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koostarcandy · 2 years

Note

Could I request welcome home kisses with Jungkook, or whoever you feeling inspired to write about! 💜

so, give me all your kisses

pairing: jungkook x chef!reader

summary: after one long, tiring month, all jungkook craves is his lover's kisses.

genre: fluff

wc: 1.4k

a/n: thanks for the request! hope it was upto your expectations ^^ if you ever find yourself requesting smth you like, please make sure to follow the guidelines!

it's been an excruciating wait.

jungkook swears the video calls and photos you send from the land of love itself doesn't do justice to your beauty. you never fail to send updates about your work, sending him random snaps of kittens and puppies in paris. he sleeps with your pillow close to his chest, counting and striking off the days on his calendar till you're in his arms.

it's been 3 weeks, 5 days and 8 hours since you've left his side, if he can recall correctly. you laugh teasingly at his math, questioning if it's right. he'll take anything you give him, even if it's blurry pictures of the eiffel tower or pixelated video calls with your pretty face.

"just 2 more days then you're here, right baby?"

"yes, koo. for the millionth time, yes. i promise i'm not changing my schedule, okay?"

jungkook pouts, slightly miffed that he can't see your face before he sleeps. "are you sure you can't switch to video call for a few seconds?" he can hear you sigh sadly, "when i get back, you can look at me all you want, my love."

he mimics your sigh and wishes you a good day at work, suddenly declaring he'll love you for the rest of his life if you bring back souvenirs. you chuckle, saying that you weren't planning on coming back if there weren't plenty of gifts to give him. he hangs up after whispered confessions of love between the both of you, sending the sweetest of "mwah's!" your way.

putting his phone on the bedside table, he rolls over to your side, burying his face deep in your pillow. it's lost your distinct scent of jasmine and cinnamon sugar but he tries reviving it with the weekly laundry washes which you claim to love the smell of. he thinks you know him all too well, promising that the pillow mist you bought him will work just fine in your absence.

groaning at his lack of will to sleep, he grabs the small silver bottle of pillow mist ("its smell reminds me of the time we went to that botanical garden, koo. it's a happy memory, so isn't it best to fall asleep happy?") and sprays the required amount on your pillow, head falling back and eyes immediately closing, the scent pleasing to his sensitive nose.

he smiles instinctively of your time in the garden, the pictures he took you posing with the millions of flowers there playing like a movie in his head. it was the last date you both had before you left for your work trip. jungkook was, after all, the one who urged you take up the workshop at this famed restaurant, claiming it would help you in your future as the greatest chef he'll ever know.

he falls asleep to the thought of you and your nimble hands making him the best food he's ever had, the same hands handing him flowers at your date and the hands which hold him close and safe at night.

"i'm coming, i'm coming! it's 5.45 in the morning, for goodness' sake!"

jungkook groans at the sound of the incessant ring of the doorbell, regretting his decision of ever installing one. all his hyungs know the pass lock to his door and he knows it isn't you because you're the one who made it. if it was the staff, they would've called him. he fixes his hair and rubs his eyes off the sleepiness, internally calming himself before he opens the door.

"excuse me but you can't ring the doorbell like this at-"

"good morning, koo!"

all of a sudden, sleep's tight hold on him has vanished. your crescent eyes and face half covered by the plushie you showed him as your sleeping companion (who he was very jealous but that's not the point) is infront of him, very much real, not blurry and not pixelated.

he flings the plushie off, hands cupping your face. if there's tears in your eyes, you both don't say a thing, instead beaming at each other with sparkly eyes.

"hello, my love," jungkook whispers shakily, trembling lips falling on yours. his hands fall to your waist, gripping you tightly. you're still in your work clothes, smelling of cheese and bread. your hands, which he dreamt of so vividly, are on his arms, quivering fingers gripping the long shirt he wore to bed.

he can hear the clear sound of glass bottles clinking against each other, probably the wine you spoke of so fondly. he doesn't care about the potential mess it may create and in all honesty, who would? he's got his favourite person in his arms, his favourite smell back in his nostrils and his favourite smile on his lips.

"you promised you wouldn't change your schedule," jungkook mumbles into the kiss, hands reaching behind you to shut the door and lean you against it. "but this is a good change, yes baby?" good would be an understatement. his feet stamp on something soft which startles jungkook just abit. he looks down at the culprit, picking it up, "ah, you," glancing back and forth at the plushie and your smiley face, flinging it off again to god knows where.

"hey! that was unbelievably expensive, you know."

"why get that when you can have the real thing, baby?"

you giggle and laugh happily, when he picks you up and spins you around, practically zooming to your shared bedroom. he places you gently on your side, hands below your head so it's laid on the pillow. your smile beams up at him, arms reaching up for him. he promptly falls on you, his limbs getting tangled with yours like it's muscle memory.

you stroke his hair just like how he likes it, the steady but slow rays from outside making it seem like there's an angel on you. "was the flight too early? you must've been so tired," jungkook says, face propped on your chest and hands untucking your shirt. you shrug and boop his nose, smiling when he scrunches it up, "i left after the last class and grabbed all the wine available at the duty free and i slept through the whole time so, no koo, i'm not that tired," you giggle amusedly.

"good. now tell me all about it!"

jungkook holds the tall bottle of wine away from him, face contouring into one of thought.

"this must be from france, am i right or- ah, it's rome, hehe"

you shake your head in amusement and spread the garlic confit on the crisp toast, "let's have breakkie, koo, we've been up too long without food."

he all but rushes to the kitchen/dining area, eyes sparkling at the sight of the food. "thank you for the food," he says in perfect fashion, teeth peeking out to have a bite. his eyebrows furrow in delight, much to your mirth. "eat up all you want, darling," you encourage, humming in delight at your simple breakfast.

jungkook brushes his fingers off of crumbs, doe eyes on you as your tales of the city of love is said from your point of view. he always wondered what he missed when you were gone, always having your pictures and videos a few clicks away. as you ramble on about some sauce and how you finally mastered on how to get it creamy, he finally gets it.

it was you.

you and your never ending chatter of your first love, food and the way your eyes light up when the topic falls on it. your expressive gestures and your gleeful laughter, which never fails to make his day. you in his clothes, a simple oversized white tshirt. you in your shared dining table, talking to him.

he doesn't waste any time to get closer to you, not caring one bit if you complain of him almost spilling your juice. he tilts your chin up so he can get his lips on yours, hand on your neck and tattooed hand curled around your waist. he vows to never let you go anywhere without him ever again, be it for work or for leisure.

you don't question him nor complain, instead wrapping your arms around him, pulling him impossibly closer. he pulls away first, combing your hair out of your face and smiling at your blissed out expression.

"let's invite our friends for dinner tonight," you suggest, "i want to show them all what i learned there."

jungkook nods, never turning down an opportunity to be proud of you. "what do we start with first?"

"well, obviously, hors d'oeuvres-"

"what did you just call me?!"

you roll your eyes at his lame albeit childish joke, smile threatening to break from your lips. he giggles at his own joke, hugging you from the back when you walk away from him. he promises to listen and learn from you, only if you give him your infamous kisses as a reward.

pt time: @armys-dna ; @joondiary ; @soobhyun ; @shatzkrinslinzki ; @highly-functioning-mitochondria ; @taegisms ; @cherishoshi

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #bts x reader #bts scenario #bts imagine #bts fic #bts fluff #i wrote this very quickly #so if it seems rushed #it js okay pls forgib me #okay thanks mwah ily bye

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moth-like-habits · 1 year

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Bad Boys people here you go! (540 words) ao3

“Hey fellas?” Joel is lying on their unnecessarily wide bed with his armor on (like a bad boy). There’s puffy white clouds passing across the early-evening sky in the same steady pace everything in this word seems to move at. There’s a persistent buzz almost, a consistent beat just barely perceptible. If you ask Joel, it’s kind of exhilarating. Or disturbing. One of the two.

“Yeah?” Jimmy turns from where he’s hanging out by the fishing pond. He’s taken off his boots to dip his feet in the water- probably to cool off from heat of the crackling fire burning the mansion below them. Joel can see Grian turn from sorting through their chests.

“If this whole building actually burns down I think I might be sad, boys” Jimmy immediately starts giggling at the pun and Grian barely holds back his smile as he sits down on the chest.

“Oh but Joel you should channel it. We should be mad, boys.” Grian declares, and Joel can’t help but grin- let the puns begin.

“We should call a firefighter- they might even be wearing plaid, boys”

Jimmy laughs “sounds like they might be a chad, boys” and Grian nearly falls off his chest with the force of his cackling. Joel is laughing now too, all the while racking his brain for other things that rhyme with bad. A, B, C, D- bingo.

“You know, over on empires I have Hermes- I’m a dad, boys.” With that, Grian AGAIN almost falls off his chest and almost the entire building (if he were to, he’d mlg water bucket. Since they’re bad boys). With nothing else coming to mind their laughter dies out and he’s back to hearing the slight beat in his chest, heartbeat seemingly slowed down to match the ticking of the world. How does that even work? Not Joel’s problem to worry about. He’s too much of a bad boy. Soon enough night’s closing in and Jimmy’s removing his feet from the pool, the light splashes drawing Joel’s attention back from pondering how the world works.

“…I’d say our group is pretty rad, boys.” His two teammates turn back to him with smiles re-alighting.

“Hey it’s getting late maybe we’ll see a bat, boys”

“Jimmy do you think bat rhymes with bad?”

Jimmy splutters while Joel and Grian giggle mercilessly. “Doesn’t it? I mean, well, kinda.” But even he cracks a smile at their contagious joy and after getting ready (and some more puns) the three bad boys end up lying in their comically large bed. Joel’s between the canary of the coal mine and the controller of it all, and yet the mortality of them all isn’t as consuming as it was earlier. The endless ticking of their heartbeats (all in tune), the eerily steady pace of the wind… it’s just not as scary as he thought it’d be. It’s anticlimactic honestly.

“This is a pretty good team- I’m glad, boys” Grian mumbles into the starry sky.

Jimmy hums his agreement “Goodnight bad boys.”

With the gentle breathing of his two old friends falling asleep beside him, Joel finds it’s easy to ignore where they are. Ignore the death game. For now, it’s just them- and that’s not too bad, boys.

#idk what this is #I wrote this very quickly #have my weird angst/crack combo #love this team tho #limited life #limited life spoilers #fics #grian #joel smallishbeans #jimmy solidarity

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whenim64 · 4 months

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It's Nice To Be With You

Summary: Davy acts on feelings he doesn't even know he has.

Davy/Mike, first kiss, 422 words

read on ao3 or below the cut:

Davy didn’t know how it happened. One second he was sitting next to Mike on the couch watching some silly old movie and listening to him crack stupid jokes and sarcastic remarks that had Davy almost in tears from laughing, then the next he turned and looked at Mike to make his own witty retort and the words left his brain just as the air left his lungs.

There wasn’t anything different about Mike, he looked how he always did, but somehow Davy noticed more. His smile was brighter, and his eyes had those crinkles in the corners that showed up whenever Mike was genuinely laughing and enjoying himself. His eyes were shiny and beautiful and Davy felt himself falling into the deep brown pools. Mike noticed the sudden silence from Davy and turned his gaze from the tv to look right at him and Davy knew there was no escape, he was going to drown in those eyes.

As if his brain stopped having the ability to think through his actions before he moved, Davy suddenly found himself a lot closer to Mike, their faces only centimeters apart. He felt Mike’s breath against his skin as their lips just barely grazed, and then the press of his nose against his cheek as he tilted his head and pressed their lips together. It was a simple, slow kiss, barely any pressure, and it ended a few seconds later when Davy pulled his head back and slowly blinked his eyes open.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.” Davy said. He knew in his head that he should be freaking out. He just kissed his best friend, his male best friend, but it was like his brain just glossed over that as he sat and stared at Mike, not even a worried frown or a nervous laugh escaping him. Mike stared back at him just as calm, his emotions hard to read.

“It’s okay.” he said, giving Davy a small smile as he moved his arm from behind the couch and gently slid his hand into Davy’s. The warmth from Mike’s hand pressed into his palm and he entwined their fingers together as he smiled back at Mike. They both turned back to the tv, not saying anymore on what just happened, but after a few minutes of just watching the silly shenanigans unfold on the screen Davy lightly squeezed Mike’s hand and felt a returning squeeze back. Whatever was to happen between them Davy knew everything would be just fine.

#jonesmith #monkees fanfiction #i wrote this very quickly #wasnt planning to write anything new today but i did so enjoy <3 #64post #64monkees

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transsextual · 1 year

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feb 2, elle emerson (@transsextual)

text description under the cut!

[slashes indicate single line breaks. text description:

utah bans gender affirming care for people under 18. / south carolina is following suit and worse. / i'd cry but i can't anymore, not like i used to. / my girlfriend tells me they're so tired but she doesn't know why – / "i wasn't even doing anything today" / our anniversary is this month. / i feel like a puppy when i see her. / i get high and rearrange my friend's fridge magnets / queer sentences cover the freezer door. / "eat the skin and hearts of men it attracts dykes" / "i kiss fags" / "feel it up partner" / "you may do it but use condom" - / we laugh about that one. we watch star trek. / their roommate calls me cool; we grew up on the same books. / another friend of mine is taking a gap year to go to brazil, relearn portugese. / the boy i dated who is now my best friend is coming up with my family in a few weeks. / we're going thrifting together on the weekend, and i / am going to try to get an extension on my paper. / dance rehearsal on sundays. / my roommates want to go to ikea. /

my uber driver mentioned his husband when i asked about his day. / i thanked him for it at the end of the ride, and he laughed and pointed out the trans flag sticker on the dash. / on my way into the clinic i think i saw him crying. / i introduced myself to the lab tech and she asked me to say my real name. / she took six vials of my blood. /

so many of my friends are named after gods. / this has to be for something.

#is this something im trying to make it something #not posting to instagram because it isnt very polished i just sat and wrote it quickly. but it feels good to have finished something #speak #writes #hall of shame

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pupkashi · 8 months

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satoru is SHIT at flirting and i know it

like he could easily make people swoon when he doesn’t try but the second he decides ‘yeah i have feeling for u’ all his game goes down the drain

he uses stupid pick up lines and stuff on u but always manages to mess them up so they never actually work

“satoru where are you? shoko said the meeting was at 5:30” you asked, phone pressed to you cheek as you continued to look for the sorcerer.

“sorry I’m just lost” he pauses, a smile on his face, his confidence through the roof as he open his mouth again, “lost in those eyes of yours.”

silence.

“satoru we are on the phone”

he is absolutely mortified and debates on just completely giving up, but it’s when he’s unaware of his actions and just being himself that he finds you staring at him a bit longer, giggling at his words and blushing.

satoru is shit at flirting, but god is he a natural fucking charmer

he’s holding the door open for you, offering to walk you home, listening to you talk, watching your favorite shows with you and remembering your favorite things. he picks flowers for you and gives them to you, pays for your lunch anytime you guys are together, he’s always making you laugh and giggle even when he’s feeling like shit.

he’s the kind of guy to always brush hands with you when you’re walking next to each other, he’s holding your things for you, texting you and sending you things you’d find funny or that remind him of you, complimenting you constantly but not in a weird way

he’s the kind of bad flirting that hears you mention you like something and then he’s like “oh me too!” without missing a beat but he’s actually never consumed a single piece of media of the thing ur talking about and spends all night learning abt it in case you ever bring it up again

he once asked you if you could help him study before an exam and when he realized that you knew much less than him he ended up teaching you. he was sure his luck had ran out and he had fumbled extremely hard.

“toru! i passed!” you grinned, holding the paper in front of his face. the 90 written in red ink in the top right corner made his lips curl into a smile, grinning right back at you.

“i told you that you’d do great! I’m proud of you” he smiles, not expecting your arms to be thrown around his neck, squealing softly as you pull him into a hug.

you’re only giving him half a second to process what’s happening when your lips find his cheek, your heart racing and you’re hoping that shoko really did know gojo as much as she claimed to.

satoru is stunned, his face is red and his ears are burning and he should probably close his mouth or actually say something before all his efforts are washed away.

“haha cool” is all he stutters out, he’s cringing insanely hard and subtly pinching himself when you’re staring up at him with nervous eyes.

“yeah cool,” you mumble, already turning on your heel read to lock yourself in your room when he’s grabbing your wrist and pulling you into his chest.

“can i kiss you?” he whispers, your faces mere inches apart, your small nod is all he needs before he’s crashing his lips onto yours, smiling into the kiss because holy shit i fucking made it.

when he’s pulling away from you he has this silly little grin on his face, clearing his throat before finally speaking up.

“I’m really glad you passed” he says, you can’t help but want to tear your hair out, what happened to the satoru that could make any girl swoon?

it’s not until after the two of you start dating that he’s back to normal, using every pick up line in the book (correctly this time) and making your blush like it was his job. he’d make you stutter and roll your eyes, so naturally flirting with you.

you would always make fun of him and ask where this was when he was crushing on you, he’d only get extremely red and start pouting, saying he was just too embarrassed because he thought you’d reject him.

a/n: hi hi back w a silly little drabble :P i don’t really like this much but i really wanted to post something so i hope it’s okay !! i think it’s sweet and silly hehe,, requests are open so feel free to drop something :3

taglist (send an ask to be added!) : @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

masterlist

#this is very messy and all over the place I’m sorry #I’m not washed i promise 😭😭😭😭😞💔#i wrote this very quickly bc it’s just been on my mind 😭#will work on something better this weekend sawry :(#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru drabble #gojo satoru headcanons #satoru gojo x reader fluff #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo headcanons #satoru gojo one shot #gojo satoru one shot #satoru gojo fluff

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ghost-proofbaby · 11 months

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if it were anyone else (e.m.)

warnings: strong allusions to depression, disordered eating/rough relationship with food, mentions of smoking, description of a sort of panic attack. very sad. hurt/comfort? not edited.

wc: 1.6k+

a/n: this is literally entirely self indulgent and written entirely after i sat and cried and thought "i wish i had eddie here right now to hold me". maybe in like thirty minutes tops. this is for me and only me. go figure lol. sorry. yeah. anyways.

if you relate, my askbox is always open, and i'm very sorry you've felt this way as well. i hope you all take care of yourselves. drink some water, call a friend. be kind to yourself.

“I’m worried about you.”

Four words that always manage to strike a certain type of fear in your gut. You don’t know how to react as he says it, how he wants you to react. You can only stare blankly, you can only wish harder for the earth to swallow you whole.

“What do you mean?” you laugh nervously, following it with a hard swallow.

You’re playing dumb. You know it, he knows it. The tremor in your bones and your numb appendages know it, too.

“You’re…” Eddie stalls, licking his lips, letting his eyes rake over you, “You’re getting bad again.”

You’re quick to shake your head, forcing another hollow chuckle from your chest, “It’s not that bad. I’m fin-”

“You’re not fine.”

The look in his eyes could crack your spine if you stare too long. Wet eyes, a trembling bottom lip, worry lines etched into his forehead that you realize might be caused by you.

You’re causing him worry. The last thing you want to do, you’ve accomplished. You’re on a fast-track to becoming a burden – the first step is always acceptance.

You’re still unsure of how he wants – no, needs you to react right now. This conversation is a landmine for both of you, and you hold every breath with every step as you try to navigate it. If you make one wrong step, it could cause an explosion that spares no survivors.

You don’t mind if it tears you apart limb by limb. You do mind if it hurts him.

“How… How do you know that?”

It’s not a sarcastic snipping or defensive deterrence. It’s an unfiltered response of genuineness – you want to know the signs, you want to know what has exposed the rot this time.

And then, maybe next time, you’ll be able to better shield it from him with this knowledge.

“How could I not?” he takes a deep breath in through his nose, and you focus on the flare of his nostrils rather than any of the tears beginning to gather at his waterlines, “It’s been happening for a while now, though, hasn’t it?”

Your throat is a cage, tight and restrictive and ringing with a bitter metallic taste in its tenseness. You can’t respond with words. You can only nod.

He chooses to answer your question more properly now that you’ve admitted it, “You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground. Picking up distractions like they’re going out of style.”

“Hey, they might be. We never know-” you cut yourself off when your eyes meet his. Now’s not the time for jokes, “Sorry. I… I know. I’m sorry.”

He’s right. Fuck, he’s right.

“I want to ask you something, and I need you to answer me honestly,” his own steps across these landmines are just as delicate, just as feathery light, as your own. You hear it in his tone, see it in his body language. You wish your body could sink into the mattress you’re sitting on the edge of as he crouches in front of you, warm palms connecting with your knees. Grounding you. Tethering you. Holding you back from that sinking you crave. “Are you… Sweetheart, are you okay?”

If anybody else had built up to such a stupid question, you would have laughed in their face. You would have shoved those warm palms right off of your skin and you would have thrown up those ice cold hands of your own, shouted obviously not.

Obviously not. I’m not okay. I’m so far from okay, it’s a bit comical. I am drowning. I am treading in freezing cold waters and I am barely capable of keeping my head above the waves. My engine is fucked, my tank is empty. I don’t think I’d even know how to be ‘okay’ again if you did manage to pull this mangled body of mine from these depths and sat me down on safe, solid ground again.

You can’t say any of this, though. Not because you don’t trust him, not because he would judge you. But because the moment he asks the question that should make you scoff, you let out a sob instead. Something like a muffled, broken wail that tears from deep within you. It had already been ready and poised, laying in wait for a perfect moment like this one to escape.

His eyes aren’t the only glossy ones anymore.

“I-” you start, breathing already stuttering and chest already constricting, “I- I-”

“Hey,” he palms smooth up your thighs, carrying their warmth with them, as if he were trying to spread it across you. As if he had heard your thoughts. As if he already knew all about those dark, treacherous, freezing waters you were stranded in. All you can do is spew out another cry, strangled as you tried to swallow it down before it entered the atmosphere between you two, “Hey.”

You only notice the tears when you crumple forward and he meets you halfway. Those warm palms, those hands so capable of safety and promise, cup your cheeks and his thumbs make quick work of swiping away the salty streams.

“Hey, baby, breathe for me,” his voice is tragically gentle, “Just one deep breath, okay?”

To demonstrate, you watch his chest expand dramatically, his hands forcing you to keep your eyes on him.

You can’t see through the bleariness.

“C’mon, sweetness,” he encourages again, “One breath. Just one.”

If it were anyone else, you’d turn into a fit of rage at the coddling. You’d break everything in sight. You’d scream until your already burning lungs finally collapsed as they’d been yearning to for so long.

But it’s him. It’s just him, it’s just Eddie.

His chest rises dramatically again, and this time, yours does as well, albeit through stifling hiccups. You’re dizzy from the lack of oxygen and the flood of emotion that was wrecking you.

“There you go!” his voice rises ever so slightly, and when you flinch a bit at the sudden volume, he retracts, “Sorry, sorry. But that’s it, sweetheart. Another one, okay?”

Another breath. Another sob. Another wave of all the pain you’ve been battling off.

You’re cold all the time again. You’re always sleeping too much or too little. You’re smoking again, running yourself into the ground.

He was right and it fucking killed you. None of those are things you could ever shield him from. You didn’t have the heart to pull away those numb and icey fingertips every time he’d reach out for your hand, or try to cover the shivers that managed to rack your bones even in the middle of summer. The sleeping situation had been spiraling, a pendulum of sleepless nights that would end in a sleep so deep that you could have been mistaken for resting with the dead. Maybe the smoking you could have hid, especially when you’d been so boastful about quitting.

You weren’t running yourself into the ground. You had already collapsed into the dirt, you had already joined the worms. You’d buried yourself alive, six feet under, and nothing could have stopped him from sniffing out that scent of decay on you.

The death of a soul and mind. The death of the thing that had propelled you forward for so long. No amount of sweet perfume, or hour long scalding showers, or minty gum to occupy your mind rather than a proper meal, can erase that stench.

You never could have shielded him. He always saw right through you. Always had, always would.

“I’m sorry,” you end up crying out.

You don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but you echo the words again. Over and over, on repeat, until he’s rising from the ground. Until he’s sat beside you. Until his arms are suddenly encasing you and you’re awarded a warmth you didn’t feel deserving of.

He doesn’t smell like the decay you’d surrounded yourself with. He smells like slow waking in the morning, dreary and calm and at a reasonable time. He smells like warm baths that only relax your bones, and don’t have to blister your skin in the process. He smells like three meals a day, all comforting and all effortless and that never linger with a sense of regret.

He’s not decay, never even treading close to death. He’s home. He’s the promise that you could be okay. Even if it isn’t right now.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs into the crown of your head, squeezing you tighter into his chest, not even blinking an eye at the patch of wetness you leave behind from where your cheeks bury against him, “Never apologize. Ever. Not with me, sweetheart. Keep the sorries. I don’t need them.”

If it were anyone else, the holding would have suffocated you. But it’s him. It’s Eddie.

You don’t fight him when he pulls you fully into his lap, situating the two of you comfortably on that mattress.

You don’t know how long you let him cradle you like that. How much of that time is spent filled with your cries, or how many breaths he gently urges you to take with him. He never once has to verbally say what you already know; he never once promises aloud that it’ll be okay. He doesn’t put that pressure on you, not yet. Not today. Not when he knows the journey to okay is still such a long one.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers to you instead, “I’ve got you, now, sweetheart.”

If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t believe them.

But it’s him. It’s Eddie.

And he’s got you, for now and for as long as you need.

#my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson comfort #idk what this is #i hope it flops because fuck is it personal !#i wrote very quickly and did not edit it lol #like my own personal diary entry or therapy session #bleh #very niche and doubt it's relatable lol #but i'm unwell and what good am i if i can't make content #if nothing else #i can create #still good for something maybe i don't know #at least something not awful can come from this storm

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isthatafuckinggayangel · 10 months

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I wanted to continue this thing that I wrote for @cod-dump (hope you don’t mind me tagging you lmao), just kinda expanding upon the concept of Nik being Soap’s father and getting into more of the meat in the idea, so here

~~~

Explaining to Ghost and Gaz everything that had gone on between Nik and Soap, their relationship and all, was exhausting. The number of questions they had took forever to get through and made Soap think a little too hard about what why his mother had caused this.

At the same time though, it made him realize he needed to call her to get all the information straightened out here. He needed to know why she did it. Why she separated him from his father.

So, a few days after he had gotten everything sorted with Nik and the team was on the same page with everything, he made the call. He had both Ghost and Nik sit in on the call with him, he couldn’t get himself to do it without some support and he needed to have Nik there to make sure any lies didn’t slip passed him. The trio were sat around the dining table in the common room, Nik and Ghost on either side of Soap. He pressed the call button and made sure it was on speaker, holding it in his left hand still.

“Tha e math cluinntinn bhuat a-rithist, John. It’s been too long since ye called!” She answered the phone with.

“Sorry ‘bout that. It’s been quite busy out here, so I haven’t had the chance.” Soap rested his forehead in his palm and Ghost ran his hand along his upper back in a soothing motion.

“Is there somethin’ goin’ on, a chuilein? Ye sound a bit upset.”

“Yeah, um, I’ve been thinking a lot and had a few questions fer you, if that’s alright?”

“Of course, it is! Ask away.”

He took a deep breath then went for it. “Why did you tell me my da abandoned me?”

There was silence on the other end. The seconds stretched for what felt like forever.

“Well, that’s because he did. He made it very clear to me that he didn’t want to speak to any of us, and as much as it pained me, I knew we had to respect his wishes.”

Soap saw Nik’s fist clench out of the corner of his eye and looked up, seeing an expression of barely concealed rage. Soap set his phone on the table, reaching over and grabbing his father’s hand to try to help calm him.

“Ma, do you remember what he does for work?”

“…What do you mean, John?”

“I need you to be honest with me. Why did you lie?”

He was met with more silence.

“I dinnae lie, John.”

“Ma. I’m givin’ ya one more chance to be honest. I need you to take it.”

“I don’t understand, I’ve been honest-“

He let out a sigh before laying it all out. “I met him again, Ma. Ye seem tae have forgotten what he does fer work. We work together now. I read his journal, ma. I know what you told ‘im. I know you lied to both of us. So why? I just wanna know why you did it.”

“It’s a very complicated situation-“

“Bullshit. I know a complicated situation when I see one, and this is not one.”

“John-“

“Не лги нашему сыну, Elspet.” Nik growled. He’d clearly had enough of her avoiding the question she’d been asked.

“Nikolai, I-“

“You will answer the question the boy asked. You will not disrespect him or diminish his intelligence by acting as though you do not understand what he is talking about.”

They were once again met with silence. Ghost moved closer to Johnny, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and holding him against his side.

“I was tired. Your father’s job took a toll on me, on our family, and I couldn’t handle it anymore. The entire time you were away from me, every summer, I was so scared his job would follow him home and I wouldn’t know because you were so far away. I needed to have you close to make sure you were okay. That you were safe. I couldn’t think of anything else to be able to do it.” She paused. “Look at where that’s gotten us now. You enlisted for the same damn job and now ye work together. Guess it couldn’t truly be avoided.”

Soap was seething. While he understood being afraid for your child’s safety, he couldn’t get passed the manipulation. The lies. The fact that she didn’t just explain that that was the problem. He could have kept up with phone calls, letters, something so he wouldn’t lose his father. And yet, this was the decision she had made.

Nik squeezed his hand and Ghost hugged him a bit tighter.

“John?”

A deep breath. “Thank you for your honesty. I’m gonna need some time to process all that. I’ll call you again soon, yeah?”

“Yeah. I love you, John.”

“Love ye too, ma.” He hung up the phone and rested his head against the table. “Christ, that sucked.”

“Are you alright, love?” Ghost asked.

“I’ll be alright eventually. Just gonna need some time.” He picked his head back up and looked over at Nik. “You alright? Cannae exactly be easy for you to hear either.”

He gave a light nod. “I’ll be okay eventually, малыш. It will take time, as you said, but it will be fine.” He squeezed Soap’s hand again and Soap did the same back. “У нас все будет хорошо.”

~~~

Translations

Tha e math cluinntinn bhuat a-rithist, Johnny. -> It’s lovely to hear from you again, Johnny.

A chuilein -> my lad

Не лги нашему сыну -> Don’t lie to our son

Малыш -> little one

У нас все будет хорошо -> We will be okay

Apologies for any incorrect translations, the Gaelic is done with google translate and the Russian is a different translation app, so chances are there’s something wrong with it. Let me know if you have any corrections on it!

#the initial direction I was going with the argument and reasoning for the lie felt a bit too much like I was villainizing her #and I very much didn’t want that #I think I landed at a decent point with this take #idk I didn’t want anyone to feel like an actual villain or be too bad because I don’t think it would feel quite as real #but also none of this is realistic at all lmao #idk if I’ll continue this further but I’m enjoying what I’m quickly throwing out there #anyway #cod mwii #cod mwii fanfic #soap mactavish #cod nikolai #nikolai cod #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #but like as a background thing #Nik is Soap’s dad #once again wrote this in like an hour lmao #also sorry to every Scottish person ever for that accent writing LMAO #I’m sure it’s actually terrible

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milk-ducts · 5 months

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I'm so glad to have encountered a fellow Cecil stan. I freaking love coming up with headcanons for Cecil, platonic or romantic, because he's such an interesting character. For real though feel free to dump any Cecil headcanons (platonic or romantic) on me anytime.

AWAAAA!! YES HAII OTHER CECIL AFICIONADO !!! im so glad theres more of us sprouting out here. my wife is so underappreciated, you have no idea how much he means to me. i'd love to req n swap headcanons anytime !! I have so many thoughts on that morally ambiguous gilf.

[messy, disorganized surface level autism rambling ahead. this will be just random scenes and characteristics i like of him]

BUT YES .. cecil's character is just so interesting to analyze. he does unethical, necessary things. But he doesn't subscribe to idealistic notions of "the greater good" or justifying his actions to make himself sleep better at night. He knows the harsh reality that someone has to make the difficult decisions, no matter how unethical. The psychological toll it takes to calculate how many civilian lives can be spared, and how many are inevitably lost in order to achieve the optimal outcome. He doesn't celebrate after victories like the other heroes do. After the dust settles, his mind is already racing - calculating, strategizing how to prevent future catastrophes. How to minimize casualties next time.

his methods are...questionable,, as ive said,, but there's a hint of nobility to it that just makes you respect him, A SHADY GOVERNMENT CHAR that does the dirty work and takes in all the heat for it so no one else has to? SIGN ME TF UP! i love exploring his character and all the little glimpses of humanity we get to see from him,, especially with debbie, SO SOFT FOR HER, there's so much depth there. that old fuck would MOVE mountains for her if he could,, TRUST. EVEN though he doesnt deserve her .. <<

LETS CONTINUE TO CIRCLE BACK TO S1 with his confrontation w Nolan in the desert, the way he entrusted his survival to the skills of his team operating that teleporter watch (I'm aware he can control it himself, I think this was just my interpretation of it since the employees seemed directly involved here). The margin for error was nonexistent. One miscalculation, one millisecond too slow, and Cecil would have been reduced to a red smear across miles of sand. MY WIFE HAS BALLS ON HIM. (also love walton goggins breathy lil giggles here .. hwaghffhh)

All this, All the whilst Nolan could have ended him with a casual backhand, as easily as swatting a fly. And for what? For humanity's (mostly his) right to know the truth. For Debbie's right to understand what she had truly married because Cecil respects her that fucking much for her to have a part in all of this, and what fate may lay in store for her son.

AND what I particularly liked about that scene is that unlike most SHADY GOV CHARS ™.. Cecil isn't afraid to regularly place himself in life-threatening situations, and for that im just.. FKING obsessed. finally. a hyper competent gov char that gets shit done and occasionally by his own hands instead of always puppeteering in the shadows. Love u .. love u honey snooch, please stop putting yourself in danger for your crazy alien side-hoes .

but ahem ... back to s2.. and some flaws of his that i'm not afraid to point out. the way he's been treating mark is killing me. manipulating my son by comparing him to his dad then keeping him on lock by saying he's not like him??? The breadcrumming definitely didn't work out at all, cuz Mark is too damn stubborn to continue to be swindled by fear tactics he does not give a shit for anymore (homegirl DEBBIE taught him better) hes not gonna listen to a cranky skullet-having side bitch of nolans who clearly has been tryna manipulate him since s1. i HATED how he went "ur broke tyrannical bitch father felt the same way" in the last minute when mark tried to leave earth and yet i still lobve ceci cause ough,,.. my bastard wife knew something was probably up.

Him wanting to keep a short leash on MARKY could be summed up after all that has happened in s1. i'm not going to justify his scummy manipulations or paranoia,, especially after all the shit mark has done and endured to prove himself over and over again that he's not like his father BUT its somewhat understandable for cecil 2 be wary if you look from it in his perspective.

moving on from that, lets dive back into ep 2 ..

Debbie was semi-right in her deduction in s2 ep2, that this is what it's really all about for Cecil - being in control. Not of any situation, but of Mark. To ensure history does not repeat itself in the form of Mark becoming another Nolan. imo He likely doesn’t actually view Mark as his father, Not saying the possibility of it being a part of Cecil's subconsciousness is out of the equation but the way I see it? He was just exploiting that one weakness, that one insecurity Mark has - the fear of becoming like Nolan. And it’s a fear Cecil seemed to prey upon to keep Mark under his thumb and in the fucking GAME.

awaaaa :3 !!!! psychologically damaging teens by comparing them to their abhorrently shitty fathers !! FUCK YOJ STEDMAN (love you snookums..)

,,,,I'd also like to think in my warped deluded perception (aka hcs) that he sees Debbie in Mark, so he can't help but care for the kid too. IVE ALWAYS seen a lot of comparisons between Mark and his dad, plus the whole motif of this new season hasn't helped it allay. But Debbie and Mark share so many similar characteristics as well and i wish that was talked a bit more often < 3 (I will go in depth about it at a later post.)

n umm like ...,,, bck to cici in gen. I guess the safety of earth is one of Cecil's redeeming qualities along with his compassion for side characters like Debbie. His pragmatism and utilitarianism define him. He lacks normal morals but has his own code that cultivates to his character. this ramble could not do justice to him ughfglg..,, what a compelling jezebel.. how can u captivate me so !!

My inbox is always open to discuss this multi-faceted rat man. here's to more cecil content in s2..,... hopefully with more of his dynamic with Debbie because I LIVE for that shit. though its unlikely their interactions could range to anything positive now since they may be hinting to cecil becoming an antagonist and/or taking extreme measures w/ mark. soo.. i dont think debbie's scolding was enough for that slut 2 take in ..

in the mean time i'll be catching up on the comics/re-reading them, look up more of his backstory and hopefully create 10 novels worth of google docs of analysis' of his character < 3 cuz .. he means .. that much 2 me.. and i want to prod at every crevice n brain matter he has inside that megamind head of his .

((hwaghhhhhh << hoping that one day the discord moots ive been keeping in my basement and most invincible fans fall victim to cecil stedman propoganda.. no one should be immune to my girlboss and his awful skullet.))

#invincible #invincible season 2 #cecil stedman #omni man #invincible spoilers #debbie grayson #mark grayson #longest paragraph of me saying i want to fuck an old man but rewording it in a semi-melodramatic way ..#SORRY FOR USING THIS AS AN EXCUSE TO RAMBLE !! please go check out superbangelhearts blog; cecil stans . i love their yan headcanons alot .#this was SOOO messy n disorganized #milkyasks #milkyrambles #i think he should be fucked by every adult char in the show #i love him so much .. he has been infesting my fking brain.#I think alot of people confuse his ends justify the means for actual justification n self righteousness . but THERES no indication of that #IN THE SHOW.#hes self aware to a considerable extent over what he does #wrote this at 4am plsss give me a break ...#i would swallow a gallon of acid for him .#so much msgs in my inbox .. i apologize for not being able 2 answer them quickly :( this is still very new 2 me #im like a boomer getting used 2 smartphones... typing w my pinky finger as we speak..#slobbers n chews on his gnarled knuckles #idkfkk whts WONG W ME ! HELP ! MY PSSYS GONE CRAZYY !!! /ref #this was mainly just pinpointing random parts i liked ab cecil not really an analysis

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deejadabbles · 10 months

Text

Hold On Tight (Tup x Fem!Reader) Spice

Summary: Now that he's back on Coruscant, Tup plans to thoroughly enjoy you, all night if you'll let him.

A.N: Right after I posted this, I realized just how rude it was of me to promise Tup enjoying you, without actually showing it! Please take this full-length filth as my apology 😉 Reader is described as wearing a dress and heels, but no other descriptors are present.

Recommended songs for reading: Freak by Doja Cat and positions by Ariana Grande

This is 18+ Minors DNI!!!!

Warnings for: being complete filth (again), marking, hair pulling, dirty talk, praise kink (both receiving), oral (fem receiving), unprotected P in V, over-stimulation/multiple orgasms, cock-drunk behavior. Just, warnings for Tup being an absolute beast in general.

Your excitement was warming your chest far more than the few drinks you had at the bar, and who could blame you? Not even the friends you were out with minded how you left earlier than usual, not when you had received the message from Tup saying that the Resolute had docked early and that their shore leave was already under way.

Always the gentleman, he had insisted that you could stay out, that he didn't want to take you away from your friends, but you were just too excited to stay for longer than a few more dances. Tup probably got to your place awhile ago and you hoped you hadn't kept him waiting too long.

You knew where he was the moment the door slid open. The light in the refresher was on, casting a glow into the rest of the home, which was dimly lit. That made sense, he was always talking about how much he loved your shower, with actual water instead of the sonic crap they put up with on the war ships. He also loved the better quality of hair products and body wash you kept on hand for him.

The hum of the hairdryer stopped almost as soon as the door closed behind you and before you could get to the bathroom, Tup was stepping out in nothing but a towel, eyes searching for and spotting you in an instant.

"Cyare!" he greeted, that sweet smile spreading across his face.

His arms were already open as you ran to him, throwing yourself into his embrace with a joyful laugh. His strong arms held you tight, as you buried your face in his neck. You were instantly wrapped up in his scent, the smells of warm spices and woodlands, and a content hum left you.

He was home, with you, finally.

"I missed you," he whispered against your ear, just before his lips started peppering kisses over every inch of you he could reach.

"Missed you more," you mumbled into his hair, which was still a little damp.

Tup laughed at the familiar exchange, usually he'd say how that wasn't possible, but he was too busy laying those kisses on you.

"How was your night out?" he asked, and you felt his hand trail down your dress to squeeze your hip.

You let out a little hum, then finally pulled back enough to look at him. "It was nice, we hadn't gone out to dance in awhile, and it was an excuse to wear this." You wiggled your hips a little in his grasp, accentuating just how much it had ridden up your legs.

Now his joyous smile was slipping into a smirk, a knowing one.

"Yeah?" his eyes traveled down your body, enjoying every inch his gaze took in "and how many men hit on you tonight?" his tone was teasing, not at all accusatory. He was far too confident in your relationship for that.

With a smirk of your own, you started playing with the ends of his curls. "A few. Poor things didn't know they never had a chance with me. Most took the hint, but one was annoyingly persistent."

Tup's hand squeezed just a little harder at that, "And what did you say to him?"

With your other hand, you started trailing your fingers across the bare skin of his collar bone, letting your words come out slow, a whisper. "I told him that I don't like boys," your eyes locked with Tup's, just as you licked your lips, "I like men."

A hum that was almost a growl left him as he pulled you flush against his hips, and the towel around his waist hid nothing. He leaned in so his lips brushed the skin just below your ear, "Do you want this man to remind you why?"

"Yes," it came out as a breath, a breath that he caught when he pressed his lips to yours in an open mouthed kiss that was on the verge of desperate.

The two of you were moving in sync, walking backwards to your bed, while never daring to part your needy lips. Maker, you missed the way he tasted, and from the little moans he was letting out, he could say the same of you.

Your senses were wrapped wholly around him, taking in his smell, his taste, now you needed to feel him. Hands trailed down his bare chest, adoring every muscle and scar they ran across. Every bit of it was so, him, so Tup, and you loved everything that was Tup. The moment your fingers hit the towel, they were working at the knot he make to secure it, practically ripping it off his body the second you could, which made him chuckle low in his chest.

It was only when your legs hit the bed, that he finally broke the kiss, urging you to sit with a gentle push on your shoulders. But as soon as you were seated, he knelt before you.

"Been thinking about this all day," he said, tone intimate as he reached down, took your foot and started slipping your heels off with care, "thought about what I wanted to do to you, how I want to take my time," he lifted your leg and pressed a kiss to your ankle, "how I want to savor every inch of you."

Then his the tips of his calloused fingers were brushing their way up the back of your calves, his eyes following their progress with a hunger that made you realize you were already getting wet. His palms lay flat against your skin when he reached your knees, and they kneaded your thighs lovingly until they met the hem of your dress.

Tup got back to his feet then, and made you gasp when he scooped his hands under your ass and lifted you, just enough to pull the dress up. You felt the muscles in his biceps flex as he did it, making you want to swoon in his arms right there.

"I hope you'll wear this for me soon, mesh'la," he said as he started pushing it up your body, letting his hands trail in its wake, "but right now, I need to see you. Need to feel your skin on mine."

The moment the garment was over your head and tossed aside, Tup was on you, lips against yours again as he pressed you back, following you as your body fell to the mattress.

His lips didn't stay there for long, though, and you could feel the subtle shift in his movements as he trailed his mouth down your throat to your collar bone. He was letting his need come out more now, his lips turning more desperate as he started suckling at your skin.

Oh. You knew what he was doing, knew he needed to bring back the little parts of him that faded too soon whenever he left on another campaign. You bit your lip when his teeth came out to play, sinking in just enough to make you moan.

Your hands were reaching above you, grasping for anything as he pressed every bit of his chest to yours, and moved to your shoulder to leave a second reminder of his touch behind.

Finally, your hands just gripped the sheets, right as another sound left you, and he slid up to your neck for a third imprint.

"T-Tup, not there, I-"

"I know, cyare," he breathed, "I wont leave any where your uniform wont cover," a gentle press of his lips to soothe the already sensitive skin, "I don't need to show off, don't need to prove to anyone that you're mine." Another flash of teeth that had you bucking your hips, "Just want you to think of me whenever you see this gorgeous body in the mirror."

You were fairly certain the sheets were going to rip if you gripped them any tighter. His lips, his teeth, his tongue, they were working in perfect harmony against your skin. An almost violent moan left your throat when he bit down yet again, another addition to the marks he left across your shoulder and neck, his marks.

"Love it when you moan like that, mesh'la," Tup whispered against the blooming blemish, hot breath fanning over it like a feather light touch. "Love it when I can mark-" he paused and raised his head a little, eyes on the fingers curled into the sheets.

A soft tut tut noise sounded from his tongue.

"Mesh'la," this time, it was almost a scolding, "you know that's not where your hands belong."

Your throat was so dry as you tried to swallow, his words making the ache between your legs pulse. Just like his marks, you knew what he wanted. Fingers slowly uncurled from the fabric and reached up to him. With loving care you traced his temple, and tucked some stray curls behind his ear.

Tup closed his eyes, humming at the contact with sensual delight.

Slowly, you started threading fingers through his wonderfully soft locks, letting your nails graze his scalp, and relishing the little moan he let out.

The moan turned to a delighted cry when you grabbed the hair and pulled.

"Yes!" Tup's voice almost cracked as his head snapped back, hips jutting forward as if on instinct, and you hated that your panties got in the way of his already hard cock. His grin was wide, wolfish, even, as he looked down at you through half lidded eyes. "That's my girl," he praised, "so good for me, giving me what I like."

That's when he started moving.

Careful to keep your hands in his hair, Tup started at a teasing pace, lips now trailing down your body. Grazing between the valley of your breasts, nipping over your stomach, and kissing across your hips.

He was sinking to his knees again, and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed as he went, effortlessly keeping his lips on your body.

A flash of white teeth met the waistband of your panties, pulled it back, and let it go with a small snap. Then, he was gazing up at you again, that familiar haze of need and adoration darkening his eyes.

"You gonna hold on tight while I enjoy you?" His tone was just as wicked as his eyes, "Gonna use my hair to take what you want from my mouth?"

"Yes! Maker, yes- Tup, please," you couldn't even care how needy you sounded, not when he was looking at you like that, not when he was telling you to abuse his curls in the filthiest ways.

Tup's fingers hooked your panties and began dragging them down, down. "That's my good girl. Don't forget to use your nails too, I love it when I can still feel them on my scalp afterwards."

Your panties were tossed away as carelessly as your dress- then those lips and tongue and teeth were diving into your wet cunt without any other warning.

The loudest moan yet wracked your throat. You were wound up too tight, too lost in the memories of what Tup's mouth could do to you not to cry out in ecstasy. A curse dragged out after the moan when he used his lips to open you up, leaving plenty of room for his tongue to lap between your folds like a treat.

Not forgetting what got him off, you started working your fingers in his hair. A firm tug from you when his lips suckled, a gentle rub when his tongue stroked, a scrape of your nails when he teased your clit.

Suddenly, Tup pulled back just a bit, causing you to whine as his hot breath puffed against your pussy. "Come on, cyare," he growled, "I told you to take what you want, I know you can do better than that."

It was all the direction you needed, with your finger tips digging into his scalp, you pulled him back against you, burying him deep and crying out at the way his nose pressed hard against your clit.

Tup let out a delighted moan at the action, not wasting a second before lapping at you with enthusiasm again. His hands gripped your thighs tight, and you noticed his fingers digging into your flesh in tandem with the way you pulled his hair. The harder, the better.

You were griping the strands in such a tight fist that they might as well have been handles for your pleasure. Emboldened by the way you were holding him hard against you, Tup's tongue shoved forward, dipping inside you like your favorite toy. He got what he wanted when you yanked even harder than before with a scream of bliss.

But it was your turn to praise now, those words he loved to give and receive so much. "Don't know how you're so good to me, Tup," the sentiment fell from your lips in a pant, just as he dove his tongue deeper, "so so good! Love how you eat me up, love how much you enjoy me."

Another moan sounded against your wet folds, making for an interesting mixture that caused a soft giggle to bubble in your chest. The only thing Tup didn't like about eating you whole was that he couldn't give the dirty talk back. And with you pulling his hair to keep him firm against your cunt, he couldn't even take a break to tell you how good you tasted.

Tup was breathing hard through his nose now, gasping against you between more moans. That inkling of worry crept in, worry of suffocating the poor man who never stopped until you came, who joked that making you climax was a mission worth dying for. He wasn't tapping out, though, and the blissful groans he let out said he was more than enjoying himself.

It still wasn't quite enough, though, so with your hands full of his curls, you pulled him up just a little, dragging his nose against your clit in a delicious sensation. He got what you were playing at, and you felt him grin as he started moving up and down in minute nods, rubbing his nose hard while his mouth worked harder.

"Yes! Yes, just like that- oh! Tup, you're so goooood to me!" Your nails were gripping in deep, as if they were anchors to hold your pleasure in place while you chased it and god did you love the sounds he was making: delighting in your delight!

Waves of pleasure rolled through your body with every press of his nose and swipe of his tongue. As much as you loved looking down at him, on his knees and buried between your legs, you couldn't help but squeeze your eyes shut at the euphoria he was causing. Oh- oh! Just a little harder-

You pulled his hair rougher than ever and threw your head back with a scream, rutting against his face as if you were a needy virgin again!

He ate it up like candy, his whole body shuddering as he continued to mouth your pussy.

The aftershock of your orgasm was already sending you, and feeling him still going at it made tears spring to your eyes. With your chest heaving hard, you tried to make sense of the heavenly haze clouding your mind. Tup had taken such good care of you, your first thought was to take care of him in turn.

Your hands started massaging his scalp, tender and soft, a silent thank you, a listless reward. He let out another sound at the caring act, this one long, drawn out, and high pitched; content.

Or, so you thought.

You still hadn't recovered from the waves of coming the first time, but Tup was already on the move. He finally came up for air, rising from his knees and letting your hands fall from his hair to land limp beside your head. Your eyes fluttered open to look up at him with a smile. He returned it, all sweet, seemingly innocent, with his hair in his face as he gripped your thighs.

"I think you're ready, mesh'la," was the only warning you got before he pulled your legs towards him and buried himself inside you fast and deep.

Another throat-rending sound came out of you as he started a merciless pace immediately. He wasn't one to forgo intimacy, though, and ran his hands from your thighs all the way up your body as he leaned down. Stray curls tickled your face as he braced himself on his forearms, caging you, and taking your hands in his.

"That was your first climax, my sweet girl," he whispered, still grinning at you like a love-struck boy, "think I'm gonna try for at least three tonight."

You tried to pant out the number, astonished by his commitment, but the sensation of his cock pumping in and out of you made the word die in the air. Instead, you managed a whimper that might have been 'maker' or 'by the force' or some other ethereal power you only ever prayed to when Tup was taking you like an animal in heat.

"Wanna make you feel so good," he continued, lacing his fingers with yours tenderly, a startling contrast to bruising pace of his hips, "wanna remind you why you wait for me, why I'm the only man who can have you like this."

If there was any part of you that wasn't in the throws of an overstimulated high, you would have told him that this was only part of it. That there was so much more of him to love than his talented mouth and big cock. But right now, all you could pull together was a breathy "love you, Tup," which caused him to crashed his lips against yours again.

His face was still an absolute mess from eating you out, but you only moaned against the contact, his hips never letting up as they drove home hard.

The kiss didn't last long, and when he broke it, he started kissing downward. All the way down to those still sore hickeys at your throat. The way his teeth and lips played on the tender skin, combined with the aching between your legs was too much! You felt it slam into your body like his hips: hard and relentless and so fast it ran you over like a speederbike.

You gripped his hands tight, writhing under him as the orgasm caused the sheen of tears to roll out from the corners of your eyes. And he never stopped. Tup never let the pace of his hips slow, even as he cooed at the sight of you coming undone again.

"Oh, my sweet cyare," he kissed your temple, collecting the stray tears on his lips, "that's two. You're taking me so well, love the way you look like this, gonna make you feel amazing."

You were sure he was pounding your soul right out of your body, because you were only vaguely aware that he moved to the other side of your face, kissing those tears away with care before he leaned back a little. His fingers finally untangled from yours, only to reach down and grip your thighs again. He held them for a few more of those rough thrusts, but clearly had other plans as he lifted them both, moving your body just where he wanted it.

You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to keep in another sobbing moan at the feel of this new angle, his cock going devastatingly deep. Again you were struggling to make sense of anything that wasn't the sensation of him, but you thought you felt him scramble for something above your head.

Next thing you knew those strong arms were lifting your hips again, so he could slide something soft and plush under your back.

Oh, he had grabbed a pillow for you.

"There you go, sweetheart," he said with sugary devotion, "I need you to be comfortable while I make you forget everything that isn't my cock."

Those words alone made you sing for him again, especially with the love sick way he was looking down at you, like he had forgotten everything that wasn't you and your pleasure. The pillow helped, raising you up to better meet his thrusts blow for blow. Despite a part of you begging for the over stimulation to stop, a larger part of you couldn't help but buck into him with every thrust.

You willed your arms to move, to reach up and tangle your fingers in his hair again. He hummed in pleasure when you pulled him down for a sloppy kiss, then he gasped, delighted when you mumbled, "already the only thing I can think about." You sounded drunk, high even, but you didn't care, not when he was like this.

Maker, what had you done to deserve this attentive adonis of a man?

Tup groaned at the lazy way you were kneading his hair and scalp, "Cyare, my beautiful perfect girl, keep doing that- Oh! I'm about to come- come with me cyar'ika!"

He slid his hand between your bodies, keeping his eyes on you as his fingers found your clit. Tup placed his fingertips right above the sensitive spot and pressed, pushing so it met the plunge of his hips.

"Want you to scream," he sounded drunk now, eyes barely keeping from rolling to the back of his head, "want you to scream my name this time, can you do that for me?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice as he took you with shallow desperate thrusts. You could feel it again, the coil tightening, your body pathetically easy to handle in the throws of this much pleasure, and Tup was sure to get what he wanted. Two fingers rubbed right where you loved it, keeping his control there even as he lost it in his hips.

Your body seized up, stilling as it felt another climax creeping in-

"Tight! So tight!"

-and you made sure to dig your nails in again as he gave a stuttering cry above you. That was all he needed, and you felt him fill you, hot and wet, causing your own peak of bliss!

"Tup!"

It was more of a wail than a scream, but he didn't seem to mind as he filled you to the brim, keeping himself balls deep so you had to take it.

His eyes were closed, chest heaving, hair tumbling loose from your grip to fall in his face. The stray curls swayed in front of his lips with every heavy breath he let out, leaving him looking disheveled and delicious.

Then his eyes snapped open, meeting your gaze through the curtain of curls as his wicked grin spread back into place. "That was three, sweetheart," he panted, obviously pleased with himself.

Finally, Tup let himself collapse, scooting both of your bodies a little further up the bed before he fell to your side, curls fanning around him, eyes closed, and breathing still not quite under control.

His hands rubbed up and down your body, wanting to soothe you, needing to feel you. Every inch of you seemed to ache, but you reveled in the feeling, reveled in the phantom sensations of his hands and lips and cock all over your body.

Tentative lips pressed against your shoulder, "I wasn't too rough, was I?" his eyes were still closed, basking in his own bliss even as he tried to make sure you were okay.

"No," you breathed, hands groping for his and when you found them, you brought his fingers to your lips and kissed them, "No, never, Tup. I just- I just need a minute for my soul to come back to my body."

He laughed at that and snuggled closer to your side, "You really know how to compliment a guy, mesh'la."

"Oh, I haven't even gotten started with them, just you wait. When I can make a coherent though, 'm going to give you aallll the praises."

Both of you were quickly dissolving into delirious fits of giggles and laughter, even as Tup gave you another quick kiss, and grabbed your hands.

Maker where did he get all this energy? you thought as he rose up, urging you to follow him. Guess it comes with all those genetic modifications, lucky me.

He lifted you to your feet with that gentle smile of his, "Come on, cyar'ika, lets go take a shower together."

"But you've already taken a shower," you giggled as he pulled you.

There was that teasing look again, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I did, but I need another one after everything you did to me!"

"Everything I did to you?!" you swatted his shoulder with a laugh.

Just as you passed the door to the fresher, he pulled you closer to him, chuckling as he pressed a kiss to your ear, "I can still feel the mess you made of my face, cyare. So, yeah, what you did to me." Another wet smooch of a kiss, then he turned to the shower.

You hadn't been able to really take him in before, so you hummed at the sight of him naked and bending over to start the water. The dimples right above his ass came out to play, and almost distracted you from the glorious glutes themselves.

Kriff, you weren't really hoping he'd use your still sore body again, were you?

"There we go," Tup said as the water started, then reached back and guided you into the shower, "lets clean you up."

He stepped in after, standing behind you and wrapping his arms around you as the warm water rained down. You let him hold you up, let him run his soothing hand up and down your body, let him clean you up with care.

You didn't even realize you were moaning until he was whispering in your ear again, holding you just a little tighter.

"Keep sounding like that, and I may just try for four, cyar'ika."

I'm just going to tag all the darlings who seemed to like the original post <;3 @blueink-bluesoul @dystopicjumpsuit @sinfulsalutations @corrieguards @spicy-clones @anxiouspineapple99 @littlemissmanga @sunshinesdaydream @commander-sunshine

#tup x reader #clone trooper tup x reader #plz listen to Freak. A soft melody with filthy lyrics is exactly the vibe of this whole thing #that warning list just kept getting long and long the more I wrote lol #really hope you guys like it #Tup has very quickly shot up my list of favorite clones #clone x reader #deeja writes

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hellverse · 3 months

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holy little fires

#is this about dean?#probably #is this about sam?#perhaps #maybe it’s about everyone #idk #i wrote it very quickly #so #do not expect anything #🧍#rei writes

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towards-toramunda · 4 months

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What happens when your body very quickly and permanently changes and you don’t have time to grieve the loss before accepting the wonderful new? aka I wanted the besties to talk and comfort each other so here’s this (and a lil excerpt):

“Orym” the gentle voice of Fearne came through the door.

“Come in Fearnie”

The door slowly creaked open and in came Fearne holding Little Mister, no longer in her fully elemental form, but still different. Hair of fire, horns crackling magma, finger tips burning, and tears slowly streaming down her face.

Orym sprang up to meet her “Fearnie you’re crying.”

“Can I sleep in here tonight?”

“Of course Fearne always”

He tentatively reached for her hand, afraid of being burned, and she quickly gripped his with a certainty that said I won’t hurt you I will never hurt you and placed a warm kiss on his forehead.

Link on ao3

#cr fanfic #ao3 link #critical role #cr spoilers #orym of the air ashari #fearne calloway #orym and fearne #small amounts of callowmoore ashrym and dorym mentioned but not the focus #What happens when your body very quickly and permanently changes? how do you cope with that?#I accidentally wrote them in a QPR and you know what? I’m cool with it

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eccentricmya · 18 days

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The Second Killing

"We lost."

It was Caranthir who voiced it. The stark truth uncoated with unnecessary emotions.

Maedhros chuckled at the brevity of this opener for the long overdue post-battle briefing they had gathered that day for. Those two words indeed encapsulated the whole battle.

"We were never meant to win," Maedhros said, yet another truth bared.

That had Maglor shaking his head in immediate denial, "Nay, we had hope. United we had stood a chance."

Ah. There it was. As much as you could trust Caranthir to strip feelings from his practical analysis, you could just as much trust Maglor to add them instead. And his feelings on the battle were evidently still revolving around the traitor he had slew in single combat. As was natural.

"A chance yes," Maedhros agreed with a tilt of his head, "but not at winning."

Amras scoffed, "then what?" He stalked back into the study from his perch on the balustrade of the adjoining balcony. The view from there was the best Amon Ereb had to offer, or so the twins had claimed when they had showed him his new study. Though, to Maedhros, it still paled in comparison to even the most uninspiring sight Himring had provided.

"Why did we throw everything at the enemy if we had no chance at winning?" Amras questioned, coming to stand beside where Amrod was seated in front of the cold hearth. "Why go through this farce of a 'Union' if you believed unity too would be futile against the wretchedness of that blasted Vala?"

"If not even the combined might of all of free Beleriand can make a dent in the enemy's forces, then why go to the gates of Angband and seek death?" Amrod added, the quiet of his rasp a sharp contrast to the agitated voice of his twin, even as he echoed the other's sentiment.

Maedhros didn't answer, he refused to. Instead, he fixed his glare on the ones who shared the blame with him, who had hatched a plan behind closed doors and persuaded him to allow a cover for their folly. They shifted in their seats by the window under his glower, the silence stretching longer until the rest of their brothers followed his line of sight to the two co-conspirators. Celegorm was the first to break under the added scrutiny; "it was a distraction," he said and no more.

When no words were forthcoming anymore, Caranthir lost his placid expression and his face turned red in exasperation. "For what?" he asked in annoyance, "do not tell me it was for the Silmarils."

Sarcastic his tone might have been, but their most astute brother had once again stuck true, making Curufin bristle. "You do not tell me that you did not feel the Oath stirring when that half-breed and her pet mortal stole our father's jewel yet again!"

Another uncomfortable silence took hold of them after Curufin's words, for they all had felt the chains of their vow clinking as the Silmaril had left the confines of Morgoth's crown. Maglor was right on one account: there had indeed been hope before the battle. Hope that a Silmaril could be stolen back from Morgoth—the sole pillar their mad plan had relied on. If their mere idea of pulling such a stunt could be called a plan, that is. With Curufin's adamant refusal to involve Maglor as their lullaby singer—which Maedhros had supported, though not for the reason of Maglor possessing 'a weaker disposition' but rather because he had not wished to place the burden of such a pivotal role on the bard's shoulders—their plan had depended on Celegorm being an uncanny marksman and Curufin having a distractingly similar appearance to their father, along with Maedhros' ability to goad Morgoth into emerging from his iron fortress.

None of that had come to pass, perhaps for the better. Maedhros had not let it show then, but his faith in his brothers' capability to execute this monumental feat had been minimal, especially after what they had done in Nargothrond. But they had made compelling arguments, so he had given in at last, urged by the desire to see Morgoth without the bejewelled crown he had mocked him with during his captivity. The aftermath of this battle, though, made him believe more and more strongly that this desire of his, too, shall remain unfulfilled.

"So all those countless lives… all those tears unnumbered of our people… they were a mere distraction for the Silmarils?"

The horrified disbelief in Maglor's voice cut deep inside Maedhros. Oh, what he wouldn't give to reassure his brother that 'no, your Nelyo has not stooped so low as to lead our people under false pretences to serve as bait'. But he had. Maedhros had done exactly that. There was no use in pretending otherwise.

So when he steeled himself to meet Maglor's eyes, it was to utter one final facticity. "The people will know this battle as a failed stand against the enemy. Our greatest loss amidst debilitating treachery," Maedhros said wryly. "But only we would be aware that the true treachery was committed long before Ulfang and his ilk turned coat. Only we would know that the battle was fought not for freedom but for the Silmarils. Only we would be privy to the secret… that the Nirnaeth Arnoediad was, in truth, the second killing of elf by elf."

#this idea would not leave me so i had to write it #maedhros #maglor #caranthir #celegorm #curufin #ambarussa #silm fic #silmarillion #i wrote it very quickly so forgive the quality lol

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int3rn3t-bra1n-r0t · 3 months

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Very long theory I dunno

Maybe the avatars the users inhabit have something to do with a life they wanted to escape before. Maybe that's why the show is so obsessed with finding an exit, and maybe that's why Caine and the rest of the cast insist there isn't one.

Pomni was tired of being treated like a joke, most people think she had an office job and wasn't treated seriously. She was the jester, the amusement for others, small and easy to walk all over. I think she wanted an escape, which is why she found herself in the digital circus. Obviously the series is fairly new, so we don't know the outcome, but maybe it's meant to be a sign that there is no escape.

Ragatha was treated like a rag doll, maybe she wasn't treated with much care and hastily sewn back together. I like to think maybe she was a mother or caretaker of some sorts, partly because I think it's cute to think of her having kids, but also because she acts so motherly and supportive only to be left behind while Pomni looks for help and gets distracted looking for an exit. She genuinely acts like a mother, or some kind of teacher. I think she was tired of being treated like a ragdoll, and that's why she's in the digital circus. She escaped one prison to find herself in another. Good potential for angst, feeling bad for wanting to leave her life in the first place.

Zooble I theorize had a chaotic life. We know they're nonbinary, but maybe that was a struggle for them. Maybe they didn't know themselves and their avatar is the representation of that. Crazy and mismatched. They wanted order, and I can see them being tired of not having it

.Gangle I think had to mask her feelings all the time. I think she had to pretend to be happy, wearing that feeling like a sort of mask (hint hint) while she battled her sadness on the other side. Gangle's feelings were tangled inside like ribbon, and that is what her avatar shows. She was probably stressed out of her mind, escape seemed to be the only option.

Kinger was a leader, maybe. He's a bit batty, though that may be from all his time in the circus, and he's the oldest. Maybe he was tired of being in charge, of being some sort of leader. It's a bit of a stretch, but he's a complex character to decipher. I think he knows more than he can think to let on.

Now Jax is who I had the most trouble with. I don't know much about Jack Rabbit symbolism, and from what I've gathered they're usually cunning and sly, and huge tricksters. Which is what Jax is, he's a goofy guy. Maybe he was some kind of criminal in his past life, or a con man, I'm not too sure to be honest. He seems pretty apathetic for a man trapped in a digital world for eternity, which is reasonable for a man who lived a tough life of crime before.

Caine, is either a npc made by the creators, or maybe he's one of the creators himself. Him and his pal, (Abel, I'm betting) made a digital world, maybe just as a fun experiment, but Caine got too into being the god of a digital world. I think he betrayed Abel (Nudge nudge), and became the "Host" of the show. Which might be why he's so intent on keeping the cast "in" and keeping them away from the "out."

Just a thought.

#the amazing digital circus #tadc pomni #tadc ragatha #tadc zooble #tadc gangle #tadc kinger #tadc jax #tadc caine #theory #this has probably been done before #But that's okay it was fun #Kind of jumbled I wrote this very quickly 😖

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fvnalgirlcomplex · 3 months

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trigger warning: sa, r*pe

this post is about the canada wjc investigation. as someone who’s been posting about hockey on here, i don’t think i can just ignore what’s happening. that being said though, i have limited knowledge on this as i never really watch hockey outside of the nhl and wasn’t on social media much before the quarantine so i only found out about this whole situation about 3 or 4 months ago. i’ve read a couple articles and if you’d like to see important information about the investigation, here’s a twitter thread i found very useful.

apparently, 5 of 8 players involved have been sent back to canada to surrender themselves to the police. at the same time 5 different players from the canada wjc 2018 team have asked for time off of their respective teams. if what everyone thinks is true and these players were involved in the assault that took place, i genuinely hope they rot. in jail or in hell, i don’t care. sexual assault is the worst thing you could every do to someone. it’s a feeling you’ll never forget and that is so hard to live with. if you’ve never ever experienced it, i’m truly so sorry.

like i said previously, only 5 of the 8 have been called back to canada meaning there is still three players who were accused. there’s claims of a player who was in the room but didn’t touch her and left after 10 minutes “not knowing what he had just witnessed” and i’m not sure whether he is one of the 8, but he deserves to rot with them too. as well as any other players on the team that knew who was in that hotel room and didn’t say anything.

this is obviously a very serious situation so the fact that so many people (not necessarily on here) are using this as a gotcha moment against their rival teams or their first reaction is whether or not their team is gonna make it to the playoffs after this is devastating to see.

sexual assault is extremely serious and a very traumatic thing to go through and i hope the victim gets justice and the hockey community, no matter what team you support, can come together and support her.

#i wrote this very quickly and like i said i have limited knowledge so if anything is wrong please! please let me know #nhl #hockey #philidelphia flyers

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wren-of-the-woods · 1 year

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Love, Joy, and Kittens

When Geralt and Yennefer finally get a room at an inn after weeks of travel, Jaskier expects to spend a calm evening with his lovers and sleep in a real bed. This plan is derailed when they find an unexpected creature in their room. Or: In which Geralt, Yennefer, and Jaskier meet a kitten. Established Geraskefer, 5k, rated T. Also on AO3!

Jaskier was having a lovely week.

Ciri had gone off with Lambert and Coën. According to Lambert, they were “having some uncle-niece bonding time.” Jaskier had suspected that this would involve a large number of explosives, cursing in various languages, and very little room for anything else, so he had suggested that he, Geralt, and Yennefer travel alone for a time and rejoin them in a few weeks. The relief on Geralt’s and Yennefer’s faces at the idea had been highly amusing.

The three of them had been wandering the Path for almost a week. It had, for the most part, been wonderful. Jaskier got to spend time with his lovers, singing at them and making them laugh. He got to appreciate their beauty all day long. He got to spend every night cuddled up to the two of them, reveling in the warmth and safety.

However, he did not get to do any of this cuddling in an actual bed.

Their financial reserves were not exactly plentiful and, with Ciri gone, they did not have any real reason to prefer the comfort of an inn over the convenience of a bedroll in the woods. Jaskier understood all of this perfectly well. This did not mean he was happy about it.

He may have complained about it a little bit, but, well, he was a bard. If Yennefer and Geralt didn’t want to hear a little whining now and then, they shouldn’t have brought him along.

Jaskier hadn’t expected anything to come of his grousing. Jaskier had been wrong.

After a particularly long day of travel, Geralt and Yennefer apparently came to an unspoken agreement. Geralt led Roach into the first town they came across and Yennefer headed in the direction of the inn. Jaskier’s confused and halfhearted objections (“What? Yen, that’s not really necessary, I know we don’t have much coin. I’m really fine, I swear!) were met with firm denial (“Shut up and let us spoil you, idiot), so Jaskier deemed it best to give in.

He made as though to protest at the price the innkeeper named for the single room that was apparently available, thinking to offer his services as a bard in exchange for a discount, but Yennefer cut him off before he could. She handed over the money and nodded in approval when Geralt began to drag him upstairs. She followed them shortly after.

“I still think I should have performed,” Jaskier was saying. He tugged halfheartedly at the grip Geralt had on his hand, though he could not claim that he really minded the touch.

“You’re exhausted,” said Geralt.

“I think that, as irritating as the innkeeper was, this town does not quite deserve your half-asleep caterwauling,” said Yennefer with a smirk as she came up behind them.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that you two are the only ones who I grace with my half-asleep caterwauling. Everyone else gets only my performance voice or my drunk caterwauling. Sleepy Jaskier is a gift that only you two get to see.”

“We’re grateful,” said Geralt, “But you really should sleep. Without singing.”

“Just because I’m not a great and powerful magical being doesn’t mean I can’t handle a little fatigue, Geralt.”

“Yes, and acting like a child who doesn’t want to go to bed is such a good way to prove your strength,” said Yennefer.

“Excuse me,” Jaskier said as they approached their room, “I act only with the greatest of grace and—”

A mewling sound from the other side of the door cut off his words.

It was soft enough that Jaskier barely heard it, but the way Geralt froze and stared at the door was enough to assure him that he was not imagining anything. He blinked.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Yennefer was frowning. “I don’t know, but be careful.”

“Is it magical?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It doesn’t smell like a monster,” Geralt agreed.

“Who knows what the innkeeper put in there, though?” asked Yennefer. “It could be a trap.”

“Yes. Be careful.”

The three of them stood there for a moment, staring at the door. It occurred to Jaskier that they would likely look rather comical to an outside observer.

“Well? Are we going in?” he asked.

After a moment of hesitation, Yennefer stepped forward. Slowly, carefully, she opened the door and peeked inside the room. She was silent for a long moment.

“Well? Is it dangerous?” asked Jaskier.

“I’m… not sure,” said Yennefer. Geralt stepped forward with a frown to lean over Yennefer and peek in the room as well.

“What the fuck?” said Geralt.

Jaskier’s heart pounded. He tried to get a look inside the room, but it was effectively blocked by the bodies of his witcher and witch. He stood on his tiptoes. It was no good.

“What is it?” he asked again. “A trap? A monster? Please don’t tell me we have to find somewhere else to sleep. My feet are already killing me. Why aren’t you saying anything? Is it gruesome? Can I see?”

With an irritated glance at Jaskier, Geralt stepped back. A little shakily, Yennefer opened the door and entered the room. Jaskier shoved past her and saw, sitting directly in the center of the room’s only bed—

A tiny, fluffy, orange kitten.

Its head was almost comically oversized for its body. Its tail was neatly tucked around its paws. It was looking at them with an adorably bewildered expression, appearing rather like it had just been woken up from a nap. Jaskier thought it could probably have sat in one of Geralt’s hands with very little trouble.

Jaskier stared at it. It stared back.

Jaskier burst into uncontrolled, delighted laughter.

Yennefer shot him an irritated look. Geralt shuffled awkwardly behind him. This only served to make Jaskier laugh harder.

“A kitten!” he wheezed when he caught a breath between giggles. “You were so nervous— You paranoid bastards— I cannot believe— It’s just a tiny kitten!”

“It might be a trap,” Geralt protested weakly.

“You could probably eat it in a single bite if you wanted to, Geralt!”

“That’s morbid,” said Yennefer. She sounded amused.

“And you!” said Jaskier, wheeling around to face her. “You said you didn’t know if it was dangerous! Yennefer of Vengerburg, the most powerful and feared mage on the Continent, was unnerved by a tiny little cat!”

“I can strangle you, Pankratz.”

Jaskier was overtaken by another fit of giggles.

The kitten mewled again, this time sounding rather disgruntled. Jaskier whirled around to face it.

“Oh, you poor dear. Did we wake you up from your nap? What are you doing here, anyway? Where’s your family?”

“It’s a cat,” said Yennefer. “It can’t understand you.”

“Oh, I thought it was a terrifying supernatural being capable of destroying nations.”

“On second thought, maybe strangulation is too good for you.”

Ignoring her, Jaskier approached the bed. Slowly, he held out his hand towards the kitten. It sniffed his fingers then mewled again. Gently, Jaskier stroked its head with a finger. Its eyes went wide. For a moment, Jaskier thought he had gone too far, but then the kitten pushed up into the touch. Jaskier’s heart positively melted. He kept stroking its head, unable to help the grin that spread across his face.

Behind him, he heard Geralt slowly sidle into the room. The kitten did not react.

“Are you sure it’s a real cat?” Geralt asked Yennefer. Jaskier glanced back to see him staring at the kitten, almost transfixed. “Cats don’t like witchers.”

“I don’t feel any magic,” Yennefer admitted.

“It’s kind of hard to be afraid of someone who’s halfway across the room and looking like a frightened pigeon, even if you’re a cat,” said Jaskier.

Geralt scowled and ignored him. “It can’t stay on the bed forever. We need to sleep there.”

“That is an issue,” said Jaskier thoughtfully. He turned to the kitten. “What are we going to do with you, hmm?”

“Again, it can’t understand you,” said Yennefer.

“Ignore them,” Jaskier told the kitten. “They do not understand the concept of whimsy.”

Slowly, Jaskier shifted so he was sitting on the bed beside the kitten. It did not seem overly bothered by the change. Jaskier moved to stroke its back. It looked content. Very gently, Jaskier brought a hand under its ribcage and picked it up, moving his other hand to support its hind legs and then cradling it against his chest. It mewled confusedly and squirmed a little, looking up at him, but he kept stroking it and it settled within a few moments.

He could feel its tiny chest rise and fall against his hands as it breathed. Its fur was slightly matted in places and it could probably have used a bath, but at that moment, Jaskier could not have imagined something softer or more pleasant to touch. It closed its eyes. Jaskier felt his heart melt a little more at the trust it was showing him.

He glanced up at Geralt and Yennefer to see them still on the other side of the room, looking at him with something that looked startlingly like awe.

“You can come over here,” he said instead of giving in to the flustered feelings trying to overwhelm him. “No need to cower.”

“I don’t want to scare it,” said Geralt, and Jaskier’s heart broke a little.

“You won’t scare him,” he said.

“Him?” asked Yennefer, raising an eyebrow.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’ve decided it’s a he. Orange cats usually are, I think.”

“How do you know I won’t scare him?” asked Geralt, returning them to the original topic.

“He can probably smell you perfectly well from here. If he was going to be scared, he already would be.”

Geralt hesitated. “I don’t know how to act around cats.”

“That’s okay. I’ll show you.” When Geralt still hesitated, Jaskier looked to Yennefer. “Come on. What are you waiting for?”

Yennefer frowned at him. “I’m not scared. I just don’t want to get fleas.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you can magic away fleas as easily as blinking. Get over here.”

After a quickly-hidden second of trepidation, Yennefer stepped forward. She looked at the kitten. The kitten, after a moment, looked at her.

“Mew?” he said.

Yennefer looked back at Jaskier, seeming uncharacteristically uncertain. Jaskier had to hold back a laugh.

“Come on,” he said. “Pet him.”

Slowly, Yennefer reached out to stroke a hand over his head. He blinked up at her, rather bemused.

“Keep going,” Jaskier said encouragingly.

Yennefer continued to stroke the kitten, first his head and then his back. Within a few moments, he settled and closed his eyes. He looked very content. Yennefer stared down at him with shock and a tiny bit of delight.

Jaskier decided that it was time for her to ascend to the next level.

“Here,” he said, and handed the kitten to her.

Jaskier had seen Yennefer achieve feats of unimaginable bravery. He had seen her fight her worst fears with determination, seen her battle hordes of monsters that might have made even the most skilled of witchers hesitate, seen her face down armies without flinching. Yennefer was brave. She was powerful. She was, in a word, incredible.

She was also looking down at the kitten he had just placed in her hands with an expression that could only be described as terror.

“I don’t know how—” she started to say, then cut herself off with a panicked gasp when she had to fumble with the squirming kitten to keep him from falling. He mewled indignantly.

“It’s okay,” said Jaskier, reaching forward to help. “I’ll show you. Here, you put your hand where it’ll support his weight, under the ribcage is good. Yes, just like that. Now you— yes! You’ve got it.”

Yennefer ended up sitting on the bed beside Jaskier, carefully cradling the kitten to her chest with both hands. The kitten was rather disgruntled by the whole affair, at first, but when Jaskier gently encouraged Yennefer to free a hand and continue stroking him, he settled down. He snuggled into Yennefer’s arm. After a few moments, his eyes slipped closed.

Yennefer’s eyes widened. She swallowed.

“Is he sleeping?” she asked hesitantly, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

“Yeah,” said Jaskier, feeling a grin spread across his face. “He’s taking a nap.”

“Oh,” she said softly.

She sat there for a long moment, quietly stroking the kitten. She seemed unable to tear her gaze away from the tiny, fluffy body in her arms. Jaskier found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her. She pet the kitten so gently that it was almost painful to watch, care and tenderness written into her every movement. Her expression could only be described as awe. In that moment, Jaskier was unable to think of anything that could possibly be more beautiful.

After a few long minutes, she looked up. Geralt was still standing against the far wall of the room, watching the little group on the bed with what appeared to be a mixture of fondness and longing. Yennefer took one look at his expression and sighed.

“Get over here,” she said. Jaskier nodded. Geralt, after a moment’s hesitation, obeyed.

His approach was slow and silent. When he came within a few paces, the kitten stirred, looking up at him with his ears slightly flattened. Geralt froze. Jaskier hushed him and scratched him under the chin, while Yennefer kept her hand resting on its back. That seemed to do the trick. The kitten settled back down into Yennefer’s arms. Jaskier gestured Geralt closer, and at his behest, the witcher sat down cautiously on Yennefer’s other side.

The kitten was still awake and watching Geralt with a little bit of wariness, but he did not seem overly bothered by the witcher’s presence. Jaskier internally cheered.

“You can pet him,” he whispered to Geralt.

“I don’t want to scare him,” Geralt said again.

“You won’t. Yennefer and I will help.”

A little bit of Yennefer’s uncertainty returned. “I can try, but—”

Jaskier waved her off. “Nonsense. He already likes you. Go ahead, Geralt.”

Geralt hesitated. “But—”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You can make fun of me if I’m wrong. I take responsibility for any and all kitten-related disasters. Go ahead.”

Geralt huffed, amused. Jaskier hid his smile by looking down at the kitten.

Slowly, Geralt crouched down so his head was more or less level with the kitten. He swallowed, reached out, and gently ran his head down the kitten’s neck and back.

“Mew?” said the kitten. He looked up at Geralt. He blinked.

“Keep going,” said Jaskier softly.

Geralt stroked the kitten again. When he did not panic or run away, Geralt did it again.

“He’s soft,” he whispered, entranced.

“Yeah,” said Yennefer, her voice equally quiet.

They both stared down at the kitten, who was content in Yennefer’s arms as Geralt stroked him. The kitten looked very small and helpless beneath Geralt’s big hands, but did not seem particularly bothered by that fact. Jaskier felt himself growing a little teary-eyed at the sight.

“Do you want to hold him?” Yennefer asked after a few moments.

Geralt’s eyes went wide. He glanced at Jaskier, nervous. “Do you think I can?”

“I do,” said Jaskier. “He already likes you, see?”

He gestured at the kitten, who was meowing in quiet protest at the fact that Geralt was no longer petting him. Geralt looked back at him. His face softened.

“I suppose,” he said. He looked up at Yennefer, then back at Jaskier. “Will you help me?”

Yennefer nodded.

“Of course,” said Jaskier. “Here, Yen, you can hand him to Geralt just like how you picked him up. Just support his weight— yeah, there you go. Geralt, you do the same thing.”

After a few moments of fumbling and a few disgruntled mewls from the kitten, Yennefer managed to deposit him in Geralt’s hands. Jaskier had been correct; he could have sat on just one of Geralt’s hands without too much trouble. Geralt was carefully cupping him with both of his anyway. The sight made Jaskier struggle not to dissolve into an unhelpful puddle of affection.

“What now?” asked Geralt, sounding almost as nervous as he had when Ciri first asked him to help her with her hair.

“You can put him in your lap, if you want,” said Jaskier. “You might want to get comfortable, though. Cats don’t always like to move once they have a nice person to sit on.”

After glancing at the bed consideringly, Yennefer crawled up to lean against the rather rickety headboard and patted the spot beside her. “Come on. I think we can all fit.”

Jaskier scooted up to sit near her, leaving space for Geralt between them. Geralt glanced up at them, then down at the kitten in his hands. The kitten had started to nibble on one of his fingers. After a moment of consideration, Geralt cautiously got to his knees on the bed and hobbled over to them, being careful to keep the kitten from being jostled. He settled in between Jaskier and Yennefer and set the kitten gently in his lap. The kitten flailed a little at the new position, but it took only a few moments for him to settle on one of Geralt’s thighs.

“Keep petting him,” Jaskier said encouragingly.

Geralt obeyed. On his other side, Jaskier saw Yennefer resting her head on Geralt’s shoulder and looking down at the kitten. For several moments, the three of them sat in content silence. Then—

“It’s vibrating,” said Geralt, sounding adorably terrified.

“Oh!” said Jaskier, delighted. Now that he was paying attention, he could hear the faintest of rumbling sounds from the kitten. “He’s purring, Geralt. That means he feels safe and content. He’s happy.”

“Oh,” said Geralt. His voice was filled with awe.

“We made him do that?” asked Yennefer. She spoke softly, as though trying not to interrupt the kitten’s purrs.

“Yeah,” said Jaskier, matching her tone, “We did.”

Yennefer smiled. It was not an expression of triumph or of power, not assured or sarcastic. It was not the smile she liked to show to the world. It was small and soft, tender and a little uncertain. It was directed at a small ball of orange fluff lounging in a witcher’s lap. Jaskier knew at that moment that no song he could write would come close to describing her beauty.

“I wonder where his family is,” Yennefer mused after a long few moments of content silence. “He can’t have gotten here all by himself, can he?”

“We can ask the innkeeper tomorrow,” said Jaskier. “Looks like he’s alone at the moment, though.”

“He isn’t,” said Geralt.

Jaskier blinked. “Please don’t tell me there are more cats hiding under the bed and you didn’t tell us, Geralt.”

“No.” Geralt looked rather embarrassed. “I just meant… we’re here. So he isn’t alone.”

Jaskier gave the kitten a thoughtful look. “I suppose that’s true.”

Yennefer looked back and forth between Jaskier. A small frown appeared on her face.

“He might have a family,” she said. “You can’t just take him.”

“I wasn’t going to!” Jaskier protested. “I just think he can stay with us tonight, is all.”

Yennefer looked at him skeptically. “That’s what you said when we found you trying to hide a baby griffin in your backpack.”

“That was one time—”

“It was extremely memorable and also idiotic. I am not letting you live it down anytime soon.”

Geralt casually removed one hand from the kitten to cover Jaskier’s mouth, muffling his indignant response and reducing his words to spluttering. Yennefer giggled at the sight, and Jaskier felt the fight drain out of him at the sound. Sensing his surrender, Geralt removed his hand and started to pet the kitten again before it could stop purring.

“The griffin thing was stupid, but this isn’t a griffin,” Geralt said diplomatically. “I think he can stay the night if he wants to.”

Yennefer subsided. “I don’t see why not.”

The kitten mewled a little. The three of them glanced down to see him resettling himself on Geralt’s legs, apparently having decided that he could make himself more comfortable than he already had.

“We’re going to have to move him eventually,” said Yennefer reluctantly. “We need to sleep somehow.”

Jaskier considered that for a few moments. “Maybe we can put him on one of the pillows. As long as no one rolls over in their sleep, he should be all right.”

Geralt looked doubtfully at the bed. The three them of sitting side by side were already rather squished.

Jaskier rolled his eyes in Geralt’s direction. “I don’t see you offering any better ideas.”

“I think we can make it work,” said Yennefer. “We’ve slept in smaller places.”

“All right,” said Geralt.

“I suppose we should lie down, then,” said Jaskier. Though he was reluctant to break the moment, he was still sleepy and knew that they needed to rest if they wanted to get anything done the next day.

After a few moments of shuffling and some rather disgruntled sounds from the kitten, they managed to get settled in a way that was comfortable for everyone. Geralt was on his side with an arm thrown over Jaskier’s waist. Jaskier was on his back so that Yennefer could lie half on top of him in the way she sometimes preferred. The kitten was curled up on a pillow behind Yennefer’s head. Jaskier’s arm was around Yennefer’s shoulders to keep her from rolling over in the night and crushing the kitten.

Yennefer was warm and heavy on top of Jaskier. Geralt’s breathing was slow against his side. Jaskier drifted off within moments, feeling safe, loved, and content.

The next morning, Jaskier was awakened by tiny and very sharp claws kneading directly on his bladder.

He yelped and flailed, trying to sit up. He was not very successful. This was mostly due to the fact that his right arm was trapped under a warm body and there was a thigh pinning his legs down. The kneading continued. Jaskier squirmed again, more frantically. He tried to free his arm to remove the pressure on his bladder, but—

Yennefer yelped as she went tumbling off the bed and thumped onto the floor.

Geralt sat up like a shot, looking around frantically and reaching for a sword on his back that was not there. Jaskier, now free, wasted no time in sitting up and gently but firmly removing the kitten from his person.

Geralt glanced between Jaskier, the kitten, and Yennefer, who had managed to sit up enough for her head to poke up above the edge of bed.

“...What?” asked Geralt weakly.

“Yeah, Jaskier, what the fuck?” asked Yennefer.

She clambered back onto the bed, giving Jaskier her most ferocious glare. The effect was slightly ruined by her spectacular bedhead.

Jaskier gestured emphatically with the kitten in his hands. “This fucker was poking me!”

Geralt frowned. “Why did that mean Yen had to fall out of the bed?”

“She was trapping my arm. I was desperate. Sorry, Yen.”

Yennefer glared at him. “I could turn you into a toad.”

“Listen, if I hadn’t removed him from my bladder we would have had a much worse situation on our hands.”

Yennefer looked at Jaskier’s apologetic face. She looked at Geralt’s expression of confusion and fond exasperation. She looked at the kitten, who looked distinctly unrepentant.

Unable to help herself, she dissolved into giggles. Jaskier was rather alarmed for a moment — had she just come up with a magnificent punishment for him? His face must have done something interesting, because Yennefer looked at him and started to laugh even harder. Behind Jaskier, Geralt chuckled a little as well.

“How did he even get to your stomach?” he asked. “He would have had to crawl over Yen’s head without waking her.”

Jaskier looked thoughtfully at the kitten. “He’s a master of stealth, I suppose.”

That sent Yennefer off into another round of laughter. Jaskier found himself unable to keep from joining her with his own helpless giggles.

Geralt looked between the two of them and shook his head fondly.

“I’m going to get us breakfast,” he said, leaving them to their merriment.

Jaskier and Yennefer had caught their breath and mostly regained their composure by the time Geralt returned with some food. Yennefer had the kitten in her lap and was petting him absently. He looked very happy with himself.

“I asked the innkeeper about him,” said Geralt, gesturing to the kitten with the hand that was not carrying their food. “She says he’s been hanging around the inn for a week or so, being fed scraps by the guests. No sign of any family, but he seems to be doing well enough. He’s healthy.”

“Is the innkeeper fine with him being here?” asked Yennefer.

“She doesn’t mind him as long as the guests are happy and he keeps some mice away, but she’s had some complaints about him sleeping on beds. She might have to find a way to get rid of him if he doesn’t stop.”

Jaskier looked down at the kitten, pensive. “I hope she doesn’t have to. It would be a shame to keep him away from people if he likes them.”

Yennefer patted Jaskier’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll be all right.”

Yennefer reached for the bread that Geralt was carrying and began to eat. Geralt passed another portion to Jaskier. The three of them munched their food contemplatively, looking at the kitten.

“I feel like we should name him,” mused Jaskier. “Calling him ‘the kitten’ in my head is starting to get weird. I need something to shout when I’m reprimanding him.”

“What do you want to call him, then?” asked Yennefer.

“I don’t know! What do you think?”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, the silence only broken by the kitten’s purrs.

“Well,” said Geralt when no one offered any ideas, “There’s always Ro—“

“No!” shouted Jaskier and Yennefer simultaneously.

Yennefer smacked Geralt’s shoulder. “Not Roach. You can name all the horses you want, but I draw the line at cats.”

Jaskier nodded. “We can think of something better. I believe in us.”

Geralt subsided with a huff. There was another moment of thoughtful silence.

“Cirilla the Second?” suggested Yennefer.

Jaskier flopped back down onto the bed, buried his face in a pillow, and groaned loudly. “I loathe you both.”

“I don’t see you having any better ideas,” Yennefer protested. Jaskier groaned again and rolled onto his back.

“What have I done to deserve this?” he asked the ceiling.

“Is that an insult or a compliment?” asked Yennefer with a smirk.

“It can be both.”

“I’m not so sure. That would require complicated things like nuance and finesse. I am not sure a bard of your caliber could keep up. Perhaps we need someone more practiced, for instance Vald—”

“How about Mackerel?” Geralt said loudly and rather desperately, cutting Yennefer off before disaster could strike.

Jaskier and Yennefer both fell silent. They looked at Geralt. They looked at the kitten. They looked back at Geralt.

“Is your entire repertoire of names made up of fish?” asked Yennefer, and Jaskier burst into laughter.

Geralt looked on with some disgruntlement as Jaskier’s guffaws slowly faded into giggles.

“What?” he asked. “It’s a decent name.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Retrospectively, I’m grateful you didn’t go back to claim Ciri when she was young. The poor girl would have ended up saddled with the name Perch.”

“You are an idiot,” said Jaskier to Geralt. “An utter and complete moron. I love you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, flustered.

“Do you have any better names, Jaskier?” asked Yennefer.

“Absolutely not. Mackerel is hilarious. We’re keeping it.”

Yennefer sighed but failed to hide her smile. “Oh, fine.”

They finished their breakfast in companionable silence. When they were finished, they sat on the bed for a while longer. It was comfortable, after all, and they were in no particular hurry. Jaskier determinedly did not think about any other reasons he might have for not wanting to leave the inn.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Geralt said eventually, reluctant.

Yennefer sighed. “Yeah, we’ll have to get going if we want to meet Ciri and Geralt’s idiot brothers in time.”

Jaskier hauled himself to his feet.

“Let’s get to it, then!” he said with false cheer.

With practiced ease, they packed up their things. They were ready to leave within minutes.

They did not leave.

The three of them dithered in the room. Geralt gazed out the window. Yennefer checked corners for anything they might have somehow lost. Jaskier fidgeted with his notebook.

“Well,” said Yennefer, “I suppose it’s time to go.”

She went to stand in the doorway. Geralt and Jaskier joined her.

None of them moved.

They looked back at the kitten, who was once again on the bed. Mackerel looked back at them. He meowed.

Yennefer heaved a deep, longsuffering sigh. “We’re taking him with us, aren’t we?”

Geralt sighed. “We might.”

Jaskier whooped so loudly that it startled Mackerel. He darted back to the bed and scooped the kitten up in his arms. Mackerel mewled in complaint.

Jaskier stroked his head in apology. “Sorry for startling you, darling, but you’ll be much happier about it soon. You’re coming with us! You’ll get to see the continent. You’ll get to experience all sorts of varied and delightful table scraps. It’ll be lovely.”

Across the room, Jaskier heard Yennefer trying to stifle a laugh. He ignored her.

“You’ll get to meet so many people,” he said to Mackerel. “You’ll get to explore the world. You can meet our family, too—”

Jaskier cut himself off with a gasp and turned to Geralt and Yennefer, his eyes shining. “Ciri is going to love him!”

“Oh,” said Yennefer with a grin. “Oh, she really will. This is going to be great.”

Jaskier nodded enthusiastically. “This is going to be the best decision we’ve ever made, I can feel it.”

“What do kittens eat?” Geralt asked reasonably, looking rather exasperated at their antics. “We can’t just let him starve.”

“We’ll figure it out,” said Jaskier. “He can’t be that hard to feed.”

Yennefer nodded. “He’s been living off scraps and what he can catch so far. I’m sure he’ll be all right.”

“It’ll be dangerous on the path,” said Geralt.

Jaskier scoffed. “Mackerel is a smart cat. He can take care of himself.”

Geralt looked as though he might protest again, but at that moment, Mackerel meowed. Geralt looked down at the tiny ball of fur in Jaskier’s arms. Jaskier saw the exact moment Geralt’s last arguments drained away in the face of the adorable creature in front of him.

“I suppose he can come,” said Geralt with a sigh.

Jaskier whooped again. Mackerel meowed. Yennefer laughed. Geralt, seemingly despite himself, smiled.

The three of them shouldered their packs, Jaskier passing Mackerel to Geralt to free his hands. They left their room. On their way out of the inn, Yennefer stopped to let the innkeeper know they were taking Mackerel while Geralt retrieved Roach from the stables. The innkeeper seemed happy enough with the idea and waved at them with a smile as they left.

They set off on the Path, with Geralt leading Roach and Yennefer and Jaskier walking beside him. It was just like any other day in the last week — except this time, there was a tiny orange head poking out of one of Roach’s saddlebags, and Yennefer was having a hard time suppressing a smile. Even Geralt looked visibly content.

Jaskier’s lovers were happy. They had, somehow, despite everything, adopted a cat. Despite Yennefer and Geralt’s persistent issues with attachment and commitment, they had agreed to take a kitten with them on their travels for no reason other than sentiment and sympathy. Jaskier was so very proud of them.

Stopping at that inn was the best decision they ever made.

#the witcher #geraskefer #jaskier #yennefer #geralt #the witcher fanfiction #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #this is the third thing i've posted in as many weeks which is wild #wren writes #i wrote and edited this very quickly so idk how well-written it is but i'm fond of it #self-indulgent fluff my beloved <3

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