

“I’ll whisk it for you.” he then finishes his fillings and puts them into a piping bag and leaves it aside to take over your side of the station. “I have offered to whisk but look at you stubborn baby.”

Your hands are crossed as you watch him whisking the meringue, his muscles contract every time he whisks the blue meringue. His veins start to emerge on his skin, complimenting his muscular body. Something snaps inside you when you see him looking effortlessly hot while doing the most common thing as whisking.

“Sweetheart if you’re done staring, we need to bake the macaron.” he brings you back to reality, nudging you to start doing your work. He is already working on his own meringue and just in ten minutes, he finished his pink batter and already placing the batter into the piping bag next to your.s You never know he can whisk that fast but apparently the baking teacher approves his meringue stiff peak and you can start baking after one hour of preparing.

“Remind me to not ask for any more baking class.” you groan after piping your batter on the parchment paper and wait patiently for it to grow a shell and then it’s ready to bake. Jinyoung, as always, smiles mockingly while he repeats for the n-th time that he only wants to give you what you have wanted. His own batter has dried and ready to bake.

Above everything, you’re the most excited when it comes to decorating the macaron. The blue macarons that you made are for Jinyoung while yours is the pink one that he did. So after the macarons are ready for decoration, you both sit further apart to surprise each other with your own decoration. The shop provides almost everything, different types of toppings and different colour papers for you to DIY your macaron box.

“Do you need more time?” Jinyoung asks after thirty minutes. You are still sticking the cute stickers all over the box when he comes closer to take a look at your decoration.

“Do not come close!” you warn, showing your palm to stop him. “Give me ten minutes.”

“It’s not that serious-”

“Shut. up.”

“So, who gets to open their box first?” you ask after Jinyoung places a tray of drinks and bread in front of you.

“Me first since we have waited long enough for it to finish.” Jinyoung answers, giving you a judging look. “And we can decide who’s box is the best.”

“Okay!”

You are so excited to see Jinyoung’s reaction. You worked hard to decorate the box with edible stickers, lining your name with his on top of each macarons and finishing it with sprinkles and other toppings. You were also torn to choose which colour compliments his blue macaron the best. You can only hope he loves them because really, as much as you give yourself credits, you are actually the worst when it comes to creativity.

“Oh!” your eyes are closed when he starts unboxing his macaron so when he gasps, you quickly open your eyes and watch the corner of his lips stretched into a wide smile, lips pressed and whiskers eyes showing up. “Oh god.”

Both of you fall into a fit of laughter, knowing how bad your skills are but still, it melts your heart to see Jinyoung appreciating your not-so-creative mind. Jinyoung is a transparent man, his face gives away his emotion. He can hardly mask his emotion when he’s with you, hence you usually are able to detect any slight changes in his mood based on his facial expression.

After staring at his macaron for a while, he looks up to you, offering another smile. “I think my box will win.”

“Is it my turn now?”

“Go ahead.”

You’re beyond excited. You know Jinyoung’s creativity is just like yours, he can never win this competition. Him and you are both helpless in art, so it is like a battle of non-creative decoration rather than the most creative decoration.

Jinyoung watches you intently as you start opening the box, greeted by nothing other than a piece of blue parchment paper as the base, the macarons arranged neatly and an envelope placed together in the box.

“Jinyoung! You literally didn’t decorate it!” you laugh, picking the envelope nonchalantly and opening it without much thought. It must be a piece of card with ‘I love you’ inside it. Like you’ve said, both of you lack of creativity when it comes to art.

However when you unfold the paper, instead of a simple ‘I love you’, a whole neatly written love letter with Jinyoung’s penmanship greets you.

Dear the woman I have loved my entire life,

I am always grateful to God when he gives me you. Do you remember the first time we talked to each other? I was fifteen and you were thirteen, we don’t even know each other that much. We were in the same club but we never talked. It’s just you and me when we both sit at the table in the library and suddenly I called your name and asked if you could pretend to be my girlfriend because of a certain girl that won’t leave me alone and was walking toward us. I know, it’s really cliche and it sounds like it jumped from a novel but you said yes and you don’t mind. After that my boys found out about us and decided to prank us by locking us in a room and we talked for hours. I still remember how you shook your head at my boys’ antics. hahahahaah. I remember I assured you that they will come to let us our after some time and to believe me. Sometimes I think I should thank that girl for bothering me non-stop and the boys because since then, my world has been colourful with you inside it.

Do you remember how we fought a year later over some ridiculous issue like jealousy? We were so immature that we broke up but we ended up together again after Yugyeom told me you were crying in the bathroom because of me? Yeah, I was stupid. But do you know what is ever more stupid? The fact that we broke up every time we were facing a big examination

Do you remember when I got offered a letter to extend my study overseas? You cried again as if you’re not clever enough to land a place overseas too? I remember that we kissed for hours because you couldn’t stop crying and wanted to stay in my arms. You even stole my hoodies and I ended up bringing only three hoodies to my A-Level study because you wanted to wear them. You don’t know how cute you were. Then two years later you got the same acceptance letter like mine and you were so happy that you talked to me for five hours even though it was midnight for you.

Staying together with you in the UK was the best decision I ever made. Do you know how domestic we looked? I wake up to you, snuggling by my side and hugging me tight? You just don’t know how ecstatic I was. We were like a married couple, literally married just without the rings. The adventures I had with you, travelling to every part of the world, I love every inch of them. People wonder how we got this far but I don’t really need to wonder at all. Like how Paramore said, I’m really into you.

For eleven years, you have been by my side, staying with me through thick and thin. You were there for every step I made, whether it’s bad or it’s good. Remember when you were so nervous to meet my parents? Because we both went to boarding school and it was scary for parents to think we were busy dating and not studying. You were shaking from head to toe even when we already finished school and were already studying in university.

It’s getting long and I was just reminiscing the old days right? I should get to my point by now.

I have been celebrating your birthday with you for eleven years and though it sounds too long, it feels too short for me. I want to keep celebrating your birthday with you until we’re grey and old. Let’s grow old together, baby. Let’s lay in each other’s arms and whisper good mornings and good nights every single day. Let’s make your twelfth birthday with me as Mrs Park instead.

Happy Birthday, sweetheart. I love you to the moon and beyond. Let’s get married next year, can we?

Love,

Yours.

As you finish the letter, your cheeks are wet from the tears. You never knew it has been eleven years since you dated each other. You were too content living with Jinyoung that you’ve forgotten time passes too fast and your relationship will turn twelve next year. It makes your heart swell when you know that Jinyoung remembers each life event and almost all of it involves both of you.

When you finally look at him, a gush of tears escapes again. He is holding a ring, a simple promise ring that his mother bought for him after he finished high school. He told you about it, his mom told him to put this on the woman he’s marrying only when he is sure of it. When you asked him why he didn’t want to put it on you, he explained that it’s not that he is not sure of marrying you, but he wanted to secure your future. He wanted a future for you and he will not put the ring on you until he is sure that he is able to provide you everything you deserve.

“When did you plan all of this?” you never saw him busy writing the letter and setting up your birthday plan. You have no idea when he planned these things. “Why are you making me cry, Jinyoung.”

“Am I the best boyfriend now?” he laughs, teasing you slightly. “I planned it when you’re asleep. I also got some help from the boys. Bambam and Yugyeom helped to book the cafe while Jackson helped to sign up for the macaron class.”

You are still overwhelmed by the letter, your tears don’t seem like it’s stopping anytime soon. You wanted to scream, to tell everyone how emotional you are. The man that you’ve loved just proposed to you on your birthday. Someone got to tell you what is better than all of these combined?

“Do you want to marry me?” he asks, suddenly not sure of your reaction. You’ve been crying, cupping your face and repeatedly asking him if he’s being serious about the proposal. “Do you want to celebrate your next birthday as Mrs Park instead?”

You stand up and reach over to his side to sit on his lap which catches Jinyoung off guard and his hands fly to hold your waist steadily. You give him no time to adjust when you press a kiss to his lips as a sign of approval.

“I do, Jinyoung.” his grip on your waist tightens, drowning his moan in as to be cautious not to attract people’s attention. “I do.”

Jinyoung then takes your hand, slipping the awaiting ring in his hand right on your ring finger. Like it is meant to be yours, the ring fits perfectly, now a mark that you’re officially Jinyoung’s.

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.” Jinyoung offers, already packing your macarons and your food. “I need to show you how happy I am.”

[ Writings ]

#the moans writings #got7creators #got7 jinyoung fanfic #jinyoung fanfic #got7 jinyoung fluffs #got7 jinyoung #jinyoung got7 #jinyoung got7 fanfic #jinyoung fluffs #jinyoung got7 fluffs #got7 fluff #jinyoung fluff #got7 fic #got7 imagines #jinyoung imagines #birthday fic

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classicaltrashical · 4 years

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Okay I'm not pro-bakugou, but I'm not an asshole that's going to sh*t on you for liking him, but here are some reasons on why I really dont understand people shipping BakuDeku or liking Bakugou Katsuki in general. Not hating on you just stating some canon facts. By the way I tried to censor myself but I just stopped because I got so frustrated with the amount of abuse that Bakugou got away with in just the first few chapters of the manga.

1. Bakugou is abusive towards Izuku both physically and emotionally.

1. The first freaking page of the manga starts out with Bakugou punching Izuku (while probably using his quirk).

2. Page 12 of the first chapter Bakugou slams his hands onto Izuku's desk and uses his explosion to the point it blasts Izuku out of his desk.

- Also note Izuku's body language he is trying to be as small as possible because he already is acclimated to this treatment. He is also seen trying to be as small as possible.

3. Page 15 Bakugou destroys Izuku's notebook (destruction of property).

4. Page 16 Bakugou burns Izuku's shoulder. From the looks of this and Bakugou's attitude towards Izuku this appears to in some way be a common occurrence. Because obviously this is NOT the first time he burned Izuku.

5. Page 17 Bakugou tells Izuku and I quote from the VIZ My Hero Academia Volume 1 10th Printing September 2019 "You wanna be a hero so bad? I've got a timesaving idea for you. If you think you'll have a quirk in your next life... go take a swan dive off the roof!!" After this Bakugou makes small explosions on his palm in a threatening way and Izuku left in the classroom shaking in fear. Even his friends tell him that he went too far.

6. Of course you have the name Deku. Which when used in the context that Bakugou does in the anime means Defenseless Izuku and also uses it as the abbreviation of Dekunobou which roughly translates to "good for nothing."

7. In the flashback of Izuku and Bakugou after getting praised by their principal(?) Bakugou basically grabs Izuku by the collar of his uniform and shoved up against the wall all because Bakugou was jealous and mad that he was not the first and only student to go to U.A. from their middle school and mad because he thought Izuku was hiding his quirk all this time.

2. Izuku is still traumatized.

1. I've hinted at this above, but I don't think I would allow someone with a quirk that makes them sweat a nitroglycerin-like substance to put their smoldering hand on me. Seriously just that scene makes it clear that Bakugou has used his quirk to either frighten Izuku or to injure Izuku.

2. When going in for the entrance exam on page 2 of the third chapter Izuku is shown to turn away from Bakugou and appears to be even more nervous then before.

3. Izuku also thinks to himself about how he has to "stop flinching instinctively." Guys he flinches away from just hearing and/or seeing Bakugou. If you think this can become a healthy and stable relationship......??? Also a few pages after when everyone is gathering around their assigned testing locations someone says "he flinches at the slightest touch" after Iida grabs his shoulder.

- If you think that is freaking natural someone watching that unfold already freaking knows it's not f u c k i n g natural for some to be terrified of another person grabbing their shoulder when they even see the person performing the act. Startled perhaps, but not the way Izuku flinched. Once again in this scene (and like most throughout the first volume) Izuku tries to make himself smaller than he already is by tucking his chin towards his chest and looking away from Iida (who by the way is trying to meet Izuku's eye.) Izuku is so used to being physically abused by his peers that he flinches on contact.

4. Before entering the 1-A classroom for the first time Izuku prays that neither Bakugou or Iida would be in the same class and depicts Bakugou in a pretty demonic way.

5. After the meeting with the principal(?) Izuku instinctively raises his arms to try and block any explosions near his face.

6. After Izuku uses OFA through one finger in Aizawa's assessment test Bakugou is furious and when Izuku sees his barreling towards him he screams in fear. And guys this must be the first time someone has actually STOPPED Bakugou from tormenting Izuku because the look on Bakugou's face is pure shock. Meaning in the years (probably near a fucking decade) nobody has stopped anyone from bullying Izuku. Like that says it all, doesn't matter if you're pro-Bakugou or not Bakugou traumatized Izuku because his abuse and torment went from when they were just little kids after finding out Izuku was quirkless to right after the Sludge Monster.

Do I need to continue into Volume 2 with the whole Bakugou versus Izuku fight? But I will say this...

Izuku has started to heal.

As the manga and anime continue Izuku stops flinching everytime someone calls his name or touches him. He stops raising his arms to block a blow that won't come. He stops trying to sink in on himself. I think the best comparison of this is when Izuku first "raises" his hand in the first chapter to the one during Ectoplasm's math lesson where he stands up confidently and gives an answer.

But healing doesn't erase the past. Healing mentally doesn't erase physical scars (once again it is pretty obvious that Bakugou used his quirk on Izuku.)

Not to mention Bakugou has yet to confront what he did to Izuku. Hell he hasn't even changed much. The only change he did was not always call people somewhat derogatory names instead of their actual name. Don't give me that shit of "well he was kidnapped and felt guilty over All Might's retirement." That's just making a fucking excuse about why he should be forgiven. Was he held against his will for almost a fucking decade? No it was a handful of days and who got him out? Shockingly, but sadly not shockingly the one he decided to torment for years. Don't give me that shit about how apparently being a kid gets you out of trouble. Sure some of it was when he was a kid, but want to know something people age. Hell by the time he told Izuku to kill himself he would have been 14 and most likely almost 15. Which means he should have fucking known better! The only actual excuse I will allow to somewhat slide is the fact that as mentioned AIZAWA SHOTA WAS PROBABLY THE FIRST ADULT TO STOP BAKUGOU FROM HARMING IZUKU! Meaning every fucking adult that saw the way Bakugou acted didn't do jack shit which meant he was raised in a toxic system for years being told what he was doing wasn't something worth being punished for. But still Bakugou should have known better.

The fact that Izuku idolizes Bakugou shows how toxic even this "friendship" is. He is literally idolizing his abuser. And yeah Bakugou is an abuser sure he can be called a bully and a tormentor but he is an abuser. "A person who treats another person or animal with cruelty or violence, especially regularly or repeatedly"- the fucking Oxford definition of abuser. I mean repeatedly throughout the series Izuku talks about how he has come to view Bakugou as an image of victory.

You want a character to be dating his past abuser? You really want that? I don't give a shit if you write a "they have a talk about their past" before they start dating in your story.

The fact that Bakugou's abuse and the trauma it did to Izuku hasn't been talked about yet in canon is also something that angers me a bit (hopefully Horikoshi has something planned for this). Because it's obvious from their fight during finals and their fight after the provisional license exam that they need to at least talk about it. And then get them both into fucking therapy because yikes they both need it.

And I do not fully agree with Bakugou being forced out of the Hero Course (as some people do), but at least some temporary removal. Mainly put him on probation for a while. Because I believe there are rules in Hero Society that prohibit even middle schoolers from using their quirks against someone(? Right these exist?)

Also if you think for one fucking second that Bakugou did not abuse Izuku and having them in a relationship is not toxic go read the manga and watch the anime both from the beginning because you are missing some cues.

I know that this is was supposed to be about why I don't see how people can ship this and it turned into a rant. I never really care about what other people ship but just think about this. I wrote this mainly because I have seen some people around saying that anti-bakugous overexaggerate and say that Bakugou want not an abuser when ah clearly he is. Like I could go onnnnnnnnn about how much damage Bakugou did to Izuku. We aren't exaggerating you just need to go back to the beginning and see how shitty Bakugou treated Izuku.

If you want to make an argument about how Bakugou is a good guy and how he has learned and changed and it's all good now come @ me I have volumes 1-23 and the other manga chapters on stand by and my Hulu is up and ready.

Not actually looking for an argument but I could have made this post longer but it's now almost 8am I haven't slept a wink and I'm tired.

#bakugou katsuki #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #Bakugou is a bully #Bakugou is an abuser #midoriya izuku #not hating just stating canon facts #anti bakudeku #anti bakugou #anti Bakugou Katsuki

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deliberatelyvague · 4 years

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Spotlight (Asmodeus x fem!reader)

Started: April 5, 2020 at 7:42pm

Ended: April 5, 2020 at 8:50pm

Word Count: 2,030

Shipping: [Asmodeus x fem!reader]

Trigger Warning: cutting, eating disorder, (notes of) depression

Author’s Note: Uhh so here’s another one. I enjoy writing stories, so please, continue requesting!

Prompt/Request: OK SO IDK WHICH ONE I WANT TO REQUEST SO IM DOING BOTH. Can I request a mc x asmo scenario where mc is a super duper popular idol but it’s later revealed that in order to keep her beauty she develop an eating disorder and started to develop depression resulting in cutting her self?? Sorry for the weird ask!!

—————

You had always heard the saying ‘beauty is pain’. You didn’t realize how much pain it was, however, until you got down to the Devildom. Of course, you weren’t totally off Scott-free, your fans still expected some content, and you were in no place to deny them that.

Now, you loved the majority of your fans. They always backed you up, defended you and the link, but there was just somethings they couldn’t defend you from. Including yourself, unfortunately.

Getting famous started moderately fine, you went viral because of your singing videos, and you guess some modeling businesses enjoyed your looks and attitude enough that they asked if you could do some shoots. From then on, it was a whirlwind of sessions, meet and greets, starving yourself and self harming.

That last part was relatively new, and it was caused by some hate that you had received. Well, hate was to put it in modern terms. A tabloid had started rumors that you had gained weight, which wasn’t wrong (you were still growing and maturing, your body weight is going to fluctuate), but they stretched it beyond what it was and paired it with some terrible pictures taken with your guard down. It all mixed to create a terrible atmosphere, especially when other tabloids started to gossip about your weight as well.

Eventually it seemed that your weight was the only thing important. So, you started to cut down on food. You started to take walks and workout moderately regularly, and the results were almost instantaneous. You dropped a few pounds a week, your figure slimmed down and you had never felt better. But then, the opposite effect happened with the tabloids, talking about how much weight you had lost, but this time they were praising you. You loved that feeling, it’s why you continued singing and modeling anyway.

People called you beautiful and you thrived off the attention, which is probably why when you went to the Devildom you and Asmodeus hit it off so quickly.

You two were best friends within the first week you were there- and since he had a tendency of going partying after school and hanging out with other friends of his on some days, he never noticed how little you truly ate.

None of the other brother’s noticed, or you figured they didn’t.

But then something happened, you stopped losing weight as quickly as you had been. This sends you into spirals of anxiety, making you cut back more and more, exercise more. But it didn’t work. In fact, one week when you had weighed in, you had gained weight.

As you stared at that number flashing at you, the number that was only a pound above where it had been last week, you started sobbing.

Thoughts piled up in your mind about how you weren’t good enough anymore, about how your fans will leave you, about how Asmodeus would leave you. His friendship meant the world to you, and you would be lying if you told yourself that a friendship was all that you wanted from him.

But he was out partying with demons that were better than you, no doubt, ones that were skinnier, more confident, and yards better than you in everything.

In the back of your mind, you remembered the hater’s comments on some of your most popular songs, telling you about doing things to your body. You remember the tabloids gossiping about self-harm scars on popular actresses' bodies, and you thought about why they would do that. It’s said to be a pleasure source, something that makes the person doing it feel better.

You would do anything to feel actually, genuinely happy, for once, so before you even thought about it you had popped a blade out of the razor in the bathroom and pressed it to your hip. You almost never showed off your stomach, so it wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

You flinched away from the wound almost immediately, the pain coming in tiny spikes. But then, eventually, there was a bit of pleasure coming from it, watching little dots of blood pop up and drip down your hip and fall onto the ground. You cut yourself again, then once more.

You swallowed, breaking out of the trance the red lines had put you in before you realized that you needed to finish your homework. You cleaned up your cuts, sliding on a pair of loose-fitting joggers and a shirt you had taken from Asmodeus and padded over to your desk, sitting in the sodden chair, trying not to bother the cuts more than the pants would already. You quickly finished the homework, well as quickly as you could when every few minutes or so you would move slightly and the cuts would be agitated, and for a few quick moments you considered taking off your pants, but you didn’t know when Asmodeus would make his way to your room and come in without knocking like he usually did.

Though eventually you did change into some sleeping shorts, ones that almost fell off of your body, and that were practically bootie shorts.

“Doll, I’m coming in,” you heard Asmodeus’ voice through the door before he opened it. You were laying on your back on your bed, your head hanging off and your DDD in your hand.

“Asmo!” You called gleefully, his face immediately lightening your mood substantially. “How was the party?”

“It wasn’t as good as the one the other week, you remember that one, right doll? The one I forced you to come to.”

“Oh, yeah that one. I love that the first party you made me go to was also a rave. Go big or go home, right?”

“Of course! Now, Doll, what are we doing tonight? We could watch a movie and eat some unhealthy snacks?”

“Uh, we can watch movies, but I don’t really want to eat anything,” you told him, flipping around on your bed and sitting on your legs. He tilted his head and a frown formed between his two perfectly sculpted eyebrows.

“Oh? But Lucifer told me you didn’t eat tonight, you must be hungry?”

“No, I’m not really,” you assured him, but your stomach decided to betray you in that exact moment almost as if it was saying ‘don’t lie to him I am hungry’.

He looked from your stomach to your face with an unamused look on his face.

“[Y/N], he also told me that he’s never seen you eat, that you don’t eat dinner here at all. You know you don’t have to lie to me, right?”

The honesty in his voice and the look in his eyes almost broke you.

“I know,” he looked concerned, but didn’t push you. You knew you would tell him about your disorder when you were ready, hopefully if he had any idea about your disorder, he knew that too.

The two of you decided to do an at-home spa day, and he took you to his room. The two of you did face masks, hair masks, mani-pedis, and other things like that.

You had chosen each other’s nail colors, and you had picked an orange color to match his eyes, and he picked pink, using a holographic color on your ring figures. You liked that enough you did that on his ring figured too so you both would be matching.

While you waited for your nails to dry and picked out toenail polish, he asked you about any crushes.

“Oh, no, Asmo, I don’t really have my eyes on anyone,” you lied as you looked through the shades of blue he had. His eyes immediately lit up.

“Yes! Yes you do, I knew it! Who is it?” He said excitedly, and you shook your head.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe that. I’m not going to tell you because it’ll never happen, trust me.”

“Doll, how could you say that? I’m sure a lot of people would love to date you, to be able to call you theirs!” You shook your head, scoffing at him.

“Not this guy. I’m pretty sure he had his eyes on someone else, anyway.”

“Is it Lucifer? It does seem like he has his eyes on Diavolo, but I don’t know about that one, Doll. You still might have a chance.”

“No! It’s not Lucifer, I don’t have that big of daddy issues.”

“Who is it? Please, tell me,” he begged, and for the first time you actually looked at him. His eyes showed almost.. sadness. He seemed sad to be thinking about you with someone else.

You just shook your head.

“Asmo,” you let out, leaning back and looking at him. “It’ll ruin this.” He frowned.

“[Y/N], what do you mean?”

“Asmo,” here it comes, you just decided to let it out. “I like you. I really, really like you. But I understand if it weirds you out, if I’m not your type, I-”

You were interrupted when Asmo held the back of your head and brought your lips to his. You melted into his, and he put his hands on your hips and pulled you onto his lap. You let out a yelp when he pulled on you a little too hard, your cuts opening.

“Doll, what’s wrong?” He asks, before looking down at where his hands were, one of his hands having a little spot of blood on them and the shorts being stained with a little amount of blood. “[Y/N], what’s this?” You let his lift your shirt and pull down your shorts slightly, and he let out a small gasp, his face dropping as he took in your figure, one significantly smaller than it had been when you first came, and the multiple cuts you had on you.

“I, it’s just stress. The tabloids, the comment sections of almost anything when I post pictures, it’s all just a lot.”

“Doll, you could have come to me. Here, let’s fix you up a little bit,” he soothed, picking you up and making you wrap your legs around him, carrying you to his bathroom and dressing your wounds. You didn’t say anything to him. “When’s the last time you ate or drank anything?”

“I drank some water earlier today,” you tell him, and he smiles slightly and strokes your hair. “Good job on that, Doll. But we need to get some food in your stomach, okay?”

Your heartbeat sped up, and you shook your head, tears coming.

“No, Asmo, I can’t eat. Please, don’t make me.”

“I’m not asking you to eat much, please, I can’t have my girl dying on me. What about a piece of fruit and some more water?”

You looked at the floor for a few seconds.

“Can we watch something while I eat, and cuddle, please? It’ll help me take my mind off of it, I think.” He nods, and you both walk to the kitchen after fixing your clothes.

Grabbing your food and water you make your way to your room and turn on [TV show or movie] as Asmo sat on the floor, pulling you into his lap, his chest pressed against your back. He kissed underneath your ear.

Once you had finished the food, which took a bit, but it’s still down for now, he praised you.

“Good girl, Doll. Now finish the water and he can cuddle more.”

You finish the water and turn to him.

“Thank you, Asmo. For helping me.”

“Of course, Doll. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

————

This was written by me in no way trying to romanticize mental illnesses. I try to write what I feel would help me in the moment. I completely understand that mental illnesses don’t just ‘disappear’ when you’ve figured out that someone loves you or someone helps you once- that’s why I don’t write what happens after in most cases. If you are struggling, please reach out to anyone you trust, or call a hotline.

#obey me #obeymeoneshots #obeyme #obey me oneshots #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #obeymexreader #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #shall we date #shall we date asmodeus #shall we date asmo #asmodeus #asmo #asmo x reader #asmodeus x reader #x reader

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heyletsbeorganised · 5 years

Text

This is often a big question for many because either they need somewhere functional or somewhere motivating. Below is a list of possible places that are easily accessible that hopefully will work for you and your study, also with tips to ensure practicality.

Not your Bed!

I don’t know how many times I’ve said to myself that I’m going to study on my bed because it’s comfy and it’s a reward. I also don’t know how many times I’ve fallen asleep on my phone without even opening a book!

Your body registers your bed as a sleepy time spot so will somewhat shut down when you lay there, thus feeling tired and unmotivated.

Because there is no desk you often have to slouch over to write, which just wrecks your back making you want to lay down and therefore fall asleep.

Just don’t do it, trust me.

A Desk

Obviously I have to add this in. Many people have a desk but still find it hard to study at them so here are a few ways to make it easier.

Make sure it’s clean! You aren’t going to be motivated if you first have to do the annoying task of cleaning.

When you sit down make sure you have all the material you need e.g. your pencil case, notebooks, laptop, a drink, any snacks etc. this way you don’t keep getting back up and can work through pesky procrastination.

Make your space inviting by adding decor that makes you want to spend time there e.g. candles, plants, posters, or desk organisers.

In my study I have this cupboard which has one side which I have accumulated a bunch of goodies that I never know I’ll need when studying. These include blankets, jackets, sweaters, socks, hats, heat packs and pillows. These just help me keep going like in the second bullet.

The use of a planner or list to jot down what you want to get done as soon as you sit at your desk can help give direction to your study session.

The Library

Pretty much every school, institute or town has a library that you can go to for a number of hours and get on the grind. Yes I know, some are loud or dark or unidealised but here’s how you can make the best of the facility.

As for your desk you need to arrive at the library having everything you may need. Some days I’ve arrived with a massive tote full of binders, folders, pencil cases, laptop, chargers and pens. While this gives you major nerd vibes it allows you to spend 6+ hours there if you have to.

Bring earphones with a device that you can listen to asmr, white noise but preferably not music. I personally prefer podcasts because I can tune out but are not as bored as white noise leaves me.

Take a drink! Always take at least water because you don’t want to sit for hours in a dry air conditioned building without it.

Take a friend. I don’t really like social study because I get more done alone but if taking someone with you will actually get you to do some work, do it!

A Park

Now we get onto some more creative and less conventional destinations. The park can be a hit or miss, there are bugs, the weather is sometimes not ideal, it can be loud etc. So if you are interested in not only getting that cute pic and actually studying read on.

Try and find a table if you are writing. Slouching over for hours is painful and just don’t do it. If you are just reading for a class or watching lectures, a bench or tree may be perfect.

If you plan to sit on the ground definitely take a blanket or something to lay down on the ground. Also try and take a device to limit slouching as you can sit it on your lap.

Sitting in a park alone can be dangerous in some cities so use this to do group study or catch up with friends.

Take a hat and layers because the weather can change in an instance.

The Beach

Obviously this option won’t be accessible to everyone and has the same limitations that the park does which a few extra must haves such as a beach towel, hair ties, and sunscreen. However some of my study sessions when I’ve felt most girl boss is at the beach, it just feels like you are getting so much more out of your day by also being able to say you went to the beach. It is also incredibly pretty which is a major motivator for me.

A Coffee Shop

One of the most studyblr things is studying at a coffee shop but for good reason. Like many I suffer from procrastination problems, mostly stemming from my love of food. When you are at a coffee shop the food and beverage is at your fingertips which promotes longevity in your study. The vibe is good and you can always get the bonus insta pic. However where I live coffee shop culture is not as prominent so it can be awkward to sit in a small store for more than an hour.

Like the library take all you need and make sure you know what tasks you’ll be completed e.g. if writing an essay on your laptop make sure you go somewhere that allows you to charge your device.

If you feel awkward about maintaining a space in an establishment who needs to serve as many customers as possible, have a chat with the owners and just check whether it is ok. Most of the time they will be fine with this because it promotes repeat service.

While coffee is one of the most loved things in this community be careful of unwanted downs and crashes after that caffeine wears off.

Shared Living Spaces

These include dorm rooms, dorm study rooms, friends apartments and big study groups. While these areas encompass many of the above tips I do have a few that can help with studying with people and friends. It is fairly likely that at some point the study is going to stop and the talking is going to start. To avoid this you can use a few strategies.

One of these would be taking flash cars which you can test yourself and friends on if you are studying the same thing.

Two, if you are working on the same thing e.g. taking notes for a lecture, organise to collaborate. For example you can all do your notes and go through them at the end so you can add things you picked up on so that everyone has extensive notes. Similarly group projects can be broken up, this way everyone stays relatively on task with as little time as possible used.

Take a small whiteboard for math or science classes because if one friends can do a harder problem the whiteboard allows them to explain their working easier to the group.

Take breaks. Being around many people at once for many hours can be overwhelming and stressful which can cause anxiety if you are also stressing about getting tasks done. So organise for everyone to get food or do something after that can help you all chill out.

Your car

I don’t know if this is weird but I love just driving somewhere and sitting in my car. I love getting in my back seat and studying there, it’s like a little couch in a pretty area. No one can interrupt me and it is usually quiet. I live in Australia with black interiors in my car so often the car gets hot so I’ll have to wind down my windows but I also have many things in my car like blankets and jumpers which can help if it’s cold. I don’t really have any tips for this step but I understand that it wouldn’t be an option for really long study sessions

you can do this before social activities, classes, extra curricular or as a separate study time on it's own

The Gym

I know that some people love getting active and this can actually be a good place to study, however most of this has to be done via earphones. In a recent post I discussed how you can make the most of your time by listening to your study by listening to notes, lectures, educational videos or readings. By also studying while working out you can get very motivated which often extends to when you get home. Again I don’t really have many tips to make this work because it usually wouldn’t last longer than an hour but just remember that this is always an option!

Thanks everyone for reading this post and if you have any ideas or things you’d like me to talk about send me an inbox or ask! I have not been posting that regularly this year and i have only just started actually writing proper posts so give me some time to get good. Love you all and happy organising.

#study #studyblr #student #studyspo #notes #revision #motivation #study tips #study inspiration #organisation #planner #school #note taking #tips #study methods #study hacks #study habits #bullet journal #bujo

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marinaaniseed · 5 years

Text

Dark ‘n’ Stormy, Pt: 10

Summary: Asgardian v. Pizza buffet A.K.A. The Stuffing Chapter.

There’s a teeny, tiny bit of important plot before we get to that point. I’ve tried to very clearly flag the point of no return, so nobody get their undies in a twist if you continue and don’t like what you read.

Length: 6.7k-ish. Much like our hero, I may have overdone it this chapter...

Notes: The slices of pizza are of a size that works for you. If you’ve seen Bad Times at the El Royale, one of the scenes may seem somewhat familiar to you. My unending thanks go to @nobzob for encouraging me and for beta-reading this. Also, I made a deal with @thors-soft-cheeks that I would write this chapter, so hopefully it meets your expectations :)

Warnings: Eh the usual. Kinky food stuff, smut, drinking, swearing, brief mention of periods and babies, mental health wonkiness, Asgardian politics.

That summer was scorching.

“It’s as hot as hell out there,” you proclaimed one afternoon, collapsing onto the settee, sweat running down your face.

“But Hel isn’t hot,” Thor observed, his head tilted to the side in confusion like an overgrown Labrador puppy. Geri and Freki mirrored his pose from where they lay on the floor.

“What do you mean it’s not hot? Isn’t it supposed to be full of fire? To burn the sinners? That’s what they taught us at school.”

“Ah, is this from one of your Midgard stories?”

“No,” you said indignantly, before softening. “Well, I suppose so. But a lot of people take them very seriously.”

“Hel is on Niflheim. It is full of cold, mist, and ice. It is where my father imprisoned my sister. You mean it’s as hot as Muspelheim outside, yes?”

“Which one is Muspelheim again?” You’d tried to follow Thor’s explanations of the universe, had even tried to learn the Asgardian language with him. You weren’t stupid, but you were no Jane Foster, either. It was hard to unlearn many of the things that you thought were facts.

“The one where I was captured by Surtur,” Thor explained, wincing a little at the memory of how Asgard had been destroyed.

“The fire demon guy?”

“That’s the one,” Thor said, wandering off to the kitchen to grab you a drink of water. Handing you the glass, he sat down next to you, removing some of the strands of hair that had stuck to your face with sweat.

“How’re you feeling about tomorrow?” you asked, once you’d finished gulping down the water, giving yourself brainfreeze in the process.

“Quite nervous,” he admitted. “And you?”

“Nervous for you, I suppose.”

Tomorrow was the anniversary of New Asgard’s founding, and a day of celebrations were planned. Traditional tournaments and games, feasting, drinking, dancing. But it was also to be the day when the results of the vote would be announced.

After the census, there had been a consultation. Every adult Asgardian had been asked their thoughts on how they wished to be governed. These answers were collated, and a vote held. Every option was there and the Asgardians had to rank them in preference. If none of the options received over 50% of the vote, then the least popular one would be eliminated, and those who had voted for that option would have their second preference counted. On it would continue until an option received the requisite amount of interest. It wasn’t a perfect system, but you all hoped it would lead to an outcome that most people were vaguely in favour of.

Thor and Brunnhilde had agreed, both publically, and privately to honour the result, whatever it was. You worried for them both. There were plenty of outcomes that neither of them particularly desired. Some of Thor’s friends, visiting New Asgard for the celebrations, had kindly agreed to count the votes, as neutral outsider.

Thor was doing a lot better, although he still had days where he wobbled. Taking responsibility for some of the smaller things, especially the animals, had given him more purpose. You didn’t want it all to be undone by the result.

“Perhaps we should go out for dinner tonight,” you mused after a while, your hand resting on Thor’s. “We could walk into Tønsberg, get away from everything.”

“Yes, that could be good.”

STOP HERE IF YOU ONLY WANTED THE PLOT NECESSARY BITS. IF YOU CONTINUE AND THEN BITCH ABOUT THE KINKY SHIT, THAT’S ON YOU. I WARNED YOU.

Thor had been working on his anxiety, venturing a little further each day with the dogs, or riding on one of the horses. He regularly made it into Tønsberg now. There was one restaurant in particular that had caught his eye. A place where you can eat as much pizza, sour cream and salad as you want. He wondered just much pizza he could eat.

That was the thing that he’d noticed, now that food was becoming a pleasure again, not a means to distract from his feelings. He enjoyed eating. Not just in the way that most people enjoyed tasting something delicious. There was something erotic about it, the cocktail of pleasure and pain as he pushed his stomach to its limits. Yes, he definitely wanted to find out how much pizza he could eat. He’d even heard they did dessert pizzas now, although he wasn’t sure if the restaurant did those, or even if he’d like them.

It’d probably be like how you’d described deep-fried Mars bar and ice cream to him: They took a bunch of things I love and turned it into something I hate.

Thor wondered if you enjoyed watching him eat, helping him to eat. He hoped you did, suspected you did. You always made a little too much, brought back an extra little treat, ordered too much then shared, or more accurately, gave it to him. He’d seen the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. Sometimes he’d push out his stomach a little more or pretend to scratch an itch, moving the hem of his top up to rub the flesh he knew you wanted to touch. It was worth it for your reaction, every time. Widening eyes, rosier cheeks, a smile that told him how much you loved him. Then, of course, there had been the feast. You kneading and feeding him at the table.

Yes, you definitely enjoyed it.

For a long time, he’d felt like his fat gut was something to be ashamed of, that made him unworthy of the affections of another. And maybe you were the only one, maybe you were a cosmic anomaly. That didn’t seem right, but even if you were, of all the trillions that existed, now, in the past, or in the future, you were here in the right place, at the right time, to love him.

That felt good. It felt different. And he realised that what he had known in the past was lust, awe, fear. It was far better to be loved than to be feared, though anyone sensible would still exercise caution.

It hadn’t been easy, to accept this version of himself - when you spend over a millenia with roughly the same body, it takes a while to adjust. It’d be a fine day indeed when a person was judged on what they did, not what they looked like. But for now he would settle for having someone not be repulsed by his body, but actually attracted to it.

Your insistence on touching him was uncomfortable at first. It chafed at the edges of his esteem and confidence. But now it was familiar, something he welcomed, something he sought. His hand would move yours to his stomach when you were sat together, holding it there. He always asked if you wanted to join him in the bathroom, to lather him up, and gently apply lotions. The majority of the time, he fell asleep as the little spoon, you holding onto him as though he was the most precious thing in your life. Even though they woke him up, he found your sleep twitches endearing, the way your fingers tried to press and grab his hairy tummy as it rounded out in front of him.

In fact, the only time he really got to be the big spoon was during your period. He had, in his defence, offered to use his powers to rid you of the inconvenience, but you liked the reassurance of knowing that you weren’t pregnant. You had, however, allowed him to ease some of the side-effects. During that time, you practically begged him to hold you, to be the big spoon. I like it when you press your stomach into the small of my back, you told him, it’s like a warm, squishy cushion to ease my pain. He didn’t like that you were in pain but was glad to be of help. He hoped his fingers resting on your abdomen soothed the cramps he knew you felt, but kept to yourself. Perhaps one day his fingers would rest there and bring comfort to his unborn child?

***

You’d taught him how to use Google, and he’d looked up when the restaurant was least likely to be busy. Being in crowded places was getting easier, but Thor still preferred to avoid them. Most Norwegians tended to eat earlier, so the restaurant was fairly quiet when you arrived just after 9pm.

Sliding across the dark brown leather seating of the booth, you began looking at the drinks menu.

“Why does friend Hulk get his own drink and I do not?” Thor queried, pointing at a brandy cocktail. Looking at the little picture printed in the menu, you can see why they’d named the green drink after Banner’s alter ego.

“Well, it’s not named after you but I think this is pretty close,” you countered, indicating the Dark ‘n’ Stormy.

“I am not dark.”

“No, no you are not. But you do like your storms,” you said, with a smile. “Or there’s this one,” you added, showing him the Angel Face.

“You flatter me far too much, my love,” Thor said, taking your hand in his. “This one is you,” he decided, pointing at the Flirtini.

“Very good,” you laughed. “Any other cocktail matches you can see?”

“This one, the Red Russian. That is Agent Romanoff. The Brooklyn, that is Captain Rogers. Long Island Iced Tea is Stark.”

“I understand the first one, but not the other two?”

“Those are the names of the places where they are from.”

“Ah, I see. I thought this was more appropriate for Steve Rogers,” you said, showing him the Old Fashioned. Thor laughed, long and hard at that one. It startled the few other people in the restaurant with you, but you didn’t mind. Thor had been so stressed lately, you’re just pleased to hear him laugh again, to see him relax a little. You decided to up the ante a little bit and earn your match with the Flirtini.

“So, bear,” you said softly, so he had to cock his head towards you to hear you. “I was thinking after the dinner, we could try these three,” you smirked, spreading the fingers of your free hand to point at the Sex on the Beach, Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall, and the Screaming Orgasm.

“Only three?” he grinned. “I think this one is relevant to your interests,” he said, moving the hand he held underneath his shirt while gesturing to the Hairy Navel. That earned a laugh from you, not as loud as Thor’s but just as mirthful.

A quiet, but pointed cough from the end of the table drew your attention to your server. His name badge said ‘Tor’ and you wondered if he realised who your dinner companion was.

“Can I get you any drinks?” he asked.

“A Flirtini for me, please,” you answered.

“And a Dark ‘n’ Stormy for me,” Thor added. “Tell me, how does this pizza buffet work?”

“Well, there is a pizza bar over there, behind me,” Tor said, gesturing. “You just take a plate and serve yourself, you can have as much pizza, salad and sour cream as you like for 134 kroner. It’s only our most popular pizzas but there’s something for everyone.”

“And there is no limit to the amount you can have?” Thor clarified, and that was when you realised why you were here.

“No, we just ask that people don’t take more than they can eat. Oh, and the kitchen closes at 10:30 so that we can close at 11. So yeah, go right ahead and I’ll bring your drinks over to you in a few minutes.”

With that, Tor turned on his heel and went to the bar.

“I see why we’re here,” you smirked at your lover as you made your way over to the pizza. “You’ve got your work cut out though,” you added, showing him your watch.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Thor said, beginning to think this was a bad idea.

“You want to see how much pizza you can eat. A lot more than I can, that’s for sure.”

You moved along the pizza bar, assessing your options, looking at the little signs in front of each of the cheesy wheels. Cheese and tomato, ham and pepperoni, ham and mushroom, spicy chicken, Thai chicken, beef and béarnaise, meat feast, chorizo and Ventricina, cauli truffle, vegetarian, beef and onion, BBQ chicken, Parma and truffle. If this was just the most popular ones, you were intrigued to see just how extensive the full menu was. You shoveled a couple of the more interesting slices onto your plate, added some sour cream to dip the crusts in, and grabbed a token amount of salad.

Both you and the drinks were at the table long before Thor. He had a plate in each hand, with a mountain of pizza on each. It was a wonder he hadn’t lost any slices.

“I wanted to try them all, so I got two slices of each,” he said, by way of explanation, your shocked expression not as subtle as you’d hoped.

“Did you get any sour cream?”

“Oh yes. I put some on every slice before I stacked them up.”

You wondered how he was going to taste the different flavours if they were all slathered in sour cream. It didn’t matter, as long as Thor was happy, that was the important thing. Your plate was empty but you were content to drink and watch the man next to you munching away on his stack of slices. You’d seen competitive eaters, inhaling their food, they could barely be tasting it. Thor wasn’t slow but you could tell he was savouring each slice. A purr when his tongue met a salty slice of pepperoni, a moan as hot mozzarella melted in his mouth, a satisfied smile as he bit into a portion heavy with sour cream. The textures, aromas, the heat of the jalapeños combined with the cooling richness of the dairy. He was focused on what he was eating, enjoying it as more than just sustenance. He was making love to his senses.

Your cheeks were warm, and it wasn’t just a flush from the alcohol. No, you were enjoying watching Thor enjoying his meal. It felt wrong, it felt dirty, voyeuristic, even, to feel aroused by this. You had to wonder, did pizza really taste that good to him, or was it something more?

Chancing a glance at Thor’s lap, you could see his erection pushing up against his underbelly, and being pushed away by the soft swell of his belly. Thor was so engrossed in his food that he didn’t notice your wandering hand until your fingers danced over the prominent bulge.

“Enjoying yourself?” you asked, an eyebrow arched teasingly.

“Ye-yeah,” he responded, stopping with a slice partway to his mouth. You took his other hand and moved it to your mouth, sucking his index finger while maintaining eye contact.

“What about now?” you asked once you’d released him.

“You’re making this a lot harder.”

“What, this?” you replied, applying more pressure to his crotch.

“Yes, no.” It was fun to watch Thor when he got flustered like this, torn between his desire to maintain decorum and his more carnal desires. “You’re making it a lot harder to focus on enjoying my pizza,” he finally managed.

“Ah, I see. Well, it must be quite cold now,” you said, eyeing the last few slices. “I’ll get us some more.”

Thor was glad for the respite. Between you and the food, he was extremely turned on. If it weren’t so public, he’d ask you to do something about the erection he was sporting. For now, though, he settled for undoing his trousers, giving both his tummy and his cock a bit more room.

“They just brought out a new, cheese and tomato, I thought you’d like to enjoy it while it’s hot,” you said, sliding a plate with five slices in front of him, the cheese bubbling slightly.

“That’s half the pizza,” Thor noted with a frown.

“You snooze, you lose. I wanted the best for my big man. I think you’ll enjoy it a lot more when it’s fresh and hot,” you said, touching his tummy under his shirt. “You wanted to see how much pizza you can eat, and I want to help. I’ll get you a few slices at a time so that it doesn’t go cold. You can tell me when to stop. Oh, I brought you some sour cream to dip the crusts in and I ordered some more drinks. It must be thirsty work eating all that pizza.”

The feel of your fingers pressing into his still pliable flesh, as you ate your slices, spurred him on even more.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to explain…” he started.

“Shh. You eat your pizza. I think I know what it is.” Thor looked at you confused but shoveled another slice into his mouth. “You’re enjoying your food, I know you are. It’s just like at the feast. It’s arousing you, I like it.”

“You do? Even though it’s weird, even if I get fatter?”

“Shh, shh. Let me bring you another plate, do you have a preference? I’ll tell you exactly what I think when I get back.”

“Um, may I have some more of the Thai Chicken please?”

“Certainly.”

Thor fiddled with the hem of his top and gulped hard on his drink, terrified about what you might say. It was one thing you enjoying his larger body, but you might have a very different opinion about him enjoying eating and actually enjoying his size. He enjoyed the size difference between you, he felt powerful, owning his space, and if he was honest, he was beginning to really enjoy his softness, how sensitive he now was in places.

One of his original two plates was slid back in front of him, with two slices of Thai chicken and three of ham and mushroom on it.

“There were only two slices left, so I thought I’d bring you something else as well,” you said by way of explanation. Tucking his hair behind his ear, you brought your lips close and began to tell him your answer.

“What you do is up to you, it’s your body. I’m just happy to see you happy, to see you enjoying yourself. However, if you’re happy like this, if you enjoy your food and maybe get a bit bigger, I’m certainly not going to complain. Not just because that would be rude, but because I’d enjoy it. I mean, you know how much I enjoy this tummy of yours.” Your hand returned to its previous position, to emphasise your point. “I definitely wouldn’t be upset if there was more of it for me to admire and play with.”

You moved back a smidge, to see how Thor was taking it. He was trying to remain calm, to eat his pizza, but his heated cheeks and heavier breathing let you know he was enjoying your words.

“Well, you know how much I enjoy it when you press your weight down on me, I think that’d be more fun with a bit more weight behind it. Or how about when you take me from behind, think about all that extra power to pound into me with. Think about how small I’ll look in the mirror when I take you into my mouth. I like the thought of your bigger belly bouncing on top of me, jiggling beneath me, or just being extra cushioning for me to cuddle into. My big, strong, soft, sex god.”

Thor trembled next to you, trying to resist the urge to throw you on the table and fuck you right there. He was on his penultimate slice, so you took one of the empty plates back to the pizza station. You could sense the stares from the people who’d noticed your frequent trips but, fuck ‘em. It was an all-you-can-eat buffet, and that’s exactly what you, or more accurately, Thor, were doing.

“Beef and béarnaise, for my beefy bear,” you said, sliding the plate in front of the blushing god. Nobody had touched that pizza since you’d got him the cheese and tomato, so didn’t feel bad bringing him the remaining eight slices. You left him in comparative peace for this plate, gently rubbing his belly and checking out the restaurant’s menu on your phone.

“How’re you feeling?” you asked as he neared the end of this particular round.

“I’m feeling pretty tired, it’s a bit of a struggle, but it feels so good. How much longer do we have?”

“35 minutes. You’re doing really well,” you encouraged. He was starting to feel full, less doughy under your fingertips. The buttons on his shirt were certainly running into difficulties and you feared their relationship with the soft, denim garment would be short-lived. You were curious as to why Thor had chosen a slim fit shirt in the first place but chose not to comment. It was a pleasure to see all of his soft curves on display outside of the bedroom.

“I think I can manage some more. What were you looking at on your phone?”

“Oh,” it was your turn to blush. “The restaurant has its nutritional info online, I was seeing which pizzas were the most calorific, just in case you wanted a little push.”

In truth, Thor didn’t know exactly what calorific meant, but he could tell this was something that interested you. You’d eagerly accepted his little (ok, big) kink, he could indulge yours.

“Well, why don’t you bring me some. I always like to push myself,” he said, adjusting his position so that his stomach no longer pressed into the edge of the table but rested upon it instead, a generous slither of flesh revealed where his shirt failed to cover him. “Maybe another of those stormy drinks as well, please.”

You almost tripped over yourself in your hurry to bring more food and drink to your full-bodied lover, rich and satisfying, to be enjoyed slowly like a fine Shiraz. Thor laughed a little at your eagerness, it was endearing how you wanted to please him, to take care of him. He hoped you took care of yourself with the same enthusiasm.

Three slices of ham and pepperoni, and five slices of Parma and truffle made their way back with you. Shortly thereafter, Tor dropped off another Flirtini for you and a pitcher of Dark ‘n’ Stormy.

“I wanted to make sure you were well hydrated,” was your answer to Thor’s look of surprise. Admittedly, the cocktail probably wasn’t that hydrating, but Thor had asked for it, so you just made sure that he had enough. You sipped on your drink, watching him battle on, determined to beat the pizza. It was a very different opponent to one he’d find on the battlefield, but Thor had set himself this challenge and he wasn’t going to back down. The staff were watching you nervously, concerned you’d make them wait all night, but you would be gone at eleven, no problem. As Thor began to slow down, you noticed him glancing between your phone and the remainder of the pizza.

“What is it? Are you ok? You can stop if you want, it’s ok,” you worried at him.

“No, no. I can do this. Can you get me what is left? You might need to help me eat them, but I can do it,” he insisted, chest heaving as he panted through the last slice.

Dutifully, you went to gather up what was left, balancing them carefully on two plates. You weren’t entirely sure how you would help him eat them, but he was single-minded in his task, and there was nothing you’d be able to do to stop him. Once Thor had set his mind to something, he was hard to reason with. You either had to get out of the way or hold on tight until he was done.

The pitcher was balanced on top of his taut tummy, shirt stretched dangerously tight around it, as Thor sipped his cocktail through a straw.

“Is that all that is left?”

“Is that all?” you asked incredulously. “I’ve got you three each of the chorizo, BBQ chicken, and cauliflower, two slices of vegetarian and meat feast, and four of the beef onion. That’d be more than enough for most people, are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely. I’m not most people. Asgardians are known for their feasting.” The pitcher was set back down with a thud.

You couldn’t really argue with that.

The first few slices went down well, but then he really began to struggle, gulping down his drink to try to rid his mouth of the cloying cheesiness. Your fingers traced over the swell of his tummy, trying to soothe him.

“That’s good, that helps. Feed me?” he pleaded.

“Ok, you make yourself comfortable and I’ll help.”

You stacked up two slices of the same flavour, bringing them his mouth, and chewed through them, less thoughtfully than before, as he massaged his aching tummy. He was a sweaty, gassy mess, with cheese and sauce stuck in his beard, but he was very pleased with himself when he finally finished the last slice.

“Are you impressed?”

“Very. You managed 69 slices,” you giggled.

“What is funny about that?”

You leaned in and whispered it into his ear. That wasn’t something you’d tried yet, and tonight certainly wasn’t the night for it, but it was definitely something to try another time.

“Finish your drink, I’ll go pay,” you told the full and flustered thunder god.

He was more than happy to finish the pitcher, he needed something to help him cool down. He hadn’t known there was a name for what you’d described, but he definitely liked the sound of it.

***

In the end, it wasn’t the buttons, but the fabric itself that capitulated. After you’d settled up, you’d found Thor sitting awkwardly with this arms across his waist, cheeks flushed fuchsia.

“Are you alright?” you asked, concerned that the pizza had, in fact, beaten Thor.

“My shirt…” he mumbled, moving a hand to show the gaping hole to the side of the placket, allowing a sizable chunk of flesh to be on show.

“Ah...hug me from behind as we leave, I can cover you,” you suggested. It was a slightly awkward exit, Thor pressing into your back. You thanked the staff and eventually made it into the street. “Perhaps we should take a taxi, get you back home quicker?”

Thor mumbled his agreement. It was a fairly quiet evening, so ordering one was pretty straight forward. Ever the gentleman, Thor went to open the door for you.

“Oh, love, could you hold my bag for me, please?” you said with a pointed look at his torso.

Never had he been gladder to hold something in his life. A shield would’ve been preferable, would’ve covered more, but he had to work with what he had.

***

Safely home, Thor was glad to unbutton his shirt, breathing a sigh of relief. He was lucky his jeans were almost painted on otherwise, he might’ve lost them on the journey, stomach spilling out of them.

“Hey, Y/N. Do we have anything sweet?” he called from the kitchen, where he was feeding and fussing the dogs. It was pretty tricky to bend down to their bowls, but he just about managed it.

“Erm yeah. I baked a couple of cakes for tomorrow, why?”

When you got no response, you decided to put some music on, content to let Thor do his own thing. Some Deep Purple while you slumped on the settee, letting Loki slither over you.

It was the second song, Hush, when Thor reappeared, dancing into view with a plate in hand, generous slice of cake on top, and a fork in the other, swaying along to the music. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. The dogs were dancing around his feet, trying to join in, and even the snake seemed to be eyeing him up as he moved remarkably gracefully towards you, swinging his wide hips in time to the music, stomach bouncing along in front of your face. Your mouth didn’t know whether to go dry or to salivate everywhere at the sight before you.

He eased himself down next to you, abused cushion sinking beneath his weight.

“I fancied something sweet after all that pizza,” he said. “This is an excellent cake, my love, you’re very talented.”

“It wasn’t exactly meant for you, but I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” you answered, a little sad that the honey cake you’d worked so hard on was now missing a decent wedge.

“There’s still another cake, it’s fine,” he replied with a smile. “Asgard will still get to sample your handiwork.”

“Can I get you anything to drink with that?”

“Maybe some milk?”

Milk? What about a milkshake, you wondered to yourself. Thor clearly was intent on pushing himself to his absolute limit, so why not help him further?

He gave you a slightly reproachful look when you approached with the biggest glass you could find, filled with your concoction. Thor had wondered why you hadn’t taken so long, having finished his cake, and what you were using the blender for. Now he knew.

You’d blended together whole milk, peanut butter cup ice cream, a generous dash of bourbon, chocolate chips, and chocolate syrup. It was topped with whipped cream peak coated in chocolate sprinkles. A metal straw poked out the top.

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the monstrosity. You hadn’t made him a full-on freakshake, but there was certainly a lot to take in. Thor sipped it cautiously, he didn’t want to get brainfreeze, balancing the glass on top of his over-full belly. You curled up next to him, careful not to jostle or apply too much pressure, kissing the flesh that jutted past the open fabric of his shirt, rubbing gentle circles into his swollen gut.

“You did this on purpose,” he observed around the half-way mark.

“You wanted milk, you wanted something sweet, you wanted to push yourself. I’m just helping you get what you want,” you replied with a grin. “You don’t have to finish it, but it’d be a shame to waste it.”

That was what spurred him on to finish, even though his body was pleading for him to stop. He really enjoyed how full he felt but this was definitely the last thing he was going to have.

“I love how big and round you are,” you commented, fingers delicately tracing over the mound of his stomach. “I can’t wait to get you to bed.”

Thor’s cock, which had never become less than half-hard, immediately sprang back to life. He gulped down the remains of the shake, a horny, panting mess.

“I absolutely cannot eat another thing,” he gasped.

“Oh, very good. I am impressed. Rest here a moment.” You took the glass, the cake plate, and fork to the kitchen, before grabbing a flannel from the bathroom.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, mucky pup,” you said, tenderly wiping away the worst of what was caked around Thor’s mouth and in his facial hair. “How’re you doing?” you asked, cupping a soft cheek in your hand.

“I think I would like to lie down for a bit, I’m quite tired,” he admitted. You couldn’t blame him, just watching was tiring enough. You stood up and offered him a hand. Thor didn’t really need you to pull him up, he was more than strong enough to do it himself, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

“Go get comfy, I’ll do the washing up, let the dogs out, and join you in a bit,” you told him, groping his bum as he shuffled past. “Hey Thor,” you added.

“Yes, my love?”

“If Captain America has America’s ass, do you have Asgard’s ass?”

“I think we could find a smaller one to represent us as a people,” he noted, blushing a little.

“Aww, but I like this one. It’s so shapely and round.”

Thor rolled his eyes with a grin and lumbered off to the bedroom, keen to free himself from his clothes.

***

When you eventually joined Thor in the bedroom, you were surprised to find him still awake, albeit barely. His clothes were in a messy pile to one side, but that barely registered, because sprawled on top of the duvet was a very aroused, naked thunder god. He’d unbraided his hair so that it fanned out behind him on the pillow like a halo. One arm was behind his head, the other rested on his rounded tummy.

“I thought you were tired?” you queried, looking down at the dozy Asgardian. “I was expecting you to be asleep, not putting on a show.”

“Well, I was hoping you would take care of me, give my belly a little rub,” he replied with a grin.

“Only your belly needs taking care of?”

“Ok, maybe some other bits of me might like some attention.”

You rummaged around in the bedside table until you found your dry oil spray. Pumping it liberally, you made sure Thor’s belly was well coated before you settled down with your head on his chest, kissing and licking a nipple, while your hand smoothed over his stomach. Gently rubbing and kneading, you took your time, worshipping your way down to the soft underbelly where he was most sensitive. You avoided touching his cock for as long as possible, but it was hard to ignore, the head nodding against the underside of his rounded abdomen.

“Ah,” he hissed as you brushed against his erection. “I would much prefer it if you used your mouth for this part.”

Giving his tummy one last circular rub, you rolled away from Thor and moved to the very end of the bed, positioning yourself by his feet. You took one foot into your hand and began to knead it, pleased to see that the pumice was working. Thor writhed in your grasp, desperate for you to give his cock attention, but you wanted to string things out. You kissed your way from his ankle to his thigh, ignoring his erection, before massaging his other foot and repeating your journey up that sizable leg.

“My love, please,” he begged.

“Please, what?” you asked, knowing he couldn’t see you smirking.

“Please give me some release.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Please...pleasure me, with your mouth.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?” It was mean to torment Thor, yes, but also worth it to hear the increasing desperation in his voice.

“Please, I’m begging you, please. Please could you just suck my cock,” he whined.

“Oh! You mean like this?”

There was a strangled cry, then, oh fuck, yes, repeated above you as you took him into your mouth. You started slowly, licking and flicking your tongue around his head before gradually moving further down. Propped up on your elbows, you massaged the tops and sides of his packed gut, head gently butting into his underbelly, nose nudging into his soft hair as you moved up and down his length. You knew he wouldn’t last long, had seen how excited he already was, but it was still a surprise how quickly you felt his thighs trembling beneath you. His cum was thick, almost as thick as the milkshake you’d made him, and you swallowed it down. Making sure to clean him with your tongue, Thor gave an involuntary shudder, his cock now far too sensitive.

You pulled away, content to fall asleep next to the exhausted Asgardian, chest panting and stomach heaving from the exertion.

“My love?” Thor managed to huff out.

“Mmm?”

“I have one more request.”

“And want is that?”

“I want to taste you.”

You shuffled up the bed to kiss him, pressing into his sticky, soft, pink, marshmallow lips. His facial hair tickled as you deepened the kiss, but you didn’t mind. Drawing back, you took the time to admire Thor’s face. He looked happy, content. His smile was warm, his eyes sparkled, his brow was less creased, more carefree.

“That wasn’t quite what I meant,” he admitted, hurrying to add, “not that it was bad! It’s just I wanted to, uh, eat you. Eat you out.”

“I thought you couldn’t eat another thing?” you teased.

“For you, I will always make an exception. None of the wonderous tastes to cross my lips this night shall compare to yours.”

You suspected that might not strictly be true, but you didn’t have the heart to tell Thor that.

“I fear I may not be able to move from this position. You shall have to sit on me,” Thor sighed with mock melodrama.

“I think I can agree to that,” you grinned. After all, it wasn’t every day a god invited you to sit on their face. You straddled Thor and held onto the headboard, lowering yourself slowly, making sure to support the majority of your weight with your knees. Thor began to lick you, slow and languid strokes of his tongue like you were the sweetest dessert, made only for him. You slowly began grinding your hips back and forth, trying to get him where you wanted him. After the way you’d teased him, it was only payback that he make you wait, but you were eager for more.

Now that he’d had his release, Thor was far more interested in taking his time. A powerful hand moved up to grab your left hip, keeping you in place, while the other hand reached up to massage your breast, pinching your hardened nipple. Thor could feel himself getting hard again. How could he not, when everything was you? All he could taste, all he could smell, the feel of your thighs against his soft cheeks. The overwhelmed, urgent little noises you made, and when he looked up, your breasts bouncing above him, that blissed-out, happy look on your face. All of it was for him, only for him. He was the only one who got to see you like this, to make you feel like this.

And he fucking loved it.

When you came it was hard, insistent and drenching. It was like turning his face to the heavens during a thunderstorm of his own creation. Thor definitely preferred this position. His height, in fact, his size in general, meant lying down between your thighs wasn’t the easiest position. But this. This was good. His lips on yours, lovingly kissing. And if he was honest, he liked how it made you the one in charge. Every roll and slide of your hips let him know how much you enjoyed what he was doing, there was no second-guessing here. He was your plaything, your means to carnal bliss, and he couldn’t give you enough.

You’d tried to be restrained during your first orgasm, biting into your arm, but the second one had you positively screaming. The dogs were alarmed, barking and scratching at the bedroom door, but it didn’t matter. Thor released his hold on you and you slid off to the side, face-planting into the pillow.

“I did a good job, yes?” he inquired.

“Mmm, yes. Thank you. Sleep now,” you said, as much to him as the pillow.

“I’ll be right back, my love,” he said heaving himself up. “I must reassure the dogs...and perhaps wash my face.”

***

Geri and Freki soon calmed once they realised all was well. Thor washed his face thoroughly and returned to the bedroom, setting a pitcher of water and glass on the bedside table. He’d opened all the windows, yet it was still absurdly hot. Not that you seemed to notice. You’d rolled and wrapped the duvet around you like a burrito, one leg hanging out. Thor climbed in beside you, careful not to disturb you. No need to spoon you, you’d find your way to him soon enough. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever had such a thoroughly satisfying night. Not that he’d be able to enjoy nights like this too often, he didn’t want them to lose their wonder, but it seemed a fitting way to spend it, to indulge himself, on what might be his last night of reprieve before the burdens of a king were his to bear once more.

@morganhoran1671 @innerpaperexpertcloud

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vernonfielding · 5 years

Text

Life Writes Its Own Stories

Chapter 3! (And at AO3.)

Amy was deep in thought, eyes gone unfocused as she stared at her computer screen and tried to will a new lede to reveal itself, when a thunk to her forehead snapped her back to reality.

“Ow!” Amy looked up and found Gina already preparing another ball of paper, probably weighted with something like a rock, or an actual paper weight.

“I wasn’t trying to hit you. But I’m also not sorry that I did,” Gina said. She tossed the next ball, which Amy managed to duck. The third one hit her phone and knocked the headset off the receiver.

“What the hell, Gina?”

“I need to kill that horrible machine.” Gina launched another paper ball, which bounced an inch from the police scanner on Amy’s desk. “Oh, so close!”

“Knock it off,” Amy said. “I need that.”

“It’s distracting,” Gina said.

“Just ignore it. Everyone else does.”.

“No we don’t,” Charles called from across the newsroom.

“Come on! Every newsroom has a police scanner.” Amy glanced around at her coworkers, looking for a friendly face, and paused hopefully on Terry.

“It’s not 1985,” Terry said. “Just follow the news online like everyone else, Santiago.”

“You all are terrible journalists.” Amy grabbed the scanner and moved it to a more protected spot on her desk, right beside her hard copy of the Associated Press Stylebook and a stack of battered Yellow Pages.

She’d had no idea everyone else was bothered by the scanner. It spit out a constant stream of static and mumbled police jargon, but to Amy it was like white noise. She’d grown up around police scanners and had developed an innate ability to ignore them when nothing was happening and hone right in when the chatter got interesting. Apparently it was not a skill hardwired into all reporters.

“Why do you need that anyway?” Gina said, approaching Amy’s desk and snapping up the scanner. “Doesn’t your Deep Throat give you all your stories now?”

“He’s not my Deep Throat,” Amy said. She reached for her scanner and Gina pulled it away.

“Whatever, Bernstein.” Gina dropped the scanner in Amy’s trash can and walked away.

“And I’m not the Bernstein!” Amy called after her. “I’m totally the Woodward!”

Terry came up and plucked her scanner out of the trash, setting it back on her desk. “Just ignore her,” he said. “She’s always wanted a Deep Throat.”

In truth, Amy was secretly thrilled that she had a real-life “deep throat” in Peralta, even if their interactions weren’t nearly as cool as the ones from All the President’s Men. They hadn’t once met in a creepy parking lot after midnight. She didn’t have a gross but admittedly cool code name for him. And the tips he gave her weren’t exactly going to save democracy.

Still, he was texting her. Kind of a lot. And okay, most of it was immature and needling – he especially liked giving her a hard time when her stories were buried in the back of the paper or failed to get any traction on Twitter. But every now and then he’d pass on something useful.

It had started soon after the Poloski story ran. Peralta had texted her the next day to congratulate her, which she had taken as a polite way for him to acknowledge that he wasn’t mad at her for calling him. Then a week later he’d texted again, in response to a short story she’d written about a local bank robbery – he’d suggested that she ask if the latest robbery was connected to a series of thefts from the previous year, and sure enough, Scully confirmed they were. She hadn’t gotten on the front page, but it was information no other reporters had.

After that, the texts started coming more regularly. Often it was just feedback – or, more precisely, critical commentary. And it wasn’t always her articles. After Hitchcock wrote a piece about NYPD overtime expenses pulling money out of city programs for public health and homeless services, Peralta sent Amy a three-paragraph text asking whether he and his partner should have just clocked off at 5 when they were pursuing that serial stabber last year. Amy wrote back: “Send a letter to the editor.” Peralta replied with a zombie emoji.

A few times he texted about Gina’s columns, mostly to complain about her liberal use of anonymous sources – a critique that Amy privately agreed with. When Charles wrote an unsigned, negative review of Sal’s pizza in the Bulletin’s restaurant column, Jake demanded a retraction. She didn’t reply.

His comments on her stories tended to be more specific. Once, he texted her an hour before the print deadline to tell her she’d misspelled another detective’s name in a story he’d read online; she’d had time to fix it for the next day’s newspaper, saving herself an embarrassing correction. Another time he wrote that a headline on her story was obviously biased against cops, and though Amy had texted back “I don’t write the headlines,” she’d agreed with him, and asked Charles to revise it online.

They’d had one honest-to-goodness text fight. She’d written an article about two officers accused of threatening a man and forcibly removing him from his home during a robbery investigation. In his formal complaint, the man said the officers had been drunk, and the interactions he described made the officers look at best incredibly unprofessional, and at worst criminally derelict. The NYPD wouldn’t comment except to say that it was conducting an internal investigation.

“Those are good cops you just trashed,” Peralta wrote to her that night.

“Give me their side of the story and I’ll write it,” Amy texted back. She was crashed on her couch, exhausted after spending the day trying to track down the two officers for comment and arguing with Scully – who was either secretly brilliant at evading questions, or the most inept public information officer in all of the NYPD.

“You know I can’t do that,” Peralta texted.

“Then tell me what I’m supposed to do if no one will talk,” Amy wrote, stabbing at the letters.

“So its better to write a one-sided, inaccurate story than not publish at all? That’s crap.”

“”It’s,” Amy wrote, and immediately felt like an asshole.

Peralta texted back an eyeroll emoji, which she deserved.

“It’s my job to hold people in power accountable for their actions,” Amy wrote. “I’m not going to apologize for that. NYPD wants its side in the paper, they have to talk to me.”

She watched her screen as he worked on his reply.

“It’s not fair,” he wrote.

Amy thought for a moment and finally wrote, “No. It’s not.”

She didn’t hear from him for a few days after that and she thought maybe that was it. He’d probably figured out that he had way more to lose than gain by talking to her. Then, before she’d even gotten out of bed one morning, he texted a name and a link to a short item she’d written about a dead body found in the East River. And that was how Amy was the first to report that a highly placed mafia boss had been shot and killed, his body dumped in the water.

Two days later he gave her an exclusive on a Park Slope millennial family being arrested for dealing methamphetamine through a fake moms group.

(He also tipped her off to a Greenpoint storefront selling organic, gluten-free, sugar-free Twinkies, but Amy replied that wasn’t a crime. Peralta texted back a handcuffs emoji. She ended up writing the story for the features section. It went viral on Facebook.)

Eventually, Amy decided he needed a fake name in her contacts. She called him Pineapples – for some reason it just popped into her brain – and every time a new message from him appeared on her screen, she felt a little jolt of adrenaline.

She told herself it was just the anticipation of the next big story.

+++

“And his name is…Pepper! Officer Pepper O’Pigeon. I’ll take questions now.”

Scully swept his hands toward the giant pigeon in question and a few of the littler kids at his side clapped politely. Amy sighed and turned off her voice recorder. One of the TV reporters weakly asked if Officer Pepper O’Pigeon was a boy or girl pigeon and Amy didn’t stick around for the answer.

Free of the clutch of reporters looking for a cheap and easy feature story for the day, Amy took one last glance around the scene. She’d come to this press conference against her better judgment mostly because it was being held at the 99th Precinct. Scully liked to shift these kinds of “community building” press conferences among the various precincts so they all got a share of positive media attention, and normally Amy skipped them. She’d told herself yesterday that she was coming to this one because the precinct was between her apartment and the Bulletin offices – it was just a stop along the way to work – but if she was honest, she’d come because she was hoping to spot Detective Peralta.

Now, she realized that had been dumb. There were no cops here at all except for Scully and two uniforms who looked so young they might well have been interns. Except she didn’t think the NYPD did interns. She’d have to look that up later.

Amy shoved her phone in her purse and headed back toward the subway, trying to decide if she should take the train the rest of the way in or just walk the mile and a half. She passed a coffee shop and the smell of fresh ground beans hit her brain like something illegal. She’d found herself out of coffee at home that morning and decided to try skipping it altogether, but clearly she was not meant for cold turkey. Amy neatly sidestepped into the coffee shop.

She recognized it immediately as a cop hangout. There were two uniforms in line at the register, and a couple of plain-clothes with badges snapped to their belts perched on stools at the front window. A parking patrol officer sat at a corner table with a newspaper – sadly, The Times – spread out before her.

Amy walked up to the register just as the uniforms finished ordering and asked for a large coffee with room. At the side counter, she reached for the nonfat milk to the far right, just as someone came up beside her and made a move for the full-fat in front of her.

“Excuse me-”

“Sorry-”

Amy glanced up and stopped, hand in midair. She stared into the wide, brown eyes of Detective Peralta.

“Detective-”

His eyes widened even more and he shook his head. Amy snapped her mouth shut. Peralta quickly looked back over his shoulder to the rest of the coffee shop, then turned and said under his breath, “We can’t talk.”

“Oh-”

“Here you go,” he said, in a slightly louder than necessary voice, and handed her the milk she’d been reaching for.

“Oh,” Amy said again. “Thanks. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Peralta darted a quick glance in her direction.

They topped off their drinks in silence, and Peralta left first. Amy followed a minute after, feeling dazed. Her heart was hammering in her chest and her face felt warm, like she was blushing. She looked toward the 99th Precinct when she stepped outside the coffee shop, but Peralta was nowhere in sight. Her heart sank, and Amy thought back to the panicked look on his face, and also the fact that he was actually much cuter than she’d remembered.

She glanced down the street toward the precinct one more time, then moved on in the opposite direction. She was definitely going to have to walk to work now, just to burn off this weird adrenaline rush. Amy pulled out her phone to check the time – and saw a text on the screen.

“Bailey Fountain. 20 min.”

Amy didn’t think twice. She spun on her heel and headed toward Prospect Park.

+++

Jake jogged most of the way down Flatbush toward the park, glancing at his cell phone as the trees came into view. He’d had to check in at the precinct before ducking out again, and it had taken him a few minutes to shake Rosa. She’d asked him outright why he was acting so weird and he’d said he was acting totally normal and she’d given him that terrifying eyebrow sneer and he knew he’d be answering more questions later. At least he’d have some time to devise answers.

He slowed to a walk as he crossed Plaza Street and stepped into the park proper, the hum of traffic now muffled by the trees. He looked around for Santiago as he climbed the steps toward the fountain, and spotted her right away, on the closest bench. He was ten minutes late, but he paused anyway, then stepped a few feet to his right, so he was partly behind a tree. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted a moment to watch her, before she knew he was there.

When he’d met her, very briefly, at the press conference a few weeks ago, he’d had just a few seconds to look at her and notice that she was cute. Now, as he walked the thin line between cop and creep and watched her from behind a tree, he had to admit that the Vulture was right: Santiago was hot. Except that wouldn’t have been the first word he’d use to describe her. She was, simply, beautiful. A woman who would catch his attention in a crowded bar or in line at the corner bodega, who would probably be as gorgeous in an evening gown as she would yoga pants and a hoodie.

At the moment, she was wearing a bright blue button-down shirt and black slacks, and her hair was down, part of it cascading over one shoulder and literally shimmering in the morning sunshine. He was standing close enough to see she had her phone in her hands and was typing on it, thumbs tapping away. She had her bag still slung over her shoulder and tucked into her side, which was sensible given how common purse snatches were in the park.

Though her head was bent to look at her phone, her back was straight, her shoulders squared, and she gave off a distinct ‘don’t mess with me’ vibe that Jake respected. But there was something about her that made him feel strangely precious toward her nonetheless – the pout of her lips, or the faint line between her eyebrows, some softness that he couldn’t quite articulate.

She looked up from her phone suddenly, and Jake neatly stepped out from the tree before she could catch him being a weirdo. He gave a little wave as he approached.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, as he sat beside her on the bench.

“It’s fine.” She set her phone in her lap and turned slightly toward him. “I’m sorry about, well, the whole not playing it cool thing at the coffee shop. I wasn’t expecting to see you there.”

“Right, the coffee shop across the street from a police precinct is a totally weird place to run into a cop,” Jake said, but he was grinning.

“I was expecting cops, but not my cop,” Santiago said, which caused Jake to snort-laugh.

“Oh, so I belong to you?”

“You know what I mean,” Santiago said with a hint of exasperation, though he could tell she was trying not to smile.

They lapsed into silence, the bubble of the fountain unnaturally loud to Jake. He wished he’d brought his coffee with him just so he’d have something to do with his hands. Beside him, Santiago was turning her phone over and over, until she finally seemed to realize what she was doing and stuffed it in her purse.

“So, what-”

“Look, I-”

They both stopped and laughed a little.

“You go,” Santiago said.

“I was just going to ask if there was something you wanted to talk about,” Jake said. “I mean, something in particular. I know I was the one who said we should meet here but I got the impression you had something on your mind. At the coffee shop.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, it was just a look on your face, like you were about to ask a question.”

“Oh.” Her eyes crinkled in bemusement. “Well, I guess I did. Only actually, no, it wasn’t a question. But I did have something I wanted to say. I mean, not like a speech or anything, just something that’s been on my mind lately.”

Jake bit his tongue to keep from teasing her about being flustered. Instead he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

Santiago pursed her lips and frowned for a moment, then turned to fully face him.

“I guess I just wanted to say thanks. For, you know, helping me out so much.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked him in the eye. “I know you’re putting your career on the line by talking to me, and meanwhile I’m getting all this credit at work. And there’s not really anything I can do to change that, I mean, short of offering you bribes, which would be totally unethical and I would never do. So, yeah, there’s nothing I can do, except just acknowledge what you’re doing and say thanks.”

She paused and took a deep breath. Jake stared into her eyes, which were sparkling in the sunlight. He realized he should probably say something in response.

“You’re welcome.” And then he thought over everything she had just told him, and he added, “But you’re not the only one benefitting. As much as it pains me to admit this – and believe me, it really, truly does – your articles have helped put away a few bad guys. That’s all I’m trying to do at the end of the day.”

Santiago offered him a small smile and shrugged. “I’m glad to hear that, but I still feel like I’m the only one really getting anything out of this relationship.”

Jake startled at that, and Santiago’s eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed.

“Transaction,” Santiago said, quickly. “I’m getting everything out of this transaction. Not a relationship. It’s a professional thing. Totally-”

“Transactional?” Jake supplied, when she trailed off.

Santiago nodded weakly, her whole face now glowing pink. He started laughing, and then found he couldn’t stop. Santiago buried her face in her hands, but when he was still laughing a minute later she slapped him on the shoulder, and then hit him a couple more times until he caught his breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ve just never seen anyone blush that hard, that fast before.”

“I can’t help my physical reaction,” Santiago said, indignant.

“Title of your sex tape!”

“What?” Santiago’s forehead creased in confusion until she figured out what he meant, and then she hit him again. He just grinned back at her.

“I had no idea you were such an immature jerk,” Santiago said, but there wasn’t any real spite in her tone.

Still, he softened his smile. “It was only a matter of time.”

They fell into another silence, this one less tense. Jake thought again about what she’d said in her oddly poignant speech, turning the words over in his head. He turned to face her, leaning an elbow on the back of the bench.

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “I haven’t had to deal with a lot of reporters firsthand, but from what I’ve seen they’re usually pretty useless. Like, getting stuff wrong and just being lazy, sometimes actually working against us.”

“Like with that story I did, on the drunk cops,” Santiago said.

Jake bristled – he hadn’t meant to accuse her of anything. “Not exactly. Look, I’m sorry I lost it with that story, but I know those guys, and they’re good cops.”

“I get it,” Santiago said. “I mean, I wish I could get all the facts too. I don’t like having to write only half the story.”

“And that’s the crazy part – I believe you.” Jake let them both sit with that a moment, and then he cleared his throat, feeling suddenly shy about oversharing. “Usually I just avoid journalists.”

Santiago chuckled. “You haven’t avoided me,”

“No,” Jake said. “Kind of the opposite, right? I guess trust you.”

She flashed a smile at that, then turned thoughtful. “Do you mind if I ask why?”

Jake shrugged, and thought it over. “That first time, I was just pissed about what was happening with that asshole cop who’d killed his ex, and I wanted to tell someone. And you were there.”

Santiago gave a short laugh. “Thanks, that makes me feel so special.”

“But then,” he said, grinning at her, “you wrote that story and it actually worked, and you wrote the next one and that helped too. And I guess I realized – we were kind of on the same side.”

He paused and bit his lip, unsure whether he should say more. He looked off in the distance, at the fountain water sparkling in the sunshine. “I like helping people. And I like doing it with you.”

Jake could feel Santiago staring at him, but when he looked over she ducked her head as she smiled. She was blushing again.

“Title of your sex tape?” she said.

Jake doubled over laughing.

+++

Amy had a literal spring in her step as she jogged down the stairs to the subway to head into the newsroom. She was hardly even surprised when her train happened to arrive just as she got to the platform – it felt like the kind of day for pleasant coincidences – and she smiled to herself as she climbed on with a few other passengers and found an open seat halfway down the car.

Talking with Peralta had been unexpectedly exhilarating. For a moment she’d been taken aback by how attractive she found him – the mess of curly hair, the tech-bro hoodie, the scuffed sneakers, and what looked like a honey-mustard stain on his plaid shirt wouldn’t usually add up to her type. But there was something charming and easy about him, in his smile and his eyes that practically glowed with warmth. She’d blushed more times with him on that bench in 20 minutes than she could recall in all of the previous year. But it had been a good kind of blush, the kind that came from friendly teasing and not embarrassment or shame.

And in between the sex-tape jokes and the laughter at her expense, she’d been genuinely touched by what he’d said about trusting her. Trust was a journalist’s most valuable commodity, and it was something Amy knew had to be earned, more in this day and age than ever before. That she’d earned it from him – someone she’d already decided was smart and decent, whom she trusted too – was wonderful.

He’d even given her another tip, just before they wrapped up their impromptu rendezvous.

“I can’t vouch for this one personally,” he said. “I’m not involved. I’ve just heard some stuff like, third-hand.”

“That’s all right,” Amy said, as she dug through her purse for her pen and notebook. “It’s actually easier for me to ask questions if I don’t have to worry about protecting my source’s identity.”

He flicked up his eyebrows in surprise.

“What?” Amy said. “I mean, I’ll still be careful.”

“No, of course.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I guess I just didn’t realize how much thought you might have to put into protecting me.”

There had been something in his tone of voice, almost timid, that made him seem suddenly vulnerable. It had sent a jolt of what Amy could only describe as affection straight to her gut.

On the subway, Amy pulled out her notebook and read over the notes she’d jotted down from Peralta. He was right, his information was more rumor than fact, and it would take a lot of digging to prove it.

What he’d heard was that corrections officers at the Brooklyn Detention Center were sometimes covertly recording confidential conversations between inmates and their lawyers, then sharing those recording with the district attorney’s office. If it was true, that was a major civil rights violation.

The city’s jails were overseen by the Department of Correction, not the NYPD, but Peralta said that aside from being appalled by the abuse of prisoners’ rights, he and other detectives were worried that the correction officers were putting their NYPD cases in jeopardy.

Amy took some more notes as the subway rumbled through the tunnels, writing a list of questions she’d need to ask and sources she’d need to contact. This story would take some major reporting, which meant she was going to have to ask Terry for permission to step back from her daily crime-writing duties. She flipped a page in her notebook and started crafting a memo for him, detailing why the story was important and what she’d need to report and write it.

By the time she got to the newsroom, Amy was feeling pumped. She stopped by Terry’s desk before she even went to her own and told him she had a big story and would send him details right away. She’d emailed her memo by noon.

“Charles,” she said, picking up her purse and marching over to his desk. “I’m feeling brave today. Let’s get lunch – you choose.”

+++

Amy’s good mood lasted through lunch; she hadn’t actually thrown up from the sheep-muzzle soup, after all.

But she was instantly wary when she saw who was waiting at her desk when she returned. Gina sat slouched in Amy’s own chair, flipping through the notebook that Amy hadn’t realized she’d left on her desk. Amy took a moment to berate herself for leaving the newsroom without a notebook, then braced herself for Gina.

“What’s up?” Amy said, trying to play it casual.

“I hear you’ve got a big story.”

“Maybe. Holt hasn’t signed off on it.” Amy stared down at Gina, who just smirked back up at her. “Can I have my desk back now?”

“Is this another one from your little tipster? You’re getting a reputation, you know.” Gina snapped shut Amy’s notebook but made no move to get up.

Something in Gina’s tone made Amy’s hackles rise, and she planted her hands on her hips and said, “What do you mean by ‘reputation’?”

Gina just smirked some more. Amy could feel the anger pooling in her stomach and she was gearing up to lay into her about how entirely unprofessional, unacceptable and just plain mean it was to accuse a reporter of exchanging sexual favors for information when Gina burst out laughing.

“Girl, I’m kidding,” she said, and tossed Amy’s notebook on her desk.

“You- what?”

“Look, honestly, I’m pretty impressed you’ve developed such a good source so fast. It took me twice as long to get my first and I’m at least four times as attractive as you.” Amy just gaped at her as Gina stood up and gave her a little punch in the shoulder. “Seriously, if you need any help working this one, let me know. I’ve got some contacts at Brooklyn Detention. Most of the guards hate me but the ones who like me love me.”

“Er, thanks,” Amy said. “I mean, I still don’t know if Holt’s going to-”

“Oh, he will.”

And as if on cue, Holt called out from his office, “Santiago. Jeffords.”

Gina winked and sashayed back to her desk. Amy stood staring after her, mind reeling from the Linetti roller coaster, until Terry walked up and took her by the elbow.

“C’mon,” he said, “our captain calls.”

“Right,” Amy said, shaking her head. She grabbed her notebook and a pen, and followed Terry.

Holt hadn’t actually been with the Bulletin for much longer than Amy, and his office was largely bare of the personal knick-knacks and ethically acceptable gifts that most journalists seemed to hoard – though whether that was because he was still new or he just wasn’t the type to collect stuff, Amy couldn’t have said. She and Terry took seats opposite Holt’s desk, and he folded his hands over what Amy assumed was a printout of her memo. She was surprised he’d not only read it already, but was ready to discuss it with her.

Holt tapped a finger on the top page. “These are some serious allegations.”

“Yes, they are,” Terry said. Amy forced herself not to fidget.

“And you don’t have much proof of anything, is that correct?” He was looking right at Amy, so she nodded.

“No, sir,” she said. “Not yet.”

“Proving this is going to take some extensive reporting – public records requests, interviews with inmates. You’re going to need someone with actual information to go on the record,” Holt said.

“Yes.” Amy nodded again. “Um, Gina, she said she might have some contacts for me. And I know a couple people in the public defender’s office.”

Holt studied her for a long moment, and she fought the urge to bounce a leg or wring her hands. Amy understood why he was hesitating – to get this story, she’d have to take a break from her regular police beat, which would put pressure on the rest of the staff to cover for her. Stories like this one were an investment of time and people and, therefore, money, and a newspaper like the Bulletin didn’t have much of any of that.

And on top of that, Amy was a rookie. She hadn’t even been a journalist for more than a few months, and this would be her first big investigation. A few big scoops in recent weeks were marks in her favor, but she knew she hadn’t proven herself yet, not really.

“Your source on this, you trust him? Or her?” Holt said.

Amy nodded at once. “I do.”

“Very well,” Holt said. “You have three weeks.”

Amy clenched her jaw to keep from screaming with joy, and nodded her head in quiet acknowledgement. Outside Holt’s office, Terry gave her a high-five.

“Pressure’s on now, Santiago.”

Amy’s stomach was already in knots and her pits were starting to sweat, but she said, seriously, “Pressure’s what I eat for breakfast.”

She ignored Gina’s snicker and the paper airplane that hit the back of her head.

CHAPTER 4

#b99 #b99 fic #jake and amy au #peraltiago #newspaper au #life writes its own stories

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kiruuuuu · 5 years

Text

Doc/Lion oneshot in which they kiss and make up after a fight. And, uh, other things. (Rating E, utter filth + fluff, ~5.2k words) - written for the ever so wonderful @icezero09 (and welcome back to tumblr!) 💖 Thank you so, so much for commissioning me again :) You’re a joy to write for! Find my commission info here ♥

It’s rare for Lion to hesitate in front of his own damn apartment, keys jangling forlornly in his half-raised hand and a dull, empty feeling in his stomach.

The first time he did so lies a while back and was entirely self-imposed: following one of the most memorable nights in his life (and with his past, this means a lot) as well as a terrifying confession, he announced a trip to the nearest bakery for croissants and fresh coffee, knowing full well he was allowing for an escape. Upon his return, he rested his forehead on the cool, off-white lacquer of his door, hoping to affect reality by repeating a mantra in his mind, over and over again. Please be there still. Please be there still. Please be there still.

When he was greeted by Doc, in his underwear, subtly complaining about his fridge being worryingly empty, he could’ve burst from the pure joy exploding in him.

Another time he wavered because of a question he was about to pose, a question which had occupied his thoughts for weeks by then. The prospect of not being refused was thrilling with how much he wanted to turn his regular visitor into a permanent resident, yet they’d only been together for a few months by then. It might’ve been too early, too much of a commitment to move in together, too much to ask to share their living space. Lion had gotten lucky with his flat, snagged one with large windows, evening sunlight, spacious enough for a dedicated office and both a bathtub and a shower, and picturing Doc becoming a part of it all filled him with giddy anticipation. Regardless, the possibility of being turned down remained and so he gathered his courage in front of the very door which would become their door after a dizzyingly short amount of time.

Right now, he’s also mentally preparing himself for a potentially difficult conversation, though there are entirely too many ways it could go. The backpack dangling off his shoulder is not getting any lighter and neither are the memories of red dust, large tents lined up one after another and helplessness etched into faces. He’d volunteered for the deployment despite knowing it’ll leave him without closure – diseases will always rage on somewhere and their efforts might make a difference in one town, one city, one region, one country, but ultimately it’s like trying to fill up a swimming pool using only a cup. What he needs now is a hug, a little bit of peace and no responsibilities other than buying groceries. He loves his job, it gives him purpose and direction in life, and yet he can’t deny it drains him sometimes until there’s no energy left.

Definitely no energy to continue arguing.

“I’m home!”, he announces into the quiet once he’s discarded his shoes and hung up his jacket, receiving no response. He was looking forward to coming home throughout the entire flight, picturing a warm welcome, an apology, something along those lines and is genuinely annoyed to encounter none of it. The kitchen is empty and so is their bedroom where he drops his backpack onto the mattress he’s missed dearly (among other things), but in the living room he finds Doc in his usual armchair, sipping coffee with a book in his lap and looking up once Lion appears in the doorway.

He’s gorgeous.

It shouldn’t come as a shock but does nonetheless, two weeks of absence facilitate taking a step back and looking at him in a new light; almost as if he’s seeing him for the first time again. He looks… warm, even inviting, his kind eyes making up for the disapproving curl of his mouth, body relaxed and showing off his sculpted arms in the short-sleeved polo he’s wearing. Even casually, he dresses like he’s been invited to an informal business outing; Lion has never seen him just in sweatpants and supposes this is one of the reasons why Doc always comes across as distinguished. And he’s never wanted anything more than to curl up in his lap, cling to him and never let go.

Doc runs his gaze up and down his body, causing a pleasant tingling and maybe, just maybe he’s in the mood for -

“You look like you need a shower.”

His calm words are ice cubes on Lion’s skin. He’s not wrong, a fourteen hour flight will do that to anyone, but it’s far from what Lion has been hoping to hear. “Yeah”, he snaps without meaning to sound this harsh, “I probably do.”

The argument from before he left continues in his head while he’s basking in the heat of the water drumming down on his skull: he was only doing his job, after all. That’s why he got hired – he’s a professional and refuses to let emotions interfere with his work, and that’s a good thing, isn’t it? He nearly drops the shampoo bottle in agitation and hits his elbow on the cool tiles as he proceeds to weave an impenetrable net of arguments in his mind, counters everything Doc could throw at him effortlessly and recalls the things they spat at each other two weeks ago.

Ultimately, it was his jurisdiction seeing as it was a containment issue, albeit a relatively minor one. He planned on taking the necessary steps while Doc undermined his authority along the way, much to his irritation – maybe he did misdiagnose the boy and paint a picture more grim than reality, yet the scheduled tests would’ve cleared it up without a doubt and brought both the child as well as his mother the deserved peace of mind instead of sending them home from quarantine early. In the grand scheme of things it didn’t matter whether she had urgent appointments to get to and the boy was frightened almost to the point of hysterics, not if their staying overnight would’ve ensured they’re good to go, so Doc was entirely out of line by declaring them safe and allowing them to leave.

Even though they were safe. Lion admits that. Everyone knew, but regulations are there for a reason and why allow for making mistakes when there’s safety procedures which benefit literally everyone and hell, he’s getting worked up again.

He curses under his breath and shuts the water off. It’s about the principle of it all. Doc can’t continue being as lenient as he is and it’s bad enough Six and the others are catering to his bleeding heart, Outbreak being only one of the many examples Lion can think of – if they’d lost some of their best ops going on that frankly idiotic suicide mission to save Macintosh, it would’ve been a disaster. The fact that it happened to work out is irrelevant.

Angrily, he shrugs on one of his nice shirts out of spite, buttoning it while glaring at himself in the mirror. He’s going to show Doc what he’s been missing out on these past weeks. Maybe he should casually drop a few names to make Doc really regret not talking to him while he was in Africa. Well. It’s not like he messaged or called Doc, but again. It’s about the principle of it all.

While dressing fully, he prepares an opening sure to grab Doc’s interest while simultaneously sounding dismissive, ends up stomping into the living room to deliver his short speech and is about three syllables in when he realises Doc isn’t even there anymore.

“… Olivier?”

He turns around to an amused-looking Frenchman in the kitchen, lifting a cup to indicate it’s for Lion and he dares to still look utterly irresistible. Lion pushes away the mental image of just tossing the mug into the sink in favour of tracing Doc’s jaw line with his tongue (but fuck, it’s tempting) and instead blurts out something he doesn’t even mean, something which needs far more context than, well, nothing: “I wish people stopped listening to you all the time.”

Doc’s face turns stony and Lion wants to kick himself. “Or we can fight instead of catching up”, he mutters and slams the coffee onto the counter, causing it to slosh over. “That’s fine too.”

Lion has joined his lover in the kitchen now, brows scrunched together. “I don’t want to fight”, he states lamely.

“No. You just want to rehash an argument for which we found no solution while insisting you’re right. Big difference.”

Alright. Maybe he wants to fight a little, if only to get a rise out of Doc who’s infuriatingly composed still. “I met some of your former colleagues from MSF”, he tactically switches topics to hopefully appease his boyfriend enough in the meantime so he gives in once Lion pushes the previous issue some time later. “Martina says hi.”

“I know. We talk regularly.” Ouch. The cutting quality of the remark is not lost on him: Doc is pissed that he didn’t even let him know whether he arrived safely. “She also tells me you got shot.”

This, at least, he can de-escalate. “I was shot at, but not hit.”

“Martina mentioned blood.”

“It was a graze shot on my side. It’s healed already.”

Doc seems thoroughly unimpressed – not undeservedly, Lion has been known to either downplay or exaggerate his own injuries wildly, though he hasn’t told anyone the real reason. Pretending he was worse off than it appeared ensured a trip to Doc’s office, and acting as if everything was fine surely impressed the Frenchman once he was there. A foolproof system. “If you say so.”

“I say it because it’s true. Were you worried about me?”

Brown eyes turn even darker at the teasing question. “Of course. Every day, Olivier. Just because you behaved like a temperamental child doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.”

Lion sputters in indignation. “I did not. If anything, you were worse, you broke the fucking vase!”

“Only because you implied the lives of my colleagues are worth less to me than those of civilians.”

“I only did that because you said I care more about rules than I do about humans in general.”

“You also slammed the door and actually stomped your foot. I’m not the immature one here!”

“And yet you sat here and pouted instead of checking up on me despite being worried just because you need to be right -”

“I am right. And now show me your stupid wound!”

“There is no wound, Gustave!”

“We both know you’re lying, come on.”

“Do you really trust me that little?”

“Have you given me enough reason to trust you?”

And that does it. That is it. Lion is seething at this point, all the pent up frustration and worry boiling over as a result of Doc’s consistent nagging, his denial of Lion being right concerning protocols, the silence during the previous weeks and his insistence on being always correct, it’s too much. He snaps.

With one swift motion, he rips his shirt open, presenting his naked torso to his lover, and growls: “Does this look like I’m fucking injured?!”

Doc stills.

And during the brief silence which follows the animalistic gesture, Doc’s eyes are glued to Lion’s chest, sun-tanned and skin smooth with only the faint hint of a scar on his ribs, a mark which will completely fade in months. Around them, torn-off buttons plink and bounce on the floor.

Lion knows what he looks like, knows his lugging around heavy equipment paired with fewer meals and small portions has made his muscles stand out, contoured him flatteringly and harmonises with his slightly bleached auburn hair. He probably smells like sunlight.

Maybe this ended up a little too dramatic.

“You need to fuck me right now”, Doc tells him, tone serious, “we can argue later.”

… or maybe this had just the right kind of flair.

Before he’s even processed the words, Doc’s hands are already pulling on his belt and fuck, getting with the program has never been this seamless. He angrily swats his lover’s hands away to complete the task himself, flinches involuntarily when soft lips latch onto one of his nipples and presses out a groan upon feeling teeth on the sensitive skin. It’s all a little too sudden so he’s only half hard when Doc yanks his trousers down, but watching him sink to his knees without hesitation and lick his way from the base to the tip does wonders to remedy this.

Lion threads his fingers into dark, wavy hair, still reeling from what on earth just happened, is still happening, yet he couldn’t be further from complaining once Doc wraps his glossy lips around the head and flattens his tongue against it. His mouth is hot and wet and Lion feels himself swelling inside the cavern, blood rapidly filling his stiffening shaft while Doc mercilessly sucks him into full hardness. He makes for a beautiful picture like this, more submissive than he usually lets himself be, especially in context, though when he glances up at Lion, there’s still something defiant in his dark gaze.

So that’s how it’s going to be.

His grip tightens and he begins guiding Doc’s movements, pulling him further onto his cock with each bob and causing first a strangled moan and then a warning hum which he disregards entirely. There’s some residual anger still and it bleeds into Lion’s motions, makes them a little rougher than normal. Doc’s tongue is slowly driving him insane with the way its tip seeks out all his most sensitive spots almost out of spite, how it massages the underside, swirls over his slit and curls around the glans, and the sweet pressure of his lover sucking on him only adds to the dizzying mix of stimulation. Not only does it feel mind-blowing, it feels like triumph.

Idly, he debates leaving it at that, interpret this phenomenal blowjob as a concession of defeat from Doc and never bring up their earlier argument again – it would certainly be worth it, Doc always looks so beautiful after he’s swallowed Lion’s come, dazed and proud and like his reading glasses would be askew if he put them on. Doc’s slight resistance might be just for show but Lion relishes it nonetheless, keeps dragging him in while testing out the limits, lets up a little when Doc pinches his thigh after a particularly deep swallow – and then he notices Doc palming himself through his trousers.

He seems to be enjoying this just as much as Lion is.

Inside Doc’s mouth, his cock gives a vicious throb at the sudden surge in desire and earns a helpless moan in return. Lion pictures it briefly, him fucking Doc’s throat while his lover pleasures himself, trapped between focusing on Lion’s dick and his own erection, and his hips involuntarily thrust forward at the mental image. Doc, not expecting it, withdraws while gasping, robs Lion of his delicious wet heat and glares. The hand between his legs, however, is not stopping.

Belatedly, Lion realises this isn’t a submission, if anything it’s an act of war – Doc is taking what he thinks is his, rendering Lion useless in the process. He’s furious but unable to keep his hands off Lion. And if that isn’t the hottest thing he could’ve hoped to encounter today.

“Get up”, he orders hoarsely, throat dry, and doesn’t waste any time undressing his lover as soon as he’s obliged. All his clothes are quickly discarded and tossed somewhere, and with every new bit of skin revealed, Lion’s impatience grows: he wants this man, and he wants him now, wants to show him without a shadow of a doubt how much he desires him… but also make him admit Lion was right.

Doc’s skin is warm under his palms and his tongue slick against Lion’s own. Their making out is almost desperate and not at all befitting a loving reunion after a prolonged absence, but neither of them mind while their lips glide over each other, hands roaming over bodies. Doc moans into his mouth when Lion grabs a handful of his ass, and refuses to break the kiss even as he’s lifted up and set down on the table. His legs wrap around Lion’s hips and he pulls him closer, ankles locked, the gesture possessive but encouraging, and both of them voice their pleasure when their erections rub against each other, Lion’s spit-slicked and Doc’s just as hard now.

“Missed me that much, Gustave?”, he teases in between ravenous kisses and almost loses his balance when Doc’s legs shove him a little in protest.

“Don’t be so smug and get the lube.”

“Why don’t you get it yourself if you want me so much?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

They glare at each other and it’s tough not to allow the challenging expression to melt into an amused smile over Doc’s visible frustration. He’s clinging to Lion still, resistance clearly written in his features – if it was for him, he’s not going to give up any time soon. The realisation of what he’s going to do next makes Lion’s dick jump in anticipation and he turns out to be right: if Lion has leverage over his lover due to how horny he is, he just needs to level the playing field. And so he lightly sinks his teeth into Lion’s shoulder, grabs his cock and drags the nails of his other hand over Lion’s ribs. The faint pain is transformed into roaring want immediately upon Doc lightly jerking him and holy shit, why have they never had angry sex before?

He curses quietly, whispers Doc’s name and earns a sharp nip to his jaw; if he wants to keep up, he needs to act. Blindly, he reaches behind him and fetches the bottle of olive oil from the counter while thrusting into the unforgiving grip. The feeling is divine, almost as good as Doc’s mouth and he hears himself groan in bliss after his lover has spat into his hand and eased the slide considerably, producing a whole other kind of friction. He’s got something better, though.

As soon as his oiled-up fingers curl around Doc’s thick shaft, the Frenchman pauses. Takes a deep breath. And expels it again with a sound akin to a whine when Lion begins stroking him leisurely, thoroughly enjoying the way his lover relaxes into him before being aware of doing so. And once he notices, it’s back to struggling.

They relentlessly exploit each other’s weakspots, Lion sucking a purple bruise onto Doc’s neck, right below his ear, and Doc massaging his balls, nearly causing his knees to give in, fingertips brush over nipples, lips latch onto sensitive patches of skin, and all the while they’re simultaneously pushing each other away and pressing closer. Breath mingling, they’re becoming one already, pawing and kissing and attempting to dominate. They’re both worse for wear by now and so Doc doesn’t even protest when Lion orders him to lie back and spread his legs. Fingers generously coated in olive oil, Lion runs them over his lover’s entrance teasingly before inserting just one.

And oh.

Doc’s cheeks darken when Lion adds a second finger without hesitation, finding his insides pliant and wet already – or rather still.

“Couldn’t even wait until I’m home”, Lion tuts and watches, full of wonder, as Doc swallows even a third digit easily.

“If you hadn’t given me the silent treatment, you might’ve gotten some photos”, the other Frenchman retaliates through his teeth, though his grimace slips a little when Lion strokes over his prostate. Being this familiar with his body pays off more often than not.

“And if you hadn’t given me the silent treatment, I’d have talked you through it.” Lion’s own dick is rearing to go, pulsing impatiently at the sight of Doc’s hole stretching around his fingers, and yet he resists the temptation to enter him and instead goes back to jerking him with his free hand. Doc looks like he’s going to start drooling any second now, his resistance forgotten in favour of grinding against Lion’s hands. “I would’ve told you that you’re doing so good, that you look beautiful, that you can take even more fingers than that. How much I want you. That you should imagine it’s me pushing inside you.”

He’s putty in Lion’s hands now, was shoved over the threshold by overwhelming need and has turned malleable, soft, desperate. Lion has won, and victory has never felt sweeter than right now: the person with whom he hopes to spend the rest of his life all laid out in front of him, blinking up at him dazedly and with so much love obvious in chocolate brown eyes that Lion’s heart threatens to burst for a moment.

“Please”, Doc says quietly. And Lion doesn’t make him say it twice.

Slicking up his own cock already forces a moan out of his throat, so he doesn’t expect to last long – not with how long he’s had to wait for this, not with how tight the ring of muscle was around his three fingers. It doesn’t matter, he’s sure they’ll be having a second round later. Carefully, he lines up the tip and pushes in with minimal resistance, both of them moaning when the head slips inside, and once he’s fully bottomed out, he takes a moment to revel in familiar feeling of Doc clenching down on him. Oh, how he missed this. How he missed the disbelief written all over Doc’s face when Lion rolls his hips and brushes over his sweet spot, how he missed the filthy sounds they’re producing together, how he missed the feeling of another body against his own.

Once he slams inside the first time, Doc is already incoherent and the half-syllables he manages only convince Lion to not let up, increase force and speed and intensity to make him forget his own name, to make him forget he ever belonged to anyone else. His lover’s crotch is an oily mess but it’s just perfect for him, allowing him to wank him hard and fast, rapidly building pleasure in time with his thrusts – Doc doesn’t suspect anything yet, thighs trembling already from how deep Lion invades him with every motion, from how calloused fingers run over sensitive flesh. He must think Lion impatient or close to the edge but couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s only just started.

When he ceases his ministrations just as Doc’s abs begin to flutter, giving away his impending orgasm, he expects his lover to react with indignation, possibly take matters into his own hands or at the very least glare at him, but when his eyes open, they’re so full of devotion and acceptance that Lion is momentarily floored. Instead of fighting him, Doc tightens his legs and drags him in, turns the hard thrusts rocking his body even more brutal and unforgiving despite panting already, despite squirming away from the overpowering pleasure. He doesn’t protest when Lion massages his dick once more, struggles to hold it with how fiercely it’s twitching, and even when he stops again due to Doc’s mewling nearly reaching peak volume, the man in front of him tolerates the torture.

Lion keeps up the merciless rhythm of his hips, fucks his way towards a well-deserved climax and marvels at the beauty laid out just for him, but it bothers him how… accommodating Doc has become even though he’s nothing if not stubborn. And yet he rewards Lion’s movements with loving gazes, contracts around his shaft to increase the sweet, sweet pressure, and lets endless, blissful noises drop from his lips. Lion can feel Doc’s toes flexing against his back, so he must be hitting just the right spot and he’s so caught up in his own lust, so focused on the erotic sensation of driving into the person he loves, of making both of them feel good, that it takes him embarrassingly long to understand.

He leaves Doc hanging on the edge again and explores his shapely chest with a slick hand, leaving glistening trails on darker skin, but it clicks when his palm travels all the way up, barely brushing against Doc’s throat. Because he tilts his head back, willingly exposing the vulnerable body part. And Lion gets it.

It doesn’t matter that they disagree on certain topics, their views are unlikely to change and so neither of them will budge, but what does matter is that they love each other regardless. That they accept each other the way they are, and even if they might be angry, their passion and commitment remains untouched. This is why Doc is handing himself over so willingly: his trust is unshaken.

And Lion interrupts his motions to lean down and kiss him, channel all the love and faith and desire he feels for this man into the gesture while burying both hands in Doc’s hair, cradling his face. The smile he feels against his mouth tells him that Doc understands, and when Lion starts grinding against him a few seconds later, both of them gasp.

“I missed you so much”, Lion mutters against parted lips and now everything is pouring out of him. “Fuck, I thought of you every free second. You feel so good, Gustave, you have no idea how good you feel. You’re amazing. I love you so much.”

Doc moves against him, eyes open as he clings to the taller man like his life depended on it. “I love you too, Olivier. And you’re so deep -”

“I even dreamt of you. I still can’t believe this is real, sometimes. You look so fucking hot right now, I want to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

This earns him the very first genuine, absolutely brilliant smile ever since he came back. Doc licks his mouth open and plays with his tongue until they’re both breathless and gasping before whispering: “Do it.”

So Lion does.

He pulls out, half drags Doc off the table and turns him around so his feet are (already unsteadily) on the floor, torso resting on the wooden surface with Lion behind him, and slams home in one fluid motion. From there, it’s a veritable mess, a maelstrom of sensation and want, a barrage of stimulation muddling Lion’s perception entirely. He’s vaguely aware of waves of divine pleasure rushing through his entire body with each thrust, notices Doc looking back at him pleadingly over his shoulder, incredulity lining his features and increasing with every strangled sound. It’s pure heaven, skin slapping sharply on skin, his cock rubbing over Doc’s prostate with every thrust, causing him to whimper and writhe and his legs to almost give in, and all the while he insistently drags Doc’s hips to meet him so he can reach as deeply inside as possible.

The fast tempo wrecks them both, sweat is starting to bead up on Doc’s back and Lion’s forehead, both of them completely lost in their own pleasure, in each other, in the feeling connecting them – and when Lion reaches around to jerk Doc in the same unrelenting rhythm as his motions, another hand closes over his own, squeezes it more tightly and demonstrates just how Doc likes it right now. Knowing how much he enjoys the deep and thorough penetration only serves to cloud Lion’s thoughts further and, in contrast, sharply brings his own desire into focus, steadily building up with every time he invades his lover so intimately until he can’t take it anymore.

When he comes, he folds in half and moans unselfconsciously into Doc’s hair, loud groans wrenched from him with every delicious wave of pleasure rolling through him. The relief is immeasurable, rushes through his veins like liquid electricity and has him shuddering violently in time with his small thrusts accompanying the contractions in his lower muscles. He’s barely aware of Doc’s hand speeding up in desperation but suddenly becomes keenly aware of his lover climaxing below him due to the hard clenching around him all of a sudden, the spasms milking him even further and his own moans mixing with Doc’s. They both shiver, prolong each other’s orgasm with minuscule movements and only come down slowly from their intense high, aftershocks making their muscles twitch and cocks throb.

Doc lets out a content sigh which Lion mirrors, but when he pushes against the larger body draped over him, Lion refuses to budge. He’s still coasting on the elating feeling of loving and being loved, of sharing intimacy, and if he doesn’t say it now, he never will.

Lips brushing over warm skin, he murmurs: “I’m sorry. I… rules help me do the right thing and I’m afraid of acting without them. I’ll try to think for myself more instead of blindly relying on general instructions which might not fit the situation exactly.”

His lover huffs a quiet laugh and catches one of his hands in his own, interlaces their fingers to show him he appreciates the apology. “I’m sorry too. I let my feelings interfere with my work which can be dangerous. I’ll try to take a step back and assess situations more objectively.”

It’s such a relief to hear these words that Lion nearly tears up at the realisation that he’s forgiven, that he made a concession only to be graced with one in return, that they’re equals after all, both human and thus flawed in their own way. They’re both wrong if the result is them not speaking to each other, and the insecurity of what their fight might mean for their relationship melts away, leaving behind nothing more than a fuzzy feeling.

This time, when Doc moves, Lion withdraws gingerly and stands up straight, pulling the other man into a tight embrace once he’s turned around. They kiss slowly and sweetly, both of them smiling into it since they can’t help it and when he playfully peppers the side of Doc’s neck in kisses, his lover reacts with a chuckle.

“That was awful”, Doc tells him matter-of-factly. “Let’s never do that again.”

And though Lion has to agree that the past two weeks rank among the worst of his life, he can’t help but clarify: “You don’t mean the angry sex though, right? You looked so incredibly hot, blowing me while furious.”

Doc snorts, visibly embarrassed, and shakes his head slightly. “If you liked that, I… guess we can have a repeat performance. Just without all the nonsense before it.”

“Yeah. I agree.” Lion takes the opportunity to eye up his boyfriend, take in his messy hair, the shimmery smears all over his body, the absolute mess between his legs – and it looks like he did drool on the table after all. “You look like you need a shower.”

The grin spreading on Doc’s face is almost mischievous and has Lion falling for him all over again, not that he’s letting it show just how smitten he really is. “And I do hope you’re going to accompany me, mon amour?”

How could he say no to that? “We have a lot of catching up to do”, he agrees and drops his gaze to see some of his semen running down Doc’s thigh.

Maybe he’ll end up having to shower three times today.

#rainbow six siege #doc #lion #doc/lion #fanfic #commissions #angry doc is my spirit animal #he told his colleague to ask lion about his relationship status #just to hear about how awkwardly he replied #these two are so stubborn

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shipmistress9 · 5 years

Text

FTLOAP - 37: Falling Too Fast To Prepare For This

Fandom: HTTYD

Theme: Hiccstrid - Medieval-style AU - Romance - Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Reduced to little more than a stable boy, Hiccup, despite his noble birth, has few prospects for more in life. But when he meets a girl who came to look at the horses, being a stable boy might not be enough anymore. Together, they have tough choices to make and great risks to navigate if they want to survive and be together.

Rating: Explicit

FF-net - AO3 -

Discord-server for discussions and questions

Part 1: Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11;

Part 2: Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Interlude 1; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23; Chapter 24; Chapter 25; Chapter 26; Interlude 2; Chapter 27: Chapter 28 ; Chapter 29 ; Chapter 30; Chapter 31; Chapter 32; Interlude 3; Bonus 1; Chapter 33

Part 3: Chapter 34; Chapter 35; Chapter 36; Interlude 4

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings

. – * – _ . o O o . _ – * – .

Yay, only one week of waiting! Wasn't sure whether I could make it but it worked 😃

Be prepared to wait longer from now on though! We're officially switching to a two-weeks-schedule from now on.

This came up a few times in the comments, and although I answered commented on it on the Shoutouts, I also wanted to address this topic once for everyone because it probably won't come up in the story. The swan roast. In general, swan meat was considered to be one of the highest delicacies of the medieval world. And more specifically, the swan is the heraldic animal of House Hofferson. With both these reasons, it was a matter of House Pride to serve swan roast at such an important evening. It had nothing to do with the King being heartless or cruel as he didn't even know Astrid had a fondness for those swans. If he'd known, he certainly would have spared them. And it had nothing to do with Thuggory somehow influencing it to get to Astrid, either.

This chapter... I'll be honest and warn you, I cried buckets writing it; and that was after having the scene in my head for months, regularly crying over it already. So... yeah... feelz ahead, hopefully.

This week's title, Falling Too Fast To Prepare For This, again come from 'Whatever It Takes' by Imagine Dragons. Have I mentioned that I like their music and this song in particular? And in this case... it's incredibly fitting I'd say... 😬

. o O o .

Astrid’s first reaction was surprise and disbelief. She was to marry? But it was too early! She’d just only turned eighteen; there were still two more years before she could marry. But when the news sank in into everyone’s awareness and hushed voices filled the hall, she remembered that this wasn’t a law. Legally, she could have been married for two years already. But why had her father changed the plan away from custom?

A heartbeat later, fragile joy sparked up in her chest. Had her father learned about her and Hiccup? Was this his gift to her, that she could marry him now instead of waiting for two more years? It seemed too good to be true, but there wasn’t another explanation, was there? She would marry Hiccup, that was the fate the Gods had designed for them, and if she was to marry in two months… With a racing heart, she stared up at her father, hope and anticipation ruling her every thought. Maybe this day wasn’t such a disaster after all...

But when the King continued, all her hopes were shattered into finer and finer pieces with each word.

“You will be wondering who’s going to have the honour of tying the knot with my daughter,” he called over the general noise of the whispering crowd. “But as of now, not even I know the answer to this question. This is why I invited you and your sons here today. During the coming moon, all eligible noblemen in this hall will get the chance to compete for the Princess’s favour. There will be tournaments for you to show your strength and skills, hunts to impress her with your courage and acuteness, and other occasions where you can present yourself to her however you wish. In two weeks, there will be a grand ball for all of us to enjoy, and in four weeks from now, she will announce her choice.”

The King went on explaining the plan for the following weeks, the time of preparation for the wedding and the other planned events afterwards, but Astrid wasn’t listening anymore. All she could do was stare in shock, unseeing eyes still resting on her father. This couldn’t be… No! No, this wasn’t possible! There was a mistake! She couldn’t marry one of the assembled men here! It wasn’t... wasn’t right!

A part of her wanted to object, to thoughtlessly blurt out that she would only ever marry Hiccup and no-one else. But one look at the crowd before them instantly silenced her. For the entire evening, nearly all eyes had been on her, but now, after her father’s announcement, everything felt differently. Where before, all their looks had only been annoying or unsettling at the worst, she now felt like a cut of beef thrown in front of a pack of hunting dogs. It seemed like everyone was looking at her as if she already belonged to them, measuring and evaluating her worth. It made her sick.

Feeling detached from her body, she struggled to get up on shaky legs. “Excuse me,” she whispered, long-instilled reflexes making her speak when her mind was a complete mess. “I-I’m not feeling well, and…” she trailed off, staggering away from the table, away from the crowd and their leering eyes, away from her father. Away from everything.

She had no idea for how long she was left to walk alone... Well, not really alone. A servant in formal livery was following behind her, she saw, but she ignored him. Part of her wanted to break into a run to get away from him, but the dress she was in wouldn’t let her take more than small steps and she wasn’t trusting in her legs’ strength right now anyway. Eventually, she managed to find a door to a sitting room and stumble inside, numb. Thankfully, the servant didn’t follow her.

She just sat there, unmoving, hearing her father’s voice repeat those horrible words over and over.

And then the door opened.

“Astrid?”

She nearly sobbed. She didn’t want to talk to her father, not now. But she also didn’t have the presence of mind to try to keep running, and to where. The fate of her swans had been a hard enough blow. But this...

This was the coup de grace, and there was a little voice in the back of her mind gibbering that she had to wake up, she was dreaming, this was a nightmare...

But if it was a nightmare, she had yet to wake up.

She rose from her seat, numbly, and started towards the other door out of the chamber.

“Astrid, wait!” her father ordered, and she found herself unable to disobey him. She stopped, but didn’t turn around. “What is this behaviour supposed to mean? Why are you leaving your party and your guest so gracelessly? That is unbecoming of your position.”

Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her. “Why I’m…” she began, hardly able to believe what she heard. How could he even ask that? Anger boiled up inside her, and she turned to face him after all. “Why I’m leaving?” she hissed. “What do you think? Those aren’t my guests, they are yours. And it’s not my party either. You invited all these people and provided them with a topic worth talking about. Leave me out of this.” She wanted to turn away, but her father’s stern look kept her from moving even one muscle.

“Don’t be ridiculous, child. Of course, this is your party, to your honour.”

“Don’t call me a child,” she retorted in a quivering voice. Tears were forming in her eyes, but whether of anger or of sorrow she couldn’t say. She wasn’t a child anymore. She was a grown-up woman, knew what she wanted.

“Then stop behaving like a child,” he said firmly, “And why are you acting with such hysterics? Because of the wedding announcement? I’m actually doing you a favour there! So stop acting like a child and come back with me.”

“A favour?” Astrid repeated, dumbfound, not certain if she’d heard him correctly. “How is proclaiming my marriage to one of those lordlings a favour? If you believe I’d marry one of them then you–”

“Of course you will marry one of them,” he interrupted her sternly. “All these men, or their fathers in their places, have sent official proposals for your hand over the years, that is part of why I invited them. You would have married one of them regardless, how is doing so two years earlier such a problem? And you even get to choose for yourself instead of me picking someone for you or simply putting your hand out as prize of the tournament. These are good man, Astrid. Don’t act like a fool by affronting them like this.”

Astrid snorted harshly. “‘Good men’? Do you mean men like Duke Thuggory?” He’d known, she realised. Thuggory had known of this announcement. That’s what his leering words had meant. Again, she felt bile rise in her throat. Did her father really believe she would ever marry scum like Thuggory?

However, mentioning this name had a strange effect on the King. His face turned stony for a moment, his jaw clenched. But then he sighed, and his features softened. “No, I don’t mean Thuggory and his ilk. But with his high rank, I had no choice but to invite him. You certainly don’t have to choose him though. In fact…” he sighed again, then continued in a lower voice. “At your birth, I made contracts with the Grand Dukes that you were to marry one of their heirs. Circumstances demanded for us to renounce these contracts, and I meant what I said, you are free to choose whoever of these men you want to marry. But… but for the sake of stability, I ask you to still choose one of my friend’s sons.”

Disbelievingly, Astrid stared at her father. Was he serious? Oh, she’d heard about these contracts, and they’d all laughed about the idea. Eret, Dagur, Snotlout – they were her brothers, and always would be. Marrying one of them – that was insane!

“What circumstances?” she asked after a pause, trying to think of something else. She would never agree to this ridiculousness, but maybe it helped her form better arguments if she at least understood the reasons. “Why was this change of plan needed, and why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Certainly, it hadn’t been necessary to spring all this on her like that, right?

Her father threw an apprehensive look around, and slightly shook his head. “I can’t tell you why this was necessary. All you need to know for now is that the Kingdom is at a breaking point, and this marriage and everything around it is necessary to keep the stability. Your wedding was always meant to strengthen the Kingdom and the Crown’s alliances; now, it has become even more important. And why I didn’t tell you before… well, I knew this news would unsettle you. And you always were so happy on the days you spent with young Eret and Dagur, carefree. I didn’t want to ruin that for you.”

A tiny voice in the back of Astrid’s mind was trying to reason with her that her father was right; her sudden betrothal wasn’t much different from what she’d been prepared for... once. Except that, with Hiccup coming into her life, everything had changed.

A memory rose to her mind, of another conversation she’d had with her father not so long ago. Back then, she’d mused about how for the Astrid of a few months before – the one that had known and accepted that she was destined for a politically advantageous and likely loveless match – Markor and the small gasp of freedom he provided had been the best gift she could have dreamed of.

But even back then, that Astrid already had been gone. Now, she expected more from life, more than a politically arranged marriage and more freedom than just a couple of hours on horseback. If this change in her had just been because of a flimsy idea then she might have been able to push it aside and become who her father thought she was once more.

But it wasn’t just a flimsy idea. Her hand wandered to her chest, feeling for Hiccup’s soul glowing in her chest. This was more, the Gods’ will. And she knew that she could never return to her former self.

However, thinking about that conversation with her father from all those months ago brought another memory to her mind, and her mood immediately brightened. “I have a wish,” she announced, looking up to meet her father’s eyes directly. “I want you to cancel this plan. You promised me a royal boon and said I only have to name my wish. This is it. I don’t want to marry now and certainly not one of these men.”

For a moment, she contemplated mentioning Hiccup, but held back for the same reasons she’d had earlier. Her father wouldn’t allow her to marry a titleless squire, not until Hiccup’s plan was fulfilled and he’d regained his title. It would only put an assassin’s target on Hiccup’s back – now more than ever, with all those predatory men in the grand hall. But if she could at least ward off this stupid plan…

“That’s not possible,” the King replied in a stern voice.

Disbelievingly, Astrid stared at him. “But… but you promised–”

“–that I would do my best to fulfil your wish as long as it is within my power, yes,” he interrupted her, and his voice turned soft. “But this is not within my power. Astrid, I can’t go back on my word and renounce a public announcement like this. If I did that, after all these people travelled here on my invitation, it would undermine the credibility of the Crown. It would throw the Kingdom into chaos, and we’d likely find ourselves in the middle of a civil war within half a year.” He sighed and even managed to look apologetic. “You have to believe me that going this route wasn’t an easy decision. But it is the only way.”

. o O o .

As Astrid followed her father back into the dining hall, she felt numb all over. Her usual mask had turned into something more, something like a solid wall around her mind, shielding her from everything around her and at the same time letting nobody see how she was inside.

Because inside, she was a mess. Her father’s words still rang through her mind, and a part of her, the part that had been taught to become the responsible Princess of the Kingdom for all her life, understood the logic in those words. It was her duty to serve the Kingdom by marrying for an alliance, being allowed to choose her husband herself certainly was better than simply accepting the decisions others made for her, and the two years didn’t really make a difference either.

However, it was the other part of her that struggled with this revelation, the one Hiccup had awoken and strengthened in her. This part had always been inside her; the independent girl who ran through the forest, who loved to listen to stories of distant places, and who was able to compete with even the best archers. The woman who enjoyed horse-riding and learning about healing plants and practices more than gossiping with other noble ladies over a cup of tea. But during the past months with Hiccup, that part had become stronger and stronger, had taken over. And Astrid refused to go back to being just the royal figurehead; not when the Gods were on her side and nobody would even tell her why.

With slow distracted steps, she walked back into the dining room. It was loud, everyone talking above everyone else, but she didn’t pay the gathered guests any mind. She was prepared to spend the rest of the night in silence, not looking at anyone, waiting until she could sneak back into Hiccup’s reassuring arms. She would need his confidence tonight, needed him to ground her mind again. She needed to talk to him, to mock the ridiculousness of her father’s plan. Because she wouldn’t go through with it, no matter what her father expected.

But before she even reached her seat, she caught sight of her brothers standing a bit to the side, talking, and of Eret in particular who’d spotted her and was waving her over. Her father’s wish about her marrying one of them shot through her mind, but she smothered it directly. The thought was too bizarre; as if anyone of them would ever go for this option!

“Hey,” Eret greeted her when she reached them, his voice subdued. “How are you?”

Astrid suppressed a burst of hysterical laughter. How she was? What did he think how she was? But he meant well, she reminded herself. From all the assembled people in this room, Eret, Dagur, and Snot were the only ones she was still sure of that. “I’m… I don’t know. I don’t think I can wrap my head around it yet,” she murmured, shaking her head.

Eret placed a reassuring hand on her back, soothingly rubbing up and down. It was such a normal and familiar gesture, something he’d done on many occasions before, but now, it felt different. Again, she remembered her father’s words, and thinking about how Eret touching her would look – to him and to everyone else in the room – made her shudder. She knew that Eret didn’t mean it like that, wasn’t laying claim on her. However, that didn’t change that him touching her didn’t feel as it used to. She made a small step away from him and threw him an apologetic look when she caught his grimace.

In that moment, sudden hatred for her father flared up inside her, hatred for taking even this form of comfort from her after everything else he’d done tonight.

Oblivious to the short interaction, Dagur nodded at her words. “Yeah,” he said in a low voice that missed his usual cheerfulness. “That was quite a shock, to all of us. I can’t believe our fathers kept this from us. ‘Not wanting to spoil our fun’ is a stupid reason.”

Eret nodded. “Especially with all the preparations that are going to waste now and how much we’ll have to do tomorrow instead.”

Astrid cocked her head. She wasn’t interested in whatever the Grand Dukes had come up, not really. Her mind was still too numb to care about anything. But Eret’s words still made her wonder, if only as a small distraction.

“I’ll have to help Lavo and his men,” Eret explained, grimacing. “Advice them on how to best divide the herd to get all the horses safely back to Eastervale. I mean, Lavo knows the horses well enough, but he’s never before been in charge of them all on his own for such a long journey.” And upon Astrid’s confused frown, he added, “It looks like at least one of your wishes is coming true after all, Swanja. We’ll all be staying here, for the next two months at least.”

All Astrid could do was nod mutely. Right now, nothing could affect her. It even made sense, she mused, detached. If it was their fathers’ hope that she would choose one of her brothers as her betrothed then they had to stay here with the rest of her suitors. But deep within her, a tiny part was laughing hysterically as they were called back to their seats when dessert was served. Eret was right, she’d wished for just any way for her brothers – and subsequently Hiccup – to stay a little bit longer. But this certainly hadn’t been on her list of options.

“Daniel must have known,” she overheard Eret mutter next to her. “That’s why he can’t stay in Westhill as long as he’d originally planned.”

“True. He’s probably going to be back for the wedding, if not sooner,” came Snotlout’s subdued reply, and Astrid realised that they had to be right.

“It also explains all the weird comments he sometimes made,” Dagur added. “About how he couldn’t tell us what bothered him, but how we would learn about it soon enough.”

Eret nodded. “And why we would see each other again before the summer campaigning. And do you remember the conversation we had on that last night in the tavern? About Ester’s wedding and whether–” he broke off with a sudden grunt. A moment later, his fist hit the table with a low thud!, making them all jump. “Oh, damn, Daniel you utter arsehole!” he suddenly cursed, unashamedly. It made the other two men question, but Eret wouldn’t say what was bothering him all of a sudden, and after a minute or three, Astrid lost all interest in listening to them.

She couldn’t turn their words down, however. Daniel had known about this plan, there was no doubt about that. But why had he kept it from her? Because Dagur had been right, simply not wanting to ruin her time was a stupid reason. But then… it was very much how her life always had been, wasn’t it? Keeping her sheltered and protected, not telling her about things she didn’t have to know. Keeping her ignorant while the men plotted and planned.

The longer she thought about all this, the more sense this explanation made and the more disturbed and distressed she became.

. o O o .

Without knowing what it was, Hiccup could tell that something was wrong. The sensation wasn’t as strong as with her nightmare two months ago or Harold’s execution on the day after, but it was still the same sense of anxiety that flared through their bond and that made it impossible for him to calm down.

Not that he’d been able to do so before. All day, he’d been agitated up to the point where he just kept walking up and down the stables until his twinging leg protested too much, his thoughts running in circles.

Last night had been amazing. He still had his worries whether actually trying anal sex wasn’t going too far after all. However, he couldn’t deny that watching her take his fingers and feeling her so hot and tight had been incredibly arousing, their closeness afterwards more intense than he could explain. So he was looking forward to the night with a mix of apprehension and anticipation, only fueled by how much he already missed her. Which only made the anguish about the coming weeks of separation worse.

But all that faded in comparison to what he felt now. For a while, he stood at the stables’ entrance, watching the castle in the distance and with his heart racing as he pondered what might have caused this distress. But the dark shape didn’t hold any answers for him, and he knew that he couldn’t do anything but wait for Astrid to come to him anyway, so he tried to distract himself with the books she’d brought. It was a futile attempt, his mind barely able to understand a single word. But it was still better than the pacing and the staring at the distance from before.

When she finally arrived, however, it didn’t look as if he would get his answers anytime soon. He’d barely managed to utter her name in greeting before she was on him, her mouth sealing his and her hands clinging to him with a desperate strength that instantly worried him. He was used to her being fierce when she came here at night, but today, there was something different about her.

At first, he gave in to her though. Kissing and touching, desperate searching and clutching. He could feel that she was upset, but it was also clear that she needed their closeness to cope, and he certainly wouldn’t deprive her of that. When her occasional gasps turned into sobs, however, he wasn’t able to go along anymore.

Gently but firmly, he pulled back, holding Astrid by her shoulders. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked in a soft tone. He didn’t want to upset her further.

But Astrid didn’t answer. She just whimpered and shook her head, and Hiccup could see that she was crying. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes swollen and red. “Not now,” she begged, her voice quivering, before she leaned forward again, searching his lips once more.

Hiccup let her, but only for a second before he pushed them apart again, his gaze on her pained but firm. “Astrid, what happened? Please, tell me. Talk to me.”

She wailed, her eyes closing in defeat, and when she leaned forward again, it wasn’t to resume kissing him this time, but to bury her face against his neck. He let her, wrapped his arms around her trembling body and soothingly rubbed her back until she calmed down again.

But when she finally spoke, he wished she’d said anything else as her words threatened to shatter his entire world once again.

. o O o .

Astrid still hoped to wake up from this nightmare at any moment now. All of this was too weird, too surreal to be the truth.

The party had dragged on endlessly, with her being unable to participate in any conversation. Her father had thankfully given her the space she’d needed and hadn’t tried to talk to her again. Eret had tried a few times, but had given up quickly when she wouldn’t even react with a grunt or a nod.

In her mind, everything was a mess. Her father’s wish for her to marry one of the men gathered there, the realisation that Daniel had been in on this plan, the betrayal she felt from both men, how Thuggory and many of the other guests must have known about this plan – it was all more than she could bear.

It seemed to take forever until she was allowed to retreat to her rooms, and even longer still until the twins went to bed too, until she could risk sneaking to Hiccup. She felt as if she’d been lying in her bed for hours, waiting, turning more desperate with every passing second.

She knew that her father had been deadly serious. He wanted her to marry, preferably even Eret, Dagur, or Snot. But she also knew just as clearly, that she would never go for any of these options – not her brothers and not one of the other silly lordlings that had come to court her. She wasn’t sure how to circumvent her father’s wishes, but she would. She had to!

By the time she was wrapped in Hiccup’s arms, trembling and crying, this was the only thought that still gave her strength. That she wouldn’t do what her father wanted, that she would marry Hiccup and nobody else, that he couldn’t make her choose one of them.

“My father wants me to marry,” she eventually found the strength to mumble in reply to Hiccup’s urgent question. “In two months.” Saying it out loud made it even worse, and she pressed herself harder against him, seeking more of his comfort.

His disbelieving reaction to her words was pretty much exactly what she’d expected. “What?”

Snivelling and clutching at his tunic for something to hold on to, she explained, “He made the announcement during dinner. Surprise, you’re all going to stay here after all. Because he wants me to choose one of the noblemen he’d invited, wants me to marry one of them in two months from today.”

Hiccup’s arms around her tightened. “But… why?” he gasped, still sounding incredulous.

She gasped out a short and harsh laugh. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. And why would he? It’s been my fate to marry for the benefit of the Kingdom anyway, so to him, nothing even changed. All he said was that ‘the Kingdom is at a breaking point’ and that my marriage is necessary to keep the stability. But this won’t happen. It doesn’t make any sense. I’ll talk to him again,” she promised, not sure whether to reassure him or herself, and clutched even tighter to him, hot tears seeping into his tunic. “I already did, but today was just chaos. I’ll talk to him tomorrow, explain that I don’t want this, beg him to take it all back. He cares for me, doesn’t he? Deep down? I-I’m sure he’ll…” she trailed off, her voice cut off by the growing lump in her throat.

How was she to convince her father without telling him why? Because she didn’t dare to mention Hiccup, now even less than before. After today, she was afraid of what the King might do to Hiccup, to the one reason that kept her from doing what he wanted her to.

For several minutes, they were quiet except for her low sobs, both caught up in their thoughts and just clinging tightly at each other. Even without looking at him, she could feel how Hiccup’s mind worked through the little she’d said. She’d been thinking about this for hours now, but hadn’t been able to come up with a solution. She trusted in him though, in his quick mind. He would find a way.

“But he can’t take it back,” he mumbled eventually, breaking the silence with his voice sounding hollow and weak.

This wasn’t the response she’d expected at all! With a start, she sat up, looking at him in confusion. “What?”

”I wasn’t there but I know enough about politics in general and about the problems Eret and Daniel talked about. A proclamation like this and with what he said about the Kingdom... “ Hiccup looked pale, his face nearly expressionless, and his eyes were frighteningly empty. “He can’t take it back. You won’t have a choice.”

“What? No!” she insisted, her fingers digging into the fabric over his chest. “I won’t do it! He can’t force me to choose. He can’t!”

A weak and sad smile crossed his face for a heartbeat. “Maybe not. But you still won’t have a choice on this matter,” he repeated in the same low and empty voice. “If you don’t pick a betrothed, your father will do so for you.” His breathing quickened a little and he averted his face, and for once, Astrid was almost glad to not have to look into his hollow eyes.

“But… but he can’t,” she stammered. “He can’t make me do this, can’t make me marry. He–”

“Of course, he can,” Hiccup interrupted her in a weak whisper. “He’s your father. He has every right to decide for you.”

Biting her lip, she dropped her gaze as well. Yes, Hiccup was right, but… but… That didn’t change anything, did it? None of this made sense and all she knew was that they would find a way out of this. They had to, even though right now, everything was just too overwhelming, too much for her, for them both to think.

“But it’s ridiculous,” she eventually mumbled, trying to turn this into the joke it had to be. “If it were up to my father, I’d marry one of the ducal heirs. But that’s insane! H-how could I ever marry one of them? No… There has to be another way. Hiccup, please, look at me. Tell me there’s another way. None of this makes sense, not with what the Gods want. There has to be a way out.” She pressed her hand to his chest, over his heart, to their bond. But in the next moment, she wished she hadn’t.

As if in a trance, Hiccup lifted his head again, gazing at her with an expression that positively scared her. His eyes were still eerily hollow, but there was also something else in them, a deep-reaching pain that she hadn’t ever seen there before. Slowly, he shook his head, and reached for her hand, pulling it away from his chest. “Unless we were wrong,” he whispered, nearly inaudible. He squeezed her hand for the briefest of moments, then let go of it. “Astrid, I... “ he gulped, a strange sound somewhere between a gasp and a suppressed sob escaping him. “This changes everything! A-and I’m not sure there’s a way to… He’s the King! Neither of us can stand against him.”

“But this doesn’t make sense!” she insisted. “You said it yourself; the Gods want us to be together. ‘We can’t fail’. Those were your words. Please, Hiccup, there–”

“Unless we were wrong!” he repeated, the urgency and pain in his voice momentarily silencing her. He swallowed, hard, his hand wandering up to his chest, to where her hand had lain only moments before. “Maybe we were wrong after all. Maybe those visions... they were just wishful thinking, and this bond nothing but our imagination. I-I don’t know. But this… I can’t think of a way around this, not against your father’s explicit wish. There just isn’t enough time.” He shook his head, his eyes falling shut and his hand dropping to his side again.

Astrid couldn’t believe what she heard. He couldn’t be serious, could he? The visions, their connection, their feelings – all this had to be real! Feverishly, she forced herself to think harder, to come up with a reason why he had to be wrong, with a solution, just anything.

“What if we ran away?” she whispered after a minute of heavy silence. “We could leave right now. We get our horses ready and will be gone long before anyone notices anything.” Her heartbeat quickened at that idea. It was bold, but maybe, just maybe, this was the way they had to choose.

However, Hiccup just reacted with a sad look. “I would never ask you to do that,” he whispered, sounding incredibly tired. “It might sound like a good idea now, but…” he paused, swallowing hard. “But it wouldn’t work. We have two fast horses. They have two hundred. Markor and Cassie would need to rest eventually, and they would send out search parties and find us within hours, a day or two at most. Then they’d cut off my head for kidnapping the Princess and drag you back here anyway.”

She paled at his word. “But… but what can we do?” There had to be something. Anything. There had to be.

But Hiccup’s answer did nothing to reassure her. On the contrary, it served to shatter her completely.

“You should go back,” he said in a detached, almost emotionless voice. He didn’t even look at her as he reached to lift her off his lap. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Hiccup?”

“Astrid... it’s over.”

. o O o .

Astrid’s mind was in chaos.

There were no other words to say it. On her way back to the castle, she was only able to find her way because she knew it by heart. She couldn’t see the path through her tears and afterwards, she couldn’t remember how she’d made it back either. It certainly was only pure luck that nobody spotted her as she sneaked through the sleeping castle and as she slipped into her rooms again. With her last strength, she fought against sobbing too loudly as she blindly tore of the simple dress again and somehow managed to get her nightgown back on.

She barely found any sleep that night, smothering her crying into her cushions and clutching at Hiccup’s tunic. She didn’t even remember taking it out of her new treasure box, but was unable to even think of putting it back either.

He can’t be serious, she thought over and over, hiding her face in the rough fabric that only held the smallest memory of his scent by now. It wasn’t possible. She knew where their future lay! It lay in that small house with the barking dog and the excited boy, with him returning to her, to their home. That vision hadn’t been just wishful thinking, it had been real!

Hadn’t it?

On and on, she mulled over the same thoughts again and again, unable to find rest or comfort in anything. Without a doubt, this birthday had been the worst of her life, the worst day altogether. It couldn’t be real, it couldn’t be real, it couldn’t be real…

“Let me wake up,” she begged into the night. “Let this nightmare end, please, let me wake up. I can’t stand it anymore.”

But the nightmare wouldn’t end, and deep down, she knew why. And when she did wake up, to bright sunlight and both her maidservant and her warder looking down at her with concerned expressions, she understood that it wouldn’t end at all.

Her hand in his tunic, clearly visible on top of her blanket, tightened. There was no way she could hide it again. But neither Ruff or Tuff reacted as she’d expected. No shock, no confusion, no demanding where the suspicious piece of clothing was coming from. No questions about her tears and her shattered state either. The twins only shared a quick glance and a nod, then Ruff reached to tug at a strand of her hair.

“So… Is there something you want to tell us?” she asked in a strangely off-handed tone, as if she didn’t even need an answer to her question. And when she pulled her hand back, Astrid realised why.

In her hand, Ruff held a stray bit of straw.

. o O o .

Aaaand I'm back to hiding under rocks.

*jumps out of reach of any missiles*

Next Chapter

#😭#I'm sorry #For The Love Of A Princess #FTLOAP #hiccstrid #hiccstrid fanfiction #hiccstrid angst #Hiccup and Astrid #Hiccstrid Medieval AU #medieval au #Royalty AU #hiccstrid royal au #httyd #fanfiction

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comicteaparty · 4 years

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November 23rd-November 29th, 2019 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from November 23rd, 2019 to November 29th, 2019. The chat focused on the following question:

How do you personally deal with hiatuses, both in regards to planned and unplanned breaks?

carcarchu

I feel very guilty when I go on unplanned hiatuses and I avoid going to tapas and webtoons at all until I've got an update completed. i'm scared to see comments complaining about the lack of updates and how many people have unfollowed me in the meantime. i also find it very hard to bounce back from a hiatus. when i've got a groove going it's easier to keep the momentum than it is to start again after a prolonged absence

Deo101

Kinda a rough question haha. I don't go on any hiatuses other than unplanned ones. It's only out of necessity, in the past I did it if school/health got rough, and I'd try to be back the next week with a normal update!!! However.. I have a second comic which has been on hiatus for a year. I miss making it, but I lost the person who I was working with on it so it has been hard to start again. I'm kind of not really dealing with it, as the anxiety of starting again gets worse the longer it's been! But, I know that the only way to get out of it is to just do it, and I have to do it as soon as I can or it will never end. So, I just work my way through them to get back on schedule.

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

So far I've only taken one official hiatus, after I finished the second chapter of the comic - I worked on the next chapter's pages for the next two months, then came back and luckily haven't been off hiatus since.

I have another planned hiatus after the next chapter, and this time, I'll be accepting guest art to fill the space - it's not something I was aware was a thing until it was suggested to me. It'll be interesting to come up with a cool way to feature any art I receive. I like the idea of highlighting other artists' work while I'm taking a breather!

eli [a winged tale]

There’s such a huge mental barrier for me when it comes to announcing a hiatus but ultimately life and health come first. I have a comic on hiatus since 2015 (one day it’ll come back haha), and sometimes things happen to push my current one back for updates. I want to tell myself that since I’m producing free content, it should be for fun and not a source of stress (despite industry standards and what I want to achieve). It’s a balance. I think the readers who wait are the ones I am most grateful and treasure.

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

I have chronic health issues that can be very debilitating, so having hiatuses is something I have to deal with all the time. I might be able to update regularly for a few months, but eventually and inevitably, a sudden hiatus will come. It’s something that causes me a lot of stress on top of an already stressful situation. Readers leave, and then when I’m well enough to work, I don’t just have to churn out as many pages as I can while I can, I also have to rebuild my audience all over again. I hate going on hiatuses and having such an unstable update schedule, but there’s not much I can do about it.(edited)

Cronaj

Aw man... I also have been dealing with chronic health conditions, so I feel you. I finally got treatments that have been working, so I'm able to update consistently now. That being said, I was on hiatus for a year and a half until just recently. It really did destroy the momentum I was building up, and readers I had accumulated. Because of that, I am determined not to take long hiatuses anymore (a week-a month at most) and to announce it beforehand. I do find it important to prioritize health and mental well-being above my comic, but I find my mental health suffering every time I neglect to update my comic, so I find a middle ground by taking short breaks occasionally. Moral of the story: build up a buffer, kids. Don't be like me.

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

Yeah, same. I'm still trying to get a diagnosis, but I'm kind of an outlier in medicine- my body chemistry is very atypical. I build up those buffers whenever I can, but they always run out sooner or later. I love making comics so much that my mental health suffers, too. I get depressed if I'm not making progress on my comics. I'm really glad you've found a treatment that helps, though! I hope I can too, one of these years.

eli [a winged tale]

What is this mystical buffer everyone keeps talking about

I jest. Keep up the great work everyone! Everyone is trying their best and that’s most important

Capitania do Azar

I always take a small hiatus on the end of each chapter so I can rest and work on writing the next one, usually for a couple months.

sssfrs

I generally take my time with updates anyway. I've lost followers after hiatuses (strangely people only actually started unfollowing me after I came back with a new update) but I'm more focused on getting more of my comic done and progressing towards it being a finished work than keeping a consistent audience. Even though it would be nice...

DanitheCarutor

Fff coincidentally I'm going on a planned hiatus in December. At the end of every chapter I go on one to get feedback, and have some downtime to better plan the next chapter, as well as to get build some buffer. Usually during this time I either hold a Q&A, or do a call for guest art/comics, and I only ever plan to be on break for a month. I don't like being away for longer than that, and the intermission stuff (Q&A's, call for guest art) is announced a month or so beforehand, that way no one is scrambling when the scheduled break starts. As far as an unplanned hiatus, I don't usually have any with my current project. There have been times I've missed the posting deadline due to my fulltime job, but would post either once the page is done or the next week. With my old comic I took a lot of unannounced breaks, not so much because I was busy but I was going through a lot of crap, and morale was really low. It didn't help that it was my very first real attempt at making comics, so I had no idea what I was doing, the story was also hot garbage and became more of a chore to work as time went on. Eventually I just stopped, went on perma-hiatus totally unannounced to this day. I should have let my readers know, but I was really ashamed of myself for not wanting to work on the project (I promised I would complete it), and with a bunch of things suddenly happening in my life I forgot. I'll probably have to go in an unannounced break someday. A lot of things can happen, and being a traditional art only comic creator I'll probably end up running out of supplies eventually, needing to scrounge up some money for more. The nice thing is soooome, hopefully most, of my readers would understand? They know my comic is super time consuming, and that I've been working on it nonstop for 4-5 years now, so they should? Maybe? Hopefully that won't happen, though!

keii4ii

For those of you who take a break after each chapter, how many pages go in an average-length chapter?

🌈ERROR404 🌈

depends on how you're planning to set up your story, whether u want to prioritize to certain print sizes, but the general average chapter size is about 30 pages

Cronaj

I hadn't been planning to take a break between chapters, but we'll see what actually happens. I have chapters ranging from 35-50 pages in length(edited)

DanitheCarutor

Not sure how everyone else is, but I wing it with chapter length. The chapter I'm currently capping off will be 57 pages, although 30-45ish pages is preferred.

eli [a winged tale]

47 for me for this first chapter!

keii4ii

Cool! Was mostly asking a "so how frequently do you take scheduled post-chapter breaks" worded differently

sssfrs

I do 8-12.. I wish I could do more

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

I am taking a short holiday break (that was actually planned this time) in between Eryl chapters. My Eryl chapters usually run 30-35 pages, and the break will be around..., 3 weeks I think? I can’t remember exactly. I’m probably going to have to put it back on hiatus partway through the chapter when my buffer runs out because of the aforementioned chronic health issues, though.

spacerocketbunny

I've only taken one hiatus and that was just while my site was being built! But even then we were able to have a short extra comic updating on an alternative site for that time being. We've been updating consistently for 5 years and that's thanks to the stability we've been lucky to have and the fact that there's two of us sharing the work. We've been able to work ahead enough so we've never ran out of a buffer, I'm pretty proud of that tbh(edited)

DanitheCarutor

@keii4ii Oh! So you were asking the time frame in which a chapter is finished? Correct me if I'm wrong. Normally each chapter takes about a year to complete, sometimes a couple months more than that. (for me, that is.)

spacerocketbunny

Nothing wrong with a hiatus though, especially after chapter breaks, I think those are pretty good to keep yourself from burning out!

Cronaj

I do 2-3 pages a week, so I finish a new chapter... about every 4-6 months

keii4ii

I appreciate the answers, everyone!

AntiBunny

I answered this one on Twitter, but I'll answer more at length here. FIrst of all I think a distinction should be made between a Hiatus, which is a planned break, and an extended delay, which is more missed updates compounding with each other.

The former is easier to deal with. Announce it with a clear return date.

The latter is rougher. The artist hasn't planned it, and feelings of guilt can make it harder and harder to return. The best thing to do in that case is to again, get out ahead of it. When you're delayed point people to your social media, and keep posting to make it clear you're still working, or if work has halted completely at least keep posting to let them know when you will be working on it again.

Either way I try to avoid even using the word "hiatus" because webcomic readers tend to read it as "abandoned." Sadly they're all too often right to do so.

Cronaj

Yeah, usually, when announcing a hiatus to my readers, I like to use the word "break" instead

It's a bit softer for some reason

You know, I am 95% certain that my readers thought I had abandoned the project—or died—when I disappeared for a year and a half

Because I know that I have gotten invested in a comic, only for the creator to go incognito

And I always wonder... Are they alright?

keii4ii

I usually figure either life got too busy, or the creator outgrew the project. Or both.

AntiBunny

I know. I stopped updating for almost a year because I wasn't happy with the planned ending of Nailbat. I lost readers I still haven't regained over that one.

In retrospect "waiting for inspiration" was not the ideal way to handle that.

Cronaj

Yeah, the fact that I returned at all is pretty crazy, from a reader's perspective(edited)

I've seen more abandoned projects than I have, "Hey sorry guys! Was dealing with stuff, but now I'm back!"

I mean, it happens

But very infrequently in comparison to the previous sadly(edited)

AntiBunny

Combine the fact that not updating is easier than updating, and the guilt of not updating making you feel like your return has to be even more awesome with every missed update, so you build for yourself a unsalable mountain of imagined expectation, and you have a recipe for abandonment.

Cronaj

Yep!

I'm still trying to regain my momentum

And I always feel so bad if I publish a less-than-stellar page

AntiBunny

There's also the fact that people grow and change. One problem with long form story webcomics is that an artist can outgrow their story.

Cronaj

That is so true

AntiBunny

The most successful tend to be the ones that can grow and change with the artist.

Cronaj

As a novelist as well, I can say that is incredibly accurate

I have dropped so many novels after writing 30k words or more

The only project I've stayed faithful to for over 5 years IS my current comic project

AntiBunny

Sluggy Freelance for example is very different today than when it began. Gunnerkrigg Court as well, and I like to think mine can too.

Though I'll admit I do have a character I've outgrown, and it bugs me people want to see her again.

Cronaj

I think that's just a desire for closure, and for things to come together in the end

AntiBunny

She was more of a comic relief character really. her sort of humor just isn't something I want to write anymore. That kind of edgelord "lol murder," humor isn't something I can write anymore. And unlike the core cast who've grown so that they don't have to come from the same place I was years ago, she hasn't.

I may be drifting off topic a bit there. Anyway I think it serves well as a reminder that for a long term story the characters need to grow with the artist to keep a comic going.

keii4ii

Not every story is meant to grow with the trends, and that's 100% fine. Just means you have to accept the risk of potentially outgrowing the project.

Using the word "trends" pretty broadly

Mine is not very adaptable, and I can't imagine making it more adaptable without altering its core. It doesn't make it less worthy as a story, just... yeah, bigger risk

seetherabbit

I always took breaks or "hiatus" way before I ran out of pages I could in theory add to the buffer

that way I could more easly relax

but also so I don't have to take an hiatus in the middle of a story

Pistashi

everyone needs a break sometimes

I've been updating and working constantly not only on my comic, but alto my yt channel and freelance jobs (because money is always welcomed, even tho I HATE FREELANCE WITH ALL MY CORE)

but I feel like I got momentum now and I dont wanna stop suddendly

sometimes I feel exhausted but then one day later or after 10h of sleep Im fine

I'll take a break later for sure, but rn I feel like this weight of responsibility is helping me build my work ethics

because we cant work just when we are inspired, we dont have that luxury :P

we cant overwork either, so we gotta be smart with our breaks and hiatuses

mathtans

I've been on hiatus more times than I want to count. One of those things where not having much of an audience helps... if no one's really saying much, they either continue not to say anything, or suddenly surface to wish you well.

I will say that I like concluding arcs. My first hiatus was when my wife went into hospital for a bit, I said I'd return but didn't know when. Most of my other hiatuses have been at the ends of arcs... and I'll add that while they were breaks from the comic, they weren't from content. I put up a few behind-the-scenes things, explaining backstory, and had a friend write a column for me too. I've seen other comics do similar, or use guest art.

And for those of you wondering "who's this guy", I've been on hiatus since my daughter was born. Meaning we're going on 17 months. (I may not return to comic work. I have another website I run where I do serials that I'm still maintaining.)

Phin (Heirs of the Veil)

In most cases I take a hiatus at the end of a chapter. I have taken two official hiatuses and I think there were some shorter, inofficial ones that I had to take because of other obligations like my studies/family issues/freelance work or finishing books for print. Personally I have managed to not get myself too worked up about hiatuses. I'm doing comics for free and I can't live off of them, so it's inevitable to take breaks. Though I have to say I'm starting into a new chapter without having to go on hiatus, which is pretty neat C:

Pistashi

@Phin (Heirs of the Veil) thats niice! its like the more we work on comics the better (and faster) we get, so keeping the momentum between chapters without a hiatus is an awesome thing! Its the little things tbh

also, you're right. its inevitable to take breaks. specially when you're not working full time and can't live off of them. and like @mathtans said, responsibility shows up and sometimes we have to put things aside

like having a daugther! thats awesome dude! hope your family is doing well (and I know you said you might not get back to comics, but if its something you enjoy keep it up when you're free! making comics is fun) ahdksjnd

Neguri-Senpai-Author

I've actually never gone on a hiatus ever since I started really doing my comic. I can't really go on any hiatuses because I market mine as a weekly comic and additionally I have an oddly strong obsession over consistently in my life so I just feel really really weird if I'd do something like a break from my comic even if I needed it ^^; But currently it's not really that bad. I've been consistent with weekly uploads for a bit over a year now (I've started doing it weekly in September of 2018) and I don't plan on going on a hiatus any time soon. Maybe I'll work a bit in advance but I'm not gonna go on a hiatus to get a break

Phin (Heirs of the Veil)

@Pistashi Yeah it's really nice when you finally get a little faster because you optimized your workflow

mathtans

@Pistashi Thanks! Family's doing great, but yeah, most of my free time goes to writing rather than drawing these days. We'll see how things play out.

Desnik

I didn't spotlight my hiatus, but when I finally return to acknowledge it, I'd like to have something to show for it, like a new project or 'this is where I am now' or 'This is what the comic meant to me' so that at least my readers get closure

#ctparchive #comics #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #comic tea party #ctp #creator interview #comic creator interview #creator babble

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cakemakethme · 6 years

Text

Where The Heart Is , 4.2k , Rating T+

Tags: Magical AU, angst, first kisses, fluff, Sid and Geno hopefully being Sid and Geno

For the @sidgenophotochallenge

completely unbeta’d and uneditied. im really nervous as this is the first time I’ve truly written sidgeno. That and the fact that I wrote almost 4.3k of it freaks me out. I made the moodboard first and then decided at the last min YESTERDAY NIGHT to write the fic that would go along with it. So please forgive all the writing and tense errors, I don’t ever write fic.

It's such a sharp pull in his chest that trying to ignore it would have felt like a slow death. Sid’s family all warned him not to go, everyone gathered in his living room as if was some sort of strange intervention.

“Sid,” His mother pleaded, “You’ll need to be gone for an entire year! Isolated in that forest! We might lose you forever!” She added tearfully. He knew the risk and it was so hard knowing what he was doing to them. His family looking at him like he was about to walk to his death. He probably was for all he knew. Sid heard all about the stories of people never coming back. Sometimes, if they do come back, they come back completely wrong. Usually missing more than what they had before going in to recover what they lost.

Sid carefully takes her hands in his, trembling “I know, mom, I really do but I can't stop this feeling that if i don’t go now, it’ll be gone forever, whatever it is that was taken from me in the first place. It feels so empty inside mom please understand. I need to go. I love you so much.” Sid looks up at everyone else, “ I love you all so much.” He gently squeezes her hands before lets them go and dashes out the front door.

“Sid wait!” It's Taylor and he stops and closes his eyes.

“Taylor please…”

She catches up to him and holds him tight but then she releases him and just as quickly, she wraps a handmade scarf around his neck. “Be safe Sid, I believe in you.” Taylor whispers to him and runs back into the house, closing the door behind herself.

Sid settles his nose briefly into the scarf, takes a deep breath and steels himself.

It’s time to go.

Sid had decided to start his years journey in the forest in the summer.He had actually wanted to start sooner than that but he couldn't. Either way, It made sense to him to start without worrying about the cold snowy nights straight away. He could get used to setting up camp, breaking it down and such and set up his routine. He has time now to prepare for the winter months that seemed so far away. Sid can’t deny that he made the correct choice however, because the moment he stepped into the faes forest, the weight in his chest seemed to lift ever so slightly. The first month or so, he sleeps better than he ever had before. Most of Sids dreams are filled with a warmth, surrounding him. Even though he feels well rested, there are mornings that he wakes up with tear tracks on his face. He couldn't explain them other than the fae were probably messing with him, perhaps making him miss his family even though he didn’t remember them in those dreams at all.

Soon enough, the leaves started to change their colors and the nights were a becoming a bit colder. Sid would wrap Taylors scarf around just a little tighter on those days and gets to working on making more piles of wood quickly with his hatchet and storing the wood so it would get soaked with water. Sid found a wonderful clearing as near to the middle of the forest as he guesses. There's a pond close by where he’s been fishing regularly and every once in a while, Sid will explore out to check on his traps.

Its during one of these trips near the abandoned railroad tracks where he sees him. He's so tall and long limbed that at first, Sid thinks he might be fae, but he's walking along the tracks slowly, muttering to himself in a deep accent. It's the accent somehow, that changes his mind about not approaching him. That, and the fact that Sid is so fucking lonely. For as long as he’s been in the forest, he hasn't seen a sign of anyone else.

Sid clutches his hatchet a little tighter and noisily steps out of the trees to alert the stranger instead of shouting out to him. It works and he turns around quickly, his body stiff. It’s a little bit funny, those sleepy looking eyes wide and looking so shocked at seeing another person.

Sid can’t help but giggle and give a little wave. Unfortunately, it’s the hand that's holding the hatchet and of course the stranger's gaze immediately goes to it and he starts to back away.

“OH! No, sorry! Please, it’s okay! Sorry! I wasn’t sure if you were, you know, er, human?” Sid quickly puts his hand down and lets his grip on the handle loose letting it hang from the cord wrapped around his wrist. The stranger raises his eyebrows at that but his expression mellows out. “What you think I am, bear?” He gestures his long arms at his equally long and tall body.

Sid shakes his head but laughs “Yeah, well, you’re lumbering around like one, eh?” It’s so easy talking to this guy and he doesn't even know his name. Shit. “Sorry, again. Um, I’m Sid” He pauses but decides to go for it “ I started my years journey in the summer. Are...are you here for the year too?” He asks cautiously.

The strangers eyes lose the playfulness they were starting to develop. “Yes,” He answers solemnly. “I start end of spring. Feel like Im here for year already.” He looks down and his body immediately looks defeated. It looks wrong on him.

Sid nods in understanding and sighs. The stranger sighs back in response. “Am very sorry. You find me and all you get is sad story.” He slightly grins “You can call me Geno. Is very nice to meet you Sid.”

Sid smiles and Geno smiles wider in return. “it’s great to meet you Geno.”

Geno, miraculously, decides to join him.

His large ever present company is so welcomed, Sid doesn't know how he didn’t go crazy when he was alone before running into Geno.

Of course, that’s not to say that Geno doesn't drive him crazy in other ways. Sid had quickly adjusted his routine to include Geno with Geno seamlessly fitting in. Well, almost.

“No, Sid I'm tell you this is best way to hang fish! How you even survive this long??” Geno grabs at the string of fish and fixing it his way.

Sid is flabbergasted. “How did I survive? You didn't even have the proper socks packed away for the winter! You’re lucky I had extra pairs or else you’d be saying goodbye to that height come winter!”

Geno mouth twitches and Sid knows a chirp is coming “Oh, don't have to worry. Still be taller than you, Sid. Anyway, was going to be fine! Maybe I make warm socks with squirrels or something- hey! why you laughing at me?”

Sid can’t help it and throws a piece of burned wood at him, laughing “Oh my god, Geno! Shut up!”

“Sid! Why you trying to do now? What danger you are in this forest!” Geno chuckles deeply back at Sid. Geno takes the burned wood cinder piece and starts to quietly sketch on a flat part of the large stone they lay out meat, a small warm smile on his face. Sid shakes his head and picks up the fish, proceeding to fix them up his way anyway. Sids pretty sure Geno just wanted to get out of the task and Sid just gave him an easy out. He feels very okay with it and he’s not sure why.

Sid walks around camp later, routinely preparing it for the night when he comes across the rock and he stops. He can't help but drop to his knees.

There, Geno has sketched him perfectly except the expression is so alien to him. How could Geno have captured this look of utter besottedness. His eyes looking off to the side, crinkled and warm, full of… of love? His smile large and crooked mid-laugh. He quickly looks up, scanning for Geno and finding him fussing around inside his own tent. Sid looks back down at his sketched face and his heart flutters. The empty feeling in his chest had become a small dull ache these days. Sid quietly gets up and heads back to his tent.

Sid can’t sleep.

Geno can’t either if the constant moving around says anything.

“Geno.” Sid quietly whispers to him and the noises next door stops.

“Yes, Sid?” He whispers back. “Am sorry if I'm keeping you awake.”

“No, sorry it’s not you,” He reassures him “it’s just” Sid sighs “Do you think, when this is over, we’ll get our answers?”

Geno is quiet and still and Sid is afraid he finally passed out or doesn't want to talk about it. It's usually a hit or miss whenever Sid brings it up, but then Geno answers softly “Fae world so mysterious, Sid. Sometimes you just need to believe it happen. This all a test if we deserve what we lose, I feel this.” He hears Geno shift and then Geno presses his hand against the walls of the tents. “We gonna be okay Sid.”

Sid shudders a breath and reaches out to press his hand to Genos. His hand is so warm.

“Okay, Geno.” Sid bites his lip “Thank you.”

“Goodnight Sid.”

Sid turns over, shifts his scarf around and sleeps.

It’s so warm again. Sid feels it,as a lightness in his chest and enveloped around him. It feels like an amused laugh, like a playful shove and he doesn't want it to end. It almost feels like plush warm lips and large hands. It's so, so familiar and Sid is lost not knowing what it's supposed to mean.

Sid startles awake because Geno is there, in his tent calling out to him and reaching for him. He's looking at Sid with such a terrible expression. Suddenly, Sid is wide awake because something is so obviously very wrong.

“Geno, what's wrong??” he sits up and reaches for Genos shoulders, steadying him.

“Sid, no! Are you okay? What you mean what wrong? You, you make noise like you...” Genos hands reach up and cup his face, his thumb grazing his cheekbone wiping away the tears apparently still flowing there. “I’m never hear such pain, Sid.”

“Oh”, Sid realizes what's happened. Those dreams stopped suddenly around fall when he had found Geno. Sid had completely forgotten about them.

Sid can't look at Geno, he feels so embarrassed he can't face him. “I'm so sorry for waking you up Geno. Please, just forget about this and go back to sleep” he starts to try and turn his body away when suddenly, Geno is holding him tightly.

It's like a dam breaking and Sid is helpless to try and stop. He's sobbing into Genos chest and Geno is quietly and softly reassuring him in Russian. Geno shifts them and then they're laying down, a hand rubbing Sids back soothing him. “Is okay Sid, is okay. I'm be here okay?” Genos whispers into his hair. Sid slowly quiets down and feels Genos arms gently holding him closer and exhaustion takes over him.

Sid expects to feel awkward when he wakes up but it isn't even waking up in Genos arms. Geno doesn't bring up what happened that night and instead jokes about how Sid numbed his arm and therefore can't help with morning duties.Geno does become more tactile than before and Sid doesn't hate it, leaning into him more.

Geno also decides that they should start sharing a tent from that day on because it's getting colder and frost is starting to appear.

“Is for the best Sid, I'm freeze to death alone, so is best to warm up one tent together, yes?”

Sid for sure, isn't going to argue with the logic but he's not going to give in THAT easily. “I dunno, G. You do snore pretty loud sometimes. Could be good to scare away animals.” he takes off running with Geno giving chase “I show YOU BIG SNORE! “

Sids honking back with laughter “What does that even mean? You don't make sense Geno!”

He looks back in time to see Geno promptly slip on some wet leaves and eat it.

Geno wails on the ground not moving “So mean to me! Gonna stay here forever. Let the ground eat me.”

Sid walks back to him, giggling, leans over, and gives him a hand to help him up. “No, you won't.”

Geno smiles back at Sid and takes his hand “No, guess not.”

It's nice when winter finally comes. Sid has never felt so warm. Well, he can't say the same about Geno who seems to have taken any and all the extra clothing Sid had packed for himself.

There's even another, longer scarf that Taylor made for him in there that Geno immediately claims. Each day is not without Geno complaining about the cold.

Sid is sitting by the fire, cooking up some stew when Geno comes back with some more firewood looking like he's ready to mount an expedition to the arctic.

Sid can't help but laugh and gestures towards Genos face. “I think you missed a spot there.”

Genos visible eyes narrow followed by some angry muffling noises.

“You don't say! “ Sid can't help but tease as he pokes the fire a bit. “I don't know if you'll survive long enough to uncover your mouth to even eat this Geno. Truly tragic.” Sid looks up in time to see Geno give him the stink eye. Geno then reaches up with his thickly padded gloves to uncover his face.

“I'm tell you, this lasting much longer than other months! Is unnatural Sid!” He tries to cross his arms but can't.

Sid makes a noise, acknowledging that he heard him and lifts the pot cover to check on the food. He discovered the same thing early on and didn't say anything for Genos sake. If it's a test like Geno said it was, they can't do anything about it anyway except push on.

He carefully looks up and finds Geno is already looking at him, with a thoughtful expression and nods in silent understanding.

“Oh, hey Sid! I'm find bottle I bury in first snow.” he reaches into his bag, pulling out some Russian vodka and shakes the bottle at Sid “think it pair with rabbit stew?” He waggles his eyebrows at and Sid can't help but giggle.

“Yeah, I'm think it just might.”

They sit as close as they can eating right out of the pot and passing the bottle back and forth between each other. The fire casting the light warmly and illuminating the pinking cheeks that darken and flush as the bottle becomes lighter. Sid can't help but reach out and touch and Geno cuts short the story he can't finish, giggling at the funny parts he has yet to say out loud.

Sid can't help but notice how Genos eyes darken and how he leans his head into Sids touch. How he wishes he wasn't wearing gloves at that moment. “Geno.. “ Sid licks his lips and Geno, very carefully takes Sid's gloved hand and gives it a light kiss. Sid shudders.

“Sid, we drink too much. Best sleep first make sure we know what we doing. Okay?”

Sid is disappointed, but really he's too drunk to try and argue that he's fine. So he lets himself be led back to tent,with a canteen of water set next to his head as he settles in. His head is so fuzzy yet he feels like he's about to fall but then he feels the pressure of thing being piled on and around him to keep him warm.

Then it's still and quiet and Sid can hear himself breathing heavy. He fucked up. He can't believe he did that. Is Geno setting up his tent again? Thoughts swirl around in his head until he can hear Geno coming back into the tent and zipping it closed behind him.

“G… Geno?”

“Yes, here. Had to clean up and put out fire. Am here now Sid.” Geno gets into the warmth and up close behind Sid, wrapping an arm around his midsection. “Sleep Sid.”

Sid swears he feels the pressure of a light kiss on his neck before he succumbs to sleep.

When Sid blinks himself awake, he’s immediately aware of an arm holding him tightly, his back flushed against Genos front. He can feel Genos breath tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. He spots the water and carefully drinks it, swishing and gulping water until it’s empty. He’s completely clear headed right now and he knows what he wants.

He starts to try and turn around, dislodging the arm around him in the process. Geno begins to stir awake as well. “Mmm Sid, Sleep. Is early.” He grumbles, trying to tuck his head into Sids neck.

“Geno come on, wake up. I'm not drunk anymore.” Sid snakes an arm out from under the covers and wraps it around Genos broad back, his fingers playing with the hair at Genos nape. Geno seems to purr and tucks himself further. Sid can’t help but softly giggle and gives a playful tug. He moves slightly back giving himself room to look down at Genos face. He spots a tiny curl playing at the edge of Genos mouth giving him away.

Geno slowly opens his eyes and smiles and looks at Sids mouth.

“I want so much, Sid,” Geno brings own his hand up to touch the side of Sids face, tucking a stray curl behind Sids ear ,” Is like sometimes, the heavy feeling right here, is gone.” Geno takes Sids other hand and presses it to his own chest, the identical location as his own fading emptiness.

“I don’t know what it meaning, but I know for sure that Im not leave this forest without you Sid.” Geno looks nervous,” I wait with you till your year is finished and we go together. Is...is that okay, Sid?”

Sid can’t breathe for a moment then lets out a shaky breath “Yes, Geno please, I feel the same way. Will it be okay, though staying longer? I don’t want to risk you losing what you came here to find when you’re so close.”

Geno cups his face and brings Sids forehead close to his own. “I feel, deep inside, everything will be okay.” he slides his fingers down and gently touches Sids lower lip.

Sid can’t take the gentle teasing anymore, he’s breathing heavy and brings himself closer, closing his eyes. His intentions clear.

The moment their lips touch, Sid shivers and pulls Geno closer to himself, legs curling around Genos legs. Geno lets out a groan, kissing Sid deeper, nipping at his lips, finally free to have the mouth that had also been torturing him. It’s only a kiss but neither of them has ever felt anything like it. Every sound, every touch feels amplified. Every gasp and groan, fuels them.

“Geno, Geno, please,” Sid pleads, completely wrecked as he tilts his head up, exposing his neck. Geno takes the cue and begins to mouth at it, biting and sucking, loudly enjoying every inch. Sid can’t help but cling to his back, slotting his leg and encouraging Geno to move his own thigh between his legs.

Every point of contact feels overwhelming and Sid can’t have enough of it.

“Geno please, I want everything,” He lays back pulling Geno on top of him ,”I need you.”

Geno leans over him, lips red and kissed swollen, same as his own, and softly kisses him.

“Yes, Sid.” Geno whispers back ,” I give you all of me, everything.”

Winter seems to pass through much faster afterwards, as if the season remembered it had a time limit. Soon enough, the snows begin to melt and green shoots emerge.

It's Spring.

Sid is still nervous at the possibility of Geno losing everything because of him. The day comes quickly however and Sid decides he needs to be away for the moment, giving Geno his space.

“Sid, I tell you, will be okay.” He smiles and busses a kiss to Sids lips “If it make you feel better, go. Im be here when you come back.”

Sid takes a deep breath and nods “Okay, Geno. I’ll see you later then, yeah?” He smiles nervously.

“Yes, Sid,” Geno smiles warmly back,”I see you later.”

It’s dark. How did it get so dark so quickly.

Sid is panicking because he couldn't have been out for that long. it’s not possible. Then again he’s been in this forest long enough he should know better that the Fae don’t necessarily follow the rules as strictly.

He’s running as fast as he can back in the direction of the campsite when suddenly a bright light catches his eye.

“What the hell…” Sid trails off. It's the campsite and their tent is alight with an unearthly glow emanating from the inside. “Geno, oh no…”

Sid takes off running and the closer he gets, the light seems to fade away. “Please no, Geno please be there.”

He arrives at the tent when Geno opens the flap and stumbles out of it, wide eyed.

“Oh my god, Geno.” Sid gathers him into his arms. Genos seems to be slow and still in shock. “Geno, talk to me please.”

Just as quickly, Geno snaps out of the trance he was in. “Sid? You, you never go on walk?” He asks him confused.

“What? Geno look around, it’s dark! Did they give you back what you lost?” Sid is beginning to panic once again.

“Oh, yes… Sorry, Yes! they tell me! Sid!” Geno is excited, holding Sid close to his chest.

Sid raises his eyebrows and shakes his head “Well, go on then Geno! What was it it?”

“Oh, They tell me once I leave forest I will know. I pass test!” Genos smile is so wide but Sid can’t help but be puzzled.

“You have to leave the forest to know what you lost?”

“Yes, Sid. Say I will know immediately. I tell you it be okay! Now we wait for you to pass test Sid and we leave forest together, yes?”

Sid shakes his head, “Geno, you can know now, are you sure…?”

“Sid, always so stubborn!,” He places both hands on Sids face, squishing his cheeks together,”I say is okay! We go together. Was plan, okay?”

Sid can’t help but smile, his eyes misty. “yeah, that's the plan G.”

It's wonderful having Geno with him. Sid is terrified when his year is finally over but when he looks across to Geno, hands moving wildly to a memory another childhood memory he's sharing he can’t help but feel relieved. He’ll not only be leaving the forest with whatever it was he lost, but he’ll also be leaving with Geno. Geno will forevermore be a part of Sids life. Sid can’t wait to start his new life out there with him.

Geno stops talking and watches how Sid hasn’t been paying any attention to him. So he quietly sneaks up tackles Sid gently onto the soft grass behind him.

“Geno, what the hell was that?” Sid can’t help but laugh because he knows what he did, he had hoped Geno didn’t notice his daydreaming. Sid tries to squirm away and looks up biting his lip.

“You, sitting there, looking so beautiful,” Genos looking at Sid like he can’t believe he’s real so he leans down and kisses Sid thoroughly.

It’s Summer and Geno sits outside of the tent waiting for Sid to be visited by the Fae.

Sids has his message and like Geno, he is told somehow, that the moment he leaves the forest he will get back what he had lost. He also passes the test.

There's a surreal feeling packing their lives for an entire year back up, knowing things are about to change for both of them very soon.

When they’re done, they both look around and smile. Geno turns to Sid and bumps his shoulder and smiles.

It’s time to go.

Soon enough, they can see the edge of the forest approaching and Sids stomach is in knots.

Geno however, looks completely at ease, walking a little faster. Those long legs taking up the distance faster than Sid is.

“Come on Sid! Is right there!” Geno shouts gleefully and suddenly he's making a run for it.

“Geno… Geno wait for me!” Sid is scared, his heart is beating so fast both with fear and with trying to catch up to Genos long strides. He’s panting and desperately trying to catch up. Sid see’s Geno run into the clearing, laughing then suddenly Geno stops and stands completely still.

“Geno, Geno what happened? Geno?” Sid reaches the edge and he hesitates. He takes a fortifying breath and steps through. He’s a few feet from Geno and then slowly Geno turns to look at him, almost exactly the way he did when they first met except… that's not right. That's not when they first...

“S..Sid?” Genos eyes widen and he drops everything he’s carrying “My god Sid, you...you’re MY Sid, I don’t… how we…?”

Then Sid remembers everything. His mouth drops and tears start to flow. He looks up at Geno, his... Zhenya? how could he have forgotten… Genos hand is covering his mouth and is crying just as hard.

Sid drops what he's carrying and they both run towards each other simultaneously, arms outstretched towards each other, hearts full and finally home.

#Sidgeno #Hockey rpf #my writing #jfc #sidgenophotochallenge #it DOES end like that #should have quite a few clues #what do you think happened that they were in this situation in the first place #im curious what you guys think happned #my moodboard #moodboard #my artwork #my graphic

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