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illfoandillfie · 4 years

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You Can Make It Up To Me

Ok sorry if its too late or its already been done just thought id ask anyway, for the 1000 followers celebration why not throw it back to the early days, what about a sequel to "I'll make it up to you" based on another time rog comes home after being away for a while? Maybe reader cant keep to her promise this time? 😊 have been hooked on your writing since I read that fic!! ❤

I’LL MAKE IT UP TO YOU

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+), dom!Rog, sub!Reader, edging and denial, chastity belt, oral sex (male receiving), facial, mentions of spanking though it doesn’t really feature, mentions of cockwarming though it doesn’t really feature either, it’s really just a fuckload of edging lmao

Words: 9,307

A/N: Listen, ya’ll should know by now I have a denial kink. You suggest a fic with edging and i fucking run with it.

This was another request from my 1000 followers celebration roughly a year ago. Apologies to the person who requested it for taking so long, I hope you’re still around and you see this!

Taglist: @vee-ndetta @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac @labessieisallama @deakyclicks @jennyggggrrr @drowseoftaylor @hannafuckingsucks @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @queenmylovely @taron-egrotten @johndeaconshands @borhapbois @stardust-galaxies

You’d thought edging for a week was hard. Oh how wrong you’d been. A week was a piece of fucking cake compared to the two months you’d been asked to endure this time. Stupid Roger. Stupid you. You’d been a fool to agree to the edging challenge again. You let Roger sweet talk you and convince you it’d be fun and hot and maybe he was a little bit right. Maybe you were turned on just from the suggestion of being edged for an extended period of time. He knew that and he used it against you as he cooed about how much he loved seeing you desperate and how good it had been last time he’d been away and how much fun you’d had playing with it all those times since, but they’d all been so short and wouldn’t it be fun to go for longer. And that was all very true, but you’d still been an idiot to agree to it. Two months! What had you been thinking? You supposed it could be worse. They could have been doing the whole tour in one hit, leaving you with much longer to get through. But that was by the by really. You’d never have lasted longer. You hadn’t even lasted the two months you’d agreed to. Roughly half a month from Roger’s return and you’d fucked up. Gone over the edge without meaning to. And he was going to call at the previously agreed upon check in time and you’d have to tell him and then be punished when he got home. Maybe you could distract him, get him talking about the tour and stuff. Technically you were meant to save all the chatting for the end of the week when he could call earlier and spend longer on the phone but maybe he’d be so homesick he’d forget about the rules you’d agreed on. Or maybe you could just lie about it and get back into your edging routine and still be the same drippy mess he expected to find waiting for him on his return. Ten minutes until he was supposed to call. You had to make your mind up now.

“Love?” “Hi Rog,” You were still apprehensive about the call but the weary drawl in his voice softened your worry, “you sound tired.” “Only just got back to the hotel, how’s my girl?” “Good, how are you? How’s the tour going?” “Love, you know this isn’t a social call, it’s a check in.” Damn. So much for distracting him. “Sorry, I just miss you.” “I miss you too Y/N.” “So let’s just talk for a minute.” A feeble last ditch effort really. “We can talk. About how your edging is going. Tell me what my slut’s been up to.” Double damn. “I’ve been edging Sir,” “Good. How many times today?” “Six.” “Only six?” “I, uh, I got caught up doing o-other things and, um, didn’t have as much time today,” you hoped he couldn’t hear how fast your heart was beating. “Is that so? This from the same slut who told me about how she’d been so desperate while driving the two minutes to the supermarket that she’d pulled over halfway to knock one out.” His weariness seemed to evaporate with every word, “What were you doing that was so distracting?” “I- um, it was, um,” He let you stutter and sweat a little before he cut you off, “I’m starting to think you weren’t too preoccupied. I’m starting to think you disobeyed me.” “It was an accident,” you sighed, “I was edging and I slipped up and came. I’m sorry.” “Oh, love, that’s okay. Mistakes happen. And I know we’ve never done it for this long before and it must be so hard to keep stopping.” “It’s so hard!” you half laughed, relieved at his reaction. “I know. You’ve done so well.” “Thank you,” “But you know I will have to punish you when I get home right,” “Sir?” “Not because you slipped over the edge, that I understand completely. But you tried to hide it from me. So you’ll have to make it up to me.” “Yes Sir. How?” “I’m not sure yet. Have you edged much since you went over?” “No, I haven’t touched myself at all. I wasn’t sure I could start again and keep up with it.” “That’s okay. You did such a good job getting this far so we’re not going to worry about edging any more for these last…how many? I think ten days of the tour, whatever. You can have as many orgasms as you want. But I want you to keep count for me okay?” “Okay, yeah, I can do that.” “Yeah? That’s my girl. Why don’t you run grab your vibrator and let me hear you have one now,” “Now?” “I need something to wank to if I’m going to get to sleep any time soon.” “Right, give me two minutes to grab it.” “Take your time, love.”

You hurried to the bedroom to pull open the draw where you kept your toys, not wanting to keep Roger waiting longer than you had to. Your fingers slipped a little as you quickly plugged it into the wall and positioned yourself, picking the phone up and pressing it back to your ear. “Okay, I got it,” “Let me hear it,” You turned it on for a couple of seconds. “Good girl. Now, what are you wearing?” Despite how worn out he must have felt Roger took his time. He made you describe the underwear you wore and told you how he wanted you to touch yourself over your knickers, made you tease yourself while he listened. He told you where to put the vibrator and on which setting and for how long. And you followed every instruction as best you could. You could feel the weeks of edging like every unachieved orgasm was gathered in the pit of your stomach. They made you ache for release. You told Roger as much, less eloquently, begging and whining rather than full sentences. There was a fear he’d lied about letting you cum or that at the very least he was going to make you wait for it. But he didn’t. All you had to say was please Sir and he told you to let go. He didn’t need to tell you twice. Relief washed through every inch of you as your pleasure cracked moans subsided. But he wasn’t finished, and he wasn’t going to let you off so easily. He gave you half a minute to catch your breath and thank him and then he told you to put the vibrator back against your clit. When you whined about being sensitive, he mocked you. His poor pathetic slut who was so worked up she just had to have an orgasm. “But I haven’t had mine and I told you I wanted to listen to you while I got off.” You came again as his grunts of release echoed down the phone line and he let you stop. But he was gentle as you caught your breath, soft words of praise making you feel warm and treasured. He made sure you were okay, reminding you to drink some water and get some rest, before he wished you goodnight, the tiredness returned to his voice, stronger than ever. But his parting reminder to keep count and expect his call the next night sent a shiver down your spine.

Over the six and a half weeks since Roger had left you’d grown accustomed to X-rated dreams. Most nights ended with an edge or two and most mornings began the same way so it was no wonder your dreams quickly picked up the theme and ran with it. In them Roger returned early to surprise you and fuck your brains out. Or else he took you on tour and dressed you in skanky clothes that left nothing to the imagination so he could use you whenever he needed. Sometimes he’d share you with rooms full of men you didn’t recognise but understood worked with the band. Once or twice you’d woken up on the verge of release and cursed dream Roger for being so arousingly evil. You hadn’t expected to have one of those dreams after Roger overstimulated you on the phone but you woke the next morning grinding against the bunched up sheets, with a vague memory of Roger plowing you over his drumkit while a crowd of fans cheered him on. It wasn’t until you were rubbing the sleep from your eyes that you realised it couldn’t have been real. And it was followed by a moment of panic that you’d gone over the edge in your sleep before you remembered everything. The recollection brought a smile to your face as your fingers slipped between your legs. Still a little sore but you could avoid your clit, focus on trying to imitate the way Roger could finger fuck you to orgasm. You were laughing as you came, blissed out on just the notion of being allowed an orgasm. And not just one, as many as you wanted. It was tempting to take another just because you could but instead you forced yourself to get out of bed and start your morning routine. Of course you had to make some adjustments. You’d taken to edging in the shower each evening but instead you allowed yourself the luxury of a bath, coming with the tap gushing directly into your clit. And instead of mindlessly edging while you spread out on the couch and read, you let yourself get off to the erotic novel you were halfway through. It was incredible, even without Roger there to help. The tingle you’d get right before it hit, the one that used to make you pull your hand away. And then the rush of the actual release that made your whole body tense up before relaxing completely. You’d grown so accustomed to edging, gotten so used to the constantly building high that never ended. Actually being able to finish was like a drug and you kept going back for another hit. It was five times when Roger called though he made you do a sixth, once again explaining what he wanted, asking you how it felt. You didn’t complain, didn’t even consider it.

It was the same most days though the number of orgasms you got out declined as Roger got closer to coming home. You were guaranteed one with every call he made to check in on how you were going, but more often than not it ended up being two or three. And he’d always ask for how many you’d had that day and then your total number of orgasms. Whenever you gave him the new numbers you could hear the scratch of a pen as he wrote it down. The night before he returned you reached thirty-nine. “Thirty-nine?” Roger let out a whistle that made you chuckle. “You wanna hear one more? Make it an even forty?” “No,” “Oh, really?” “It’s hilarious how disappointed you sound. But I think I’d like to give you number forty myself, in person.” “I suppose I can wait for that,” “Not long to go,” “You gonna miss touring?” “Yeah, a bit. But I’m gonna be even happier being back home with you.” “Getting to use your slut more like,” He let out a soft, breathy laugh, “There’s that, but also just getting to sleep in the same bed as you sounds so good right now. And your tea. I haven’t had a decent cup since I left.”

You held off on the last orgasm, looking forward to one at Roger’s hands and not just his voice. A little hint of denial to round out the separation. A nice way to bookend the experience, even if you hadn’t managed to last the whole time. But your days of free flowing orgasms meant that his return wasn’t like last time, when you’d be so desperate for release you’d tried to jump him on the front steps. You could wait, let him get settled first. He’d probably want to shower, maybe eat something better than the plane food, maybe sleep off some of the travel, before sex even crossed his mind. Or rather, because it was Roger you were talking about, he was probably thinking about sex already but he’d want to make sure it was good for both of you even if that meant waiting a day or two. So you did what you could to make his return more comfortable, making sure the kettle was on when he arrived, calling out from the kitchen when you heard the door open. He greeted you with a tight hug and a soft kiss and followed it with a contented sigh as you handed him his favourite tea cup and led him out to the couch. He pulled you in close, entwined your fingers again as you chatted and relaxed. You figured that’s how the rest of the afternoon and evening would be, that you’d order take out and stay on the couch until you were ready to shuffle off to bed. So, when Roger’s hand, palm still warm where he’d been holding the teacup, landed on your thigh and began to creep higher, you were a little surprised. “Remind me what your total number of orgasms was again,” “Uh, thirty-nine Sir. But we don’-” “So you didn’t sneak in one more after I hung up?” “No, I wanted to wait for you.” “I’m here now,” “You sure you don’t want to rest? I can wait a bit longer,” “Love, I’ve spent the last however long sitting on a plane, think I’d like to do something a little more…physical.” You couldn’t stop from giggling, couldn’t deny your excitement at the turn the afternoon was taking. “Is that a yes?” “Yes, definitely.” “Then why don’t you go to the bedroom and strip. I’ll finish this perfect cuppa and meet you there. We could do your punishment too, if you’re up for it.” “What’s the punishment going to be, spanking or something?” “Or something,” he said with a laugh. “Okay, yeah, let’s get it over with then,” Roger just laughed again as he leaned forward to kiss you and then sent you on your way.

“Good girl,” he cooed as he entered the room and saw you kneeling on the bed, your clothes scattered around the room, “You wanna know what your punishment is?” “Please,” “Well, because you tried to get away with cumming without permission, I’m going to edge you again. I think one for every orgasm you had sounds fair, don’t you?” “What? But…” “But what, love? You didn’t think I was going to give you a little spank and then forget about it, did you? I can’t have my slut thinking it’s okay to lie to me.” “But you said I could have those orgasms,” “I know. They were a reward for trying so hard to hold off for me. I’m not punishing you for accidentally going over the edge,” he stepped towards you as he spoke, reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing over your skin softly, “Sorry, I should have been clearer when I left that I wasn’t going to be upset if you didn’t last. Two months is a very long time and it’s hard to keep edging when you’re on your own, especially if you’ve never gone that long before. All I wanted was for you to try and you tried so hard and did so well. I couldn’t be prouder. But then when you did go over, you tried to keep it from me and that’s not on. I expect you to tell me when something like that happens. Otherwise what’s the point in agreeing to all this submissive stuff?” “Sorry, Sir, I know I should have told you,” “Thank you but you’re not getting out of it so easily. Lie back for me,” With a deep breath you did as he asked, shifting against the mattress to get comfortable. “Remind me what your safe word is,” “Red, Sir,” “Good, don’t be afraid to use it if you need to.” You nodded as you watched him walk to the cupboard, your hands already rising over your head in anticipation. He chuckled when he saw you waiting, “so you agree then, I need to tie you down.” “Thirty-nine’s a lot, I won’t be able to stay still,” “Of course you won’t, you’re a needy whore who likes to cum more than’s good for you. Spread your legs for me too, I’m going to tie your ankles.” You did as you were told, earning another chuckle from Roger as he took one wrist and tied it to the corner of the bed frame.

He made you wait there, on display and unable to move, spread eagle on the bed, as he stripped down to his briefs and then stood over you, looking you up and down as if deciding how best to torture you. “Already a little wet,” he said softly, fingers brushing over your pussy. You stayed quiet, worrying at your lip. “I said,” he slapped your thigh and made you jolt, “Already. A little. Wet.” “I’ve been thinking about this since your last call, Sir.” Another slap, this one directly on your pussy, “Hmmm, thirty-nine orgasms in ten days and you’re already asking for more? Such a good slut for me. I’d have loved to see what kind of a mess you were by the time you accidentally came.” You whined as his fingers teased your entrance but he ignored you and kept talking. “I’ll do my best to get you dripping again now but I think I might need to give you a hand getting started, huh,” his fingers left you as he moved to the draws and pulled out a small tube of lubricant. He spread a dollop over two digits before slipping them inside you easily. Instinctively your hips rose to meet him, encouraging his fingers to sink deeper into you. “Maybe I’ll give you a few weeks break and then we might try again, see if you can’t go the whole two months while I’m here. I’ll help you be a good girl, keep you from going over. And then we can see just how drippy you get. I imagine you won’t be able to wear knickers for more than an hour before they’re soaked through. But it’ll make you easy to use. A self-lubricating little toy for me to play with. So desperate and needy.” He grinned as he stretched you out, using his other thumb to collect some of your rapidly pooling arousal and spreading it over your clit, paying close attention to how you jerked in your restraints, watching for any sign of the release you weren’t allowed, “You like the sound of that?” “Y-yes, Sir,” “Thought you would. I definitely do.” He shifted the position of his fingers seamlessly, almost second nature. “Fuck, close, ‘m close,” He pulled both hands away from you, smoothing them over your thighs, “Thank you for telling me.” The familiar disappointment of a subsiding orgasm made you sigh but otherwise you kept quiet, not wanting Roger to hear you complain after just one edge. The first of many. Roger waited thirty seconds before he started in on you again, enough time for the orgasm to completely disappear so he could slowly rebuild the pleasure to the same point before he pulled his hands away again. There was another half minute pause before he repositioned his fingers where you so badly wanted them to be and began building you up once more. “What a pitiful little whine that was. And we’re only just getting started, love.” Roger stilled his fingers as he laughed again. “Fuck,” “Maybe. If you’re lucky. But for now,” he curled his fingers inside you, watching every reaction closely as he pumped them into you, stilling as you neared the edge again. He didn’t remove them though, just held them in you as you calmed so he could begin again as soon as you’d settled. “That’s three done, thirty-six to go,” You groaned but nodded your acceptance. Roger played you as well as he would any of his instruments, keeping you right at the edge as you jerked and jolted in your restraints, desperately trying to get just a little more, one more thrust, one more stroke, anything to finally feed the craving. It was blissful torture. But it was so much better with him physically there. Edging for him on your own was fine but nothing beat the way it felt to have him do it for you. The pure submission, the total lack of control. He owned your orgasms. You willingly gave them to him and now he owned them, controlled them.

Roger enjoyed it as much as you did, the evidence becoming clearer with every pleading whine you gave him, though you were too distracted to notice. It only became obvious to you how turned on he was when he got up to take his underwear off and your eyes fell to his erect cock. He settled himself back between your legs and tapped the head of his dick against your sensitive clit. “What d’you think, slut? Should I fuck you now?” “Please,” “Awww you really want it don’t you?” “Yes, yes Sir, I really want it,” “My good little whore likes Sir’s cock, doesn’t she?” “Yeah,” “Especially in her cunt,” “Yeah,” “Yeah. But we have a problem.” Roger shuffled over you, straddling your hips, “See, it’s been a while.” “Months, Sir,” Roger chuckled, “Exactly, months. And I just worry that I’m going to enjoy being in your cunt again so much that I forget to edge you. And I don’t want that. Not after you’ve been so good for me.” “It’s okay Sir, you can fuck me. I promise I’ll be good,” “I know you would try to be good, but accidents could happen and I’m not ready to let you cum yet, even accidentally. What kind of a punishment would that be? So, instead, I’m going to use another hole I’ve missed, okay?” You agreed, though really it didn’t feel like you had many other options besides taking it or safe-wording and you definitely weren’t ready for things to end. “Good girl,” Roger cooed, leaning forward to kiss you softly before he repositioned himself. You giggled as he somewhat clumsily turned around, but the laughter died as he moved to kneel over your face instead. “Sir?” Roger wrapped his hand around his cock, “Yes, slut?” “Can I have my hands please?” “I think you can manage without them,” Roger said, “But how about this?” He leaned forward to release the ties around your ankles before settling back, his bollocks resting against your lips. He seemed to be waiting so you opened your mouth, laving your saliva over them with your tongue. “Good girl,” Roger hummed as you sucked one testicle into your mouth, a small part of you hoping that if you did enough, he’d be lenient and reduce your punishment. “If it get’s too much, stamp your foot okay?” You raised your legs so your feet were flat on the bed and stamped one to show you understood. “Good girl,” Roger said, pressing a kiss to your knee before he readjusted his position, letting his cock find your mouth.

At first Roger contented himself with rocking slowly, letting you grow comfortable with the position. You had no control over how deep he pressed into you or how often but he kept his movement measured and careful, making sure he wasn’t overwhelming you, and you kept up as best you could, running your tongue along his length and sucking on his head. It got harder when he leaned forward and attached his lips to your cunt. The distraction of being edged with his tongue made you lose focus as you bucked your hips in a weak attempt to get more pleasure. Which meant you were taken by surprise when he suddenly thrust into your mouth, pushing himself into your throat. You wished you had your hands so you could grab his arse or jerk him off, but you made do as best you could, eyes watering as you moaned and he gave another sharp thrust. As he got closer to release he slid deeper into your throat, unable to control himself as easily while he was concentrating on edging you again and again. Each time he’d tell you how many edges he’d given you but you stopped listening. Between the jolts of pleasure from his tongue licking along your slit and the weight of his body on yours and the strain on your jaw as you kept your mouth open for him and the dizzying gasps of air you sucked in as he remembered himself and pulled out of you before sinking back in just as deep, everything else seemed fuzzy and distant. Your hands grasped at thin air in an attempt to break loose and touch him and your hips rose to meet him until he held them down. You moaned around his cock and whined with each new edge which only seemed to spur him on. At some point, after you weren’t sure how many, Roger decided he’d had enough of edging you like that and sat up a bit higher on his knees. He gave you a brief warning and let you take a few extra breaths before he fucked your mouth for real, unrelentingly using you for his own pleasure. You knew he was getting closer by the way he was grunting and the small twitches in his cock and you tried to prepare yourself for a mouthful of spunk, tried to ready yourself for how it would feel when he came on your tongue. But then he stopped and pulled out of you entirely. You were surprised by his sudden disappearance as he swung his leg back over you and got off the bed. Surely he wasn’t going to edge himself along with you? Surely he was going to use his release as another way to torment you, telling you how good it felt and mocking you for wanting the same. It was hard not to feel a little disappointed too. Especially when you could see how hard he was, his flushed tip proof of how close he’d been. “Sir?” you croaked out, voice scratchy and throat sore. Roger ignored you, as he walked back to the end of the bed, wiping his mouth and chin. “Sir, didn’t you want to finish?” “Awww, did the whore want my cum that bad? Don’t worry slut, you’ll get it, just not to taste. I’m going to put this load where it belongs. In my cunt.” You gasped as Roger pressed the tip of his cock into your heat, bracing yourself for the rough fuck he was sure to give you. But there was no thrusting, no pushing deeper. He held his tip inside you as his hand slid up and down his shaft, pulling himself over the edge with a grunt.

You were left squirming and aching to be filled, to feel him inside you properly, as he left the bed again and moved towards the cupboard. A combination of your juices and his dripping onto the sheets. You knew what was coming but that made it all the worse. “Do you remember how many I said you had left?” he asked as he plugged the wand vibrator in and gave it a test pulse. “No Sir,” “No? You really should, I said it only a few minutes ago,” “I don’t know Sir,” “Well it’s a good thing I know then. Otherwise we might have had to start all over again and kept better count.” You trembled at the idea, part terrified of it happening, part wanting it to. “You only have to last 5 more. Not very many, is it?” “No Sir. I can do five,” “I know you can. Because you’re such a good girl for me. My good girl. You ready?” “Yes,” you swallowed thickly and took a steadying breath waiting for the buzz of the vibrator to start again. Roger made you wait a little, building the anticipation and the tension as he refrained from doing what you expected. He let the soft head of the toy rest against your clit, laughing when you jolted at the contact. And only once you’d stilled did he turn it on, leaving it on the lowest setting. Instinctively you tried to move your still unbound legs, but Roger gave you a slap to your thigh and warned you to behave or else he’d tie you down again and give you extra edges. You whimpered a small, “Yes Sir,” as you did your best to keep still though it got harder with each edge. Roger was careful to pull the machine away as soon as he saw signs of your impending orgasm, never letting you get too close lest his reflexes be too slow. He didn’t want any accidents to happen now, not after he’d been edging you for so long. He counted down each one, giving you ample breaks between to calm yourself again. When you finally heard him turn off the vibrator and say you were done you cried grateful tears. He untied your wrists and pulled you into his arms, soothing you with soft words of praise and gentle touches.

“How do you feel?” He asked softly once you’d sufficiently calmed, leaning back and placing his hand on your cheek as he studied your face. “Bit sore. Really want to cum. But good.” “Yeah? You’re okay?” “Yeah I’m okay. Might need a few minutes before I can do more though. The fortieth orgasm I mean.” “That’s alright. In fact, it’s perfect because I’ve got a surprise for you.” “A surprise?” “Wait here, I’ll grab it from my suitcase,” You nodded, intrigued, and leaned against the bedhead to wait, letting your eyes close for a moment as he left the room. Roger returned and handed you a glass of water and box tied off with ribbon. You were definitely curious now, the box larger than you’d been expecting. You pulled at the bow with one hand as you drank with the other, letting Roger lift the lid from the box. You didn’t understand what you were seeing until Roger explained. “It’s a chastity belt,” You almost did a spit take. “I saw it while we were exploring the shops of one of the towns we were in and I thought it might be fun to try it out, if you’re interested.” You placed the cup down and reached into the box to pick up the metal device, “Looks a bit medieval, doesn’t it,” Roger chuckled and agreed, “We don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. But while I was edging you I thought maybe it would be fun to make you wait a few extra days,” “You want me to wear it now?” “Only if you want to. If I’m being honest, I hadn’t planned to show you today. I was going to save it for after the rest of the tour, but you know how impatient I can be,” he laughed, his hand falling to your rub softly over your knee, “If you’d prefer to cum now I will very happily make that happen. More than once. But if you did want to test it out I’d also be into that.” “How would it work?” “Well, um, you’d wear it all day, when you’re at home and when you go out. The guy who sold it said it’s very discreet and will go under most clothes without showing. You have to take it off once a day to clean it so I was thinking that you could wear it all day and take it off at night when you have your shower. That way it can be cleaned and dry out over night and you wouldn’t have to worry about it not being comfortable to sleep in.” “And um, how would, uhhhh, bathroom stuff work with it?” “Well, there’s a slit at the front that can be opened so you can pee but isn’t it kind of hot if you have to ask me to unlock it every time you have to go to the bathroom?” “I hate to admit it but yeah it is,” you laughed. “I could also unlock it for other reasons. Maybe if I really really wanted to fuck you.” You shifted excitedly. It had been too long since you’d had Roger properly, and especially after his little teasing stunt just before, but you tried to sound more casual as you said, “That’d be fun,” “Think I’m probably more likely to use your mouth though. So much less hassle.” ��It’s kinda unfair that you promised me number forty and now you’re not going to pay up,” “I’ll give you forty and forty-one and forty-two and as many more as you can handle. Right now if you want. Or after a few days of having your cunt locked away.” You stomach clenched at the thought, “How long were you thinking?” “I don’t know. The part of me that likes symmetry says ten days since that’s how many days of tour were left when you stopped edging. But really anything you want is okay with me. If you tried it for a day and decided it wasn’t for you that would be completely fine. And, like I said, if you don’t want to do it right away we don’t have to.” “I think I want to. Maybe just a day to start, see how it goes. If I want another day I’ll let you know.” “Really?” You laughed at how excited Roger seemed, “Yes, really.” “I fucking love you,” “I am very loveable,” Roger laughed and pulled you into a kiss.

He joined you in the shower, helping you wash off the sweat and other fluids left from the torture you’d just been through. You took turns washing each other’s hair as you relaxed together, letting the hot water sooth any aches you felt. But there was a layer of excitement too and a few nerves at the prospect of wearing the chastity belt. Once you were thoroughly cleaned and dried, Roger helped lock the belt into place before you both got dressed. It was an odd sensation but thrilling too. It made you hyper aware of your own desperation. Every time you moved, sat down, you were reminded of how impossible it would be to touch yourself or get any sort of release. You only wore it for a few hours that first day, asking Roger to unlock it when you got up to change into your pyjamas. Together you worked out how best to clean it and hung it up ready for the next day. Roger kissed you good morning when you woke and asked if you wanted to try a full day of it. You agreed and, after visiting the bathroom, let him once again fasten the belt into place. It was even more thrilling the second time. In part because you had a better idea of how it operated, how it felt to wear it, but also largely due to wearing it out of the house. Roger decided to take you out for an early lunch, grinning cheekily as he made the suggestion. He knew full well you’d spend every minute of the excursion with your mind on the belt, wondering if anyone could tell you were wearing it. He was right. But it only made you wetter. Once you were home Roger checked in with you, asking how it was going and if you were still interested in wearing it. “It’s good. Still feels a bit weird but not what I'd call uncomfortable. It’s just very obvious to me that it’s there. But fuck I’m horny,” Roger laughed, “that makes two of us. I swear I’ve been half hard since I put it on you. Was even worse when you asked me to unlock it so you could pee.” “Jeeze Rog. I’ve been edged and denied, what’s your excuse?” “Shut up, there’s just something super hot about me holding the key to your cunt,” You chuckled, leaned towards him and gave him the most sultry look you could muster, “You know you could use that key whenever you want.” “Maybe later, love. Right now I really should unpack my bags, do some laundry.” “But that can be done any time,” “So can you,” Roger laughed, leaving you with a kiss to the temple. That night, after you’d taken the belt off and cleaned it, Roger edged you again, kissing you as his fingers explored your slit and your hand pumped over his cock.

On the third day Roger disappeared into the back yard with a guitar. A question about the grocery shopping list sent you seeking him, and you found him sitting on a chair under the shade of a large tree, plucking at the strings. It was almost a shame to interrupt what seemed like such a serene moment. He spotted you though and waved you over, pulling you onto his lap. His fingers moved to the front of you shorts, seemingly automatically, but he stopped and chuckled when he met the firm resistance of the belt. “Oops,” “Forgot did you? Lucky,” “You're not enjoying it anymore?” “No, no, I am, but I’m also getting really frustrated,” “Yeah?” “There is literally no way to relieve any pressure when I’m wearing it and you keep edging me before bed and honestly I want you to fuck me so bad like I just feel kind of empty all the time cause it’s been so fucking long since I had more than your fingers in there and I'm used to just being able to pull out a toy and make myself feel better even if I’m edging. It’s fucking torture not being able to touch anything and not being even a little bit in control of my own pleasure.” “Do you want to stop?” “Hell no. I just want you to fuck me,” “Oh really?” he chuckled, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised my slut likes being completely denied,” You recognised his tone, the one that meant he was pent up and wanted to take it out on you. Hope that he’d do it, that he’d unlock you and give you a good hard pounding, made you sit up a little straighter. Your head was buzzing with ideas of Roger filling you with cum and locking you away again, but they were interrupted rather rudely by Roger growling at you to kneel. You nodded, a little disappointed but more just happy to get some sort of attention, and settled on your knees, intently watching as he stood and unbuckled his belt, the jangling noise of the metal sending another wave of desire through you. He’d barely managed to push his pants down just low enough to get his cock out when you reached out to stroke him, mind so thoroughly focused on him that you barely noticed the itchy tickle of the grass under you. But before you could he slapped your hand away. “You’re here to watch. Open your mouth and stick your tongue out. C’mon needy whore, I don’t have all day.” You nodded as you did what he said. Roger waited, watching you for any signs of impatience but soon rewarded you with his fingers, two of them sliding towards the back of your throat until you gagged. He pulled back and then did the same thing again, slowly beginning to fuck your mouth with just his digits. You could feel saliva pooling on your tongue, his fingers gliding through it until they were slick and shiny. That’s when he moved his hand to his dick, slowly spreading your drool over his shaft. You whimpered as he brushed his thumb over his tip, letting out a small hiss at the contact. You leaned forward slightly, intending to lick his length and replace his hand but he stopped you, his free hand holding you in place, and you realised what was happening. He knew you wanted to be fucked and he was going to deny you that as well as your orgasms. He wasn’t even going to fuck your mouth. All you could do was sit there, whining and watching as he jerked himself off. Every so often he dipped his fingers back into your mouth, either to gather more of your spit or just to hear you gag, you weren’t sure which. A small part of you hoped he’d just push you down onto his cock but as his hand sped up, expertly pleasuring himself, that hope withered away. He was close. You could see it in the way his smooth strokes stuttered, hear it in his groans. If you’d looked up you probably would have found flushed cheeks, and lust blown eyes, but you couldn’t drag your eyes from his cock, right in front of you, pulsing as he neared his release. And then he came with a guttural moan. You jolted as the first drops hit your cheek, but he was already holding you in place, making sure you stayed still until he was done.

Roger looked down at you, the fist still milking his cock slowing down once more, though he didn’t release himself. You swallowed thickly, shifting on your knees as the temptation to wipe your face and get up rose. “Stay there, slut,” Roger said softly, reading your mind, “you look so good on your knees. Just a toy I use to masturbate with.” You nodded, agreeing, your eyes already drifting back down to his dick. “You want it don’t you? Wish I’d just use you properly,” You nodded again. “If you’re very good I might...” he lay his cock on your tongue, “let you have it,” It took all your strength not to close your lips around his girth as he rubbed his dick over your protruding tongue but your resilience seemed to impress him. Slowly he pushed himself deeper, allowed you to suck on his head for a moment. “Maybe I should use this time you’re all locked up to train you. Teach you to be a filthy oral whore.” The suggestion made your cunt throb but there was nothing you could do to alleviate the desperate desire to be touched. Not even squeezing your thighs together helped. “I’ll teach you to be so desperate to suck cock that you won’t ever want to take the belt off. And when I decide to use your cunt you’ll wish it was your throat,” Roger pulled himself from your lips and you were once again forced to watch as he wanked in front of you. Right up until he stopped and walked behind you. “Sir?” His presence came close again, right up behind you, “Shhhh, slut, I’m still here,” Roger gripped your chin from above and tilted your head back slightly. “Fuck you look so hot like this, drives me fucking wild to see my little toy all soaked in cum. Close your eyes,” You did, heart racing with the uncertainty of what he might be planning. There was a tap on your forehead as the tip of Roger’s dick landed there. “I’ll reward you with some more edges tonight. Maybe I’ll even give you a ruin, if you’re very lucky. I want you so desperate that all you think about is my cock. Twenty-four seven. So desperate you’ll beg just to be allowed to suck me off.” You couldn’t see what Roger was doing but you felt it when he came again, jizz running from your forehead down the side of your nose, onto your cheek and over your top lip, dripping onto your waiting tongue. Roger stepped back and you heard the zzzziiippp of his fly being pulled up followed by the jangle of his belt, but you didn’t move. He stroked his fingers down the side of your neck, offing you a soft, “good girl,” as he moved back round to take in your appearance. “Jesus this is….you look so fucking hot,” you could feel the breath of his laugh as he leaned forward, his thumbs brushing over your closed eyes, making sure they hadn’t been caught in his crossfire, “alright, you can open your eyes now, and close your mouth if you want,” You carefully opened on eye and then the other, able to taste Roger as you swallowed what you’d caught on your tongue. “Did that make you feel any better?” “I don’t know if I’d say better. Wetter? Definitely.” “You’re a bloody poet, love,” “I try. You wanna help me up or did you have more in you?” Roger held out his hand with a chuckle, pulling you to your feet. When you were closer to eye level he paused, eyes roaming over your face, and then leaned in to peck you on the lips. It was unexpected but appreciated, though not quite as much as the damp face cloth he used to clean you.

The next morning Roger asked if you’d like to put the belt back on and you said yes. And the next day. And the next day. And the next day. Each time he reminded you that you were allowed to say no and then, when you assured him you knew that, helped lock it into place. At some point (and sometimes at multiple points) during the day he’d use your mouth, only needing to click his fingers for you to drop to your knees for him. He made sure to compare you to vacuum cleaners and other objects. Metaphors that would normally have made you roll your eyes or tell him he was disgusting, but which now turned you into a whiney wet mess. Admittedly they weren’t all good. The time he said you had a mouth like a black hole you’d nearly choked as you started laughing with your lips already stretched around him. He’d apologised and said he’d cut back on the sci-fi comparisons so you could finish the job properly. At night you’d have a shower and change into pyjamas, often forgoing PJ pants since Roger liked to edge you while you weren’t wearing the belt. He’d slip his fingers into your panties while you watched TV or as you were settling down to sleep. But not once did he try to actually fuck you. It was infuriating and frustrating and such a turn on. Until it stopped being hot.

You’d woken up that morning as excited and enthusiastic about the belt as you had been the previous few mornings but by the afternoon it had started feeling uncomfortable and oppressive. You came to the conclusion that denial and edging was fun but you needed a more definite time period to work within. When Roger had left and said you’d be able to orgasm again when he came back in two months’ time, that had been exciting and hot because there was a time limit. A light at the end of the tunnel that you could see and count down to. Something to aim for. Denial wasn’t just about not cumming, it was about challenging your own expectations of yourself and maybe trying to beat your previous record. What you were doing now didn’t have that specificity, that goal to work towards, and it was beginning to feel like you were being punished for nothing. The constant empty ache you felt didn’t help. Of course denial usually came with aches and desperate needy feelings but something about this time was different. Usually Roger would relish fucking you as much as possible, all the time telling you not to cum or else he’d have to spank you. It was always hard holding back as he took his pleasure but it was rewarding too and it helped relieve the tension that constant edging could cause, even without finishing. Sometimes, if you’d been good and he wanted to be nice, he’d give you a ruin as well. And even if he ended up being mean and leaving your arse pink and smarting from his blows, you got a certain kind of enjoyment from it. But with the chastity belt and the refusal to fuck you, you weren’t getting any relief at all. After thinking through it all, you decided you needed a break from the belt. It would be fun to try again another day but maybe with more discussion and certainties. You looked over to the other couch where Roger was stretched out. “Hey, Rog?” “Yes, love?” “I think I want to stop.” Roger looked away from the TV, his attention shifting to you, “You mean with the belt?” “Yeah. I think I’m close to using my safeword. It’s just feeling kind of not good at the moment. Can you please unlock me?” “Okay. Of course we can stop. C’mon, I left the key in our room,” Roger held out his hand for yours, brushing his lips over your knuckles as he pulled you up.

You sighed with relief as you stepped out of the belt, already feeling better, if not a little embarrassed by just how obviously wet you were. Roger stood, about to say something, but you pulled him into a kiss instead, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. “Well,” he said with a laugh, “I was going to ask what else I could do to make you feel better but I think you’ve made it quite obvious,” “Need you Rog. Literally need. I’ve never meant it as much as I do now,” “Jesus, okay,” he was already fumbling with his fly one handed, “We really did a number on you, huh,” You nodded, dropping your hands to help him get his pants off. As soon as the zip was down he kissed you again, leading you towards the bed. “How do you want me?” “Don’t care, just fuck me,” “For as long as you want,” Roger pushed on your shoulder and you fell back onto the bed, watching as he kicked his pants and underwear off. You whined when he took too long but he soothed you with a kiss and then more down your neck, until he met the neckline of your t-shirt. He didn’t bother removing it though, just squeezed your breasts through it. You were glad, sure you’d implode if you didn’t have him immediately. Instead he kissed your lips again, fiercely, as you reached for his cock, willing him to hurry up and get hard enough. As soon as he was ready he pushed your hand away and pressed into your cunt with an ease that was somewhere between ridiculous and pathetic. “Fuck you’re soaked,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you. Even if he had been speaking to you, you’re not sure you would have heard, much too preoccupied by how full you suddenly felt. It was such a contrast from the previous week of aching for it and all you could think to say was thank you, over and over as Roger slowly fucked into you. “You gotta stop squirming so much, love, or I’m gonna slip out,” You clenched around him at the suggestion, smiling when he tightened his grip on your thigh. Roger brought his fingers to your clit, circling it as you whined, your orgasm already so unbelievably close. It didn’t take much more than a couple of light circles around your clit to tip you over the edge. You weren’t sure you’d ever cum quite so hard from quite so little stimulation but you could barely speak, your breath catching in your throat along with your voice. Roger kept his fingers in place as he calmly thrust into you, egging you on, pushing you through the most well-earned orgasm you’d ever had. But he was by no means done with you. He gave you a few moments to calm and catch your breath, and then he shifted your legs over his shoulders, one at a time as you tried to brace yourself. He sunk deeper with the change of position, picking up his pace to fuck you harder, keeping a firm grip on you so that, even though your back arched and you writhed under him, head falling to one side and then whipping around to the other, you’d remain in place on his cock. With every thrust, every squeeze of his fingertips, you felt yourself drawing close to the edge again and you begged Roger, through gasped breaths, not to stop. He didn’t. He wouldn’t have even considered it until you told him to. “I can feel how close you are, love. Come on, cum for me. Show me just how much you like being fucked and cum,” “yes, yes, fuck yes,” “That’s right, good- good girl, f-fuck you’re tight. Fucking feel your cunt pul-sing. You’ve missed that feeling haven’t you?” You just nodded, head still foggy. “Think you’ve got another one in you? Or do you want me to stop?” “No, don’t stop,” Roger chuckled and pulled out of you as you whined but it was only so he could flip you onto your stomach and pull your hips up. Before you could even begin to complain about the sudden desertion, he was back inside you, pulling you back onto his cock as he rammed into you. “I want to hear you this time. You know I like how loud my slut gets,” There was no way you could deny a request like that, not when he was making you feel so good, filling you so perfectly, giving you exactly what you’d so desperately needed. You babbled for him, a mess of curses and half conceived thoughts about how good it felt mixed with whines and moans. And that only made him fuck you harder, until you came again, screaming his name. He fucked you through it, though he grunted with each thrust, holding off his own orgasm until he was sure you were satisfied. You swore you nearly came again as he spilled himself inside you before both of you collapsed bonelessly to the bed.

You complained when Roger pulled out of you again, but he did make a good point about not wanting to crush you. And he made up for it by pulling you close and kissing you as much as he could, in between checking how you felt and if you were okay now. “Yeah, better,” you sighed, running you hand over his arm, “I really really needed that,” “I could tell. Sorry I made you wait so long,” “No, it was fun too, the waiting. But not forever, y’know.” “Yeah I do. If you ever want to try the whole chastity belt thing again we’ll be better, figure out how to make it fun again,” “Sounds good. But maybe not for a while,” “No, not for a while. I like fucking you too much to give it up again so soon,” You laughed at that, leaned in to kiss him again. “You’re probably too tired but, uh, I could go again if you wanted,” “Now?” “Maybe a minute?” “A minute sounds good and I’m not too tired. But if I was, maybe we could sleep like that, with you in me?” “Really?” “I don’t think you’ve grasped quite how badly I’ve wanted you since you first showed me the belt, how badly I still want you,” “I think that can be arranged then,” he laughed again, kissing you once more as he rolled back over.

#my writing #my fics #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor smut #roger taylor imagine #absolutely wild that any of you have been with me since IMIUTY tbh #i was so unsure about posting that sldjslkds #and now i just casually chuck out 9k words of filth #also #a lot of chastity stuff is about wearing them constantly #which is hot but not realistic #because if you dont clean them and give your body time to breathe #it can lead to UTIs and stuff #so if your gonna play with a belt and you have a p****#make sure to take it off intermittently #anyway #can someone please lock me in a belt and idk maybe mock me when i start to beg

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ororowrites · 3 years

Text

By the Open Fire - Yahya x Black Character

I’m getting back into the writing spirit and decided to write a little Christmas one-shot about my latest celebrity crush. Merry Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa and Happy Holidays!

Warnings: Very, very, light smut, fluffy as hell

Word Count: 2,664

Six months was entirely too long to be away from the love of her life.

Candace tapped the tip of her pen against the blank page, hoping her writer’s block would magically disappear. Being an actress was so much easier than trying to write a novel. Why didn’t Candace just stick to her day job? Since the pandemic began, she was trying her hand at other talents and writing a novel seemed to be the one wish on her wish list that stood out. On top of Yahya being out of the country filming for most of the year, Candace was in search of a way to fight a depression that was on the brink of flooding her life. Her filming project had come to a halt until 2021 and she was stuck in her Manhattan apartment until it was safe to come out again.

Yahya would be home in a couple of days and Candace was looking forward to his arrival. So many months a part made her heart ache and the heart below her waist. After hundreds of facetime calls, numerous texts a day and a few Zoom sessions that included their shared friends, her man would be there in the flesh.

“Fuck,” Candace cursed under her breath. The block wasn’t budging, forcing the actress to give up and retreat to the kitchen for wine. Her phone rang, interrupting her attempt to brainstorm for the next chapter in her book. “You always call at the perfect time,” she groaned at her twin sister on the other end of the line.

“Candy, you can never just say hello like a normal human,” Trinity laughed. “But did mama call you with the latest gossip?”

“No, but she’s been texting me all damn day. I’ve been busy so I haven’t checked them yet. Wassup,” she pressed, knowing the gossip was most likely church related. Their mother had been an usher at the same church since they were nine.

“Girl,” Trinity exclaimed, before explaining the recent Chicago gossip. “Mrs. Jackson got caught cheating with James. Someone saw them out at the park together, kissing up on each other and all that.”

“Ewww, in this panoramic,” Candace gagged. “I’m not shocked though. That old floozy was always flirting with daddy and almost made mama beat her ass one Easter Sunday. Remember that?”

Trinity cackled, “Boooooy, mama was about to peel that woman’s skin back and break her neck. Ol’ girl was trying it that day and knows she is too old to still be acting like that. But enough about Florence, what have you been up to today? Ain’t your man on his way back to New York?”

Candace rolled her eyes because she knew where this conversation was going. Her sister had four children, leaving Candace the only childless sibling left in the pack of five children.

“He’ll be back in two days and then we’re going to Colorado for Christmas. Since we can’t gather for the holidays, figured we’d go somewhere where we can safely distance ourselves but still get away. You know,” Candace said, swirling the wine around in her glass before taking a sip.

“Mmmhhhhmmm. You gon’ get knocked up in them mountains,” Trinity added in a serious tone. “You two renting out a cabin or something up there?”

“Ain’t nobody getting knocked up until she has a ring on her finger. Yes, we’re getting a cabin and just chillin’ out. Yahya has been working and needs a break. I’ve been....lonely.” Candace paced her kitchen, trying to think of an excuse to end this call before her twin irritated her soul.

“Ya’ll haven’t seen each in months, he’s going to tear--”

“Trin!” One major difference between the two of them was the lack of filter on Trinity’s part. The woman would say anything in front of anyone. “Look, I need to go straighten up before before Yah gets here. I’ll talk to you later?”

Trinity sighed loudly on the other end because she knew her sister was rushing her off the call. Not liking people in her relationship business bugged Trinity because she was the nosey twin that wanted to know everything, much like their mother. “Well at least you won’t be needing to replace the batteries in that vibrator any time soon since the real Dr. Manhattan is back in the picture.” Before Candace could reply to the vulgar comment, Trinity squeezed out a quick ‘love you’ before hanging up.

“Nasty ass,” Candace rolled her eyes and placed the phone back in the pocket of her jeans.

The next two days were the same song. Candace’s brain did not want to focus on writing, so she eventually gave up and settled on online shopping to ease her frustration. The night her beautiful man was supposed to return, the actress fell asleep on the couch. His flight had been delayed by a couple of hours and he didn’t make it home until 3AM.

He quietly entered the apartment, knowing Candace could never stay awake past twelve. The 6′3 actor, tip toed across the floor doing his best ballerina impression. Light snores could be heard over the infomercial playing on the television. She looked peaceful, almost child-like curled up on the sofa under her favorite coral throw. Yahya slowly leaned in, placing a soft kiss on Candace’s pouted lips. She stirred slightly, mumbling under her breath and fell back into a slumber.

“Baby,” he sung into her ear, placing another kiss on her cheek.

“Hmm.” Candace finally opened her eyes to see her Christmas gift standing right in front of her. Even with blurred vision, the smell of his cologne was a dead giveaway. She screeched and scurried to her feet to throw her arms around Yahya’s neck. Naturally, her legs wrapped around his waist as he rocked them back and forth. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” he grunted, peppering Candace’s face in kisses. “My baaaaaaby,” Yahya sang as they fell to the sofa in a heap of long limbs. “It smells good in here, what you cook?”

“Negro, you’re always looking for the food. Ol’ hungry ass,” Candace shook her head and playfully punched her lover’s bicep. “But, I saved you some fried rice and shrimp...homemade because that’s the only dish I’m good at.”

“Oh, that’s not the only dish you’re good at,” he bit his lip, pulling Candace into a slow, passionate kiss, showing her how much he really missed her. With both of them being in the industry, they understood the heartache that came with being in a relationship and not seeing your significant other for weeks or months at a time. In this case, their time away from each other was extended due to the pandemic. “Mmmmm,” Yahya hummed into Candace’s lips before pulling away. He wanted to save the X-rated loving for their trip when he would have more time to rest and beat the severe jet lag from flying across the world for 12 hours.

“We should get some food in this belly, babe,” Candace couldn’t contain the big cheesy grin that made her cheeks hurt.

-------

Christmas Eve

Toni Braxton’s sultry voice filled the cabin as Yahya finished pouring the wine for their night cap. They had a busy day on the slopes trying not to kill themselves or break any bones.

“Baby, where your fine ass at,” Yahya called out, making his way to the living room. The fireplace crackled, sending waves of heat throughout the cabin’s living area. The sun had set, but the mountains were still glowing against the dark sky. Their view was impeccable and the mood was set for a night of bonding and loving. “Candy, don’t make me come get you.” He warned playfully, sitting in front of the fire on their floor palette they had built earlier that night.

“What was that,” Candace teased, stopping in the doorway getting a front row view of Yahya’s bare upper half. His back muscles bulged as he tended to the fire.

“You back there sleeping, old lady,” he asked, with his back still turned away from her.

“No, I was back there wrapping one last gift,” she replied, her voice dropping an octave prompting Yahya to turn around.

His eyes almost fell out of his head, “Damn girl.” Pulling his bottom lip into his mouth, he moved forward, inspecting the gift that was screaming to be unwrapped. “This all for me?”

“Every inch of it.” Her words almost came out as a moan. The way this man was eyeing her had moisture pooling between her legs. The fancy lingerie wouldn’t last long at this rate. Words became an afterthought when actions began to do all the talking. All it took was a soul turning kiss to send them both to the floor on their palette in front of the fireplace. Candace couldn’t tell if the fire had her skin tingling or the anticipation of having his hands rubbing over the most sensitive parts of her body. The wine and fruits sitting on the mantle quickly became an afterthought.

For minutes, they enjoyed exploring each other and parts they hadn’t touched in months. Yahya was nestled between Candace’s thighs, both of them breathless and horny. Candace’s lace get up was quickly removed and thrown to the side. She giggled when his lips grazed her belly button, those giggles soon turning into pants and whispered obscenities. With gentle licks, he coaxed her clit out of its hood.

Toys were fun but they weren’t the real thing and oh did she miss the real thing. See, the real thing knew exactly how to pull her close to the edge before sending her back. Her man’s skilled tongue sank deeper drawing intricate patterns in her center as she massaged the top of his head with her fingertips.

Candace’s breath hitched in her throat and her thighs shook awaiting the impending release. “Jesus,” she moaned as her body suddenly felt light and her center thumped.

“Still as sweet as I remember,” he grinned, kissing Candace’s inner thigh.

Another track on their Toni Braxton Christmas playlist began to play and Yahya rested his head on Candace’s stomach. Time was precious and Yahya didn’t want to waste an ounce of the rare quiet moment they had. Soon, they’d both be filming again and the world would be back to normal.

“What’s on your mind, baby,” Candace asked, her heart and breath back to a steady rhythm.

“I don’t spend enough time with you. At least not lately,” he began. “I knew what I was getting into when we were back in school. Still makes me feel bad though.”

“Yah, I enjoy all the moments that we do get to spend together. You’ve been working your ass off this year. Yes, I would love more times like this but we should also celebrate all your accomplishments. Because you’re doing the damn thang and I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you. You always say the right shit to get me together,” he chuckled. “Sometimes a nigga just be in his feelings and I missed the hell out of you those six months.”

“Yeah, six months has never gone by that slowly. You should see my credit card statements. I’ve never purchased that many sex toys in my life,” Candace covered her face with her arm.

“Word? Well.... you won’t be needing those sex toys for awhile.”

A smirk formed on her lips when she felt him bump against her thigh, “No, no, you just sit back and relax. I got this.” Sitting up, Candace placed a hand on Yahya’s chest, prompting him to switch her spots.

“You are beautiful,” Yahya’s eyes gleamed. After all these years, he could still make Candace blush like a little school girl. “Don’t hide that smile, girl.” His large hands massaged her thighs as she eased him inside of her.

They both exhaled, letting Toni Braxton serenade them through the night.

---------

Christmas Morning

They had finally made it to bed and got a few hours of sleep before Christmas morning arrived and it was time to get up for their next day of adventures.

First, they needed to re-fuel their bodies after the festivities that took place the night before in front of the fireplace and in the bedroom. The shower also got some of their loving that morning. Candace could hear Yahya singing his own version of Joy to the World while whipping up his famous oatmeal. That man never knew the words to any song but sung his own words with all the confidence in the world.

“Yah, do you ever know the words,” Candace questioned, placing a quick kiss on his cheek before grabbing a bowl from one of the kitchen shelves.

“Nope,” he replied in a matter of fact tone. “It’s the Abdul-Mateen version.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

Over breakfast, they continued joking about Yahya’s talent of making up his own versions of songs. Joy and love was on full display. They had always been the couple to roast each other and the next minute adore each other like the two biggest saps in the world.. Their relationship was built on a strong friendship they developed while they were in film school before reconnecting a few years later.

They walked a short distance to one of the coffee shops near their cabin to grab hot chocolate. It was a chilly 45 degrees, but to avoid sitting in the shop, they walked back to their rental, taking a scenic route that Yahya suggested.

“If we get lost or I end up falling off one of these mountains, I hope my family doesn’t kill you,” Candace joked, admiring the beautiful scene before them.

“Oh, I know where we are. I was out here early yesterday morning trying to find the perfect spot,” Yahya replied.

“Huh, perfect spot for what?”

He didn’t answer right away and instead reached for Candace’s hand, stopping her in her tracks. “Something I’ve been wanting to do for awhile.” Placing his cup on one of the rocks, Yahya pulled a box from his pocket and got down on one knee.

“What...what...” For once, Candace was speechless and caught completely off guard.

“It’s hard as hell to surprise you and I’ve been trying to think of the perfect time to do this without your nosey ass finding out.” Tears began to flow down Candace’s cheeks. “We’ve been at this for a few years and I’ve had some of my best moments with you by my side. I want to make what we have forever.” He opened the small box to reveal a beautiful emerald cut ring. “Say love... would you marry me?”

Being the goofball that she was, Candace laughed between her tears “You’re trying to get me pregnant on this trip, aren’t you?”

“Well that can be arranged if you say yes.”

“Ye...yes, of course!” Her vision blurred as Yahya slid the rock on her finger and stood to his feet to kiss his future bride. Moments later Yahya’s phone rang with an incoming Facetime call.

“Hey Trinity, hey moms,” Yahya cheesed, turning his phone to share the screen with Candace. “Looks like you two aren’t getting rid of me anytime soon.”

“She said yes,” Trinity screamed, jumping up and down with their mother. “Aye, aye, ayyyeeeeee.”

Still in complete shock and happiness overflowing, Candace shrieked, “Wait, you two knew about this the entire time!”

“Yep! It’s been burning my ass to keep this secret from you all this time,” Trinity teased, sticking out her tongue. “He took mom with him to ring shop last year and everything.”

“Welcome to the family, son. Congratulations baby,” Ms. Fredrick sang, clapping for the happy couple on the other end of the call.

“Now, I hope you two are using protection out there because having a baby before the wedding is-”

“Trinity,” Candace called out, shaking her head.

They should have followed Trinity’s advice because approximately two months later.....

Hope you all enjoyed! This is the first piece I’ve written in a year. I have no idea if I’ m going to continue the stories I began before my hiatus, yet. But, we will explore that in the coming year! Who knows, we may get more Candace and Yahya depending on how hard writer’s block slaps me. May the new year bring you all peace and joy!

#yahya abdul mateen ii #yahya x black character #fanfics #celebrity fanfics #black love #ororo writes #holiday one shot

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heyitmelexie · 3 years

Text

Movie Night

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x GN!Reader

Word count: 1704

Warnings: none

Rating: General audiences

A/N: Day 7 for @honeymandos December Writing Challenge! ❤️

Frankie is not married here and does not have a child – events take place before the events of Triple Frontier. Reader’s best friend is also gender neutral!

I know Hamilton and Disney+ were released in 2020, Triple Frontier in 2019. But I’m not mentioning any years here. I just wanted to use the musical for this prompt, sooo please don’t think too much about it.❤️

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Movie night with Frankie is something you look forward to every week.

The two of you just started dating about seven months ago and with your jobs consuming most of the weeks you didn’t see each other very often. That’s why you started carving out a little bit of time each Saturday night to have a movie night together.

Last week you spent it at your place, today you will have it at Frankie’s.

Those Saturday’s have become sacred nights to the both of you by now. Sometimes it was the only time you could see each other all week so you made sure to never miss it.

As you get in your car to drive to his house, your phone dings, signalling that you got a new message.

You unlock it and see it’s from Frankie, a smile forming on your lips upon reading his name.

Don’t forget the dips, love! Can’t have nachos without it 😱

You giggle at that and slightly roll your eyes.

I’m not the one who forgets half the things every time😁😉

As you drive to his place you recall the first time the two of you had met.

- around 7 months prior –

Ben Miller was the boyfriend of your best friend – now their husband. You had always gotten along with him really well, much to your friend’s delight and would visit them regularly.

One day he was throwing a little birthday barbecue party for your friend, inviting you and some of their other friends. Frankie was one of them.

You were the first one to arrive, because you had promised Ben to help prepare everything before they would come home from work. He had then revealed to you, while you were setting everything up, that he planned to propose that night and you had been super excited for them, knowing how much they love each other.

After a little while all the other friends started to arrive. Because Ben counted you as a close friend, he felt that it was in order to introduce you to his best friends which he knew from his time in the military.

You knew Will already, Ben’s older brother, who hugged you once he saw you. Santi and Tom both hugged you as well as Ben introduced you to them, both being extremely welcoming and immediately starting a casual conversation.

Frankie had arrived a little later as one of the last, feeling a little out of place as he saw a bunch of people he had never met before. But as soon as he spotted the boys, he relaxed a bit, making his way over to them to say hi.

Upon hearing his voice from right behind you, you jumped a little and then turned to look who it belonged to.

When Frankie laid his eyes on you his mind went completely blank. He thought he had somehow died and woke up in heaven, a literal angel standing right in front of him to welcome him into paradise.

Frankie never believed in love at first sight. Sure, he did love a few partners before, but it never held long, and it was never like this. He had never experienced this feeling before. One look at you and his heart burst into a million stars, butterflies erupting in his stomach, rendering him speechless.

As he stood there, frozen in place, mouth slightly agape and brain disconnected from the rest of his body, he didn’t hear you talking to him or the boys’ laughter until Santi slightly slapped his shoulder in a brotherly manner. He blinked and looked at him, mind still blank.

“You can’t just stand there staring at people, Fish, you’re scaring them away” he said, laughing and shaking his head.

You giggle slightly, thinking it was rather cute how he stared at you like a deer caught in headlights.

“I, uh… Sorry, I didn’t mean to, uhm… malfunction. It was rude of me to stare. I’m Frankie” he said, face as red as a beet, holding his hand out to you.

You flash him a bright smile, making his breath hitch and his heart almost hammer out of his chest. When he took your hand in his, he swore he could feel his skin tingle where you touched him, warmth spreading up his arm. And when you told him your name, when he finally heard your voice for the first time, he felt like he was about to combust.

In this exact moment he was thanking his past self that he decided to come to this party after debating for an hour whether he wanted to socialize tonight or not.

And you were secretly thankful that Benny had decided to invite his military best friends.

- present –

You now stand in front of Frankie’s door, arms full of snacks and use your foot to knock. Not even a minute later the door opens, revealing your boyfriend in black sweats, white shirt, red flannel and tousled hair that is sticking up into every direction.

He flashes you a big smile before taking some of the snacks out of your arms to carry them into the living room.

You shut the door behind you, slip out of your shoes and follow him. He had already prepared the drinks and even strung up some fairy lights. It looks so cosy and you can’t wait to just snuggle up against him and enjoy tonight.

Once you put the snacks into some bowls and poured yourself a glass of your preferable drink, you sit next to Frankie and snuggle right into him. Tonight is your turn to pick out a movie.

“So, what are we gonna watch tonight, amor?” he says, his arm wrapped around you.

You grin widely before starting the streaming service and looking for your choice of the night.

When you find it, you hear him groan slightly next to you, making you giggle before starting Hamilton.

“A musical?” He looks at you with his brows furrowed, slightly pouting.

You lean up and kiss his lips, making him hum in response.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover. Or a movie, in this case. Hamilton is amazing and I couldn’t wait to show it to you!”

Your visible excitement puts a smile on his lips and he gives in, shaking his head slightly before leaning back into the couch with you.

“Fine, fine. I’ll try not to be too big of a party pooper.”

Snuggled into his side, stuffing your face with popcorn, you silently mouth all the words to each song. Eyes wide in excitement, you stare at the tv and don’t notice Frankie constantly looking down at you, smiling at your giddiness. It fills him with warmth to see you so happy right there in his arms, watching this movie with him which obviously brings you so much joy.

Frankie isn’t really a fan of musicals, but for you he pulls himself together and really watches it.

To his surprise, he finds himself actually liking it and occasionally bobs his head to one or the other song. Which you notice and it makes you even happier than you have already been.

When the movie ends, you look at him expectantly, smiling so wide one could fear it would split your face in half.

He looks at you and laughs softly.

“You’re so adorable” he says, planting a kiss on your nose which you scrunch up in response.

“Sooooo… what do you think about it?”

“I have to say that it wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be” he says, earning himself a light jab to his side which makes him laugh.

He pulls you into his lap and wraps his arms around your waist. You then notice that he looks at you with a slightly more different expression.

“I’m tired of only seeing you once a week. Or just at lunch for like 20 minutes at most. I miss you all the time” he sighs, drawing little circles onto your hips with his thumbs.

“Yeah… me too” you cup his jaw with one hand and press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I want you to move in with me” he suddenly says. Your eyes widen at that and you freeze, trying to process what he had just asked you.

“I mean, I… you don’t have to, I’m not forcing you to do it. I just… I’d love to see you more, to have you around me. I’d love to see little things from you everywhere I go, your toothbrush next to mine, your mugs in my kitchen cupboard, your smell on my pillow. I want to fall asleep with you in my arms and wake up with you still there…” He feels a heat creeping up his neck and cheeks, looking to the side. He is nervous, you still hadn’t said a thing.

But then you take his face into both your hands and make him look at you, a fond smile playing on your lips.

“Frankie, there’s no way I’d ever say no to this” you whisper, and he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Oh, thank god. I thought you were going to think me crazy” he says, scratching his chin slightly and chuckling.

You giggle at that before throwing a handful of popcorn at him.

He gasps, his awful, non-existing skill of acting coming through, making you laugh, the sound like music to his ears.

Before you can move away, he basically jumps at you, trapping you on the couch beneath him. And then he starts tickling you.

You laugh and squeal, trying to squirm out of his grip but he is too strong.

He doesn’t stop until you beg him to let go, barely able to bring out a single syllable, breathless from laughing this hard. Your heart hammers in your chest but you giggle up at him, glowing in the soft, orange light of the fairy lights.

A single popcorn falls out of his hair onto your forehead, making both of you laugh. He gently brushes it away and then leans down to softly rub his nose against yours before kissing you so tenderly that it takes your breath away.

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Lemme know what you think ❤️

@absurdthirst @softpedropascal @tangledlove27

#Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x Reader #Triple Frontier #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal characters

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3pirouette · 3 years

Text

Fic: An Experimental Design (5/?)

Title: An Experimental Design

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Story Summary: Sequel to “What Number?”, also prompted from Steggy Bingo Bash Prompts. Takes place about a week after that fic.

A/N: So, despite my realization (with the help of a fabulous anon) that once Bucky falls off the train there’s only a day to maybe a week of time that passes before Steve takes down the Valkyrie, I’ve decided that in this fic it’s way more time, and that’s super important to the plot. Bucky went down months ago, at least 6. Please just go with it.

Also, this is now rated EXPLICIT. if you’re not into adult content, well… believe me, you’ll know when to stop. (But if you’re already here, I’m pretty sure you don’t care about adult content ;) )

Also, I REALLY need to know if some of your headcanons were right. Please tell me!!

Chapter 5: The Experiment

~*~

“We found about a third of a file from some other poor woman. Age, height, eye color don’t match Peg.” Howard chewed on his lip as he slid the file over to them. Steve, holding Peggy’s hand under the table, took the file and pushed it between them, flipping to the first page. “It’s an offshoot of something they’ve dubbed the Winter Soldier Project.” Steve eyes popped up in interest, but Howard just shook his head. “We haven’t found much else on that except the name and it involves a single male subject. At least for now.”

“Give us the short version,” Peggy said smartly, pulling her eyes away from the documents.

Howard sighed, wringing his hands together. “Well… it’s…” He started and stopped, looking anywhere but them.

Steve couldn’t hide the concern in his voice. “It’s that bad?”

Howard slumped back. “It’s not good.”

In her usual fashion, Peggy was still the most pragmatic in the room. “Then, out with it.”

“The uh, one page has a name on it: Project Anchor.” He sat tall again and pulled the file from them, looking for the right translated pages. “I don’t know how this works, so don’t ask. We’re missing massive amounts of data. And to be honest, I’m really only guessing at a lot of it.”

“Howard…” Steve prompted, forcing the man to look up at him.

He swallowed, finally looking his friends in the eyes. “It seems their Winter Soldier Project is akin to our Project Rebirth. Project Anchor was their way to… to keep their man under control.”

Peggy eyed him warily, “Keep the man under control? Then why experiment specifically on women?”

Howard rubbed his face, clearing his throat. He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and looked Peggy in the eyes. “Because the woman was what was going to keep him under control. The anchor. They were trying to pair bond their subject to a woman. Create false love, or need, and then use her as collateral.”

Steve looked over at Peggy, taking her hand and squeezing tightly. “Give him a reason to stay in line.”

Howard nodded. “Exactly.” He scratched his head then laid three pages out before them, pointing. “This page refers to some kind of injection derived from their variant of the serum. Our linguistics guy says he thinks they’ve created some of these terms, because there aren’t clear translations. Best he can translate and I can tease out it works like some kind of bacteria or virus, bonding itself to cells through the subject’s body- specifically on the nervous system- which allows it to act as an irritant.” He shifted to the next page. “This talks about a two part process, but we haven’t been able to find anything about the second part, or even if they were able to get to it.” He pointed at the third page, eyes on Peggy. “This page describes the same kinds of pain you’re talking about, Peggy, but just the pain part. I don’t think they ever introduced their subject to their male counterpart, so she only ever felt pain.”

Despite Steve holding her hand, Howard could see Peggy’s anxiety ratchet up, her breathing get shallow as her heart rate started to go up with fear. “What happened to her, Howard?”

He stroked his mustache, trying to avoid saying, but he knew they’d read it for themselves. He gathered the papers and shuffled them together, slipping them back into the folder. “She died.” He coughed, folding his hands. “Supposedly they were going to do an autopsy, but we don’t have that page.”

“Well, what do you have?” Steve asked, his tone dark and eyes starting to narrow. “You’ve got to give us something to work with here, Howard!”

“You think I’m not trying to?” Howard shot back sharply. “If Erskine were still here we’d have a hope, a hope, of really understanding what’s going on. The cellular biology was all him. I’ve got a handle on it, but there is so much that I don’t know…”

“Well, you should!” Steve pounded his fist on the table. “We need more than this!”

“Steve!” Peggy, took her other hand, laying it on his shoulder, “he’s doing his best.”

Steve groused, eyes on Howard. “Well, it’s not good enough.”

“I’ve got that,” Howard said strongly, chin set as he pointed at Steve. Steve, still incensed, didn’t budge, but Peggy turned, interested. “You’re not like this, Steve. You’ve never raised your voice at anyone as long as I’ve known you unless they were Hydra and on the wrong side of your shield.” Howard shook his head and pulled out the paper from his pocket. “I haven’t shown anyone this.”

Peggy and Steve read the two and a half sentences; Peggy gripping Steve’s hand tighter. “Breeding?”

“They had to have more than that one woman and you, Peg. There had to be so much more research somewhere that got them to this point. I’m looking, and I can’t find it, but I know it. They’ve been developing and testing this for far too long for us to not notice.” He sighed. “Whatever’s in your body reacted to the serum in Steve. Maybe it was when you touched, or it had to be a body fluid transfer when you kissed or something to that effect. I don’t know yet, but it’s in you, too, Steve.” Howard looked sadly at his friend. “It apparently wasn’t enough to make the woman be in lust or love, to tug on this poor guy’s heartstrings ‘cause she was in jeopardy, they’re altering the male counterpart, too, to feel hyper aggressive and hyper protective.”

“Like animals in heat,” Peggy mused out loud, disturbed. Her chin wavered as she pieced it together. “They give their soldier a mate that he cares about, loves even, and then threatens her with pain and even death if he’s gone too long, all the while hyping up his system so…”

“So that he’ll do anything to guarantee her safety.” Steve hung his head, unable to look at Howard. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Howard said softly. “I think that’s the understatement of the year.”

Steve hung his head, running his free hand through his hair. “So, what do we do?”

Howard only frowned at them.

~*~

The small base dorm room meant for visiting ranking officials wasn’t the worst place she’d ever been, but the fact that she knew Steve was on the other side of the wall and they weren’t going to be allowed to see one another until she was writhing in pain was absolutely weighing on her mind.

She knew it was their only course of action. It didn’t mean she had to like it. She sat on the bed, thinking she should be happy that Howard at least had a lead as to what was going on, but it left her hollow. The what was bad enough, but the why was swirling in her brain.

They’d planned to introduce her to a man she didn’t know and bond her to him forever by rage and pain.

And potentially children they planned on weaponizing.

She wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that Steve had managed to touch her first.

~*~

It had only been an hour, but Steve was pacing like a caged tiger in the room next to Peggy’s.

He knew, deep down, Howard was right. He knew he hadn’t been behaving rationally when it came to Peggy since he’d brought her back. He should have made her go see Howard, shouldn’t have allowed her to hide for as long as she did.

But now, he could see it.

He could think back and realize there was more at work than just the love and care that had building withing him from the moment he met her. The drive, the desire to keep her safe reverberated in the back of his skull, fighting with the rational part of him. It felt like an animal was trying to claw its way out of himself.

He had to force himself to not pounce on the nurse who knocked on his door and came in with a smile, tasked with taking his vitals and drawing blood.

~*~

Four hours in, Howard stared at her as the nurse drew her blood. “It would be more helpful if we could take samples from you every hour, just like Steve, but you won’t recover as fast.”

Peggy nodded, looking away as the nurse filled the vials. “If I have to feel like a pincushion for a bit, just make it worth it.”

He nodded, pulling out a small notebook from his pocket. “Give me a rundown of your symptoms.”

“Fingertips and toes are starting to get numb, arms are achy, and my chest feels heavy.” She rubbed her arm as the nurse stepped back, watching as the woman pulled out a thermometer and blood pressure cuff.

“Zero to ten?” he asked without looking up.

“One.” She held her mouth open and let the nurse slide the thermometer in, taking around it. “Took much longer to start to come on this time. Usually, my fingers start to tingle as soon as I leave him.”

Howards eyebrows raised. “Interesting.”

~*~

Six hours and counting, and he didn’t want to eat. Didn’t feel hungry. Couldn’t concentrate. All he kept thinking about was that Peggy was on the other side of the wall and he couldn’t do a damn thing to help her.

Howard had stopped asking how he felt when he came in every hour, on the hour, mostly because he didn’t need to. Steve couldn’t stop himself from ranting at the man, a man who was his friend, for keeping them apart.

Even though he knew why they were doing it. Even though he understood exactly why it was so important they had real, tangible data about what was happening in his and Peggy’s bodies so Howard could find some way to fix or counteract it.

The only thing Steve found he was able to do was pace, keep moving, and try to burn off the anger and anxiety building up in him.

~*~

At eight hours in she was a four, little shocks of lightning through her body, everything hypersensitive, muscles starting to feel tight and painful, head swimming and aching. It was all she could do to sit up and talk to Howard when they came in to check on her. Though they didn’t draw blood every time, they still had her spit in a vile, checked her pulse and blood pressure, checked her temperature.

If Howard was finding anything, he was being tight lipped.

Peggy wasn’t sure if the anxiety of the experiment was ratcheting everything up, or of the knowledge that Steve was just on the other side of the wall made her feel more on edge.

She knew what happened to her at a 5, and at a 6, and once she hit a seven she wasn’t sure how long she could go without walking through that door.

~*~

Howard locked Steve’s door at hour nine, though he knew it wouldn’t stop him if he was determined. He locked Peggy’s door at hour eleven as her pain started creeping up exponentially faster. She could only tell him so much as her mind unfocused quickly as they talked, distracted by the agony she was feeling.

He could only run each test so fast, but the logs were filling up with data quickly. So quickly, he wasn’t going to have time to analyze it, but rather just keep running each test until he had all of it.

He had no idea what any of it meant yet.

~*~

Howard found her sitting on the floor, most of her clothes torn off until she was in just her slip, pressed against the wall.

“Peg?” he asked softly, shooing the nurse behind him back into the hallway.

“I’m right here,” he heard Steve’s voice through the wall, “I promise. I’m so close, Peg.”

“I don’t know how much more I can take,” she sobbed, the tears falling fast. “It hurts everywhere.”

“What are you at? How bad?”

“Eight,” she muttered, letting her forehead fall against the wall. “It’s an eight, but I know what’s coming.”

Howard slipped back out, sure she’d known he was there, but unwilling to eavesdrop anymore.

~*~

“You have to let her get to a ten!” Howard shouted at Steve. He hated that the man could hear her moans from his room, hated that Steve was forced to let her wallow like this, experiment or not.

“I don’t have to anything!” Steve yelled, moving forward.

Howard stepped back. Even though he was reasonably certain Steve wouldn’t hurt him, he wasn’t used to this side of the man. Howard, for his part, still didn’t back down, it was one of his more pigheaded traits. “Well, if you want me to figure out what’s wrong with her, you do have to.”

They heard Peggy moan through the wall, a pitiful, guttural sound. Howard had just come from there. Her eight was creeping up to a nine in record time.

Steve moved forward again, but this time Howard pressed himself up against the door, arms splayed out to try to keep Steve from leaving. “Just remember this, Steve: you go in there right now, we have to do this again. If you touch her before she gets to a ten, we have to do this to her again. Don’t make me do that. You know I don’t want to.”

Steve looked at him, eyes dark and angry, and paced away, growling in frustration.

“Just…” Howard took a deep breath, “Just try to hold it together for her, ok?” He opened the door, stopping halfway out. “Do it for her.”

~*~

Peggy couldn’t take it anymore. She’d tried to hold back, tried to stay quiet, but she couldn’t breathe when she buried her head into the pillow to muffle the cries. The pain had crept up on her fast, growing in a way she hadn’t experienced before. She couldn’t help the moans, had the let something try to get out with the screams.

She couldn’t come up with ideas and theories, not when her head was pounding like her skull was too small and her whole body ached with muscle pain and her joints felt like they were full of broken glass and there were electrical shocks everywhere through her.

“Tell me this is it, Peg,” Howard pleaded, kneeling at her bedside. “Just say ten. All you gotta say is ten and I can let this be over…”

She moaned as the nurse drew a vile of blood. The nurse and Howard both jumped when they heard the first bang against the wall.

Steve.

“Peg, just say ten. Then I can let him in.” Another bang shook the painting off the wall, the glass shattering on the floor. “We’ll be out of here and you two do whatever you need to do to make this right, ok?” Another crash, this time accompanied by the sound of the plaster cracking. “Just say ten, please?”

She curled into a ball on the bed, not reacting to the way the plaster was starting to chip or how Steve’s rhythm quickened as she writhed.

“Jesus,” Howard stood, rubbing his hands over his mouth. “I’m calling it. It’s a ten. She can’t even talk.”

The nurse was about to ask him to help her take Peggy’s blood pressure when the wall across from them boomed, a large crack running down the middle.

He grabbed her arm, pulling swiftly. “Nope. Out. You don’t want to be here for this.”

~*~

He didn’t know what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop.

There was a part of him that said the door is right there but there was another part of him, a bigger part of him, that needed to get to Peggy and he knew that she was just on the other side of that wall.

He’d listened, powerless, as she cried out for hours, as she tried to bear the pain herself when he was so close.

He’d sat on the floor, talking to her through the plaster until she couldn’t string sentences together anymore. He stayed there, feeling just a little bit closer to her, even when he’d heard Howard and the nurse lift her back into the bed.

He’d stood, faced the wall, and there was only one choice: through. So he’d punched it. And again, and again. It felt good to punch it, like there was something he was doing, something he could do, to make this better.

But punching wasn’t enough. It chipped the plaster and made a small hole, but he wasn’t going to get through the wall just by punching. He stepped back, took a deep breath, and fell against it, shoulder first.

He didn’t feel it, couldn’t feel anything, but smiled to himself when the plaster on his side started falling away, the wall bowed out. He pulled the chunks of plaster down, breathing heavy as he knew his mission was almost over. He was almost there. He took two steps back, and ran.

~*~

Steve crashed into Peggy’s room just as the door closed behind Howard. He skidded to a halt, plaster dust on him, broken glass and wall at his feet.

Peggy looked up from the bed, another cry falling from her lips as she curled in on herself.

He pulled at the collar of his t-shirt, ripping it off as he took two steps to the bed, falling to his knees and crawling up her body. Steve wasn’t thinking, only reacting, as he ripped the slip from her skin, baring her fully to him. He dropped down, pressing his bare upper body to hers, the touch of skin-to-skin pulsing through them like warm water rushing over them. Her arms clamped around him, holding him to her as his face rooted against her neck, licking and kissing the skin. “I’m here,” he mumbled against her neck. “I’m here.”

She could only concentrate on breathing, the press of him against her washing over her, soothing and igniting her at the same time. Pain slowly ratcheted down and started to move to needing and wanting as he kissed and licked along her collar bone, his hips rutting against hers as she tried to wrap her thighs around him.

She pulled him down, his weight pressing her into the mattress giving her just the tiniest bit more relief. Her breath caught when his lips found hers, his tongue already insistent and tasing her, despite her lazy, uncoordinated attempts to kiss him back. Her body didn’t feel like hers anymore, it felt heavy and weighted and like she was fighting to come back to life.

“What do you need?” he asked, dragging his lips to her ear to suck on her earlobe. “Tell me.” She didn’t know how to form words, couldn’t make her mouth do more than suck at the skin of his shoulder. She pulled him close, pushing her hands down over his back to his hips, clawing ineffectually at the waistband of his pants.

He knew what he wanted, knew what his body was screaming at him, what his body wanted him to take and how he wanted to do it, but he needed her to say it. Needed to know that despite everything that had happened to them, she wanted the same. He dragged his face back up, pulling away just inches to look at her.

Her eyes blinked open and her limbs tightened as he pulled away, the fear clear in her gaze that she thought he was trying to get away from her.

“Tell me,” he tried to whisper, tightening his embrace, but his voice was harsh and gruff.

Her chin wavered, the fear falling away as she tried to catch her breath. “You,” she finally breathed out. “All of you.”

His kiss was fierce, deep and demanding and she felt it set her heart beating harder. He pressed up on one elbow, pushing the other hand between them and fumbling with his belt and pants. She tried to help him, pushing with her feet as he pushed down with his one hand, his pants and boxers moving stiltedly down his legs at the same time.

His pants caught at his ankles, bunching around the boots he never took off. He moved to stand but Peggy held tight, moving more from muscle memory than from conscious thought as she flipped him over, body pressed tight to his.

She shook as she pressed up on her knees, hand reaching between them to wrap around his length, hot and hard in her palm. She watched him struggle to stay still under her, felt his hands flex and relax against her skin, the grip tightening only barely perceptibly. She moved slowly, eyes locked on his, as she lifted her hips and shifted him into position, bit her lip as she sank down on him and moaned.

She threw her head back when her hips met his, groaning at the tendrils of pleasure that finally, finally started moving through her, cooling spirals through every inch that neutralized the pain and sparked passion, true passion, that wasn’t dictated by a feeling or a sensation.

Peggy wanted to look, wanted to see Steve beneath her, but couldn’t seem to muster the energy to open her eyes, she couldn’t even quite make herself move as she wallowed in the sensation of the pain finally, finally leaving her body.

She could feel his hands at her hips, fingers tightening and loosening with each breath. She grabbed them, dragged them up her body until he was palming her breasts, gently squeezing under her own hands. She let her hands slide down his arms, landing at his shoulders by touch alone, her breath finally coming in slow, deep breaths instead of the shallow stilted gasps she could barely manage before from the pain.

Eyes still closed, she began to rock her hips against his, small movements that made him moan under her. Tiny, little changes in direction that made the pleasure spark through her system like fireworks. His fingers found her nipples, playing and teasing as her movements became bolder, as she started to find a rhythm. She took her hands and moved them back up to his, plastering his hands to her body moaning, “more,” under her breath a she moved her hands up and down his arms.

He moved his hand as she blinked open her eyes for the first time, looking down at him, lust glazing her eyes over. He pressed his palm up over her chest, around her neck and up to cradle her cheek. She turned her head into his hand, closing her eyes again as her hips gained speed, nuzzling into his hand and nipping at his thumb before sucking it deep in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it. He moaned as her lips mimicked her hips movement.

“More,” she moaned again, this time frustration tinging her words.

Steve moved swiftly, gathering her in his arms rolling, despite the handicap of having both feet effectively tied together. Peggy moaned happily buried underneath him, nuzzling into his body and rubbing every inch against him, her hips rocking against his as she wound her legs around his hips. He could feel the feral haze starting to dissipate, the need and want purely his own. He hiked her legs up higher on his hips, slipping from her body. She frowned, moving to correct it when he held her still. “Just…wait.”

He waited until she’s stilled, then kicked one leg to the side ferociously, ripping his pants down the seam and freeing him from the restriction. He smiled won at her, wagging his eyebrows. She licked her lips, smiling up at him as he slid himself back home, flexing his hips deep within her.

She writhed under him as he began to move, clawing at his back to pull him closer. “Take me, Steve,” she whispered, holding on as his hips drove deeper into her. She moaned lewdly, the rumble in her chest from the noise spurring him on to press harder and faster as she buried her head is his neck, her hot breath pouring over him.

It could have been seconds, it could have been hours that they held one another, pressed tight as one body, moving and breathing and crying out together as he brought her higher and higher. As she moved one hand, finding that bundle of nerves that just couldn’t quite get touched at this angle. As he replaced her hand with his, causing her to arch off the bed with his touch. As she fell apart under him, her body tightening around him as she cried out, pushing him past his own edge of sanity until there was nothing left except them breathing heavy, a pile of spent, sweaty limbs.

He didn’t ask a number as he gathered her against him. He didn’t care about the shreds of fabric and heavy boots he still wore as he pulled the bedsheet over them.

He just wanted to sleep and to keep her safe, always.

#Steggy Fic #Steggy Bingo Bash #3P's Fic #This one got away from me #and it's very adult #featuring feral Steve

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crash-cinematic-universe · 4 years

Text

Abed Nadir and his need to count the seconds

pairing: abed nadir/troy barnes (it’s Light but I wrote it with the intent for trobed)

summary: Abed Nadir hates being alone in general, so when his friends disappear and leave him alone in a sea of job-seeking students he struggles to keep his head above water.

request: okay wait ur abed headcanons got me thinking. abed angst. kings gotta have abandonment issues cuz of his parents YES I'm projecting a little bit. u don't have to do this if it makes u too sad tho - @ghost-butch

warnings: abandonment issues, anxiety attacks, s/h (kinda; in the form of clenching ur fists too hard)

notes: writing abed angst makes me sad ): why did i do this to him he deserves better. also im about to punch evil abed in the face ):< just over 2k words with this one so thats Cool also its midnight and i have school tomorrow arent i epic and cool.

taglist: @simonsbluee

_____________

Fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds. Abed had been lost for fifteen minutes and twenty-two second. Abed’s eyes were trained on the clock hanging on the wall, each tick of the second hand amplified in his head to a piercing shout. Everything was bigger; the lights were blindingly bright and his clothes felt as if they were clawing at his skin. With each passing second Abed became increasingly worried, his breath getting shallower and shallower with each rise of his chest. His eyes returned to the clock on the wall, his stomach jumping at the reading-- sixteen minutes and fourteen seconds.

The study group had promised Abed they’d accompany him to the job fair. They promised they’d be by his side the entire time; Abed didn’t do well alone in large crowds, especially in new environments. He’d gotten distracted by an engineering booth in the corner with a large lego replica of the millennium falcon hanging in the corner. He looked away from his friends for no more than thirteen seconds, but in those thirteen seconds, they disappeared in the sea of students and booths and interns. Thus, leaving Abed completely alone in a mass of strangers in a building that he’d never seen before.

His anxiety had built up with every minute he was lost. It was gradual; he started with the initial panic, followed by frantic searching for familiar faces in the crowd. It wasn’t long after that when his heart rate began to pick up, and within minutes his skin felt as if it was on fire. Abed couldn’t really pinpoint exactly when he’d begun to shuffle backwards out of the large venue the job fair was held in. Before he knew it, he was at the end of a dimly lit hallway, completely alone. He slunk to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest.

They’ll look for me, he thought. They’re probably looking for me now. Abed reached into his pocket for his cellphone before he realized he’d left it with Troy. The emptiness of his pocket felt endless, his hand tingling where the fabric of his shorts met his skin. The familiar whine that Abed let out when he became overwhelmed filled the empty hallway, the tone only making his anxiety worse. He cursed himself for not thinking ahead-- he’d left all of his fidget toys and putty in his messenger bag which he also left with Troy.

It was then that a tiny voice in the back of his head spoke up-- maybe they left, it called. Abed shook his head, but the voice persisted. They left you. They’re gone, and no one is coming for you. A familiar figure materialized in the vast shadows at the other end of the hallway; Evil Abed smirked at him from where he stood.

“They’re gone,” He repeated. “They were waiting for something to draw you away for them so they could slip away,”

“That’s not true.” Abed’s fingers absentmindedly dug into his palm. “They wouldn’t do that-- Troy wouldn’t do that. Jeff and Britta, maybe, but not Troy. Not Annie.” Truthfully, Abed didn’t believe that Jeff or Britta would leave, but he wasn’t thinking clearly in the moment.

“Riddle me this, Abed, who does Troy respect more: you or Jeff? Who does he think is cooler? Who does he idolize more?” Evil Abed’s voice was smug and cruel. It felt as if his words were burrowing through his brain and fogging up his thoughts. “Sure, Troy might tolerate you, but he worships Jeff. If Jeff wanted to leave, then surely Britta and Annie would tag along. It’s inevitable that Troy would join them, isn’t it?” Abed shut his eyes tightly, but that didn’t do much to ward off his evil counterpart.

A film played behind Abed’s eyelids, the poetic irony of his worst fears being portrayed through his favorite thing making his heart ache. There they were: Jeff, Britta, Troy, Annie, all standing in a tight group as Abed wandered off. Their expressions and movements were exaggerated, but Abed didn’t care. He just sat and watched as the scene unfolded.

“God, I can’t believe he roped us into this,” Jeff groaned, his hands gripping his cellphone as if someone were going to take it from him. “What kind of loser can’t go to a damn fair by himself? I could have a hot redhead hanging on my arm at a sports bar and instead I’m babysitting a twenty-five-year-old.”

“C’mon Jeff, we’re here for Abed. God knows if he came here alone he’d probably drive everyone here crazy with his “Inspector Spacetime” BS.” Britta chimed in, a tired tone in her voice. Annie looked antsy as always, while Troy looked unsure. Abed wasn’t sure of what, exactly.

Slowly, Abed wandered a few feet away from the group. Jeff’s face lit up the same way it does when he sees an attractive student in the hallways. A borderline cartoon-ish grin grew on his face as he pulled the group tighter.

“Hey, Abed’s gone. Let’s take this window and get the hell out of here while the cat is distracted by the lazer,” He chuckled. Britta smiled and nodded, quickly grabbing Annie’s hand in an attempt to pull her out. The three of them made their way to the exit, leaving Troy alone. He turned around to glance at Abed before rolling his eyes and running after Jeff. Abed was alone.

The image faded away, and to Abed’s surprise, Evil Abed faded away with it. For a split second, Abed was disappointed. He really, really, really didn’t want to be alone-- even if his only companion was an evil version of himself. A minute passes before Abed realizes he was crying, that revelation followed by the realization that his fingernails dug into his palm so hard he broke the skin. His tears blurred his vision and made his surrounding seem much smaller, much darker, much lonelier. His eyes no longer portrayed a dim hallway. Instead, Abed saw the same tiny locker he was locked in so often as a teenager. He could smell the rusted metal of the locker hinges. He could feel the chipped paint rubbing against his skin. He couldn’t breathe. Abed couldn’t breathe-- the entire world was closing in on him. He was cold and alone and no one was coming for him. His friends left him and they weren’t coming back. Everyone who he cares about leaves him, why would they be any different? He watched the world pass by through the tiny slits in the door before his eyes screwed shut again as he choked on air.

He was in agony. His entire body shook and his heart pounded so hard he felt as if it were going to burst. Abed wanted to go home, he wanted to be back at Greendale with Troy and the rest of his friends but he was trapped. His arms began to cramp up from how hard he had tensed, his knuckles a pale white from how tightly he was clenching his fists. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak or sob or scream; he was stuck. Locked away. The outside world faded away as Abed retreated into his mind. He tried to hide away in his head forever until a janitor stumbled upon his frozen shell of a body tomorrow morning. There was an echoing sound, however, that kept drawing him from the abyss of his brain.

Footsteps. He could hear footsteps. Abed couldn’t tell whether or not they were real, but he could guess who’s footsteps they were. They were frantic and uneven-- they had the potential to be rhythmic, but the walker was urgent. Worried. The biggest identifying factor, though, was the quiet sound of plastic aglets on the tile floor; their shoes were untied. Abed smiled weakly as he recalled the fact that Troy almost never had his shoes tied. A glimmer of hope shone through the small slits in the locker door as the footsteps grew closer.

“Abed?” Troy’s voice cut through the silence in the hallway. He turned the corner and froze as his eyes landed on his friend. “Abed? God, there you are! You scared me half to death, and Jeff was already boring me to death with his lame lawyer stories, so now I’m only, like, a fourth away from death!”

Abed didn’t reply. He couldn’t-- he still didn’t know if Troy was real or just another image. He was still locked away, after all. Troy could tell something was wrong; Abed’s eyes had glazed over and he looked like he’d seen a ghost. Troy hurried over, his eyes frantically assessing the situation at hand. He saw the blood on Abed’s palms and his stomach lurched.

“Hey, Abed, are you alright?” Troy asked softly. “Did something happen?” Abed did not reply, instead releasing a small, high-pitched whine. Everything was foggy-- it was all too foggy for Abed to know whether or not he was simply envisioning this angel of a human.

“Alright, uh, I’m going to touch your wrist. Is that alright?” Abed hesitated before nodding ever-so-slightly.

Gently, Troy wrapped his hand around Abed’s wrist. The contact was startling, but not unwelcome. Abed was becoming more and more sure that this Troy was real. The tight locker melted away to reveal the same dark hallway; his anxiety was eased a bit,but he still couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that settled over him. He glanced at the clock once again-- he was alone for thirty-two minutes and forty-seven seconds in total.

“I’m sorry I lost you,” Troy spoke quietly. His voice was comforting and genuine, his face soft and kind. He didn’t match the Troy that Evil Abed created at all. “I know this place is overwhelming, I’m so sorry. We should’ve been more attentive and more careful, this place is like a maze.” Abed soon realized he was too tired to respond verbally, instead opting to hold Troy’s hand. A silent reassurance was exchanged through their intertwined fingers. Abed’s palms stung a bit, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He was just so tired. His muscles were sore and his chest ached and his head pounded. He wanted to go home.

“Britta was practically running across the building looking for you, ya know,” Troy said. His hand was still holding Abed’s. “Annie started crying after 10 minutes, and for a second Jeff looked like he was going to cry, too. They were all so worried. I was worried, too. The thought of something bad happening to you was too much to handle.”

“I know you hate being alone, too. I guess you probably thought we ditched you or something. Jeff thought you ditched us, but I knew that wasn’t true. It doesn’t really matter, though, because I’m here now,” That final phrase echoed in Abed’s mind as he sat beside his friend. “I want you to know that I really care about you. I want-- I need you to know that I would never ever ditch you like that. Not in a million billion years, not even for a million dollars,”

They sat there for a few more minutes before Annie turned the corner and shouted, sprinting full speed towards the two men at the end of the hallway. Britta and Jeff followed closely after, a wave of relief washing over their faces. They all gushed about their worries and concerns. Annie was quick to tend to the small indents in Abed’s palm, and Jeff and Britta talked about how freaked they were when they realized Abed disappeared. Jeff mentioned stopping by every directing booth in the entire building to see if Abed had landed there-- he even grabbed a few pamphlets for him to flick through later. Finally, Abed gained the energy to stand up, and he walked down the hallway with his friends beside him and Troy’s fingers still laced with him.

On his way out, Abed glanced at the clock on the wall-- twenty-two minutes and twelve seconds. Abed had been surrounded by his wonderfully chaotic family for the past twenty-two minutes, and he’d never felt more secure.

#abed nadir #abed nadir x troy barnes #community #community tv #trobed #britta perry #jeff winger #annie edison #the greendale seven #abed nadir angst #troybed #s/h mention

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stepgazz · 4 years

Text

some other day // lee jeno oneshot

you and your best friend often enjoy drunken evenings, but there’s always something more to be said.

genre: fluff with a bunch of sexual tension

word count: 3.000

warnings: a swear word? not proofread.

----

You got up and walked over to the table, grabbing a new bottle of wine. You looked over your shoulder to the black-haired boy sitting on the floor, waiting for your return with his head tilted to the side: a thin, white t-shirt draped over his sculpted back, molding his wide shoulders into an imposing frame. Yet, the way he sat, propped on his arms, exposing his chest, made him somewhat endearing. You loved the thought: Jeno exposing himself to you this way; being vulnerable.

A subtle smile curled your lips upwards as you walked over to sit before him, on the floor.

“You can’t get fancier than this.” You spoke with pride and showed off the drink as he looked up at you, his eyes glimmering with a smile, carved into his handsome face like two semi lunes. You gulped at how his cheekbones rose, a soft hum vibrating in your throat.

“Agreed.” He chuckled back, following your gaze as you sat down on the boring, beige moquette. Staining it with red wine would probably do it a service, Jeno would always tell you on nights like these. The floor in his room was covered with it, and it highly contrasted the dark wood of his furniture or the vibrant pictures on his walls, which the two of you would always stare at after a few glasses, finding new meaning in every single brushstroke Renjun had done or in every flower Jaemin had photographed. So eventually, you both agreed that the dull carpet helped highlight every other detail in his room.

Sitting with your knee up to your chest, you watched Jeno pour red wine into the glasses: the wax in his hair was losing its effect, so his charming quiff was growing undone. Black strands started rolling down his forehead, waving inwards above the glasses he had on. Jeno’s lower lip was tucked between his teeth as he furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, trying to make the amount of wine in each glass even.

“We’ll end up drinking out of the bottle anyway.” You laughed at his efforts, to which he snickered before giving up and handing you your glass.

“Cheers!” you both exclaimed, clinking the glasses together then chugging a few gulps. It wasn’t the first bottle of the night.

Jeno ran his tongue over his lips then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Maybe it was the alcohol swaying in your head that made him look even more handsome than usual.

Jeno was your “ex”. You two had been together some time during high school for a month, period in which you kissed a few times, watched a movie once and played with his cats like three times. You broke up, stayed friends and eventually became really close. Now, 2 years after your “relationship”, you could barely stay away from each other.

But these days, something weighed in the air.

His ruddy cheeks scrunched up as he smiled, failing to notice you staring at him. You loved him in every way there was, for every reason he gave you. He had been your first love, but neither of you knew how to handle this type of connection back then. So, years later, that idea of “some other day” started to stir your guts.

Gentleness had always been attractive to you and Jeno was overflowing with it. The way he held pencils or wine bottles, the way he pushed his glasses up his nose, the way he drummed his fingers on the table; those tiny tells that exposed a deeply tender person. He never spoke fast or wasted his words. He always kissed his cats’ foreheads when they came up to him. There was something soothing about him.

But then, he was really intimidating as well. Not only physically, but generally from his demeanor to his scolding and complaining. He rarely ever got angry, but he never failed to make his points clear when he did.

That’s why you felt really special around him. Jeno never felt scary to you, and he never tried to be. There was an unexplainable intimacy between the two of you.

You started talking nonsense eventually. You followed his eyes mindlessly, sucking in sharp breaths whenever they met yours. Still, Jeno peered around the room restlessly, from the celling to the bottle he kept drinking out of, instead of his glass. His face was glowing red and terribly distracting: you kept forgetting what you were talking about and slurring your words, making him tap your forehead lightly every now and then.

“Has (Name) had a bit too much wine?” he teased sweetly, drawing your glass away from you before you pulled it back with a groan. He laughed at you a bit too pleasantly.

“At least my face doesn’t look like it’s about to combust!” you joked back, Jeno pressing his hand to his heart in a defeated way.

“Ah, harsh…” he shook his head with a snicker.

Silence fell slowly, comfortably. He looked down towards the floor before your crossed legs while you spun the dark, shiny liquid around in your glass. The smell was starting to make your head feel thick. Still, you downed the remaining drips. Jeno found your face, puffing his chest as he watched the glass rim press against your mouth. He listened to you swallow with parted lips, his heart a bit more unsteady with each passing second.

As soon as you finished, he reached for your glass and tore it from your grip, pouring a bit more wine into it with a slight smile.

“Jeno I’ll pass out if I drink anymore—”

“I want to make a toast with you!” he cut you off playfully, handing you the cup back with barely any liquid in it.

You shook your head in disbelief as he confidently lifted his drink, the wine dripping off the side of the glass in places, as he had poured it so clumsily.

“To (Name)” he started. Hearing your name fall from his mouth always made it sound better. “and to that dumb month during high school!”

You looked up at him with your breath caught in your throat. You’d talked about “that month” comfortably and a bunch of times since then, and it had never felt as sensitive as it did now. An old scar felt tingly, somewhere in your chest.

Before he could take a sip, you lifted your own cup and spoke lightheartedly:

“To Jeno and to all those things I wish I could’ve done during that dumb month.”

Then proceeded to drink up. Jeno stared at you wordlessly, with his eyebrows slightly raised above the frame of his glasses.

“What things?”

“Hm?” you questioned while chugging.

Jeno pulled your wrist down, the wine glass parting from your lips with a wet sound.

“What things?” Jeno looked into your eyes as he kept your hand pinned into his. His voice felt more demanding than curious, a muted pleading laced in it. You searched for the answer as you blinked away the tipsiness from your vision. You had asked yourself the same question multiple times and you had found answer after answer, no matter it being about physicality or moral support. Regret had always wrapped the memory of that stupid relationship you had had. There was always more to wish you had done.

“Well…For example…”

He raised his eyebrows even higher at you, his whole face lighting up with expectation.

“I’ve always wanted to kiss that mole near your right eye.”

He exhaled with laughter then let your hand go, going back into his previous position. He supported himself in his hands, leaning back. The muscles in his forearms tensed at the shift in weight.

“Go ahead then.”

“What?” you laughed, taken aback.

“I’m serious! Do it.” Jeno smiled reassuringly, but something in his tone felt alluring, inviting in the most seductive way.

You fumbled for a second. You couldn’t comprehend if there would be any bad consequences to it, your mind felt too agitated. His eyes crinkled into crescents before raising an eyebrow at your stumbling. Your lungs felt like they were shrinking as you inched closer to him in order to reach his face. As soon as you were mere centimeters from him, his expression melted into a serious one. The rich brown of his eyes grew dark, his breath grew rare. Jeno held eye-contact with his jaw clenched, but with relaxed shoulders, in a domineering look.

Your fingers hooked around the temples of his glasses, slowly drawing them off his nose and into your palms. You closed them and placed them next to your knees, which were pressing to the side of Jeno’s hips. The gesture felt immensely intimate, making the boy swallow a hum before smiling softly. There was heavy expectation in your glares.

You cupped his face softly, running your thumb over the spot you were going to kiss. That tiny mole always caught your eye when you looked at him; it seemed like the perfect place for a smooch, it almost felt marked with this purpose. Jeno closed his eyes half-way, exhaling into your cheek. Your heart was probably vibrating inside your rib cage.

As your lips flattened on his skin, your face tingled red. You heard him gulp once again while your mouth lingered on his cheekbone and you almost refused to abandon the contact. As you pulled away, you felt his position shift before you, and Jeno leaned on one arm in order to bring the other to your waist.

“Tell me another thing.”

Panic rose into your brain quickly. The way your lips burned made you think you couldn’t even speak.

“Jeno…You’re drunk.”

He opened his eyes to find yours, piercing into them with such intensity you thought your head would catch fire. His arm enclosed you demandingly while he inhaled, cocking his head to one side.

“Please.”

You bit down onto your tongue while your hands slipped onto his shoulders, searching for a safer place to rest than his face. You could tell when he was drunk. You had seen him drunk so many times you had learnt his favorite snacks to pair with beer or how many ice cubes he puts in whiskey. You had also learnt that when he’s wine drunk, he’s playful. Skittish. You were more than aware that, in that moment, Jeno was very much sober.

“I’ve…always wanted to sit in your lap and play with your hair.”

Had that been too bold? Your eyes widened at your own words. You hoped he would start laughing soon, sparing you of the maddening rush of emotions that threatened to crush you. The situation felt too sappy to be true and you weighed the possibility of it being a drunken dream.

But he heard you. His face lit up with a choked-back smile before following your orders. His thin fingers bit into your side, beckoning you to sit up for a second while he unfolded his legs beneath you. So eventually, you were sat in his lap, your thighs flushed against his in a scorching touch.

Jeno leaned into your warmth, pressing his chin into your sternum and looking up at you patiently. This alluring glow in his expression almost made you look away, overpowered.

Despite that, his voice was deep and commanding. “Only that?”

You clicked your tongue, bunching up the cloth over his shoulders in your fist. You wished you had gotten more drunk for this. He chuckled at your reaction.

“(Name).”

“Yeah?”

“Do whatever you want.”

With that, Jeno leaned back onto his hands and waited for your next move. His eyes devoured your features, carving your blushing image into his retinas. He wanted to hold you this way. He had craved to hold you this way. Whatever you decided to do, he wished you’d do it faster.

The air around you felt colder without his arm protecting you. Your spine crawled with chills as you stared at his face: his eyelashes casted a delicate shadow over his intense glare, his lips pressed together in expectation. He truly resembled an impeccable marble statue, only alive through the chest you could feel rising against your elbows. The room almost reverberated with his breathing, booming in your head like thunder.

You hesitatingly slid your palms up the nape of his neck, dipping your fingertips into the feeling of his hair. Again, something profoundly intimate made your eye-contact feel electric. Seconds later, you started combing through the black strands, bunching them up into little ponytails or braiding them loosely before pulling them apart. His nose poked at the sensitive skin of your forearm, making you realize how close you actually were to him. Jeno sat closed-eyed and leaned into your soft, consoling touch, which grew slower and more careful with each passing moment.

Eventually, his cheek was fully nestled in your palm.

The flesh of his neck was exposed. Vulnerable. The way you licked your lips at the sight made you shiver at yourself. The pretty lines of muscle beneath his skin felt like they were waiting to be traced. So, you gave in. Pumped with adrenaline, you could almost hear your fingerprints stain his skin. The contact made both of you suck in a breath, Jeno exhaling into a muted groan as he fisted at the boring, beige moquette. His knuckles turned white while his legs bent up against your back to trap you on top of him.

Yet, he didn't turn away. His face remained cradled in your palm, revealing so much territory for you to explore. Your fingers grew braver, curving around his jaw and collarbones. Jeno never opened his eyes or changed his stoic expression. His only reaction resumed to some strained hums he couldn't hold back.

You pressed your lips together, soaking them in your own spit. “Jeno.”

“Hm?”

“I’ve always wanted to sit in your lap and kiss your neck.”

And finally, he met your gaze. So did his hands meet your waist once again, this time gripping the flesh with hunger while you dug your nails behind his ears. He laughed with his mouth closed, the signature eye-smile curling his face up sweetly, in contrast with the desperate passion in his lock.

“Yeah, me too.” Jeno kept smiling at you before tilting his head to the right, your eyes still engaged. And, for the first time, Jeno looked really powerful to you. Scarily powerful.

His eyelids hooded the fierce look in his glare as his heartbeat started picking up its pace. There wasn’t a drop of regret in his mind: after 2 years, he’d found you again. You were opening the door to feelings he hoped to have snuffed out, only for you to set them ablaze once more.

Still, he never expected to have you piling slow kisses onto the skin of his neck like this. The feeling of your hips fastening against his and your soft hands ruffling his locks was a fantasy he was embarrassed about. Best friends don’t do these things, do they?

But you were doing it all and Jeno was loving it. He rolled his head back, displaying his Adam’s apple which bobbed with murmurs. His torso tightened underneath you, his arms hooking you even closer to his body. Your mouth perfectly fit each curve on his skin and you could’ve sworn there wasn’t a spot you hadn’t touched on his throat. Kissing his jawline pulled guttural sounds from him; that, or the way you pushed his face impossibly close to yours with your fingers tugging at his hair.

Suddenly, he brought his head back, bumping his nose against yours and breathing heavily. The disruption of contact made you whine thoughtlessly, hot air sweeping over Jeno’s mouth. As one of his hands rose to your cheek, the other slid to clasp the side of your thigh; they felt frighteningly big but somehow, still gentle.

His deep whisper made the hairs on your nape rise. “Tell me another one.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Blood pumped inside your ears like it was boiling. It might have been.

“Has one of my cats got your tongue?” he laughed in an innocent tone, keeping you a few painful centimeters away from him. You swallowed down hard.

Tilting his face closer to yours, he spoke millimeters above your lips. “Let me guess?”

You sealed his mouth before he could say anything else, stamping a profound kiss to it. Your arms snaked around his neck as Jeno gave in, smiling; he craned your head for better access with his palm. On your hip, his fingers sank into the flesh like a hungered bite. The air smelled of wine and heat.

The ardor of the kiss grew slow, lewd. Your mouth opened against his impatiently as Jeno bit down onto your burning lips. Eventually, your tongues came upon each other, making the two of you sigh. Lascivious sounds filled the room quickly.

Jeno’s hands grabbed tightly onto your hips as he unstuck his mouth from yours with a pop. Both of you panted, your foreheads still pressed onto one another tightly. The happy laugh that came from him made you smile in realization, followed by hasty giggles when he started pecking your jawline and cheeks. A string of saliva was plastered on your chin.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” He leaned further above you, inviting you to lay on the ground, his eyes still coiled with bliss.

And as you did, the sound of a glass tipping over made the two of you anxiously turn your heads. Jeno’s wine glass, which had been almost full, fell over when he bumped it with his knee as he was settling on top of you. The burgundy liquid was already soaking into the moquette, tinting it with a vibrant, red shade. He defeatedly dropped his head into the dip between your collarbones, sighing deeply while you burst with laughter. Hearing you made him cackle as well.

Jeno pecked your lips as you laughed before meeting your eyes with a sigh. “I hate this fucking carpet anyways.”

#nct #nct dream #nct ff #nct dream ff #jeno ff #jeno scenario #jeno fluff #jeno #jeno oneshot

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buck-nialled · 4 years

Text

Empty Pages - R. Mendes (3)

NOTE: well if you saw my last post then you know how this chapter is going to end but if you haven't, well, get ready *cue evil laughter* also let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list by messaging or replying to this post, thanks!

PROLOGUE // PART ONE // PART TWO

Raul was not expecting to put that much effort into the drawing, really. Half of the hard work was already done, thanks to Lily and Mrs. Basel discussing most of what the work’s finer elements were right in earshot of him. The boy thought by the time he was finished sketching out the rough design in number two pencil, going as far as to outline it in black pen exhibited enough effort. But he knew it was lacking in its message and persuasion. The anger only the red colored pencil glaring at him from the unopened box buried beneath the healing pile of past schoolwork on his desk could portray to his audience. His fingers twitched and finally, his body caved and leaped up from his bed and to his desk where he reached for the box of perfectly sharpened, untouched pencils.

He was tentative with his color choice, and even more cautious when blending the different shades and allowing movement across the piece. No weights nor frivolous purchases of ripped jeans and leather jackets would come to be quite as cathartic as scrubbing the colored lead furiously back and forth across the paper. A full two hours had passed when Raul finally conceded to his completed drawing and set the dull pencil down. His hands were cramping, and various splotches of blended wax tainted his palms and knuckles like bruises, but he felt okay with it, strangely.

“Hey, Raul do you—” Shawn’s voice made his brother’s head snap up from the drawing to look at him. “Woah, dude…that looks great.” Shawn slowly approached his brother’s work with caution, afraid to lift even a finger in fear of Raul reaching out to snap it. “And I thought you were going to cheat off of me or Pete.” He chuckles, eyes continuing to study the slogan and illustration encompassing the destruction of routine and tradition. “You came up with this yourself?”

Raul bit his lip, now becoming irritated with Shawn’s wandering eyes. “Did you need something?” The older asks, rising up from his bed so his frame could shield the paper. Shawn’s eyes grew wide and he cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I was just gonna ask if you still had that drawing stuff. You know, the stuff that mom gave you that one—” Shawn’s ask was interrupted with a sharp “oof” when Raul shoved the box of pencils against his chest.

“Anything else you need?” He quirks a brow to his brother. Shawn sets his lips into a firm line and shakes his head, before sending Raul a quick ‘thanks’ and retreating back into his own bedroom. When his bedroom door is shut once again, Raul heaves a sigh and lets his tired hands into the river of curls say on his head. The heap of gel he applied to his hair this morning made the dark locks a little less smooth than what he had imagined. Turning back to face the paper with a sigh, Shawn’s unanswered question continued ringing in his ears until he slid the paper into his folder and the folder into his backpack.

“It’s just a project. Just a project…” Raul repeated this mantra to himself that night until he fell asleep.

The following morning, Lily waltzed up to her teacher’s desk with the best smile her fatigued state could muster, propaganda in hand ready to hand in.

“Here you are, Mrs. K.”

“Oh, no sweetie. You’re going to be presenting them.” Her eyes flicked away from the digital attendance sheet on her computer screen and to the young woman. Lily notes that her eyes never even glanced over her work, meaning other students must have had the same idea of turning it in.

“Oh…everybody?” Her smile begins faltering. The teacher hums and sends a small nod, cueing Lily to walk to her desk with crushed expectations. As she sank down into the chair, the sight of a brooding form drenched in black caught her site. She tilted her head to the right, spotting Raul Mendes early and eager in his chair. Had Raul not been adorned in the shirt with burn holes near his collarbone and eight years younger, there was no doubt Lily would be on the edge of her seat beside him, drumming against the wooden desks with their no. 2 pencils in anticipation.

But Lily would say she overall felt a riveting urge in her stomach to make a beeline toward the school clinic and bluff her anxiety with a stomachache. Mrs. K completed attendance as the girl continued to gnaw on her lip.

“Alright, let’s begin!” The instructor announces, reading down the line of various names. Finally, she reached ‘M’ and beckoned Raul up to stand before the rows of desks and share his work. Normally, Raul would prefer his brothers (mostly Peter) to be in the same class as him, in order for time to be stalled even longer for any assignments the oldest might have missed the night previous. Raul, however, lacked a single complaint in his mind as he let his black sneakers steer him to stand in front of his English class with a tantalizing smirk.

“I title this piece: Breaking Tradition.” Silence followed the boy’s introduction due to the overwhelming surprise his peers felt that Raul not only completed his project within the given time limit but did so marvelously. Some lips parted in appalment--Mrs. K’s included—while others gasped. The initial silence was not long-lasting, however, and the proof lied in arbitrary whisper’s floating around the cinderblock building, all discussing Raul’s piece.

But one voice remained silent through the tirade of talk. Her jaw was too busy clenching furiously. Her teeth were grinding together to the point where they might have ground one another to dust but Lily could care less. That was her idea on his paper. That was her design she discussed with Mrs. Basel only a day prior, which was displayed gloriously on Raul Mendes’s paper. Even worse, it looked better than hers did, despite the hours she spent through the night blending and measuring and lettering every word on the damn slogan to perfection.

And the man stood to the front of the class just sat with an accomplished smile and dazzling brown eyes, as if he thought he deserved the credit. Her heart began thrumming in her chest, drowning out some of Raul’s syllables amidst his explanation which Lily was certain mimicked her presentation verbatim. Her fingers curled and twisted against her palms, the nails she would bite everyday subconsciously now digging broken crescents into her skin. Mad was one emotion Lily never found herself yearning to express—unlike Raul, who found no trouble allowing his to show a swelling bruise against Connor’s cheek—but this anger surging through her veins and rampant pulse appearing at her temples in seconds felt multiplied. The girl was furious.

As her sight of Raul began to become tainted with red, she detected Raul’s eyes in one, continuous spot. They remained on Isabella’s seat for the duration of his speech, though his target was not trying her hardest to reciprocate. From Lily’s seat, one could see the artificial light graze the girl’s profile like a brushstroke. Her jawline was slim and sharp, yet her lips portrayed a soft, childlike pout as she gazed adoringly down at her recently manicured set, coated in only the most overelaborate-named polishes, like “Harp Seal Silver Fur” or “Black Kyoto Pearl”. If it was not her nails, it was the new string of text messages her and Connor were participating in more often than class discussions if the teacher was too enthralled by the symbolism Orwell disguises so carefully, or how the human brain makes up an entire two percent of your body weight.

Unfortunately for Lily, she was also seated beside Isabella in their anatomy course, very much against her will.

“Brilliant job.” Mrs. K mutters to Raul upon him handing her his work. He returns the compliment with a taller smirk than he was holding before as if he was not staring into the woman responsible for questioning his attendance only two days prior. His eyes flickered back to Isabella and remained on her throughout his journey back into his desk seat, absorbing her from every angle, and allowing his footsteps to slow in their stride.

“Lily?” Her head snapped away from the spot Raul was just occupying, to Mrs. K, heartbeat rattling her ribcage like a xylophone out of tune.

“Huh?”

“It’s your turn…” The teacher informs.

“Oh…uh…” Her cheeks were aflame but thankful for her shoulder-length hair to curtain them as she tilted her head down to the open binder. Her work glared back at her, yearning so badly to be picked up and bragged about, but how was she to repeat the last five minutes of class in a different body and less adequate art piece, and not expect consequences. Judging by Raul’s unbridled confidence, Lily doubts he would come clean about his plagiarism. Even worse, he would not hesitate to manipulate the situation to fixate the blame on Lily, instead. It was not hard to do with the golden honey encapsulated in his irises and pair of choppers he has since been exchanging for a fine smirk. The point is that, though she had an honest reputation, so did Raul Mendes—for the most part. And who was she to allow that to possibly deteriorate within a matter of minutes over a school assignment?

It would be the mature thing to do, sure. But this was high school, and an eighteen your old Raul Mendes has made it clear that playing dirty in order to appease this newly constructed figure of his was less than bothersome.

“I guess…I-I forgot.” Lily murmurs quietly from her desk, closing her binder to remove the work from her sight. “Sorry, Mrs. K.” There was a tingling sensation against her right cheek from Raul’s speculating pair, but the feeling faded from her profile seconds after Isabella’s presence was invited to the front of the class by the instructor.

She would find a way to avenge the assignment soon. Little did her privy classmate know that Lily Mirray could play dirty when fate beckons for it. And fate’s call was Isabella standing up from her seat and strutting towards the whiteboard, skirt swishing in each step.

Raul’s fascinated stare remained on Isabella’s form throughout her entire presentation.

And so did Lily’s.

TAGLIST; @fanficshawn @lonelyreputation @shawnmendez @fan-of-many-bands

#shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes au #mendes triplet au #mendes triplets #raul mendes #peter mendes

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enigma-im · 4 years

Text

Hot Blooded

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Hufflepuff x Ravenclaw Warning: based on another story, sexual fever, original characters, Harry Potter world, dirty talk, intercourse

Word Count: 3797

Based on This story.

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My skin felt prickly and sticky against my clothes. The offense of wearing anything was down right irredeemable to my body. The thinnest hairs stuck to my forehead and neck, my limbs heavy. I felt drunk, the best comparison I could make. Though in my experiences of being drunk I have never been so unbelievably horny. It's repulsive to think about the slick dribbling down my leg. The way my nipples harden by the slightest breeze- or slightest adult thought.

It was helpful in some way to know everyone feels the same, disgusted in their own skin. Some took to the change fine, taking the opportunity to touch whoever to better their chances of getting their rocks off. It was simple to tell who took this seriously and who took this a chance to sleep with someone. To be fair, some of those people also saw this as a romantic endeavor. I couldn't even bother to look at it that way. I hardly cared about relationships or doing the 'beast with two backs' with another. I had better things to do with my time than stare wistfully at someone till they notice me and ask me out. This entire situation was more than inconvenient.

On the other hand, I can see how this would be beneficiary to everyone. It has started taking down the divides the houses have brought upon us. Which is grand, it was a ridiculous notion in itself to parade around like your house was the superior one. We all brought something to the table, it be ignorant not to see it. Also the added points of getting the relationship thing out of the way. I won’t lie and say I am revolted by the very idea of coupling off with someone. I have always wanted the familiarity that comes with a partner, even the physical parts. I just loathe the experience of dating. This cuts that in a way that I can admire but still despise my lack of control over. I just hope that my lover will be someone who can challenge me in ways most don't. less you are another Ravenclaw, then that’s just for sport more than the value of conversation.

The first week is painful, I won't lie. It's when word gets out that self relaxation brings the boiling to a simmer that its more tolerable. I find myself trotting off often just to be able to relax in my own skin. I try to take a guess who my other might be knowing that people generally feel a pull. Of course first day everyone figured out who's partner was in their respective houses. So I know to not even bother with catching eyes with people at my dinner row. I first glance over to Slytherin, I never bought into the whole 'they are the evil house'. That was just rude. I can see the appeal in them, having a strong leadership role in their lives as high standing citizens. I wouldn't be opposed to snatching one of their members for my own. After a while of nothing, I don't even glance their way.

I try for a Gryffindor, appreciating their brave personalities. Very selfless people who will take a bullet for the ones they are loyal to. I adore that kind of devotion. In my own private times I have dabbled in stories that feeds towards a more romantic style. My heart swells at the lover's care and loyalty towards one another. I would be perfectly content with a Gryffindor boyfriend. A passing thought, 'a jock to my genius'. Not that I ever flattered myself a genius, never. Still, it seems it wasn't meant to be.

I do not try to label everyone, knowing stereotypes are but hurtful boxes we draw around one another. A Gryffindor isn't always going to be the heroes to a story just like a Slytherin isn't some villain lurking in the shadows. But I'm not perfect, never claimed to be. I believe some groups tend to fall in certain categories, not restricted to but…

When I first see him I'm awestruck. My body tingles and my loins throb. For a moment all I could think about was tearing his shirt off with my teeth. Any other time that would have been alarming, but I could hardly care. He doesn't meet my eyes, just smiling brightly with his friends. He is brawny man, his chest broad and firm looking. His hair is wavy, the bangs obscuring his vision often. His smile is radiating, so much so I can't help but smile as well. My mind catches up with me and I begin to wonder where he belongs. He is strong and charming, surely he is a Gryffindor. His peers all look towards him, the center of attention, perhaps he is a Slytherin. I know he isn't a Ravenclaw, having never met him before.

My mind puzzles it all out till an obvious piece fits in the middle. He is sitting at the Hufflepuff table. I flinch with confusion. No, I can't be paired with a Hufflepuff. It's not that I don't like them, I mean they are the house labeled strictly for their kindness. It would be almost a sin to despise them. No, the reason I'm appalled- not appalled, more bothered- is because I can't fathom the idea of my soulmate being a Hufflepuff. They are too nice, how could I have an argument with one without feeling like I kicked a puppy? I'm way too cynical to be paired with the embodiment of child's laughter. I am prone to bouts of anger, lashing out at others because I can. I don't see how at any point that him being there wouldn't make me feel like a, well, piece of shit.

As he is laughing at something his friends say he catches my eye, his smile faltering for a moment as he just stares. He looks at me like he is puzzling something out, tilting his head in a way that it reminds me of a golden retriever. I don't stick around long enough to see when he figures it out.

I hop from my seat, startling others as I grab my things. I shove a book under my arm, grabbing the half finished biscuit from my plate. I shove the pastry in my mouth before absconding like a scared idiot. I rush out the large double doors, into the hall where I find the direction towards the washroom.

As I turn the corner out of the main hall I hear the scuff of shoes. My heart throbs at the idea that it's him. I both wish for him to be chasing me and desire to find a crevice to hide in. I hear the patter of quickly approaching feet. I drop the biscuit from my mouth and book it down the hall.

"Wait," he calls out. My jaw ticks, his voice is like rich syrup. It soaks into my bones, feeling like a warm embrace. The already ramping heat feels like an inferno at the sound. I run faster.

I turn off another corner, prolonging the inevitable. I know at some point we would have to talk, touch. It's the only cure. Still, I wish for more time. I need to get my thoughts in order, figure out the best way to approach this. Never in a hundred years would I have thought my soulmate was the kindhearted Hufflepuff. I didn’t even consider it, that being on oversight I know now. I just need more time.

As I rush down the hall, shortly after my turn I hear shoes scuff again. He is fast, I'll give em that.

"Please, wait," he begs. Here we go, already I feel like I kicked a puppy. How could this ever work if I will always feel like garbage when I do anything against him.

"Leave me alone," I find myself screaming out. My body is already tired, overheated and weak. My pace begins to slow, his footsteps getting closer. I finally give up, stopping with a slow jog before I rest my hands on my knees. I catch my breath, the sweat soaking through my shirt.

I can smell him before I hear him, which is strange since I knew he was there. I worry for a moment that he is going to reach out and touch me, but he sits just in my peripheral near the opposite wall. He gives me a moment, which I am grateful for. I prolong the moment, just enough to get my thoughts in order. When its clear I have caught my breath I stand straight and glance towards him.

His wavy locks are plastered to his forehead, his shirt sticking to his chest. I can't help but drool a little at the sight. I expect to see an exasperated look, if not a disappointed one. On anyone else I'd even guess angry but who has ever seen an angry Hufflepuff and lived to tell the tale? Instead I see a very concerned, patient look. It stings my heart more than warms it.

"You alright," he asks. He rests against the wall, hands holding the windowsill. His chest looks broader, strong and appetizing. I can picture myself resting on that chest at night, his big arms holding me close as we rest. Even see myself pressing my hands to it as I ride him. Taking his cock while leaving red whelps with my nails. I can see the outline of his erection, my brain humming with the view. How easily I could discard his shorts and take him into my mouth. Be damned who can see, just slide him past my lips an-

"I can say it's a relief to know you didn't run because you found me repulsive," he chuckles. I startle from my thoughts, meeting his eyes quickly.

"Sorry," I mumble, my cheek red for more than one reason.

"All is well, I like looking at you too," he hums, looking me over. Nothing I wear is slutty by any means. A simple baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts, hardly scandalous. Yet, the way his chest bounces with his rapid inhales and his fingers clench the window I feel down right sexy. "You are very gorgeous," he grins.

"thank you," I bite my lip. His eyes dart to the action, licking his own in response.

"I wish to touch you but I have the impression that you aren't interested just yet," he shakes his head. He rubs his face, coming back to himself while I think of an answer.

"yea, sorry about that. It's just a lot to take in, you know," I grin sympathetically.

"I get that," he rests his head towards his shoulder," we never met before, it can be nerve racking. Though I can give you a bit of ease when I say I will not touch you without your expressive consent. I'd hate for our very first introduction to be so coerced."

"I appreciate that," I answer. There goes that sweet Hufflepuff style, nicest folks around. My brain feels too muddled to think about why this match wouldn’t work. I want nothing more than to jump his rod and lick the sweat dripping down his neck. Though I know more thought should be put into this. Right?

"So I have a question, feel free not to answer. Why did you run," he cuts straight to the point. I try to think of a lie, it felt like the right thing to do less I hurt his feelings. Yet my greatest tool is left sitting in a puddle of hormones, lavishing itself in the visual glory of this man.

"Why would anyone run from their supposed soulmate," I try to stall. Knowing he would be too optimistic to assume anything awful like being house-ist.

He hums, "I can think of a few. We both know its not the obvious, unattraction, so I can rule that out. So it could be because you aren't ready, which I can respect. A lot of my friends took some time when they found out theirs wasn't in the same house. It could be because we are stranger and you might have been hoping for someone else. Though I think I know the real answer, you don't like being paired with a Hufflepuff." He holds my stare with confidence, knowing he hit the nail on the head. I'm mildly impressed with his deduction skills. Though I'm not pleased with it.

"How do you figure," I cross my arms, leaning back into the cool wall.

He copies my pose," Well, we are good at observing, it's what makes us so good at finding things." I bite my cheek to not smile at the obvious joke. "but in all honesty its because I know Ravenclaws, you guys tend to be… prickly about things."

I gawk," Prickly?"

"Yea, you know what you know and you stick by it, even if you’re wrong. Like I know you are upset with us because you think I'm too nice," he answers," That I'd either not keep up with you mentally or I'd be too caring to want to argue. I feel I have to explain this every week but Hufflepuffs are nice to their core, doesn't mean it dictates their way of life. I will fight someone if they deserve it, though I still would be a helping hand if someone asks for one. I can debate and argue with the best of em but I still will check in afterwards to make sure everything is ok. I'm nice, not a nun."

I stare at him curious, too flabbergasted at his rather intelligent argument. I know every house has a thing that defines them but doesn't exclude other traits. A Gryffindor can be brave and shy. A Slytherin can be compassionate but firm. A Ravenclaw can be bad at school but still be dedicated to learning. If that’s all true and I know it, why do I consider Hufflepuffs to their labels? I want to believe him, I really do, but I can't see him being someone who can be anything other than a goody-twoshoes.

He notices my apprehension and starts another compelling argument. " to stay on theme how bout I tell you something that a good old Hufflepuff wouldn’t say? Like looking at you right now all I want to do is rip that shirt in half and lave your nipples with my tongue. Kiss down your body then pull your shorts off with my teeth before diving into your, more than likely, dripping cunt," as he speaks he steps closer," taste the divine wine of your slick while listening to your cries of pleasure. I know I can make you scream, no doubt in my mind." he rests his hands on either side of me, arching in a way that he can't accidentally brush me," I want your legs wrapped around my waist, my cock buried so far inside you that you could feel it for weeks. I want to hear the sound of my hips meeting yours, hear the sound of your breathy gasp and delirious groans. Then meet our mutual end with our shouts echoing through this hall, you clenched so tight around me as I bite your neck. Mhm, my cock throbs just thinking about it."

I gulp hard. This beautiful son of a bitch has done what no other has even come close to. He has left me speechless. I want all those things, I want his fingers leaving marks on my hips as he fucks me into delirium. I take a moment to even have a coherent thought that doesn't have the word cock in it.

I lick my lips as I meet his eyes," I-I think I can be the bigger person and say I may have been wrong about you.." I stutter on his name.

"Adam," he provides.

"Adam," I finish," perhaps you aren't the goody-twoshoes I thought you were."

"Well I do aim to please," he grins. I have the very strong urge to lick his teeth. I never even found that idea appealing till now.

"I'd imagine you could do more than please," I chuckle as I watch his tongue moisten his bottom lip.

"that I can, princess," I nearly melt at the pet name, "Now, do I need to give you more time or would this hallway be a fitting place to worship you?"

I giggle like an idiot," worship me, I like that. But no, I rather not have our first time be in a hallway if you don't mind."

"Not at all," he purrs," so, your place or mine?"

"Yours? I'd imagine having the kitchen so close by would be beneficiary after I'm done with you," I fight back the urge to reach out a hand.

"When you're finished with me? What do you plan to do you little minx," he growls. God, how are we even still standing here flirting?

"Guess you have to lead the way and find out, huh?"

"Sounds promising," he backs up," then onwards we go."

Our pace is quick as we rush down the halls. The urge to grab his hand is oddly strong. My insides feel like someone is setting jumper cables to my nerves. I feel like I have so much energy and my mind feels fuzzy. Glancing at him out the corner of my eyes doesn’t help the control to not pounce on him, viewers be damned.

"Adam, you found her," someone calls as we pass by.

"Yep, quite the looker ain't she," he shouts back. The other person just laughs.

We make it to his room in a blur. I can hardly remember much of journey but could hardly care as well. I stop near his bed as he stands a little ways from the door way. I look around at the neatly made room for just a second before meeting his dark predatory eyes. The sight sends a bolt down my spine.

"Why you standing by the door," I ask a bit worried. He just grins before coming closer.

"I want to relish the moment, forgive me," he stops inches away," you don't mind that our first touch would be with our lips? Call me a bit of a romantic but I like the idea of it."

"Not at all," I smile. He leans down and takes my lips for his own. The flood of arousal that drenches my senses is almost blinding. I reach out the same time he does, carding my fingers through his hair as his pull my hips close. Our kiss is messy and anything but romantic or tender. Its full of need that leaves spit all over our mouths. Our tongues meet and retreat as we cant figure out what we want more. His hands slip into my pants where he palms my ass, his nails digging in with a satisfied growl.

"Bed," I pant as I lead him over. We both fall onto the mattress, tongues still clashing and hands still wandering. We reach for each other's clothes in a impatient rush. We split just enough for the other to rip their shirts off. Besides then its hard to separate. Somehow we manage to get our pants off and grind against the other. Adam splits away as he fists himself. I suck, nibble, and lick at his neck. My nails scratch lightly at his back as if I'm trying to find purchase somewhere. I groan into his shoulder as his tip glides between my folds. He doesn't bother with anymore foreplay, knowing and feeling the evident need dripping on the head of his cock.

"You ready? it might be a tight fit," he strains to say. I just buck against him in answer. He chuckles before shoving in with a drawn out groan. My toes curl and air escapes me as he bottoms out. My nails leave crescent indents on his shoulder as he takes a piece of my neck into his mouth. Neither of us can allow this moment to prolong as we buck wildly into each other. He grunts and groans around my neck while I wail and moan near his ear. I cradle his head to me as I cry out my peak. Both of us knew we wouldn't last long, the days of pent up sexual frustration making it hard.

As I clench him his teeth bare down into my skin, his fingers gripping my hips. He pulls me in close as he buries himself deep, cumming in me with a satisfied groan.

After a short moment he lets go of my neck, leaving a single lick before resting his head on the mattress. I slowly relax back into the bed with a huff, not noticing when I held my breath. I find myself combing my fingers through his hair with great admiration. Orgasms in the past have left much to be desired, well besides the build up to said orgasm. The need to hold someone and be held was always there. The fulfillment I have now is beyond words.

"I think I already love you," Adam laughs.

"Shut up," I chuckle along with him.

He turns his head to bury his face in my hair," Nope, I must shower you in praises because you are purely and undoubtedly the most amazing person I have ever met."

"Yea, you ain't so bad yourself," I blush into his neck. I pull in a lungful of his scent, feeling my brain go fuzzy again.

"Prickly Ravenclaw," he grinds ours hips together. I gasp as the feel of his cock stroking my now sensitive walls

"Goody-twoshoes Hufflepuff," I buck into him. He kisses behind my ear before pulling the lobe between his teeth.

"Ready for round two," he asks as he sits up. I regard his flushed face with way more affection than I previously felt. I pet along his cheek before hiking my leg and pushing him aside. I feel him slip out as I straddle his waist. I catch a glimpse of his cock, feeling proud to take something so thick.

"Sure, but I'm on top this time," I smirk down at him. I rest a hand on his chest as I grab him and settle him back in. he seethes though his teeth but it ends in a chuckle.

"I do like a woman who takes charge," he grins brightly back up at me.

"Then I think this relationship will do just find," I answer as I slowly bounce on him.

His hands settle on my thighs," That it will."

We can't take our hands off each other for a great while and I was right…

Being near the kitchen does have its perks.

---------------------------------

Wasn’t going to post on this blog but I really don’t have anything for this weekend ready... so, here is a harry potter story i wrote that 100% indulgent.

which house are you? I’m the prickly Ravenclaw

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

#harry potter #ravenclaw #hufflepuff #Enigma-IM #fluff #slytherin #gryffindor

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josjournal · 4 years

Text

Just the Beginning (Full Moon Ficlet #397 - Prediction)

Written for @fullmoonficlet

Derek stood at the edge of the fairgrounds, eyes tracing over the various tents set up and the people in renaissance costumes mixed in with those in modern-day garb. He knew it was a mistake to agree to meet Boyd and Erica here after his classes were done for the week, but he hadn’t seen his friends in almost a month between his senior dissertation and the classes he TA’d for. He was amazed he was still standing by that point but he’d had too many cups of coffee to get him through the day in order to come here and be surrounded by people.

He checked his phone again to see if there were any updates from Boyd and Erica but the notification screen was empty except for one from YouTube letting him know that one of the few channels he was subscribed to was updated. His thumb hovered over the notification before swiping over it and leaning against the post in the parking lot to watch the video.

The video was a mix of ASMR, spirituality, and predictions. Derek had stumbled onto the channel one day when he was having trouble sleeping and googled ASMR having heard it helps people fall asleep. A female hand dug through a crystal bowl filled with scraps of paper and crystals, the noise starting the tingles up Derek’s arms.

He waited as the chosen pieces of paper and crystals were laid out in pairs and then following the instructions he paused the video and closed his eyes, picturing the stones and choosing the one that called to him. He’d felt a bit silly the first time he’d done it but the message that had gone along with the stone he’d picked had hit home perfectly for exactly what was keeping him up that night, so he’d subscribed to the channel and every Friday went through this same process when the channel updated.

The messages weren’t always as relatable as that first one but he could usually find something to draw comfort from or to apply to his life in some way or another. His mind focused on the frozen image of a rainbow moonstone. Glancing around again to see if there was any sign of his friends, he unpaused the videos to listen to the messages. He only gave half an ear to the first few messages and tuned in when the moonstone was moved and the slip of paper unfolded and displayed.

He snorted when he saw the word “Love” in loopy writing in the center of the page. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the word in other videos, but the first time he’d chosen that particular message. He listened to the peaceful, lightly accented voice talk about not closing himself off to love because it was out there and that he would find it when and where he least expected it if he hadn’t already.

The video ended shortly afterward and Derek frowned down at his phone, disappointed in the message. It would’ve been nice to find out that he was going to meet the love of his life, something he’d stopped hoping for after a string of really bad relationships but that wasn’t how the message had sounded. He knew he was closed off, but no one really blamed him, they understood. Then again, his mom always told him that you never won a race you never started so maybe he should give it a try.

He started to text Boyd when he got a message from Erica saying they weren’t going to make it and they were sorry for standing him up. Groaning, Derek slid his phone into his pocket and turned to head back to his car, freezing when he heard someone call his name. Turning around slowly, he squinted at the people behind him trying to find anyone that he recognized. Thinking he’d imagined the sound, he started to turn away when someone dressed as a peasant waved their arms over their head.

“Dude!” they shouted and Derek chuckled, finally identifying the person who called him.

“Don’t call me ‘dude’,” he said when Stiles reached his side, wide grin on his face and amber eyes sparkling.

Derek hadn’t seen Stiles in a few years, not since the younger man had gone away to college. The two of them had been friends since they were kids, their families close but as those things happen, they got older and the five year age difference between them became massive. Without thinking, his body acting on its own, he pulled Stiles into a hug.

Stiles hugged like he’d always done everything with strength and enthusiasm and Derek’s laughter grew louder when he managed to pick him a couple of inches off the ground before grunting and letting him fall. When the hug broke, Derek kept a hand on Stiles’ bicep, something warm running through him at the strength he felt underneath his fingers.

They stood there grinning at each other and Derek’s chest ached with affection and as he studied Stiles, noting the differences between the boy he remembered the man standing in front of him, he thought he felt something crack and his heart started beating faster and harder. Swallowing, he thought back to the words in the video. “If you haven’t already found it.”

“I missed you, dude,” Stiles said when the silence had stretched on too long. “You leaving?” He pouted as he asked.

Derek’s grin grew soft and warm as he shook his head and moved to wrap an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and guide him back into the festival. “Nah, I just got here.” He squeezed him in a one-armed hug. “So, tell me what you’ve been up to?”

It was a simple question but enough to set Stiles off into an excited ramble about everything Derek had missed over the past few years as they walked through the festival. The feeling in Derek’s chest grew the more time they spent together and by the time the festival was closing and Derek walked Stiles to his car, he couldn’t help but lean over and press a kiss to Stiles’ cheek.

“What was that for?” Stiles asked, the smile on his face growing impossibly wider. Derek shrugged and ducked his head, wishing the burning in his ears didn’t mean they were bright red and that Stiles would know he was embarrassed. “You’re still cute.”

“Me? What about you?”

“What about me?” Stiles teased and Derek poked him in the side, glad to find he was still ticklish. They wrestled for a few minutes before a honk from a nearby car startled them out of their own little world. “Guess I should get going.” He frowned. “It was really good seeing you.”

“How long are you back in town for?” Derek asked, hoping he’d get to see Stiles again before he headed back to school.

“Unknown,” Stiles replied. “I transferred to UC Berkeley and will be commuting to my classes. I’m back home with my dad until I can find a place I can afford. You?”

“Same. UC Berkeley, I mean.” They both nodded and looked everywhere but at each other. “So, can I see you again?”

Stiles’ eyes snapped to his as he studied him. “See me, see me?” he asked.

“Depends what you mean by that,” Derek said.

“Are you asking me on a date? ‘Cause I got some pretty serious date-like vibes today and I’ve always had a crush on you, so if it’s not a date just tell me now so I can prepare myself to deny my feelings like I did when I was -”

Derek’s brain shut off at “had a crush” and he moved forward pressing his lips to Stiles’ lips, cutting off the rambling. It took less than a second for Stiles to kiss back and Derek enjoyed the whimper he gave when the kiss ended. “Definitely a date.” He glanced around and then down at his phone. “In fact, do you want to meet at the diner for dinner?”

Grinning and nodding rapidly, Stiles pressed a kiss to Derek’s lips and climbed into his Jeep laughing at the stunned look on Derek’s face. “The sooner we start the date, the sooner we can end it.”

Derek frowned, his head spinning from the whiplash that Stiles’ words were putting him through. Did he want to date Derek or didn’t he? “Well, if you just want it to end, why don’t we forget it?” Derek turned to head towards his own vehicle, stopping when Stiles whistled sharply behind him.

“The sooner the date ends, the sooner we can get back to the kissing,” Stiles said, smirking when Derek gaped. “And I really would like to get back to the kissing.”

Derek laughed loud, his stomach shaking and the last bit of wall around his heart shattered and fell away as he winked at Stiles. “Oh, Stiles, kissing is just the beginning.” He laughed as he hurried to his car, Stiles sputtering in the background.

Cross-posted to AO3

#sterek #fullmoonficlet #eternalsterek #sterek fic #my writing #just the beginning

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morganaofcamelot · 3 years

Text

If Wishes Came True (Chapter 3)

Title: If Wishes Came True Chapter III: Killer on the Loose Pt.I

Fandom: BBC Robin Hood

Ships: Guy of Gisborne/Original Female Character, Guy of Gisborne/Marian of Knighton, Original Female Character/Original Male Character

Definately an AU - Sir Guy of Gisborne has served the current Sheriff of Nottingham for five years prior to the beginning of the first season, and is considered a part of the family, both by Vaisey and his daughter Valerie. The chapters are from Val’s POV, as she struggles to maintain her youthful innocence in a place that’s all too willing to steal it away from her, and navigate the intrigues of her father. [Many changes from the show, although the fic loosely follows season 1]

Important Note: English is not my first language, so I’d appreciate if you can point out any mistakes I make.

On AO3

Tumblr: Ch I, Ch II

Sir Guy found her standing against a wall, her hands folded in the most unladylike manner, her gaze far away. He crossed the courtyard with swift paces. It was too late, when she realized that he was walking towards her. “Valerie,” he said. “I’ve heard about what happened, are you alright? He did not hurt you?” his voice betrayed his concern. She sighed.

“Welcome back, Guy.” She said and turned to leave. Sir Guy was quick to grab her arm, not entirely ungently. His eyes shone with a strong emotion; anger, she thought. But is it directed at me?

“What happened?” he insisted.

Valerie recounted the last night’s events and the threat Huntington had posed both to her and her father. She fought the tears bravely, and they did not come. She spared a glance at his face; Sir Guy’s fury was palpable.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his hands on her shoulders. “I wasn’t there to protect you.” Come hell or high water, I will stand beside you and protect you until I draw my last breath. The vow he had made her years ago came to her mind. She had been a girl of only eleven, and he had been a man of five-and-twenty, recently anointed a knight, and recently brought into her father’s household. His black hair had been longer, then and he had let her brush them. Her father quickly took a liking to him, and Sir Guy returned it with much enthusiasm. Half a year later, he was a member of their family; the son Vaisey always wanted, and the big brother Valerie always wished for. “You are a sister to me.”

Valerie’s smile was bittersweet. “I know.” I wish you wouldn’t say it. Quickly changing the subject, before she said or did something she would later regret, she told him of another incident.

“I had an argument with the sheriff,” she said. Sir Guy raised an eyebrow.

“The sheriff?” he said, noting the spite in her tone. “It mustn’t have gone well, then. Tell me, maybe I can help.”

She smiled half-heartedly. “You are right on that front. I asked him to let me train with a sword, if only to protect myself. That man,” she said pointedly, “Would have killed us in a heartbeat. You of all people know, father isn’t as good with a sword as he once was. Age has taken its toll on him.”

“And he refused?” Sir Guy deducted. She only nodded in affirmation. “Sword fighting is better left to the men.”

Valerie sighed in exasperation. “But none of the men could stop Huntingdon!” She shivered as she was reminded of the cold-hearted glow in the man’s eyes. Sir Guy noticed and tried to soothe her.

“I could teach you a few things,” he finally said. Valerie looked up at him; he had that half-smile on his face, that she always associated with him. He means it.

Forgetting all sense of propriety, and the fact that she wasn’t actually related with the black-clad knight, Valerie hugged him tightly. She was tall, for a woman, but he was a giant; the top of her head barely touched his chin. He returned the embrace.

“But,” he said in a low whisper, “it has to be a secret.”

Letting go, Valerie promised him that she would tell nobody about this.

“Very well. I’ll meet you at the stables, when the bell strikes four times.”

***

She brimmed with an excitement for the rest of the day, barely containing herself from laughing out loud and raise the suspicions of her father. Oh, but he’ll be furious if he ever learnt of our arrangement, she thought with glee. Nothing could make her come down from the clouds right then.

True to his word, Sir Guy was at the stables when the bell signaled that four hours had passed since noon. The previous excitement in her, had now turned into a nervous reaction, when she realized that she was going to spend time with him, all alone.

“Are you ready for it?” He asked, offering a gloved hand.

She cleared her throat. “Yes,” she said, taking it. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He led me in the far back, where the old stables used to be, now empty of people and horses.

He picked a short sword from a rack on the far wall, its blade dull and unthreatening. He handed it to me, and took a normal sized one for himself. “Now, stance is the most important thing. You learn to stand correctly, and you learn to defend yourself. He walked behind her and arranged her feet with his own. “You’re wearing breeches. Smart.” She couldn’t see him, but she was sure he was smiling. Her heartbeat quickened.

Satisfied with her lower body, Guy swiftly moved to correct her upper half. “This way,” he murmured with every little change he made. His breath was on the top of her head, sending involuntary tingles throughout the rest of her body. “Good.” He said at last, and moved to stand beside her.

He proceeded with demonstrating a basic defensive move, and made her copy it again and again, on her own. After some time – Valerie couldn’t tell whether it’s been a moment or a day since they began – Guy was on the offensive. He attacked her and she parried his blows, gaining more confidence with each blow she managed to block. He picked up the pace, and she quickly read into his intention, using the sword as an extension of her arm.

The bell rang. One, two, three, four, five times.

Sir Guy lowered his sword. “That’s enough for one day.” He said, placing the blunt blade on the rack. “You might feel your arms sore and heavy for a few days. Do not worry about it, it’ll be your muscles complaining for the sudden exertion.”

Valerie placed her short sword next to his. “I feel fine.” She said, dismissively. “When will we train again? Oh, and how did I do?”

The knight gave a half-smile. “If you keep learning so fast, I’ll have you replace the Captain of the Guard in a year.” It sounded like teasing, but she did do well on her first day. “We’ll reconvene on Monday, same hour.”

In three days. Valerie was over the moon.

“Run along, now.” He said, and Valerie rushed to do as she was bid, her heart beating wildly.

***

Sir Guy had kept his word; every three or four days he would meet her at the old stable for an hour of sword practice. And so the Spring Equinox had come and gone by with April on the heels, bringing bluer skies and happier attitudes. There had been no news of Robin Hood, as the men had taken to call him, now that he wasn’t the Earl of Huntingdon anymore. Sir Guy was given the title with little ceremony, and had welcomed them for a feast in his newly acquired manor. Valerie had never seen her father look more proud when he thought nobody was looking. It made her smile.

On the ninth day of April, however, things took a turn for the worse; a bailiff had been struck by an arrow in the village of Nettlestone. The lords of the shire had been called to a meeting in the castle. Valerie attended it, seated by her father’s side. Lady Marian was also attending it, standing by her own father, and Valerie watched her closely; she carried no hidden blade in her hair at this time, although she couldn’t help feeling uneasy.

“The villagers of Nettlestone have reported that the outlaw commonly known as Robin Hood had murdered Joderick, the bailiff.” Her father’s voice was low and calm. The lords were shocked and it showed in various degrees. “Well, this is a shocking matter, isn’t it? Even his beloved villagers lose their patience when their heroes start picking them off. What else was in that report, Sir Guy?”

Sir Guy’s voice was lower still. Valerie knew that he had worked with Joderick for a long time, back when the knight served as a tax collector. She had heard him speak fondly of him many a time. “They’re saying that Hood promised that he would prevent the eviction.”

The sheriff shook his head. “War had addled his brain, I’m not at all surprised. But I didn’t have him capable of murder. Maybe his current status as an outlaw have drove him mad.” He made a pause. Valerie recalled the night that man barged into the hall, thirsty for her father’s blood. The sheriff had told him that he thought him incapable for murder, back then. She begged to differ. “What do you propose?”

Sir Guy was the first to offer a solution – he was the sheriff’s man-at-arms and his enforcer. “I suggest we round all those who are helping Hood by not informing us about his whereabouts. He would have been caught by now, if not for their help.”

To Valerie’s surprise, Lady Marian spoke up, despite her father’s attempts to tell her to stop. “And have this practices ever worked before? Those villagers reported the crime, seeking justice.” Marian looked at the sheriff and Sir Guy interchangeably. But if Valerie was impressed by her bold statement, her father’s answer left her wondering if something had him possessed.

“I agree with you, lady Marian. This is not the correct way to go about this. Sir Marcus, do you have any suggestions?” Her father turned to the man standing a little further on Valerie’s right side. He was the Master-at-Arms, the man who took care of the castle’s security and the guards’ training.

The man cleared his throat, and spoke with absolute conviction. “This gives us a political advantage, my lord. Have every town crier announce what’s taken place at the village, make sure everybody knows that an innocent was killed.”

The sheriff nodded in agreement. “Ah, yes. He has given us the high ground; we should keep it. I like this idea. See to it.” Sir Marcus nodded. “Do not be fearful my lords, the culprit will be caught! Dismissed.”

Valerie stood up and followed her father. Sir Guy did, too, to whisper in the sheriff’s ear. “My lord, I still believe in actions rather than words. If I had the resources, I could hunt him down.”

Valerie kept her head down, feigning disinterest in their talk. “Very well,” her father said. “We shall do it both ways. But, be discreet about it.” His answer resulted in a smirk, and off Sir Guy went to put in motion the sheriff’s shadow operation.

Her father leaned to talk to her. “He likes some competition, this boy. I shall give it to him.”

Valerie’s smile did not touch her eyes. She just wished Sir Guy wouldn’t be hurt in the process.

***

The funeral of Joderick, the poor bailiff that was slain by Robin Hood, took place in the town’s square; lots of people had shown up to honor the man, nobles and peasants alike. Valerie stood beside Sir Guy, who was trying to look as impassive as possible. Valerie daren’t spoke to him, for she feared his grief went beyond words.

From her vantage point, she saw Marian sneak away through the gathered crowd, stealthily hiding behind a wall. Valerie made to move, to follow her, but she thought better of it and stopped. It wouldn’t do, to being seen leaving before her father ended his speech. She was a good girl. Lady Marian and her secrets can wait.

Later in the day, her suspicions of Lady Marian were all but forgotten. Valerie was informed by the steward that Sir Guy, before he went on his grand hunt, had requested that Marian stays in the castle, even though her father had decreed otherwise. Valerie gave her consent, and was intent on keeping a close watch on that woman.

After supper, her father worked on the documents, as Valerie read by the candlelight. A servant boy entered with a flagon and two goblets. The boy made the mistake of placing the plater on the wrong side, and the sheriff made his displeasure known by merely teasing the lad. He got up, and whispered something to him Valerie couldn’t hear, and then a whoosh.

“Argh” her father yelled. The boy was lying on the ground face-first, with an arrow protruding from his back. “Guards! Guards!” he yelled and walked over to her in panic. “It is Robin Hood!” he kept repeating.

Valerie was stunned. The poor boy! The guards barged in, with the Sir Marcus behind them. “My lord!” The knight took a look at the boy and paled.

#robin hood bbc #bbc robin hood #guy of gisborne #guy of gisborne x original female character #*mine

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bowieandqueen11 · 5 years

Text

Underwater / Ben Hanscom Imagine

Request: May I request an Adult Ben Hanscom imagine where the reader, who is married to Ben, is down in the sewer with the Losers and gets pulled under water by Penniwise? Our man Ben needs some reassurance from his wife that she's okay. Fluffyness! 🥰

@may85 eek thank you darling!! <3

Warning, some swearing!

You wished, with all your heart, that you never had to smell the stench of this place again.

When you all finally arrived into the depths of the sewer, Mike and Bill leading the way as everyone else trailed so slowly, so unsure, behind them, that’s when you finally allowed your heart to sink.

This was real. This was actually happening. You’re no longer thirteen, you no longer have an excuse, a way out, a way to forget this. You either die here, or you die out there.

The water the gang jumps down into is a turbid brown, the colour of sewage, or as Eddie fondly calls out again,

‘It’s still the same old fucking grey water.’

Branches have been blow in by the storm, and you gag a little, pressing your face into your husband’s thick back as he raises his eyebrows, wrapping one arm around your own as the two of you watch a small, glittery pink shoe swirl pass, like a relic from a time long forgotten as it floats by without a ripple.

‘Was that- was that Betty Rip-’

‘Don’t think about it hun’, Ben whispers, his thumb trying to tenderly stroke against the goosebumps that flash painfully against your arm, but his grip is tighter than he realises and he ends up digging in a small welt. The water eddies around them, but not that relaxed way water usually does: harshly, more like mini vortexes. You can hear Richie swear softly in front of you as Eddie bumps into him, loud ‘ah-ah, nope nope nope’s escaping his mouth as a half chewed teddy bear floats by his chest.

‘Come on guys, we need to get out of the water, it’s n-not f-far now.’

‘Is that supposed to reassure us?’, Richie whispers with a sigh, slapping his wet leg up onto the jagged stone mound as Eddie reaches down to help him up, his flashlight bouncing around on his head and illuminating different patches of the water in a shimmering light that reminds you of-

the deadlights.

Cold water is the most efficient thief of heat you know. It takes what it does not need. The water surges around your skin, rising up my leg on one side, making tiny eddies on the other the further you follow your friends. The weight of the water is almost enough to topple you, the temperature a dare, as if you were racing hypothermia with each wade through its murky depths. In front of you, your husband shivered against your arm, the water so cold it stung into his hips and flattened his shirt against him painfully. Every touch stole another part of his heat, leaching away a few more fractions of a degree. It crept up the fabric of his pants, clamping the icy fibres to his already frigid skin. But he kept going, because he knew in doing this, he could save you. And if killing a clown meant your nightmares would end, that you would be safe again, he would take on the universe one monster at a time.

Sensing your hesitation as the two of you finally start approaching the giant wall of rock where Eddie and Richie stand, brushing each other off with grimaced faces, Ben slowly turns around and pulls you slowly to him, wrapping his arms around you. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms seemed very protective when wrapped around your shaking body. The world around seemed to melt away as you squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end. The simple touch sent a wave of butterflies coursing through your veins, their fluttering wings easing the dread that had settled inside you.

‘I can’t do this Ben, not again, not after last time. What I saw-I saw-’

‘You are so brave, sweetheart, but this time, I’m not leaving you alone for a second. Plus,’ he says, elbowing you slightly with the biggest smile he can muster at the moment, ‘if you see the deadlights, I’ll just have to kiss you again to pull you out and back to me.’

‘Ben Hanscom, I swear!’, you mutter with a hoarse laugh, pulling your arms around his neck and burying your head into the curve of his shoulder. You just needed a moment, just one more moment with your husband in your arms, his hands tight against your hips, safe.

Everything was okay.

Through the darkness behind your head came the glow of two yellow eyes, like sallow lamplight eight feet off the ground, if only Ben’s had been open to see them, and if only Richie and Eddie hadn’t been having a mock fight over who’s married to who’s mother.. They moved with a slight sway, as if the unseen body prowled like a big cat. The monster advanced on them, its physique hardly discernible in the shadowy twilight of the sewer. With each slow movement that belied the speed it was capable of, slime dripped, oozing great globs of phlegm and depositing them with light splashes into the water; it’s skin was gnarled, but crumpled and folded as if in the midst of changing form. Over it's belly lay crusty flaps of concave skin. The beast reeked of raw sewage and rotten fish. A smell that hit your nose with a rancid pang only a few seconds before it had reached the edge of your shoulder, and Ben had drawn himself away from his warm daydreams of you to open his eyes.

In a split second, it had torn you from Ben’s grasp and dragged you down into the depths with it.

Darkness enveloped you. The water closed in around, filling you with a deep dread as you kicked out against it’s knobbly arms and screamed against the claws that dug into your cheek and left bubbling scratches. Red and black splotches danced in front of you as you gave the clown one final desperate kick in the shin, wiggling out of its grasp as a desperate hot wave enveloped you, warming even your frosted toes. Your heart was beating rapidly in panic, the urgency for air was apparent than ever. There weren't red blotches in your field of vision anymore. It was all black. You opened her mouth, gasping for air, fighting until you feel like your head is about to explode. You have to take a breath. So you do. For some reason it doesn’t hurt like you thought it would. You’re not scared anymore, it’s almost peaceful actually.

You begin to fall, dropping further and further into the darkness until it threatens to swallow you whole.

Ben knows he’s scared when those old fears run through my head, when he hears the taunting laughter of years past, when he was the ‘fat kid’ and punchline of teenage jokes. He knows he’s scared when these bad memories cut loose their chains and invade his confidence, eroding the person he had built since those dark days.

But this time was so much worse.

The adrenaline flew over his veins like licks of fire, but he couldn’t move a single muscle, not even to scream. The absolute horror completely paralysed him, and the more he thought about losing you, the more he thought each straggling breathe he pulled in as he dipped his head up above the water would be his last. If you died, he was going to die too. He didn’t remember being that scared in his life.

The rest of the group jump in after you with desperate cries, not one of them caring in the smallest bit for their safety as their stomachs and heads hit against the cold with tumultuous crashes and wake Ben from his nightmare, his own head being pulled down by his brain to desperately search for you in the darkness. Even Eddie dipped his legs in, not really swimming to search for you so much as drowning slowly. Every few strokes he was swallowing the shitty water and within metres he was fully submerged, the light dying out with him.

It took you a few moments to register that there were other shapes, big square blocks floating around in the water with you. Something in the back of your mind seemed to recognise the sandy curls that brushed against your forehead, the callused and raw hands that grabbed at your biceps, every pinprick touch registering a shock to your skin as you allowed yourself to be taken away. You thought, as you see the face of your husband warp in front of you, that angels had finally come to take you away.

As the two of you break out of the water, Ben taking in a massive, gasping breathe, his shouts echo around the cavernous walls as the other’s begin to rise up one by one with shaking cries.

‘She’s here! She’s here, I’ve got her! I’ve got you.’

In that simple moment he wrapped his arms around you and you let your head rest upon his chest. All your thoughts stopped as if your heart took over from your head, your breathe beginning to catch itself as water spluttered up from your lungs and escaped in gasping coughs out of your lips. Next he would squeeze as if he needed to check you were really there with him, really there and really real.

You looked sharply up as he took your hands into his. They felt like sandpaper or perhaps stone, rough and unfinished. It suited him, you thought, looking into his deep eyes, his hands warm in yours as he brought them up to his lips, your nerves tingling at the harsh comfort of contact, your body melting into his hard chest, his heartbeat comforting, if a little rushed for your liking.

‘It’s okay, Ben, I’m okay.’

You pull your head back to look at him, your heart sinking as you reach up with a shaking finger to wipe away the tears that littered down his cheek, his lips twitching as your touch brings more relief than his heart can hold. He is eating you with his eyes, running his hand through your hair, as if he can't quite believe you’re not part of an almost forgotten dream. When he leans down to kiss you, it's sweet, gentle, and it tastes of his salty tears as he laughs against your warm mouth.

‘Hey, what did I say about not leaving you alone ever again? Please, don’t go, don’t go ever again, I couldn’t take it.’

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thewhumperinwhite · 4 years

Text

Guardian Angel, part 3

Part One // Part Two

Man this was a nightmare to write cause there are like a dozen great ending-line zingers and none of them happened at the end of the scene. Torturous!!!

TW for: panic attack, reanimated corpse, scars, mild internalized homophobia, mentions of murder and death.

@whumpitywhumpwhump (and hmu if you wanna get tagged in this cause There Will Be More)

----

Karim’s fingers are pressed against the front of the boy’s throat, and the boy is looking at him with gentle sorry eyes, and there is no pulse beneath Karim’ fingers.

Karim feels his own heart hammering in his chest, like it’s trying to beat hard enough for both of them.

The boy lowers his hand from Karim’s wrist and Karim snatches his hand back, staring at him. His face and neck feel prickly, alternately hot and cold, and he’s never been this kind of afraid before, like the world is unraveling into something different than he’s always thought it was.

“Why,” Karim says. His eyes are wide but he almost can’t see, like there’s a layer of TV static between him and the harsh yellow light filling the car. His voice sounds raspy and cracked in his own ears. “Why, why isn’t your— why isn’t your heart beating?”

“Y—es,” the dead boy, drawing out the ‘y’ sound, and his voice is too normal, it’s so normal it’s making Karim’s spine tingle and his fingers go numb because he wouldn’t dream a voice like that, not coming from this mangled bloodless corpse, which means this might be real, and he doesn’t know what to do with that. “Yeah, so. Uh.” The boy clears his throat, awkwardly. “So, um, a couple years ago—well, a couple years in the future, for you, I guess, that’s—fuck—shit this is hard.” He shakes his head—Karim sees the movement, thinks that’s what happens from the shifting colors, but he really can’t see, it’s like the car is starting to spin around him. “I didn’t have to explain this to you last time—oh.” The boy moves, shifting closer, his voice softening immediately. “Oh, fuck, baby—listen, it’s okay.”

He reaches out and brushes Karim’s cheek with his dry, cold fingers, and Karim jerks back so hard he topples back out of the passenger seat and smacks his head hard on the dashboard.

“...oh,” the dead boy says. Karim has squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a tight ball with his hand on the back of his head, though honestly the light sting where he just hit it is kind of a relief because at least he understands that.

“Put your head between your knees, honey,” the dead boy says, his voice supremely gentle; to Karim’s immense relief he hasn’t moved any closer. “I’m sorry, I—I know it’s a lot, I forget how, um. Just—Just put your head down— there, like that, and try not to hold your breath.”

The boy’s voice is so soft and reasonable that Karim follows its instructions almost automatically, curling up to tuck his head to his chest and gasping for breath, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his hands on either side of his face. He realizes suddenly that he’s shaking and has no idea how long that’s been the case.

“That’s it, dear,” the dead boy says soothingly. “That’s perfect.” Karim, just catching his breath, looks up at him doubtfully. It’s the second time the boy has called him “dear.”

“Who are you?” Karim says, sharply.

The dead boy meets his eyes, his face very serious.

What he says is, “My name is Art, Karim. In 2017 you’re going to save my life, but I’m here early, this time.” He reaches out and drops his hand on Karim’s shoulder, and Karim is too startled to pull back. “So I’m going to save you, instead.”

Karim gapes at him. “Save me? From what?”

“Okay,” the dead boy—Art—says, still staring into Karim’s eyes, pinning him with the sudden intensity of his gaze. “This—is going to sound completely nuts, but I’m gonna explain it as many times as it takes until you believe me.”

Karim stares at him, searching his filmy eyes for some reason to trust him, or not to. His eyes look—like maybe they were green, once.

“There are—people, in the world,” the dead boy says, like he’s choosing his words very carefully. “Who are—who have—who have changed, until they’re... more, or, or less than human.” He raises his eyebrows a little, like he’s trying to gauge how Karim is taking this. Karim can’t help him because he has no idea how he’s taking it. The boy’s hand is still braced on Karim’s shoulder, and Karim is still letting it stay there, because he can’t feel the boy’s skin through his hoodie and the weight of it is reminding him that this is—probably—actually happening.

When Karim doesn’t respond—and he has no idea what his face is doing, either—the boy goes on. He’s sitting properly on the backseat now, facing Karim; his broken arm is still hanging at his side and his bad leg is—almost crossed under the other one, but not quite in the way a human leg should do that.

“I’m—I was a human like you, but a few years—” He hesitates, makes a face, backtracks a little. “In 2019, I... died.” He looks away when he says that, just for a second, not really like it’s a lie but like he’s leaving a lot out. Karim feels a tremor run down his arm and start his hands shaking and shoves them in his sweatshirt’s pockets, afraid to drop the dead boy’s gaze. “I was dead for three days, give or take.” The boy drops his hand from Karim’s shoulder to gesture vaguely at himself. “Now I’m back but I’m, uh— there’s less of me. Than there was.” He looks back up at Karim, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a little half-smile. It’s—it’s a real person expression. Somehow it makes the panicked beat of Karim’s heart slow down, just a little.

“You with me so far, dear?” Art says, smiling.

Karim, wordlessly, shakes his head, and Art laughs a little, helplessly, and runs his good hand through his messy sandy hair.

“Yeah, that’s fair, actually. Look.”

He looks up at Karim, his hand still pushing his hair out of his face, and the thought rises utterly uninvited in Karim’s dumb useless brain that, dead and cracked-open or not, he’s very handsome.

“Here’s what really matters, for now, Karim,” the dead boy says seriously. “No matter what I am, I’m not going to hurt you. Not ever. I’m going to keep you safe.”

Karim stares at him. It’s an absurd thing to say. It’s an absurd thing to get his heart beating hard again, in a different way than before. “Why?”

Art blinks, like he’s surprised by the question.

“Because I love you,” he says, like it should be obvious.

Karim feels his mouth open and knows he must look very stupid but he can’t seem to close it.

“But I’m not gay,” he says stupidly when he can talk again.

Art blinks, and then he laughs his big pretty laugh again, rocking back in the seat, his broken arm flopping horribly back alongside him.

“Well, fine,” he says, with the crinkly-eyed smile from before, and Karim feels his face heat up immediately, “because that won’t be a going concern for me for another ten years, honey; you’re an absolute fucking fetus.”

Karim is definitely blushing now, his face all uncomfy and hot. “I’m not,” he snaps, “you’re not that much older than me—”

“Being brutally murdered ages you,” Art says, and he’s still laughing when he says it, raising his hand like he’s placating Karim, who immediately feels himself go cold.

“Ah,” Art says, letting his hand drift back down and looking away awkwardly. “I was, uh—gonna wait on that part, maybe.”

“Is—that what happened?” Karim croaks. Art really isn’t much older than he is, maybe a college student, but maybe still a senior. “Is that how you...?” He doesn’t say died, because he physically cannot, and he resists the urge to mouth it like a kid mouthing a bad word because he doesn’t wanna feel any more like a baby than he already does.

Art clears his throat awkwardly, scrubbing at the short hair on the back of his head. “Yeah,” he says softly, his voice a bit rough. “So, that’s part two, I guess. I’m a little less than I was, but there are people who are a little— more, than they used to be, and some of them, uh.” He shrugged. “You know.”

Killed you? Karim doesn’t say. He does stare at Art with his eyebrows raised very high which the dead boy seems to take the same way.

“It happens,” he says awkwardly. Which is an... insane way to talk about your own murder.

Karim... has so many questions he can’t narrow them down to just one, except apparently he can, because what he says is, “How?” which is the last question he actually wanted to ask. Surely that’s—rude, right, you don’t ask a person “Oh, how were you murdered,” that’s gotta be—

“Uh, here,” Art says, and he reaches out his hand, turning it palm up, letting the light hit his upper arm, throwing the pattern of marks there in sharp relief.

They’re clustered around his wrist, where the veins are visible only by shape and not by color: many sets of little circles, all in sets of two, like— snake bites, his brain suggests, and then it supplies helpfully, like fangs. “You can, uh.” Art clears his throat. He sounds— like he’s embarrassed and pretending not to be. “You can see the, um. Marks, still.”

Karim stares Art’s wrist, and his eyes travel involuntarily up the boy’s arm— there are more scars around his inner elbow, disappearing under his t-shirt sleeve, and then reappearing on both sides of his throat. Karim has no idea how many there are, though his still-panicky brain keeps wanting to count them, and he has to try hard to hold it back, until he looks back at the dead boy’s face and sees that he’s looking away, awkwardly, like it’s uncomfortable to be looked at.

Karim stares at him, feeling too many things to sort them all out, pity and confusion and a desperate effort at disbelief. He stares at the fang marks covering the dead boy’s throat, running the boy’s words forwards and backwards in his head to try to get them to mean something other than what he thinks they mean.

“‘More than they were.’ More than human,” Karim says plaintively, looking back at the boy’s pretty dead face. “Are you— I’m sorry. Are you saying there are— vampires?”

The dead boy blinks. Sits back slightly in the seat.

“Huh,” he says, mildly. “That was easier than I thought it’d be.”

#original whump #whump #guardian angel au #undead whumpee #scars #panic attack #time travel whump #I DON'T REALLY KNOW HOW TO TAG THIS......

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raendown · 4 years

Link

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4121 Chapter: 21/? Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn’t happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 21

It would be an understatement to say that Tobirama was in a bad mood after he left home that evening. One moment it felt as though his entire life was finally falling in to place and the next there was Izuna with his stupid face and his stupid attitude getting in the stupid way. He was already steaming when he made it to Hashirama's house. Seeing his brother with both lips wrapped around the top of a bottle of nihinshu, pouring it straight back down his throat like an animal with not a single dish in sight, did nothing to improve that.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Tobirama demanded. “Where is your wife?”

“She’s gone over to enjoy some lady time with Touka.” Hashirama grinned sheepishly and hurried to put the bottle down, probably hoping he wouldn’t get yelled at for having such poor manners.

Tobirama considered it. On a normal day he would have immediately started in on a lecture about how to properly enjoy one’s nihinshu, possibly started another lecture on why they both knew Hashirama should not having been guzzling away at that bottle so quickly. This was not a normal day, however, and he was not in a very normal kind of mood.

“Pour me a glass.”

Hashirama paused to study his face. Then he was leaping off the couch and hustling through the kitchen to fetch a pair of dishes.

Very quickly they were both flopped on opposite ends of the same spacious couch they had grown up on with glasses of alcohol in their hands and two bottles balanced on a small tray between them. One might think that Hashirama's bouncy personality would make this a terrible idea but alcohol actually had quite a mellowing effect on him. It was the easiest way to tell he was backsliding in to the bottles again.

Really Tobirama shouldn’t be encouraging him by partaking in such a bad habit but with Mito around he trusted that his brother had few enough opportunities to indulge that it wasn’t likely to become a habit again in the way it once had. One evening of letting them both have a bit of leeway wouldn’t kill anyone. And if it came with the added benefit of getting his mind off things and helping him calm down enough that he no longer felt like marching back home to strangle Izuna with his own bare hands, well, that was exactly what he needed.

“I thought you seemed like you were having a really good day earlier,” Hashirama noted hesitantly after they were both a few cups in.

“Yes, I was. And then my brother-in-law happened.”

“Ah. Yeah. Both of Mito’s sisters make me feel the same way.” He nodded and raised a glass in solidarity and then tossed the whole thing back in one go.

Draining his own and immediately reaching for a refill, Tobirama grunted. “Well at least you don’t live in the same city as your extended family. I live down the street from Izuna. And for that matter close to Tajima as well. Do you know how glad I am that neither of them are more interested in coming over for family dinners?”

He was almost glad to see his brother shiver in solidarity.

What he was not glad to see was the bottom of his bottle only a half hour later. Tingles had already taken over most of his body but that wasn’t nearly as drunk as he would have preferred to be at the moment and the more he drank the more he found he wanted. For the first time in his life he was glad of Hashirama's habit for excess.

“I know!” his brother announced without moving from the corner he’d wedged himself in to. “We could go downtown! Mito always says it’s not a good idea for me to go look at any of the bars that have opened in the marketplace but it’s fine with you there, right? It’s fine!”

“Of course. Yeah. I’ll keep you in line.” Tobirama nodded very seriously to himself, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that noted he himself probably couldn’t walk a straight line at the moment.

“Fun! Let’s go!”

“You haven’t moved, Anija.”

“Oh I’m sure I’ll get there eventually.”

He had to pull Hashirama of the couch and find both of their shoes but eventually they did make it out the front door. Neither of them had ever visited any of the drinking establishments Konoha had to offer so it was a bit of a struggle trying to find them once they finally made it in to the market district but the first one they spotted had bright lights to draw them in and a pretty young girl at the counter to draw Hashirama's attention while Tobirama ordered a round of drinks.

Which was, of course, a challenge all on its own. His vision had never been the absolute best and so much alcohol had made it even fuzzier so he wasn’t entirely sure he was reading the prices right on the sign behind the bartender. A quick glance around the establishment showed most people drinking from what seemed to be beer bottles but he himself had only ever partaken in rice or plum wines.

In the end he just asked for whatever the person next to him was having and handed over enough coins to leave a tip as well.

“Should we try to find a table?” he murmured but Hashirama shook his head.

“Here is fine!” With that his sibling plonked down on one of the stools right up against the bar itself.

Tobirama supposed that did make it more efficient for when they needed a refill so he balanced himself on the next stool and took a tentative sip of whatever drink he’d been handed. It wasn’t as bad as he’d always imagined; still nowhere near as good as the nihinshu they’d drained before, though.

While the night hour deepened outside their establishment the two brothers made a point of testing different drinks with every new round they bought and Tobirama was introduced to the more social aspects of drinking in public places. After the few couple of rounds Hashirama looked like he was melting over the bar top but Tobirama found himself engaged in deep conversation with people he’d never met before in his life.

One in particular it turned out he did know, though it took a while to remember. He hadn’t seen his cousin in so long he’d almost forgotten her face but after she pointed out the connection he allowed one hug for the sake of reunited family. Her name brought up memories of braided hair and freckles disappearing for undercover work and he supposed that was probably why he hadn’t seen her for so long. Indeed, when he asked she told him she had been quite surprised to head for home after so many years only to find her home completely empty. Up until then she hadn’t given any credence to the rumors of a new village built between the Senju and the Uchiha. After all, the clans lived too far apart for any sort of bad blood to exist between them and she hadn’t thought Butsuma smart enough to see the advantage in securing such a powerful ally so far away.

The two of them were well and truly distracted by their catching up, Hashirama pitching in when he could be bothered to lift his head up from the bar, so wrapped up in their own little world that Tobirama paid little attention to the rest of the room when normally he would be keeping track of every chakra signature present. Which is how he missed Izuna until the slam of a glass bottle against wood rang out just loudly enough to pull his attention and he looked over to find the one he least wanted to see pushing himself up from an otherwise empty booth and storming away with tense body language.

Or at least Tobirama thought he looked tense. It was possible he could be seeing things. Even Izuna himself might have been a hallucination brought on by drink or it could just be a random Uchiha that his muddled brain had decided to project upon. Tobirama squinted at the man’s back as it disappeared out the door and told himself it was fine. No need to worry. It would have to be quite a coincidence for Izuna to crop up so many times in one day, especially after he’d said he would go away only to turn up in their home barely more than an hour later.

He turned back to the cousin he hadn’t seen in years and offered her a sloppy smile.

“I got married!” he said.

“So I hear.” She leaned forward with a smile of her own. “Tell me everything about him.”

Nothing could have made him happier. With alcohol loosening his tongue Tobirama opened his mouth and let the praises flow like a river, happy as a pig in mud to do nothing but wax poetic on his husband. Madara had a lot of good qualities that he knew most people never took the time to see. What sort of partner would he be if he missed such a golden opportunity to spread the good word?

Apparently Hashirama approved of him playing the good husband as well because it only took one more round of drinks for him to start sobbing over how happy he was for both of them and how good they were for each other. It was easy to ignore. Tobirama had grown up being attacked with random bursts of crying so he didn’t think much of the boorish display but he did notice several long glances from the bartender, reluctance clear on his face when he was asked to bring them another round. Clearly their fun had come to an end.

Tobirama’s coin purse was worryingly lighter when he paid up the last of their tab for the night but he was honestly more worried about how he was going to get Hashirama back home while he could barely keep himself upright. He was more grateful than he currently had the capacity to express when their cousin stepped in and volunteered to guide the drunken fool, laughing easily at her surprise that he intended to walk in the opposite direction. Apparently she assumed that even marriage would not separate him from his brother’s side. Little that she knew.

Cool night air and very few people on the streets to witness his drunken stumble helped keep up the good mood that had finally repaired itself as Tobirama made his way home alone. When he reached the top of their street he could feel Madara's chakra boiling away inside their home but in such a muddled state it didn’t occur to him as a bad thing. He was happy to feel Madara close and that was about as far ahead as he was thinking at the moment. There was even a dopey sort of smile on his face as he fumbled to open the door and spilled in to the front hallway, barely remembering to peel off his sandals before continuing in to the living room where he found his husband.

It looked like Madara had been pacing circles for quite some time when Tobirama came in to the room but he stopped as soon as he heard the door snap shut, whipping his head around to narrow both eyes while Tobirama waved at him inanely.

“And just where have you been?” he asked. It felt like a trick question somehow.

“With Hashirama.” Tobirama cocked his head to one side. “Like I said I’d be.”

“You said you would be spending the evening with him, yes. There was no mention of going out trolling for company in seedy bars!”

Madara huffed and stomped another circle but stopped when his path brought him right up in front of Tobirama, who stood blinking in confusion. He couldn’t remember sending word ahead when their plans had changed but perhaps it had slipped his mind somewhere between the drinks. It must have if Madara already knew about their adventures.

“I like your company,” he announced, proud of himself for stating how he felt so clearly and then sad to see the other man frown in response.

“Really, now? From what I hear you enjoy the company of strange women!”

“I – what?”

“He saw you! Izuna saw you in that bar! Flirting with random women with Hashirama right there at your side doing nothing to stop it!”

Tobirama squinted as he tried to determine how he felt. Apparently he had not been hallucinating Izuna’s presence and apparently the idiot had run straight home to carry tales of what he thought he’d seen. Even well past his own tolerance limits it wasn’t hard for Tobirama to figure out where the miscommunication had happened and why Izuna had come tattling stories of a wrong he hadn’t committed. What made him decide that he was angry was how easily Madara seemed to have believed such things.

And here he thought they had gotten to the point where they could trust each other, where they knew each other a little better than for Madara to believe him capable of that.

“I’m going to sleep,” he murmured, not wanting to deal with this.

“No, you’re going to stay here and explain what the hell you were thinking!”

“What I was thinking was that I hadn’t seen my cousin in nearly a decade and it was a pleasant surprise to see her again! I was thinking it was nice to come home to a husband who might have started believing I wasn’t a monster!” Tobirama scowled deeply to hide the hurt. “Evidently I was wrong about that last one. I really don’t know what I have to do to convince you I have no ill intentions.”

Madara blinked at him with wide eyes. “Your…cousin?”

“Yes. My cousin. For whom I could not possibly hold any attraction, what with my preference for men.” He tried to raise both eyebrows pointedly but couldn’t tell if the expression actually formed since his face had gone numb, an interesting effect he’d never experienced before.

“Well how was I supposed to know that?” Madara blustered.

“Call me crazy but you could try getting both sides of the story first before flying off the handle.”

“Hey! I didn’t believe him when he said he saw you flirting with a woman! But then he said you were hugging her – you never hug anyone! And certainly not in public!” Crossing his arms, he huffed and nodded once to make his point.

Which was a good point, Tobirama could admit that. It was slightly mollifying that Madara had arrived at his conclusion using at least some kind of logic. But it was still the wrong conclusion.

“You still should have waited to hear my side first! He saw me in a bar. Obviously we were drinking. So it follows that my behavior will be slightly off!” The first clue for which should have been his unsteady gait and this new habit of emphasizing so many words in his speech.

“Fine!” Madara shouted. “Next time I’ll ask!” He somehow managed to sound both angry and glad to make his concession.

“Good then. Do that. I don’t see why you’re still angry.” Tobirama sniffed. He was the one who had been insulted here. What right did Madara have to keep huffing and puffing?

Squirming in place, his husband looked away for a moment. When he looked back he jerked his chin up in to the air with a familiar stubborn jut. “Well excuse me for feeling a little betrayed when I thought the man I married was cheating on me. Maybe I should have waited like you said but we both know I have a temper! Izuna told me what he saw and I reacted!”

Tobirama snorted but said nothing because there was nothing to say. He did know that Madara had a temper, they both did in their own ways, and once it was pointed out like that he could understand why he had found the man in such a state. And he supposed he could appreciate the fact that Madara hadn’t immediately stormed out of the house to come confront him. Neither of them would have come away from that encounter unscathed and only kami knew what sort of complication a drunken Hashirama could have added in to the mix.

“I guess I’ll just take the couch for tonight then,” Tobirama murmured, taking his turn to look away. If they laid down in the same bed he was certain Madara would tense up in the same way he used to and just imagining the sight of it was heartbreaking. Better to spend the night apart and let the man cool off.

“You don’t have to,” Madara grunted.

“It’s fine. Maybe it’s best.”

“Says who?”

Tobirama closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Stop being difficult and just – it’s late. Go to bed.”

“No. It’s your bed too, no one said you had to start sleeping on the couch again!”

“And no one said it was permanent either!” Bringing their gazes back together, Tobirama noted that they were mirroring each other’s stubborn expressions perfectly. “I’m trying to be respectful! Something you could learn from!”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. Madara puffed up so large his hair seemed to physically bristle with offense.

“I can be respectful!”

“Sure. Of course. You never just think about what you want!”

“Oh you want me to just take what I want? Well fine!”

When Madara came towards him suddenly Tobirama had but a split second to note that alcohol really does impair one’s reaction time, stopping him from raising any sort of defense against the blow he thought was surely coming for his face.

Instead he found fingers in the collar of his shirt and lips pressed insistently against his own, messy and off-center. He registered the fact that they were kissing at around the same time he registered that Madara had probably never kissed anyone before in his life – barring the day they were married, of course. If he had he would have done something other than stand perfectly still with his lips pursed and his heart beating so heavily Tobirama could feel the pulse of it thundering when he wrapped a hand around one of the man’s wrists.

He could have pulled away and gotten angry for having his person assaulted like this right in the middle of an argument, something he knew he would have done if he were sober and clinging stubbornly to his own temper, but the drink in his veins did a perfect job of smoothing the transition between anger and a pleasant sort of triumph. This was exactly what he had been so upset about being denied earlier. Why shouldn’t he enjoy it?

The shift of Madara's stance away from him made him realize that he had been standing there for too long not reacting in any way other than to take hold of one wrist in what could be considered a forbidding grip, definitely not the impression he wanted to give. Before his partner could pull away entirely Tobirama took a step forward himself, taking control of Madara's lips and tilted his own head to show the man what a proper kiss should be like. His eyes rolled behind closed lids when he heard a helpless moan that had probably escaped by accident.

Loosening the fingers he’d brought up in defensive instinct, he reached down instead with both hands to frame Madara's hips, bringing their bodies together at the same time as he took another step forward to drive the man back in to whatever surface happened to be there. Probably a wall, possibly a bookcase. Whatever it was mattered little compared to the way his husband melted against him with another delicious sound and tightened the grip on his collar in what he could guess was approval.

When they separated several minutes later they were both flushed and short of breath, staring at each other with open wonder and neither making any move to pull away farther than the space needed for their gazes to meet. Tobirama licked his lips, tasting something new that he thought he might be instantly addicted to, and wondered what to say. He was grateful when Madara broke the silence first.

“You taste like beer. Wouldn’t have taken you for a beer drinker.”

“Will you do that again when I’m sober?” Tobirama blurted. His partner blinked at him and he shuffled his weight anxiously. “I am not convinced this isn’t some kind of alcohol-driven hallucination.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, we can do this again when you’re sober. I would hope we do this, er, many times. In the future. Going forward?” Madara scrunched his face up in the way that said he was irritated with the choppy sentences coming out of his mouth and if Tobirama had an ounce less self-control he would have kissed the man again just for that.

“Good, good. I think I should sleep now.”

Madara helped him up the stairs, both hands hovering near his person to push him back upright whenever he overbalanced in a random direction. He managed to change and brush his teeth by himself but the moment he spread himself out across the bed to wait for Madara to do those same tasks it was like all the alcohol he’d consumed pounced on him all at once. When his husband came back in to the room he was spread out on his back with both hands clutched in the sheets, glaring at the ceiling as best he could with drooping eyelids.

“Doing okay?”

“The room is spinning,” Tobirama informed him matter-of-factly. “I don’t like it.”

“Drinking does that to you.” Madara nodded sagely and Tobirama concluded that he must have experienced this a time or two before. How anyone could enjoy this sensation was beyond him. He felt as though he might fly off the edge of the earth any moment and all he wanted was for something to help him stay in place.

Which, he realized through the fog, he could have. Madara blinked when he unclenched one hand to reach out across the bed.

“Come here. Please. If you don’t hold me down I’m going to float away or something.”

“Of course you will.” Madara was laughing at him but Tobirama let it go just this once since he was getting what he wanted anyway and that was clearly more important at the moment.

Slipping under the covers, Madara scooted across the mattress until he was flush up against Tobirama the way they had come to enjoy sleeping back to front, only this time he paused for a brief second to consider the change in position before laying his head down on the chest before him and curling in to Tobirama with his entire body. One hand he curled between them and the other he gently rested on the ribs just below his head. For a few moments his body retained a great deal of tension as he supposedly debated with himself whether or not he liked this new arrangement but then he relaxed all at once, daring even to shift one leg forward to hook his ankle over the one closest to him.

“There,” he murmured. “Is that good?”

“Yeah. That’s good.” Tobirama curled the arm Madara had crawled in to and brought his other around so he could hold his husband close, forcing himself to close his eyes by pressing his face in to the thick mass of hair spilling across his shoulder. “You smell good.”

“Do I?”

Tobirama hummed pleasantly and took another deep breath.

“S’nice. I like this.”

“Me too,” Madara admitted, his voice almost quiet enough to go unheard.

“Sleep now?”

“Wow, you are fading fast. Go to sleep. You’re going to hate your brother in the morning for feeding you so much alcohol and I do not promise not to laugh.”

Tobirama smiled and mindlessly nuzzled the pleasant smelling mass of softness in front of him, already forgetting what it was or where he had ended up but not caring one whit. He knew that Madara was there with him and that both of them were happy and that was all he needed. Whatever hiccups had interrupted them near the end, overall the day had been a good one and with Madara in his arms it was certainly ending on a high note as well.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #fanfiction

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tiny-smallest · 5 years

Text

the sun’ll come out tomorrow

Rating: G Characters: Tallest Mikyuki, Dib, Membrane Warnings: none Description: Mikyuki takes her charge on a little field trip, reflecting about her current situation along the way. On the way back, something catches the toddler’s eye…

Also on AO3!

———

She really didn’t like the rain. Being the empress of an entire planet somewhat spoiled her, she’d admit. The blue eyed Irken squinted up at the sky from her seat at the window, scowling at the drops of water falling from the sky. Back at her old position as Tallest, should such an offending substance threaten her from a planet’s skies, she would have no less than a dozen Irkens at her side immediately with a number of things that could be used to ward off the downpour, and at least one would offer to atomize the planet for her.

She’d refuse, of course, but it was the offer that counted.

All right, in light of that, maybe she’s a lot spoiled. Even so, she can’t understand what anomalies this planet must produce so that acid falling from the sky would be a frequent occurrence. Or, perhaps even more unsettling, that its inhabitants—sentient and nonsentient—would be completely immune to its effects. Professor Membrane had nearly given her a heart attack the first time she’d seen it rain and he’d stepped outside into it; she was so sure based on that kitchen incident with the sink (that she would be taking to her death thank you very much) that he was going to melt. She had to admit she was jealous over his immunity to the water’s effects after she’d stopped fuming over him scaring her half to death. It didn’t look like she would be leaving this planet anytime soon. Her ship was far too wrecked; you could barely even tell it was a ship at some point. She’d be surprised she survived it, if not for the fact that she was a Tallest. Genes this good, she figured, gets one out of a lot of things.

Apparently it even helped you survive a planet trying to punch you in the face with its gravity. Whatever. Miyuki was alive, that was the important thing. She was alive, and she had found an ally. She was forced to help him develop a smeet of his species so that she’d have an ally, but she had an ally.

It’s better than nothing, and he was perfectly reasonable about it, and continued to be. The fact that she could and should skewer him should he become unreasonable was irrelevant and she refused to think on it anymore. Right now, she should probably be thinking more about the small creature tugging at her leg. Miyuki’s gaze turned from the wretched weather of this awful planet to the doe eyed toddler pulling on her skirt. She was silent for a moment; he was too short to see without looking up that he has successfully gotten her attention, and he had not looked up because he was too interested in the metal plating of the skirt. He poked at it with a tiny finger, scratching at it with the pitiful excuse that humans had for claws.

It’s when he went to lick it that she cleared her throat and he, smart enough even at this stage of human development to recognize the sound for what it is, moved his eyes from the spot he’d selected for tasting to her face, tongue still out. “I am not food.” He squeaked. “If you are hungry, I will make something.” He tilted his head to the side. She sighed. “What is it that you want, Dilbert?” As an answer, he pointed to the digital clock in the cable box by the television. She raises an antenna in surprise. Membrane had said that thanks to his Irken genes Dilbert would evolve much, much faster than the average human smeet, but she had not expected a creature whose vocabulary was currently limited to “I,” “bottle,” “binkie,” and “dad” (she will ignore for the moment, as always, that the total words in his vocabulary are actually five) to be able to recognize the time, much less correlate the time with a specific event. Like the event that is supposed to be happening now but that Miyuki was entirely reluctant to do because of rain. “Dilbert, I think we will forgo our walk today.” A plaintive wail sent both antennae back. “No, it is raining. I do not like rain. It… hurts me. We will not venture out in it. Stop yelling.” The wailing continued. Blasted human smeet. Regular smeets could be irritating but at least they didn’t cry. They couldn’t. Human smeets, though, very much could and dear Irk please shut up.

Maybe agreeing to help his father make an heir was a mistake.

(Even as she thought it, something within her quailed at it.) Membrane was not here to help, Miyuki reflected with a frown. He was out for the day, at his laboratory, working on a new sort of teleportation technology that intrigued her and would very much like to pick apart sometime. Right now it was just her and the smeet. She would have to do something quickly if she wanted to keep herself from doing something she’d regret-

Wait, there was noise absent. Her eyes flicked from the crying child on the floor to the window. The patter of the rain was what had been missing for the past two minutes, and she had failed to realize it because of her focus on the much louder, much more annoying of the two sounds. Well then. The rain was gone but there would still be puddles. She scowled again, ready to reaffirm that she would not go outside today, but it turned into a grimace.

No, she didn’t want to go outside today. But the human smeet needed sunshine and fresh air to grow properly—part of the requirements brought on by his human heritage—and now that it wasn’t actively raining, it would be prudent to give him what he needs.

Especially because it would make him shut up. “Fine, you win.” His sobs faltered and slow down some, and Miyuki shook her head, wagging a finger at him. “But only because it stopped raining. Wait here; I will go get ready.” She took swift strides to the doorway, and he followed on his clumsy little legs like the insolent creature he was. Typical. Something bubbled over in her chest and she let out a low laugh, shaking her head as she looked around the little bedroom that was hers now, so much smaller than her quarters at home.

She, the Tallest, ruler of an entire planet, the greatest planet of the known universe, was playing smeetsitter to a hybrid that did not belong in existence, that was probably breaking about thirty Irken laws simply by being, and that could never and would never be accepted by either race should anyone learn what he truly was. All because she crash landed in the middle of universal nowhere and had no other way to return home but to suck up to the single creature on all of this backwards “Earth” planet that could help her so that he’d help her fix her ship.

“I wonder,” she said to the toddler as she reached into her dresser for some Earthling clothing, “if someday you will also grow up to manufacture something that will try to eat me. I’ve had that experience once; I’m not…” Her throat tightened slightly “… Keen on reliving it.”

His face remained in her head, however much it hurt that it did. Those big, eager eyes, the color of Vortian (and also, apparently, Earthen, which was just a delightful discovery) raspberries. That giant smile. Chirping voice that could turn to loud crowing at the drop of a hat. So very, pitifully small for an Irken, the smallest Irken on record; he should have died years ago when he was first hatched, or in training, but he didn’t. So enthusiastic and eager to please, so ready to prove himself, that he did everything and asked questions never.

The entire point of his job in weapons manufacturing was to keep him out of trouble, out of harm’s way. Far from a drone service, but as close to an Invader as possible. And he still found some way to screw it up, all in the name of…

“It’s for you, my Tallest! This is just a prototype, the real one will be much more deadly, much more worthy of being used by the Irken Armada! But, it, eh, felt like a waste to just throw it out, and it’s soft and squishy, and you like soft and squishy things, and it nuzzles and makes little chirpy happy noises, so I thought you’d like to keep it!”

Making her happy.

She looked over to Dilbert, now sitting on the floor, amusing himself by drawing patterns in the carpet with his little, round fingers.

He doodled when he was bored, too.

Ugh. She had to stop torturing herself like this. Would he even be alive when she got back?

He survived this far. The brutal training, the initial activation, despite being too small… The Control Brains keep missing him entirely, even after talking with him directly…

Yes but he also has a penchant for disaster, and you’re no longer there…

Her insides squirmed. Dilbert was squirming. She shoved the thoughts from her mind and retreated into the bathroom with her things. A few minutes later she pushed the door open again, picking with distaste at the cloth and at the necklace around her throat. A simple blouse and matching skirt would ensure she blended in easily, and the jewelry added an extra touch of human normalcy, but she was still not entirely sure she liked wearing them. The clothes felt too light on her body, too loose. Still, dealing with clothing that felt oddly was much better than, say, being captured and dissected. Or being forced to flee for her life. She would put up with it.

Dilbert, mercifully still quiet, scrambled to join her at her side, taking hold of her skirt with one tiny hand. She scooped him into her arms, wincing at the human scent she still wasn’t used to, before carrying him from the room. He squirmed in her arms, cooing quietly, and didn’t resist when she set him down in his stroller. Kneeling beside him, she fastened him carefully into place and reached up to her necklace, pressing a button.

The heat the hologram disguise generates tingled unpleasantly along her skin, but it protected her. At least in that way it was more useful than the clothes. And it was blue, too.

She opened the front door and flinched when a blast of wind greeted her. Dilbert squinted his eyes at the sunlight peeping through the clouds, but showed no visible signs of distress, thanks to his father’s efforts to get the boy outside frequently.

She, however, was never going to get used to this ‘weather’ thing. Sure, sunny days she can manage, but wind tugged at her antennae and scattered scents! How was she supposed to get a read on her surroundings if she couldn’t pinpoint where anything was coming from? Then there was rain- rain was an abomination that doesn’t deserve to exist. Fog stung her face and whatever else wasn’t covered, and she didn’t like the sound of this ‘snow’ business. Or ‘heatwave.’ Apparently the snow thing would be coming soon, too. Ridiculous planet.

The air smelled sharp and the wind chilled her slightly. Maybe she should give up on this after all… No, no, think rationally. Did she have anything to deal with this? She did have a sweater, but she doesn’t like the feel of it- wait, yes she does! The coat! How did she forget about the coat!? It was only her favorite piece of clothing on this ball of dirt that calls itself a planet! Miyuki wheeled the child inside and, ignoring his cries of protest, left the living room to dart into her bedroom and fetch the black trench coat Membrane had purchased for occasions such as these. She grabbed the coat from the closet and pulled it on as she left the room, returning to the stroller and pushing it out the door. A quick pause to lock the door behind her. Not that she needed to with the intense amount of security, but might as well. And they were off. Finally She pulled the collar up around her mouth, using her other hand to steer the stroller around a puddle while hissing her hatred at the liquid. The sky was clearing, so more rain was highly unlikely, but even just the presence of puddles made her skin crawl. Stupid, Miyuki knows this; she was wearing boots and no water can get in. But still, who willing stepped in collections of acid even with protective gear? It took a little longer to reach the park and her steering had to get really creative occasionally, but eventually they left the sodden sidewalk behind for… soggy grass, mud, paths that are pocketed with more accursed puddles, and a playground that’s completely unusable due to how soaked it is. No, don’t shake a fist at the sky; you’ll look insane. Letting out a deep breath instead, she rolled the carriage back and forth slightly as her eyes closed, letting out a low hum. Well, the park wasn’t an option today. Was there anywhere else to take him where the little hybrid could spend at least an hour outdoors without too much water?

… Not… really. The Irken groaned. Fine. Back they go. Stupid Earth weather. With a huff she turns the wheels and starts pushing on the stroller. Dilbert was whining again, little arms reaching back towards the playground as he twisted in his seat, and her antennae shift back, a growl rising in her throat. If he was so smart, why couldn’t he see the water on the playground and recognize that it would be unwise to let him run about on such a slippery surface? “Be quiet,” she eventually snapped. He responded with actual tears, and her guts twisted slightly. Just great. Some children flew by on skateboards, bicycles, and scooters, nearly splashing her and the Dilbert in the process. She hissed before she could stop herself and yanked her body and the stroller back to avoid them, and just in time; one of the girls clipped the stroller with her scooter and almost fell off, having to hop off before the primitive devise could throw her from it, run awkwardly beside it, and then leap back on. Thankfully the water missed Miyuki, as the girl was going too slowly by the time she went through the puddle to spray it very far.

“Watch where you’re going, smee- CHILD!” Human vocabulary was strange and still refused to roll off the tongue with any ease. “Next time I swear I will take that toy from you and wrap it around your skinny little throat!” It’s was late; they were too far for their inferior human ears to hear her. Damn them to the deepest depths of the farthest black hole. Snarling, the Irken carefully righted the stroller, which she had pulled back in such a way that, had it not been for the straps, would have dumped its precious cargo onto the concrete. Dilbert was whimpering, little hiccups leaking out with big, fat tears. Blast it all. “Shhh, it’s alright.” Well, her tone wasn’t sharp, at least. “They are gone now, and should they return I will make them very sorry they did.” She watched as he scrubbed his knuckles into his eyes, chewing on her tongue. Perhaps if she had some candy, that might work, but she didn’t think to grab any before leaving the house. Which was a stupid move, she reflected, since the human smeet was the most accident prone person she’s known since him and candy was usually a quick fix anytime Dilbert gets a bump or scrape. Her antenna flicked. He was quiet. Why? Quickly she glanced down; he was staring at something. Blue eyes rose, and found his were locked onto a tiny black trench coat a mannequin in the shop window was dressed in. His little mouth was hanging open like he just discovered the answer to the meaning of life. “… Well then. We’ve lingered here long enough.” Her hands returned to the stroller’s handles, and he cried out.

“Want!” Of course he’d add another word to his vocabulary right now. It’s not like she was eager to leave or anything. Miyuki raised a hand to her face to place her fingers against her forehead, then moved them to her temple. Well, he’d seen it and he’d pitch a fit if she tried to leave without it. It’s small, right? It can’t cost too much, and I do have monies on me. It wouldn’t take long, either… “Fine. Let’s go see it.” She wheeled the carriage inside. Dilbert insisted on having that exact trench coat, and it was a hassle to convince the store clerk to take the coat off the mannequin, but Miyuki was nothing if not persuasive, and eventually she conceded and took it down for them. Then it was off to the tiny dressing room in the back, where Dilbert refused to allow her to accompany him into the room to help him into the coat.

The toddler sure was a willful one, and Miyuki can’t help but wonder if this was a normal thing in human smeets, and if she should be proud or annoyed. She settled for a mix of both, the former somewhat begrudgingly. “Tah-dah!” She glanced up from her seat to see the tiny human-Irken hybrid in front of her more or less drowning in a coat made for someone twice his height. His eyes were closed and his smile was huge, showing off all his strange human teeth, and he had his hands on his hips, sleeves falling far past them. The sight was so weird and so amusing she couldn’t help but smile a bit. “You look stunning.” He beamed brighter. “Come, we should be leaving.” She went to remove the coat and he frowned, pulling back and hugging himself to keep the coat locked in place, making grumbling noises. She shook her head and took hold of his arm in a loose grip, carefully pulling him along with her until he moved his hand to hold hers, as she looked for the clerk. The woman allowed them to buy the trench coat—two hundred monies is ridiculous for such a tiny piece of clothing and Miyuki wished she could just steal the thing, but that would be a terrible idea—and they returned home, finally. Dilbert refused to take the coat off, and she allowed him to leave it on while she got supper together for the three of them.

A Tallest, cooking. Really, now the universe had seen everything. Or would, if this hick planet was near anything resembling the civilized universe.

Membrane returned home, and laughed at the sight of his son, ruffling the little one’s hair. “That’s a great look for you, son! What gave you the idea?” Neither of them expected an answer, but he surprised them. The tiny boy flashed Miyuki a giant smile and pointed to her. “Just like Mommy!” She almost dropped the plate she was carrying to the table. “… Son?” Membrane does not look nearly as shellshocked as his Irken companion; he’s merely confused. “… The coat.” Miykui’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh, he means the coat you bought for me in case of cooler weather; I’ve been wearing it a lot for the past few weeks but not the past few days… he must have remembered me wearing it frequently…” Dilbert nods. He looked so pleased with himself. “Like Mommy!” “Yes, it’s good to be like your mother.” Membrane patted his head before carefully peeling the coat off and setting the fussing boy in his high chair. “Now now, take it easy,” he cut in above Dilbert’s protests. “You can have it back when you’re all done with dinner.” They started supper. Miyuki for a few minutes stared silently at the meal. Just like Mommy. The way his face lit up when he said that… Maybe she was more ready for that other word in his vocabulary than she thought she was. Mommy. It wasn’t not such a bad word, really. The twitch of her lips went unnoticed as she began to eat.

#invader zim #newzim #dib #tallest miyuki #miyuki #membrane #professor membrane #my writing #this is actually really REALLY old but I went through it and did a lot of fixes #and improvements #because I still loved the basic concept behind this and i don't think I ever posted it here

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writehardwhumpharder · 4 years

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OC drabble - Carson vs. Vertigo. (feat. concerned classmate, Daniel)

This is a little drabble about how Carson and Daniel met in college about five years ago. With Carson being Carson it couldn't be as simple as saying hello, nope. It starts with Daniel dragging his half-conscious ass out of the room when he suddenly gets attacked with severe vertigo brought on by sleep deprivation.

Wind blew through the open courtyard between buildings as Carson walked to his next class. It was in a large lecture hall so he wouldn't be forced to talk to anyone unless he had a question. God he used to get so nervous on the first day of a new semester, but he'd stopped caring a long time ago.

Wearing a New York Universtity sweatshirt, jeans, and a beanie, he did his blend in, and taking a look at all the other students walking around the campus, he was doing a pretty good job. With the sun out and leaves falling down as the weather transitioned into fall, it was almost a perfect day. Perfect all except for the fact that his insomnia had kicked his ass once again last night and now he was running on less than no sleep. He was on his third cup of coffee and it was only 11am. Carson figured it didn't really matter though, he could just find a seat in the back of the lecture hall, get his syllabus, and sleep the rest of the time if need be.

Once he got in the lecture hall he immediately found the seat he'd sat in all last semester when he was in the same lecture room and sat down before anyone else could take it. He was a creature of habit so there was something comforting sitting in the same spot. Although this was an entirely different class with a teacher he'd never had before.

A short, middle aged man milled about the front stage getting his things ready as more students filed in. Mere seconds before the doors would close so the lecture could start, one more person slipped in and to Carson's dismay, sat down right next to him. That wasn't supposed to happen. This was his row God damn it and it has been for two years now.

Carson made no effort to conceal his scowl before turning to get a look at the guy. He was tall, that was the first thing he noticed. The second was his green eyes as they met each other's gaze. The guy tried to smile politely but it quickly fell away as he took in Carson's expression.

"Um, is this seat taken?" He whispered, sounding unsure.

Carson simply sighed and put his head down over his arms, ignoring his question. The professor's voice boomed through the lecture hall, he introduced himself and announced that 18th century literature would not be an easy A kind of class. Great, another strict professor that took his job way too seriously. Carson didn't bother lifting up his head for another thirty minutes though he was still listening closely to what was being said. But around a third of the way into the class he got this strange feeling like all the blood was pooling in his head so he sat back up, blinking against the sunlight coming in from the windows. He hoped that would fix the problem but now that he was upright, it felt like all that blood was draining from his head at once.

Apparently it was because the guy next to him elbowed him suddenly, "Dude you okay? You just went white."

Carson nodded, immediately regretting it as the room spun around him for a moment, "Yeah, fine," he whispered. He must not have been very convincing because he could still feel the stranger's eyes on him.

Carson was surprised to see that his face was actually scrunched up in concern. He leaned forward a little to get a better look at his chalky complexion to which Carson leaned away, shrinking into his oversized sweatshirt.

To be honest he was starting to panic a little. He'd felt this feeling before and it always ended with him on the floor. Along with the dizziness a strange tingling started to spread from his chest down through his arms and legs. Deep breaths, Carson, he told himself. Sometimes that helped clear away some of the anxiety that came with the problem. And it worked, for a couple minutes at least. He leaned over his desk, closing his eyes in an effort to focus. This only made the room spin faster and he hurried to swallow down the nausea suddenly rushing up his throat. Carson wasn't sure if this was a random attack of vertigo or if it was related to his lack of sleep but either way, his body made it abundantly clear that it would not be ignored this time.

Ok, time to leave while leaving was still an option. Carson scooted his chair back a few inches then carefully rose, using the side of the desk for support. He had only thought in his head now -- getting the fuck out of this room and to somewhere more private, the only place on campus like that was the bathroom.

Since the guy next to him was sitting at the outer edge of the row he would have to walk behind him to get to the aisle and through the closed double doors that thankfully weren't very far away. But Carson only made it a couple steps before his vision and hearing started to warp with the vertigo. Either he was getting tunnel vision or things were starting to get darken at the edges. He stumbled into the table behind him, making enough noise to draw people's attention. The stranger sitting next to him was watching him carefully, tense and ready to move in case he fell. And just as they made eye contact, everything went dark. Carson's eyes rolled back in his head and he made a quiet exhaling noise as his limbs went slack. He tipped forward, his hand still gripping the table even as he's falling and his knees hit the ground first helping to slow down his descent. Enough for the guy to slide out of his chair and throw an arm out before Carson could bang his head on the ground. Carson landed in a tangled heap, just barely being propped up by an outstretched arm.

The stranger was at a loss for what to do next and was painfully aware of every person in the room staring at them.

"What's going on back there?" The professor demanded, stopping his lecture entirely. "Do we need to call campus security, an ambulance?"

"No!" He says a little too quickly, "um, no this happens all the time. Everything is fine, keep teaching." He said.

"This happens all the time? What are you thinking Daniel?! You don't even know this guys name, what if this is an actual emergency." He scolds himself. "If it is the least I can do is take it to the hallway where there will hopefully be less people watching.”

Apparently that was all the professor needed to hear because he went back to the lecture completely unfazed, he really was as cold as he seemed.

He jostled Carson's shoulder and that seemed to do the trick because seconds later bright blue eyes started to crack open slowly, looking confused and glazed over.

Conscious again, the first thing Carson noticed was how awful he felt and he suddenly wished to go back to the darkness. He leaned into the pillow under his head, curling over on his side as he tried to ride out the vertigo. It wasn't until the pillow moved that he realized his head was rested on the stranger's arm. His eyes snapped open and despite everything he tried to get up. Seeing this Daniel figured he was well enough to be dragged out and suddenly the arm Carson was trying to get away from was snaking around his back so that his arm was slung over one of the taller's man's shoulders. He lifted him up with ease and Carson took clumsy steps to keep up with him.

The short trip out of the room was enough movement to make Carson want to either throw up or black out again so the second they were through the double doors Carson wiggled out of the guys grasp and staggered towards the men's bathroom. His vision was growing alarmingly dark but with one hand on the wall he managed to get where he was going. Vertigo was more of a superficial problem than anything, though he felt like he was dying, he knew it was all just an adverse reaction to the sheer amount of discomfort his body had to endure. Up was down, left was right, hot was cold.

Carson had hoped the stranger would stop there but he heard the bathroom door open a second after it had shut behind him and Daniel came in, looking more and more worried. Carson did his best to ignore him as he slid down the wall next to the sinks.

"Woah, are you okay? What's wrong?" Daniel asked, as Carson's legs seemed to give out.

"I..." Carson mumbled, "I'm dissolving." He said. Because that's exactly what it felt like. It was as if every cell in his body was tingling and breaking free of its structure, like his skin was turning to static in the most horrible way.

"You.. what? I think we should call someone," Daniel said, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

"No no, be fine in like.. 20 mins," Carson said as he let his eyes slip closed. All he could do now was wait for everything to slow down. He took one last look at his new deskmate who was very reluctant to trust the barely coherent words of a man curled up on the dirty floor of a college bathroom.

He sat next to Carson impatiently, checking his phone as 5 minutes passed, then 10, then 15.

"Why do you keep doing that?" He asked, seeing Carson run his hand over his ear again which he'd been doing every few minutes.

"Just.. making sure." He mumbled.

"Making sure of what?" Daniel asked, confused. Was there something wrong with his hearing too?

"That my brain isn't actually leaking through my ears," Carson said dryly. To his surprise the stranger laughed at that.

"Wow you're just a hot mess aren't you?" Daniel said.

"Pretty much," Carson replied, not really noticing how Daniel emphasized both the words hot and mess.

He still felt pretty disoriented but he felt like he could at least sit up now so he pushed himself up off the floor to sit against the wall, resting his head between his knees.

"Lecture is going to end in a few minutes and both our bags are still in the room," Daniel said, "I'll go grab them, don't die while I'm gone." He joked.

"Meh," Carson replied, making no promises. What felt like no time at all later Daniel came back with two backpacks and knelt down again.

Carson blinked and shook his head slightly, trying to clear the lingering haze in his head. "You don't have to stay here you know."

"I don't have anywhere else I need to be," he shrugged. "I'm Daniel by the way."

"You look like a Danny," Carson said, immediately giving him the nickname whether he liked it or not. He saw his mouth open to correct him but he just sighed to himself and let it slide.

"I'm Carson."

#whump #oc drabble #whump fic #Carson Hall #Daniel Hopkins #concerned Daniel #grumpy Carson #lack of sleep #vertigo #dizzy #disoriented #nausea #passing out #briefly #chaotic friend making #I'm not a doctor so I described vertigo exactly how I experience it

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