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makoodlesarchive · 4 years

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bad dragon

here i am delivering content that NO ONE ASKED FOR !! this is nasty and i got super embarrassed just writing it but i hope you enjoy it anyway

honestly no one look at me, just let me indulge in this in peace

pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

word count: 10k

warnings: blowjobs, penetrative sex, virgin kirishima, lots of cum (like, a ridiculous amount), breeding (kinda), size kink?. it’s not exactly anthro bc everyone is human here but uhh non-standard genitals, i guess? kirishima has an unusual dick: pls see here for reference OR check out the amazing fanart for kiri’s dick !!

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dragon dick kiri masterlist!

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Kirishima Eijirou was a perfect gentleman. He bought you flowers, he opened doors for you, he gave the sweetest goodnight kisses, he ate you out so good he had you seeing stars. You had the biggest, fattest crush on him, and you would be embarrassed about it if it weren’t for the fact that it seemed, at least for the most part, to be reciprocated.

The problem was Kirishima never let you touch him.

Whenever the two of you ended up in bed together, with the door firmly locked behind you, Kirishima insisted on sliding under the blankets and eating you out so enthusiastically he had your legs shaking in no time. It’s not like you would ever complain about that, but it definitely bothered you that he was never up for doing anything else. You would see the blanket shifting around as he jerked himself off furiously under the sheets as he tongue-fucked you, but whenever you tried to coax him out from beneath the sheets you were turned down with a soft, apologetic little smile.

You figured it must have something to do with his apparent commitment issues. Everytime you brought up the possibility of being a couple, or anything more than what you currently were (which, tragically, was nothing; just two friends occasionally getting hot and heavy) he brushed you off or changed the subject with a beautifully sunny smile and a laugh, so bright and cheery that you were successfully diverted every single time.

And it was fine, really. You liked Kirishima a lot, so you were totally willing to put up with a few odd idiosyncrasies. And okay, sure, if you were being totally honest with yourself, of course you wanted to be more than friends that flirt and kiss and mess around a bit. You couldn’t even technically call each other fuck buddies because he wouldn’t fuck you. But he was so sweet, and so handsome and kind and his tongue was so so good, that you would take whatever you could get from him.

At least, that was until one afternoon.

April had brought with it blue skies and sun showers and warm breezes, and as the weather begins to improve your friends take to lounging out the front of the apartment complex. After graduating, renting places in the same neighbourhood just seemed like the next logical step. On days like this, where you all come together just to chill out in front of the complex, it seems like the best idea in the world. As you watch Kirishima chase Kaminari around the lawn, the two of them howling with laughter, something a little wistful twists in your stomach. It’s a familiar feeling, easy enough to shove away normally, but today for some reason you just feel… melancholy.

Maybe that’s why you do something you would never normally do. You turn to Bakugou, who’s aggressively chewing on candy as though it insulted his mother, and say, “Hey, um. Does Kirishima… does Kirishima ever talk about me?”

Bakugou’s jaw stills, and he turns his head very slowly to look at you. He looks mildly disbelieving, which is understandable. The two of you get along just fine, but you’ve never asked him anything personal before. “Why the fuck are you asking me that?” he demands through a mouthful of half-chewed toffee.

You shrug jerkily, suddenly mortified. Why are you asking something like that of Bakugou, of all people? “Never mind.” you say quickly, praying that he’ll just let it go and you can both move on and forget that you had ever asked such an embarrassing question.

A silence stretches between the two of you, long and taut, broken only by Mina giggling as she shows Sero something on her phone a few metres away. You could curse yourself for making things awkward between the two of you when you had been on relatively good terms, but then Bakugou turns to look at you so abruptly that you startle a little. “Look,” he says, jaw working absently as he chews his candy. “He likes you just fine, okay. Why aren’t you having this conversation with him, huh?”

You can’t quite meet Bakugou’s eyes. You don’t know how he can be so forthright all the time. “Um. I’ve tried, but he always changes the subject.”

Bakugou swears softly, glaring out across the lawn at Kirishima as he chases Kaminari, throwing grapes at his back. “I ain’t a relationship counsellor, okay? I get that it must be hard that he doesn’t cum when he’s with you or whatever, but you seriously need to work that out with him. What am I meant to do about it?”

“Right,” you wince, your body hot with embarrassment. Your mind sticks on something he just said though, and you turn back slowly to frown at him. “He… he doesn’t cum?”

“Hah?” Bakugou scowls at you, clearly annoyed that you’re still having this conversation. You’re not about to let up though, because you hadn’t known that.

“I-I didn’t realise that he didn’t-?” you trail off, mortified and horrified in equal measures. You had assumed all those times that he was jerking off under the sheets that he was getting himself off but just didn’t want you to see. You had never questioned the lack of mess because as soon as you were done he always left for the bathroom, returning a few minutes later with damp towels to clean you up with -- you had assumed he cleaned himself up in those moments of absence. How the fuck had you never noticed? Why did Bakugou know when you didn’t? Oh god, had he and Kirishima talked about this?

Bakugou’s expression shifts as he apparently realises that he had just revealed something you hadn’t been aware of. “Oh.” he says, and his annoyance seems to have evaporated, only to be replaced by an intense discomfort. “Well. It’s not that big a deal, or whatever. I’m sure he still, uh, enjoys himself- fucking hell, can we stop talking about this?”

“Yeah.” you say a little numbly. You feel so stupid. Why had he never said anything to you? You had been under the assumption that he liked you back, but maybe you were totally mistaken. Maybe seeing your naked body turned him off to the point that he couldn’t actually cum even if hidden under the sheets and not looking at you. Maybe he never actually wanted to do any of that with you in the first place. There’s a stinging pressure building in the back of your eyes, and you have to look down at your lap and blink hard to stop yourself from doing something stupid like bursting into tears in front of Bakgou -- you don’t think either of you would live that down. “Uh. I think I’m gonna head up to my room, I’m really tired.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened a little, “Wait, are you-”

“I’ll see you later,” you smile and try to keep your voice as normal as possible, but even you can hear how forced you sound. You stand quickly and brush yourself off before heading back inside; you have to consciously slow your pace so that it doesn’t look like you’re running away, because you really don’t put it past Bakugou not to chase you down for cutting him off like that.

You bump into Jirou on the stairs and babble out an apology, escaping back upstairs to your apartment before she can ask you if you’re okay. The last thing you need is an audience for your imminent breakdown, but thankfully you don’t see a single other person on the way to your place. You shut the door to your room tight and lean your forehead against it to take a deep breath. It doesn’t do much to calm you down, so you turn and make a beeline straight for the bed. Throwing yourself dramatically on top of your bed covers feels a little cathartic, so you allow yourself the luxury of being dramatic as you bury your face into your arms and sigh.

God, you wish Kirishima would have just talked to you instead of grinning that stupidly bright smile of his and changing the subject anytime you tried to talk or ask about the thing the two of you had together. At least then you would have been able to deal with any upset that may have been caused by that conversation by yourself, and you wouldn’t have had to get all upset in front of one of Kirishima’s best friends. God, how were you ever gonna look at Bakugou again?

You know that stewing by yourself like this isn’t going to help sort this situation out, but you just can’t find the energy to start thinking about what you’re going to do next. You don’t want to start thinking about that at all. You just need some time to yourself, just a little while to relax and breathe and just not think because if you start thinking you’re pretty sure you’re going to cry. You feel impossibly stupid.

When you hear a knock coming from the door, you want to bang your head off the wall. You can’t imagine anything worse than having to talk to someone and pretend that everything is fine right now.

“Y/N? Hey, is everything alright? Bakugou said you ran off.”

Aw, shit. Maybe you can imagine something worse.

You sit up sharply, staring at the door. This was so typical. Of all the people in the building, Kirishima is the last person you want to talk to right now. So of course it stands to reason that he would be the one to follow you straight to your apartment. “Everything’s fine,” you call back quickly, trying hard to sound like you meant it, “Hey, I’m just tired right now. Can we talk later?”

“Bakugou said you were upset.”

That traitor. You clench your jaw and scowl at the wall. “I’m-”

“I’m coming in, okay?”

“Wha-?” you stand up quickly, but Kirishima is already coming in and closing the door behind him. “Kirishima, I don’t-”

“Okay look, Bakugou said you were upset with me and I’m really, really sorry,” Kirishima blurts quickly, hands up in the air as if he’s being held at gunpoint, “He’s actually pretty annoyed at me right now, but he’s right, and-”

“I’m not-” you start, then pause to gather your thoughts. Bakugou was right, especially when he said you had to talk. And it was important this time that you didn’t let Kirishima divert you like he had been doing. “It’s not that I’m upset with you. Not really. I just- what are we even doing?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, so softly that it’s almost a whisper.

“I-” you swallow hard, brace yourself, “I really like you. I like spending time with you, and I’ve told you, or at least tried to, that I’d really like to, well, be- um, be more than whatever this is. And obviously I would totally get if you don’t want that, a relationship and stuff, but I want you to just tell me! Just say it, instead of changing the subject.”

“Wait, baby, please.” Kirishima steps forward quickly and stops just short of touching you, a bare few inches between you. “I like you so much, I never wanted you to feel this way. I just- it’s difficult to explain-”

“Do you...” you start to say, then sigh. You can’t believe you’re actually going to ask this, because it makes you sound so desperate, but you really need to hear him say it, “Do you not find me attractive?”

Kirishima makes a startled choking sound, “Wha-? Are you kidding? I find you so attractive! You’re so pretty, and your body is- is really nice, why would you think-”

“You never look at me when we’re in bed and-” you start fidgeting, horribly awkward. “I just want to be able to touch you.”

Kirishima steps forward, closing the distance between you and dropping to one knee. “Baby, I’ll do whatever you want,” he says, his hands coming to rest on your hips as his thumbs stroke circles into your skin. “You want me to touch you?”

“No.” you squeeze your eyes shut in frustration, realising that he had misunderstood. “I mean. Bakugou told me that you never cum when we’re together.”

When you open your eyes again, you see that Kirishima has gone stock still. His mouth is a little open, and you can see his throat working as he seems to fight for something to say. Very slowly, he gets back to his feet. “He shouldn’t have said that.”

You stare at him, at a loss. “Is it because-” you start, then trail off as you realise that you don’t even know what you’re trying to ask. You just want him to start talking so that you can stop asking all these stupid questions. “If you don’t want to have sex with me, you only have to say so, I would never pressure you into-”

“No!” Kirishima blurts, jolting forward. The suddenness of the movement seems to startle the both of you, but Kirishima recovers faster. “God, no, that’s not what this is!”

“Then, why?” you whisper, thoroughly confused. You had hoped that talking it out would help get some answers, but if anything you’re even more confused and insecure than you had been before he came to your room. “Did I- I mean, if I’m doing something that’s-”

“It’s not you.” Kirishima interrupts, covering his eyes with one of his large palms and leaning away from you. His hand is trembling a little, almost imperceptibly. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

The statement hangs in the air between the two of you like it’s a tangible presence. You stare hard at Kirishima, but he doesn’t remove his hand from his face. He looks a bit like he’s going to be sick. “What do you mean?” you ask quietly.

You’re guessing that this is where you get the ‘You’re great and all but I’m just not ready for a relationship. It’s got nothing to do with you though, I need to work through my own stuff’ sort of speech, and you have to brace yourself for it. Instead, Kirishima says something that you had not prepared yourself to hear in the slightest.

“I’m sorry.” you say, a little bewildered. You’re certain that you heard that wrong. “Could you- could you say that again?”

A flush has begun to crawl steadily across Kirishima’s face, made all the more prominent by the contrast of his hand pressed to his eyes. His ears are so red that they blend right into his hair. “I said,” he says, then takes an inhale, “That you’ll break up with me if you see my dick.”

You don’t actually know how to begin replying to that. For one, breaking up would require you to be in a relationship, which is something that he has been avoiding for a while now. You decide to address the bigger problem first. “Why would I want to break up because of your dick? Why would you even think that? Do you think I’m that shallow?”

“It’s got nothing to do with you being shallow,” Kirishima says slowly. You get the impression that he’s measuring his words, and his uncharacteristic reticence has you on edge. “It’s just that- I’m not, well, normal.”

You stare at him, a little taken aback. Kirishima had always had some issues with self-confidence, ever since middle school, but you’d always thought he’d worked through that in UA. You had never heard him talk about himself like this. “What’s that supposed to mean? Eijirou, lots of people are self-conscious about what they have going on downstairs. It doesn’t mean-”

“No, you don’t get it,” he interrupts. His hands have started twisting up the hem of his shirt, wringing it out and wrinkling the material. He’s frowning, and clearly starting to get agitated. “It’s not that I’m self-conscious about it- well, I am self-conscious about it, I guess, but it’s for a reason! I mean it, it’s not exactly… standard.”

Your face scrunches up in a frown before you can stop it. Not standard? “You’re worried it’s too small?” You guess. Your gaze drops to the crotch of his pants, where he’s subconsciously folded his hands. “Too big?”

“Um.” Kirishima lets out a nervous little laugh, several octaves higher than normal. “Yeah, I guess. It’s… it looks weird.”

“Eijirou,” your voice is soft now, most of your frustration melted away by the sight of Kirishima’s anxious fidgeting, “We live in a world where physical mutations are the norm; you really don’t have anything to worry about.” You pause for a moment, but Kirishima doesn’t respond immediately. The silence builds, until you try to break it with a light-hearted, “How weird can it be, really?”

Kirishima’s throat works as he swallows hard, but he’s nodding so you at least know that he’s listening. When he does speak, his voice is so low that you have to lean closer to him to catch what he’s saying. “I just don’t want to ruin this.”

Your heart twists, and the last of your frustration straight up disappears. You take a breath to steady yourself, then step forward and place your hands gently on his chest. A tremor works its way up his spine at your touch, but you don’t remark on it. “Kirishima.” you say firmly, and when he looks up and makes eye contact you try to keep your gaze as strict as possible. “You really have no idea how much I like you, do you? God, I like you so much, it’s stupid. I’ve wanted to be with you for so long. I mean, even if you never wanted to have sex I would understand, so long as you talked to me about it. Your dick is not gonna stop me from liking you, idiot.”

The fear of rejection is still plain to see on Kirishima’s face, but there’s something lurking just underneath that looks like hope. “I’ve never… I’ve never been with anyone like that.”

“You haven’t?” you ask, genuinely surprised. Not only is Kirishima perfectly sweet, he’s also extremely attractive. As an up-and-coming sidekick in Fatgum’s hero agency, you knew that he had no shortage of admirers. Even before that, in UA, you knew there were always people who had their eyes on him. He was so bright, he was hard to miss.

He laughs, scrubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. “Uh, no. I mean, I’m not totally inexperienced. I mean, I’ve done oral and stuff, and I think I’m actually pretty good at it-”

“You are definitely pretty good at it,” you chime in, nodding and trying not to laugh at the flush crawling up his neck.

“I enjoy it, too!” he says quickly, as though trying to reassure you, “I enjoy it a lot. But I’ve never- I mean, no one’s ever touched me like that.” You feel your mouth drop open in honest shock. A little part of you couldn’t help but feel reassured that it wasn’t you he had a problem with, but that was mostly drowned out by surprise. Kirishima rushes on before you can speak, as though trying to say his piece before he runs out of steam, “It’s not that I didn’t want to, it’s just that it’s never seemed worth the fallout. Especially with you. I’m happy with being with you in whatever way I can, and I don’t want my stupid dick to scare you off or-”

“Oh my god, Kirishima, stop,” you say, and this time you really can’t hold back your laugh. “Your stupid dick isn’t going to scare me off. God, I can’t believe this is why you never let me touch you.” you step closer and press a soft, close-mouthed kiss to his lips. You hadn’t realised just how tense Kirishima was until he relaxed a little into your touch, the stiffness in his shoulders easing out as he sighed into the kiss. You pull back just a little, just enough that you can give him a cheeky smile. “Want me to give you your first blowjob?”

Kirishima’s whole body tenses right back up as his eyes shoot wide in surprise. “What?” he squeaks out, his ears turning scarlet.

You take his hand in yours and tangle your fingers together, before tugging him gently towards the bed. “I want to,” you assure him quietly, “No matter what your dick looks like, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Kirishima says as he sits at the edge of the bed. He’s breathing a little faster now, either from excitement or nerves. You’re guessing it’s a bit of both, because he’s clinging on tight to your hand even though he looks like he’s about to bolt. When you hook your fingers around the waistband of his shorts, he catches one of your wrists with his free hand. “If you- you know, if you change your mind after seeing it, just know that I won’t be mad or anything.”

He’s so quiet and earnest that you feel your heart melt a little looking at his nervously hopeful eyes. You take your hand back and climb onto his lap, pushing your fingers into his wild mop of hair. It’s the first time you’ve ever been close with him like this -- usually he would give you a sweet, gentle kiss and then dive between your legs, always keeping a frustrating amount of distance between your lower halves. This time though, he doesn’t try to divert you away. His hands grip your hips tight, and he leans his head into your touch. “I wish you would stop expecting me to push you away.” you murmur into the side of his neck, peppering little kisses into his skin. Kirishima lets out the smallest, choked off sounding whine at that, and tilts his head so that the long line of his throat is exposed. You take the hint, and start trailing kisses all along the soft skin at the base of his neck. “I told you, and I meant it; I want to be with you.”

Strong arms wind their way around your back and pull you close until you’re sat right over Kirishima’s crotch. You don’t even think it was intentional on Kirishima’s part, but you won’t pass up the opportunity when it presents itself to you. His shorts are bulging a little right in the centre where he’s starting to get hard, and you lower yourself down so that you’re grinding over him. He gasps at the contact, and his hips jerk up into you. “Oh, shit. I want you, so badly.” he gasps, his forehead dropping down to rest on your shoulder.

You have to admit, what you can feel through his shorts is… intimidating. ‘Yeah, I guess,’ he had said when you asked him if he was worried about his dick being too big. Judging by what you could feel pressing against you, that was a massive understatement, and he was only half-hard. You ghost your hands down over his sides, feeling his ribs expand with his breaths, sliding down until your hands reach the waistband of his shorts again. You push them down over his hips, and he lifts himself up to help you, and then he’s just in his impressively tented jockstrap. You smile reassuringly at him as you tug down the jockstrap, and then his cock springs free of the waistband and you pause.

“Oh.” you breathe.

“I know that it’s-” Kirishima begins to visibly panic, his hand reflexively shooting down to try and cover himself as he tries to sit up.

“It’s okay.” you say quickly, recovering from your surprise as quickly as possible. You still feel a little off-kilter as you slide off his lap to your knees in front of him. You know that you’re staring at his cock wide-eyed, but you can’t quite help yourself. It’s… well. It’s definitely not standard.

You reach out, your hand hovering uncertainly over his cock because you barely know how to begin. It’s thicker than a soda can, and long. Delicate ridges and swirls decorate the underside, with a series of bumps along the top. When you finally do grasp him in your hand, you’re rewarded with a barely stifled gasp and a hot spurt of precum that dribbles down his cockhead to your fingers. You use both your hands to explore his length, fingers trailing over all those strange ridges. The bumps along the top are apparently sensitive, because when you rub your thumbs over them Kirishima gasps and his hips thrust gracelessly into the air.

“Sorry!” he blurts as his cock dribbles even more precum. There’s so much of it that it looks like you actually used lube or something to slick up his cock, but you guess that this must be normal for him because he just looks embarrassed. “I- it’s sensitive, I guess, um- I usually put down a towel, because I tend to get, uh, messy.”

The way he says that and the connotations of it has your thighs squeezing together, and you take a deep inhale through your nose. It’s unexpectedly hot. “Gotcha.” you smile at him, trying to put him at ease as you return your attention back to his dick. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind if you make a mess.”

“Oh, shit. Uh, okay.” Kirishima says, and his breathing has gotten noticeably heavier now. He’s almost panting as he leans back on his elbows, craning his neck so he can get a look at what you’re doing. There’s a curious swell around the base of his cock that just seems to be growing. One of your hands travels down to it curiously, splaying over it and then rubbing it at it experimentally. His hips rock forward sharply, a huff of breath leaving him as he grunts a muted, “Fuck!”

The precum is oozing almost continuously now, spilling over with nearly every stroke, and your rubbing at the swollen base seems to be pushing even more out. It’s obscene, the copious amount of it and the way it’s stringing down onto your hands. If this is the amount of precum he produces, you can hardly imagine the amount of cum he’s going to produce. You wonder if ‘messy’ is another understatement.

You finally lean forward and lick an experimental stripe up the underside of his cock, lapping at the ridges and swirls. The moan that’s ripped out of him is needy and so desperate -- his stomach muscles are tensed with the effort he’s putting in to keep from rocking into your mouth, but his cheeks are flushed and his own mouth is lolling open, his eyes squeezed shut. You take that as your cue to take all of him in your mouth as best as you can, suckling at the tip before swallowing him down. You get about halfway before you have to pull back and try again. Your mouth is stretched obscenely wide around the girth of him, and you swear you can feel the weight of his dick pulsing on your tongue.

“Oh god, oh baby, oh Y/N,” Kirishima is babbling nonsensically, his head thrown as his hips make the sweetest little aborted rocking motions, like he wants nothing more than to let go but is trying his best to restrain himself for your sake. “Feels so good.”

You suck him as best as you can, but your jaw is starting to ache from being hinged so wide. You alternate between stroking his length and suckling on the head of his dick, tracing the swirls and squeezing the bottom. The swell at the base of his cock has engorged even further, and you prod at it curiously with one hand as you work his length with the other. It’s firm but oddly spongey, and everytime you poke at it Kirishima’s whole cock twitches.

When he gasps out your name you pull back and look up at him. He’s trembling, his shirt rucked up past his bellybutton and his gaze fixed unwaveringly on you. “You okay?” you ask softly, rubbing your thumb along one of the ridges under the head of his dick.

“Yeah,” he breathes, reaching down to cup your face. His thumb swipes over your bottom lip, and you realise that a string of saliva and precum is dripping down your chin. “But if you keep going I’m gonna cum.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point?” you laugh, and press a kiss right on his slit. His hips twitch and you dodge backwards just in time to avoid him taking your eye out with his hard on.

“Sorry!” he looks mortified, and you can’t help but find his nervous fumbling absolutely adorable.

“Don’t worry about it.” you smile as you kiss your way down his shaft, prepared now for the intermittent jerking of his hips. You get to that swollen part at the base and place your mouth right at the bottom of his cock, before wrapping your lips around it to the best of your ability and sucking.

You had guessed that this swollen area was sensitive thanks to his reactions earlier, but you’re not quite prepared for the shout he lets out or the way his hand grabs onto the side of your head as he damn near rides your mouth. You’re totally startled by the reaction, but given the amount of times that you’ve done the same to his mouth you’re only too happy to indulge him. Plus, it’s the first time you’ve ever seen Kirishima fall apart like this. His cock is dribbling precum at a rapid rate the more excited he gets, and thick strings of it are pouring onto your cheeks. You think you should probably feel a little grossed out, but seeing Kirishima open-mouthed and panting as he rides your face like he’s hasn’t got a single other thought in his mind has you so turned on that your panties are getting sticky and uncomfortable between your legs. You stick your own hand between your legs to try and relieve yourself of some of the heat coiling up in your stomach, but the way that Kirishima’s rutting into your face throws off your coordination.

“Oh god, please, baby, please, put it back in your mouth, I’m gonna- fuck, Y/N, I’m gonna cum, please-” He begs, his head thrown back as he gasps.

How could you ever deny him when he pleads like that? You pull your head out of his grasp and sink your mouth back down on his cock, and then you just hold there and breathe as steadily as you can as Kirishima’s cock throbs in your mouth. His hips spasm, pushing his cock further into your throat. It almost feels like he’s getting bigger, as if he’s growing down your throat.

Kirishima is still babbling, a steady stream of senselessness about how good you’re making him feel, how beautiful you are, how lucky he is, until he cuts himself off with a gasp of “Baby, I’m- I’m-” and then he’s silent, his mouth hanging open as his whole body strains.

You try to suck him through his orgasm, but you are utterly unprepared for the sheer quantity of cum that erupts from his dick. Despite your intentions, you have no choice but to pull off his cock, choking a little on the cum that actually managed to get up your nose. You stroke him through it, feeling dazed as you watch him cum. You know it’s dripping from your chin, running in rivulets down your face. You wonder if it’s coming out your nose.

Kirishima seems to come forever, humping into your fist and whining and moaning the whole time. When his cock finally gives its last, exhausted spurt, his body falls limp against the bed. He’s gasping for breath and staring at the ceiling, looking like his soul had been ejected from his body along with the insane amount of cum. You notice the swollen part at the base of his cock has deflated almost entirely, to the point that it’s hardly noticeable anymore.

You climb up on the bed beside him and nudge him with your knee, a little concerned. “Eijirou? You good?”

When he looks at you, there’s a goofy smile splitting his face. “I have never been so good in my whole life.” His smile freezes as he catches a proper look at your face, caught between surprise, embarrassment, and something else. He reaches out to your face and swipes his fingers through the mess on your face. “Oh god, I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be!” you hasten to assure him, squeezing his wrists. “It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Kirishima stares at you as though he almost doesn’t believe you, but his cum is painted across your face and dripping down your chest, so he’s not in the best position to argue. “I told you I tend to get messy.” he breathes out a laugh, and then leans forward to kiss you, apparently not caring about the taste of his own ejaculate.

You hum into his mouth, your thighs clenching in excitement. “Eijirou,” you whisper into the kiss. When he pulls back, you bite your lip and smile at him, “Next time, will you fuck me?”

Kirishima inhales sharply, and his grip on your hips tightens to the point that the pressure is near bruising. “You really want that?”

“God, yes.” you blurt, shifting so that you’re straddling his stomach. You lower yourself down so that you’re grinding against his bare skin, and you can see the exact moment that he realises you’ve soaked through your panties.

He groans, and pulls at your hips to encourage you to grind against his stomach harder. “Shit, sweetheart. You don’t think it’s… kind of gross?”

“I didn’t expect the amount of cum,” you confess, wiping at your face with a helpless laugh, “But no, I don’t think it’s gross. I like it.” You whimper as Kirishima’s thumb slides over your swollen clit, the glide made smooth thanks to the slickness of your own arousal.

Kirishima is looking up at you as though you had hung the moon, and it’s hard not to get a little embarrassed under the intensity of his gaze. “Okay,” he whispers, “If you’re sure.” He glances down with a small frown, his lips twisted thoughtfully, “I don’t want to hurt you, though.”

“You won’t.” you kiss his nose, grinning as it wrinkles up under your lips. “We’ll make sure I’m stretched.” you glance over your shoulder at his still wet, softening cock. Even now, the size of it is intimidating. “And lube,” you conclude, “We’ll use lots and lots of lube.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, a smile starting to light up his face. He presses a sloppy kiss to the base of your throat, and you can feel the smile against your skin, “Yeah, okay. I’d really like that.” There’s still cum everywhere, all over your hands and chest and face and splashed across Kirishima’s legs and stomach, but he doesn’t seem to care about the mess in the slightest as he rolls the two of you over so that he’s hovering over you. The kiss he presses to one of your breasts is impossibly soft, and you tilt your head back and sigh as you feel his fingers trace over the lips of your pussy. “I’m so lucky to have you.” he whispers, then pushes himself down your body.

As his tongue flicks over your clit, you smile. It’s definitely you that’s the lucky one here.

_________________________

Kirishima’s complicated relationship with his genitalia had started in middle school. Up until that point, he had managed to remain blissfully unaware that there was any kind of abnormality in his nether regions. That changed one day in the locker rooms.

Having never paid any particular attention to what he had in his pants, Kirishima hadn’t thought anything of changing out with the rest of the boys in his class, as unabashed as any middle-schooler that hadn’t developed a sense of self-consciousness yet. He didn’t notice the whispers or stares until one of his friends nudged him hard. “Dude,” he said, glancing between Kirishima’s legs and then away, curiosity and mild revulsion mingled on his face, “What’s wrong with your thingy?”

“Wrong?” Kirishima had echoed, discomfort beginning to prickle beneath his skin. He hadn’t realised there was anything wrong with his genitals. He covered up quickly and finished getting changed, but the stares lingered.

No one said anything more about it to him, but by the end of the day rumour had spread that Kirishima was weird down there.

He had, like so many boys his age, taken to the internet to do his own research. It felt like a punch to the gut when he realised that his classmates were right -- his dick looked nothing like the dicks that all the guys in the videos he found had. There were exceptions, where the person’s genitals were affected by their quirk, but they were always full-body quirks that made it pretty obvious that what you were gonna find down below would be non-standard. His genitals didn’t match his body or his quirk, so his classmates must be right when they say that he’s weird with those grossed-out little laughs.

He learned pretty quickly to keep that part of him to himself, to change out quickly and efficiently in such a way that no one would ever see the parts of him that he’d rather keep hidden. He welcomes physical contact because he’s still an affectionate guy, but he’s always careful about the distance he allows between himself and others just in case they brush up against him accidentally and somehow feel that he’s different. When the boys in his class start excitedly talking about girls and other boys, and how nice it’d be to have a girlfriend or boyfriend, Kirishima tries to stay out of it. He doesn’t want to wonder about something like that when he knows that if someone were to find out his secret they’d be totally grossed out.

High school comes hand in hand with experimentation though, and Kirishima is lonely and touch-starved. He doesn’t want to avoid touch for the rest of his life out of fear that someone’s going to know. So he allows himself to indulge a little; he’s popular with girls in UA, a fact that surprises him. Unlike the girls in middle school, they haven’t heard the rumours that there’s something wrong with him, so they smile and chat to him and even flirt. It’s exciting and new and he allows himself to have just this -- he kisses them and he makes them feel good, and then he retreats when they look for more because he just can’t give it to them.

When he tells you all this, you could swear that you feel your heart crack right down the middle. You hadn’t realised how lonely Kirishima was, wrapped up in a self-constructed blanket of self-loathing and disgust. You knew it had taken a lot of trust for him to open up to you like he had, but you hadn’t realised just how much. It makes your chest fill with some undefinable emotion, and you just want to hold him and never let go.

You’re more determined than ever now to show him exactly how much you care about him, and exactly how much any physical anomaly doesn’t affect the way you feel in the slightest. You’ve been stretching yourself methodically and carefully every night of the week that has passed since you gave him his first blowjob in preparation to finally have sex with him. You just want him to feel good, and you don’t want him to worry about hurting you. And now, tonight, you’ve decided that you’re ready for it.

Bakugou’s the one that answers the door when you knock at their shared apartment, and his face does something funny when he sees you. He lets you in without a greeting, and yells for Kirishima as you shut the door behind you. It’s definitely a little awkward, because your last proper conversation was that day when he told you that your now boyfriend didn’t get off when you were together, but you smile and ask him how he’s doing all the same.

He just grunts at you and sprawls out on the couch, his attention fixed on his phone. You don’t try to make any further conversation, because you figure he probably won’t respond and you can hear Kirishima crashing around further down the hall anyway. You’re about to slip down the hall towards Kirishima’s room when Bakugou speaks again, surprising you. “You talked.”

You pause, confused for half a moment before the memories of your last conversation come flooding back. “Oh. Uh, yeah, we did.”

Bakugou nods, still staring at his phone. You hover uncertainly, unsure of whether you should continue to Kirishima’s room or if Bakugou had something else he wanted to say. You don’t have to wait long; Bakugou puts his phone down and turns to survey you closely. “If you’re still here, then I guess you didn’t freak out.”

“There’s nothing to freak out over.” you say defensively, thinking of how sensitive Kirishima is about his body.

“I never said there was!” Bakugou snaps back instantly. You both glare at each other, but you don’t respond further. You came here for one reason, and that reason was not to start a fight with Bakugou when your boyfriend was waiting for you in the bedroom. When Bakugou speaks again, it’s with an awkward edge to his voice. “Whatever. Just don’t be an asshole to him.”

You realise that Bakugou is just trying to look out for his friend, and the revelation that you’re receiving Bakugou’s awkward attempt at a shovel talk is enough to have you reeling. “As if I would be,” you say, “I really like him.”

“Good. Fine.” Bakugou picks his phone back up and you take that as a dismissal. You’re just about to leave when he says, “By the way, keep it the fuck down. I don’t care if you’re taking dragon dick or if it’s Shitty Hair’s first time getting his dick wet, I don’t need to hear that nasty shit.”

His crudeness has you flushing hot with embarrassment, but you don’t dignify him with a response. You slip down the hall and up to Kirishima’s bedroom, knocking softly on the door before letting yourself in.

Kirishima is in the process of trying to stuff a pile of clothes into the bottom of his wardrobe, and he slams the door shut and whirls around when he hears you come in. “Hey!” he beams at you, trying to kick aside the pair of underwear that’s stuck in the edge of the wardrobe door.

“Hey, you.” you greet him. You’re still a bit flustered from Bakugou’s comment, but you hide it as best as you can as Kirishima sweeps you up in his arms and pulls you into a sweet, close-mouthed kiss.

In the week since you blew him the first time, the two of you have alternated between your apartments and spent almost every single day together. Some days you just touched each other with your hands, other days you used your mouths on each other. You still hadn’t gotten fully used to his enormous loads of cum, but he seems at least to be getting more and more comfortable with your touch. Even now, his hands trail up your sides as he presses eagerly into you; this boldness would have been unheard of coming from him only a week ago, but neither of you are under any illusions about what the two of you are going to get up to this evening.

You wind your arms around his neck and melt into the kiss, relishing the contact and the wet slide of his lips against yours. As his hands trail from your hips to your lower back to your ass, you feel the hard press of his lower abdomen nudge against you. You pull back and grin at him, “Someone’s impatient.”

Kirishima flushes, but he doesn’t pull away or deny it. Progress. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.” he confesses quietly, reaching up to nudge a flyaway tuft of hair out of your eyes.

“Yeah?” you grin, delighting in his openness. You take a small step back and look down at where his bulge is tenting the front of his sweatpants. “How long have you been like this, baby?”

“Pretty much since you texted me telling me you were thinking of coming over.” he says with a cheeky little smile, nudging his face into your neck and nipping at the skin there. “So, an hour and a half? Give or take.”

You hum as you cup his hardness through the cotton of his joggers. He groans and his hips jerk into your palm, as sensitive as ever. “Hey,” you murmur, “Wanna fuck me?”

Kirishima’s whole body twitches at that, and you swear you can feel his cock jump in his hand. “Now?” he asks, his voice gone a little hoarse from surprise and arousal.

“Unless you’d like to wait?”

“No! Now is good!” Kirishima says hastily, reaching out to hold your hips as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “God, now is so good.”

It’s really hard to hold back your laugh as you watch him scramble towards the bed, tugging you along with him. He’s excited, that much is obvious, and you really can’t blame him -- he’s gone so long thinking that he would never get to have this, that he would never be accepted like this. You want to give him everything.

His hands start fidgeting with the sheets as soon as he sits back on the bed. You straddle his lap and take his hands in yours before leaning in for a kiss, hoping to distract him from any nerves or self-doubts before they can take a hold of him. He hums happily into your mouth, squeezing one of your hands in his and using the other one to wrap around your waist and pull you closer.

“I’ve thought about sex with you so many times,” you admit when you pull away from the kiss. You reach up and stroke a line down the bridge of his nose, then push back a lock of his hair; it’s freshly washed and ungelled, lying fluffy and loose around his face. He’s looking up at you like you just hung the moon, open-mouthed and soft-eyed. It’s such a sweet look on him, and you love watching it contort into pleasure as you sink down to rub yourself against his hard on. “I want you to feel good.”

Kirishima makes a choked off whining sound in his throat as he grinds up into you. “You always make me feel good.” he says. You can feel his cock thickening and filling out against you, and judging by how clearly you can feel him, he’s foregone the usual jockstrap or protective cup he uses to try and hide his shape in his pants.

You reach down and pull at his sweatpants -- you manage to get one leg off entirely, but the other gets stuck halfway down his left thigh and you’re too impatient to keep pulling at it so you just abandon it in favour of reaching for Kirishima’s now exposed cock. You’ve gotten familiar with the thick ridges and bumps of it over the past week, familiar enough for your fingers to seek out his sensitive spots without even looking.

He moans as you touch him, and dips his hands into your pants so that he can squeeze at your ass. His grip is a little too hard, bordering on painful as he bites at your neck. He pops open the button on your pants and shoves one of his hands into your panties, rubbing at your clit with his thumb and trailing his other fingers along your slit.

You rub at the bumps along the tip of his cock, and you’re rewarded with a little squirt of precum. It dribbles down your hand and onto the sheets, and you wonder if maybe you should put down some towels to try and keep the mess contained. But Kirishima is letting out the softest little moans as he tries to rut into your hand and rub at your clit at the same time, and you decide that ruining the moment to lay down towels just isn’t worth it. A little mess is a small sacrifice to make.

When his fingers finally dip inside you, you feel his whole body tense up and still. “Baby,” he says, his voice soft and a little stunned, “You..”

“I stretched myself out before I came over,” you finish for him, pushing your hips back so that his fingers sink all the way inside of you. The lube still inside of you makes the slide effortless, and the look on Kirishima’s face is absolutely priceless. “I’m ready when you are.”

Those words elicit another little spurt of precum as Kirishima’s cock twitches in your hand. When you glance down, you see that the base of his dick is engorged and painful looking, and it only seems to be swelling. You only get to look for a moment though, because then you’re being flipped on your back and Kirishima is looming over you. “Oh, baby, oh shit,” he grits out through clenched teeth as his cock rubs up against the back of your thighs. “Are you sure you want to?”

“I want to, I want to so bad,” you promise him, kissing where you can reach on his face. You reach down and grip his cock, guiding it to your entrance, “Go slow, baby.” You’re so excited when you first feel the tip of his cock press into you that you’re not sure if the gush of wetness is from your pussy or his precum. You’re so turned on that you wonder if the amount of lube you had used was overkill, but then the length of him starts to stretch you out and you decide that yes, you absolutely did need that lube.

As soon as the tip is in, Kirishima stills over you. His head drops down, forehead making contact with your shoulder as he groans. You rock your hips experimentally, your breathing gone a little ragged as you realise that you can feel all those fleshy bumps and ridges, but Kirishima snatches at your hips instantly to still you. When he speaks, his voice is strained, “I’m not gonna last.”

Affection bubbles up in your chest as you look at his flushed face, his misty eyes. He’s practically trembling from the effort of holding back. “It’s okay,” you assure him, looping your arms over his shoulders and tracing little patterns into the skin of his back, “You don’t have to, it’s your first time. We have all the time in the world to go again and again, as many times as you want.”

Kirishima makes a garbled little noise in the back of his throat, and then he’s kissing you so sloppily and enthusiastically that drool begins to slip down your chins. It’s a little gross, but considering how much cum you’re going to be covered in soon enough you can’t be too fussy. When he pulls back, it’s so that he can look down and watch where his cock is entering you in increments.

The slow, inexorable stretch of it has your breath catching in your throat. You throw your head back on the bed and focus on keeping your breathing as steady as possible as he presses into you so, so slowly. After exploring the length of him with your mouth and hands, you knew he was big, but apparently knowing and feeling are two completely separate things. You feel like you’re being stretched impossibly wide, and when you glance down you see that he’s not even halfway in.

Kirishima pauses suddenly, his breathing coming in short pants. You think that he’s just taking a moment to collect himself, to pace himself, but he’s frowning down at where the two of you are connected. “I dont- I don’t think I’ll fit.”

“Oh, you’ll fit.” you declare, jaw set stubbornly. His dick was already partly in you, and like hell were you giving up now. “Don’t worry. Keep going, Eiji.”

“You’re so…” he groans as he edges his hips forward, rocking his cock another inch inside of you, “So tight, you feel so wet and warm inside, oh god, so good, so good.”

The stretch is starting to sting, but you’ve prepared yourself well for this and it��s not so bad that you can’t breathe through it. When he bottoms out inside you, the tip of his cock hits your cervix and your whole body jerks hard at the dull ache it sends up your spine. “Fuck!” you cry out, your hips humping back into Kirishima’s of their own accord. You can feel every damn ridge and swirl grinding against your insides, and you clamp down hard around him, gasping. “Oh, shit.”

You’ve never felt so full in your life, and Kirishima’s cock doesn’t even fit all the way inside you. You wonder if you’re about to split in two. Your thighs are splayed obscenely wide, and you can feel your own body trying to suck him in further but there’s nowhere else to go because he’s filling you up so completely. Your chest is heaving as you pant for breath -- your thoughts have turned a little muddy, but even now you can see that Kirishima has frozen, his face tucked into your neck as he shudders with deep, panting breaths. Your shoulder feels wet, and you realise that he’s drooling on you.

“Eijirou,” you groan, “Move.”

His first thrust is hesitant, exploratory. He apparently likes what he feels, because he lifts his head up so that he can look at you properly. He looks totally blissed out, his eyes a little unfocused, and his expression alone shoots a bolt of heat straight between your legs. You breathe out a curse and move your hips down and into him, trying to encourage him to fuck you properly. When he thrusts forward again, the movement is accompanied by a vulgar squelching sound, and you realise that you’re probably being filled up with his precum. The thought makes you moan quietly, tightening up around him.

Kirishima grunts and dives down so that your chests are pressed together, his arms pushing your legs up and to the side, and then suddenly he’s fucking into you for real. His moans sound like they’ve come straight out of a porn video as he shoves his cock as deep inside you as possible before pulling out and doing it again. All you can do is gasp against him as the breath is driven straight out of your lungs by his desperate humping.

His movements are nearly feral, jackhammering into you at a pace that probably should feel punishing but instead has you hiccuping out moans on every stroke. The size of him and the speed at which he’s fucking at you is overwhelming in the best possible way. He keeps gasping your name in between moans, his jaw lolling open as he pants for breath. “Oh, baby girl, you feel so good, so good for me. You like this?”

“Yes!” you wheeze, clinging to his shoulders as he rails you into the mattress. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. “Oh god, don’t stop!” You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly, and you practically throw yourself down to meet his thrusts. “Please, I’m gonna cum, make me cum, Eiji!”

Kirishima practically snarls at that, his hand snaking down to your pussy even as he keeps rutting into you. His hand finds your clit and starts stroking at it hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking. “Fuck yes, I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

You know you’re starting to shake apart, his cock and his fingers too much for you. Your body is strung taut, your orgasm so close you can virtually taste it. As he feels you clamp down around him Kirishima lets out a whimpering moan, and with that you’re totally gone, head slamming back on the bed as you let out mindless, breathless little choking moans. It feels like your vision totally wipes out as you convulse in Kirishima’s arms, hips twitching wildly.

When the euphoria of your orgasm finally subsides, you feel so totally fucked out that you hardly know which way is up. It takes you a moment to become aware of the way Kirishima is humping into you desperately now, hunkering over you and groaning. Feeling his cock slide in and out of your over-sensitive and still twitching pussy is almost too much, and you know you won’t be able to take much more of his relentless pounding. You clench around him as tight as you can and cup his sweaty face in your hands, smiling at the open-mouthed look of pure need he’s giving you. “Are you gonna cum inside me, Eiji?”

Apparently that was the correct thing to say, because you can see the moment that he hurtles completely over the edge. He shoves his cock as deep as he can get inside you and then he’s crying out as he begins to empty himself inside you. He keeps rocking, even though his cock is crammed as far into you as it’s possible to get, and you tremble and gasp as you feel his cum spraying inside you. It feels totally filthy, and there’s so much of it that you can feel it leaking out and down your ass even though Kirishima’s cock is still plugging you up. There’s so much cum that you actually start to wonder if your birth control is going to still be effective. You almost expect it to start coming out of your ears.

It seems like he’s cumming forever, and eventually he has to pull out because you’re just too full. As soon as his gradually softening cock is pulled free, it seems like a veritable bucketload of cum streams out of you and makes a mess of the bedcovers. It’s simultaneously really gross and really, really hot, and you don’t have the energy to unpack that so you just lay back and watch as Kirishima’s cock continues to dribble cum all over his legs and your abdomen. The swollen base of his cock is deflated now, and his dick eventually gives one last twitch and then he’s finished.

He collapses on top of you, sweaty and soiled with his cum, but you don’t complain as he wraps you up in his arms and kisses your temples, murmuring soft, mindless praise into your hairline. “Are you okay?” he whispers, “Did I hurt you?”

You laugh a little, still winded. Your pussy is feeling achey from being stretched so wide, and you’re definitely going to have trouble walking tomorrow, but it’s the best kind of hurt imaginable. “You did everything just right.” you say, giving him a tired smile. “How was it?”

“If I could stay in your pussy forever, I would.” he says solemnly, the barest hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

You laugh properly at that, and roll over so that you’re lying across his chest. “Yeah? Well, I think you’ve just ruined me for all other cocks in the world. No one's ever gonna compare to how good yours feels.”

With your chin on his chest, you have a clear view of the way he flushes at your words, and the vulnerability that creeps into his expression as he looks at you. “Really?”

“I just came so hard it felt like the world was ending.” you grin at him, then press a teasing kiss to one of his pecs. “Yes, really.”

A smile breaks out on his face, toothy and dorky, as if he can’t believe his luck. “So… Would you want to do it again, maybe? Sometime?”

The smile you return is so wide it feels like it’s about to split your face. “Yeah, Eiji. Without question.”

It’s hard to kiss when you’re both grinning like total idiots, but the two of you make a valiant effort all the same. The ridiculous amount of cum painting the two of you is beginning to dry and flake off your skin, and it's definitely kind of gross but you’re so happy and sated and tired in that moment that you’re pretty sure nothing on earth could ruin the moment for you. Not even Bakugou when he comes pounding at the door and yelling obscenities in the form of noise complaints.

#NO ONE LOOK AT ME OK #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha kirishima #kirishima scenario #dragon dick kiri

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ivyaugustetc · 3 years

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the dead poets at hogwarts: a headcanon from hell

@aedan-mills @charlie-dalton-simp @pretentious-strikes YOU ENCOURAGED THIS BEHAVIOR SO YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO LIVE WITH THE CONSEQUENCES. also i love you a lot but THAT'S BESIDE THE POINT.

also @aedan-mills i found out that some of the wand stuff is related to their birthdays and i am much too lazy to look all that up and figure it all out, but anyone else is welcome to lmao. sorry to disappoint but alas it's summer and i don't want to research that much. but other than that, please listen to me flex my extensive knowledge on harry potter :)

neil (half blood): i'm sorry,,,, can you say gryffindor? this boy would get up there and in a second the sorting hat would have him all figured out: big dreams with the will to pursue them, but not ambitious enough to step over others to achieve said dreams? sounds like a gryffindor to me. i just know he'd thrive at hogwarts, probably going on to play quidditch (def a chaser) and would excel in charms class. as far as pets go, i feel like he'd stay simple and classy with a chill barn owl he'd name after a famous broadway actor. he would kind of be a mix of james and remus, in which he's wild and crazy but still manages to get good grades. the teachers love him simply because they don't know much about him outside of class. he would absolutely LOVE going to hogsmeade and going batshit crazy at zonko's and honeydukes. he'd have a whole phase where he gets addicted to licorice wands and everyone else thinks they're disgusting but he simply cannot buy enough of them. he'd play a bunch of zonko tricks on the rest of the poets, saving the most harsh for charlie and the most wholesome for todd <3

todd (muggle born): ugh see i can see him being both a hufflepuff and a ravenclaw, but my heart says hufflepuff so i'm gonna go with that. he would absolutely HATE the sorting ceremony with a burning passion. getting up in front of everybody only to have a hat judge u??? no thanks. HAHAHA CAN YOU IMAGINE HIM ON A BROOM. i can't either because he would simply never get on one, probably referring to them as "flying death traps" more often than not. "hey todd, you think about joining quidditch?" "no thanks, i'd rather keep my limbs intact ;)". but he would love muggle studies a lot, even if the teacher was boring as hell. snape would scare the hell out of him for sure, resulting in his lowest class being potions. he would excel in classes that are more learning out of the book rather than in practice. for a pet, he'd want something that could not possibly turn on him and would just be sweet and loving, so ima give him a toad :) he'd name it something fancy and british, like nigel or sumn. and because of nigel, he'd love chocolate frogs because hey they're twins!!

fanon knox (pure blood): hogwarts fuck boy. okay well maybe not f boy but like...his favorite part is the fact that this is a co-ed school rather than an all-boys school so he can spy on both genders equally yknow. hmm i get hufflepuff vibes from him because he's a big romantic, sucker for cute relationships, etc. he would enjoy whichever class his current crush is in, although I feel like he'd do well with classes that involved spells and wand work mostly lmao. he'd want a really fucking cute pet, so i'd give him a kneazle (it's like a cat but a bit more lion like). he'd give it a strong sounding name, something german idk. but he'd love the shit out of that kneazle, i can tell you that much. i feel like he'd try out for quidditch his first few years, not make it on, and then make it on to the team around fourth year and somehow end up team captain in seventh (and that proves kids, that you too can have a redemption arc in sports). as far as candy goes, ima say he likes the super sour candy like acid pops n shit. like i feel like the others would dare him to each as much sour candy as he can and then he wouldn't be able to taste for a week. but he'd think it was worth it :)

cameron (muggle born): good god this boy just wants to learn. magic just fascinates him, what with growing up in a big muggle family (bestie he is the weasleys if they were all type a). he's a ravenclaw, no questions asked. he would love classes involving preciseness and attention, things like potions and transfiguration. i feel like he'd have a cute, stable relationship along the way ofc because he deserves so much love and happiness and UGH he's a baby. he'd stick with a lil ginger cat, naming it after one of the famous wizards he's read about. he would love spending christmas at the school and going places when the ground are nearly empty, enjoying the scenery. for candy, he'd go plain and simple with chocolate frogs. can't go wrong with those. he'd still have fun with his friends, but he'd skip a lot of parties for some studying (don't judge, i do it too lmao). would not play quidditch but would enjoy it, end of story.

charlie (pure blood): slytherin. don't dispute it. think the weasley twins but even more flirtatious. he would be a regular at every single party that happened, flirting with the guys and gals shamelessly and drinking butterbeer like it was water. look me in the eye and tell me he would not absolutely fucking HATE GILDEROY LOCKHART WITH EVER FIBER OF HIS BEING. he'd do spot-on impersonations of him though. teacher's worst enemy. like when he walks into class on the first day, every teacher collectively mutters "bloody hell not this kid again". asks the most incredibly stupid questions ("okay but is there a spell to turn my eyebrows green? just the eyebrows though, not my hair"). he would be the most aggressive beater on the slytherin team, though he would never deliberately try to hit someone, just distract the shit out of them ("put the fear of god in them and fate will do the rest"). he'd want a loud, aggressive pet but he'd probably end up with a mean cat that hisses at everyone. he'd give it the most adorable name that just. does not fit the personality. something like priscilla. for candy, he'd take his chance with bertie botts' every flavour beans and just roll with the punches. he's chaotic like that.

pitts (half blood): ASTRONOMY IS HIS JAM. he fucking loves that class. he tutors the entire ravenclaw house in that class. he's the guy that little first years who are terrified of the class go to when they're completely lost and don't understand what's going on. besides that, i feel like he'd just be everyone's cool older brother yknow? like he'd be in charge of helping all the first years figure out where stuff is and giving them advice to help them and stuff. he would be a die-hard quidditch fan although he would not play the sport (maybe recreationally on the weekends and holidays and stuff, but the fact that it's so fucking dangerous just does not appeal to him). he'd like the candy that does tricks and stuff, like fizzing whizbees and stuff. he gives me charlie weasley vibes, where he's hardcore in certain areas (in his case, astronomy) and just flipping chill in anything else. cool older brother vibes, man. it fits.

meeks (half blood): i've said it once and i'll say it again: nonproblematic ginger dumbledore. also a hufflepuff <3 this dude just wants to fucking coast along, getting good grades and not participating in the dumb shit that could probably get him killed (even though he would in a heartbeat if his friends were in danger. duh). he'd be a teacher's favorite, probably having conversations with his favorite teachers during free time. okay ik this isn't technically at school, but i swear to god he would be dumbledore one day. like he would be the chill ass headmaster who gets shit done while also being very la di da life is nice flowers are pretty type of person. that being said, his favorite candy is and has been lemon drops ever since dumbledore got him addicted to them. his favorite classes would be potions (he'd surprisingly get along well with snape) and he'd just be great and mixing shit right and just knowing how much of stuff to add in ("how much powdered root do i add?" "about three and a half shakes." "that's not a measurement, meeks." "*shrug* it works"). he'd stick with his small friend group and love them to death, but he'd be a friend to all really. he'll help anyone that comes to him asking for help with homework (and though he won't admit it, he gets super prideful when it's someone a few years ahead of him).

stick (muggle born): harry potter if harry potter could've been more harry potter. like he would just be a part of everything and end up being part of some prophecy that demands he'd save the world and at first he'd be like HEY i'm just a small boy but then he'd grit his teeth and finesse the shit out of this preventing the end of days stuff. he'd definitely be a gryffindor, and fucking proud of it. he'd be the seeker on the quidditch team because he is so short and small and yeah he'd fucking kill it there. he'd kind of be the shy one no one expected much from, but once he starts absolutely wrecking the shit out of the other houses' quidditch teams, he'd become sorta popular? like people would invite him to parties and stuff and he's too nice to say no, but he'd mostly just hang around the outskirts, saying hi to the other poets if he saw them and mostly talking to chris and ginny (danburry, not weasley). he'd like defense against the dark arts and minerva mcgongiall would become his literal mother i can't explain it. he'd have an owl as a pet and treat it like it was his own child, telling it thank you every time it brought his mail or took his mail. as for candy, he'd like drooble's bubble gum because the bubbles are all magic and shit and i just feel like that would make him so happy <3

chris (pure blood): the older sister lesbian <3 she'd be a sweet hufflepuff who would be friends with everyone while also being the greatest socialite the school has ever seen. you know that party that practically the entire school attended and talked about for months on end? she planned that shit. she'd be like pitts in the respect that she'd help all the first years find their way in the school and in life in general. she's just such a warm and kind person that everyone would love her. she's have a little pink pygmy puff to match ginny's purple one, and she'd give it such a perfect, human name like lila or something. she'd be great at muggle studies and all the teachers would love her. also every one is so invested in her relationship with ginny it's adorable. he favorite candy is acid pops even though they make her eyes water like crazy. she'd make pretty good grades, every once in a while getting one slightly lower than she'd expected, but she always manages to bring them up to her satisfactory level :) she would not play quidditch, but she would go all out to support ginny, even though they're in different houses. that's what i call love, baby.

ginny (half blood): the mom lesbian <3 she's a ravenclaw and also one of the sweetest people in the whole school. while chris helps other with the social aspect, ginny will help anyone in any subject they need help with (she and meeks are a help duo on this). she's quieter and less social than chris, but she's one of the best chasers the ravenclaw quidditch team has ever seen. she'd end up team captain by fifth of sixth year. she'd be like oliver wood in that she is sO invested in the team's success that at sometimes she'll go a bit crazy, but chris is always there to help her put things back into perspective <3. she'd make stellar grades of course, being good friends with all of her teachers. her favorite candy would be the sweetest things like fairy floss. as previously stated, she'd have a purple pygmy puff to match chris's pink one, and she'd also give it an adorable human name like lisa or something. ginny's just sweet to everyone, especially neil and his friends.

I DID IT. IT TOOK FOREVER AND A FEW HAIL MARYS BUT I DID IT. enjoy besties <3 love u all

#dead poets society #dead poets society headcannons #todd anderson #neil perry #gerard pitts #charlie dalton #nuwanda #knox overstreet #steven meeks #stephen meeks #richard cameron #james stuchelli #ginny danburry #chris noel

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moonlights-inkwell · 4 years

Text

I’m Weak, My Love (And I am Wanting)

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 5,525

Summary: After a night of drinking, you dance with a stranger. Jaskier is jealous. Jealous enough to do something extreme

A/N: Two Fics in one day? Who is she? I have no idea.

This fic is dumb and super unbeta’d but oh well, sorry for any bad writing and junk. I’ve mentioned Jaskier being jealous before and wanted to write something to go with it.

Title from Her Sweet Kiss.

Warnings: Public Sex, slight degradation, Reader is drunk, Jaskier is insecure.

You feel the eyes on you before you even really understand what they are, hairs on the back of your neck standing up on end. It’s distracting as all hell.

“Fuck!”

The word comes out loud and slurred as you stumble over your own feet mid-dance. You’re drunk, or if not drunk then tipsy enough to know that you soon will be- the feeling is more than welcome. Working, fighting as you have been, it leaves little time these sorts of festivities, the kind that reminds you of home. The rush from guzzling down tankard after tankard of sickly-sweet apple cider is unrivalled in its ability to make you feel girlish and giddy. And so, you’re dancing. Or were, as it may be, before you tripped.

Your compatriots don’t join you, but you rather expected that before abandoning the table. Geralt seldom allows himself to indulge in such luxuries- like smiling, or engaging in pleasantries, so you assume that dancing is far beyond his capabilities. He doesn’t even tap his foot when Jaskier performs catchy, often bawdy songs, in his honour, so this music, pretty but lacking in lyric or any type of familiarity is unlikely to rouse him to his feet. Besides, crowds are hardly something the White-haired man enjoys, standing out like a sore thumb amidst all of the mundane people of the village you’re staying in.

Jaskier, however, Jaskier staying at the table is a little odder. The bard adores crowds, feeds off of the energy that a group of people exudes and is able to talk to anyone, a trait you find intriguing and intimidating in equal measure, but he's sat. The tavern has a band of bards, all playing in unison to form something overwhelming and beautiful, so there is no chance for him to perform, to wink and sashay about while strumming his lute and lapping up attention. That had rather taken the wind out of his sails when he realised, souring his mood to a point where he isn’t even trying to dance with you. It had been upsetting at first, how he had essentially ignored you in favour of scowling and fingering the frets of his lute like the strings will make the other musicians disappear.

Ever since meeting the bard, you’ve thought him beautiful. Not beautiful, beautiful isn’t quite the right word. He's amazing. The kind of person for whom a natural sort of charm radiates from them, who would be attractive from personality alone, even if he wasn’t one of the most attractive men you have ever laid eyes upon. Ever since the two of you began... whatever it is the two of you have been doing, he's done his part to act as if you’re the only person in tge world to him, but right now? He only has eyes for the band. The coin that he could have earned would have been a godsend, but you don’t care about that right now, all you want is to dance with the bard. He's just. Sat there, scowling and sitting instead if dancing with you.

It’s such a simple thing to bring so much pleasure; dancing, especially when coupled with somewhere to do it, and this tavern certainly feels like an appropriate place for it. It’s heaving, overrun with people you assume must b locals, all laughing and chattering like they haven’t a care in the world. Perhaps they don’t, their only troubles coming in the form of what ale to drink and who they should dance with. You envy them that. Truly, you can’t remember a single one of your concerns from before you packed up and abandoned your life go travel with a wandering Witcher and his Bard. Logically, you know you must have had them, but not a single one is important enough to linger in your mind. Any domestic issue pales in comparison to fighting beasts, arguments about corsets and how near you may go to the woods forgotten in lieu of how best to fell a Wyvern or exactly where to hit any man who means to do you harm. It’s selfish to envy these people their lives when you know that you wouldn’t trade the life you have chosen for all the gold in the world. Mid-stumble, you catch yourself, and stand upright once more, bringing your tankard to your mouth and draining it before moving to place it on a table, only to fall over your feet once more, flinching for fear of impact with the ground. But it never comes, instead a pair of arms wind about your waist and tug you up to the body of one of the boys who had been dancing around you. He’s a pretty thing, a mop of blonde curls hanging about wide green eyes that stare at you like you’re a prize that’s fallen into his lap, and you grin up at him gratefully. It takes less than a second for him to tug you closer still and begin another dance, hand on your waist and the other gripping your hand; it’s nice, nice to feel wanted, even if it’s only for a night, a dance- there are worse ways to spend a night than hanging off the arm of some pretty stranger. Serves as a nice distraction from the bard as well. Well, it would be nice, if not for the feeling that you’re being watched, that has you craning your head to see who it is that is staring. Then, your eyes meet a gaze all too familiar.

Jaskier.

His eyes are narrowed into slits, brows knitted together and mouth downturns in a look that you don’t recognise on his face, but know all too well. A scowl. Jaskier doesn’t scowl, that’s a look used by Geralt or yourself, but right now he's scowling at you, glaring daggers into you and gripping the neck of his lute so tightly it looks as if it might break.

“Something wrong, Pretty Lady?” The blond asks playfully, making you turn your gaze away from the glowering man across the room to meet the eyes looking down at you.

“Oh. No. No, I just. Thought someone was looking at me.”

“The man in the red?” He asks, looking straight at Jaskier before chuckling, spinning you about and causing you to fall against his chest once more. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“What?” You ask incredulously, eyebrow raising. It's such a weird thing for him to say about a complete stranger, and you can’t really understand what he means. Jaskier is scowling, yes, but you assume it’s because you’re able to enjoy yourself while he cannot perform.

“He looks like he might murder me.” The boy tilts his head and leans his head in, mere centimetres from your face in such a way that has you thinking that he might kiss you. “Your husband?”

His question flusters you, only serving to make your cheeks flush bright red and a nervous laugh to escape your lips. Jaskier? A Husband? The idea of him being wed is so alien, even when applied to you. You spend too many nights with him curled about you, but you aren’t even courting, never mind being anywhere close to marriage.

“No!” You say the word a little too forcefully, and your dancing partner grins. “We're traveling partners, he is not my husband.” You don’t know what you are. You kiss, settle in his arms like it’s where you belong, spend far too many nights with him bucking up into you and swallowing down your moans, but you aren’t courting. He isn’t your gentleman caller. Your lover, yes, your friend, always, but you have no clue how to articulate that to this stranger, and so don't.

“The look on his face has me thinking he might wish to be more than traveling partners, Pretty Lady.” He says teasingly, lips brushing against your own with each word. You are more than that, but the alcohol has you tongue tied. You want to kiss this stranger. Well, that’s not entirely true, you want to be dancing with Jaskier and to drag him down into a kiss, to lean in and close the gaps between your lips, but you'll settle for trying to forget the man behind you who cares far more about music than spending time with you. He seems to have the same thought as you seeing as he kisses you suddenly.

Its soft, sweet, but... felt like nothing. It’s just skin on skin, no different from how his hand on yours feels, and you can’t help but feel disappointed. You’ve only ever kissed one man before, never felt a need or want to either, only ever really wanted a bard who is too tied up in himself currently to kiss you, but every kiss with Jaskier is a world stilling experience, the sort people write songs and poetry about and this feels like absolutely nothing at all. No sudden surge of desire, no need to fling your arms about him, no want for anything at all. It’s deeply disappointing to say the least; like something inside of you is broken, or at least dampened by the alcohol raging through your system. The man kissing you, however, seems to feel something if the quiet moan he lets out is anything to go by, and pulls you closer, but you remain still. You can’t bring yourself to kiss him back, so instead just stand there stock still. Well, stood stock still until you feel a hand firmly grasp your wrist and tug. Hard. The pull sends you stumbling blindly backward, barely able to realise what is going on when you see Jaskier pushing the blond man backwards.

“Get your bloody hands off of her!” He says, words dripping with poison, audible above the music. The people dancing around you stop their movements and stare at what is going on, at the Bard standing in front of you like a guard dog.

Your dancing partner opens his mouth to argue while surging toward Jaskier who clenches his fists into balls, but stops when you quickly say Jaskier's name. This is the closest you have ever seen him to a fight, watching hands that daily cradle a lute clenched to punch someone is so unnatural.

It’s embarrassing, to say the least, to be gawked at by such strangers and turned into a spectacle, and so you reach out to the bard, hand brushing against his back.

“Jask-” You begin, and he turns to you quickly, eyes initially full of anger, but softening slightly when they meet your own; his hand flies out once more and grabs your arm, painfully tight.

“Come on, Little Miss,” He says coldly, walking towards the door to the pub and dragging you along behind him. You drag along behind him, and hear the music start up once more, making you scowl at the prospect of missing out on dancing. There goes the chance at nostalgic bliss you had been enjoying. You’re in the street before you really know what is going on, and Jaskier curses under his breath into the darkness of the evening.

“Shit. Where is the fucking inn...?” He mutters, craning his head about to try and get his barings once more. This isn’t where you recall entering, and assume that you must have left through a side entrance, you’re in some side alley, not the main street. The iron grip on your arm is growing painful and you try to pull it free, Jaskier's grip doesn’t falter. The air is uncomfortably cold, especially against your warm cheeks, and standing like this is doing little to warm you.

He’s trying to work out where you go from here, and you’re wondering the exact same thing; just not about how to get back to the inn. He’s gripping you like he wants to bruise you, wants to leave his mark on you and you don’t know what there is you can say to make his jaw unclench or his hands soften. There are no words. Though you aren’t courting, it’s been quite implicit between the two of you that whatever it is you have, it’s exclusive; he and you are not to be... toying about with other people. You don’t flirt with men hoping for free drinks or cheaper rooms anymore, Jaskier doesn’t bed or even flirt with other women, and between the two of you? You fell at the first hurdle, he has remained loyal to whatever this is, and you let some stranger kiss you. Famous flirt and serial seducer, Jaskier, has not tried to romance anyone but you but with a little ale in you and the high of dancing rushing through you, you let a stranger kiss you; not just kiss you, but kiss you in front of Jaskier. There’s nothing you can say that will change that.

“I’m weak, my love, and I am Wanting.” The lyrics come from your mouth unconsciously. You don’t sing, it’s not something that comes readily to you, but with the ale and discomfort around you, it’s a that you can think to do. Singing is Jaskier's skill, and while drunk you can hardly carry a tune, but you simply need to fill the silence and a song will do. His song too. It feels like an insult, but he turns to you with a smile- all teeth and gums. Like a wolf, a beast, and it’s exciting. Jaskier doesn’t look like a beast, he’s all sweetness and light but given what he’s seen, you suppose it makes sense. You blink slowly at him, and feel him tug you toward him once more, body making contact with his chest and driving all of the air from your lungs.

“What the bloody hell was that all about?” You ask, a little more harshly than you expected it to come out. “I was having a good time-”

“A good time? Is that what you call letting a little toad like him near you?” He seethes, towering over you in such a way as to make sure you must look up at him. You feel like a child being chided, not someone talking to a man who had until this night been seen as your equal.

“We were only dancing, Jaskier. I fail to see how he was taking advantage of me by dancing. You and Geralt were hardly going to stop your brooding and be my partner.” You try to argue, but your words come out stilted and unnatural. Arguing with him isn’t natural: Geralt you can argue with until blue in the face, everything said is forgotten within an hour or so, but Jaskier? He remembers everything, pulls it out at a second’s notice and is a wordsmith. He knows how to build up or tear someone down with nothing more than his words, and well at that. Your argument is childish and nonsensical too- acting as if you were only dancing is an obvious lie. You know what happened, he knows what happened. You cannot deny what he's seen with his own eyes and to try is to insult his intelligence.

He pushes you, and the rough brick of the inn presses into your back, rough and painful enough to warrant a noise of complaint, which dies on your tongue when Jaskier's hands bracket you in place. You let out a gasp, from the sharp pain of the bricks and the fact that he's pushed you and is so near. With him so close, you can smell ale on his breath that you hadn’t seen him drink. Is that your breath? The proximity of your lover so close combined with the alcohol has your head spinning in a way that makes you worry you might just sink to your knees. He looks beautiful. He always does, but somehow, now with chestnut locks falling into his eyes and glaring at you in a manner that is just on the right side of feral, he has your knees shaking. You've never been attracted to dangerous men, but in this moment, with him having all but punched a man over you, you understand how so many women can fall over themselves for men like Geralt.

“You weren’t just dancing, were you, Little Miss?” He growls, leaning in until his face is but a centimetre away from your own. “You let him kiss you.”

“He kissed me.” You attempt to correct him before realising you've basically said the exact same thing he did. Jaskier growls at that, and slams his mouth into yours. It hurts a little, his kiss pushing your head back into the hard wall, mouth working harshly against your own and tongue prying its way into your mouth, world’s away from his usual way of kissing- all sweetness and light replaced by something darker. Almost possessive. You try to move your hands up to grip the satin front of his doublet only to have them pinned to the wall at either side of your chest. His lips leave your own to move down to the column of your throat, not quite kissing but more nipping at the skin.

“You let him kiss you.” He says darkly against the skin, warm breath fanning against cold skin to make you shiver.

“I didn’t kiss him-"

“You didn’t stop him either.” The words are almost a snarl, and your heart all but stills in your chest.

“I didn’t know how! And I didn’t kiss him back, Jaskier, we both know I wouldn't...”

“I don’t believe in sharing.” Funny statement. He’s made a name for himself by bedding married women, but the woman he isn’t courting being kissed is somehow a punishable offence? What’s the difference, you ask yourself, while his lips ghost across your neck, how is some man kissing you any different from what he used to do? Teeth graze sensitive skin and you bite back a moan when a thought enters your mind. Those women weren’t his. They were another man's wife, not someone he shares a bed with, spends his days beside. He hasn’t ever needed to concern himself with the aftermath of adultery, save for running from nobles- never been jealous of who looks at a woman that he cares for.

At once, everything falls into place. All night makes so much more sense, how he had tried to keep a grip on your hand as you slipped from his grasp to the bar, never to return as you joined the fold to dance, the constant watching, the scowling at your dancing partner. No sign of his usual animated chatter, no annoying Geralt, just watching. Unending watching. He wasn’t angry about the other musicians. No, no, it was something completely different all together.

“Are. Are you jealous?” You stammer out which only makes the Bard growl and all but bite your neck, sucking on the skin in such a way that has you certain that there will be a bruise there in the morning. A strange concept indeed. Jaskier is all lover and no fighter, so the thought of him bruising your skin even through kisses is something else.

“Am I jealous of some ugly prick?” He raises an eyebrow and slowly raises to his full height once more, his knee slotting between your thighs and grinding oh so slowly against your sex. “No. What I am, is fucking angry. That some bastard is touching My Little Miss, that you would let him-"

“Y-Yours?” You stammer out as the meat oh his thigh rubs against your clitoris.

“I spend my days singing to you.” He nips at your neck. “My evenings holding you.” He laps at the bite with the flat of his tongue. “My nights fucking you.” His hands release your wrists, one moving up to grope your chest while the other moves down to tug your skirts up past your waist and slides into your undergarments to press the tips of his fingers to your sensitive pearl, letting out a ghost of a laugh upon feeling your fluids covering his digits. “I kiss you; I sleep with you, I live and breathe you and use my mouth on you until you can't even breathe. I think that rather makes you mine.”

He says it in a manner that is so matter of fact that it makes your head spin. His. Logically, you know you should be angry at him for being possessive- you aren’t his partner, not his wife, not anything more than a bed partner- but the way he says it has you dripping, walls clenching around nothing at all while his leg grinds against your cunt. His. It leaves no room for argument or discussion, just a claim of ownership that can’t be disputed, not that you would if your traitorous mouth would allow you to form words. You like that, as much as you know you shouldn’t. It makes you sound like a pet or some kept whore, and the affectation in his voice only serves to remind you that he must be some rich cunt and you should slap him for implying he could ever own you, but really, all you want is for him to breach you with his calloused fingers, make your thighs quake. To be owned by him, at least right now, sounds perfect- to be filled with him until you know nothing but his name and how his cock feels within you.

“You're soaking.” He mutters, dragging his nose against your skin. “Is this for me? Or that prick?” He sounds so smug, but there's an undercurrent of anger running under his playful tone.

“Please... Please.” You whine out, biting your bottom lip so hard you taste blood. He chuckles, fingers deftly circling your clit without ever moving further.

“Please what, Little Miss?” He asks, his smile all teeth. “Please...? Please stop touching you? Please let you go and be touched by that disgusting little-"

“Finger me.” You cut him off earnestly, back arching off of the wall and pressing your chest into his. Melitele, it’s sad how wanton you’re acting, begging to be touched in a place where anyone could walk past the two of you. Quiet is needed, discretion to keep prying eyes away, but you don’t care who hears you as long as he stops playing these games and does what you both want him to do.

“Me or-"

“Gods above Jaskier, please. Please, Jaskier.”

He smirks at that, and you force yourself forward to slam your mouth against his. The vibration against your lips lets you know he has more to say; always has more to say, is never silent. Normally, his voice is something you revel in; how it manages to make even the most mundane thing sound melodic, but if kissing him will keep him from talking more about the man inside then you can deal with him not speaking. Thankfully, though, he ceases his circling to instead push what feels like two fingers into you and your eyes water at the sudden movement. It’s not the first time he’s done this but it is the first time he’s done it with such intensity, thrusting his fingers with such force you're almost afraid it might bruise your cunt, the worry is short lived when the pleasure of it hits you all at once. He’s good with his hands, you’re reminded when you notice the neck of his lute bobbing with each movement of his arm. Musicians’ fingers, calloused from the fruits of his art and not labour, play you like he plays his lute and you bite down on your bottom lip to keep from making a sound, just to spite him. He loves it when you make noise, said once that it makes him sure that he's actually pleasing you, and it’s normally a sign that you two can afford the privacy to be so- there is no privacy here, in an alley outside of a busy tavern where one loud moan could alert anyone of what the two of you were doing. It’s embarrassing how much the proximity makes you want to moan, and almost definitely why he's doing this here. Wants everyone inside, but mostly the blond man, to know how little it takes for you to fall apart for him. That travelling partner definitely isn’t the right term for what he is to you, even if you don’t know what the right words to describe him are.

“Come now, Little Miss.” He coos quietly, fingers on the hand not currently working you into a stupor tracing the visible edges of your teeth. “Sing for me.” His face shifts to your neck and presses a soft kiss to it, before nipping at it, nipping turning to biting and sucking as soon as it had started. His fingers gather more momentum when a third breeches into you and then crooks into a spot that has you seeing stars. A noise that verges on a scream, masked by a sudden burst of loud music and cheering within the pub, escapes you which makes Jaskier grin and peck your lips before retracting his fingers all together.

“Jaskier-" You hiss, eyes narrowed to slits, but stop when he drags your hand to his trousers and places it on top of his cock. The dark had done enough to conceal it from you, but with it beneath your hand you can feel it, hard and throbbing beneath the fancy fabric. It’s good to know that, jealousy aside, he isn’t angry enough to not want you. Dark lashes brush against his cheekbones and his head slumps to the wall beside your head as soon as you touch him, letting out a wanton little moan. “Oh Jask.” Your voice turns tender and your grip on his member tightens as much as it can through his pants and you work it up and down the shaft, feeling how it twitches with every movement of your wrist. The first time this had ever happened, both of you drunk on ale that tasted like piss and hidden away in some cupboard in an inn, he had chuckled at how gentle your touch had been, going so far as to grab your wrist to guide your movements into something more pleasurable: but now he chokes out a moan of something that sounds like your name, hips stuttering in staccato thrusts to chase your hand. You drop your grip of him after a pump or two more, turning your head to press a gentle kiss to the exposed underside of his jaw. It’s little by means of an apology, but you see his lips turn up in a smile while he heaves out a sigh, hands sliding down to his trousers and unlacing them at a speed that reminds you of his strumming.

“Part your legs.” It’s spoken like a request, but you know it’s a demand and even if it wasn't, there was no way you could deny him. With an awkward sort of shuffle, you push your undergarments down to step out of them best that you can before leaning back against the wall and letting your legs part. The skirts still cover you, but you feel so exposed like this. In the near pitch, you can hardly make out anything save for how his arms move to shove his trousers down. Darkness hides too much, you think, as you can’t even make out how his member even looks in this light, but Melitele you feel it against your thigh when he steps closer to you. A cold hand slides your skirt up once more and Jaskier steps between your legs, holding onto your thigh and guiding it onto his hip.

“Can I-"

“Fuck me, Jaskier, or I shall scream.”

The moan that escapes your lips is louder than you would like, but he chuckles and it’s enough to make your heart swell: lips landing on your and moving gently against them as he thrusts into you. He's big, big enough to make your cunt feel full to bursting point each time he enters you, and you can’t help but make noises when he does.

“There we go, Darling.” He murmurs against your mouth, making you wonder how he can string together a coherent sentence in moments like this. “Gods, you’re so tight.”

Thrusts grow faster and with each movement your moans grow louder even against his lips, you can feel them curl around yours. He tugs back from you after a little while and rests his forehead against the wall, breathing heavily.

“You’re so good to me, Little Miss.” He breathes, grip turning to iron on your thigh. “You’re... perfect. My Little Miss.” He speaks so much that his words feel so much more natural than silence, more natural than anything in the world; bird songs, trickling streams, Jaskier’s words. “You’re beautiful, and he wants you... everyone wants you. I can’t lose you...”

“...You know I want you, don’t you?” You ask, voice cracking. The noise that he makes is somewhere between a moan and a sob, breathing shakily against the skin of your throat. “I can't imagine being without you, Dandelion. You... You have no need to be jealous of some stranger who tries to kiss me.” He whimpers, hips stuttering. He's close, far closer than you, but in this moment, you don't care at all. This isn’t about you. This is about him, and letting him know how much you care. Care in such a way that words alone will never be able to express.

“You want me now.” He sighs, thrusts slowing and hand moving to rub your clit once more. “I know that. But you'll change your mind, Little Miss. Everyone does. I ought to savour the time we have...” He thrusts hard at the word savour, and you see white as his cock head hits that spot deep within that makes you weak. “But I know you’ll soon change your mind.”

Oh. That, that was not what you anticipated at all- you had expected some sort of talk about how he wants you too, but this self-depreciation is new. Jaskier is always so confident and this is alien to you. There isn’t a time you know when he isn’t self-aggrandizing, preening and strutting like some fancy song bird, all too aware of how wonderful he is.

“I'll always want you.” You whisper and his head rises from the wall once more and instead rests his forehead against yours. “You. Just you. Wonderful, amazing you.” You mean it too. He'll probably believe it to be drunken ramblings come morning, but you mean every word. You love him, love him, love him.

You love him. Have for far too long, really, far longer than is right to go without saying. It’s impossible not to love him, he’s a breath of fresh air, a beacon of light in a doublet, a lullaby you didn’t know you had forgotten, nostalgia for a life you've never known before. Jaskier. Wonderful, foolish Jaskier, who sings away each day and talks to you like he cannot imagine speaking to another soul, and does his best to stitch up your wounds while chiding you about how you worry him so. Jaskier, who has carried you on his back when he thinks you're limping behind, and sleeps with his arms wound around you and head burrowed between your shoulder blades. You love Jaskier. The thought overwhelms you, and you have to bite back the words to keep them from coming out. You seek his lips out once more, kissing him chastely.

“I'll always want you too, Little Miss.” He admits, he thrusts hard into that spot and presses on your clit and your vision blurs as you moan so loudly your voice cracks, pleasure overtaking you and ensuring you can’t feel anything but pleasure and the rush of his seed flooding into you.

“I mean it, you know.” You say when the world settles once more, Jaskier pulling himself free of you and tucking himself back into his trousers. “About wanting you, I mean.” I mean it. I shall want you till the day I die, till each star burns out and the nights no longer follow the day, till spring doesn’t come. I want every part, every facet and secret, every regret and mistake and treasured memory- and to make a million more. I want to show you each scar and hear every song. I love you. I have never loved anyone as I love you, I will never again love as I have loved you. You make a poet out of me, steal my senses, my very soul; and I want you to keep them until the day you are no longer mine to keep, and then keep them a thousand days beyond so I cannot feel your absence. I love you. I want you.

“You mean it now, Little Miss.” He says simply, hand taking yours. “Now is enough.” He continues and squeezes your hand.

Now is enough, you think, but forever is all you want.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #jaskier smut #jaskier x y/n #jaskier x you

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

Note

Hey can we get a bit of fluff with ledger's joker? Most fics with him are super kinky and he deserves a bit of fluff

I am all here for this ksksksskks I love loving on J, he deserves it so much

I asked @jokershyena for a prompt so: It’s been a long, long day and J’s so exhausted; he can barely move, but you manage to get him into bed. You get him sorted out; you undress him, clean off his paint, and while you’re there, you take a moment to love on your clown. He’s the only one for you.

Word count: 1, 689.

J was late home.

There wasn’t a set curfew, as such, but it had always been, at the very least, a guideline that J was supposed to come home before you went to bed every night. Not just to alleviate the tensions and the worries that you had at his being out so late - where was he? What was he doing? Was he injured? - but also because you, quite simply, couldn’t sleep without your clown, your agent of chaos, right there beside you.

His warm, strong arm slung carelessly over your waist, his fingers beneath the hem of the shirt you slept in because skin on skin contact was something special for the two of you, something which kept you both firmly grounded in reality and proved to the both of you that you were both needed and loved, his leg between both of yours so that you were anchored together, his heartbeat in your ear, his deep and steady breaths the accompaniment to your own…

You could sleep in no other way, and though J rarely voiced all the ways in which you helped him did you know that it was much the same for him. So deeply connected and in love with each other were you that you simply knew things about the other, even and most especially when they were left unvoiced but not unacknowledged.

On nights like this was the sentiment returned with J’s actions. He was nothing if not a man of his word, after all.

At two in the morning precisely did you hear a series of taps and other noises at the window of your bedroom. You were freaked out and panicked until you heard a muffled cackle, the sound slightly strained.

“J!” You marched over to the window and threw open the pane, which enabled your exhausted and chaotic clown to tumble in to your room gracelessly, as his head came through the window and then his legs followed, the rest of his body folding in on itself as he fell to the floor. You shut the window before you bent down to smooth your hands through J’s hair, which was slightly greasy and in desperate need of another round of dye. “What the hell are you doing?”

A dramatic grunt was your only response. More seconds passed and still did J remain on the floor, unmoving, and you realised that he was exhausted. Used were you to J pushing his body, strong though it was, past its limits, so you easily slid your arms beneath his armpits and hoisted him up as you mentally cursed him out for not taking care of himself. J was helping you as best as he could, his head hung low, his limbs limp as you got him onto the bed.

You pulled off his shoes, setting them against the wall beneath the radiator. Sat him up to shed him of his purple trench, his tie, his waistcoat and his braces. You left him in his purple work shirt, a few buttons did you undo so that it was easier for him to move around in his sleep and his pinstripe trousers. You even took off his eccentric socks so that his feet could get some breathing space.

Your next trip was to the bathroom. Quickly did you assemble a bowl of hot soapy water and a flannel. J was already starting to lightly snore and that was a sure sign that he was really and truly tired. You had been working methodically all the while, talking to J while you touched him so that he knew what you were doing to him at all times, always so guarded was he. Most especially when he was like this, however, was he clingy, and it was easier for him to stay asleep if he could hear you at the very edge of his consciousness telling him that you would be back in a minute, he was safe.

Carefully did you sit down beside his head on the bed, moving slowly. Periodically did J crack a single dark eye open, though upon seeing it was you did his eye slide shut once more. Right now was he showing you the biggest and more sincere display of trust which you could have ever asked for, and you renewed a private vow in that moment. Never would you betray J’s trust in you, never would you betray this moment, right here and right now.

You would rather die than betray J in any way, such were the depths of your loyalty and devotion.

A large patch of white greasepaint in the middle of J’s forehead had completely worn away and your eyes stayed on that spot as your hand dipped into the bowl of hot soapy water. You took a minute to just enjoy the serenity and stillness of this moment; of the smell of J’s greasepaint and of the soap you had chosen, of the slow rising and falling of J’s deep breaths, of the way he looked so beautiful laid out before you like this, trusting you so implicitly with himself and with his continued safety, to just enjoy the heat of the water against your skin.

Oh, shit, you loved him.

You loved J.

You had known for the longest of time, but moments like this really hammered it all home for you, so much so that your heart was currently squeezing in your chest.

You wrung out the flannel and - wait, you wanted to do something which was super romantic and made you feel all warm and fuzzy. If J had been awake, really awake, there was no way you would ever do this, but before you began to wipe off his paint did you slowly, slowly move forward so that you could press a tender kiss to the bare patch of skin, your lips lingering against his skin. With the softest smile did you pull away, resuming your previous position, as you began to wipe off J’s greasepaint with slow, gentle wipes. The minute traces of your love from your kiss would now be rubbed into J’s skin, seeping into his pores and reaching him on the inside.

J’s eyes shot open at the touch of the flannel and you shushed him gently. “It’s okay, J. It’s just me, it’s Y/N. You’re safe.”

“Safe… mine… safe.” J’s eyes closed once more and you felt his body relax into the mattress. Only then did you continue cleaning his face, your heart clenching at his simple words, heavy with exhaustion but just as weighted with a multitude of emotions. You traced around to his right temple and cleaned off that side of his face and then you went around to the left. You left his chin and his scars for last, and when finally did the rest of J’s face only have a lighter hue than the rest of his skin (he even painted his ears, bless him) did you begin to gently, gently dab at his scars and mouth. Red and white smeared together and you leaned in as close to him as you could get away with, concentrating on getting as much greasepaint out of every crevice and crack in his scars.

“There he is,” You hummed, “My handsome clown.”

As more and more of J was revealed until at last was he bare faced before you at almost three in the morning did you feel your own physical and mental tiredness begin to creep in. Calling it a day did you go to the bathroom to dump out the murky water and get yourself ready for bed, before going back into the bedroom to tuck J in. He was supporting himself on his elbows in the bed, squinting at the doorway while he waited for you. He had been awake the entire time you had been looking after him, and it had touched some long forgotten, often neglected part of him. The word love didn’t cross his mind, not really, but the words mine and Y/N had merged together into one, and he rather felt that now did the two of you belong to each other in equal measures.

You crawled into bed beside J and let your body relax. The weight of J beside you in the large bed, the steady rhythm of his deep breathing, the warmth which was practically radiating off of him… you were home, now.

A grunt beside you told you that J was still awake, as did the arm which snaked around your waist and pulled you back into a firm chest. “Get a good look at ‘em, did’ya? Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Teasing though the question sounded, there was a definite edge to his voice. Did J think you had been mocking him?

You didn’t even have to think about it. Yes, he had.

You brought a hand up and over your shoulder. You felt J jerk his head back but you persisted. Finally did J allow you to slide your fingers into his hair, your fingers lightly scratching against his scalp. J almost purred as he tilted into your touch, so feline in nature could he be. “I meant it. Every word. I thought you knew me better than that.” And now you were the one with hurt feelings.

Your hand slid deeper into his hair as J dipped his head to press an open mouthed kiss to your neck. It was an apology for being snappy and an acknowledgement of your kindness. It was the best you were going to get and you knew it.

“Come on, J,” You turned around so that you could face him, pointedly leaning forward so that you could lean your forehead against his, a hand coming up to rest over his heart so that you could feel that he was as alive and as real as you were. “Let’s get some sleep.” You paused and then, “I love you.”

The sleepy hum and the way J pressed his forehead against yours for just a moment said everything he wouldn’t:

I love you too.

Destructive raccoon boii™ @nothing-but-a-comedy @jokershyena @anyatheladyclown @mijachula @joker-daddy @rinbyo @imightaswellnotexistatall @vladtoly @joker-is-my-hero @liz-rdwitch @enigmaticandunstable @ledgerskitten @tsukiakarinobara @germansarechill @ezziesworld @antonija89 @acw1

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bitchesgetriches · 4 years

Link

Noble citizens of the aspirationally decadent Conglomerated Nation of Bitches Get Riches: let’s have a lil’ chat, shall we? It’s been a while since we chatted about our favorite topic: ourselves!

We hope you’ve enjoyed season two of the Bitches Get Riches podcast. Recording it was a bright spot for us during this dumpster fire of a year, so thank you all for listening.

As we wrap up another season, we had a few notes to share with you. Including some more personal reflections about how we’re doing, where we’re at, and what the future holds.

Let’s get into it!

Merch is back online

If you visited our Etsy shop in the last few months, you might’ve noticed the physical merch—tee shirts and coffee mugs and tote bags and such—wasn’t listed anymore. Basically, when lockdowns started, it caused a lot of disruption and delays on orders. Not wanting people to be stuck waiting for stuff, we decided to take it all offline, and only offer digital merch.

As of today, we’ve reactivated everything! But please keep in mind that there may still be delays, depending on what’s happening in the world! We appreciate your patience, if patience is indeed called for.

Visit Our Etsy Shop

Season one transcripts

Next, we wanted to let you guys know that we now have transcripts available for season one of the Bitches Get Riches podcast!

We’re committed to making BGR as accessible as we possibly can. We know that some people can’t hear, or struggle to absorb information aurally, so transcripts were something we’ve always wanted to offer.

… But, you know, at the end of the day, we’re just two people! Transcribing and editing audio is time- and labor-intensive work, and there just aren’t enough hours in the day for us to do it along with the fifteen million other things we have to do.

We were able to offer season one transcripts thanks entirely to A Purple Life, a peerlessly talented and wonderful fellow blogger who selflessly made it happen. (If you don’t already read her stuff, you’ve already disobeyed us, as we commanded you to in 10 Rad Black Money Experts to Follow Right the Hell Now. And for that, we’re strongly considering smiting you.)

We’re incredibly thankful to Purple for her hard work on this. But we also feel strongly that this DESERVES to be paid work! So the release of season two transcripts is dependent on getting more Patreon donors to offset funding it.

Season 1, Episode 1: “Should I Tell My Boss I’m Looking for Another Job?”

Season 1, Episode 2: “How Should I Behave on My First Day at Work?”

Season 1, Episode 3: “My Parents Have Bad Credit. Should I Help by Co-signing Their Mortgage?”

Season 1, Episode 4: “Capitalism Is Working for Me. So How Could I Hate It?”

Season 1, Episode 5: “I Don’t Love My Job, but It Pays Well. Should I Quit—or Tough It Out?”

Season 1, Episode 6: “I Lent My Boyfriend Money. He Took It to a Casino.”

Season 1, Episode 7: “I’m Terrible at Budgeting. Do I Suck It Up—Or Is There Another Way?”

Season 1, Episode 8: “My Mother Demands Information About My One-Night Stands.”

Season 1, Episode 9: “I’ve Given up on My Dream Career. Where Do I Go From Here?”

Season 1, Episode 10: “I Want a Pedigreed Dog. She Wants a Rescue Mutt. It Turned into a Fight… and the Fight Got Ugly.”

Season 1, Episode 11: “I Feel Cornered by a Friend Who Keeps Asking to Borrow Money.”

Season 1, Episode 12: “Should I Believe the Fear-Mongering about Another Recession?”

Bonus Episode: Merry Bitchmas! The 2019 Star-Studded Holiday Spectacular

For transcripts, scroll to the bottom of each episode and click “episode transcript.” Or read them directly in the podcast player of your choice!

Podcast reviews

We also super wanted to thank all the people who’ve etched their names in blood upon the dusty pages of our dark grimoire written reviews for the show on Apple Podcasts, Stitcher, and other places!

We are beyond flattered by the kind things you guys have said about us. Like MoonPetalLily, who described us as “the snarky older sisters [they] wish [they] had.”

FunshineKelly said our “advice helped [them] land a $20k raise and a signing bonus without crying even a little bit.” GOOD! We don’t support tears in the workplace! Not even in the sanctity of your car parked way in the corner of the parking lot. Keep it together!

And God bless MelHubbs, who said, and I quote:

They’re prepared, and still relaxed; informative, and still light-hearted; comforting, and still sexual. It’s everything you could ever want in a podcast, in an internet personality, in your sisters-in-arms against the terrible war between capitalism and what humans actually need to survive & thrive. One of my favorite things about them is that they don’t have any corporate sponsors or ads, so you know what they’re saying is what they mean, not what their advertisers want them to say. If you’re able, support them on Patreon! If you’re not, listen to their podcast, take their advice to heart, reflect on your options, make your moves, then, with your newfound financial independence, become a patreon!

MelHubbs, you joyful sonnet!

Your review is so good that it reads suspiciously like something we paid you to write! But we’re too cheap for that—IT REAL!

Bitches Get Riches at the crossroads

All right. Time to level with you guys.

In keeping with 2020’s overarching theme (“everything is pure shit”), this year has become a real “shit or get off the pot” moment for the two of us.

Although I’m comfortable and doing fine, Piggy is still unemployed. And last week she received the last unemployment check she’s entitled to. It sucks. And it’s scary.

Being a partnership is awesome in almost every way. But one way that it sucks is that we have to earn double the amount of money to be truly profitable! (And no, before you ask, it’s not possible for us to only pay Piggy. Believe me, that was our original plan—but it turns out that’s not allowed in a 50/50 legal partnership. We must pay ourselves equally, or Uncle Sam will spank us. And he doesn’t do it in the sexy way—only the traumatic way!)

Piggy is doing okay for now. She has freelancing work, and an intact emergency fund. But understandably, anxiety and worry take their toll. She’s pushing through it, but it’s hard. Creativity and passion can’t thrive for long without some measure of safety and stability.

During these scary times, our Patreon community has been a lifeline. As more and more of you have joined us, it’s slowly crept up from grocery money to grocery and utility bill money! So thank you, thank you, from the bottom of our hearts thank you to those who’ve stepped up and joined.

But we’re kind of at a crossroads. Because of Piggy’s situation, we really need it to become “paying the mortgage” money. And it’s gotta get there pretty fast. Otherwise, it’s just not fair to ask Piggy to invest so much of her time in Bitches Get Riches, when she could be taking on higher paying freelancing work to keep herself afloat.

And trust me, you do not want a BGR that’s too Kitty-heavy. I am longwinded af, slowly losing my abilities to think and spell, and take every possible detour to inject disgusting sexual comments wherever they are least germane (although idk maybe you’re here for that).

Our new goal for ourselves, and you

With all of that in mind, we have a new goal: to produce season three of our podcast, we need 500 total Patreon donors.

Today we have… 294. So that’s, uhhhhh… a really ambitious goal!

It’s probably too ambitious. We’re probably gonna fail. Who cares, it’s 2020! The planet is on fire and god is already dead, so we have no reason not to give it our all!

We are leaving this in your hands. We—Piggy and I—believe that the world would be a better place if people could hear reliable, relatable financial wisdom funded by regular people, untainted by corporate sponsors with deep pockets who want us to push their capitalist crap upon you. And 294 of you have already demonstrated that you believe that too. Thank you, thank you, infinity thank yous to all of you who are already a part of our Patreon community. You are shining stars that smell faintly of vanilla.

For the rest of you: if you like what we do and you want us to keep doing it, please show us that you believe in it too. You can do that by joining us at the Bitches Get Riches Patreon.

We hope to be back soon for a third season. Until then, stay safe, stay sane, wear your masks, triple-check that you’re registered to vote, and save room for dessert. (What’s for dessert? So glad you asked—it’s the rich!)

For now, Bitches OUUUTTTTT!

Join the Bitches on Patreon

#etsy #merch #bitches get riches #patreon #donations #personal finance #financial advice #money #adulting #money advice #advice #adulting advice

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 18

First time reader click here

TWs/Summary: We stan ✨women in science✨. Bruce uwu. Twitter social media AU nobody asked for. Stephen and Tony are dicks and I'm not talking about their anatomy. Setting up mood for Bruce smut, ngl. PTSD makes things spicy. I'm depressed so please be kind ✌🏻💀🙃

"I really do wonder how can you two fit those egos of yours in your pants," I kept my tone forcefully casual, cheerful even. "Why don't you just fuck already?"

I was met with stunned silence. Suddenly, the room seemed far too large and the people in much too quiet, staring at me with various expressions of horror obvious in their faces. As the strange friendship began developing between me and the team, my "outbursts" - how Steve liked to call them - lessened considerably. I had no need to provoke them into giving me attention, just striking up a casual chat was enough. The Avengers were great conversationalists, to my surprise.

Tony and Stephen, when paired, were the exception. I could count on one hand the amount of times they successfully came to a conclusion without fighting like cats and dogs. It was like each man had made it a personal mission to verbally top the other, more often than not resulting in a thirty-minute shitshow ending with one storming off in a dramatic flourish. It was mind-boggling how two supremely intelligent men could not find a way to communicate efficiently without infuriating the rest of the team.

Plus me. One way or another, I was almost always around. In the beginning, it was hilarious to see the free circus but it got old really quickly when they couldn't decide on dinner or a movie, leaving the rest of us starving and bored. Or the great Cloak debate - that one lasted days and the fussy thing was so upset, it point blank refused to part from Peter for a substantial amount of time. It's pretty fucking creepy that a semi-sentient, ancient piece of outerwear watches you when you sleep - just sayin'. I personally interjected with my own snark and sass whenever Tony and Stephen got too heated, successfully drawing the attention to myself. The fight broke up and I had amazing sex with Tony later, it was a win-win scenario.

Yet, Tony and Stephen didn't stop. To me, their way of "talking" (and I use that term loosely) looked a lot like unresolved sexual tension. Stephen frequently used his greater height to tower over Tony in a childish attempt to establish dominance; the engineer was no rookie and responded with extravagant peacocking such as "subtly" tapping the bracelet that hosted his nanotech suit or parading at dinner in a $30,000 custom made designer outfit. Because Tony could.

I was pleasantly surprised when Natasha started laughing at my remark. Full-blown, belly laugh. Those were rare, coming from the Widow, her usual mirth was quiet, sophisticated, just like her. Deadly (adorable). Bucky followed suit, snorting together with Clint and Loki.

Steve looked none too pleased with me. But then again, was he ever? "Doll, don't be rude."

"Brat," Bruce said at the same time, palming his face.

"People always call me a brat. And guess what, Steve?" I popped my hip, twirling a cotton candy pink coloured Dum-Dum between my fingers. "What can you do about it? Nothing," I shrugged, leaning my head against Bruce's shoulder affectionately.

Steve just shook his head in disappointment. "Can we get back on topic? Please?"

"Captain, I think that Stark..." Strange began talking with Tony dramatically groaning in the background and I instantly tuned out the useless babble. Steve should've been smarter and revoked speaking rights from Tony and Stephen. Or asked Loki to magically render them both mute for ten minutes.

"You're not wrong," Bruce quietly whispered next to my ear. "Ten bucks says Wanda meddles and those two finally work out their frustrations," The scientist hid a grin against my head. I felt the amused, giddy energy radiating off him like a plasma beam.

"I don't even have to bet," I rolled my eyes. "If she doesn't do it, I will."

Both Tony and Stephen were throwing me equally infuriated glances. One promised me a good, hard fucking and the other saw me a short, poisonous lecture on appropriate behaviour in the nearest future - you can guess which is which. If I had it my way, I'd skip the lecture and go straight to a hot, filthy threesome with two men twice my age. I wasn't blind, Strange was hot as hell and could be decent and even nice once in a blue moon.

He could, but he wouldn't be. I wanted that raw, unadulterated lust, tension so concentrated it walked the razor's edge between violent craving and repulsion. Ever since the incident with Clint, I had this ugly mess inside of me, like a live wire about to snap. My brain was constantly racing, darting between how utterly useless I am in a group of supers and embracing my normal-ness, amplifying it by hosting game nights and spending time trying to convince people to start a dungeons and dragons campaign. Or something.

My sleep was like Swiss cheese, riddled with holes where I stayed awake for one or two hours at a time in the middle of the night after waking up sweaty, with my heart hammering out of my chest. Sometimes I dreamt of Clint's lifeless, sickly white body, sometimes the whole room flooded with blood and I couldn't stop it no matter what, there was so much of it, I drowned in it, I startled up with the taste of it in my mouth. Rarely, the worst of it came - the one where Clint was alive as millions of millions of little fluorescent, poisonous jellyfish burst out of him and he screamed and screamed and screamed...

I had PTSD. Yay, me. As if my uselessness wasn't enough of a burden, my brain decided for me that it wasn't good enough that I saved Clint and now it was punishing me for being close to a group of people who routinely saved the WORLD.

I contemplated my usual habits - going to a party, getting trashed and dancing until my legs were numb. I just wanted to shut my brain off for a moment, give it a hard reset so-to-say, but with Tony on my back like a jet-pack, I didn't doubt he'd show up to the place and drag me out of there even if I was kicking and screaming. And he was a Stark, a billionaire, so visiting my dad in Cali wouldn't be possible on my own. Tony would gas up the jet and the rest of the team would find and excuse to tag along, too. As much as I loved being the baby menace who could get away with anything, I hated the way they all herded me, like I was an actual child. I couldn't get away from myself, not even for a moment.

I had the backup-backup plan and I was going to have to execute it. Desperate times, desperate measures. "I don't doubt y'all enjoy listening to Tony and Steph flirt," The nickname escaped unmoderated from my lips before I could catch myself. "But what are we doing for Halloween? I need to know if I gotta get a costume," Bruce chuckled next to me and wrapped an arm around me, happy for the distraction. Unlike me, the scientist was obligated to listen and participate in the avengers-themed discussion. Which was difficult because the engineer and the sorcerer constantly bickered, inadvertently taking over the talk.

"Halloween?" Steve groaned.

"We should do something," Bucky side-eyed his boyfriend. "For the children." Something told me he wasn't thinking of the children, at all. The man was positively leering, probably thinking about what kind of a tight suit he could convince Steve to squeeze into.

"A party!" Tony immediately exclaimed, interrupting Stephen mid-setence.

"Tony, no," Steve stated firmly.

"Tony, YES!" Clint perked up. "A snack bar. A bar-bar."

"I will not be helping you all if you get alcohol poisoning," Stephen crossed his arms.

"So it's a party," I stated firmly, throwing a contemplating look at Wanda and Pietro. The twins looked unsure but excited. I knew I could count on fellow young people to support my decision to have fun, dance a little, drink a little. Let loose. To nail my point, I turned to Bruce with a mischievous smirk. "Fifty bucks says Stephen is too stuck up to show up in costume."

"Beg pardon?!" The sorcerer exclaimed. His eyebrows threatened to meet his hairline.

"I think you give him too little credit, Princess," Bruce winked at me and we solemnly shook hands. It was great having a fellow partner in mischief. Loki's approving smirk just sealed the deal for me.

"It's not my fault you sometimes act like you have a stick up your butt," I gave in the way of explanation, shrugging my shoulders innocently in Stephen's direction. "I'm just pointing out the obvious."

"I don't dare to imagine what's been up yours," The sorcerer retorted dryly, in an uncharacteristically childish fashion, arms still crossed. It almost looked like he was pouting.

"Tony," I simply said, leering salaciously at the man.

"Ooh, kinky," Clint reached over and we promptly high-fived each other in the wake of multiple embarrassed groans emanating around the room. "Strange, you're a boring old man, get over it."

"And you regularly end up in dumpsters, Barton," Strange retorted quickly. "Not my idea of fun."

"You wouldn't know fun if it hit you in the face!" Tony grinned triumphantly, confident in his superiority over Strange. Look at that, the team was doing the work for me and I didn't even have to try.

"I'll show you fun," Stephen retorted darkly. It was obvious the man was planning something.

"Ok, boomer," I raised my eyebrows in muted satisfaction before turning around and grabbing Bruce to drag along with me. "I'm confiscating your best scientist to amuse myself. I am bored. We will go and do actual science whilst y'all argue. Bye."

My patience had run out. We were examining the parasites we found in the murder-anthropods-from-space, codename MAFS, courtesy of yours truly, and their amazing properties to penetrate cell membranes and feed on metals in organic life forms. Without Bruce's help I understood maybe half of it but he had the patience of a saint and dutifully and understandably explained to me the finer points of studying aliens. Signing half a dozen NDAs was never more worth it.

Steve's sigh consisted of 99% suffering and 2% disappointment. Natasha face-palmed silently in the corner, clutching a mug of coffee, a poster child for existential dread.

"Wait for me," Tony whined, going for the door and promptly being stopped by Steve pointing out the team needing his input on one mission or another. The engineer sighed. "Baby girl, don't let the green mean to start any experiments without me." Tony instructed, pointing an accusatory finger in our direction.

I clutched at Bruce dramatically, feigning hurt feelings and was rewarded with a swift motion of his arms. I shrieked delightfully at being thrown over the scientist's shoulder as he hastened his pace towards the elevator, hightailing it out of there. "I'd never snitch on science daddy," I wiggled my eyebrows in Tony's direction, sticking a hand down the back pocket of Bruce's pants, dangling over his shoulder like a happy sack of potatoes.

The lab smelled strongly of alcohol and bitter chemicals, the solution that Bruce developed to ensure the optimal state of the alien pathogens. The man's genius never ceased to amaze me: Bruce came up with the needed formula in the span of a few hours while running low on sleep, post a Hulk-out session.

We put on our protective gear - "science onesies" I called them - along with a respirator and goggles and set to the segregated part of the lab where the specimens were kept under a blue light. The glass wall between Bruce's and Tony's lab was dimmed; I reflected in it, looking positively futuristic in my double-stacked white platformed boots and white hazmat suit.

"Wait," I motioned to Bruce to come over.

"Oh, right, our music," He was already half-way to being in total Science Mode. "Friday, please put on the "Get Schwifty" playlist, 60% volume."

The playlist that me and Bruce came up with for our lab sessions. The man was such an adorable dork. Thirty percent my music, thirty percent of his indie rock shit and forty percent 00's bops. In other words, utter perfection.

I finally managed to fish out my phone from my pants. "No, let's take a selfie," I struck an impressive pose and pointed the camera as Avril Lavigne sung the first verse to Sk8r Boi.

Bruce laughed but abided by the request, giving me bunny ears in the photo, tapping the fingers of his other hand on my waist to the rhythm of the song.

"He was a skater boy, she said see ya later boy!" I sang along, switching my Instagram to stories and posting the short clip of us just vibing with the caption #sciencetime, Bruce laughing openly behind his respirator. I looked cute and silly in my outfit.

"Send the video to me, I'll post it on my Twitter," Bruce requested. I indulged him then put my phone away, ready to conquer the world of microbiology. Or die trying. Science was calling...

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

#stephen strange x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #tony stark x y/n #stephen strange x you #bruce banner x you #tony stark x you #stephen strange x reader #bruce banner x reader #tony stark x reader #party favours #bun writes #avengers social media au

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musicfren · 4 years

Text

What was going on with this boy?

...wow I was not expecting to write this much for this prompt, but I think I really like the direction it went in. I had massive technical difficulties making this post because tumblr is mean (dun ban me i’m sawy), and @nottesilhouette has literally saved my life and non-existent bacon, and also helped write this a lot cause she super cool and awesome. Anyway happy @felinettenovember y’all!

“May I interest you in some popcorn?”

Marinette squinted at the lanky, smartly-dressed boy before her with the air of a market-goer trying to determine if the merchant is going to rip her off.

“I, um… sure?”

Felix gave a stiff nod that she was pretty sure had a “yes, ma’am” implied in it, and marched away to the kitchen. Marinette settled into the very expensive couch with a sigh and fixed her attention on the TV. She could not for the life of her figure this boy out.

This was the third time Felix had invited her over to his house (mansion might be a more accurate term), and each time he had been so politely, unfailingly impersonal she had wanted to scream. He had provided her a vast array of movies and activities, each of which he’d performed in efficient, stoic silence. He had offered her every kind of h’orderve imaginable. He had even volunteered to hang up her coat. Not once had he begun even the tiniest of conversations with her. He was like a robot butler, always at her shoulder with whatever she needed, never displaying the slightest trace of humanity, shoulders stiff, straight backed, stoic beyond belief. She honestly could not decide if he was asking her on a date or trying to sell her a catering service.

Felix returned after some time with an enormous silver bowl of popcorn, which he set gently on the coffee table before her before taking his seat (3 feet away from her) on the couch.

“I have prepared several varieties of popcorn,” he proclaimed, “so that you can be sure to have one that is to your liking.”

Marinette stared at the bowl before her, expertly arranged with an artisanal spread of popcorn, caramel corn, and candy puffs. She was really starting to wonder what this boy was trying to sell her.

“Um… that’s very sweet of you Felix, thank you.”

She looked over at him and caught him stifling a yawn. Her temper started to flare. What was he doing here if he was so bored by her? He was the one who invited her here! But as she opened her mouth to speak she noticed the bags under his eyes, the exhausted slump to his shoulders that he was trying unsuccessfully to hide. This boy looked like he had not slept in three days. Concerned, she reached out to him.

“Are… are you okay? You look totally spent”

Felix put his yawn away like a Gameboy after recess. “I’m fine!”

Suuuuuure you are, Marinette thought, but didn’t press the issue. She wasn’t sure if Felix would be comfortable with it. She wasn’t sure of anything to do with him, to be honest. Still, she shifted a few concerned millimeters closer to him.

“Let’s just start the movie.”

Felix had picked one of his old black-and-white samurai movies that he so loved (or… what Marinette assumed was love, compared to his usual intense disinterest). It was grim and bloody, full of vengeance and honor and serious men doing serious things. There were no subtitles because Felix spoke Japanese fluently, and had not bothered to acquire a version suitable for guests. Marinette was bored out of her mind. Why had she agreed to this? If she made it out of here with her brains intact she resolved never to agree to a movie date again.

She was just starting to consider falling asleep right there on the couch when she glanced over and noticed that she was not the only one. Felix’s eyes were fluttering, sinking, his breath growing slow and deep. Within moments his head was lolling to one side, and she swore she could hear a snore over the sound of clashing blades and proclamations of vengeance. He was sliding sideways, and Marinette let out an involuntary yelp as his lanky frame landed against her shoulder. Felix gave a small sleepy murmur and drifted off, leaving her awkwardly supporting him with her head.

“Felix!” she hissed, but he did not stir. He was passed out cold. His weight was starting to become too much to bear, yanking painfully on the muscles in her shoulders and neck, so she gingerly began pushing him upright. Then, on a whim, she let him slide down further until his head was in her lap. He let out a confused murmur and stirred in his sleep, putting his legs into a curl and tucking his hands under his head. Marinette gazed down at him, amusement and confusion in equal measure. What was going on with this boy? He hadn’t let his mask of rigid decorum slip once in all the time she’d known him, but here he was, curled up in her lap like a kitten. He was… pretty cute, honestly, with his short blond hair hanging off the edge of her leg. Instinctively, she reached down to run her fingers through it but stopped herself immediately, blushing and looking around as if someone might have caught her. No one but the oh-so-serious samurais and the darkening living room.

They sat like that for some time, the only light the flickering of the TV, the only sound but the crashing of swords and shouts of pain. Despite herself, Marinette was starting to enjoy sitting there with him in her lap. It was only after the 16th betrayal and blood-oath of revenge passed in the movie that Felix finally started to stir. He blinked and shifted where he lay, looking blearily around the room.

“Wh… whaaa?”

Then his eyes found Marinette looking down on him, and he nearly jumped off the couch.

“M… Marinette! What… why am…?”

Realization spread over his face right alongside his blush. She knew that he already knew, but she said it anyway because she knew it would make him blush more.

“You fell asleep! You seemed really tired so I just… let you rest for a while.”

“I… I shouldn’t be in your lap…” He said, trying very hard to pull his composure back together. She squinted at him.

“You… don’t seem to be trying very hard to get out of it though.”

For a moment she thought he might push her out of the way, but he simply rolled over and buried his burning red face in her tummy. A grin spread across Marinette's face, the first she’d managed all evening.

“You like it, don’t you?”

No response but a muffled grumble, and a decided lack of pulling away. She wiggled happily and gently ran her fingers through his hair, grinning, waiting patiently for him to react.

“...this is call-out culture.”

Despite herself, Marinette let out a quiet laugh. Yes, this had turned out to be quite an… illuminating date after all.

#felinette #miraculous ladybug #felinette november #felinette month 2020 #he is just a butler #blushy #random samurai movie for no reason #not even bad #fluff #callout #MusicFrenDoesWords

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summerofpinecestcontest · 3 years

Text

Birthday Wishes, Birthday Kisses

Second place

by @penningpines

{ I know they turned 21 last year, but getting drunk for the first time on 21st birthdays is like v special to me }

Grunkle Stan guided the blindfolded twins into the kitchen, a hand resting on each of their shoulders.

“Alright, kids, you can take them off now.”

“Hardly kids now,” they heard Wendy laugh. They removed their blindfolds to find her, Soos, and both their Grunkles standing before the kitchen table, which was lined with brightly colored bottles and cans.

Mabel tilted her head. “What is—”

“Alcohol!” Stan exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air. “Booze! Man’s great equalizer!”

Ford, standing at the other side of the table, chuckled warmly. “He may have already had a bit. Happy birthday, kids! You are officially of legal drinking age now, so enjoy yourselves! But go slow. And hydrate!”

Soos raised a bottle in the air and beckoned Dipper over to him. “You’re a man now. Come try this shit.”

The dark brown glass bottle in Soos’s hand didn’t look like it contained anything terribly appetizing, and the closer Dipper got to it, the worse it stunk of yeast. He reached out to take the bottle from Soos, who was now holding it in front of him, and with another small sniff and a grimace, he reluctantly took a sip. Immediately after, he began coughing and sputtered out a, “this is disgusting!”, shoving the bottle back into Soos’s hand.

“That’s the taste of manhood,” Stan said proudly, clinking his own beer bottle against Soos’s. “It’s an acquired taste, like coffee and cigarettes and lake water. You’ll get used to it.”

“What was that last one?”

Stan narrowed his eyes. “Cigarettes?”

“N-no, after that,” Dipper replied, grabbing a bottle of water off of the table and chugging it down to get the taste of stale bread and dead dreams off of his tongue.

“Don’t worry about it,” Stan said, waving a hand dismissively.

Mabel watched in slight horror as the interaction went on. “Do I have to drink that, too?”

“No, thank fuck,” Wendy cut in, handing a colorful, foamy, multicolored atrocity to her. “I took the liberty of making you something a little more… you. It’s gonna be a total sugar rush, and you won’t be able to taste the alcohol at all, so be very careful.”

Mabel’s eyes widened as an excited gasp left her. She eagerly took the glass from Wendy, placing her lips on the colorful twisty straw she had stuck into it, and took a big sip.

“Dipper!”

A disgusted look remained on Dipper’s face as he turned to face his twin. “What?”

“You have to try this!” Mabel pushed the glass into his hands, eyes sparkling in anticipation as she waited for her brother to taste it.

Dipper raised an eyebrow, observing the foamy pink mess, before taking a small sip.

“What do you think?!” She asked enthusiastically.

He grimaced yet again. “This is so… I can feel my teeth rotting…”

“Sorry,” Wendy laughed. “I may or may not have literally poured like an entire cup of sugar in there after all the sodas and juices.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Mabel boasted, snatching her drink back from Dipper and taking another swig.

“You’re used to running on sugar and boybands, Mabes,” he chuckled. “Of course it doesn’t bother you.”

“Try something straight with a mixer, then,” Ford suggested, tapping a finger against the lid of the vodka bottle closest to him. “Any soda or juice will mix with it.”

Dipper eyed the table, grabbing a peach Pitt Cola and an empty cup.

“You’ll wanna measure the hard stuff,” Soos advised, handing a shot glass to Dipper. “And use more mixer than alcohol, otherwise that’s all you’re gonna be able to taste.”

With an appreciative nod, Dipper filled the shot glass, poured it into the cup, and filled the rest with Pitt Cola. A single sip and he seemed satisfied with the mix. “Thanks, Soos.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” he smiled. He then deadpanned. “I am the keeper of alcoholic knowledge.”

Stan playfully slapped a hand against Soos’s back. “Sure are, big guy.”

“Oh, on that,” Wendy piped up. “Carbonation will filter the alcohol into your blood quicker, so be careful with your mixers.”

Soos cleared his throat as he stood from his spot and offered it to Dipper, Wendy mirroring the same action for Mabel. “Go on. Sit down. Drink. Talk about stuff.”

The twins took a seat, offering each other a smile across the table.

“Here’s to 21,” Mabel smiled, raising her glass to meet Dipper’s.

“21,” he repeated, tapping his glass against Mabel’s.

They each took another sip or two.

“Who do you wanna bet is more of a lightweight?” Ford asked, working away at his own bottle.

“Mabel,” Wendy responded instantly. “Definitely. No offense,” she laughed, turning her attention to the accused. “It’s just… in my experience, for some reason, alcohol tends to hit the bubbly ones first, and I’m pretty confident you’re a happy, giggly drunk.”

“What kind of drunk do you think I am?” Dipper inquired.

“Hmm…”

“Conspiracy theorist,” Stan offered easily. “I am fully expecting you to go on about lizard people once it kicks in.”

“Hey,” he laughed. “Not fair! Don’t conspiracy theorists sound crazy? I don’t think—”

“To be fair,” Soos interrupted, taking another swig of his drink. “Your book of crazy monster stuff sounds like some conspiracy type stuff a lot of the time.”

Dipper scoffed playfully in mock offense. “Gravity Falls is full of crazy shit. I am merely documenting and researching said shit.”

This time, Ford slapped a hand against Dipper’s back. “That’s my boy! Carrying on the family business, eh?”

Mabel giggled into her drink, lips pulling at her straw, perhaps a tad too fast. “You still need to find me a unicorn. Like a good unicorn. Not one that’s all full of themselves.”

“What if I find you a caticorn instead?” He offered.

“Even better!” Mabel laughed, raising her glass, which was now halfway empty.

Wendy raised hers to meet Mabel’s this time. “Slow down there, birthday girl,” she laughed, reaching for a bottle of water to offer her. “I told you this one was pretty strong, and you don’t want to make yourself sick.”

“Pshhh,” Mabel laughed. “From sugar? I don’t get sick! My body’s built up a tolerance! A-after that whole Smile Dip incident…”

“From alcohol,” she smiled, pouring one of the water bottles into Mabel’s drink until it reached the rim. “This will help, trust me.”

Soos followed suit, pouring water into what little Dipper had gotten through on his own drink.

“Take it from someone older and wiser, little dudes,” he said, grabbing his own bottle to chug. “Hydrate or diedrate.”

“Or,” Wendy laughed. “Less drastically, hydrate or get super sick and have an awful hangover in the morning.”

“Speaking of,” Soos said, turning his attention to Stan and Ford. “Do you guys remember the first time you got drunk?”

The older twins exchanged a glance, and Ford was the first to speak.

“Times were different. Laws were different, too. We were 16, and—”

“—and you got fucked off of three beers,” Stan interrupted, pointing and laughing at his twin. “And then you got sick, but I never did. Alpha Twin!”

Ford rolled his eyes playfully. “You are not the Alpha Twin just because—”

“Ha!” Now Mabel was pointing at Dipper. “You’re the Ford, I’m the Stan! Alpha Twin!”

“Yeah!” Stan cheered, thrusting his fist into the air. “I got Mabel!”

“Hey!” Dipper laughed. “What about me?”

“I got you,” Ford proclaimed proudly. “Together, we will discover all the mysteries of Gravity Falls!”

“Like whatever the hell is living at the bottom of Stan’s sock drawer,” Wendy loudly half-whispered to Soos, who stuck his hands up in defense, chuckling, “I don’t even wanna know!”

“Grunkle Stan and I will… hmm…” Mabel chewed at the tip of her straw. “Take over the world!”

“Quite a tall order to fill, little miss.” He moved in closer to ruffle her hair. “I don’t know if my back can keep up with that.”

“Oh, shit, wait!”

They all turned their attention to Wendy, who was taking hold of Mabel’s hand and helping her to her feet. “You guys need to stand up for a minute. If you sit the whole time, the first time you get up, you’ll fall over. Happened to me my first time! Robbie started freaking out for a minute, but I thought it was hilarious!”

“I’m sure it’s not so— whoa!” Mabel clutched onto Wendy’s arm, trying to stabilize herself. “Okay, maybe it’s a little bad right now.”

Soos did the same for Dipper, helping him up, though he was much more stable on his feet.

“One to ten,” Ford said, addressing the twins. “On a lev- uh, a scale, I mean. How drunk do you feel?”

“We don't…” Mabel started, to which Dipper finished, “…have anything to compare it to?”

“That was a dumb question for such a smart guy,” Stan cackled, shaking his head at his brother.

“Yeah,” he agreed, matching his twin’s joviality. “Pretty dumb!”

“What was your first time being drunk like?” Wendy asked Soos, reaching out to playfully pluck the bottle out of his hand.

“It was fun,” he snickered. “…until it wasn’t. I got, like, mega sick, dude. But before that, I was having a good ass time!”

“First time sickness buds!” She exclaimed, reaching out for a high five with the hand that wasn’t supporting Mabel.

“Is it, uh,” Dipper, who had just been released from Soos’s grasp, chuckled nervously. “Is it possible to, um, not get sick your first time? Or ever?”

“Hydrate or diedrate,” Soos repeated.

“Hydration,” Wendy giggled, thumping Soos’s bottle against his arm before handing it back to him. “And pacing yourself, and eating before, during, or both. After is kinda debated but it seems to help me, so I do it after, too. Fresh air can help.”

Mabel looked up at Stan. “Is that why you had us each so much before this?”

“As is tradition,” he winked.

“Okay,” Dipper nodded, reaching for another bottle of water with a slight quiver in his legs. Still steady so far.

“Especially you,” Wendy playfully punched Mabel in the arm, causing her to stumble. “You’ve been going at that thing way too fast.”

“The Alpha Twin,” Mabel giggled, “does not get sick. I simply transfer all my sickness to Dipper. When we were little, I had chicken pox. As soon as mine went away, Dipper got them. I haven’t gotten them since, and if that doesn’t prove my theory, I don’t know what will!”

“Mabel, I’m pretty sure chicken pox—”

“Shhh.” She pressed a finger against Dipper’s lips. “No.” Her finger dragged down his body, quickly swiping it over his chest and arms and grabbing at his hand, which she pulled down with her as she dropped to the floor. “We’re gonna sit here now!”

The room, if only slightly, steadied once Mabel had to focus less on keeping her knees from buckling or her legs from otherwise taking her down. As she looked across to Dipper, though, he seemed to be swaying a bit. Or maybe she was— she couldn’t tell.

Stan began telling a story above them, but from down on the ground, and with her lack of focus, his voice sounded small and distant.

“I’m… mmm… mm… tired.” She yawned and reached out for Dipper, who was already staring at her. “Are you tired?”

He shrugged his response. “You wanna go to bed?”

“Yes. No. Mm-may—yes.”

“Okay,” Dipper laughed. “Then let’s go to bed.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Mabel repeated, now loud enough for the rest to hear, holding onto Dipper’s arm with one hand and Wendy’s leg with the other. She maneuvered herself onto her feet, tugging Dipper up with her, and just about shoved her face into his chest as she stumbled forward and clutched onto him more completely. “We are going to have a meeting. It’s about our twin telepathy.” She turned slightly to face the rest of the room. “And only s-s-twins who are under the age of… seventy-b-billion are allowed,” she slurred. “Okay, bye!”

“That means bedtime,” Dipper laughed, supporting Mabel as he helped move her over to the staircase. “This… may present a problem.”

Mabel stared intensely at the staircase for a moment, studying it, before she looked up slightly at her brother and pressed her hands against his chest and pushed to distance herself from him. “I am the Alpha Twin. There is no obstacle too large.”

“You’re gonna hurt yourself, Mabes. Come on. One step at a time.” He took hold of her arm which, honestly, she hadn’t noticed, and began helping her up the stairs.

“I’m doing it!” She exclaimed excitedly. “I’m doing it! I’m—” she looked down and noticed Dipper’s grip on her arm. “Oh. Well, we’re almost up there anyway!”

“Mabel, we’re only three steps up the—”

“We’re almost u-up there anyway,” she repeated, lifting an unstable foot, setting it down, lifting it again, moving it to the side, and fumbling closer to Dipper.

Wendy came up behind them, placed a hand on each of their backs, and helped push them forward. With some slight coordination issues, more than a little bit of random ‘whoaaa!’s, and Mabel tripping over her own feet not once, not twice, but three times, they made it to the top of the staircase.

“Should be able to handle it now,” Dipper giggled to himself, pulling Mabel against his chest once again and guiding her (pulling her, more like) to their shared bedroom.

He got them to the door, which, of course, was shut. He fumbled with the doorknob for a moment before the door swung open, which startled Mabel, and got them inside. He led Mabel over to her bed, which she managed to get into without too much trouble.

“Perfect birthday,” she mused, “almost.”

“Almost?” Dipper questioned, kneeling beside Mabel’s bed to keep himself from falling down. He had managed to keep it together enough up the stairs, but now his legs were threatening to give out and deprive him of his favorite pastime of walking in a straight line.

“There’s oooone birthday wish I didn’t get.” She stared up at the ceiling, clutching onto one of her stuffed animals.

“And what’s that? Maybe I can help?”

“Mm…” she thought for a moment. “No. Never mind. Too embarrassing. G’night!”

Dipper laughed, shaking her shoulder. “Come on, Mabes.”

“Nope.”

“You can tell me! I’m your twin. Come on, use the telepathy!”

She closed her eyes, placed a hand on Dipper’s forehead (well, mostly, and after a few tries), took a deep breath, and whispered, “I… wanted… a birthday kiss.”

Dipper scoffed, amused. “Is that it?”

“What do you mean ‘is that it’?!” She sat up quickly, opening her eyes and turning to look at him, face flushed. “It’s embarrassing! Aren’t you embarrassed?!”

“Mm… nope. Come on, you’ve admitted to me before that you’ve thought about it.”

“Thinking about it and actually doing it are two very different things, Dipper!”

He raised his hands up defensively with a soft laugh. “Alright, alright, just thought I’d offer.”

Mabel groaned playfully. She fell back into her mattress with a soft thud. “Okay… fine… come here.”

“What?”

“Come here! I’m gonna close my eyes so it’s not so… weird… and you’re gonna kiss me like I’m a princess.”

She could feel the weight on her bed shift, signaling that Dipper had sat down next to her. His next question came softly, softer than she expected, and she had to strain her ears to hear it.

“Like you’re a princess?”

“M-mhm…” she felt a little shyer about it now. It felt more real than when she had proposed it. She kept her eyes shut, but she felt her body tighten and flinch as he moved closer to her.

“Actually…” she opened her eyes to find Dipper’s face about a foot away from hers, watching her with a loving gaze. A slight smile was pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay,” she breathed. She couldn’t help but smile, reflecting her twin’s. “You can… you can do it now.”

She let her eyes flutter shut again, and he followed her lead, closing the space between them slowly, anticipation building.

His lips hovered above hers for a moment, soft breath matching her own, tension in the room building to a climax when he slowly, softly pressed their lips together.

Though anticipated, it took both of them a split second to process what was happening. Quivering lips steadied as they pressed against their matching pair, and for a moment, they were stuck there, until Dipper pressed his harder against his twin’s before awkwardly pulling away.

He opened his eyes, almost hesitantly, and watched as Mabel did the same. She blushed deeply before breaking out into a fit of giggles, forcing her head to the side so her hair would fall into her face and offer even the slightest bit of concealment.

“Perfect birthday,” she mumbled into her pillow. “For real this time.”

Dipper moved in again to plant another kiss against her face, this one a soft, loving peck on the forehead. “I’m glad,” he grinned. “I agree.”

A comfortable silence filled the room, until he whispered, “goodnight, Mabel. Happy birthday.”

She felt the weight of her mattress shift again as he stood up, crossing the room to get into his own bed.

“Um, Dipp?”

“Yeah, Mabes?”

Mabel rolled over onto her other side to face him. “Can… um… can I get birthday cuddles, too? Like old times?”

He simply chuckled, turning and walking back to her bed, which she had begun moving stuffed animals and pillows off of to give him space to lie down.

“Thank you, bro bro.” She nuzzled her face into his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head, breathing in her scent.

“Anything for the Alpha Twin,” he murmured, earning a giggle from his sister as she nuzzled closer to him.

“Best birthday ever,” Dipper repeated, mumbling into Mabel’s hair, arms tightening around her midsection in a protective squeeze.

Not bad, 21. Not bad at all.

#Pinecest #Summer of Pinecest contest #Gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls fanfic

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dear-mrs-otome · 3 years

Text

Ribbons & Bows - SLBP (Mitsunari)

Fandom: SLBP Pairing: Mitsunari x MC Rating: No Warnings Summary: What do you get when the perfectly imperfect neighbor and coworker finds out our intrepid heroine can’t wrap a gift well to save her life? Some reluctant help, and perhaps even more reluctant revelations.... ( A quick bit of Christmas-fluff, for a dear friend’s exchange gift. (Hence the named MC) I waffled on even posting this, so far past the season, but figure someone out there might enjoy it too! 2.5k+ words)

She’d recognize that sound anywhere. The sharp, staccato rapping at her door that carried over the sweet croonings of Bing Crosby singing about a White Christmas - too fierce to be anything called as soft as a knock. She knew exactly who it would be on the other side too, and tried her level best not to let her good mood slip away as she straightened up from tweaking the last folds on the gift she was wrapping.

The apartment was small, small enough she had to weave around the boxes of ornaments and decor she’d pulled out of her meager storage on her path to the door. Not so small though that she made it there before a second salvo of pounding followed the opening shots already fired.

“Mitsunari.” She didn’t even have to wait to finish swinging the door open before she greeted the man on the other side. It was already a given who it was. Neighbor, co-worker, thorn in her side...pick a label and run with it. They all fit her particularly handsome cross to bear.

The man in question shook ravenwing bangs out from behind his glasses with an irritated toss of his head, all the better to fix her with a baleful glare. “October.”

Her gaze slid instinctively away from that frigid stare uncomfortably, but it wasn’t much of an improvement given its traitorous preponderance to travel the length of his neatly trimmed frame any time she didn’t keep it firmly locked. A ‘swimmer’s build’, as Jace from the mailroom always drooled aloud. Lean and purposeful, as immaculate in button up and trousers as always - never so much as a spot, or tuck, or crease out of place.

He was hot...especially for an accountant. She had to give her ovaries that. Too bad his personality had about all the warmth of a winter solstice atop Everest, and even less of anything resembling charm.

Neither of which had ever stopped her heart from doing an odd lurch whenever he met her eyes though.

He didn’t wait for her to dredge up any reply. “Surely you are aware that it is - “ He made a show of checking the ever-present watch on his wrist for emphasis. “Eleven at night, on December the first. So why then, in God’s name, am I being forced to listen to Christmas music at jetliner decibels through my wall?”

“It’s not at ‘jetliner’, Ebenezer Scrooge,” she shot back, hackles immediately up whenever this man was around.

“It’s loud enough to get the attention of Ms. Takemura above you I would wager though. You’re lucky she didn’t call the super on you.” He made a small dismissive snort, before his gaze wandered down to the package she had forgotten she still held in her other hand. His eyes narrowed sharply and she tried, to no avail, to hide the misshapen mess behind her back. “What in God’s name is that? Is that supposed to be a present?”

“Yes, it’s supposed to be a present.” A good part of her wanted to be huffier about her reply...but the other larger part knew it was a sad excuse for a wrapping job, and she couldn’t stifle the sigh that slipped free before she’d given it permission. “It’s supposed to be for Hideyoshi too. I should have just taken the store clerk up on her offer to wrap it for me. Nothing like looking incompetent in front of your boss.”

She could feel him studying her for a long moment, though she didn’t dare look up to meet his gaze. Nearly jumping when he thrust his hand out towards her, gesturing with it impatiently. “Give it here.”

Pure reflex had her obeying his chilly command, and when it was in his grasp Mitsunari turned the sorry thing over as he examined it, a moue of distaste curling his lips down as if he were holding a dead mouse rather than a box and some scraps of paper that were clearly suffering delusions of grandeur.

“How did you even manage this?” He couldn’t have looked less impressed if he tried. “You do understand the basic concepts of geometry, do you not?”

“I-”

Her protest was cut short when he brushed past her and strode brazenly into her apartment, azure eyes taking the chaos all in with a few measured glances. “Scissors. Paper. Tape.”

“What?” She knew he was speaking legitimate words - they just made only the barest attempt at coherency.

“Scissors. Paper. Tape.” He repeated himself, louder and slower, as if speaking to someone hard of hearing. “You can’t give this to Hideyoshi as it is. It would be an insult.”

He took a seat at her sofa as if it were his own home, placing the package on the coffee table before him and looking at her so expectantly she was already gathering the requested items, dumping them on the table unceremoniously - more than a little bemused at the odd turn of events. Seeing her frosty co-worker ensconced comfortably in her living room was hardly the way she’d envisioned her Friday night going when she’d woken up that day.

He let out a small sound of approval, stripping her package of its sorry wrappings carefully, before reaching past the gaudy rolls full of penguins in Santa hats and kittens wrapped in tinsel for a classic striped pattern. For lack of anything better to do, she plopped to a seat beside him to watch as he worked - reluctantly admiring his deft, well-shaped hands as he set about measuring a new piece of wrapping for her box.

“It’s not that I’m messy or don’t care,” she said finally into the silence, both to fill it and to soothe her wounded pride. “It just doesn’t seem to matter how carefully I line things up or space them out. They always end up too short or too long, too wide or not wide enough, the tape sticking everywhere…”

“Again - simple geometry.” Mitsunari’s gaze slid her way archly. “Not a skillset I would imagine is in high demand in HR though.”

She pulled a face at his bent head, hating that she couldn’t argue.

It seemed only moments before he’d finished, an impeccably squared box slid along the table towards her, freshly wrapped. He’d even done the thing where he’d managed to line up the stripes along the cut edges too, to her amazement.

“That’s...wow.” She looked up from turning it this way and that to shoot him a beaming smile, admittedly impressed. “Two hundred percent improved!”

She wondered if she only imagined his slight fidget.

“A two hundred percent improvement is a mathematical impossibility,” he frowned.

“Yes. I’m aware.” She stifled the urge to roll her eyes. “Have you never heard of hyperbole?”

“Intentional exaggeration as a rhetorical device?” he replied. She was about to shake her head, until she saw what looked like the faintest of dry sparks hiding behind his deadpan expression. “No, never.”

“Probably not a skillset I would imagine is in high demand in the finance department,” she lobbed back, and enjoyed the way his lips twitched faintly, as if stifling the urge to smile.

The faux-leather of her cheap sofa creaked as he turned to eye the equally sorry pile stacked beneath her cheery little Christmas tree, its lights winking happily in blissful ignorance of the crimes in repose at its feet. “And what are those?”

“The rest of my gifts.” She bit back the ‘obviously’ that tried to tack itself to the end of that sentence. She wouldn’t ruin this rare detente with Hideyoshi Holding’s prickly CFO just for the thrill of a cheap shot.

“Well...hand them over too. No need for you to embarrass yourself more than you already manage to on the regular.” He arched a sardonic brow at her. “I trust you can be relied on for something as simple as nametags and a stick-on bow, no?

“I think I can manage that much.” It struck her belatedly, as the absurdity of the entire situation wore off slightly, that she was being a terrible hostess - even if an impromptu one. “Would you...like a drink? I have water or tea...or I just opened a bottle of wine.”

Why had she said that? Offering a man alcohol, at practically midnight. Oh, God, it sounded absurdly forward, or hopeful, or...something.

“Wine would be fine,” he replied, to her genuine surprise.

She stood and poured two glasses from the open bottle of table red sitting on her small kitchen counter, sipping one cautiously as she handed the other to him and retook her seat.

He accepted it, and then gestured with it to the seasonal trappings decorating her apartment, a small frown creasing the space between his brows. “Why is this all up so early?”

“My father loved Christmas. It was his favorite time of year.” She twisted the stem of the wineglass between her fingers restlessly.

He reached silently for the first of the packages she’d nudged closer, making quick work of it as she waited with poised pen and welcomed the familiar bittersweet patina of nostalgia.

“He always did all the wrapping, because I was so hopeless. Except his own present of course, which amused him to no end. I keep thinking every year, it’ll get easier with him gone. It doesn’t exactly...but I can put these things up and watch our movies, listen to our music, and feel the good outweigh the bad now.”

Mitsunari only nodded slowly. “It sounds as if he would have approved.”

The pile on her side grew larger and his smaller as they worked efficiently through them, until there was only a couple of disasters left. And then Mitsunari picked up a small box - one she recognized all too well.

“Not that one!”

She startled even herself with her yelp, but Mitsunari seemed utterly unfazed, merely fixing her with a single arcing brow as he held the box above her swiping grasp. “Whyever not, Ms. October?”

“It’s fine as it is, honestly.” She lunged again and he only sat up a bit straighter, her fingers brushing fruitlessly against the crumpled underside.

“I won’t give it back until you tell me why.”

He turned it over, looking for a tag, and she rose up onto her knees to make one more desperate attempt - only to watch with a sort of slow-motion horror, almost as if outside her own body, as she lost her balance and sprawled inelegantly across his lap, her cheek planted firmly against an even firmer chest.

They both froze.

“October.” There was an odd, strained note to his voice. “Why is my name on this gift?”

She wanted to die, there on the spot. The only bright spot about any of this was that the crisp weave of his shirt was cool beneath her flaming face, as she scrambled for an answer. Distracted by the balsam notes of his cologne mingling with the evergreen of her Christmas tree, both tickling her nose and scattering her thoughts.

How did she tell him it was for all the times she sat down at her table of one, eating dinner by herself, wondering if he was on the other side of her living room wall doing the same thing at that same moment?

How did she tell him it was for all those times at work she felt absurdly proud of herself for managing to earn one of his quicksilver smiles of praise? The times he held a door, or a taxi, or a stack of heavy files unprompted? The times she heard him come home from the office hours after she had, only to arrive the next morning with an inbox of organized reports, no questions asked?

How did she tell him it was for the face of his she glimpsed sometimes, in that split second when the elevator doors opened on him riding by himself as they passed each other in the course of their daily comings and goings, and she caught sight of what she suspected was the real Mitsunari - the man behind the ice and the vitriol and the acid-etched tongue. Far too young to look so forlorn. As if he’d let a mask slip in the close confines of the tiny space, where there was no one around to notice, and hadn’t quite managed to prop it back up again.

As if it were his default state to look that utterly alone.

“Because I-”

‘Buy them for all my coworkers’ was how she should finish that sentence, she knew. It was the safe answer, the sane answer. The one that sat like sawdust on her tongue.

And then it died at the slow slide of his hand gently flattening itself against her back, keeping her from pulling away. His palm was rock-steady, but she could feel the faint tremor of his fingers bracketing her spine, and wondered just what that small gesture cost him.

She settled for a truth, if not the truth. The one she scarcely dared admit to herself. “Because I wanted to make you smile.”

“I…” For the first time ever, she heard him at a loss for words, as Mitsunari cleared his throat thickly. “I’ve never gotten a Christmas present before.”

It was that confession that finally got her to lift her head, cheeks still hot as she gaped at him, suddenly terrified she offended him somehow. Suddenly even more terrified that the answer was far worse. “Do you not celebrate?”

“I’m not...opposed to it.” There was still a thread of something wound tightly between his words, making a snare of them that kept her rooted to the spot. Counting the hard beats of his heart wrenched out beneath her hand. Five, ten, a dozen as she waited for the continuation she felt vibrating through him. “I’m just not sure what to make of this.”

She could see as much when she steeled herself to meet his eyes - the blue of them looking lost. Emotion moving in their depths, like the flicker of something great passing beneath arctic ice. No less immense for being half-unseen.

“You can make of it exactly what you want.” It was the closest she could come to putting herself out there, coward that she was. Leaving the door open if she couldn’t manage to take that first step herself.

She couldn’t miss the unmistakable way his gaze flickered down to her lips, subliming from glacial to the blue center of a flame in an instant. “And if I want more than just that gift?”

“You can have that too.” Her head tipped up expectantly, in clear invitation.

He didn’t need to be told twice, it seemed. There was a moment, a space squeezed between heartbeats where his breath fanned sweetly over her cheek and his nose just brushed hers - a last chance to pull away, before his mouth sealed over hers and she was consumed.

His lips seared hers, his tongue hot like flame as he sought hers out, the faint taste of red wine still clinging to them both. He swallowed down her moan like the finest of vintages, answering with a tiny hungry growl that set her mind blanking. She clung to his shoulders and felt them flex intoxicatingly as he hauled her to straddle his lap, fingers dimpling hard against her thighs and backside until they were cradled together seamlessly. Bodies pressed in a long line from head to curled toe.

She only tore herself away from the fascination of his kiss when the world began to spin, breaking apart long enough to press her forehead to his and stare into the deep water of his gaze, their ragged breathing knotted together.

“Merry Christmas, Mitsunari.”

It was ridiculous, innocuous. Words dredged up for the lack of any higher function on the part of her brain, although the sentiment was heartfelt.

And it didn’t seem to matter, when he rewarded her with a smile so fragile and fledgling she knew without a doubt it was the first of its kind he’d ever formed, elevating him from beautiful to breathtaking. Her own Yuletide miracle. “Yeah. I think it might be.”

#slbp #slbp mitsunari #my writing #christmas shenanigans #and coworker shenanigans #and mitsunari #three of my favorite things

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wordynerdygurl · 4 years

Text

Sweetness and Light

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is the last of my 500 Followers Request stories and I’m so happy to be sharing it with you! As I was working on it, I saw a challenge from @peterman-spideyparker and took on one of the quote prompts, “I am in love with you and I’m terrified.” It just flowed into this story so well! Thank you @brokenthelovely for the amazing request! Enjoy! Summary/ Request: I’d like to request a Loki fic. The reader and him have feelings for each other but he won’t make a move because he thinks everyone will be against it and he isn’t good for her. She starts dating some guy and he tries to let her go but everyone eventually calls him out for letting her go and of course he realizes he was an idiot and then wins her back and they all live smuttily ever after! Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Warnings: Some fluffy smut at the end, a little angsty and Loki being mischievous!

Why did you always have to look so good? That was the thought crossing Loki's mind as you flitted past, one arm wrapped around Bucky, the other around Natasha. Laughing, your scarlet lips a daring contrast to the emerald dress caressing you in ways that made Loki jealous of satin.

He was always so aware of you. Without conscious thought, Loki would, inevitably seek out your soft figure. Relaxing only once he knew you were in his line of sight.

His ear, normally attuned to classical music or epic poetry, could pick up your sugarcane sighs across a crowded room. The lilt of your voice, dropping to a whisper in order to tell a bawdy joke, seemed to float above the hollow ringing guffaws of everyone else. To Loki you were a songbird, glorious of plumage, spellbinding in sound.

It was a nightmare for the fallen prince.

A being as lovely as you lived in the light. Sunkissed and radiant, you had this annoying habit of drawing everyone into your orbit. Even the historically stoic, your Bucky Barnes or Bruce Banners, found their withered roots spreading in the enchanting glow of your attention.

Natasha Romanoff wasn't immune either. Just yesterday she had smiled at Loki. A genuine smile, something he had never experienced before, which set off a chain of events leaving the young God spooked.

“What? You're smiling at me… It’s eerie, quite frankly.” Snarky sarcasm laced each syllable as Loki sipped from his espresso's miniature cup, Natasha's ever watchful eyes on him. “Come on, Loki. You know…" Waiting for his response, impatient and searching, she cocked her head. "He has to know right? Right?” Turning to Captain America, his nose in a book, Natasha shook her head in disbelief.

Searching through the assorted granola bars, desperately looking for a dark chocolate almond wrapper but coming up empty, Loki was only half listening. "Damn, all out." Meeting Natasha's glare, "I have to know what, exactly?" "I… I can't. Not today. Not with you, Loki" Spinning on her heel, steaming tea in hand, Natasha left with a wide eyed glance at Steve.

"Not that I truly care, but what exactly is her problem?" Biting into an overripe pear, juice running over his fingers, Loki spared a look at the doorway before The Captain could answer.

You again.

Coasting into the room, bubbling and bright, whistling to yourself, "Hiya Stevie! How's the book? You like it?"

Smiling at you in a way that made Loki's blood boil, Steve sighed, "It's so good. Like, speaks to my soul, good."

Shooting a wink his way, "I told you! The part where she goes to the farm?"

"And she sees the truck!"

Scooting into the seat next to Steve, your hand resting on his bicep so casually, "I know! Oh, it's so good! Wait until you read the ending!"

Wishing he was sightless, Loki really didn't want to see anymore. Watching Steve grin at you, your easy connection with the super soldier visible to everyone, turned Loki's stomach sour. The wholesome display of you and the Captain, discussing some novel, made Loki nauseous.

As it was, you were practically perfect, Steve was actually perfect. Together you were All American, teeth crackling, sweetness. It was blinding, the beautiful brilliance of the pair of you. Sunshine and pretty teeth, foreheads nearly pressed together, seemingly lost in a private world.

"Have you ever read it, Loki?" Your voice changes. He notices because it's not as warm or friendly as before. It cools just a bit, freezing your intentions, confusing the hell out of Loki.

You haven't looked at him once, a thing Loki wishes he didn't notice. Even now you're focused on the cover of this wonderful book and not the God of Mischief. Turning to the sink, Loki answers you over his shoulder.

"Drivel, I suspect. Midgardian garbage. Melodrama and kitsch… no thank you." Focusing on washing the pear from his hands, lest he get sticky, Loki's features are unreadable. His voice though, that oozed disdain.

"I like it… so far." Steve defended, trying to correct the conversation.

Your mysterious voice went soft, "Well, can't win 'em all I guess. Thanks for teaching me about your literary tastes now, Loki, rather than after the wedding!"

He stiffened at your teasing comment. His back was to you, gripping a paper towel, drying his hands. Wedded to you? What a ludicrous thought.

Tossing his towel into the trash, Loki sees you rifling through the snack bin, "Dang! No dark chocolate almond granola bars? That's why I come down here!" Plastering on a pretend pout, you pass behind Loki and suddenly you are that bobbing band of gold again. "Drink some water, Loki! It's good for you! See you later, Steve!"

A hurricane was less destructive. In a matter of minutes you had blown in and out, leaving Loki in the wreckage of your touchdown. Even Steve was different after your visit.

"Man. Natasha is right. I never noticed it before… but, holy moley." Chuckling as he returned to the much adored story, Steve looked at Loki over the pages, "You're crazy in love with that girl."

"What? How dare you!" Feeling the hot flash of anger flood his face, Loki instinctively went for his daggers, ready to silence the impertinent Avenger in front of him.

Lifting his hands in a sign of surrender, Steve was still laughing, "I take it back. I take it back. I won't tell her that you like her."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Like her. Like her? What's to like?"

Steve closed his book and crossed his arms over his chest, "Everything. Loki, she's just a great person. And for some reason she likes you. A lot."

"No. Not me. You maybe, but not me."

"Wrong. It's you, buddy. And… I think you like her too."

Those words had taken root in Loki's head. Sprouting branches of thought that he would have never considered possible even hours ago, Loki tested the strengths of Steve's accusation, the validity of his claims. Could it possibly be true?

Loki denied it. What a silly idea, really. To think that some little earthling might tempt the rightful King of Jotunheim, Prince of Asgard, son of Odin and God of Mischief. Hardly.

And yet… He couldn't help the niggling feeling that there was something about you that deserved his attention.

Was it in the way you seemed surrounded by music everywhere you went? Either singing or humming, whistling a tune or blaring your playlist, it was rarely quiet in your presence. Annoying. But also, rather charming.

Or perhaps it was your turn of phrase. "Yes, sir Drill Sergeant!" was a favorite whenever someone asked for your help. "Put some pep in your step, a little glide in your stride, a little dip in your hip!" With quips and quotes for all occasions, it seemed to Loki that you had a ready answer for everything. No situation ever caught you off guard. You were funny, unflappable and light.

Then there was your physical form. Curvy. Soft. Deliciously feminine and daringly female.

You wore short skirts with canvas tennis shoes. Vintage band t-shirts with wide legged trousers and suit jackets. You rolled up your jeans and sloughed around in ancient wooly cardigans.

Patterns got crossed, like plaids with polka dots. Colors collided. But you always pulled it off, an avant garde runway model for a post-modern haute couture design house.

In short, you were the essence of cool. Effortless. Easy.

"Oh gods… I do. I like her."

It was that thought that kept Loki awake all night. When sleep tried to claim him after an hours long workout with Thor, your voice pulled him back to wakefulness, the message relayed through the compounds AI. "Hi everyone! Don't forget! Tonight is the annual scholarship fundraiser hosted by our favorite philanthropist, Tony Stark. Tuxedos and gowns kiddos! See you there!" Even recorded you sound chipper and cheerful. It delighted and disgusted Loki in equal measure.

At the fundraiser, tucking himself into a shadowed corner, Loki pretended not to watch you and your emerald gown. Nursing a cocktail, chatting only when absolutely necessary, his plan was to forget his wayward thoughts and yesterday's conversation with Steve. If you kept away, he might get through the night.

An hour in and Loki's restless with need. What he wants to do is march over to you, take you in his arms and press that pliant body of yours to his. Feel your crimson lips, taste your singing mouth and discover if it's as warm as he imagines.

His tumbler hits the bar with a heavy thunk. Running his hands through his dark hair, tightening the knot of his tie, Loki exhales once. With renewed purpose, crossing the floor, he’s stalking towards you. Nothing will distract him now. He is a man of action going after the thing he wants most. You.

Just a few steps more, Loki thinks. Your profile is illuminated in the dim lights of the hall. You're laughing. You are always laughing, it seems.

Watching as you swing your head his way, Loki's certain that you've spotted him and his intentions. Wanda taps your shoulder, directing your focus back to her as she points into the crowd, giggling in your ear. A man, broad and strong, strides into your circle.

Loki's step falters as his excellent hearing picks up your joyful squeal of delight. This person, this interloper, puts his hands around your waist. Swinging you into a possessive bear hug, kissing you at the same time, he makes a show of literally sweeping you off your feet in front of everyone at Tony’s gala.

You’re a blur, the motion of it making Loki dizzy. He is also frozen in place. Questions buzz like angry bees at the familiar way this person is handling you. It's not right. It's not proper. And it's all because those are not Loki’s hands on you.

"Loki! Hi! I want you to meet my boyfriend Marcus! Marc, this is Loki!"

A beefy hand extends your way, attached to an equally beefy person, with an overeager smile. "Loki! I've heard so much about you. You're good with knives, right? Maybe we can train together sometime?"

Loki, noticing how Marc's hand rested possessively on the swell of your hip, thinks, Yes. I would love to throw daggers at you, Marc. Instead, with a charming chuckle Loki answers, "Well, our girl is too kind. It was nice to meet you, Matt."

"It… it's Marc."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! Marc. Right. Apologies! Please, enjoy your evening!" Plastering his smile on permanently, pride stinging, Loki slunk away to nurse his wounds in the solace of his room.

You were with Marc now. He was too late. And there was no good excuse beyond pride for Loki's inability to see the plain truth. You were pretty wonderful, something Loki had always known, deep down. Now, you were someone else's.

In truth, it took Loki two days to square with the fact that you were with a lesser man. You were beautiful and clever and a constant delight, but you were with Marc. There was no changing that fact, right?

Wrong. The reason Loki didn't surface during waking hours for the next week was because he had a plan. He would win you, do the work, make you realize that you belonged with him.

Yet, each plan failed in one way or another.

When Loki accidentally on purpose cancelled your dinner plans at a trendy new hot spot, Tony had called in a favor. You and Marcus had dined in the private wine cellar, met the chef, and walked back into the compound holding hands. Loki stormed away before you could tell him all about your wonderful night. Overhearing Marcus brag about a weekend away, bathing suits and a boat, Loki asked Thor for help. “It’s the weather. You see, I need it to rain. I need thunder and lightning. And all those wonderful things that you control.” “Brother, I am the God of Thunder, not the God of Weather.” “Can you please, just… do this one thing for me? Please?” Whether it was Loki‘s manic sincerity or his desperation that convinced Thor, Loki would never know. What he did know was that your seaside sailing excursion had been cancelled due to unprecedented storms. However, Wanda had helped Marcus with booking a hotel room for two nights instead. You had a couples’ massage and drank champagne. Loki sulked. Feeling like a cartoon coyote, Loki knew the surrender was near. Always pragmatic, and resourceful, he had realized that as much as he might want to woo you, it was possible that you did not want to be wooed. At least, not by Loki. So, the handsome prince, with a gloomy face, once again strayed from the others. Not content to make small talk when his heart knew such hurt, Loki slept during the day and moped around at night. He avoided everyone as much as possible. When interaction was inevitable, it was brief and direct. Loki had no energy for games. He was played out. He was also hungry. Which is how he found himself in the kitchen at 3:00 am, spooning cherry jell-o into his face, thinking about you. He was so wrapped up in the idea of you that he could swear your voice was playing in his head.

“But, I don’t understand. Marc? That… that’s not fair. I told you. I told you how the job was… what I had to do… how it might be hard sometimes… But I thought? Oh. Oh…”

Pausing, Loki realized that you weren’t an illusion. You were at the compound, and tonight you weren’t laughing. In fact, Loki was fairly certain that he heard a sniff, something that you did when you were crying. He remembered hearing it when the gang watched Old Yeller. You had sobbed over the fictional pup. It was adorable then, now, not so much. “Well… if that’s what you really think… Wow. Ok, Marcus. You made your point. Goodbye, I guess.” Loki had heard you cry before. Over the old yellow dog in that movie, because of a missing classified document and once due to Clint's awful singing. Tonight though, there was silence. Expecting to hear your sobs, Loki, surprised by the quiet, risked a peek around the corner to check on you. Probably, because you thought you were entirely alone at the inhumane hour of three in the morning, you let yourself sink down to the floor. Bathed in the blue light of the Avengers “A”, resting your head against the textured wall with your phone still cradled in your palm, one fat tear rolled down your cheek.

Later on, Loki would tell you that everything that followed was because of that tear. Something about that shiny track of sadness had hit the jokester right in his heart, watering the shriveled seed of his love for you. It made him want to hold you, to keep the hurts of life away, protect you from the kind of sadness that had forced your happiness into hiding. Unhappy didn't do your current mental state justice. More silent tears joined the first. Another failed relationship, and if you were honest the water works weren't for Marcus. They were for you.

He was a handsome distraction, for sure. And his reasons for dumping you? Valid. True.

Canceled dates, long nights at work, the constantly ringing phone. All things that you found more important than Marcus. He was absolutely correct when laying the blame for this failure at your feet. You did not want your partnership with Marcus to thrive, survive. You had been killing time with him and that wasn't fair.

Not when there was someone else on your mind all the time.

Marcus had been a paltry replacement for the man you really wanted. Even though you had tried to deny it, fight against it, every time he touched you, you ached for the nimble fingers of a demigod. Each kiss from Marc made you hungry for the flavor of Loki's mouth. You hated yourself for it but stopping those thoughts had proven too difficult to manage. In response, avoiding your boyfriend had become an easy habit to cultivate.

Which was worse, you sat on the floor wondering. Having the wrong man or having no man? Lusting after one while leading on the other? Being desired by Marcus but faking your interest in him? Wanting Loki but not being wanted by him in return?

You closed your eyes, breathing deeply, mad at yourself. There was no way to know Loki was watching you fall apart from the safety of the kitchenette. Awash in self anger, almost alone, you struggled to pull yourself together.

Instead of second guessing himself, taking a deep breath, Loki swiftly rounded the corner and slipped down next to you. His bony knee brushed against your own, "Some might give you a penny for your thoughts… but I'm afraid I only have a dark chocolate almond bar." "Loki…" Sighing with a small chuckle, barely surprised at his presence, you grabbed the offered snack, "My thoughts aren't worth this much."

"That's where you are wrong, dove. I would pay this and more to have a better understanding of you."

Snorting derisively, "Really? Most days you can barely be civil to me."

Loki's fierce gaze locked on your watery one, "Yes… well. For that, I apologize. You… You are a very nice person. I, unfortunately, am not."

Swiping at your wet cheeks, smiling, "You are too! Or, you can be… if you want to be."

"No, I leave chivalry to my brother. Kindness to Captain Rogers… Sweetness to, well, you."

Turning toward him, your leg folded under you, "You're here now, and with my favorite snack, no less! That's pretty nice, Loki."

Shyly smiling, "About that… I know you like them. I keep a small stash in my room, in case Stark runs out."

"What? Really?" It's hard to believe that Loki would be so secretly thoughtful. Playing with the wrapper in your hand, you raised a glance to the studious prince beside you, "That's… that maybe the sweetest thing anyone has done for me."

"I doubt that. I'm sure your friend, Marcus, has done kind things for you." Just saying the name made Loki's heart leap, worried that it might spook you. Or, and this was worse, that you'd defend him because Marcus was the one you wanted.

"Don't play coy, Loki. You know he just dumped me. It's over… it's been over almost since it began." Resting your warm hand on Loki's arm, the zing of your touch scorching his cool skin, distracted and disoriented him for a moment.

Whispering, almost timid with wanting to know, "Did you love him? Do you?"

Slumping forward, your shaggy hair covering your face, "Nope. Not even a little bit."

"Really?" Loki fought against the swelling of glee that surged through him at your admission.

Snapping your head up, searching his face, "You sound surprised. You shouldn't be… See, Loki, I'm not as nice as you think I am."

"Oh yes you are… even now you feel bad about all this. You wish you could have loved Marcus, eased his hurt, regardless of your own unhappiness. "

Shaking your head gently, shrugging, "It would be easier, I think. Less painful. And I wouldn't be alone… again."

Loki betrayed nothing in his voice, but his mind was in a tailspin. In a husky hum, he asked you, "Is that all you want, dove? Not to be alone?"

Flashing your floormate a small smile, it faltered when you realized just how close you and Loki were. He hadn't moved. You had. Near enough that you felt his body's heat melt into yours.

"No… but it's a good start, don't you think?"

Instinctively, Loki reached out, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "I think I am in love with you and I'm terrified."

Hanging in the air between you, Loki's words, uttered so casually, expanded to fill the following silence. Raising his hope filled eyes to yours, Loki offered a half smile, "Come on dove, if I have even half a chance, then for Odin's sake, tell me."

First your body went cold, shocked at Loki's revelation. Next, a flush of heat rolled over you, flaming your cheeks. It settled into your lower belly as a throbbing ache, an unscratched itch, needy and raw.

Murmuring, stunned, "You like me?"

Tossing his dark hair, "No… no, little one. I love you. And I am truly scared that you don’t feel the same way." Loki shifted, mirroring your posture, your folded knees grazing against each other. Leaning into your space, Loki's hands cupped your face. Brushing his lips across your forehead, he kissed down the bridge of your nose and over your heated cheeks.

His thumbs stroked along your jaw, tilting your chin up, as your lips parted. Wasting no time, Loki pressed his firm mouth to yours, kissing you sweetly. You felt his fingers tangle in your hair, drawing you deeper into Loki's arms, his tongue licking into your warm mouth.

Happily swallowing your sweet sigh, Loki's lips asked for more of you and you obliged. Your hands gripped his shoulders, enjoying the firm muscled man beneath your hands, savoring the taste of Loki's tongue. He pulled away first, groaning, "I have wanted to do that for a long time."

"Me too."

Picking up your hand, threading his digits through yours, "But… my leg is falling asleep sitting here on the floor."

Laughing out loud, "Me too!" You moved to stand, but Loki tugged you back down again.

"Before we go… I wanted to ask you out for a proper date. Dinner, a movie… dancing, drinks… whatever. You name it! I want to do this right, you see."

Nodding, you bit into your bottom lip, "I will let you wine and dine me, Loki. I promise. But… if I'm honest with you, I have been thinking about kissing you for months now… and I don't want to stop."

Loki stood taking you with him. Once you were on your feet, your tall god wrapped his arm around your waist, snuggling you into his chest. "I was afraid I had missed my chance. That someone else had taken your heart."

"It's always been yours, Loki. I’m in love with you too."

Your body melded to his. Those lips were on your neck, making you gasp in rapture, as Loki's hands cupped your bottom. Draping your arms over his broad shoulders, feeling the tensing muscles underneath the fabric of his dark tee, had you panting.

"Gods, you are incredible!"

Like a purring cat, you rubbed your cheek into Loki's chest, "I could say the same about you."

Swallowing hard, still keeping you close, Loki studied your expression. "Come on, dove. Let's go."

Confusion crowded your features, "Go where?"

"I'm taking you to bed!" Loki scooped you up, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back, as if you were a distressed damsel. Squealing his name, you threw your head back, happy in Loki's capable hands.

In his apartment, naked on Loki's bed, you let his mouth devour you. Starting with your full, round breasts, Loki licked and sucked your nipples under they were painfully taut. Then his fingers found your peaks, pulling and tugging, until you were mewling for more.

Loki's tongue traced a line down the center of your body. When he reached your glistening core, Loki used his thumbs to part your lower lips, blowing gently over your aroused flesh. "Stop wiggling, dove!"

"But Loki! I need you!" As the words left your mouth, Loki's tongue licked through your silky skin, circling your clustered nerves. You cried out when he sucked the sensitive nub between his lips while still licking against your sex.

With shaking thighs, your body released hard while Loki drank down your nectar. Kissing back up your body, you tasted yourself when his mouth met yours, your tongues colliding. Reaching down between your bodies, your fingers found Loki's significant size and you smiled wickedly.

"Easy kitten!"

"Oh no, I want you, Loki. Hard and fast. Please?" When he tipped his head, agreeing, you gave his length a gentle squeeze. Loki rested his forehead to yours as your lovely little hand directed him to your velvet core.

Once there, Loki's mouth found yours, tenderly kissing you as he gently burrowed into your slick satin skin. Taking more and more of you, claiming your body with his deep thrusts, Loki's hips rocked into you. Each plunge pushed you closer to completion.

Your walls tightening, gripping Loki, had him moaning your name. "I'm close, dove… so close."

"Me too, Loki!"

His clever fingers dropped to your cleft, rubbing your engorged button, as Loki drove into you once more. In a flash of supreme pleasure your bliss roared through you, stealing Loki's climax at the same time, as you clung to your man. Shivering from the intensity of your passion, you refused to let Loki go, keeping your arms firmly around him as your body moved mindlessly in delight.

Loki kissed away the happy tears that spotted your cheeks. Brushing the hair back from your face, he whispered tender words like "love" and "beautiful" and "darling girl" until slowly your tense muscles relaxed. Loki gently withdrew from you, rolling you to your side to face him, wrapping a protective arm over you.

Satisfied beyond reason, you looked at your raven haired lover, eyes heavy. "You should sleep, dove." "Hmm… yes. But you'll stay with me, right, Loki?"

"Of course. You're my sweet girl."

Scrunching into his side, snuggling under his quilt, you smiled. “That’s me!"

The next morning Loki stirred some sugar into his tiny espresso cup, a secret smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Steve sat at the counter, a newspaper spread out in front of him, mug of coffee nearby. From down the hall, your whistling reaches the room before you do.

"Hiya Stevie! Any good news in there today?"

Tearing himself away, "Not that I've seen. How are you? You seem… happy. Happier than usual."

You lock eyes with Loki, grinning from ear to ear, "I am. Things are good… great even."

Hopping up on the island, looking through the bin of snack bars, Loki steps between your knees. "Looking for this?"

"Yes! My favorite treat! And my favorite you!" Throwing your arms around his neck, you draw Loki into a deep kiss, his hands running up your sides.

Understanding lit up Steve’s face, "Whoa! Wait! Is this real? Did it finally happen?"

"Yup! So, uh… tell Tony we're taking the morning off, ok?"

"Actually, Steve, please tell Stark that we are taking the rest of the day off. Don't call. My sweet girl and I will be too busy to answer." With that Loki grabbed you by the hips, wrapping your legs around him as he marched you out of the room.

Sweetness and Light, that’s what you were and that’s just what Loki needed. ----

Tags: @brokenthelovely @iamverity @just-random-obsessions @jamielea81 @archy3001 @jessiejunebug @nonsensicalobsessions @thefallenbibliophilequote @mizfit2 @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore @procrastinatinglikeabitch @lots-of-loki

#peterman-spideyparker #kristen2020 #peterman-spideyparker2020 #hot loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki x you #500 followers #mcu smut #marvel smut #loki

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siren1song · 4 years

Text

A gift for Argo because they decided to Kill Me with the soft anxceit. And also because they’re honestly just!! They’re great. Super sweet, I love their tags when they reblog my writing.

Taglist: @acanvasofabillionsuns, @emo-disaster, @greenninjagal-blog, @jungle321jungle

We’re Worth It

Logan enjoyed cleaning, much to the bafflement of his boyfriends. He found peace in getting things spotless, and the satisfaction of turning a mess into organization made him happy.

Remy and Virgil both made enough messes, being the way they were, it certainly kept Logan busy when he decided he wanted to clean. It was usually a daily endeavor, and though Virgil has expressed feelings of guilt many times, he could honestly say he really didn’t mind picking up after them.

Even now, he was washing dishes, his sleeves rolled to his elbows as he hummed along to the song playing on his speaker.

It was early in the morning, so he hadn’t expected to feel arms wrap around his waist and a body press against his back. Both of his boyfriends typically slept in late, so Logan pulled his hands out of the dirty dish water, wiping them on a nearby towel and shifting to see which boyfriend had decided to cling to him.

“Morning Virgil, I’m surprised you’re up,” he said, smiling softly as he draped his arms over the shorter man’s shoulders, chuckling softly when he just grunted in response.

The song playing on his speaker changed into a soft, slow song. One he often found himself associating with his relationship with Remy and Virgil.

And just like them old stars

I see that you’ve come so far

To be right where you are

How old is your soul?

Logan started humming along again, gently swaying with Virgil in his arms as he rested his cheek against the other’s hair.

Virgil moved along with the swaying, making it a little more exaggerated until they were spinning in slow circles around the kitchen with I Won’t Give Up playing in the background. Neither noticed Remy joining them until Logan lifted his head from Virgil’s to see him sitting on the counter, coffee in hand and a small smile on his face.

“Mornin’ moonstone,” Remy greeted, scratching at the bridge of his nose as his brown eyes sparkled with love and happiness.

Logan smiled, pausing the circular movement, but still allowing Virgil to keep up the swaying movement.

“Good morning Remy, did you sleep well? If at all, considering you’re awake at eight am,” he joked, chuckling at Virgil’s snort and Remy’s offended scoff.

“I slept, I just… wanted to see your pretty face,” was his response.

Logan hummed, resting his chin on Virgil’s head and closing his eyes as they continued to sway.

“You both are domestic and gross,” Remy said after a few moments of nothing but the song filling the air.

Virgil shifted to look at Remy over his shoulder then, eyes narrowed.

“Y’re jus’ jealous I getto dance with ‘im,” he mumbled, words slurring with his sleepiness.

Logan’s heart melted at how cute that was, and then melted more when Remy sighed dreamily.

“Oh you know it, hon. Logan’s a real dreamboat, who wouldn’t wanna be the lucky guy dancing with him?”

“You two are ridiculous, I’m dating both of you,” Logan said, amused by their conversation.

“Yeah, but I’m the favorite,” Virgil said, snickering when Logan swatted at his back.

“I don’t have a favorite, I love both of you equally as much,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Remy when his grin grew sly.

“‘S that so? How much logie bear? To the moon? To the stars? What about to the universe?”

Virgil hummed at Remy’s questioning, pulling back to look at Logan curiously, clearly interested in his answer.

Logan sighed, pressing a kiss to Virgil’s forehead.

“My love can’t be measured by distance, coffee bean, but if you want a rough estimate I think infinity is a good word for how much,” he said, looking up at Remy and smirking at his pink face.

“You’re a sap, moonstone,” he said, hiding his face by taking a drink from his coffee mug.

Virgil drew their attention to him when he hummed, the smallest man looking up at the ceiling in consideration.

“If Logan’s a sap, I think you’re an entire tree, Remy,” he said, laughing when Remy let out a noise of indignance.

“I am not! Spider bite how could you!”

Logan raised an eyebrow at that, amused by Remy’s offense.

“He’s right, coffee bean, you’re the one who came up with the pet names for us in the first place, and have written literal poetry about us many times, I can’t think of anyone sappier.”

Remy huffed, setting down his mug so he could cross his arms over his chest and pout.

“I’m being bullied.”

Logan and Virgil laughed, none of the three noticing that the song had changed twice over now, but being together usually meant they didn’t notice anything outside of the little world that was their relationship.

#casper writes #ts logan #ts virgil #ts remy #losleepxiety #losleep #sleepxiety #analogical #this is so fucking soft #and sweet #and cute #and theyre gay guys oH MY GOD #am i geeking out over my own fic? yes #but you see #i am a good writer and this fic is Adorable #so there #also remy is a massive sap and these petnames Kill Me with soft

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wendell-or-something · 4 years

Text

it is time.

I want to compile a more complete rundown of my thoughts about homestuck 2. I want all the stuff in my head to be in one place, and I know this is going to be incredibly long winded and I don’t care. I want to be honest... I want to understand why I don't like this media. on more than a "but of course" level because there are a lot of people who have it as a gut reaction that this stuff isn't right. but I think there are layers to what produces that. I wanna get in depth with this. so that's what I'm gonna attempt to do.

okay, so, the first thing I think I wanna say is a disclaimer. I have not actually read the epilogues. or homestuck 2. I have a peripheral knowledge of what happens in them because, as a concerned citizen, I poked around enough to pick up details and know that I wouldn't enjoy this media if I fully engaged with it. my assessment of the material may be flawed because of this, but I mean... if the things I've heard about the epilogues deterred me from reading it, then I guess that's what I'm analyzing? not only what I understand based on my limited knowledge, but also why it is so limited to begin with. why this media is such a huge deterrent to so many people who care so much about homestuck. ultimately, this is not to shame people who like this media... I will be addressing common takes I've heard from people who defend the epilogues, but I'm not singling anyone out, and anyone who reads this has a right to disagree, or better yet, ignore me and find enjoyment where you are able, even if I cannot. I will not begrudge you that. additionally, I am considering the epilogues and homestuck 2 to be one unit. not necessarily in terms of structure, but because the events of one lead directly into the events of the other, and the two have similar issues. I think I'll shorthand the combination of the two as EP/HS2 for simplicity, and refer to either individually if I have something specific to say about one or the other.

I think the main problem that people have with EP/HS2 is that it's depressing. and it's depressing for a myriad of different reasons, but I'll get to those in a minute. first I want to establish why them being depressing doesn't work for so many people. I feel like this should be examined first, because a lot of the supporters of EP/HS2 are viewing the complaints against it as over sensitivity from fans who only liked the comic for its lighter elements. I keep seeing a "y'all just wanted your rainbow cotton candy fluff ending" kind of sentiment going around. and like... you are right that this isn't a fluff ending. but I think it's unfair to treat the particular type of content that EP/HS2 brought to the table as the only kind of substantial, fulfilling narrative that we could've asked for.

and I think a lot of the dissonance that people see between homestuck and EP/HS2 is based in the ratio of tension to levity, and how far it's shifted toward pure tension... especially because, at the end of homestuck, all the outside threats to this group of friends have already been resolved. and yet, shit feels leagues more catastrophically bad during the epilogues than it did during the comic when the characters were actually under attack, which is super weird when you think about it. I mean, "epilogues" my ass, am I right? it is true that homestuck was never 100% sunshine and rainbows... in fact, some of the darker events that it brought to the table became some of the most hyped shit in the comic. murderstuck is mostly what I'm thinking of first in terms of this, but there was a lot of popular angst laden content within homestuck that the fans latched onto. the thing is, the fans also latched onto the content that was super goofy, and the fan works that you can still find online from the era of homestuck's initial popularity reflect both sides of its tone in equal measure. there was a huge amount of goofy fan content (octopimp's youtube channel is still a record of that, and that wasn't even the half of it). and there was a huge amount of angsty content, and there was a huge amount of heartfelt content... turns out, homestuck had broad appeal, and spoke to different people in different ways. and back then, I never really felt like the goofy stuff was being treated as any less important than the heavy stuff. it wasn't brushed off just because it was seen as lighthearted. people liked to laugh, and I fully believe that Andrew Hussie began doing homestuck as a fun activity.

the reason why I bring this up is because homestuck as a piece of media could beget all of these various takes. the fan works could be tonally dissonant when held side by side with each other, but when held against the parts of the comic that inspired them, they made perfect sense. homestuck could spawn jokes, and angst, and social commentary, and theories... and even extrapolation on canonical events, in ways both silly and serious. and when you look at the kind of content that the fans produced during homestuck's height, you see what was important to them. they put time and effort into crafting even their dumbest meme shit. the fans reflected what the comic gave to them. and humor and heart were among the most beloved core engagements that the comic provided... these were pillars on which a lot of fan enjoyment rested... you really can't begrudge a person their fun.

and treating darkness and angst as the sole indicator of maturity in a work seems misguided to me. because, speaking personally for a moment here, one of the biggest lessons I had to teach myself when I was growing up was how not to wallow in negative emotions. how to find the fun, sometimes rather aggressively, so that you don't just drown. and with EP/HS2, it feels like at every turn, readers are constantly grasping for something nice or fun to keep them afloat in all this heavy stuff, and either they come to accept mere scraps of positivity, or everything they reach for is eventually dissolved as well. and I think the character of a piece of media as a whole can sometimes tell you what level of maturity it's operating under. like, if the text lingers over making the characters miserable, or seems to revel in shooting holes in people's positive interpretations of these people, you have to kind of wonder if this is serving the narrative, or just producing author schadenfreude when they release what amounts to shock content.

it almost feels like a twisting of the way homestuck used to treat the fans, because during it's run, homestuck was very reactive towards the fanbase. this kind of canon responsiveness to the readers was baked into homestuck from the very beginning, back when Hussie was accepting reader suggestions for what John Egbert should do. and need I remind everyone that the trolls were made as parodies of different types of personalities that were common to find online during homestuck's era? they are internet trolls, who are actually an alien race known as trolls, who communicate primarily online, and whose culture and species developed to produce an ornery and antagonistic population, so like... it's trolls all the way down. that's the whole joke. but the real, valuable benefit of parodying your fans with your characters, is that when the trolls act, they reflect the way real people acted. which means that when, say, Nepeta shoehorns RP lingo into casual conversation, some people will be like "it me!" and some people will laugh/cringe because they've seen people actually talk like that, and some people will be like "aww, that used to be me!" and every time a character produces this sense of identification with the audience, it works to create familiarity, and eventually, a sense of fondness.

that fondness is fucking powerful.

that fondness is born out of recognition and empathy, no matter which character you feel it for, and when a giant community of people loves a character that you have seen yourself reflected in so clearly, that is an incredibly validating experience. especially when you’re young, and the pieces of yourself that you saw were some of the nerdiest, weirdest, most awkward parts of you. a very large community of people loves a character that is like you, even, or perhaps especially, because of the flawed parts. and of course these characters were meant to tease the fans a little... these characters were also jokes to some extent the whole time. but they were never seen as cruel or insulting, because these characters were also important. the story literally built whole worlds around their identities... these kids altered universes. and they were allowed to be that important and special without being perfect first. they were dumb, and awkward, and nerdy, and cringey, and allowed to be there anyway. they were you, and you were important.

and this is where I think that EP/HS2 really misses the point. because in homestuck, the characters experienced hardship, but that hardship went on to fuel an overall sense of accomplishment when it was overcome. the road might be long, and it might be tough, and you might face shit that you don't feel prepared for, but when triumph is achieved, it feels that much more earned. and that is a key phrase I want everyone to remember homestuck for:

triumph.

it's the feeling that cascade gave me. it is the highest of heights that this whole thing reached. and it really has so much to do with how homestuck had built itself up until that point. we were mired in the minutiae of these kids' lives. we read their every chat log. we saw them dicking around doing next to nothing. we saw them contact each other and talk to each other for basically no reason other than to catch up. we saw them sharing stupid memes, and yelling at each other for wasting time on pointless bullshit, and dunking on each other's shitty taste in media... every one of them was "you" at some point. "you captchaloged this" or "you decided to do that" and it made a subtle connection in your brain that convinced you to feel things with them and accept what they "decided" as something that you had done alongside them. in some small way, you did homestuck. and this notion was further supported by how much of what the fans were doing would make its way back into what the comic was doing. the comic and the fans existed in a kind of symbiosis, and that fed into the feeling of connection that the fans had with this particular story. this thing was alive, and it moved in tandem with the community.

so when something big like cascade happened, you were right there with them. you were deep in the center of it. and you wanted to be, because this was your payoff. you did the work with these kids... you put in the time. and the triumph was yours too.

this is why EP/HS2 shouldn't be depressing. the core of the story was triumph against all odds. to take the triumph that was earned over the course of the whole story, and ruin it for the sake of generating angst... it misses the point. I did not read all 8000+ pages of homestuck multiple times because I wanted a tragedy. if I wanted tragedy, I would choose a different story. of course a lot of fans would have trouble liking EP/HS2... this wasn't what they signed up for. it pulls the rug out from under the fans of the original comic by pulling a mean genre bait and switch. why would people who liked a story like homestuck want a story like this? and I mean, obviously some people were okay with this. some people like EP/HS2. but you have to admit that it is an entirely different thing than what homestuck was.

I’ve heard some folks try to compare the darker parts of EP/HS2 to the darker parts of homestuck, and this is why they aren't the same. the darkness performs different functions in each story. in homestuck, it contrasts the lighter parts and creates a reason to keep everyone moving. in EP/HS2, it is the whole darn thing. the story is simply woven from it to begin with. I have heard some people say that they think of EP/HS2 as cathartic... as a reflection of life when things are painful or hard. but I think we really need to remember what catharsis is. catharsis doesn’t begin and end with pain. catharsis has to do something with that pain, or it’s just pain for pain’s sake. and the further I look into EP/HS2, the more I feel like the story is just playing it straight as a tragedy... though sometimes I wonder if it knows this.

so let's pull apart the tragedy of EP/HS2. because while I don’t really enjoy tragedies, (hence why I liked homestuck, and didn’t like EP/HS2... they are opposites in this sense), I still understand how tragedies work. catharsis can be part of it... to see something sad happen, and relate to that sadness, and feel a deep emotion... that does make sense. but the line between catharsis and just plain agitation is whether or not the pain actually provides you with a sense of relief. if the story leaves the character stuck in a bad emotional place, you feel stuck too... unable to confront the emotional burden that the story has saddled you with in a satisfying way, because it isn't even your own. in real life, when you are hurt, at least you have the ability to do whatever you need for yourself, in order to eventually feel better. I have grieved before, and somehow found it in me to laugh again since. but in stories, you rely on the author to construct the characters' response to bad events, and if things just go from bad to worse, sometimes with little resistance, the audience is eventually going to feel really agitated by the lack of relief. even stories that end in death provide catharsis due to the finality of it. the life ends, and provides a sense of closure. but EP/HS2 doesn’t give you an out. it just keeps driving many of the characters into more and more mundanely uncomfortable and dissatisfying lives, or turns them into people we would rather not know or read about.... which feels like a loss to the reader, even though the character is right there. at that point, the character's presence only makes you feel worse because they used to be someone you liked, but now they're just a reminder of your disappointment. and this level of your emotional discomfort isn't even something that the narrative will address, because it's just a side effect of how things are going. it isn't poetic, and there is no real comfort given to lighten that load... it's just unpleasant.

and on a more technical level, I would like to point out that stories create a kind of transaction between author and reader. and once you understand the status quo between you and a particular author, you can gauge the level of investment you feel safe putting in the characters. at their core, it stands to reason that stories should require conflict to be interesting. but in order to stay interesting, they also need to give us a reason to care about the conflict. in homestuck, I felt like the story set up a status quo in which we felt comfortable caring about certain characters, because we subtly trusted that the author wasn't wasting our time or jerking us around. like, you knew that a lot of crazy shit was on the table, but it felt like the story was growing, the author was interested in that growth, and thus he would not kill it. even if you couldn't begin to guess what was gonna happen next, you at least didn't have to worry about the author hugely ruining things that you liked about the story. he seemed like he liked those things too. we were all on the same page in that regard.

this is where character investment was very important to homestuck... the readers needed something to hang on to, or they'd lose interest in what was going on, and in homestuck specifically, the thing that kept us hanging on, was our love for these characters, and our wish to see them prevail against the odds. we were hoping for a satisfying ending, and interested in how we'd get there. and by now, I think homestuck fans in particular are very determined to stick to the characters by nature. if we weren't, then we would've been bored out of reading the comic in the first place back in act 1, when the most exciting thing that had happened was John going through his house and finding his dad in the kitchen. if you don't love John at least a little, you won't want to keep reading about him picking up items and describing them to you for a whole chapter, with not but the entertainment value of his character's particular perspective and voice to sustain you.

obviously, character investment isn't always a story's draw... but it was definitely homestuck’s. and even giving EP/HS2 the benefit of the doubt... let's say we're just judging it on the merits of being a tragic story. there are many levels of engagement that a story can hit, and in a lot of tragedies, the interest comes from the machinations of the plot. you already know it's going to end sadly, but you have the ability to process the sadness (a negative emotional experience and potential reader deterrent) while still maintaining interest, because you want to know how it will happen. it is unfortunate then, that EP/HS2 isn't a stand alone story, independent from homestuck itself. because if you tell a homestuck fan that the story will now only end in sadness, they likely won't want to know how it happens. because they already decided to like and relate to these characters, and wish for their happiness. they were taught it was okay to hope for that, based on the way the story used to be. basically, one of the essential appeals of homestuck (character investment) is actively working against the core appeal of a tragedy (understanding how sad events came to pass) because homestuck's appeal worked so well to begin with. it's basically nonsensical to try and jump track from one to the other, because the reader is much more likely to fall off the wagon entirely, and ignore your story in order to preserve their enjoyment of the story they already consumed.

but to get way more blunt about this... homestuck was good, and ruining what it left us with was unpopular for obvious reasons. fans were successfully invested in the story, the final triumphant payoff was a satisfying way to cap the narrative, and honestly... I think homestuck probably should've just stopped while the vibes were good. people were satiated. they were sad that it was over, but the sadness came from fondness, and that just sort of felt appropriate. we had it so good.

the transaction between author and reader was stable at that point. we had conflict. we had a reason to care. we got a resolution. there was a level of trust established, and honored... we trusted that there was a rhythm to the story. a push and pull between the kind of threat that would necessitate action from our heroes, and the ability of the characters to overcome the conflict well enough that we'd be left with something satisfying in the end. this trust no longer exists in EP/HS2. the epilogues broke it, and homestuck 2 has failed to repair it because, to be honest, it was already too badly damaged. it would take a full retcon to actually bring that back after the epilogues, but then it uh... screwed the pooch all over again. sorry, that was insensitive.

anyway. so like... what about the particulars of the story's content? I mean... I know I'm dissatisfied because a lot of the characters have been blatantly destroyed. Dirk will be my example for this bit, I mean, just look at him. in one epilogue route he commits suicide, and by making Ult. Dirk a thing, they effectively unestablished the identity of Dirk as he was in homestuck. and my limited knowledge of the epilogues doesn't allow me to really know about this, but was there even any acknowledgement of how death works in homestuck? Dirk must've known that if he killed himself, he'd end up as a ghost out in the dream bubbles. that is still a thing, right? Dave could've gone looking for him. considering Dirk's pesterquest route, he should've wanted to. and see, there's an example of what might've approached catharsis in a situation like that... pain, but also a human person dealing with that pain in a way that feels like fulfillment. but as far as I've heard, the story didn't go there? so it's just pain for pain's sake... or maybe just a bid to get rid of the more complex version of his character and replace him with an anime villain. and the method doesn't even make any sense, like, Dirk is the last character that would ever commit suicide because, by his own canonical words, he is scared to not exist. he literally couldn't bring himself to destroy the AR because of this, in spite of having every technical and emotional reason to want to. this is a major pain point for him, and I know it's typical to think of someone with self hatred wanting to kill themselves, but Dirk is a particularly different case. he should not be shoved into such an ill fitting generic narrative for shock value.

and beyond that, let's say you're someone who identified with Dirk. let's say that when homestuck said "you are now Dirk Strider" you were like "oh fuck I kinda am tho" and you were invested in him ever since. let's say that the points of investment you felt with him were in his troubles with self loathing, his fear of not existing, or his trouble communicating his true feelings to others. this is a rather dismal end for Dirk to have come to... and a rather dismal story for you to read if you still relate to this character. if you're coming off the end of homestuck still securely relating to him as heavily as you did when he was allowed to triumph, how fucking bad is it gonna feel to see him so thoroughly obliterated? to whiplash so hard from a perceived success to such abject failure is just mean. this story is so mean now, like, everyone's got the bug it seems.

and not only do several characters perish (literally, or by being mismanaged) for cheap drama in EP/HS2, but some just turn into shitty people? like, Rose recently revealed that she cheated on Kanaya. I simply hate the idea that Rose would grow up to be the type of person who would do that. I remember Rose in acts 1 through 5 being the kind of person who had misguided ideas about what course of action she thought would be effective. she would make some pretty big decisions, and act on destructive impulses, often in spite of what her friends thought was safe. in essence, I can see where the authors of homestuck 2 would get the idea of Rose going off and doing big shit without telling people. but this ignores why she was so determined to do any of that stuff in the first place... Rose was just as invested in protecting the people she cared about as anyone. and besides that, I thought her arc in those early acts had taught her something about that approach? I thought she got closer to people, to the point where they could voice a concern and she'd listen.

in regards to her relationship with Kanaya in particular, there's a huge difference between knowing someone for a day at the age of 13, and spending 3 more years getting to know and love that person before deciding to marry them. so even if this was the reflection of a quality that Rose had back then, I thought she grew past it... she had ample time and opportunity... we even watched her get better about this sort of thing. literally this rolls back her character development to when she was a child, and makes her a shitty adult. and if I’m being really scathing here, I might as well say that this feels like an example of that thing that stories sometimes do, where they only care about a relationship while the characters are struggling to get together. and then once they are together, it timeskips past their relationship being functional and lands you at a point where they're experiencing turbulence. at which point it leverages their relationship trouble for drama, rather than letting the two function well as a unit against an outside threat of some kind. like, no happy couples exist in fiction! gotta wring your conflict out of the fact that they’re falling apart! it feels like they’re being exploited by the writers.

and worst of all... this betrayal of trust by Rose either ruins Rose and Kanaya's marriage, or makes Kanaya seem like a fool. I keep thinking back to their time on the meteor, when Rose asked if Kanaya was breaking up with her because they finally reached that tipping point where Rose's drinking had to be acknowledged as a problem. and Kanaya said that no, she wasn't breaking up with her, and stuck with Rose because she was dedicated to loving her even if that meant helping her with a serious problem. that was such a strong character moment for Kanaya. it displayed her loyalty and dedication to Rose, but also a nuanced understanding of when a problem can actually be solved by dedicated effort. having her be so committed to staying with Rose in spite of Rose's transgressions is like a perversion of those positive qualities. now it just feels like Kanaya is irrationally willing to put up with anything from Rose, no matter how egregious. it takes a trait that was so nice about Kanaya, and uses it in such an upsetting way... and honestly, there was no reason to do that.

but this is a huge problem with EP/HS2... there's like, juuuuuust enough of a through line for people to think that it makes sense. so when I try to say that the characters are just better people than this, and that they're smart enough to do the most basic fundamental things to prevent pain in people that they care about... when I say I believe in the integrity of these characters, I could very well get someone adamantly insisting that I was just being naive. that sometimes, in reality, people disappoint you. what can I even do about that, without sounding like I'm in denial, or like I'm only interested in liking these characters when all their rough spots are smoothed away? how can I begin to articulate that these aren't decisions being made by the characters... they're decisions being made by authors who I don't trust for exactly this reason. and I very especially hate this because just... no! I know what these characters' flaws actually were! and what their strengths were! I had a solid read on their identity, because homestuck was so friggin good at establishing that! I know that a huge part of Rose coming into her own was learning how to cut all the snarky passive aggressive sarcasm and just be honest about her feelings... something that she actually advocated for when talking to Dave, but also had to learn to do herself. the logical escalation of Rose’s character would be a trend toward more openness... but also, just in general, Rose never had a kindness problem. like, I guess that’s the biggest thing I have an issue with. Rose was never this unkind.

it just feels like the writers want us to believe that not only was Kanaya played for a fool, but we were as well. we thought Rose was better than this. we thought we were better judges of character than this. and honestly... we were! the writing was not on the wall about this development. but that just doesn't mean anything because EP/HS2 said that it happened.

and this also harms the relatability of Rose for the people who used to identify with her. I'm not saying she has to be perfect... obviously, characters can and should be flawed. and characters can have flaws that you don't perfectly relate to the specifics of. Rose developed a drinking problem at a young age, which a few people might've related to, but it's very specific. but if you broaden the implications of that in the context of a story... a ton of people will be able to relate to the concept of developing an unhealthy coping mechanism, or doing something you don't really enjoy just to relate to a relative who has been distant to you for whatever reason, or even just having a complicated relationship with a parent. so what if you apply this kind of broadened meaning to Rose's cheating? the idea that she is not trustworthy. that she hides major, life altering information from people who are very close to her and should've been told. that she doesn't trust her partner, and would rather sneak around and hide this for years, rather than either letting her partner be involved in this part of her life, or accepting that her partner isn't comfortable with this development and respecting that boundary. this sort of thing is really alienating to people who know that they themselves are better than this. and “alienating” is the exact antithesis of what homestuck always was to the people who loved it.

what's especially interesting to me, is that the effects of this alienation actually come through in the way that people talk about EP/HS2 nowadays. I don't know if anyone has noticed this trend yet, but people tend to talk about the events of EP/HS2 as decisions made by writers, rather than decisions made by characters. which is weird, because people didn't do that so much with homestuck. and for this I wanna break out Vriska as an example. a lot of people like Vriska, and a lot of people hate Vriska. she's controversial. but no matter what, people always take Vriska's actions as though they're hers. and if they hate what Vriska does in the story, then they hate Vriska. not Hussie, for writing her that way. not even the vague concept of the narrative. they consider Vriska's actions to actually belong to her and form her identity, which they then pass judgment on, one way or another. Hussie is even a character that canonically exists within homestuck, and nobody ever thought to blame him, in universe, for being the origin of Vriska as a trouble causing entity in the story. compare that with how many times you'll see someone say that they don't like what the EP/HS2 writers have done with Rose, Jade, Jane, etc.... they tend not to actually level blame at the characters themselves. obviously this does vary a lot from person to person, but as a vague trend, I would say that people are starting to detach themselves from the characters, or at least detach the characters from their actions in EP/HS2. and to me it reads as a bit of a defense mechanism. it is a degree of separation that lets these characters keep their integrity, and the potential for positive development that they had when homestuck initially ended. it is a trend that, to me, proves the point that the level of pain for pain's sake in this story is too much. without relief, people disengage. even if they want to keep up with how the characters are doing, they no longer want to buy into the narrative's reality... so they acknowledge the author, and the fact that this is fiction. they remove themselves from the act of being invested. and the more adamantly you see people doing this, the more uncomfortable you can assume it feels for these people to buy into the events of the story and treat them as real.

to jump track to another odd point that I think creates a further barrier between cast and audience... has anyone noticed the age of the main cast's children that we've seen appear so far? all of them seem to be similar to the ages of the beta kids when we first met them. they're teenagers. and that means that, if my knowledge is correct, we kinda skipped a chunk of these people's lives. we never really spent time seeing the original homestuck kids as new parents... we never saw them raising their babies. and I get that this is an odd complaint, but it's an example of the story not growing with its audience. it's missing a huge opportunity, not only to show us this portion of their lives, but to fill in with some major world building when it comes to Earth C. are we supposed to assume that absolutely none of the main cast of homestuck made any new friends on Earth C? did they not explore what kind of culture popped up on this planet? what if one of the main cast had gone out and met someone totally new to befriend or love on this planet? but no... we're strictly only interested in the original cast and their kids, which they only ever had with each other, and nobody is really friends anymore, but nobody has met anyone new either... basically depression and isolation is the only option for these characters if the writers aren't willing to actually let them live in the world they're living in. and besides that, at time of writing, there is one friend of mine from my friend group that is just now planning on getting married. he'll be the first of all of us. and while he and his fiancé want kids pretty quickly once they're settled down, it still hasn't even happened yet. we're in our late 20s. and believe me, I understand the desire to timeskip to when the kids are old enough to be full people, but you have to remember not only that there are other ways to introduce new characters, but also who we're even trying to relate to here. is it the new kids, or their parents? because most of us aren't parents yet, much less the parents of teenagers, but we aren’t teenagers anymore either, and this isn’t framed as their story anyway. how are the majority of homestuck’s older fans represented in EP/HS2?

and when EP/HS2 skips the portion of these characters' lives that we, in real life, are actually living, it subtly hints that a story that would reflect what our lives are like isn't interesting, and tells us that not much good is expected to be waiting in our futures either. and the bigger problem with that is that the writing decisions in EP/HS2 represent the authors' answer to the question: how do we make this interesting? clearly they didn't think that anyone would be satisfied with a nice little romp through the lives these characters might've built. like, a slice of life type of story? or maybe something with a smaller stakes conflict? I dunno why, but my first thought was like... what if Jane ended up actually becoming a detective, and the story just had an intermission-style detour into her solving a case or something? at least a weird, hyper specific detour like that would signal that we care about what she's doing... that'd be fine by me! but they couldn't even give us something that would frame her as a good person... they just treated her like she never got un-possessed by the Condesce, and called it a day. it just feels like these are authors who wouldn't be satisfied with a story that lets the characters be at ease in their private lives. peace is something that is off the table, like, if the characters are living good, satisfying lives, we will never hear about it because apparently that counts as nothing to report.

but also... in the absence of the larger plot machinations that SBURB provided, what was left to create a struggle for these characters to face? it couldn't be Jack Noir, Lord English, the Condesce... those threats all got resolved. and they couldn’t let the characters exist in any facsimile of peace. so the writers needed something to stir things up. and in trying to find a new challenge to drive the story, they dug into the stuff that, in my opinion, should not have been used in this way. they began grasping at character drama, trying to wring conflict out of the deterioration of the relationships between the characters.

but at the same time, they're trying to capture the grandeur of homestuck during its more iconic moments. and okay, this is a pretty far out there speculation, but I've always made this observation about homestuck, and the way it got popularized. early on, fans would get into it with no real idea of how big or ambitious the story was going to be. going into act 1 blind, you wouldn't suspect this comic of being much more than a quirky, funny little weekly strip, set up for the sole purpose of making weird jokes about Nic Cage or Harry Anderson. then you get to the big shit. which in act 1 could just be the meteor destroying John's house. but that's a pretty impressive amount of escalation based on the expectations you had. fast forward to a bigger moment, like the reveal that the trolls' SGRUB session created the human universe, and you're super excited about this. so you tell whoever will listen that they should really read homestuck! and maybe they listen, and they go to page one and... well... they seem kind of unimpressed by the way the comic looks. this is what all the hype was about? and you really wanna sell it to them, so you're like, no, seriously, it gets so much better. and maybe you show them bits like the LOWAS walk around flash game, or maybe [S] make her pay, or something. and they're like, whoa, the comic gets like that? so perhaps they slog through the early acts, or maybe they just skip to the trolls and double back when they're confused enough... but either way, the comic's selling point is now it's climax, not the buildup.

and the problem with viewing the comic this way is that homestuck is both things. proportionally, homestuck is actually way more composed of the tedious little stuff than the grand big stuff. but homestuck was popularized via the grand big stuff, and sometimes I feel like EP/HS2 is attempting to fill itself with big stuff like that, but it isn't doing the legwork right. it's using character drama to fuel itself, but it's also trying to be highly epic in terms of its presentation. the lack of contrast flattens everything out, and as I described earlier, the story no longer has that essential push and pull between the terrorizing forces that threaten the characters/raise the stakes, and the unity and likability of the cast that makes you care about their struggle/gets you invested in seeing the conflict resolved. and I just wanna point out that those little interstitial bits... the ones that are typically viewed as the stuff you have to slog through in order to get to the interesting part? those were our main source of knowledge when it came to the characters. it's how we got invested in them and came to know that we liked or related to them in the first place.

the larger ramifications of this lean away from the little things, while also leaning into character drama to fuel conflict in the plot, leads to the overuse of bombastic character drama. sensationalized character drama. everything is always a huge fucking deal, while also being primarily concerned with the existing characters, rather than any kind of outside threat. so what are the tools? a wedding? a funeral? terminal illness, betrayal, a change in ideology that creates a schism... the loss of identity. all these high drama moments that generate conflict by sacrificing the bonds these characters shared. you know... letting that core piece of investment self destruct. the story is basically eating itself in order to sustain its momentum, but there's basically no point anymore. it's been gutted of the stuff that really mattered.

so why did everything go so badly? why do half of the characters not even like each other anymore? why do we not even like half of them anymore? why did the writers feel the need to dismantle them like this? well, because what else do we have to work with... how do you introduce a new threat to these characters without it being either SBURB all over again, or something entirely different that just makes these characters seem overwhelmingly put upon by the universe, like, more than any other individuals that have ever existed. it's actually a very rudimentary power escalation problem. gotta find that next level of bigger problem to set on everyone.

but do you wanna know what kind of homestuck fan I’ve been since the very beginning? I started reading homestuck 9 years ago. I think I was like 16 or 17? and at first I wasn’t sure how to interact with the comic, so I went to the “about” section of the website. it told me, in a broad sense, what mspaintadventures.com was, as a collection of work, and suggested that I begin by reading problem sleuth. not knowing that it wasn’t part of homestuck, I did just that. I read all of it. before I even got to homestuck. I am a fan that lives for the small, stupid, tedious fucking around. the slow buildup of total bullshit... the complex setup that gives you a million microscopic payoffs on it’s way to god knows what end goal. it’s like watching an explosion in reverse. all the tiny little pieces fly chaotically together and coalesce into a whole story, and you got to watch it build itself, piece by tiny little piece. I live and breathe for that level of detail. and the most fun I ever had with the story was when the characters were wandering around an environment, exploring and using various objects to set up these wacky chain reactions, half of which you’d never see coming, but which would all retroactively make sense in the end.

what I’m saying is that small scale conflict is interesting. and there are whole genres that build themselves off of this. I actually think that in certain instances, homestuck may fall under the slice of life genre. and slice of life is largely misunderstood as a rather bland genre, but the appeal is watching people with personalities that you enjoy. you watch them live their lives, and you go along for the ride. true slice of life is not a soap opera... it’s just enjoying the company of people who happen to be fictional. there's always been an element of that in homestuck... these were characters that you could see yourself getting along with if you met them. they were entertaining because of how they saw the world... how you would see the world if you were looking through their eyes. and homestuck gave you that opportunity. sometimes, that actually is all that you need.

I'm not saying that homestuck's ideal form is as a purely slice of life type of story... but wasn't that kind of what a lot of the fan works felt like? little comics about funny scenarios, or preexisting comedy bits with roles assigned to the characters they reminded you of... that stuff was the form that fun took for the fans of this comic. why is that so easily dismissed as frivolous? why is it so bad to want a little of that back? sometimes, you do wanna get into the hard stuff. maybe you wanna see Dave and Dirk have a conversation where they both admit that all they wanted as kids was a brother, and neither felt like they got to have that, but in very different ways. maybe you wanna see Roxy and Rose compare their similar feelings of estrangement, and explore the emotions that led them into their respective struggles with alcohol. maybe you wanna see John have a moment of sadness when he decides he wants to raise a kid, because he misses his own dad, and while Jane's dad is definitely family, he isn't the guy that actually raised John for the first 13 years of his life. maybe you wanna see Jade get inordinately clingy with every single one of her friends until one of them finally voices a concern about needing some space, only to see a glimpse of Jade's absolute terror at the thought of being alone again. and that pain is something that could definitely find a place in a story with more actual down time. maybe these moments of actually cathartic lingering pain could be explored with sensitivity in a story that gives them room to breathe. if the writers played their cards right and let the characters heal in meaningful ways, they might've even gotten tears of happiness out of a few of us. wouldn't that have been wild.

I just hate the idea that something is more realistic if it's dark. that's not true at all. I understand where the sentiment comes from. I understand the merits of taking an unflinching look at hard truths. but cynicism is not the same as realism. and realistically, people will try hard to seek good things for themselves in life. and even if they miss the mark... even if they fall into depression, or lack the ability to make their dreams a reality, these particular characters had already sought and found good people. people who would, realistically, absolutely help a friend if they needed it. I know this, because I watched them do that. the whole first five acts were literally about the trolls yelling at the humans because there was a huge problem that they blamed the kids for causing, and what did these kids do? they said "hey wait, let's fix that" and they did. even though the trolls made a horribly rude first impression. even though it was monumentally challenging. these kids have fought and died for each other's sake. they are family. if not by blood then by bond. and when that part of a story resonates with an audience, it is valuable.

I feel like I shouldn't have to defend the value of connecting positively with an audience. I get that this may be kind of a hokey take... I get that the people who currently like EP/HS2 will probably think I'm asking for something far too saccharine. but at this point I don't even care. once again, this is just my personal opinion, long and rant-like though it may be. and clearly it will change nothing about the current state of homestuck's most canon non-canon continuation. I guess my one major frustration is the extent to which some people have bought into what I consider to be blatant character defamation. it pains me when people talk about the actions of some of the characters in EP/HS2, because while many blame the writers for the unsettling behavior displayed by them in EP/HS2, some will readily consider this to be where the kids from the early acts really ended up as people.

#homestuck #homestuck^2 #fair warning this is all criticism #don't like don't read #and all that jazz #I'm pinning this post cuz I don't wanna lose it #because looking at it will be my self control when I wanna rant about it again and I know I will #like no you asshole you already ranted you don't have to do it again #cw: suicide #I legit forgot to tag that til I went to get a shower and realized halfway through #I basically info dumped all this here and then my head was well and truly empty #also #cw: cheating #?#idk that's the only other thing I can think of that I discussed here which might be a problem for some folks #btw subtle tag whispering that the reblog with tags explaining where a couple of the things I mentioned were addressed a little was nice #I knew I wouldn't get everything spot on... this is definitely criticism coming from a not 100% informed place #but yeah... I still kinda feel like even if the epilogues acknowledge the writer as an entity that differs from the characters...#that just kind of doubles down on the inability of fans to engage? like it cements it.#and even if meat does focus on their 20s while candy timeskips (which I wasn't aware of) like...#look at what happened to meat #look because I don't want to lol #is there anybody left who isn't sad?#cuz real talk I like using happy characters as wish fulfillment when I'm sad #and seeing a character get challenged and still come out with some determined positive energy... I love that #anyone remember when Aradia went god tier? I was overjoyed #literally all it took was her beating apathy and regaining her personhood #I love that stuff #god fucking damn it I'm still ranting what is even up with that

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

Want Something That Lasts Forever

The weight in his jacket pocket is getting heavier. Burning a hole. A metaphorical one. Because a literal one would probably freak David out and David is already worried enough and Killian is a very good friend. Who is willing to help David plan his proposal to Mary Margaret. Even if it messes everything else up in the process.

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Rating: T with a heavy dose of CC captain charming-esque feelz Word Count: Just over 5K AN: Today’s Festive Fic Prompt A Thon comes from another delightful anon and is: "i planned out this super romantic proposal and you just ruined it by beating me to whole proposing thing." I’ve already done proposing at the same time, so here’s something a little different with an extreme influx of Captain Charming for good measure. And Narnia. For reasons.

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

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“You think we should get flowers?” Killian hums—far too distracted to be even remotely helpful and he doesn’t have to look up to know David is glaring at him. That’s been a theme for the last few hours.

This has lasted several hours.

Already.

And he probably should have said no.

He wanted to say no. He had every intention of saying now. But David and Mary Margaret had gotten to the city a few days before and David had that look this morning—some kind of wide-eyed, enthusiastic, nervous thing that made Killian exhale dramatically and he was agreeing before he realized what he was doing and Emma’s gaze had gone a little glossy when she realized what was happening.

He considered that partially a win.

Even if it lost him some friendship points.

“What kind of flowers do you think?” David presses, and Killian has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from groaning. That’s also not great. As far as friendship goes.

Because he figures this is pretty par for the friendship course.

Helping.

Planning.

Helping to plan.

A proposal.

David is going to propose to Mary Margaret. At Christmas. And it will be extravagant and over the top and, Killian is sure, there will be several different types of flowers. Mary Margaret will very likely cry.

She will definitely say yes.

And that’s nice. It’s better than nice really, because Killian is only kind of an ass and something vaguely Grinch-like and the only reason for either one of those things is because—

“Seriously,” David snaps, Killian nearly flying off the couch when the word feels like it reaches out to smack him across the face. With romance. Of the holiday variety. “Are you ok?” “Yup.” “No, really.” “No, really,” Killian echoes, but David has known him long enough to know a blatant lie when he hears one. It probably does some slapping of its own. “Although I am admittedly a little confused by this we who is buying flowers. I’m not sure how I feel about donating to the monetary cause of your wedding.” “This is not the wedding.” Killian shrugs.

“Do you have a romantic bone in your body?” David groans. That feels unfair. Killian doesn’t mention that. David is nervous enough already, he absolutely cannot cope with any sort of romance that involves Killian and his sister.

Maybe Killian will start texting Emma updates of the day. She’d enjoy that. He’d enjoy that. He’d enjoy it more if he was with her and going through his own plans and his own vaguely Christmas-type hopes, but—

David appears to be growling.

It’s very loud, whatever the sound is.

“Am I being a jerk about this?” David asks. He slumps forward when he mumbles the question, an obvious burst of nervous energy and Killian can’t help but feel for him.

All things considered, proposing at any time is a little terrifying. But proposing at Christmas — with their friends coming into the city and long-standing traditions that require an almost excessive amount of eggnog and mulled wine is something entirely different.

It requires a certain kind of romantic fortitude.

And a best man who is willing to spend all day going over flower options.

Killian assumes he’s going to be the best man at this wedding.

He will look very good in a tux. And Emma will look better in a maid of honor dress.

There’s the silver lining he’s looking for.

“A little,” Killian admits, “but you’re also freaking out. So I’m willing to overlook the jerkiness of it.” “Is jerkiness a word?” “No.” “You think I’m freaking out?” “I’m also a little offended that you don’t think you’re freaking out.”

David sneers, dropping onto the edge of the coffee table. He nearly knocks Killian’s feet off in the process. “Flowers? Thoughts?” “Oh, are we speaking in one-word questions now? That might get old pretty quickly.” David rolls his eyes. And his whole head.

Killian chuckles lightly, slumping further into the couch and the pinch in his lungs loosens just a bit. He can hear his phone vibrating in his pocket. It’s louder when it vibrates against everything else in there.

“Poinsettias?” David asks.

“They’re ugly aren’t they? Also I’m somewhere in the realm of seventy-two percent positive that they represent death.” “That’s not a very good grade.”

“You want me to look it up?” “Yes, I absolutely do.” Killian clicks his tongue, but he can still make out the buzz of his phone and he’s closer to one-hundred percent positive that it’s Emma.

He’s right.

“Hey,” Killian breathes into the phone, Emma’s soft laugh in his ear. He can feel his smile. That’s only vaguely ridiculous. Decidedly romantic, though. “Are poinsettias deadly?” She doesn’t answer immediately. And Killian assumes that’s because she’s blinking at open air in their kitchen where, per the schedule, she and Mary Margaret are slated to be baking for the majority of the afternoon.

“Am I making that up?” Killian asks. “I feel like I'm making it up.”

David groans. “This is not helping my overall confidence!” “Swan, this is a very serious question about poinsettias, so if you’ve got any facts to share about the very ugly flower—” “Judgmental about poinsettias, aren’t we?” she mutters. Definitely smiling too.

He can tell.

What a weirdo.

“What are your thoughts about poinsettias, love?” “Well, they’re ugly,” Emma says, and Killian can’t help whatever expression takes over his face. David looks like he’s trying not to lay across the entire coffee table.

“I told you,” Killian cries.

David flips him off. “Do you have a better Christmas flower suggestion?” “It’s not my proposal.” “Yeah, but you’re helping and—” David makes that noise again, head falling into his hands and Killian kind of feels bad. He’s still annoyed that his day has been commandeered, but he’s known David for years and he genuinely can’t remember a moment when he wasn’t head over heels for Mary Margaret, so—

He moves back into the living room, flicking his finger against David’s right wrist. “Holly? Is that a flower?” “No,” David and Emma answer at the same time before she adds, “Why is he freaking out, exactly? Also, is this not a dangerous conversation we’re having?” David mumbles something that sounds like an agreement, but Killian’s willing to be a bit selfish for a moment. And talk to his girlfriend. Flirt with his girlfriend.

Still his girlfriend.

Especially tonight.

“Also,” Emma continues, voice dropping a bit, “poinsettias do not represent death.” David’s head finally jerks up, quick enough that Killian is briefly worried for the state of his neck, and Emma is not done. “They are, however, the victim of a long-standing urban legend that suggested they were poisonous. It lasted forever. In 1970 the FDA even published an actual pamphlet saying that one leaf could kill a kid.” “This is not great,” David grumbles. “How did they eventually decide that they weren’t deadly?”

“Uh—rats.” “Oh jeez.” “Did you say jeez?” Killian asks. “What year is it?” “The year of freaking out grooms,” Emma says. “That would suggest they’re getting married by the end of the year, though.” “Damn, that’s true.” “You two know I’m sitting here, right?” David sneers. Emma’s smile widens. Killian assumes. Knows, really.

He resists the urge to walk back to his coat. And directly out the door.

David is starting to look a little green.

“I do have eyes, yes,” Killian nods. “And your middle finger is going to get stuck like that if you keep it in that position for too long.” Emma snickers.

His heart may grow. It’s another Grinch-type joke.

“God,” David huffs. “Ok, so, uh—poinsettias aren’t actually deadly, but Em, Em, seriously, how did you know that?” “He wants to talk to me now, does he?” Emma quips. “I do have to go back to distracting the future bride at some point.” “Don’t jinx it!” “Is he insane?” “He might be,” Killian answers. “What are you baking?” “Right now? Chocolate chip, but that’s only because—” “—How did you know about the poinsettias?” David yells. Killian is going to run out of parts of his mouth to bite by the end of the afternoon.

“I know everything,” Emma answers simply, and he refuses to be held accountable for whatever that does to several different internal organs and the way his whole body surges forward when he laughs.

David droops. Directly onto the coffee table.

It is equally absurd and even more hysterical.

“That can’t possibly be comfortable,” Killian muses. “Or good for your spine.” David flips him off.

Third time’s the charm, or whatever.

“Is he laying on something?” Emma asks knowingly, and Killian’s mouth is going to get stuck in perpetual smile. “I’m really worried about the lasting damage it’s going to have on his vertebrae.” “I can still hear you,” David growls. “Ok, no to the poinsettias, just—what time is it?” “Almost two o’clock.” He sighs.

“You’re going to be late picking up the ring,” Emma mutters, only to gasp softly when she realizes what she’s said and the general proximity of Mary Margaret’s very well-tuned ears. “Ah, shit—David if you heard that, it’s fine, everything is fine and—Oh, hey M’s, you ready to keep baking?”

The green tinge in David’s cheeks grows more pronounced.

And Killian can’t quite hear Mary Margaret’s answer, but it doesn’t sound entirely suspicious and he finds he’s nodding encouragingly at David’s prostrate body before he can come up with all the reasons why that’s not helpful at all.

Emma’s still giving Mary Margaret assurances that it’s fine, everything is fine, no I’m just making sure Killian has —

“Champagne,” he suggests.

She hums, a thank you without actually saying the words, and that’s probably for the best because Killian is fairly positive David would have rolled onto the floor if they made it anymore obvious they were up to something. Mary Margaret is probably making that face.

With the eyebrow thing.

She’s very good at lifting her eyebrows. And making everyone feel like they’re about to get detention.

“Champagne,” Emma repeats. “We need champagne for later, right?” It sounds like Mary Margaret says yuh huh. That is decidedly un-Mary Margaret.

Killian grimaces, a quick glance towards David and the arm he’s got splayed across his face now and he doesn’t really think before he starts talking again, but his mouth is moving and there are words coming out and— “We’ll see you later, ok, love?”

She makes another noise in the affirmative, a mumbled string of something that sounds a bit like get me my own bottle of champagne, but then Killian is stuffing his phone in his back pocket and ignoring the desire to look at his jacket again and the smile he forces on his feels a little strained.

“Alright. Well, that went—” “—Terribly?” David asks. “Eh. We learned about poinsettias. That’s something, right?” “For what? Christmas trivia contests? Also did you think poinsettia had more t’s in it? It sounds like it should have more t’s.” “I’m genuinely starting to think you are going insane.” “Don’t we call it point-settia? Like that’s how you say it, right?” “This is the most ridiculous conversation we’ve ever had,” Killian says. “And we need to get your ring.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” “We’re starting to sound a little less enthused.” “Rats were poisoned, Killian.” He nods, lower lip stuck out and it’s only a little placating, but David hasn’t actually sat up yet, so maybe that’s exactly what he has to do. Friendship-wise. He’s very focused on the friendship aspect of this.

Like it’s karma.

For his own plans.

God, that might lose him points too.

“But not you,” Killian points out. “Or the presumed and eventual blushing bride. So, that’s something right?” David props himself up on his elbows. “You think she’ll blush?” “I think she’ll weep in extremely romantic fashion. Obviously. Seriously, are you not going insane?” “A little.” “Yeah, I figured. Ok, so aside from being stupid late to pick up your ring, what else do we have to do?” “Flowers. Maybe actually get champagne.” “That was a stroke of genius, right?” “Your girlfriend is incapable of lying.” Killian squeezes one eye shut. The word makes his stomach flip in quick succession. And if David weren’t slowly, but very obviously losing his mind, he would have noticed that. As it is, he just huffs out another bit of frustrated oxygen, hopping back to his feet and plastering his own fake smile on his face.

“Alright,” he says, clapping Killian on the shoulder. “We need to get Turkish delight, too.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Are you not aware of what Turkish delight is?” Killian shakes his head—partially in disbelief and partially in...no, all disbelief. “I’m very aware of what Turkish Delight is, but mostly in an Edmund Pevensie kind of way and—” “—Yeah, that’s exactly the vibe we’re going for.” “You want to vibe with Edmund Pevensie in your proposal?” “Oh, God, don’t say it like that,” David groans. “It’s her favorite book.” “Mary Margaret?” “Nah, the other person I want to marry.” “That was funny,” Killian says, falling into step with David when they walk towards the door and he refuses to be held accountable for whatever sound flies out of him when David’s fingers reach towards their jackets.

“Are you dying?” Killian shakes his head brusquely, not trusting himself to speak and he needs to stop carrying it in his jacket pocket. But he...well, he wants. With everything and then some, a quiet desire that’s crept up his spine and taken root in every inch of his brain and every part of his heart until it’s all he can think about. Like some sort of crazed romantic lunatic.

“Killian,” David prompts, and he actually flinches. This day is a disaster “Seriously, are you ok?” “You realize that Edmund Pevensie betrayed his family for Turkish delight, right? Like that’s a basic tenet of the story.” “But it’s good.” “Familial betray?” “Turkish delight. And Edmund redeems himself.” “In overtly religious ways,” Killian says. “Is this a Christmas story, even?” “Santa Claus is prominently featured, yes.” “You think he brought Turkish delight for Edmund after he became king?” Some of the tension between David’s shoulders almost visibly appears, a shaky laugh falling out of him. “At some point, when I’m presumably not insane, I will thank you for this, I swear.” “Don’t swear, Santa won’t appreciate it.” “Or maybe he’ll arm me with a bow.” “Weird, right? Just doling out weapons to children. How old was Susan supposed to be when they found Santa?” “He found them, technically.” “Remember when I said the poinsettia conversation was the most ridiculous we’d ever had?” Killian mutters, pushing his arms into his jacket. It feels heavier than usual. “I lied. This is definitely the most ridiculous.” “Entertaining, though?” “Now you’re fishing for compliments.”

David snorts, yanking his own jacket on and Emma is texting Killian. It is absolutely complaints about chocolate chip cookies and the fact that they are not snickerdoodles.

It is almost stupid how in love he is with his own girlfriend.

Despite his growing disdain for that particular moniker.

They’ll get there.

After an in-depth analysis of the entire Narnia franchise.

“It’s fair,” David agrees. “And Edmund figured his shit out, eventually. He was wavering even before he got Aslan and the not-so-covert religious allusions. Plus—” “—God, how is there more?” “This is it, really. It’s definitely Christmas-related, at least story-wise, because they make a big deal about Narnia under Jadis’ rule—” “—Who the hell is that?” “When is the last time you read the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?” Killian snaps his jaw. “I was, like, eight. Max. Should I know who Jadis is?” “The aforementioned witch,” David explains, swinging open the door and grabbing Killian’s keys off the hook nearby. Killian catches them. “Is named Jadis. It’s not important to the plot—” “—Seriously, is any of this important?” “Let me get to my point. Which is that, Narnia, while not explicitly a Christmas book, does highlight the overall importance of Christmas to the general zeitgeist and suggests that the arrival of good things will also inspire Christmas. To, you know—or whatever.”

“You just used the words explicit, zeitgeist and Christmas in the same sentence,” Killian says, and he is physically incapable of keeping a straight face.

“Christmas is good, is what I’m getting at.” “Mmmhm. Ridiculous. It shouldn’t be too hard to find Turkish delight, right?”

Wrong. Fundamentally and completely wrong.

“Maybe if he we were high kings of Narnia,” David grumbles, letting his forehead drop onto the shelf in the third Gristedes they’ve walked into in the last hour.

Killian sighs. “Only Peter was high king, God, get your act together.” “You couldn’t remember the witch’s name before!” “Yeah, but this is basic and—” “—What about like...speciality markets? What time is it now?” “Almost four.” “Shit. And we’re supposed to be at Belle and Scarlet’s at what time?” “Six.” “Shit. Again.” “I don’t even remember what street we’re on,” Killian says, tugging his phone out of his pocket and there are what, at first glance, appears to be several thousand texts there. And a few missed phone calls.

Honestly, everyone knows about this proposal except Mary Margaret.

Mary Margaret may know too.

Killian hopes Mary Margaret doesn’t know.

“Lexington,” David answers.

“And?” “I don’t know. Some cross street that doesn’t have Turkish delight.” It’s wrong to laugh. It is. But Killian can’t help it and then David is joining and they’ve been to so many supermarkets.

“It’s pretty awesome that you’re doing all this,” Killian says. He didn’t mean to do that either, but that appears to be his MO for the day and David’s half smile might win him every potential friendship point.

An explosion of friendship points. “Yeah?” “Romantic, even,” Killian adds. “The swooning will be quick and imminent.” “Sounds less romantic.” “You’ve got no reason to be nervous.” David groans. “Yeah, that’s not how it works, really. This is—I mean, it’s a big deal, right? The rest of your life and happily and ever after and all of that?” “I’d suggest not using the phrase all of that in your proposal.” “A gentleman and a scholar, you are.” He smiles, a hand in his hair and eyes flitting back towards his phone screen. “I’m not saying it isn’t a big deal. It is. But you guys are—” Killian shrugs. “—I don’t know, the inspiration for all other romantic endeavors.” “I think you’re trying to impress me with your vocabulary.” “There’s another supermarket on 86th Street, we could probably try there.” David takes a deep breath, chest shifting and growing with the force of it, but then his hand is back on Killian’s shoulder and his smile is as honest as its been all day, dim memories of college-age dates and slightly different nerves and— “Thank you,” he says. “For—all of this. Narnia analysis not withstanding. It’s...I wouldn’t have have trusted anyone else to help me scour Manhattan for a dessert I really thought more people would be inclined to buy.” “You’ll make me blush.” “I’m serious. I’m freaking out a little and you’re—well, you’re you.” “I’m me?” Killian asks. “You,” David nods. “A good guy and willing to go along with my bullshit—” “—Seriously you have such a way with words.” “You got Emma to help distract Mary Margaret.” “That didn’t take much convincing,” Killian objects. “Your sister is a much better person than I am.” “And you’re stupid in love with her.” “Yeah, I am.” “Quick agree.” “Perpetually.” David presses his lips together, eyes narrowing slightly and Killian can almost hear the ideas and theories bouncing around his skull, but neither of them say anything and that’s probably for the best and they have to get to Fairway anyway.

They’re definitely at least five blocks away.

“You want to find some Turkish delight?” “Perpetually,” Killian repeats.

They end up buying seven boxes at Fairway. Just to be safe.

And Killian has to blink several times to make sure they’re in the right place when they get to Belle and Will’s apartment — an explosion of garland and tinsel and actual ornaments hanging from the ceiling. “Is that safe?” he asks Emma, hardly out of his jacket before she’s plastered to his side and Ruby definitely brought champagne. Opened it, as well, it seems.

“Absolutely not,” Emma mutters. There’s a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, eyes bright far too green to be anything except vaguely festive and a color Killian would be more than willing to stare at for the rest of the night, but then he’s flinching because Anna and Ariel are snapping crackers and Emma’s laugh seems to find its way under his skin and possibly into his soul and—

She’d very nearly touched his jacket.

“How’d today go?” she asks, fingers curling around the front of his shirt like she’s using him for balance.

He kisses her forehead.

On instinct.

“Was that the answer?” Emma mumbles. “Because it’s a very one-sided conversation we’re having here.” “You’re holding your own pretty well, love.” “Oh, two-fold critique.” “Is it good champagne?” “Did you get some?” He nods, nose brushing against her skin and he can’t help but wrap his arm around her middle, like he’s trying to make sure she doesn’t ever leave. He’s asking questions without actually voicing them.

David totally knew.

“I love you,” Killian says before he can stop himself.

Emma tilts her head up. “Yeah?” “Hopefully that wasn’t up for debate.” “Nah, it wasn’t. I just—that was nice. You look nice, did I mention that?” His cheeks flame, a heat that isn’t entirely uncomfortable, but might be a hint of nervous energy and the words are there, sitting on the tip of Killian’s tongue and begging to be said and asked and kissed. He can’t kiss out words.

He’s very willing to try.

“Are you ok?” Emma asks, pushing up on her toes to let her fingertips graze his jaw. His throat suddenly feels very small.

And he hadn’t been nervous before.

Not once.

Not when he was thinking about the question. Or practicing the question, muttering it under his breath in the shower or the backseat of Ubers, and that had drawn more than a few questionable glances, but that one driver had actually been nice when he explained and then they’d kind of practiced together and Killian had given that guy a five-star review.

He was pretty confident it was going to go well.

And yet.

Now, with the champagne and the specific color of Emma’s eyes and the threat of concussion by glass ornament quite literally hanging over him, he’s nervous. He wants it to be perfect. He wants it to be better than perfect, he wants—

David clinks the side of his glass, the room quieting almost immediately.

He’s not quite green anymore, but definitely paler than normal and Emma pulls herself closer to Killian.

“So, uh—” David starts, more than a few muted snickers and Killian swears he can feel Emma’s smile through his shirt. “It’s…” He exhales, shaky and excited and a slew of adjectives that practically ring with romance, stuffing his hand into his pocket to grab they box they picked up nearly an hour later than originally scheduled.

Emma sniffles.

Killian kisses her hair again.

Mary Margaret gasps.

So, maybe she had no idea.

“I love you, Mary Margaret,” David says, dropping onto one knee. Emma is not the only one crying now, Killian’s gaze flitting around the room to find their friends with matching looks on their faces, more than a few hands covering mouths and Ariel keeps having to drag her palm over her cheeks to keep the tears from flowing too freely.

“I can’t remember when I didn’t,” he adds, “and I—well, this seemed like the perfect moment. For us. With everyone else we love here and—” He reaches behind him, an awkward twist that ends with a soft grunt because shoulders aren’t supposed to twit that way. David’s fingers find the boxy of Turkish delight eventually, and it is several different miracles that it doesn’t spill onto the floor, but the floor is also suddenly covered by a broken glass ornament and—

Mary Margaret starts to laugh.

It’s a little shaky at first, probably because of the tears and perfect imperfection of the whole thing, but the ornament also didn’t land on anyone, so. Points. Of the Christmas variety.

“Yeah,” she says.

David’s eyes bug. “What?” “Yes. I—well, that’s the goal here, right?” “I didn’t even ask yet!” “We’re under attack by the ornaments, though.”

Ruby growls. “This is festive!” “Oh my God,” David grouses, and Mary Margaret looks a bit like the sun. Emma sniffles again.

Killian is going to set a record for kisses pressed to her hair.

“Ask, then,” Mary Margaret says, fingers fluttering at her side with an undeniable sort of energy. “I, uh—” “Will you marry me?” David cuts in.

“Yes.” He doesn’t jump, but he might teleport into her space, fervent kisses and roaming hands and the Turkish delight joins the ornament on the floor.

“Good thing we bought extra, huh?” Killian calls, David making a gesture behind Mary Margaret’s head. They don’t stop kissing.

And he does get the ring on her finger eventually, glass and whatever gelatin substance makes up Turkish delight in the garbage, champagne flowing and glasses toasted and there are pictures and smiles and then more champagne because that’s just how they operate and—

Emma stumbles through their door hours later, fingers still clinging to Killian with a slightly more tired smile. “God, that was fun,” she breathes, and he does not know what to do with every emotion he’s ever felt and currently feels for her.

It’s too much.

And not enough.

“You’ve got that face on,” Emma accuses, another finger tap to his cheek. He nips at her finger, getting the yelp he fully expected and he refuses to do anything else before he kisses her.

He’s got priorities.

She doesn’t quite melt, but she might sag against him, wholly romantic—like she’s certain he’ll hold on and the thought only spurs him on, his tongue brushing her lips and his fingers inching up her side, tracing over skin and tugging her closer.

Emma sighs into his mouth, nose scrunched against his and it’s not particularly graceful, but she’s also only managed to get one of her boots off and eventually Killian will blame that for whatever happens next.

Because whatever happens next is not part of any plan he ever came up with.

He hopes the Uber driver isn’t disappointed in him.

“Marry me,” he mumbles.

“What did you say?” Ice water. In his veins. Metaphorically dumped over his head. It’s presumably worse than getting hit with an ornament.

And Killian doesn’t know what to do, mouth opening and closing quick enough that he’s sure there’s a Nutcracker joke to be made.

Emma doesn’t blink.

She doesn’t look away.

Her fingers had been actively trying to unbutton his pants.

Less romantic than he intended. “Say it again,” she whispers, and Killian doesn’t think he mistakes the greedy edge to her voice. He swallows, leaning back and pulling the box out of his jacket and Emma doesn’t gasp.

She beams.

Like the top of a Christmas tree.

And the sun. And the moon and a few stars thrown in for good measure, a rather jarring return to romance because— “I’ve been carrying this around for weeks,” Killian says softly. “Trying to think of the perfect moment and how it would be good and great and every other adjective something like this is supposed to be. And I came up with the party.” “This party? The one we just went to?” “One and the same. All our friends, presumably a lot of champagne. I wasn’t expecting the ornaments, but—” “—Ruby really thought it was festive.” “Yeah, well—then David showed up here today with his own plan and he was freaking out and we had to get Turkish delight and figure out the history of poinsettias. And he kind of uh...well, he got to the proposing first.” “The stuff about poinsettias is really very common knowledge.” Killian shakes his head, nosing at Emma’s cheek and mouthing at the side of her neck and she shivers. He grins. “No, it’s not, love. But you knew and I—I think you might know everything.” “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she laughs. Giggles, a little. He’s going to overstretch the muscles in his face. “I love you a ridiculous amount,” Emma adds. “And I—you were really going to do that tonight?” “I think I’m still doing it tonight, technically.” “God.” “The banter is part of our appeal, Swan.” She huffs, no frustration in the sound, a slightly different shade of green in her gaze and dots of pink on her cheeks when she looks up. “I love you. Again, just to really hammer the point home and I—shit, it’s so nice that you did that. For David and M’s and ah, God, I just said shit during your proposal, didn’t I?” “You did. I love you a ridiculous amount too.”

“I’d imagine that’s helpful for everything else.” “Everything else?” Emma nods, a sharp inhale and quicker exhale, fingers in Killian’s hair and her mouth just on the edge of his lips. “Say it one more time.” He’s not nervous anymore.

“Will you marry me? I just—I want to marry you so much.” “I’m going to be honest the last part really sold it for me.” “Emma.” “Serious voice.” “Swan.”

She kisses him that time, a little greedy again and neither one of them really keep their footing when they trip towards the couch, but they don’t break apart either and that’s probably some deeper meaning that bodes well for the future and collective pronouns and rings on very specific fingers.

“I need an answer here, love,” Killian says, kissing towards her collarbone. He cannot remember how Emma got onto her back.

“Yes.”

“You want to go make out in bed?” “Do you get follow-up questions in a proposal?” “This one, apparently,” Killian laughs. Emma takes his hand as soon as he offers it, another nod and more stolen kisses, the pair of them leaving a trail of clothes behind him and eventually he has to go back to the living room to get the ring.

He doesn’t bother putting his pants back on.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #festive prompt a thon #we should all eat more turkish delight really #that's the moral of the story

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