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#maybe its because i see love as something so intimate that its akin to handing someone the knife for them to CARVE YOUR GUTS OUT
kuroshika · 1 year
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oh no my obsession with hannibal and cannibalism as a form of love and devotion has cost me everything. and by everything i mean my fUCKIGN SANITY.
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oldworldghost · 6 months
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How do you think P would react over finding out Reader likes to sing? Is a duet incoming in the walls of Hotel Krat?
P with a lover who's a singer! ☆
↳ Anon this is adorable! I'm tempted to write a fic about something along these lines at a different time, but for now have some hcs :]
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➸ Pinocchio finds out you sing on one of his return trips to the hotel. His attention is first grabbed by the sound of the piano, its' notes greeting him upon his entrance, and being the artistically inclined man that P is, he naturally follows it. His attention is secondly grabbed by the faint sound of a voice, half hidden by the keys and only to be properly made out that's yours when he's standing in the doorway of the library. He makes eye contact with Antonia, who sends him a smile before turning back to you, who either hasn't noticed that he's there or simply doesn't care. He supposes it to be the former, too engrossed in what you're doing to pay attention to the outside world.
➸ He, very quickly, ends up the same. Dead glass eyes watch intently as your hands glide over the keys, something akin to life sparking in them as he listens to your voice dance with the music. Pinocchios' initial reaction is that you sound beautiful, look beautiful. Though it would be more accurate, I suppose, to say that he thinks you both look and sound incredibly human. P has never heard anyone sing outside of Vinyls, at least not for long, so being able to not only listen in person but watch as you engage in the act of something as human as music has his gears speeding up. Something in them has changed, he's sure of it.
➸ It should come as no surprise to say that Pinocchio is immensely curious about [and attracted to, in your case] things he perceives as human. This is partially due to the fact that he sees them as a goal, something to work towards and obtain, a barrier to be broken between himself and humanity as a whole. And of course this extends to music and is one of the reasons his vinyl collection is ever growing, why he always finds himself returning to the piano. It is a little hard to tell whether Ps' appreciation of art is something inherent to him or if it merely exists because he thinks it has to. In all honesty it's probably both.
➸ Now, to grow less introspective about it all, Pinocchio also just really loves listening to you sing because it's, well, you. He is undoubtably your number one fan, though he's subtle about it. Gemini is the hype man, much to the embarrassment of P and the amusement of Everyone Else. Honestly it's not even really embarrassment on Ps' part, more of an annoyed "wow I wish you would shut the fuck up!" because Gemini has the talent of being able to bring you into every conversation and you being a singer just adds more fuel to a fire that really does not need it [Pinocchio would one hundred percent do the same though if he was more, you know, talkative].
➸ One of Pinocchios' main love languages is quality time, and honestly you being a singer is perfect for that. Most of his time at the hotel is spent just sitting and listening and watching. Something about your voice makes him feel safe, as weird as that may sound. Maybe it's the affection in it when you sing for him alone, or just how intimate the atmosphere ends up being. He's not even sure if he's capable of feeling comfort, but he wouldn't change whatever's in his chest for the world.
➸ In regards to duets, I think Pinocchio would actually be rather open to the idea. Now, contrary to popular belief he can in fact speak, though he seldom ever does it without prompting. He doesn't really see the point in it if we're being honest, yes speaking is human but his voice is so flat and honestly he just doesn't have a lot to say about things. So it's fairly safe to say P has never sung before, hell he's not even sure if his voicebox can function like that, but nonetheless when you bring up the idea of a duet he's not only willing but somewhat eager about the whole thing. There's really no rhyme or reason for it either, Pinocchio just likes the idea of doing something human with someone who makes it easy to forget he's a puppet.
➸ Now Pinocchios' singing voice is actually rather nice! Though it is, of course, undeniably mechanical. There's something off about it, at times sounding like a crude mimicry of a human, a constant stiffness and roughness to it. It falls into a sort of uncanny valley, however there is also something undeniably endearing about it, something human about how much you can tell he wants to express anything in it. As for sound outside of puppetry, Ps' voice is fairly deep but retains a certain gentleness to it, a smoothness that contradicts the stiffness in a really lovely way. And yes, Pinocchio has a sense of rhythm.
➸ Pinocchio has a strong preference for keeping your duets private. The best way to do that, in his opinion, is when you're both out in the gardens dancing together. Under the stars while everyone else is inside, chest against chest and voices in sync, the gentle twirls and turns as you both slip into your own little world. If you couldn't tell how much he values your duets before, you certainly can now. Kiss him after the song is done, won't you?
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laurensprentiss · 3 years
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Jouska [Hotch x Reader]
Chapter 16:
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Warnings: 18+!! Explicit smut, oral sex - M receiving, swearing, dirty talk. Shower sex, unprotected P in V, praise kink. Just filth, really. Enjoy this while it lasts because it won’t for much longer, oops!
———
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.” - Pablo Neruda
———
You sigh and let your eyes flutter shut at the gentle breeze fanning your face. The sun continues its slow descent below the clouds, dipping just enough to paint the sky in blooming oranges, pinks and purples. The Capitol sits in the distance and the traffic below you bustles, people continuing with their routines but you feel still.
Changed somehow.
Then the doors to your balcony open behind you and out emerges Aaron with his mussed hair, and his collegiate sweater that he’d found in his go bag, and a stupid grin on his face as soon as he catches sight of you. His breath hitches when he sees his shirt enveloping you, eyes scanning your legs shamelessly.
He knows you in the most intimate way possible, your legs still tremble with the aftershocks but there’s still a bashfulness in the way your cheeks grow warm with the way he looks at you. It’s like he can see right through you, into your soul, and while hope now rightfully blooms in your chest, you fear moving too fast in case you hurt him - and yourself.
“You look good in that,” He mutters in your ear, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He pulls you to him, impossibly close, committing this moment to memory.
You hold his arms close to you and allow yourself to get lost in his sturdy embrace. When you avert your gaze from the sunset in front of you to look at him, he tips your chin with his finger and brings your face to his for a sweet, lingering kiss.
“Hi.” He whispers against your lips.
“Hi.” You reply just as quickly, fighting the smile that works its way onto your face.
You drown in the smell of him around you, transported to the first time you’d met when he’d given you his jacket on that Spring day, the same spicy citrus smell flooding your senses.
Seemingly reading your mind, he voices your thoughts, “You’ve got a thing for views huh?” You raise your eyebrows quizzically. “The gazebo at your Dad’s. This.” He nods his head towards the view in front of you, “It’s beautiful.” He whispers, but he’s only half talking about the DC sunset.
A wave of something washes over you - tenderness, perhaps.
“When did you know?” You ask, running your hands over his arms that pull you to him.
“Does it matter?”
“Tell me.” You whisper, turning slightly to look at him.
He smiles earnestly, hands flexing against your stomach through his shirt. “Honestly? I don’t know when exactly.”
That was a lie, he’d always felt a pull towards you, something akin to a magnet.
Maybe it was the moment he first laid eyes on you or the day he’d found you utterly broken on the floor of that bathroom. Maybe it was the night you both stayed up talking or the gentle touches and stolen glances or maybe it was everything in between.
It doesn’t matter. All he knows now is that there are no more fleeting thoughts in his mind, no more emotions to bury deep down in his soul.
He finally allows himself to be in the moment, to feel it.
He was falling in love with you.
You pinch him, bringing him out of his stupor. “Aaron?”
He hadn’t realised he was staring, his eyes soft as he traced the curve of your lips while he was deep in thought.
He inhales. “I think I always knew there was something about you that was gonna stick with me. Those two weeks I lied to you about Barnes and desk duty?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I knew for sure then that I felt something for you, I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. With Haley gone, I didn’t trust myself around you.”
You swallow. For months you’d wondered why he’d lied so brazenly and rejected you, had you known his true intentions maybe you’d have cut him some slack. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d waited for this a long time.
You smile gently and turn in his embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist to hold him tighter, fusing yourself to the fabric of his existence. He hums and places a kiss atop your head, inhaling your scent.
“You know he told me you were dead?” You mumble against his chest.
“Hm?”
“He told me you were dead. When I was in that cabin. I think that terrified me more than being there with him.” Your chest tightens when you remember back to Jordan’s voice taunting you that he’d killed Hotch, your palms suddenly sweating.
He shifts momentarily to cup your cheeks reassuringly, studying your face for a moment. “You are not getting rid of me that easily, I’m around for a long time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He replies.
———
Your bedside clock reads 3:47am when Aaron is thrusted into consciousness with a burning need for water. He chances a drowsy glance down at you, sound asleep in his arms, your head against his chest. He surrenders to the warmth that spreads within him and the tenderness he feels for you.
The moonlight illuminates the curve of your lips, the scars on your cheek, the handprints on your neck. His knuckle gently traces the marks, heart sinking. He wishes with everything that he could take it all back for you, make it so you never had to go through what you did.
He’s afraid everything about you is burnt into him. He can’t deny the lump in his throat and the overwhelmed feeling he gets at your existence all while you rest comfortably in his arms.
He concludes that he doesn’t need a drink that bad, deciding instead to ignore the pins and needles in his arm and the dryness in his throat. He pulls your naked form closer to him, a tender hand brushing some stray hairs off your face.
Beautiful, he thinks.
You stir against him, half asleep, pulling him in close to you too, and he fights the smile that pulls at the corners of his lips. But before sleep envelops you again, you swear you hear him whisper something that lights a spark in your chest even in your semi-conscious state.
He whispers it so quietly, it’s hard to even be sure.
“I love you.”
———
You’re fast asleep when your phone rings. You groan at the abrasive noise and attempt to untangle yourself from Hotch’s arms and legs to roll over and answer the call.
What you get instead, is a drowsy Hotch who only pulls you closer to him with an arm and a leg in his half-asleep state. He groans and nestles in closer to you, his growing erection pressing in between your thighs, causing you to laugh dryly. You turn slightly in his arms, scratching his head next to you with a smile.
He’s always handsome and charming - but with his hair mussed and his face peacefully asleep, he looks years younger, closer to your age. You blink at him, unsure for a moment that yesterday wasn’t a dream.
“Morning, beautiful.” He mutters in his sleepy voice, nudging your nose.
You can’t help but feel the way it goes directly to your core, your insides fluttering. “Good morning,” You reply against his lips with a smile.
Your phone ringing again pulls you out of your dreamlike bubble with Aaron. You both groan.
“Aaron, I gotta take this, it might be my Dad or Em.” You whisper.
“Let it ring.” He grumbles, burying his face into the side of your neck. “Stay here with me.”
You scratch at his scalp, laughing. “Aaron come on, they’ll worry if I don’t answer.” He begrudgingly loosens his grip on you when you pat his arm, albeit a little chilly now that your body heat isn’t keeping him warm.
The ringing subsides by the time you get to it.
Emily
Missed call. (2)
Damnit.
You slide right on the notification when the bed dips behind you where Hotch turns to get out of bed. He pulls on a pair of boxers and begins rummaging in his go bag for his toothbrush.
“Make you breakfast?” He asks.
Your chest warms, not 24 hours ago, Aaron was ready to leave your life forever - and he stands in front of you now, offering to make you breakfast.
“Mhm. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” He replies with a kiss on your cheek that takes you by surprise.
You’re still caught up in your thoughts about the feel of his lips on your skin when the phone answers. It doesn’t register for a short moment because your attention lingers on Hotch’s strong back as he leaves for the main bathroom outside.
“Hello?”
“Hey Em, sorry I missed your call, I just woke up.” You tell her in a hushed voice.
“You just woke up? It’s 11pm. Wait - why are you whispering?” She asks.
You’re stumped for a lie to tell this early. “The painkillers I got when I was discharged are strong.” You clear your throat. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m still stuck in this hospital, and Mother won’t stop hovering and terrorising the doctors. They might off me just to get rid of her.” She groans. “Oh, McCall dropped by earlier.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Told me your Dad and my Mother stopped Jordan’s bail from going through, apparently no lawyer wants anything to do with his case. Senator Fitz is going crazy.”
“I can imagine.” You pause. “I went to see him yesterday.”
“You did what?!”
You roll your eyes. “Calm down, Em. Hotch took me, I just wanted to see him after everything that happened. He spent a year terrorising me, tried to kill me, kill you guys - I wanted to look him in the eye.”
“That was so stupid.” She chastises you. “You know how easy it is for him to get into people’s heads, into your head. He’s fucking crazy.”
“Look. I’m fine, you’re fine, everyone’s fine. I’m glad I went to see him.”
“Fine, whatever. I’ll deal with you in person, I don’t have the energy for this right now. Listen, speaking of Hotch, have you heard from him?”
You’re taken off guard. “What?” You stutter. “No. No, I haven’t heard from him, what makes you think I’ve heard from him?”
“Okay… now I definitely know you heard from him. What’s going on? Where is he?”
Your silence speaks louder than any words could. You brace yourself for what’s coming.
“Wait… did you do what I think you did? Did you take my advice?” You go silent. “Did you sleep with him?! Is he still there?” She asks with a finger between her teeth.
“No! Of course I didn’t sleep with him!”
She cuts you off with manic laughter. “You did! You so did, I can tell by the way you’re tripping over your words! Makes sense why nobody’s heard from either of you for the last 24 hours.”
There’s no use denying it, she’ll sniff it out of you soon enough. You groan, “Fuck, fine. Yes he’s still here.”
She cackles. “He spent the night? Scandalous! How was he? Is he, ahem, generous?”
“Emily… I swear to God.”
“What? I can’t ask? It's not like I’m getting any!”
You groan. “I’ll tell you in person later, but…” You rub a hand down your face, unable to stop the smile from spreading. “Em, I’m so… giddy? I don’t know how else to describe it, it’s like I waited so long for this, but I never thought it would happen, y’know? I’m happy, I’m just really fucking happy.” You chuckle.
“Honey…” She coos.
You take a cursory glance at the door to check for any shadows that could indicate Hotch’s presence. “I hate that I’m even saying this, I sound like a kid but… I think there might be something here. Something big.”
Unbeknownst to you, Hotch stands right outside of your door, listening to you confide in Emily with a small smile on his face and a glimmer of hope in his chest. The words he'd quietly whispered in the darkness of night yesterday still lie on the tip of his tongue, stronger than ever in the morning light but he wants to make sure you’re in a position to hear it.
By the sounds of it, that may be sooner rather than later.
“Oh you’ve got it bad.” She sighs. “Listen, I wanna hear all about it but I can hear my mother down the hall berating another doctor. I’m getting discharged in an hour, so I’ll be at home later on if you want to swing by?”
“Yeah, I will. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Be good, you deviant.”
“I hate you.”
You set the phone down on the nightstand and peer outside your bedroom door. You can hear tinkering in the kitchen, so you venture outside after quickly brushing your teeth and throwing on Hotch’s collegiate sweater.
You’re met with a shirtless Hotch cooking in your kitchen, who’s face lights up when he sees you. His eyes trail up your legs shamelessly when he sees that you’re donning his sweater, a dark smile pulling at his lips.
He pulls out a stool for you. “You gonna take all my clothes or what?” He murmurs against your ear. “Not that I’m complaining, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about this.” He cozies up behind you, pressing a kiss behind your ear, arms wrapping around your waist.
You lean into his touch. The last week had been non-stop, it had been one thing after the next, you’d felt like you were losing the strength to keep getting back up. But after the events of yesterday, your near-death experience had since taken a back burner.
Being with him is surprisingly easy. Simple.
“Oh wait! Coffee! I knew I was forgetting something. Almond and oat milk with a hint of brown sugar, right?” He asks, unwinding his arms from around you.
Your gaze softens. “You remembered?” You whisper.
He chuckles. “I’ve been buying you coffee for almost a year, I should hope I remember.” He places the steaming mug in front. “What is it?” He asks when he sees the affectionate look on your face.
Your breath hitches. There’s something bubbling up in your chest, something urgent and profound. You’ve only heard about this feeling, never felt it until now but you could swear it’s unmistakable.
You’ve known for a while.
You’re falling in love with him.
You clear your throat. “Nothing. Just can’t believe you remembered.” You whisper, cupping your hands around the steaming mug. “Thank you.”
He comes up behind you again, and brushes some hair off your neck delicately. He rests his chin on your shoulder and slides an arm around your waist. “I’ll make you all the breakfast and coffee you want as long as you keep parading around in my clothes like this.”
“Deal.” You tilt your head to face him and when he kisses you, you swear you can feel him smile. Your heart races with affection.
There’s a kind of comfort and familiarity that comes with Hotch. One that seems to be second nature as you both fall into a rhythm and you can almost imagine that this is your everyday life.
Slow languid kisses become more frequent and heated, meaning that breakfast is quickly thrown aside and you instead find yourself being pushed up on the counter with a pair of strong arms.
You’re so drunk on the taste and feel of him, so unaware of your surroundings, you can’t comprehend when and how the two of you ended up back in bed, clothes discarded with you straddling his solid form.
You don’t care. You just need more.
Aaron squeezes your ass hard enough to leave a pleasant sting as he lays a trail of kisses down your neck, his beard rough against your skin. His groans vibrate against the column of your throat where he leaves a trail of hot kisses, his knee bending to press against you.
The friction makes you break the kiss and you cry out. You trace his chest and abdomen lightly with your nails, leaning down to kiss his ear.
“I want you, Aaron.” You whisper.
As he goes to grip your hips, you grab his large hands and place them above his head, ghosting your lips over his. His eyes flash with something devious, he’s more than capable of overpowering you physically, but he plays along, wanting to surrender himself to you.
You desperately rub him over your folds, gathering yourself on his tip before seating yourself on him. You both gasp as he slips inside, your eyes rolling back.
The stretch of him still burns a little, a dull pressure inside you that soon gives way to warmth when you catch how his mouth falls open, a flush spreading on his cheeks and chest.
You roll your hips against him experimentally, feeling him jump inside you. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his hooded gaze focused on yours, as he allows you to take control. He interlocks his fingers with yours, gripping them tightly as you ride him, setting a sure enough pace that has obscene sounds escaping the room.
“That’s it, sweetness. I want you to ride my cock until you come, squeeze me tight the way I know you can.”
His words make you lose your breath and a broken moan of his name in his ear, has him twitch inside you. He’s entranced by the way your mouth falls open in pleasure, by the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock, your arousal coating his thighs.
He tenderly brushes a knuckle against your cheek, allowing his thumb to slip inside your mouth before bringing it down to rub small circles on your clit the way he knows can make you fall apart. His hand palming at your tits makes you feel boneless, forcing you to fall against him. He wraps a strong arm around your waist as he takes your weight, snapping his hips up into you.
“You’re close aren’t you, sweetness? So fucking wet and needy just for me.” You cry out, surrendering to him. “Need me to make you cum? Hm? Need me to fuck you until you can’t walk?”
“Please. Please give it to me, don’t fucking stop, Aaron.” A string of expletives leave your mouth as you feel your release approaching.
“Good girl. Let me hear you when you come.”
And sure enough, two more thrusts from him snap the coil in the pit of your stomach, as you flutter against him, legs shaking. You bite down on his shoulder to muffle your screams as he fucks you through your orgasm, your vision going white.
He remains inside you, thrusting gently as you come down, chuckling when you’re able to take your own weight again.
“My God, you’re beautiful.” He brushes his thumb over your cheek and kisses you delicately. “I told you I wanted to hear you come though. Looks like I’ll have to try again.” He mutters against your lips.
In one fell swoop, he snakes a steady arm around your waist and he stands up, making sure to remain inside you.
Your forehead rests against his in a daze as he walks you into your shower. A cold spray douses the both of you when he turns the water on, causing you to shriek. It waterfalls down between both of your bodies, steam rising steadily and you tap his arms to release you.
“My turn.” You whisper against his mouth, gripping his cock.
You find yourself having to tiptoe now to reach him, as you lay a trail of kisses down his neck, and expansive chest while stroking him slowly. He throbs in your palm, warm and thick, his legs trembling a little when you rub a thumb over his tip. He shudders, cradling the back of your head as you continue your slow descent.
You kiss further down his stomach, kneeling in front of him to trace the faint muscled line that runs down his abdomen until you get to where he wants you. You grip him with your right hand, your left scratching his stomach gently.
Your fingers barely meet around him when you stroke once, twice, three times. You lick his tip first, making sure to keep your eyes on him and you can taste the faintest hint of yourself on him. The sight above you takes your breath away, Aaron with water dripping off of his shoulders and back, his hair floppy and wet, eyes fixed intensely on yours.
It exhilarates you knowing you have him right where you want him, knowing that you have the power to make him unravel. The look in his eyes makes you throb.
When you lick a longer stripe up his shaft, his eyes flutter shut, breathy groans escaping him as you wrap your lips around his tip.
A broken curse leaves his mouth, an almost-whisper. “God, that mouth. Good girl.”
You suck experimentally, your eyes flitting up to his face. The way his legs tremble is encouragement enough, so you take him further in your mouth until he hits the back of your throat, your hands working to cover what you can’t reach.
“Just like that, pretty girl,” He moans, his sentence fragmented.
His hands cradle your chin tenderly and gather your wet hair into a makeshift ponytail when you moan around him. The vibrations of your mouth work him closer to his release. “So fucking gorgeous on your knees, sweetheart. That mouth feels so good around my cock.”
You bob your head faster now, taking him as far down your throat as you can, your saliva helping your hands along. You gag around him, saliva running down your chin and your eyes watering but the look on his face frenzies you. You chase the need to make him feel good, working your hands and mouth.
His hands provide some pressure on the back of your head to take him down your throat faster. He groans breathily. “Such a good girl, just like that.”
His words propel you towards your own reawakening, your pussy throbbing around nothing at his heated words.
You can tell he’s close with the way the vein on the underside of him begins to throb, so you work to stroke him with more pressure and hollow your cheeks.
“You’re going to make me come if you keep going like that, sweetheart.” He goes to withdraw himself from your mouth out of courtesy but you take him deep into the back of your throat.
The sight of you on your knees for him, eyes glassy and desperate with a mouthful of his cock drives him to the edge as he finally comes, shuddering in front of you. He holds your head still as he releases into your mouth, his cock twitching in your mouth.
You eagerly chase the taste of him, hollowing your cheeks around his tip, unrelenting as he curses quietly, eyes squeezing shut. Your eyes gaze up at him innocently while he trembles, brows pulled together, his bottom lip between his teeth.
When he finally opens his eyes, he looks wrecked, a flush spreading on his chest and face. His eyes darken and he wipes the remnants of himself off your chin with his thumb, tucking it into your mouth as he gathers you off the shower floor.
You suck on his thumb innocently, before he pulls you flush against him, every inch of you pressed against him.
“Come here,” he mutters, snaking his arms around your waist. A large hand lays flat between your shoulder blades as he pulls you in for a desperate, messy kiss.
A clash of teeth and tongues, you’re both intoxicated at the presence of the other, the atmosphere heady with the added steam from the shower.
He releases you for breath, licking at your swollen lips. “Don’t think I forgot. I still want to hear you whimper my name when you come on my face.” He sinks to the floor, throwing your leg over his shoulder.
He makes you come undone twice more, revering you with his fingers and talented mouth, before washing you down tenderly, his nails scratching at your scalp, his fingers deft and gentle.
“All mine.” He marvels against your lips.
———
He has a young intern rush to his house and bring him some more clothes, something for the day and a suit for work now that he knows he’s been called in later.
The intern, who’s name you don’t quite catch, returns twenty minutes later, red in e face, nervously babbling about how he didn’t know which suit to grab him so he brought him three instead.
“Anderson, you need to brush up on your decision making skills.” Aaron tells him, taking a suit and a pair of shorts and a tee from him. “Take the rest to the office, leave them in my locker. Do not crease them.”
“Yes, sir.” And just as quickly as he came, the intern leaves.
You smile to yourself.
“What?” He asks.
“Suits you.” You reply, smoothing a hand over his chest. “Giving orders, being the big boss man. I like that for you, Sir.”
He cups your cheeks, kissing the corner of your lips. “Yeah? You keep calling me ‘Sir’ in that voice, I promise we won’t get anything done today.”
He changes quickly into his casual clothes, his t-shirt sitting perfectly over his shoulders and with a protective grasp on your hand, he leads you through the lobby of your apartment building.
“Where are we going?” You ask him.
He places a hand on the small of your back when he helps you into the car.
There’s a more pressing question, you know. You know you should probably sit down and talk to one another about what this is, what last night and this morning mean for you going forward.
You also know you need to figure that out for yourself before you initiate a difficult conversation with him.
So you settle for taking his lead. You can always talk to Emily later. She’ll know what to do.
“It’s a surprise.” He says, climbing in next to you.
“Are we going to be out in public? I still have these stupid bruises, not to mention I’m pretty sure I saw a reporter parked up across the street.
He peers into the rear view mirror. “I’ll take care of it.” He says fishing out his phone. “And for the record - I think you look beautiful.” He whispers, cradling your chin.
You feel uncharacteristically shy when he kisses your cheek.
He gets to typing rapidly on his phone for a moment. “Done. They won’t be bothering us anymore. Told you I’d take care of it.”
———
You’ve been walking on the trail for God knows how long and you’re miserable. You’re sore, from the accident and from Hotch’s precise work - you’re hot and sweaty and you need a drink. But when he grabs your hand tightly in his, and leads you off a beaten path, your heart flutters lightly.
“Over here.”
“What am I looking at?” You ask.
He leads you down a small hill, and to a clearing that almost takes your breath away.
“That.” He says, triumphantly.
Willow trees umbrella a trail that leads to a small deck in the distance. In front of it, is a small pond, the water, a sparkling cerulean. He leads you down the rest of the trail and shrugs off his jacket, setting it down on the deck so you can sit safely.
“What do you think?”
You stare at him. “It’s beautiful!” You chuckle. “How did you even come across something like this? It’s so out of the way.” You ask him, staring at the water.
He leans against a willow tree and pulls you close to him between his legs. You lean against his chest, as he speaks in a low voice, lips against your temple.
“I used to come here a lot, one of my cousins told me about it as a kid.” He replies, wistfully.
“I thought you grew up in Seattle?”
“Wait - you remembered I told you that?” You nod. “I had family - grandparents here. My mom’s folks. Whenever I needed a break away from everything and everyone, I’d come here.”
“This is the place you told me about the night you stayed over?” You ask.
He nods, placing a tender kiss on your temple. “Yeah. Beautiful isn’t it?” He’s fast developing a habit of delivering words that belie a double meaning.
You sigh peacefully against him. Something about him makes you feel serene. Like your chest bubbles up until you feel like you could cry happy tears or like you’re being rewarded for a past deed.
His touch is so tender, so delicate, but so passionate. You run your hands over the strong protective arms that bracket you in and allow the sun to warm your face.
You listen to him talk about how he and his cousin are surprisingly the only ones to know about this place. “-And now you, I guess.” He chuckles.
“Why me?” You ask.
It’s a strange thing, love. He’s loved before.
But this is different. An implicit trust that you could never break.
He pulls you in impossibly closer, taking in your scent. “Just felt right.”
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Meeting and Dating Riddick
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(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)
(Okay so Vin Diesel was like really hot when he was young)
- Considering who Riddick is, you knew of the man far before you’d actually met him. Stories of him had been circling from planet to planet for the past decade or so, so yeah, he was pretty popular by the time you; just so happened to, board the same ship as him.
- Well, we all know how the story goes: you board the ship, it crashes, and you’re subsequently deserted on a planet with three suns alongside a missing murderous psychopath. Just a regular ol’ Saturday, ya know?
- Riddick likes you the minute he sees you, though he obviously doesn’t approach you; given his personality. And, like a normal person would, you try your best to keep some distance between you and the muscled murder man.
- You did so up until you wound up falling behind as everyone else walked; mainly because you weren’t exactly friendly with anyone there and were in no mood to be squashed between people in that heat. 
- At some point, the sand below your feet had slid and shifted on the incline that was there and you’d stumbled a bit, preparing yourself for the fall; onto your knees, which was going to happen.
- You hadn’t realized just how close to the dangerous man you’d ended up finding yourself so it was a bit of a shock when a hand gripped your arm, holding you up as though you weighed nothing at all.
“Thanks.” you’d somewhat whispered, a bit embarrassed and nervous. He didn’t say anything, though you were also interrupted by Johns approaching you both in a sort of warning towards the man. 
-There is IMMEDIATE sexual tension between the two of you and it only gets stronger the more time you spend together. He finds himself drawn to your side, his body itching to be clos to yours, his eyes locking on you whenever they can.  
- There’s an understanding between the two of you, an alliance of sorts, created as more time passes; something akin to a connection. So when you’re preparing to leave the planet and you make it to the ship after him, you’re offered the chance to join him. 
- Whether you’re “selfish” and flee without the others or if you go back in an attempt to save them is up to you; he doesn’t blame you either way. 
- Regardless, you find yourself in the ship with him, flying off and away from that eternal hell of a planet. And when you’re able to leave each other and he makes it known that you “could stay” with him, it doesn’t take you long to decide that you would. 
- The two of you kiss before your relationship is made official. You’d been on the run with him for about a month or so, both of you obviously attracted to each other and getting into highly suggestive scenarios though neither of you ever following through; mainly him. 
- You suppose that you could consider some of the times you’d been around each other as dates, though; at the time, they were more so “god I wish you knew how much I love you” and/or “I’m pretending that we’re on a date and every time I can’t just lean over and kiss you physically hurts me” types of hangouts. 
- But, he finally kissed you as the two of you were returning back to your ship after a trip into town; or wherever he’d decided that the two of you needed to go. You’d just finished pulling off your jacket or boots and you’d turned to find him nearly chest to chest; or chest to face, with you.
- You’d chuckled somewhat awkwardly, stumbling back and making a joke before your eyes met his and an intimate tension filled the air; one you hadn’t anticipated. He walked towards you, forcing you to walk backwards until you hit a wall in the cramped area. 
- The closer he came, the more you anticipated it and right as his face neared yours, you’d closed your eyes. He waited for a moment longer, staring at your face, contemplating his decision, and just as your eyes were about to open, he’d pressed his lips hard against yours. 
- Your hands fisted into his shirt and his own hands moved to both cage you in and pull you closer at the same time. After some time, he’d moved his hands low, grabbing at your thighs and ass before he picked you up.
- It’s up to you to decide just how far you want things to go. But regardless of your decision, you’re now going to have a pretty hard time getting rid of him. You’re his partner in crime from this point forward. 
- He tries his best to keep pda to a minimum since he’s got a reputation to keep up and because he doesn’t want you getting tangled up in his issues. When you’re alone he’s much more touchy and since you’re not in public very often, his dislike for pda isn’t much of an issue. 
- Though he isn’t affectionate with you in front of people, he is pretty much always close to your side whenever he can be. He likes being there in case there’s something he needs to protect you from. 
- Please hold his hand. He probably won’t do it himself but he secretly loves whenever you do. He likes how small and soft your hands are compared to his. 
- One armed hugs. He’s big and strong enough that it’s pretty much the same as a actual hug; though he does give you those on occasion as well. 
- Temple kisses. 
- His kisses are sort of rough, purely because he’s a rough person. If it were anyone else then they’d probably just be considered normal kisses but because he has strong lips and a domineering personality they’re on the rougher side. 
- Kisses between the two of you usually start out slow before becoming more heated. They’re the deep, drawn out types of kiss that end with an abrupt pull before the two of you snap back to each other once more. 
- Soft, barely there touches; whether with his hands or with his lips. They’re so soft that you’re sometimes not even sure if they touched you or not. 
- Sitting on his lap. 
- He likes leaning down, close to your side to talk to you, as well as seeing you lean up to speak in his ear/get close to his face yourself. 
- Considering the fact that you’re usually not staying in the most comfortable of places, you’ve taken to falling asleep with your head on some part of him. You usually start out just sleeping near each other but throughout the night, you’ll drift close and end up cuddling. It’s usually you who does so but on occasion, you’ll wake up to his arm around you and his body pressed up against yours. 
- He likes pinning you to things when he kisses you. 
- He’s sort of obsessed with your thighs and butt. He’s constantly grabbing or picking you up by them, usually to carry you off somewhere so that he can kiss you better.  
- He’s sort of like an animal in regards to how your scent drives him wild. There’s been so many instances of him drawing near you or burying his face in your neck that you can’t deny that he’s trying to smell you.
- Good girl, princess, sweetheart; he mainly uses them in a sarcastic way but it makes your heart race every time and he takes notice of that.
- Getting thrown over his shoulder whenever he pleases. Make a fuss and kick or hit his back all you want, he’s not letting you down until you’re away from whatever he wanted you to be away from; or just wherever he wanted to take you.
- He lets you do things, giving you the illusion of being in control while you’re both pretty much fully aware that he’s only letting you lead him places or letting you touch him. Don’t be fooled into thinking that you have the upper hand, he always knows exactly what you're doing. 
- Living in close quarters together. He in particular is always squeezing around you or using the excuse to press himself against you.  
- He secretly likes when you try to tease him or are otherwise soft with him. Trying to go up on your tippy toes to kiss him, leaning in close to his face as you speak, lingering touches; things like that. 
- He pretends like he doesn't know certain things to humor you. He notices everything so if you think you have a secret or are going to surprise him, you’re wrong; but he may pretend like he’s sort of surprised for your sake. 
- Getting your stuff stolen by him. 
- Getting a bit of a scare whenever he just pops up behind you. He sort of likes being able to scare you, he thinks your reactions are sort of cute. 
- Stargazing. You probably convinced him to do it though he mainly just stared at you like a big softie while you were distracted. 
- His only regret about changing his eyes is the fact that he can’t see you properly, and judging from what he’s able to see, its a damn shame. 
- Bonfires and camping out places.
- Hunting together. 
- Occasionally dropping into some far off planet, maybe going to a bar or him stealing from a liquor store so that the two of you can sit and drink together. 
- You're pretty much constantly hiding out or on the run, well, he is at least. You may have to go into town for the two of you on occasion; especially if it’s a town that he’ll be recognized in.
- Little, somewhat morbid gifts; though he does get you ones that aren’t on occasion, both made by him or stolen from somewhere. 
- Well, it’s a known fact that he can smell period blood so he’s always able to act accordingly and a bit sweeter than usual when it’s that time of the month. 
- Tracing and/or hearing the stories behind his scars. 
- Bandaging him up and him doing the same for you, trying his best to be as gentle as he can. 
- Getting taught how to fight or shoot. He likes hoisting you up from the ground by your clothes or pinning you down, showing you just how much stronger he is. It’s kind of his kink. 
- Getting taught survival tactics, card games, and so on. It’s a fun way to pass the time and a way to do it around each other.
- While he can certainly be rough, we all know that he can also be soft and caring; especially with you. 
- Teasing; whether its with ominous connotations or not. He may use his teasing to gauge whether or not he can trust you or to find out your true opinion on something. 
-  He only ever wants to help you. Everyone else can be damned but the minute you need something, he’s right there to assist you. 
- He pretends like he isn’t as worried as he really is by making his concerns sound threatening. Like after you put yourself in danger, he’ll make some comment like “you do something like that again and I’ll fucking kill you”. It’s the way he shows he cares; he isn’t used to giving a shit about anyone. 
- He’s one of those “you don't have to apologize for anything” types of boyfriends. He wants you to be unapologetic with people like he is.
- Lots of jealousy; he doesn’t particularly like you being around other men though he does trust you. It’s not about him thinking you’d cheat on him, its about the one person who truly cares about him and the only person he can trust being taken away from him or liking someone else more than him. 
- Somewhat overprotective. He doesn’t underestimate you but he does all that he can to prevent you being in any pain; emotional or physical. Whenever you mention a stupid, little fear of yours, he’s reminded of how vulnerable and precious you are and how much he has to keep you safe. 
- He’s blunt, aggressive, sarcastic, and somewhat demeaning so yes, there’s going to be quite a few fights in your relationship; though most aren’t ridiculously serious or completely relationship threatening. 
- After you’ve had a fight, he either doesn’t apologize and the two of you just move on or he watches you and let’s the guilt fester until he finally approaches you, putting his hand on your arm and kissing your temple. If you were outside of the ship, he’d pull you to your feet gently, giving you an earnest “I’m sorry, alright? C’mon” and guiding you back on board. 
- He doesn't say that he loves you very often but you do “get one” on occasion, usually grunted/grumbled out and passed off as being no big deal. 
- You’ll be his mate for life if he can help it. He wants to be with you for as long as he can, maybe start a family or just live out your lives alongside each other. 
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ygreczed-3 · 3 years
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The Red Guard and the Snow Angel
Hank and Connor’s kiss
Hank and Connor fighting
Hank and Connor having good time with Sumo
Connor’s “I’m not going anywhere”
Gavin and Nines : interface
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6
They eventually find something in one of the books : Kamski is known to live in a castle, with 7 beautiful angels to serve him. No one knows how to get to Kamski's castle, since the pike is guarded by the darkness war spirit (actually Kamski being the powerful magician he is, sealed the war spirit to the castle, condemning it to the protection of the whole rock he lives on).
On their first attempt getting to the castle, Hank gets injured, and they're forced to retreat to Nestlepeek
Connor stays near Hank as he recovers, and can't help but touch him with noticeable loving attention. Nines sees him but just decides to say nothing, knowing he's too emotionally compromised with Gavin to give his brother a lesson. Gavin is totally oblivious to that, he's just very bad at hiding his concern for Hank (yes ! he is low-key worried for his human comrade).
X
Nines somehow gets to talk calmly with Nines, for the first time since the street fight.
Nines : I just don't understand. You've always been so ambitious, always training to be more powerful, why don't you use this aspiration to channel the power source and thus use it? It doesn't make sense. Gavin : It's… It's just too fucking much to process okay ? This war spirit is in me, I can feel its thirst for blood and violence all day long, and I know I can't control him because I…
Gavin just stops before he can say he's too confused with his own priorities now to have a defined goal he can use to canalize the spirit's energy. He used to know what he wanted to do with his power, but now, he feels a latent part of him wants to use it to protect his partners, Hank, and the two snowy idiots. He's still not ready to admit it outloud and thus, the spirit having no specific goal to unleash its violence, is in fact uncontrollable. 
Nines, who is a bit more honest with himself than our favorite rat, already knows he cares for Gavin more than he should in regard to his given mission, and just feels so useless when Gavin refuses to talk to him. At this point Nines only wants to help him. He looks quietly at Gavin's nape, where the seal of the war spirit is still noticeable and forms a delicate golden scar. The Golem feels a little contradictory about this scar, one part of him being satisfied and proud of the mark he was able to let on Gavin's body, and the other part of him feeling guilty for it.
Nines : I'm sorry for this. You didn't ask for it and now you have to deal with… a war spirit and unwanted killing desires. I sometimes forget you're only human, it's not in your nature to use magic. Gavin : … It's okay. Let's just… stop talking about the spirit, deal ?
Nines remains carefully silent when Gavin offers his hand in a casual manly shake. He knows humans culturally use handshakes to settle an arrangement, and decides to ignore the deep and intimate meaning of this specific gesture in his own culture. Their hands meet, as Nines' skin unwittingly turns white at the contact, but the golem doesn't pay much attention since a human can't interface anyway. Gavin's smug expression shows he's  about to say something but his grin fades away as Nines realizes their mistake : in a flash, he can feel Gavin's doubts about his unsaid desire to protect Nines despite his hatred for golems. Nines isn't sure what passed through the contact and doesn't have a clue on what impression Gavin had about his inner thoughts, or if he even felt or saw something. The human is the first to break the contact. He looks shocked, as he meets Nines' eyes and for a moment, none of them can speak. 
Gavin : The hell was that ?!
Nines is confused too : … I didn't know it would… interfaces only happen between magic creatures… Maybe… the spirit allows you to connect with me.
Gavin : What the… You read my thoughts ? Nines : It's not… mind reading. I caught a diffuse… "impression".  Gavin : … Shit.
Gavin looks suddenly so betrayed. He looks down and sideways, taking a few steps away, hands on his neck as if he was trying to hide his head between his arms. When Nines tries to get closer, he almost jumps away.
Gavin : Don't- Fuck it, don't… touch me. Nines : I'm sorry, I didn't mean to probe you. Gavin : What exactly did you… hear or whatever? Nines : … I think… I have an answer for why you can't use the spirit's violent spree. Gavin : Fuck you, that was private ! Did you search for it you fucking asshole ? Nines : Like I said, I didn't mean to interface with you ! You too must have seen something from me so stop being a child. Gavin : I didn't-
Nines waits patiently for the end of the sentence but it never comes, as some realization seems to dawn on the human warrior.
Gavin : That nice fluttering in the stomach, when we held hands, actually it was you ?
And for once, Nines is the one to remain silent, his face even but internally too embarrassed to answer the question. No wonder this sensation passed through the connection. For the few seconds their hands touched, Nines was, in a Golem way, experiencing a gesture akin to a kiss, of course he was kind of "emotionally impacted".
Nines : … As I said… let's not embarrass ourselves any further.
And at that exact moment, Gavin realizes that Nines likes him… more than a partner, more than a friend.
X
In their room, Connor is holding Hank's hand. 
Hank : So, what should we do ? Connor : I didn't think about it yet. I wanted to be here when you wake up. Hank : ...I still have three days of bed rest at the very least… Are you sure you want to lose all this time when we're so close to the goal ? I mean, we already went through the desert, you don't need me anymore. Connor : Of course I need you, Hank. Hank : Ahaha… It's nice to go easy on me like this but you don't have to- Connor : You have to trust me, when I say I need you. It's not because I think you can help me go faster or even because I think you can help me cross a specific territory. I just… need you because you mean something to me.
Hank stays quiet but tightens his hand around Connor's, looking down right at them, his large, calloused fingers embracing the golem's white and slender ones. A long and deep look into Connor's golden brown eyes tells him there is more into this already meaningful gesture than he might think.
Connor breaks the eye-contact, and Hank realizes how intense the moment was : Connor's eyes inexplicably make him feel comfortable, as if he was floating in a warm air bubble, and he instantly misses the feeling when Connor stops mirroring his gaze to look down at their hands.
Connor : You know… There is this ultimate quest upon us, something we have to achieve to save our people… And this goal governed us like it was the only thing that mattered… Maybe I'm being a selfish brat, but Hank you're so important to me, I don't want you to be injured or killed in all this. Hank : You're important to me too, Connor.  (And then Hank laughs, giving in to his stupid and unwanted feelings.) Actually, you probably couldn't even understand how much you mean to me.
When Connor meets his gaze with a puzzled expression on his face, Hank decides he has to tell him. If anything, Connor could still change his mind and keep going without him, and then Hank will be able to finally move on. He's too fucking old to pine for a pretty boy, and if it's gotta be painful then he wants it the sooner the better.
Hank : I… recently started to develop… indecent feelings… Connor, purposely obtuse: "Indecent" ? Hank : I mean... in a… hum… romantic way. Come on kid, don't make me say it. Connor : Why would "romantic" be "indecent" ? Hank : Dunno, I'm old and pathetic, you're young and cute, sounds indecent to me. Connor : Hank… I love you too. Hank : ...You, huh... Sorry what ? Connor : I mean every single word in this sentence, Hank, I really do. Hank : … Oh. 
Connor chuckles at Hank's blank expression, as his poor brain processes the information with unprecedented difficulty. And as Hank starts moving again, his brows frowning and his mouth forming an "o" like he was gonna say "why ?!", Connor just leans towards him and brushes his beard with his lips before meeting his mouth, softly.
And god, they love it. Hank leans forward to deepen the kiss, Connor catches his beard, his fingers following the edges of his chiseled jaw until they reach his neck and nestle around it.
And it's a weird sensation to Hank because he used to know what was hot passion and what was tenderness, and at this very moment, he could feel both in Connor's grip, burning fire and smooth touches at the same time. That's it, love, love everywhere.
They separate because the older man needs to breathe and hopefully, Connor remembered it because Hank was just gonna kiss him until he falls unconscious. 
Hank : Am I dead ? Connor : You're thankfully alive and safe, but you need rest. Stay calm. Hank : I can't  believe it… i'm… almost scared of falling asleep and realize you're gone when I wake up. Connor smiles smugly at this : he takes Hank's hand in his own, kisses the palm softly, his deep dark eyes locked on Hank's.  Connor : Sleep tight. I'm not going anywhere.
X
So, as soon as Hank can walk again, the party goes back to Kamski's peek.
Hank : I feel better but I admit that I don't think I'm able to fight anything right now. Maybe we can find another way ? Gavin : Humans and Golems can't beat a war spirit. But, huh… a war spirit could do. Nines : … Is that you you're talking about? Gavin : 'Know another war spirit around here ? Nines : But you… you can't control it… I mean, you're obviously facing a dilemma with your own motivations right now. I don't think you should endanger yourself in this state… Hank : What dilemma ? Gavin : Not your business. It's fine, I just need… I just need to meditate a little bit more. Connor : We don't need much more than a distraction just a moment until we reach the castle. There we'll activate the seal and it should stunt the spirit for some time. Nines : I'm not letting him go alone. Gavin : Still don't trust me, snow man ? Nines : I'm concerned for your well being. I wanna help. Hank : Well then we can do that. Nines and Gavin take care of the spirit and Connor, we get to the castle as fast as we can. You're good ? Connor : … Yeah, that sounds good. I just need to talk with Nines. In private.
Hank and Gavin just look at each other, surprised, but then they leave the brothers for their serious talk.
X
Connor : What was that ? "I'm concerned for you well being" ? Gavin is right, only a war spirit can compete with a war spirit… even if we wanted to, we couldn't help. Nines : Gavin can't control his spirit. I saw it when we interfaced, he truly can't, no matter how much he meditates, as long as he will have this dilemma, he can't make it. Connor : Wait what ?! Interfaced ? How ? Nines : Guess the spirit makes him sensible to magic connections. Connor : What's the deal ? Why can't he control it yet ? He's strong enough, and for what I know, ambitious enough, so it's only a matter of… Nines : He's confused. He grew fond of us, and he knows we're basically enemies. We're all being reckless, he's the only one to keep this truth in mind; if we can't reach Kamski, or if he refuses to help us, we'll have to go back to the war we left, go back to kill each other. He can't resign himself to accept his attachment to us if we're going to be his enemies again. Connor : … Do you think he can make it ? Against the darkness war spirit ? Nines : I don't. That's why he needs me there. If the thunder spirit takes control of his body, I'll be there to hit the seal in his neck. Connor : Oh Nines… You love him, don't  you? Nines : … We're selfish and weak, Con. This mission… our whole kind is waiting for us to succeed. And we're threatening this long awaited deliverance because we fell for humans…  Connor : ...That's why we can't fail. I understand you're worried but maybe… Maybe that's the reason why Gavin wants to try : he knows we can't fail now.
X
In the final act, Gavin and Nines get ready to fight with the war spirit, while Hank and Connor plan on reaching the castle as fast as they can, and find Kamski.
Gavin and Nines are hiding near the war spirit.
Nines : … Are you ready ? Gavin : I don't really have a choice there.
Gavin breathes deeply and steadily, to focus and calm down before entering the arena.
Nines : I'll be flying right behind you, okay ? It's factually stronger than me, so I have to maintain minimal distance with it, but I'll be ready to hit your seal when you need  me to, and help you run away if you're in a bad state.  Gavin scoffs : Thanks Snowman, I feel so confident right now, with you believing in me like this. Nines : … Sorry I just… worry. Gavin : Look, I was right, at that time, I couldn't do it and I was totally right. But today I… I'll do it. And I want to prove it to you. 
In front of Nines' incredulous stare, Gavin offers his hand : Nines narrows his eyes as he detects static electricity all around his fingers, as if his spirit was already eager to fight.
Nines : … Do you know what it means to us, Golems ? Interfacing with someone ? Gavin : Enlighten me, snow man. Nines : ...I'll tell you if we survive this fight. Gavin : Huh… fair enough. Now, take my hand, I'll show you.
Nines gulps nervously and reaches for Gavin's hand, his own fingers turning white as he gets closer to the human's warm skin.
And he can feel everything. It's a lot less blurry and chaotic than the first time, as somehow Nines' first sensation is Gavin's serenity about sharing his deep feelings. He catches a volatile thought that flies through the human mind, saying in a flippant tone "we might die, no need to get embarrassed", and smiles at it. Interfacing with Gavin is very special for some reason : Nines had interfaced with other Golems before but it was never so vibrant, so intense. "Maybe that's because we're about to die" he feels, and for a moment he wonders if that comes from him or from Gavin. Nines feels like Gavin is an extension of himself at that very moment. Suddenly, the realization he's gonna fight against a gigantic, ancient war spirit dawns on him. He feels scared, sure but somehow, confident as well. He can do it. He will do it now, because if he fails, he'd give up on his people in Detroit, his friends Hank and (surprisingly) Connor. He would give up on Nines and he's not ready to. He used to fear that he was making friends with an enemy… That they'd have to separate at some point, and go back to where they belonged, Detroit and Jericho. But if Gavin fails now, Detroit and Jericho are doomed. He used to fear that death was preying upon him… now he fears that his team could die. That Nines could…
If he fails now, Nines and he will be dead, and that is much more scary than befriending a Golem.
Nines frowns as he feels Gavin's hand twitching in his, as if he was about to draw it back. He wants to stay connected, he wants to melt into Gavin's mind, because he feels so scared right now.
All he can catch is a glimpse of something that sounds like "I have found some higher purpose in life than my own existence", before Gavin breaks the contact.
When Nines opens his eyes again, they're wet and his breath is short. Gavin too, seems a bit shaken up by the interface.
Nines wonders what exactly the human saw/felt/heard from him and feels very self conscious for a floating second. He wants to kiss the human, he can feel it in his vein, the fire of love rushing, burning his cold body. Gavin must have felt it through the interface… and somehow, Nines wonders if he knows. He doesn't seem shocked or… disgusted. 
Gavin : You okay ? Nines : Yeah… I'm ready to go.
Gavin exhales sharply : Alright, let's do this.
Nines : I've got your back. Everything will be alright.
So they get out of their hiding spot and as Nines takes off, Gavin summons the thunder spirit.
X
We then follow Hank and Connor, who are climbing up the rocky column at the top of which Kamski established his castle. Actually, Hank climbs it and Connor flies around to help him find the safe grips. 
They're constantly attacked by monsters with long members (parts of the war spirit), and can't fight them all back. They decide to run forward, and they finally reach a huge grid in a tunnel : Connor can pass between two bars, but Hank can't. Behind them, the monsters are getting closer.
Hank : Run before they catch us up ! Connor : Wait, there must be a way for you- Hank : I'm sure there must be, Connor, but we won't find the solution in the next few minutes we have. You have to keep going without me. Connor : What are you gonna do ? They're gonna outnumber you, and… and you're still healing from the last injury--- Hank : You have to find Kamski ! He must know how to stop those monsters, and the war spirit out there. He can help us ! Connor : … Yeah, right.
Connor puts his hands on the floor and ice columns grow up from the ground, keeping Hank in a safe space. When the man looks back at Connor with tenderness and gratitude, Connor kisses him through the bars.
Connor : The ice won't last long but it can buy you some time… Hank I… I love you. Don't let me down. Hank : I swear. Now, run, and don't look back.
Connor nods and starts running to the castle, as the monsters start to attack ferociously the ice cage Connor created. Hank knows it's not gonna last much longer, and that he'll have to fight. He prays to be able to see Connor again.
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stra66otkiller · 3 years
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ELI CLARK SWF/NSFW HCS
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sfw:
he’s a darling, truly. he was something akin to a kicked puppy when you first arrived to the mansion. meek, yet intimidated, he was someone you felt that needed taking care of
poor thing looks like he’s having a tough time on a cipher? here you come with your overzealous and overbearing parental love for him.
the whole manor can see how you view him, and really, they all think you’re clinically insane
eli clark was one of many men, but he was not the weak or the lost at all
in fact, he was someone with a tendency to act passive aggressive or have a short temper at a cipher if something wasn’t going right. he was the type of person to ignore you if he feels that you’ll disturb him in the future, the type of person to avoid speaking to anyone at all costs because he thinks he’s higher power (although he’ll never show it)
surely, he is kind, he’s sweet, but there are his moments that the other survivors can see that you don’t get to see
eli loves your personality. loves how you attend to his every response or move. he loves how you take care of him. he finds it adoring when you worry over simple injuries or when he goes out alone and he finds you waiting for him anxiously
he treats you like a god. his god.
everything you do he is unimaginably amazed by it that it’s almost annoying to watch
whenever he’s not near you, he sends brooke to watch after you, but sometimes he forgets brooke is watching you and tries to find you himself which leads to a lot of interaction with the hunter
not to mention, he loves it when your smile, which is cliche in a sense but he loves it. he immediately responds with a smile of his own, whether a small or huge smile on your face, one will find its way onto eli’s face no matter what
he unconsciously leans into your warmth and feels bad when you shuffle to get away. as if a boundary was established that was never there before, yet it washes away the moment you start to coo over him again
and by all means, eli is NOT the funniest. he can’t be unintentionally funny like norton or naturally good at cracking unneeded jokes like kevin, of which you always laugh to (unfortunately), but he does try
his attempt at humor that matches your humor always goes horribly wrong that others cringe watching it. while you find it adoring, and he finds it as another reason for a nervous breakdown when you’re not around
around the other survivors he’s simply that nice one with the owl that occasionally cracks from stress. but to you, the other survivors can tell he looks like an angel descent from heaven and blessed upon you as a babysitter
it was the day of his former fiancé’s birthday, gertrude, that he had realized what was happening
you were so kind when he would vent to you, and you to him, but when he spoke about his past fiancé he wanted a reaction. call it selfish and him a horrible man but he wanted something that showed you had interest in him — just something
but alas, he saw nothing but genuine comfort, raw sweetness dripping from your voice that he so dearly wished to be words that expressed jealousy over his past lover
you saw him as a child. someone who needed supervision. the realization hit him when the other survivors would call you his mother or laugh between your interactions
it only made him cry into your hands, he tried to guise his sudden despair with remembering gertrude, trying to push himself into your lap as if it would help. all the while, fat tears rolling down his face because he feels worthless — he feels alone — and stupid
so then he chooses to do something stupid and spills everything
it’s complicated when he explains it, but when you finally understand the words that were coming out in sobs and stutters, and the tears pooling at your clothes, you then press a soft kiss to the under of his eye
albeit its almost awkward, for you, doing that aloof smile on your face when you’re lost is what makes him confused, but your hands on the side of his head numb that confusion down to silence, and his skin burns where your lips touched
you tell him he’s adoring. literally. there isn’t enough synonyms for adorable to describe him
he questions shyly, sniffling even, that if the relationship could be more
and you agree, although, hesitantly
you saw eli as courageous, cute, hardworking, and sweet, but none of those traits or himself made you scream for romance. and maybe the guilt ate you up, and that’s why you agreed
however, he worked hard to change that perception of him as time passed
he increasingly became more active and bashful during your new relationship. he had a tendency of asking for hugs and small kisses here and there, his cheeks would blossom with red when you would just stare at him long enough
he’d try to prove to to you that he didn’t need supervision. as much as he loves you around him, he wanted you to see him as dependable
sometimes he would coo over you which certainly made the manor erupt in fits of laughter when your face deepened to dark reds never seen before
eli, occasionally, would slip and mention something of gertrude, but you usually don’t pay mind to it. you’re understanding of his situation and you don’t find the need to fight over it when you’re both stuck in the mansion
he finds his occasional slip ups as death. he profusely apologizes and follows you around anxiously to make sure you don’t go to anyone else but him (you can tell he sends his owl at unneeded times), he tip toes around you but becomes blunt when he feels as though you’re mad at him (you’re not, but his anxiety-driven head thinks you are)
the only way you assure he’s fine is by staying by his side and talking to him a lot. and i mean a lot.
eli relies on communication, even if he’s horrible at it, he wants to make sure he’s doing everything right, something you truly adore
nsfw:
sensitive and sloppy. that’s it.
when you kiss him on the cheek it makes everything inside of him twist and burn, his legs wobble when he walks sometimes, but on the lips he truly feels as though he’s going to pass out
he moans into the kiss, trying to follow desperately but ultimately submitting and shaking under you when you pull away with a smile
kisses are usually very sloppy, not that he’s trying to but your simple peck on the corner of his lips makes him go haywire, drool collecting at the sides of his mouth
refuses to touch you. will not lay a hand on you. he’s so scared of hurting you, as though he’s too rough or you don’t like it. he worships you, he wants you to feel like a god when you are one
sometimes his hands ghost over your head or hips in fear of hurting you, you can only watch as his orgasm makes his hands flinch or scrunch up his clothes with an immeasurable amount of strength to avoid touching you
he loves initiating small acts whenever too
occasionally, coming to wrap his hands around you and shoving his face into your neck to pepper kisses along your collarbones, but he’s always too scared to go further and needing your guidance for the rest
you love to give him head at any given moment. tears start to pool into his eyes when you suck particularly too hard at the skin of his cock, or when he feels the tip hit the back of your throat
he loves it when you swallow his cum but also hates it. he apologizes and says it’s dirty but he can’t help feel more aroused when you swallow around him
eli’s favorite position is cowgirl or doggy-style
you being on top allows for you to lead and him to submit to you. whining when you go too fast or too slow, and you only laugh meanly before speeding up
he also loves cockwarming. something about being connected to you so intimately is really arousing to him. sometimes you’ll find his hands trying to push you further down his cock to hold you into place, crying about how good it feels to be inside of you and how warm, and how your walls are milking him
doggy-style, even in a more submissive position, you still have power over him
again, eli loves communication, just telling him he’s fucking you so good, calling him pup, or even baby, his hips are immediately stuttering into yours like a dog in heat
“it feels good, right?” he questions with a stutter, letting out a sharp grunt into your neck when your walls clamp up against his cock
unlike others, he doesn’t curse. but he will call you beautiful while he’s pounding into you. and sometimes he’ll call you his
even if he came already, he’ll listen if you tell him to keep going. the sensitivity leaves him spinning and coming once more
something you find cute is that jealousy sex is nothing rough. in fact, it’s so tame. eli takes his time to kiss you and thoroughly remind you that you both were dating, even if it means he’s crying into your shoulder while fucking you slowly
he’s so vocal to the point you’d rather just listen to him during sex. he whines uncontrollably when you slowly sink down onto his cock, praising about how big it is and how it might not fit
loves being called pup!!! during sex!!! outside of the bedroom it’s disheartening, but when he’s fucking you so sloppily after a bad day, drool coming from his mouth, and he’s whining into your ear, hearing you call him pup has him coming inside of you immediately
sadly, he does not like coming inside of you. he worships your body and thinks of his cum being inside of you is dirtying you. he tries to avoid it and comes into his hand
he basically treats you like a god outside and inside, so when both of you are finally spent, he’s the one getting up and cleaning everything. his aftercare is so intensive, especially if he came inside of you, he wants to make sure everything is out and you feel comfortable
201 notes · View notes
ohheyitsokay · 3 years
Text
classic
pairing: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x reader
wordcount: 3k
warnings: none, tropes on tropes on tropes, weird descriptions of things
summary: good, old fashioned fan fiction chaos
notes: there’s no getting around it - everything I write with Jack is inevitably influenced and inspired by @scribbledghost s version of him, particularly her neighbor!whiskey. I tried not to, but I still feel I should give credit!
>>
It was the kind of razor your grandfather would have used – more of a knife than anything, because of course it was.
Of course this would be edge that your housemate used to slide along his jaw and chin and cheeks to make that perfect mustache before work in the mornings. He was the type to love old fashioned, traditional, dangerous things - it made sense. After all, that was why you were staying in the guestroom of his ranch home while your apartment was being renovated. Old fashioned courtesy between friends, of course.
Dangerous.
Jack had caught you watching him, impressed in spite of yourself as the sharp blade scraped over his neck, neatly slicing the hairs on his throat, and pushing your heart into yours. It was unnecessarily intense, dramatic, the touch of risk for the sake of vanity. It made you swallow, awed that he wasn’t covered in little cuts, and almost aroused at how casually he used something so akin to a weapon. And that alone made him smirk, cocky, as though he had been waiting for you to notice, hoping to impress you.
A few days later he’d coaxed you to him, settled in a chair with his legs spread wide with confidence as he handed you the tool, smug with confidence – almost a challenge. He had gotten wrecked at work – he actually had, and it was the perfect excuse to draw you close, make you bend to his will. Schoolyard tactics, really, but all of this was, and it was worth it to have your eyes on him alone, face a breath away from his.
It was about trust more than anything. Not that you would ever hurt him, but the power of being over him was heightened by the intimacy as you lathered the cream over his skin.
His deep eyes bore into you, not flickering to the blade as you tried to focus on your task. If he had asked you a different time, another day, you maybe could have refused, but somehow his wanting your steady hand felt heavy with implication.
Ignoring the quickening steps of your heart, your fingers grasped his chin, shaving away the stubble he’d let grow just for this. Each slice of smooth skin revealed left a thick line of froth and hairs on the blade, and you got to breathe as your turned away to wipe it off. You could feel his gaze, still, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. Hovering over him while he was seated, touching his jaw, leaning close, and meeting those brown eyes would have been too much.
Your denial was as a solid as a wall with half sunk into the ground with cement – almost rooted in your fear of rejection.
It was a challenge to ignore the shots of adrenaline that filled you when he’d reach around you to grab something in the fridge, his chest against your back, hand on your hip. Already you had shoved down the butterflies in your stomach when he’d offered you a place to stay, carried your boxes, and called you sweetheart. You had spent far to long ignoring the way he hadn’t brought a single girl home since you’d been there to fold now and admit anything. Because if you did, there was a chance you would lose your friend forever, and that was out of the question.
You kept your eyes down to keep your hands steady.
For his part, Jack’s plan was only half working. He liked your attention, liked the way your breath hitched as you wiped him clean. But you were closer than you had ever been, patting in the aftershave and you wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t open the door for him to push the tools and towels aside and kiss you. All he wanted was to grab hold of you and pull you into his lap and make you melt against him but there wasn’t a moment.
You’d been friends for a long time, been there for each other countless times and he had yearned for you almost as long. At first, he tried to deny it too, grabbing at random women and hating himself when he imagined they were you as he pulled them into his room.
Then he’d given that up, stopped pretending anyone could replace you, that anyone else occupied his dreams, anyone else could be as good a fit for him, and went after you full speed. It had honestly been innocent to invite you to stay, instinct instilled in him from his childhood. Still, he had begun to see the opportunities for the two of you to enjoy intimate domesticity right away, when he’d cooked you dinner and you’d talked at his table for hours, finally not worried about having to drive home. He ached for that – not ever really having to leave you, and he spent more nights than he’d like to admit thinking of knocking on your door.
Only… you were still in your denial phase. Not sleeping around just pretending it was normal to sink into his arms after a bad day, to let your friend play with your hair until you fell asleep, to watch his lips as you gently helped him shave.
It was too vulnerable, to high of a risk to go after you with the chance that you weren't ready. The last thing he wanted was to scare you away.
-
“What, really?” you said, genuinely surprised. When you’d accepted to stay, he’d promised you there would be no problems, but now you felt guilty.
His mama was coming to town, and would more than likely be staying with him.
“I’ll find somewhere else!”
Jack was already shaking his head at you, like you were missing the joke, but he looked… almost nervous? You couldn’t tell, it wasn’t something you saw on his face often.
“Actually, sweetheart, I was hoping you could do me a favor,” he was asking, but it’s not like you could actually say no you him, when he shot that winning smile your way. It was like not petting a puppy – and you were the opposite of allergic to cowboy secret agents.
“You know Mama Daniels,” he said and you smiled, having spent many a summer helping her in her garden, and being thanked with dinners heavy with butter and love. “She’ll like you here, she’ll be over the damn moon.” And you conceded. It would be more than nice, to spend time with such a wonderful woman, an Jack had invested in a very comfortable couch. For a week you enjoyed a hopeful bliss, that she would help remind you Jack was just your friend.
The sun was shining through the windows, the winding almost singing a quiet, breathy song, and everything was as spotless as you could manage. Well worn quilts were clean, and you had set up a little station for yourself in the living room determined to make it your home for the week.
Then she came with a jacket that matched her slacks and shoes with little buckles and a paisley suitcase full of presents for her son, who she insisted wasn’t really grown. She hugged you and scolded you for being at work instead of coming to pick her up, and finally settled at the kitchen table, her intentions clear. You were to sit and catch up - Jack was already pulling the sweet tea you’d made from the fridge and a reused sewing tin filled with butter cookies appeared out of her purse.
Meekly, you sat, knowing if you didn’t eat the cookies in quantity, she would pout her whole visit. You could feel Jack settle at your side as she talked, warm and solid, a comfort, despite the heat of the day.
The cookies disintegrated on your tongue, melting with a burst of sweet before the bite was gone. They were full of love and maternal affection and things that you hated to spend money on and made all bad thoughts disappear. You were thankful your mouth was full of one when she mentioned, offhandedly, how plum delighted she was when she found out the two of you were finally dating. Abruptly, you remembered just how wrong your previous hope was.
The sweet lady had been hinting for you to marry her son since before he’d mastered his first lasso, and apparently, she was sure that moment was well on its way.
“And living together, no less!” she was beaming with pride, tradition apparently irrelevant as she chatted happily about it.
Turning to the man by your side, you found him choking, trying to breathe through the cookie he’d accidentally inhaled. There was a white ring around his irises as he stared at you, panicking and aptly confused. Sure your face matched his, you jerked your head at his mother, a silent argument ensuing.
Did you do this?
No!
What do we do?
We can’t break her heart!
It went unnoticed. You felt helpless, drinking your tea and trying not to have a small meltdown in front of a very misinformed lady who had brought you cookies.
He was your friend! And sure, you liked the weight of his arm around your shoulders or could get lost in the drawl of his voice but that was normal! It was normal to be so comfortable with him as the beginning, end, and highlight to each of your days.
Sounding weak even to yourself, a crack, solid and formidable, formed in the wall you created to protect yourself and the friendship you had built.
“Ma’am, I’ll be back in a moment,” you whispered, grabbing your phone as you grasped at air, hoping beyond logic that you could pretend it was an important call.
You didn’t exactly run away, but you walked very quickly outside, mourning the loss of your little guestroom, and the privacy it offered.
Jack would never, ever smack his mama but he did want to say some choice words. Nothing could have prepared him for the last two minutes of his life, first the embarrassment of the misunderstanding and then… the fear in your eyes.
He hated it, hated it so much more than he ever thought he could, hated that it was probably his fault it was there. And he hated that it shrouded the longing he had begun to see there, these past few weeks. Long strides carried him after you, hearing his own voice distantly saying words, explaining maybe, as he left the table.
There was a tree, trunk too wide to wrap your arms around, thicket of leaves creating bean-shaped shadow on the ground, by one corner of his home.
You were behind it, almost like a child, letting the bark press lines into your forehead. The dappled lighting did wonders for you – you looked the perfect picture of a storybook wanderer in distress.
Jack slowed, overwhelmed with the desire to encompass you in his arms, slay your dragons, and whisk you away. Now was not the time.
He kept his voice soft, reaching for you in place of his hands, trying hopelessly to find the root of your panic.
You were just as quiet, telling him it was fine, you would pretend, as long as you’d talk tonight, after she went to sleep. His heart was creating dramatic movie scenes where you would float into his room, declaring your love for him, before settling in his arms, but he shook them away, agreeing.
Smile over-bright, you touched his smooth cheek a moment too long, before pushing past him back towards the house.
He allowed the afterglow of his daydream to wash over him only a moment before he jogged go catch up with you.
-
The quilt on Jack’s bed had chickens on it, of all things. It was one of those that had clearly been homemade, years and years ago, taken care of, but worn at the edges with memories and use. One pillow had a dent for his head, the other was squashed into an unrecognizable shape
You didn’t know that it wasn’t like that, before. That his arms had only started searching for something to hold onto since you had been around.
All of his room was new to you – it made you feel strange, realizing that for weeks you’d been in his home but not this part of his space.
The afternoon his mother came, he’d been called into the field. You had never quite seen the look on his face as he reasoning fell on deaf ears – desperation and frustration like ants ruining honey on a picnic. The flannel across his back bunched as his shoulders had filled with tension before he stripped it off to change into his work clothes. Jack kissed his mothers cheek and spewed instructions for the both of you, some apologies spilling out and others kept just behind his eyes as he grasped your hand.
His final command was for your ears alone -  that you take his room, and you’d been too panicked to refuse. The last three days, the smell of him and the memorabilia  scattered around the space kept you company when his mother went to sleep and you slept in his bed for the first time, alone.
It was surprising how sentimental he was. His hooks had another cowboy hat on them, a little wider, brown, and considerably more worn. There was a stack of printed photos in a little box by his bed – it was open, and some of the photos had oil-worn fingerprints along the edges. You found ones of you, and your heart flipped inside your chest.
You should have realized it was impossible to deny yourself, your feelings, with him surrounding you like this. Each thing you learned, each reminder of him practically reached off of the walls, as if he were there, coaxing your heart into his hands. It felt silly, almost, that you even tried to ignore it - you had missed him the moment his hand left yours. Now you had all the time to process, surrounded by his neatly folded shirts and the line of his favorite boots.
The idealized illusion of your relationship had only lasted half a day of living with his mother. Her warm brown eyes were too much like her son’s – you couldn’t lie to them. It was good though, for her to hold your hand a listen to you talk as the birds gossiped outside the window and steam seeped out of the pie you helped her bake. Miraculously, she wasn’t disappointed with you, commending your honestly, and explaining that if she was patient until now, then she could certainly continue to do so.
The more you talked to her, the more you suspected that she was right, all along. She helped you dig up the walls, her kind determination the shovel you needed for those concrete roots.
You would work and talk and tuck yourself into his chicken-clad blanket at night and finally, finally let yourself think of him, allow yourself to be in love with him.  You didn’t know he had started actually living in his room again, when he’d started letting himself love you. That he thought of your smile when he’d found his old quilt. Still, the more you thought, the more you could admit to yourself that maybe, just maybe, he loved you too.
That was how Jack found you - absorbed in your thoughts - the whiskey in his hand as forgotten as the mission and the agent he’d played for the past seventy eight hours and twenty one minutes.
He watched through the half open door, words failing him as you sat up, startled and the way your eyes searched for injuries made him want to eat you alive. 
There was nothing that could’ve prepared him for the sight of you in his bed, even though he had told you to be there and three days to daydream about it. It was intensely intoxicating, having someone care for you so intimately. 
With his sheets sliding down around your waist, you looked as good as the pie on the counter, as if a single snapshot could encompass everything he wanted home to be.
You were wearing a shirt he’d given you, years ago, and he swallowed, hard.
“Are you up for that talk?” his voice was rough. It would have been nice, to relish in the feeling of you checking him over, attention on him as he unwound, but he couldn’t wait. This moment was three days overdue.
“I told your mom we aren’t dating,” you blurted and he smiled, having guessed as much. Smoothing the blanket, your hand patted the spot next to you, your legs crossing.
In that, Jack knew something had changed since he left you. The flickering fear had fled your eyes, and you seemed settled into your skin more than ever before.
He sat next to you, having played over how this talk would go a million times, and still not finding the right words. Confidence was easier to find when he was flirting, poking at you, but seemed foreign in the din lights of his bedroom. Instead he shifted trying to lean back with his arm along the headboard, hoping he didn’t seem like a teenager trying to buy himself time.
You began to talk, saving him, and all the things you’d processed with his mama tumbled out of you before you were realizing that you were confessing how much he truly meant you. In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been strange how comfortable you felt, but in the moment, you were in awe.
Jack was as handsome as always, if a little roughed up, like he’d worn the same clothes a few days in a row. You wanted to run your fingers over the short, patchy beard he had going, and without a second thought, you did, feeling his cheeks move as he smiled crookedly and leaned into the touch.
There was only a moment of quiet, crickets outside, before he said, “I missed you, too.” And then, “Will you stay, sweetheart?”
When you whispered, “Where else would I go?” he kissed you.
It was late, and there were still words unsaid, questions to be answered, but you both let yourselves get lost, exploring each other. Long moments passed, letting all the pent up yearning overflow like cool water after a long, hot day. Then the next steps came out, whispered between kisses and as he moved over you, shucking the final walls between you, you found yourselves actually dating, and maybe even actually living together. 
Old fairy tales and historic romances played in the back of your mind, inserting their logic into your life like had never quite made sense before.
And you wondered if you had time in the morning, and his mama didn’t give you too much grief, if he would let you help him shave, and eat pie for breakfast. Because for the life of you, you couldn’t think of a single reason why not.
<<
Taglist:
@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @0celestialbitch0 @beautyagegoodnesssize
57 notes · View notes
internalsealpanic · 3 years
Text
The Thorn pt.1
summary: “Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”
 or my 6 thousand word essay on why I want more Sugar daddy!Slade fics.
a/n: This is just straight up smut Never combine stress thirst plus an amazing enabler. Thanks to @littleredwing89 for basically co-writing. Also I need more case fics with undercover gentlemen’s clubs stuff.  I will edit this for grammar later. 
warnings: mentions of murder and sexual assault (for the case), mirror sex, collars, oral (male receiving), choking, kind of public sex?, size kink (this is to be expected at this point), strength kink,  reader is kind of a dumbass, and praise kink. 
villain’s masterlist or masterlist
Saying this wasn’t your scene would be like saying the sun is bright. Obvious but wholly inadequate in describing just how out of your depth you are. You cross your arms over your chest in a futile attempt to shield them from prying eyes. The soft fabric of your lingerie feeling too little in contrast to the men clad in expensive suits leering at you as they passed your skittish form.
 You try to swallow down the nervousness. You try to tell yourself this is fine, that it’s just for the case. But the silk collar tied tightly around your neck and your own fraying nerves made it extremely difficult to ignore just how vulnerable you felt. 
 God, what made your awkward ass think you could pull this off?
 You lift your head, eyeing the other men and women around you. You all wore matching silk ribbons tied into bows behind your neck, a circular, silver tag hanging off of it. You wrinkle your nose at how young some of them look. Some barely look old enough to be anywhere near a place like this. 
 Part of you feels thankful that you shut Nicky’s idea down to go with a leather lingerie set but the stark contrast of your lacy lingerie set made you stand out too much in the sea of leather. It made you stand out just enough to color both your cheeks and ears from the amount of attention you were getting. You close your eyes trying to ignore the heat permeating from your skin. You try to focus on the details of the case. 
 For the last 8 months, there’s been an increase in the number of young men and women going missing and turning up dead. The assumption had been that it was due to the increase in gang activity but something felt off about the deaths. 
 Nothing was consistent. The victim type, the area, and even the M.O. of sexual assault were varied. Only the mode of death was even close to being consistent but even that presented its own problems. The injuries were too clean, too efficient for the killer to have drawn any pleasure from it especially when contrasted with the victims’ other injuries.  Normally people who make those injuries have a certain type and a certain way of doing things. And the clean efficiency of the disposal method had easily ruled out any of the local gangs. 
 When you brought all of this up to your boss, he waved you off saying something about looking into it. Somehow not getting fired after screaming at your boss (probably because you’re one of the few crime scene techs willing to stay in this shithole), you decide to conduct your own investigation. The more clues you uncovered (out of sheer spite) the more they seemed to point to an organized crime group, likely involved in trafficking.
 Finally, after a month and a half of searching, you found a solid lead. Augustus Klineberg. Despite the name, he was new money. At least, here in Merit.  
 “I’m his type!”
 “And so are a dozen bodies laying around in the lab, what’s your point?”
 “Sita, got me a part-time job at the Thorn.”
 It hadn’t been easy. The thorn was an exclusive gentlemen’s club that specialized in certain kinks. It had taken Sita a week to even get you an interview but after that they eagerly accepted you with worrying enthusiasm. Either way, this conversation was simply a formality. 
 Bernard stares at you and you watch as his entire being crumples into the dining room table. He turns to his husband pleadingly. “Nicky, Please, my love, talk some sense into her.”
 You turn to Nicky who is innocently sipping from his coffee mug filled with whatever ungodly creation came to Bernard in the dead of night. He tilts his head back seemingly collecting the right words. “Y/n has a point.”
 “No! Not you too!”
 “Yes!”
 “Bern, think about it. Klineberg would never suspect her and unlike most of Klineberg’s victims, Y/n is a ninja gremlin.”
 Bernard gives him a withering look while you snort. Nicky shrugs and continues to drink his, what you assumed was, liquid crack. 
 “Y/n, are you sure about this? The Thorn- Well, it isn’t exactly like your other undercover jobs.” You give both of them a cocky smile, biting into your mini waffle. “It can’t be that hard. All I have to do is sit there and look pretty.” At that little remark, Nicky burst out into a fit of laughter loud enough to wake the neighbors. 
You run your hand through your hair still, feeling flustered. You need air. 
 “Hey Nina, I’m gonna need like maybe 5 minutes.”
 “Sure, just don’t blame me for whatever excuse I give the bossman,” Nina says, shrugging at you. She flips her red curls over her shoulder, winking at a patron and tilting her hips to show off her curves. Both you and the patron are slack-jawed and entranced. Maybe you should try that sometime? Some time being after you stop gawking at Nina’s ass and probably also after you take in some air. 
 You shuffle away awkwardly keeping your eyes to the ground. You shrink into yourself easily as you cut through the crowd. This case was going to be the death of you and Bernard’s eulogy would just be a very short but satisfying ‘I told you so’. 
 Mercifully, you find a quieter area. You would have preferred to go outside but standing alone in a dark alley in skimpy underwear might be a bad idea. You flatten yourself against a wall and close your eyes. Maybe you could tell them you aren’t feeling well which isn’t entirely untrue. You felt sick being this vulnerable. You should probably leave before you do something stupid. 
 A hand on your wrist drags you back to reality. It takes absolutely everything in you not to break his wrist. You open your eyes to see Klineberg hoovering in your personal space. 
 “Are you ok?” He asks, the concern in his voice sounding synthetic. You try to wriggle out of his hold not bothering to hide your discomfort. You note how his smile seems to get bigger as you struggled more. Clearly, he was enjoying your discomfort. 
   “Thanks for finding her for me. The manager said she’d be in this general area but it’s quite hard to see with just one eye.” Slade says casually, settling a large hand on the man’s shoulder. Your heart stops. Of all the people you had to run into-
  Klineberg eyes him skeptically. You have to respect him for that. You’ve faced Slade several times before, only making it out due to luck or hours of planning. If you were Klineberg, you’d be pissing yourself. Despite the almost friendly expression Slade had on him, you can tell this wasn’t up for negotiation. And apparently, so can Klineberg seeing how he dropped your hand. 
 Slade waves a neatly dressed man over. The man eyes you appraisingly and your heart takes an express elevator to your throat. Were you that obviously out of place? 
 “We’ll be taking a room.”
 “Of course, sir,” The man answers politely, finally, taking his eyes off of you and handing Slade a key. 
 Wait. We?
 Slade starts walking without a word, the crowd parting for him easily.  You briefly look back at Klineberg who is still looking at you like he’s going to tear you apart with his bare hands before following Slade.  
 You walk behind him wordlessly. Your mind is still reeling from the fact that Slade ‘Deathstroke: The Terminator’ Wilson just saved you from your target and your own terrible acting and is mortified by the fact that he has now seen you in skimpy lingerie. The steps you take are measured, making sure to stick close to him but not too close.  You keep your eyes to the ground as you walk behind him, hoping it’s enough to hide the expressions cycling through your face. 
 You two enter a room. It was unexpectedly spacious even under the dim neon lights. You look around finding the room furnished with expensive decorations looking nothing like the seedy gentlemen’s clubs you’ve busted before save for the pole in the middle of the room. It looked more akin to an expensive hotel bar, again, save for the pole. The darkness of the room and the quiet flow of the music set quite the intimate atmosphere which just made you that more skittish. 
 Slade makes his way across the room, eyes searching the corners and spaces of the room. He nods seemingly satisfied with the setup and likely not spotting any recording devices. Your stiff shoulders loosen a bit, if nothing else you could at least speak plainly now. 
 Slade takes his suit jacket off, revealing broad shoulders and the outline of strong back muscles. Your throat dries. Something warm stirs in you and you’re gawking again. God, you really need a better reaction to attractive people. 
 Slade holds out a glass of whiskey to you, a playful smile on his handsome face. He doesn’t seem to mind you staring at him. You swear viciously not skimping on colorful words but walk over to take the alcohol regardless. It’s on his tab and you honestly needed some alcohol in your system if you’re going to talk to him.
 “So, working for the cops not work out for you?”
 “Nah, my last sugar daddy just kicked the bucket, so I’m looking for a new one,” you say, giving Slade a wry smile.  You watch him cross one leg over another easing into a relaxed position through the wall. It was polished to a mirror shine. You guess that’s the kind of thing rich people liked. 
 “Hmmm, that can be arranged.” You choke on your drink. You scowl at him. He simply shrugs at you taking a sip of his whiskey. 
 You hear the door open, forcing you to pretend to be civil. A man around your age, dressed in a classic waiter’s outfit comes in with a tray of whiskey and two glasses. You don’t know how but you can tell the whiskey is worth more than your apartment. This doesn’t help your urge to punch Slade. 
“Will you be requiring any special toys tonight, sir?” The straightforward tone of the question makes you stiffen more than anything. The man’s eyes flicker towards you but his focus remains squarely on Slade who eyes you openly before smiling and saying “No, thanks, Anthony. I think we’ll be just fine.”
 "If you say so, sir. Please feel free to let us know if you need anything." 
 You wait for Anthony to leave before turning the full force of your scowl at Slade.“How the hell did you know his name?”
 Slade regards you impassively over the rim of his glass. You refuse to break eye contact.  He raises his hands in mock surrender.  “Alright, Kitten, you caught me. I do frequent this club quite a bit.”
 “You kinky shit.”
 He eyes you again, his eye clearly tracing your curves. “I’m not the one sitting here in their underwear with a collar on. Speaking of which-” Slade nods his head towards something in front of both of you. 
 You look at the pole, blinking dumbly as a smile spreads across his face. He tips his head to it. “I did pay for your time and the customer is always right.”
 Your mouth twists into a snarl as the tips of your ears run red. “You are insufferable.”
 “Don’t make me call the manager.” You sigh at the unspoken ‘it is definitely going to blow your cover and get you shot. At best.’ and begrudgingly you make your way to the pole. 
 You grip the pole in front of you, flexing your fingers against the cold metal. Anxiety thrums under your skin. Your eyes flick nervously to Slade who’s got the audacity to sit comfortably, sip whiskey, and smirk at you as if he was completely in his element. 
 “No need to be shy. Be a good girl and give us a good show,” he says, winking at you. Your hackles rise and your face pulls into a frown before rearranging itself into a sultry smile. You put one heel in front of you, hooking your leg around the pole and grinding your clothed sex into the metal in an undulating motion that has Slade clenching his hand around his glass. You try your hardest to grin and you suspect you’ve failed. Not that Slade’s noticed considering his eye is laser-focused on your ass. 
 With your one leg on the floor, you push yourself into a spin. Your body tips back as your hand runs down your face, chest, and abdomen drawing attention to the plains of exposed skin and delicate fabric accenting your shape. Pulling your body back up, you let your body slide down to the floor. Your legs split as soon as you made contact with the floor giving him a full view of your ass. He whistles appreciatively, tilting his head. You watch him through thick lashes, eyes bright and predatory under the neon lights. You roll onto your hand and knees. He smiles down at you watching the sweat drip down the valley of your breasts.  You were a sight to behold. 
 Slade pats his knee. “Come here, kitten.” Hunger flashes in his blue eye. It sends a warm shock through your system. It’s odd being looked at like that but you can’t feel yourself getting too concerned over it. Not when it sends a pleasant hum through your mind. 
 You crawl towards him in time with the movement, slow and steady in its place. Stopping in front of him. A large hand grasps your chin, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.  
 You sit on his lap, hand grasping his broad shoulder. Embarrassment floods back into your system now that you’re this close, now that you had the full force of that hungry gaze on you. You feel your skin heat and the weight of his gaze makes your stomach flip. 
 Seduction was other people’s gig, not yours. 
 Large hands settle on your waist, pressing circles into your skin. The buzzing feeling in your brain returns and you refocus on your task. His hands slide down the side of your body, fingers digging into your hips. His hands follow the circular motions your hips make on his crotch and guides you over the growing bulge. You hear his breath catch and hiss as you grind down on his crotch. You wrap your hands around the silk tie dangling from his neck and roughly pull him into a kiss.  
 His fingers dig into the meat of your ass drawing an embarrassingly loud yelp from you and giving him access to your mouth. You suck on his tongue and receive a pleased groan from him. Your tongues wrestle for control as he kneads your ass, making you mewl and moan into the kiss. You break the kiss needing air while Slade admires his work. 
 When Slade dips in for another kiss, you pull away pushing off of his broad chest a flirty smile dancing across your features. You turn from him, heels clicking against the floor as your show off the lushness of your figure.  In the mirror, you see Slade settling back into his position and grinning at the corners of the room again. His arms relax on the back of the couch. 
You close your eyes and let the music swallow you whole. You don’t dare hazard a glance at the mirror. You sashay your hips to the music, loosening your tense muscles. You open your eyes giving Slade your best seductive smile. You run your hands up your body, tangling into your hair. 
 You bite your lip as you slide them back down. Your fingers catch against the collar. Slade’s mouth twists.  
 You ease your arms out of your bra and let it drop to the floor. Your nipples pebble in the cold night air. The sight of them makes the corners of Slade’s mouth twitch. You push past the warmth stirring in your stomach in favor of trailing your hands down your body. Your fingers toy with the straps of your panties, watching as Slade licks his lips in anticipation.  You slide the flimsy garment down your legs, bending over and giving him a good view of your wet pussy through the mirror. 
 Stepping out of them, you toss them at Slade, who just to be an asshole, catches and pockets them. He grins at you and shrugs unapologetically. You scowl at him putting as much venom into your features as much as possible.      
You sway your lush hips in time with the music, letting the slow beat dictate the rhythm of your movements as you saunter towards him. You swallow, the silk collar still wound tightly around your neck. The intensity of his gaze makes you painfully aware of your nakedness but the embarrassment heating your skin shoots straight to your core, making you shudder. 
 Reaching him, you straddle his thighs, your plump ass grazing over his growing bulge. You moan, mouth-watering at the sensation. Your mind dwells on the feeling, your insides growing slick at the thought of him inside you. 
 Your fingers trail up your thighs and up over your stomach. You watch as his eye follows the slow tantalizing movement. His large hands grip onto the plush headrest of the couch, squeezing them as his face twists just a smidge with a mix of exertion and frustration. 
 You give him a playful smile as you slow the gyrating of your hips. A growl rumbles from his chest and you snap your hips back against his erection, the loose movement of your body hypnotic like ocean waves. Tipping your head back into his shoulder, exposing the column of your throat to him. Your hips continue to undulate against him, feeling the deep bass of the music ripple through your body along with the shockwaves of heat coming from your core as you grind it against his bulge. The coarse feeling of the fabric against your core making your knees grow weak.  
 A sinful moan tumbles out of your lips followed closely by breathy panting. You let your eyes slide shut soaking up the sensation of his suit against your skin. You reach behind you hooking your arms around Slade’s broad shoulders to steady yourself as your press closer to his large form. He presses his lips to your neck, the prickle of his beard against your skin making you shiver. “Yeah, just like that, kitten,” he murmurs against your skin, a large hand settling on your thigh.
 You push further into him. You grind your hips, the movement deep and slow. Your hand tangles in his hair, gently guiding him to your lips. Your lips move against each other just as your bodies do, slow and sensual. You catch his lips between your teeth, nipping at it. He chuckles at your invitation, sliding his tongue inside your mouth and joining your lips once again. Below you, you feel another large hand hook onto your thigh. Both hands grip your thighs fiercely pulling them further apart, exposing your sopping pussy to the cold night air. 
 Slade breaks away from your kiss, his panting breaths hot fanning your face. You stare at each other with half-lidded eyes, lust bright in them even in the low light. He captures your lips again in a quick kiss before planting one on your shoulder. “Play with yourself,” he says, the command steady and rough against your ear. 
 The tone of his voice makes you shiver as you reluctantly release your hold on his shoulders. Keeping one hand tangled in his hair, you slowly slide your hand down your body, mewling into his skin when you reach into your neglected folds. You slip two fingers in immediately. You shudder and bite your lips trying to stop any obscene sounds from escaping. 
 A hand tilts your chin, coaxing you. “Good girl, look at yourself. Look just how wet you are just for me, kitten,” Slade says, nibbling at your ear. You yelp, your hips bucking into your hand, ass rolling against his member. You watch yourself in the mirror red-faced, open-mouthed, and sinful. Your dripping sex is in full view only obscured by your hand as your fingers dip in and out of your core. Slade’s eye never leaves the mirror even as he plants kisses against your skin. His large hand grasps your neck making sure you don’t look away from the mirror. You think of how easily he could break you and you feel like you’re on fire. 
 You're so close.  You’re so so close. You can even see the desperation carving itself so plainly on your face. Anxiety and arousal mix into a potent cocktail in your gut. The nervousness from earlier rearing its ugly head. You whine in frustration, adding in a third finger but you can’t seem to reach over the edge. You hear him chuckle behind you and see him grin into your skin. At least, one of you was having fun. 
 He gives your shoulder another rough kiss, leaving a mark before speaking. “Having some trouble, kitten?” You wrinkle your nose at his tone but...in truth, you were. You bite your lip not knowing what to say. You’re so close but… the venue made you shy and that was an entirely different problem.  Using the hand on your neck, Slade tilts your head towards him, the heat from his lips ghosting over yours. “All you have to do is ask for help, kitten,” he murmurs against your lips. The vibrations send another shockwave of desperation wreaking havoc throughout your already oversensitive body. 
 He tilts your head back to look at the mirror. You can feel your ears warm at the thought of begging but you’re a hair’s breadth away from your end. Biting your lips and furrowing your brow, you take a steadying breath but it still comes out breathy when you exhale due to the hand squeezing your thigh drifting closer to your core. He presses slow circles into your inner thigh with his thumb, his teeth nibbling at your shoulder leaving marks. A vicious curse leaves your lips blunted by a moan that follows it. 
 “Slade, please. Please. Sir, please.”
 “Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”
 You tighten your grip on his hair and roll your hips against his. He growls in your ear but he doesn’t budge. “Use your words, kitten,” he commands, sounding far more patient than he actually is. You whimper, rocking against him. He holds you still, fingers digging into your flesh and body leaning into yours. “Words.”
 You pant, hot breaths loud in your ears. Whether it was his or your own you were hearing, you didn’t know and didn’t care, not when your head was jumbled with the buzzing under your skin. You swallow. His eye following the movement of your throat and the silver glint of your tag winking at you in the mirror. “Slade- Sir, please- Please, I need you. I need you inside me.”
 “That wasn’t too hard now was it?” He says capturing your lips in a rough kiss. You scream against his lips when you feel two large calloused fingers thrust into your core, stretching you replacing the ache in your core with a burning stretch. Slade releases you, steadying you so that your eyes are once again on the mirror. You both watch as his fingers pump in and out of you, the room filling up with your moans. “Keep your eyes on the mirror and watch as I make you cum.”
 He presses his thumb against your clit. The syllables of his name coming out garbled and incoherent. You cum with a whimper. Your body shakes uncontrollably, your bones melting. Your lungs take in greedy gulps of oxygen feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of them. Slade lets your head lull back against his shoulder. You press little kisses against the powerful muscles of his neck. “Thank you, sir.”
 Slade removes his fingers from your pussy, leaving you feeling empty. “Clean up the mess you made,” he orders, pressing wet fingers against your lips. You open your mouth letting them in. You slide your eyes shut and swirl your tongue around them. You bob your head taking them in deep. You moan, rocking your hips against his still hard cock, letting yourself imagine what it would be like to take him into your mouth. Your enthusiasm earns you a hiss from Slade. You smile as you continue to suck on his fingers and rock your body, the fire in the pit of your stomach reigniting. You flutter your eyes open. In the mirror, you see Slade, brow raised and mouth wrangled into a shape of wry amusement. “See, I knew you were a good girl,” he says voice strained. You grind your ass into him as you moan around his fingers. You gasp when a rough hand grasps your breast, nipple pinched between calloused fingers. 
 “Are you that hungry for my cock, kitten?” he asks, removing his fingers from your lips. Both your lips and his fingers glisten with your saliva. You nod not trusting your voice to be steady. He thankfully accepts it.  
 “Well, have at it,” he says, hands repositioning themselves on the back of the couch easing into a more relaxed position and looking as smug as humanly possible. He really is getting his money’s worth out of this. You shift your body making sure you brush up against his erect member as you did so. He looks almost pained when you finally face him. You drag your hands up and down his shirt, his muscles barely hidden by the soft silky material. You lick your lips, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. You slide yourself down his body, hands kneading and worshipping every stretch of muscle they come across. Fuck, they feel so good to your touch. 
 Getting to your knees, you rest your cheek against his knee. You let mischief shape your features. He quirks his brow at you, tilting his strong jaw urging you to move on. You massage his thighs as you pull yourself up. You undo his belt tossing it to the side. You pinch the zipper of his pants between your teeth and pull it down, grinning as you do it. Slade lifts his hips a bit to help you ease his pants and boxers down. Your mouth waters visibly when his cock springs free in all its glory. You gulp audibly as you figure the logistics of fitting all of it into your mouth. 
 “Take your time, Kitten. I’ve requested you for the whole night. We have time.” He drawls, smug. You roll your eyes at him finally deciding that head-on was the only way to tackle this. You lick a strip up his member paying special attention to the large vein running down the middle. You flick your eyes up to him, seeing his muscles tense. You grasp the base of his cock tight in your hand, kissing the tip and giving the slit a long, languid lick. The taste of precum wakes your taste buds. You hum, sucking lightly at the head, your hand twisting up and down his cock. His jaw tightens, the strain of keeping his hips still tightening the muscles of his thighs. 
 You spread your legs wide as you sink your head down taking him in and giving him a good view of your wet pussy. You take him in as far as you can, gagging when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. The corners of your eyes sting with tears. You still yourself, letting your throat relax around him. You pull yourself back up. Your plush lips massage his length as you go and your warm hand not trailing far behind. You keep your mouth on the head of his cock before sinking back down. His sheer girth is sure to make your jaw ache but you couldn’t make yourself care, not when you’re growing wetter the more you worship his cock. Slade for his part looked like he was gonna tear the couch apart every time you sank down to take is cock on, the fluttering walls of your throat driving him up the wall. The soft music of the room was now barely audible against the mingling sounds of your moans. Slade’s unrestrained voice was dripped with whiskey and sin. 
 His cock twitches in your throat and it’s the only warning you get before cum splashes against the back of your throat and fills your mouth. You choke but when your eyes meet his, the muscles of your throat work automatically to swallow his load. The movement followed closely by his eye. You pull back, light-headed. He grabs your chin, tilting it up to inspect your mouth. He hums satisfied.  “Kitten, that mouth of yours is definitely worth more than the price of admission.” He says brushing a thumb against your bottom lip as you pant. 
 A familiar ache in your core returns when your eyes land on Slade’s still hardened cock.  
 “Of course, a little cockslut like you wouldn’t be satisfied ‘til you’ve been filled,” he chuckles pulling you into his lap so that you’re facing the mirror, your dripping pussy hovering over his saliva covered cock. The throbbing head teasing against your sensitive folds. He kisses your shoulder, his teeth pinching your skin leaving another red bruise. You whine as he guides your hips, moving them to ever so slightly brush your core against his cock. 
 “Sir, please. I need you. I- I need you to fuck me,” you beg, hands tangling in his hair and eyes watching his member in pained hunger. You sound so needy but you also needed him inside you filling you up. 
 Slade hums in your ear approvingly. He pinches your ear lobe between his teeth, making you keen. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” That was the only warning you got before his hands guide your hips down onto his engorged cock. Your walls flutter with every inch, stretching you with every inch. A hand cups your breast while he continues to guide you down onto his cock. Rough calloused fingers knead your breast as he whispers compliments into your skin in between kisses. The cacophony of sensations is almost too much for you. 
 “Such a good cockslut, look at how well that tight cunt of yours is taking me in.” You roll your hips, urging him to quicken his maddeningly slow pace. He simply chuckles at your attempt as both his hands steady your hips. You almost cry in relief when he finally bottoms out. You pant savoring the burning stretch tearing at your insides. Pleasure and pain mingling in your sense.  
 Slade rests his chin against your shoulder, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “Kitten, I want to watch you fuck yourself on my cock,” he says, in a low commanding tone making you shiver and leaving no room for arguments. You grip on to his arms, nails digging into the meat of his muscle, to steady yourself. You lean forward to get yourself into a better angle. 
 Ah ah ah
 Breathy moans and the slap of skin against skin filled the air as you roll your hips against his. You watch yourself in the mirror, breasts bouncing, mouth hanging open, and tongue lolling out getting lost in the pleasure. The mixture of shadow and light highlighting and isolating the frantic need carving itself onto both of your faces. The coil in your stomach twists as your eyes meet his in the mirror. Icy blues trailing up and down your body possessively.   
 His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing it gently as he trails kisses up your spine. Your hips stutter, your walls squeezing around his cock. “You like that?” he whispers into your ear, putting just the tiniest bit more pressure around your neck. You feel your walls flutter around him and he moans in your ear. His other hand squeezes at your hip, nails digging into your soft flesh.     
 With a growl, he snaps his hips against yours almost violent in its intensity. You let out a loud yelp. Slade jackhammers into you like a madman, pummeling your pussy. His tongue dragging against your sweat-covered skin.  “Cum with me, Kitten,” he grinds out, nipping at your ear. Your pussy clenches and unclenches around him trying to squeeze his cock, gripping him as if not wanting to let go of it. He bites a hickey into your neck and you feel the coil in your stomach burst. You feel a flood of warmth fill your aching core as Slade lets himself go. 
 He turns your body around to face him, careful not to separate you two. He pulls you into a deep kiss as both of you ride out your orgasms. 
 Your body slumps against Slade’s, head resting on his shoulder and chest pressing against his. Your breaths come out in puffs fanning against his neck. Slade presses a kiss to your forehead. You yawn and kiss his throat, his pulse hot against your lips. 
 “Satisfied?” he asks, pulling your wrist to his lips nipping and leaving marks on it. You wonder just how many marks he’s left on you and if he’s technically allowed to do that. It just seems bad for business. 
 “Yes, sir,” you answer, nuzzling into his shoulder. He chuckles, rubbing his large hands soothingly over your aching muscles. He holds you tenderly for a while, both of you basking in the afterglow.  
 Through thick lashes, you see Slade look at his watch. You whine when he starts to shift. Wrapping your arms around him, you press your body closer. You see his brow wrinkle and have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. Sucker. 
 Slade gives you another kiss as he reluctantly extricates himself from your warmth. You shiver at the motion. Your oversensitive walls flutter making him groan. You whimper at the feeling of emptiness as he gently places you on the soft cushions of the couch. He places another kiss on your forehead then your shoulder then your wrist as he drapes his jacket over you. “Sorry, kitten, I have some business I need to take care of,” he says tucking himself back into his pants. “But if you feel like a repeat performance, feel free to come back,” he continues, fixing his shirt as he grins down at you. Your stomach flips despite how tired you feel. 
 You watch him walk away then stop. “Oh and I’ll be keeping these,” he teases, holding up your panties and tucking them back into his pocket. You try to sit up intent on throwing the entire bottle of whiskey at him but your limbs fail you, still feeling like jelly.
  The next time you open your eyes is when you feel someone patting your cheek lightly. 
 “March,” Anthony’s voice comes out in a haze. It takes a second for your mind to recognize the name as your alias. You take a deep breath trying to quell the panic from being woken up. 
 “What time is it?”
 “A quarter past one.”
 Good, you’ve only been asleep for an hour.  
 “Thanks.”
 “You’re pretty lucky. Looks like Mr. Wilson was feeling generous,” Anthony laughs, thumb pointing to the stack of cash by the whiskey. 
 That asshole. 
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Thanks for reading! 
a/n: This will be a 3 part series because I am thirsty as hell. 
  Tag list:  @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage , @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical
230 notes · View notes
yuckydraws · 3 years
Note
A writing prompt, hmm? Why don't you try writing some fluff with horror sans? (he's one of your favorites right?) Maybe going on a picnic?
He very much is one of my faves<3 thanks for the prompt bro!!
Okay so this is mostly fluff but I threw the tiniest bit of angst in there, but it’s very mild (tbh I’m not sure I could even call it angst). Just to give it some plot;)
Also sorry for the awkward spacing I pasted this from Google docs and tumblr is being difficult >:(
(HT!Sans/reader)
•••••••
“Hey, how willing would you be to put on this blindfold and come with me?” You ask your skeleton boyfriend as you lounge on the couch, blindfold in hand.
“.... huh?” Sans blinks at you in confusion. He was on his way to sit on the couch when you spring the question on him. It stops him in his tracks, leaving him to stand awkwardly in the middle of the living room.
“I said, how willing are you to put on this blindfold and come with me?” You repeat yourself, holding up the blindfold excitedly. Yeah that might not be the best way to phrase it, but hey, you’ve made it this far - might as well commit. He stares at the offending object, squinting a bit with his one eyelight.
“... no.”
“C'mon, please?”
“no.”
“Please?”
“no.”
“Why not?” You pout and he gets a twinge of maroon on his cheekbones.
“... why do i need… to wear a blindfold?” He asks while averting his gaze from your pout. You take it in stride and instead shift your position on the couch to meet his gaze again, smiling up at him.
“Because it’s a surprise!”
“don’t like surprises…” Despite his words, it’s obvious you’re wearing him down.
“It’s a good surprise!”
Sans doesn’t look entirely convinced. You stand up and grab one of his large hands in both of your small ones (at least small compared to his), and give him a reassuring squeeze.
“I promise.” You both don’t use this word lightly.
Sans stares down at you.
You stare back.
“... ok.” He caves.
“Yay! Now lean down big guy, I need to be able to tie this.” He complies, staring at you until his sockets are eventually covered. You’re careful of the gaping hole in his skull and make sure not to tie it too tight - to avoid potentially irritating his dead socket. When you finish you take advantage of his close face and kiss him on the cheek, causing him to purr and lean into the kiss.
“Pfft- you dork! C’mon, you’re gonna love it!” You say as you pull away and grab his hand to start leading him out of the front door. He was wearing his slippers, so thankfully you didn’t have to awkwardly attempt to put shoes on him. You hold back a snort at the mental image of yourself sliding shoes onto his gargantuan feet like a princess. Though you are quickly sobered when you almost trip on a porch step, leaving you to focus on helping Sans down the porch steps and leading him to your shared vehicle.
You help him get situated in the seat. In hindsight, perhaps the blindfold could’ve waited until your huge skeleton boyfriend was already in the car? Ah well, guess you both could be scatterbrained sometimes.
You smile, amused, as you remember how you both had to buy this huge van just so Sans could sit comfortably.
It’s a struggle but he’s eventually in his seat, buckled and relaxed, while you start the van and back out of the driveway. As your drive begins you turn the radio on low - hoping to ease any nerves he may still have by giving him something to focus on, while not being loud enough to give him a headache. You glance at him, feeling a bit nervous.
You guys have been dating for about four years now, and you couldn’t be happier! After three years of dating (and Papyrus going off to medical school) you both bought a small little house in the outskirts of Ebott city, and the past year had been domestic bliss for the two of you. Of course, you’ve had your ups and downs, but overall Sans has been the sweetest boyfriend you’ve ever had. He may not be much of a conversationalist, but he makes up for that with his actions. That one game you had mentioned you wanted to play once? It was on your shared nightstand a few days later. That snack he knows you like? The house is always stocked with them. Having a bad day? He will not hesitate to draw you a nice bath, pamper you, and/or initiate cuddles and kisses.
No matter what, he always finds a way to express his love for you, and lately you’ve been feeling undeserving of this almost? No that’s not the right word. You just felt like you could be doing more. Because you, on the other hand, are amazing with your words. You enjoy watching his face turn that beautiful deep maroon and hearing his purrs stutter the more he’s flustered by your words. You love to see him relax in your arms as you give him words of affirmation and assurance on bad days. You remind him of your love for him everyday and you give him all the sweet nothings he could ever want, but acts of service has always been a struggle for you. Of course, Sans never seems bothered and he’s never given you the impression that he wants more from you, but you want to try because he absolutely deserves it.
You also may have found his little pocketbook full of notes he takes throughout the day full of notes about you, your jokes, your stories, and little things you had mentioned. Due to his unfortunate head injury, he wasn’t always the best at remembering certain little things. You knew he was working on getting better, but you never pressured him to tell you how - it seemed like he didn’t want to share. You honestly felt bad you had found the book and snooped, but seeing just how much he writes about you in the notes more than anything else was just too sweet. It almost made you cry. Almost.
Ah who are you kidding? You definitely teared up.
So, you planned a little surprise date, full of his favorite things combined. The outdoors, food, and you - a picnic by the lake a little bit away from your home. After the hell monsters went through underground, most of them have a deep appreciation for the sky and full bellies (or what would be akin to a belly for them). Sans is no different, so you were hoping he’d take a liking to it.
“... how long... will the surprise take?” The question surprised you a bit, not only because it pulled you out of your musings, but because he’s usually very patient. That is, until you take in his stiff posture and realize the issue. Dinnertime is soon and he doesn’t quite know when you both will be eating.
“Don’t worry hon, we’ll have food soon,” You feel okay letting that bit of the surprise known. Despite being on the surface for almost seven years, Sans tends to get very nervous when you guys don’t stick to a schedule with meals. No need to keep him anxious. Especially considering you were pulling into the clearing of the lakeside. “In fact, we’re here!”
You put the van in park and tell Sans to wait for a second. Hopping out, you walk to the back of the van and open the back doors to grab the picnic basket you had packed. Once you make your way closer to the lakeside you quickly lay out the picnic blanket as well as place a folded blanket nearby in case it got a bit chilly. You then set up the food for a cute presentation, leaving the last part of the surprise you had for Sans in the basket. Jogging back to the van, you open Sans’ door to see he had already unbuckled himself. Guess he’s a bit more excited for the surprise than he let on earlier.
“Come on big guy, you’ve waited long enough” You grab his hand, help him out of the van and start leading him to the blacket set up.
“Can you lean down again?” You ask when you get to it. He does so and you gently take off his blindfold, making sure the fabric doesn’t catch on his skull injury or the rough bone near his dead socket. Once it’s off you gesture dramatically to the blanket. “Ta da!”
Sans stands straight up again and blinks a bit, overlooking the blanket at first, expecting something more near his sightline. Following where you're gesturing however, his eyelight eventually lands on the picnic blanket below. He still looks a bit confused. You were prepared for this type of reaction, many human activities such as picnics can be completely foreign to monsters - same for some monster activities being completely foreign to humans. You guys have had your fair share of these moments where you both have had to do a bit of explaining.
“what…?” He looks at you for an answer.
“It’s called a picnic. You pack food, take it to a scenic area, lay down a blanket, sit down, and eat. It’s sort of considered a cheesy romantic date idea, but I like them and I thought you would too... in fact I should’ve thought to take you on one of these sooner in our relationship! I actually had this idea last month, but it was too cold… also, most of the time picnics are a lunchtime date, but I like them during the sunset. It’s been awhile since our last date, huh?” You look up at him after your question to see him looking at the blanket with his face slightly red.
“... yeah i guess it has.” He has a small smile on his face and he stares down at the food.
You remember him getting very flustered when you would give him or buy him food at the beginning of your relationship. Since it was a scarcity down below, being willing to share food had a deeper intimate meaning for monsters. It meant that you loved them enough to offer a lifeline - food - that they so desperately clung to in its rarity. He still gets a little flustered now, but he’s been exposed to food sharing and he’s even come to enjoy it as a normal gesture. Though he seems a bit flustered now? Maybe because of the romantic undertone? Hmmmm, or maybe it’s because-
Your stomach decided to make itself known, growling loudly. You laugh, but Sans gives you an anxious look of concern, leading you to say:
“Well come on! Let’s eat!”
You don’t have to tell him twice, you’re both quickly seated and indulging on the yummy food you had made earlier today.
Sans makes sure you eat a good few bites before he digs in. There was a lot of it because, unsurprisingly, your mate has quite the appetite. But he still likes to wait for you to eat first no matter how much food there is. You didn’t even notice when he did that at the beginning of your relationship and when you finally did question him, he just said it was polite to wait for your mate to eat first. He didn’t elaborate more than that. When you researched into the topic you found that when there was a significant appetite difference and on the off chance there was access to food, it was polite for those with the bigger appetites to wait for the ones with smaller appetites to eat a bit first. Then it went into monster rankings, common folk monsters, boss monsters, different magic levels, etc. to which you got confused and pretty much gave up on the issue with a simple “fine, keep your secrets then” to your computer screen. You figured if Sans thought it was important for you to know he would have told you.
You both quickly fall into your normal dinner routine of you talking Sans’ nonexistent ears off about anything and everything and him listening closely, chuckling at your jokes and stories. You ended up telling him a story from highschool about your babysitting experiences.
“- and I mean she was freaking out. I was too. We were both responsible for this kid we were babysitting and we lost him. It was also super stressful because we had taken the kid all over town doing fun stuff like going to the zoo, the park, getting lunch - this kid could be anywhere! So we both decided after searching all over the house that we would drive and retrace our steps, starting at the last place we were.” You were telling your story with animated hand gestures, and Sans follows the movements with his eyelight. The sun was setting at this point, all the food was eaten, and you both were just enjoying each other's company.
“So, we get in the car - still freaking out mind you - and I asked my friend ‘should we just call his mom?’ and before my friend could answer I heard a little voice say, ‘why would you call my mom?’ I whipped my head around to see the kid just chilling in his carseat. Turns out we just forgot to unbuckle him and he had fallen asleep during the car ride! We were flipping the house upside down trying to find him and we hadn’t even taken him inside!” Sans broke out laughing at your dumb story, leaving you to grin.
“Oh sure it’s funny in hindsight, but I about peed my pants when we thought we lost him! I was so scared, what was I gonna tell his mom? ‘Hey Lisa, um it’s going great! Uh just thought you should know, we can’t find your kid and we may have lost him?’” Sans couldn’t stop laughing. You egged him on.
“Oh yeah, and wanna know the worst part? The little shit was old enough and clever enough to figure out what happened and we had to bribe him with ice cream to keep him quiet.” Sans let out boisterous laughter and fell back so that he was laying on the ground. You couldn’t help but join in at that point. You didn’t particularly think the story was all that funny but when Sans laughs like this, it’s infectious.
After you both calm down a bit, you look at Sans to see him gazing at you lovingly. You love this content expression he makes, when his eyelight gets all fuzzy and dilated, it makes you feel so special and loved. It’s his expression reserved only for you (and maybe that stew you made last week, he seemed to be pretty taken with that as well).
“... thank you, for tonight.”
“Dawww you big softie! Of course! It was the least I could do for you, you always make sure I’m happy and content. I wanted to give you something like that.” He blushes, but he also furrows his brows a bit.
“you don’t need to feel… like you owe me more, i do it because… i love you.” Of course, you knew this, but hearing him say it? It had you tearing up a bit. He reaches for you and you lean into his embrace, leaving you both cuddling on the ground. You sniff a bit, trying to stop the crying before it really starts.
“I know, I’ve been trying to drill that into my head, but you deserved tonight and I’m glad I went through with this. It was fun! I might plan more dates in the future. In fact I think I’m pretty good at it!” You jokingly say with all the unearned confidence in the world. Sans chuckles and pulls you closer and despite your efforts, a few happy tears do fall, leaving him to make a concerned noise.
“you okay?” He asks, and you wave away his concern.
“I’m fine, I just love you too.”
“heh… now who’s the softie?” He gently teases, pointedly ignoring the fact that he’s blushing again.
“Pfft- I guess you’re right. Literally too, I’m the one with the flesh and skin!” He erupts into laughter again.
“Easy crowd tonight.” You joke, causing him to laugh harder and you chuckle with him.
Once he calms down, you both lay in comfortable silence, before you remember your last surprise. You shoot up into a sitting position, making Sans - who was resting his eyes comfortably - let out a surprised growl. You laugh at his reaction, reassuring him that everything is fine.
“I just have one more surprise that I thought would be fun.” You dig into the picnic basket, pulling out the surprise and grabbing that extra blanket. You lay back down with Sans and pull the blanket over you guys.
“I think it should be dark enough for this,” You hand him the surprise - a handheld telescope. “It’s not as nice as the big one you have at home, but it’s a lot easier and lighter to carry around, plue we don’t have to stand.”
Sans smiles at you.
“... do you want to learn some more… constellations?”
“Absolutely I do!”
He begins to show you the visible constellations, and you proceed to make him laugh with the made up stories for them that you swear are the true origin stories. Just relaxing and goofing off, it’s moments like these where you remember just how lucky you were to be with your gentle giant, Sans.
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moxfirefly · 3 years
Note
Hi, it's me again! Can I pretty please request a fic for Abe Sapien where the reader shows him the movie The shape of water? (If you don't know what it is, it's basically a mute woman falling in love with a fish like monster, similar to Abe) and it turns into them confessing their feelings for Abe? I'm just in the mood for fluff ^^ Thank you!
Listen you have thrown me a prompt so close to my heart like my friend, I LOVE THAT MOVIE.
Rated ROMANCE (it’s about to get fluffy af here)
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A day off didn’t come often while working for the B.P.R.D and that meant it had to be taken full advantage of. Hellboy and the others were sneaking out for a night drive but you and Abe remained. It was on purpose of course, you and Abe shared a love for the simpler things in life. So, you had suggested a movie night.
Secretly nonetheless, you enjoyed spending time with Abe, alone to be more specific. You were harboring some steady feelings for him and as time progressed and you learned more about him the harder it became to deny it. Still you kept those thoughts to yourself and even though you longed to know what his heart felt when it came to you, it simply remained unspoken of.
“What are you in the mood for?” You were flipping through the library of movies as Abe settled some snacks and sat next to you. “Whatever you wish, you’ve never disappointed in your choices before” Abe was more than happy to let you take the reigns, you often recommend all sorts of movies and books. As you continued to check you landed on a movie you hadn’t seen yet but was curious about.
You held in a giggle and smiled, Abe’s gaze landed on you upon seeing the movie. “Really?” You chuckled, you were convinced if he could blush he would be right now. “Red is convinced I look at him, I don’t see it” You couldn’t help but nudge him playfully. “C’mon, let’s see what the fuzz is about, who knows maybe we’ll enjoy it” Abe settled and motioned for you to go on.
You chose the movie, its name?
The Shape of Water.
What began as a possibility to rib on Abe for his similiraties with the anfibian man in the movie quickly turned into something else.
The two of you became entranced with the story. It was enchanting, consuming and in a way it seemed to hit a little too close to home. As the romance between the mute woman and the anfibian man progressed you couldn’t help but peak looks at Abe from the corner of your eye. Abe was immersed, the story in itself was beautiful but deep within him he felt he was in fact living vicariously through this character. He harboured such romantic thoughts within his soul, romance was often something he loved to read even if he never voiced it often. His heart felt like hammering out of his chest in certain more intimate scenes.
Around the ending you took up the courage to nudge Abe with your knee. Those big dark orbes of his fell on you, there was a shyness to his posture. “I think it was beautiful, what did you think?” He moved to better address you. You felt your cheeks redden and thanked the darkness of the room for not making it so evident.
“I would’ve done the same thing, I would’ve saved him” You played with a frayed string from your jeans, you wanted to look up at Abe.
Something within you urged you to be bolder.
“I think I know exactly how she felt... when it came to him” You rubbed your hands together anxiously. “Because thats exactly how I’ve felt when it comes to you” The words were out of your mouth before you could hit the breaks and cower. The anxiety of your admission drove you to stand up abruptly. “Abe I-“ He stood as well and held your hand before you could disappear by some form of magic. “Y/N are you? Oh, you are, you meant it” The longer he held your hand the easier it all came to fruition.
Abe’s heart wanted to jackhammer out of his chest.
Movie or not, he went with his gut instead of his mind. He pulled you in and kissed you. It was something so akin to gentle it gutted you, his full lips molding against yours with so much love and want engraved in it. Your hands landed on his shoulders and before any other racing thought could crawl it’s way up into your brain, you deepened the kiss.
The movies credits continued to roll and in a way you couldn’t help but feel you had gotten the same ending.
A happy one.
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plush-rabbit · 4 years
Text
Take Care Of Yourself
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Warnings: None
Word Count: 2.6K
A/N: Not exactly what you asked for but I hope you like it!!
He sits in front of you with a tired expression written over his face, his eyes lifeless and skimming the papers in front of him. They’re placed down on the desk without so much as a flutter or crinkle of sound. He disregards your calls to him, a twitch of his fingers the only sign you’re given that he’s heard you but other than that, his face doesn’t move an inch, not a subtle raise of his brow bone, not a crease, not so much as a small directed towards you and it makes you anxious. It makes you squirm in your seat and kick your legs out like a toddler who’s been confined to a chair for too long. 
He sits and he reads. His back is hunched and his hair falls to his face, unbothered to put it in a loose ponytail, too tired and not enough time to waste a few seconds on doing something so trivial. He sits and he reads. He doesn’t want to do this, but it’s necessary. The papers hold words that bleed together and his eyes are bleary and he can feel a headache form in the back of his head, creeping into his mind like inky black tendrils that thump in his head. You call his name and he lets a sigh fill the room. He puts in as much emotion as he can in it- agitation, annoyance, exhaustion. He told you it wasn’t going to be exciting, that you would have a better time going out shopping or whatever it is that you do- he can’t be bothered to remember right now.
“Tomura,” you call out to him, eyes trained on him to see any sort of response. “You’ve been working for hours,” you stretch your legs and hit your heels against the floor. “You should take a break.” He doesn’t respond. No shrug of his shoulders, no huff- you get absolutely nothing from him. “Tomu, I’m serious,” you say with a stern voice, rising from your seat and walking to his desk. You puff your chest out and slam your hands on the desk, papers ruffling in response.
He lets out a low sigh and his shoulders slump. He slowly meets your eyes, red rimmed eyes that drooped and held heavy, dark bags underneath. His lips are parted, and he shakes his head. “What do you want?”
You frown and knit your brows. He looks so tired. “Tomura,” you whisper, walking around the desk and pulling the pen out of his hand, “you look like death.” A low groan ripples out of his throat when you sit on his lap, arms around his neck, the pads of your fingers running over his neck. “You need to rest.”
“You know I can’t,” he replies, leaning his head on your shoulder, “I have things to do. It’s better if I finish them now-”
“No,” you tell him, moving your hands down to rub his shoulder. “You can do this tomorrow- once you’re rested.” You shrug your shoulder and he peers up at you, blinking owlishly at you. “Just, let me take care of you for a bit, hm?”
“And if I say no?” His hands ache as they wrap around your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt and into you. “That’s always an option.”
“If you say no,” you repeat, trying to find the perfect punishment for him, “I… I won’t talk to you.”
“Oh, because that’s a punishment,” he jokes, a tired smile taking form as he rolls his eyes. “How ever will I get through that?” You fight the urge to scoof and a tight smile curves your lips. You look away from him, the grip on him tightening and you refuse to look at him. “Come on, I’m joining,” his hands squeeze your waist yet you remain silent. The smile falls from his face and he calls your name. “Are you really doing this?” Silence. He bounces his leg and it jostles you but you remain tight lipped. You feel his  fingers drum on you, it’s impatient and rushed and you fight the smile that wants to break across your face. “If I do this break with you, will you talk to me again?”
“Has to be a good break,” you murmur, sneaking a glance at him, “lasts for more than two hours.”
“Two-” he blurts out in an accusing voice only to shut his mouth when you turn away. “Two hours,” he repeats back. You nod. “And what will we be doing during these two hours?”
You perk in his lap and look at him with a wide grin. “I’m,” you boop his nose, “going to take care of you!” You tilt your head and smile sweetly at him. “How about it?”
He rolls his eyes and leans back in the chair, arms tightening around you. “You’re going to take care of me?” You give him a curt nod. “And why would you want to do that?”
You smile softens and you raise a hand to push back his white hair, ticking strands behind his ear and tracing his jawline. “Because Tomura, you look like hell and I want to take care of you.” You press your lips against his temple. “Just for today, okay?”
“I always look like hell,” he breathes out.
“Mm, maybe so,” you muse, “but this is different. You need a break- just for a bit.” You pull away and rise from his lap, his hands sliding off your waist and laying limply on his lap. You extend a hand out to him and wait with bated breath for him to join you.
His hand lays in yours, it’s calloused and cold, and when you curl your hand around his, he sighs and shakes his head, rising from the chair with a groan. “You get two hours.”
You beam up at him and stand on the tip of your toes, leaning towards to peck his lips. “I’ll make it worth your while,” you mumble against him, a smile still evident on your face.
-
“So what is it we’re doing again?” He asks, sitting down on the bed and fiddling with the ends of the pillowcase. 
“Not me- you,” you correct, standing in front of him. “Now, take off your shirt,” you exclaim, clapping your hands together.
“Oh?” A sharp smile makes an appearance, his teeth barely visible and his hands drop the pillow and move to remove his shirt. “You know, if that’s what you wanted to do, you would’ve gotten me here quicker.” He tosses the shirt to the side and beckons you forward with a curl of the hands. “But two hours, huh? I could probably spare more time.”
You roll your lips to suppress the grin. “Really?” You ask excitedly, only to clear your throat and lower your voice to something akin to disappointment. “But I thought you had so much work?” You look down and play with your hands. 
“Well if you’re going to treat me, then how could I ever deny you?” He shrugs and beckons you again. “Now come here.”
You stand in between his legs and he leans towards you, his hands riding up your shirt. “You mean it? All the time I want?” You ask, running your hands through his hair and smiling down at him.
“Could be the rest of the day. I mean it.” He presses a kiss on your stomach and grins wickedly at you. “So why don’t you take your shirt off too?”
Your smile stretches and you lean away from him. “Nope!” You smile brightly when his face falls. “I told you- I’m going to take care of you! Self-care!” You pat his cheeks and lean down to kiss his nose. “But I’m glad that it’s going to be all day. Oh! You’re just the best Tomura!” You rise and tilt your head.
“What?” He narrows his eyes at you. “But you told me to take off my shirt?”
“Yeah!” You nod. “I want to wash your hair!”
“You’re not getting in the shower with me?” 
You shake your head. “Nope, but you can take the bath! And I’ll wash your hair.” When he continues to stare you continue. “You don’t get to get out of this now, you know? You promised and all,” you say with your tone sickly sweet. 
“You… I can’t believe this.”
You laugh and pull away from him, pulling his hands out from under your shirt and you help him rise to his feet. He shuffles behind you, grumbling out loud, his hands curled around yours and when he’s thrust into the bathroom. You rush to turn on the water, letting the bath fill and steam slowly rises and fills the room. The bath is halfway filled when you tell him to start taking his clothes off, a wink added and a suppressed giggle when he sticks his tongue out at you and waves his hand, shooing you out of the bathroom. 
“Oh, now you’re modest?” You tease, turning around and making a show to cover your eyes with your hands. “If it makes you feel any better, I like how you look without a shirt.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, kicking his pants off and throwing them weakly at the back of your legs. You scoff in mock offense and kick his pants off to the side.
You peek under your eyes, and when the water reaches its height, you shut the tap off and the room comes to a silence. 
“Okay, now what?”
“I put in the stuff,” you tap the water with your finger and smile at the temperature. “Or I can add all the stuff while you sit,” you bite your tongue in a vain attempt to stop the laughter that bubbles out. “Like soup. I can bake you like soup.”
“You don’t bake soup dumbass.” His hand curls over your eyes and you gasp. “I’m getting in, so go get the stuff.”
You hear him sigh and you have a pleased look on your face, when his hand slides down your face a fraction, you take that as a cue to grab the bath supplies that rest in the sink cabinet. They rest inside a tote bag, everything that you thought to get resides inside and your chest fills a bit tighter at sharing an intimate moment with Tomura. When you turn around to face him, he sits in the tub and you chuckle lightly. He turns his head and gives you a questioning look but you wave it off, walking over and perching yourself on the rim of the tub- which thankfully- is thick enough to sit without too much fear of falling/ You add the essential oil, the fresh scent of eucalyptus filling the room and then you add the bath soap, the sweet scent of rose and honey adding a lovely color to the bath. 
“You know this would have been better with you in it,” he mumbles, lowering himself into the tub. His hands slowly peek from above the water and he watches as the suds slide off his skin. “A better self-care day.”
You reach into the bag and pull out a bath pillow and make him rest on it, smiling when he shakes his head at you and mutters something unintelligible under his breath. “I know,” you start off quietly, peering back into the bag to pull out the shampoo. “But you haven’t been taking care of yourself lately.” You reach above to grab the shower nozzle and slowly turn it on, watching the water bubble into the bath and disappear when you shut the nozzle. “You know I love you- scars and all,” you press a kiss against the side of his head and turn the nozzle on, threading your fingers through his wet hair, “but you still need to care for yourself.” You shut the water and squeeze a generous amount of shampoo into your palm. “I need you to know that it’s okay to watch over yourself.” Your hands massage into his scalp and you swear you feel him tremble under your touch. Your fingers thread and scratch his scalp, watching soap bubble from under your touch and slide down his back and pool and disappear into the water. “It’s okay to put yourself first Tomura.” 
You reach in and grab a loofah and put it in the water, watching it float by and with shaky hands he grabs it and scrubs at his body, hands disappearing under the water. You both sit in silence, the splashes of water echoing in the room. You mutter to him that you’re going to turn on the water, and when he nods, you grab his tips and rinse it slowly. One hand holds the nozzle and the other parts his hair, your hand never leaving his head. Your scratch and massage, rub at the side of his head and get the underside of his hair, hearing him exhale shakily and you smile at him. 
He sits in the bath with wet hair and soap suds that begin to dwindle and mark the bath in a light color. “Do you want me to scrub your back?” He nods and hands you the loofah. “I know work is stressful,” your fingers wrap around his neck, fingertips lightly tracing over fading scars, “but I’m here for you. I’ll always be here,” you rinse his back and when cleared of suds, you press your lips against the nape of his neck, smiling softly against his skin when he jumps at your touch. “I think you’re done,” you whisper, pulling away from him and grabbing a soft towel from the bag, resting it above and watching it squish the handles underneath it. “Come out when you’re done, hm?” 
You rise and let a breath escape when your knees protest against the sudden movement. The door closes with a soft click and you grab the shirt he wore and dry your arms with it. Your pants are wet and part of your shirt. Once you’ve finished changing, Tomura walks out in a matching pair of pajamas, the cotton fresh and smelling like the crisp air of a morning, fresh and not overwhelming. He dries his hair and sits on the bed, back against the pillows and head lightly thudding against the headboard. 
“I guess that wasn’t so bad,” he wonders out loud, sparing you a glance and going back to wrapping the towel around his back. “What’s next?”
You smile and curl up beside him, grabbing his hand cupping it in both of your grasps. It’s soft and holds wrinkles from being submerged in the water for too long. They’re course and tense underneath you. They wrap and interlace with yours, fingertips rubbing softly at your skin. “A hand massage,” you whisper, reluctantly removing your hand from his. Your fingers press gently against his palm and you want to hold his hand forever. You want this moment to last forever where he sits next you on the bed and looks at you softly with hair dripping onto the pillows while you hold his hand. You bring the back of his hand against your lips and they ghost over him, lips moving in an unspoken prayer. “Can you tell me about your day?” You whisper softly, lowering his hand and leaning next to him.
“Yeah, okay,” he breathes out, his voice filling the room, hands twitching underneath yours as you continue to work on him. His voice soon falls into a quiet murmur where his words mix together and he lowers himself until his head is on the pillow, hair splayed underneath him and as he sleeps, you curl next to him and bring a blanket up to his chest, a soft kiss marking his skin.
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chocolate-parfait · 3 years
Note
Hiii! I saw that your requests are open, and I want to ask for a Mozart scenario 👉👈. MC/Reader (whichever you prefer) has gone back to her time for a long time (even tho she wasn’t planning for long) but when she comes back she also has Mozart’s kid in her arms (but everyone knows before him coz he is obviously at his piano lmao). So the residents plan to surprise him? If it’s too specific feel free to ignore this. Make sure you sleep sufficiently and drink some water😗😗 thank u in advance :)
Sorry it took me so long! I barely had the time to sleep this past month😳 I hope it was worth the wait-
A gift from Fate - Ikemen Vampire (Mozart)
“I don’t think we should listen in on them...” The cherry haired man whispered.
“Shh Ai-chan. Mozie-kun might hear us!”
“Tofu lover here is right, old Newt. And how could we pass up a chance of seeing that cold-hearted wolf shed a tear or two? It’s a once in a lifetime occasion!” Added the writer, resting his left hand on the scientist’s shoulder.
“Ugh, why did I even ask you two, of all people... Sebastian, tell them something already!” Isaac lamented once more.
“Unfortunately, Master Isaac, I’m afraid to say I’m quite curious myself to see Master Mozart’s reaction. It’s for scientific purpose, after all.”
“For what?” Nine pairs of eyes flew to the butler’s figure.
“Oh, nevermind that.”
"Leonardo, would you mind throwing your cigar away? They'll catch the smell of it" Comte’s placid tone filled the small space.
"What, you curious too, "Comte"? Heh, as his majesty desires" Leonardo complied, putting out his cigarillo against the ground with a dramatic gesture, gaining a displeased glance from the nobleman.
"...thank you. Oh, I believe he's almost there. Everybody, please be quiet."
As their sire spoke these words, all the vampires got closer to the small opening of the door. Some could barely see anything, but the wooden surface was thin enough to let any and all sounds reach the hidden listeners’ attentive ears.
The person that had them all hidden in a small storage room adjacent to the parlor was none other than Mozart. The love of his life had just returned from the future with a surprise of a companion glued to her side, but the man was yet to show his face. He had been, as always ever since her departure a couple of years before, focused on composing his tunes, now devoid of their old brightness and tempo, just like the composer himself.
It was as clear as day that, although his external composure remained unchanged, his heart had decided to freeze himself, a thick layer of frozen indifference to hide a pain akin to that of being torn in half, cruelly and mercilessly. Whenever he let his guards down even the slightest bit, he found himself on a battlefield over which time had no influence whatsoever, and where the ice and snow perfectly preserved the destruction and desolation born from his loss. The blood from a still fresh and open wound laid on the ground, as strong winds hit him with the warm whispers of a long-lost sun, nowhere to be seen.
That was the devastated state in which his being was left in, unaware of the sympathetic smile Fate was now offering him.
That day, a mysterious note found its way between the pianist’s hands, the words “Meet me at 18.00 in the parlor. It’s a matter of utmost importance” written in an impeccable cursive of other times, clearly belonging to one of the many inhabitants of the mansion. When it came to such intimate business, they usually preferred keeping a certain distance from unfolding events, but seeing the hesitation and fear of rejection on the woman’s face, they had all agreed to lend her a hand and give a little pull on the red string that connected the two lovers.
As punctual as ever, when the clock’s hands moved to the predetermined time, Mozart knocked stiffly on the door, finally making his entrance in the scene.
Barely two steps in the room and he found himself stuck in place, incredulous eyes fixed on the feminine figure in front of him. His violet eyes immediately found her face, and his body moved towards hers, attracted by an invisible force that had kept them tied to each other in spite of time and space. She was still as beautiful as he remembered, though his feverish dreams and hazy memories couldn’t hold a candle to the real her.
As impatience shook his body with a strong wave of trembles, with a quick movement he trapped her in a soul-crushing embrace that overflowed with all his longing and love; as his arms tightly caged her to his torso, he nuzzled her neck, finding her warm skin with the cold tip of his nose.
One deep inhale, then another. And another one.
She smelled divine.
Oh, how he had missed that dazzlingly sweet scent, those soft locks tickling his pale cheeks now flush with various emotions, that small pair of arms circling his body and squeezing him tightly. Was this a dream? Had he finally reached the afterlife for a second time? If so then he didn’t want to go back. If living in an illusion meant being with her then he was ready to throw away the real world with no second thoughts. But this, this was real. His mind had already acknowledged it, leaving the heart behind to process its own feelings.
“Meine Geliebte-” (my beloved)
“Mozart-”
They said in unison, voices mixing with harmony in a euphonious melody.
As he pulled back a little to look her in the eyes, a small voice came from behind her body. “Mama...” When Mozart lowered his eyes to meet the small figure’s, he was met with a small child, around 4 or 5 years of age. Before his thoughts could even reach the idea of betrayal, he couldn’t help but notice how every single feature, although still not fully developed, was a mixture of one of his and his lover’s own. The similarity was painfully clear, but once more the brain outrun the heart, and Mozart felt his heartbeat fall to his stomach.
“This is...” The woman started with a wavering voice, maybe from the emotion or perhaps because of insecurity. “This is our son, Charles.”
“Our... son...?” The pianist slowly repeated, trying to give more time to his now nearly-exploding heart.
Bending down to meet those violet orbs so similar to his own, he smiled fondly, reaching a hand out to slowly caress the boy’s head. As he did so, a myriad of realizations hit Mozart like a carriage running at full speed. He could not believe he had missed his son’s birth, his first steps, his first words. The fruit of their love, a life born out of their union. No amount of apologies and care could give him back all that, and the thought brought tears to his eyes.
“Papa! No leave Mama anymore!” The boy suddenly pleaded as he threw himself between his father’s arms. Oh, but of course he wouldn't. How could he? Not anymore. He wasn’t so stupid as to let that damned door separate them again, and not even God could part them anymore. But would the boy understand? He was but a stranger to him, and he did commit the terrible mistake of letting the only person he truly cared for slip away from his grasp once, so how could he blame him for having such thoughts?
“No, I won't. I promise you.” Placing a warm hand on his son's back, maybe as a way to seal his vow, he brought the small, trembling body closer to his chest, trying with all his might to instill in him the sense of security that only a father's embrace can give.
After silently witnessing the whole scene in solemn silence and stillness, smiles and some tears bloomed on the woman and the secret onlookers' faces. As the child shakily whimpered in his finally-found paternal figure's neck, his mother kneeled by his side, where Mozart's arm took her in as he pressed a chaste kiss on her lips. Their passionate reunion could wait for later that night, now all that mattered was being together, aware of each other's presence, warmth and smell. That was more than enough. “Thank you for coming back. Thank you for giving me another chance.”
Unfortunately for them though, an interruption soon came to disturb their peace. Low whispers came from behind the door, and the pianist's trained ear caught them with no effort.
"Woohoo, that was a good one, Wolfie!"
"Shouldn't we just go already? If he were to catch us he'd go on a rampage"
"Still, I wish I could give him a round of applause! It was really moving~"
Mozart turned his violet eyes, now chilly with cold annoyance, towards the source of the hushed voices, silencing them immediately. Though he would have to thank them for the note, he knew they wouldn't have let him hear the end of it with their teasing comments and jokes. Before his thoughts could take the highway to a possible massacre, Charles' brought his attention back to where it belonged.
"Papa... can you show me your piano?"
Such a simple request brought spring into his heart, once plunged into a state of eternal winter. Feeling his every cell overflowing with love and gratitude he simply nodded, adding: "Sure, shall we go?"
Well, his revenge could wait for later. Now he had a lot of catching up to do, both with his love and son, and making them wait longer was definitely unacceptable.
Perhaps Fate had truly decided to be a little kinder to him in his second life.
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@ava-sr said: EE i do apologize that this is late, but maybe a small request because of my moblit-brainrot. which dates he would like to take you on? maybe like one of those guided painting classes? aGh all i know is that man is the absolute sweetest and i love him with all my heart
Types of dates with Moblit pt.1
{ Moblit x reader | tw:none | fluff | modern }
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{ "Vanitas Still Life" 1662 by Edwaert Collier c. 1640 - after 1707 London or Leiden }
Ideal dates : these are dates he plans up ahead, makes sure they go smoothly and you're both are having fun. He really looks forward to these dates, they're like an event for him. He saves them up for important occasions like your anniversary, valentine's day, birthday.
I. Cuddling for hours at a time
you have to understand that in Moblit's overworked and stressful life, moments of respite are rare and far. He's so deprived of touch and love that it's a miracle how he has managed to function without even a beep. The thought of having someone to warm his bed, cradle his worries and put them to rest by simply combing through his hair, never crossed his mind despite having a hundred thoughts running through it per minute.
Some days he manages to forget your existence even, not out of some selfish desire or to belittle you, but out of disbelief, after all it's too good to be true.
You're too good to be true to him.
Your tender words pull him back each time he blindly steps closer to the edge, a never-ending spiral of self-destructive work tendencies awaiting him at the bottomless abyss. Your warm embrace shutting out the swarm of nagging voices meant to guilt him out of rest, to act as if the key to curing his sleep deprivation was to not acknowledge its existence, that fatigue symptoms could be erased by his own homemade placebo remedies.
As if your mere touch could turn anything to gold, and in his case, it did. 
It was what made the difference between an anxiety inducing catastrophic day, and a mere rough stepping stone he could easily manoeuvre around leaving his pace steady and undisturbed.
Reminding that it's okay to fail, to give something your best only for it to crumble to dust. It's a process of trial and error, it takes time and patience.
You don't get to choose how well things end up working out, it's not up to you nor is it your place.
And that's why for him, his ideal place in the world is in your arms, to simply let the rise and fall of your chest lull him into comfortable numbness. His features softening as the oxytocin levels rise, courtesy of your warm embrace, soft skin providing just the right pressure against his own.
Laying on your shared bed together, the soft breeze coming from the open windows moves the thin curtains. Moblit is Holding you close as one of his arms sneak around you, fingertips tracing shapes up and down your back. Face buried in your shoulder as yours rests on top of his head, stray hairs almost tickling your nose when you brush against them.
The passing of time does little to his cotton filled mind, occasionally attempting to pull you even more closer as if it's possible. Legs tangled with yours under the heavy blanket despite him hogging most of it.
Every now and then, when a certain amount of time passes, he'd look at you with half-closed eyes, a lidded look of satisfaction before murmuring in his sleepy voice.
"Do you want to get up?" And despite his sincere words and warm tone, his body makes no move to detach itself from your side.
Does he know the soothing effect of the circles he keeps drawing up your back? Or how much him talking with his lips still pressed against your neck makes you melt just a bit.
Whatever it is, Moblit seems confident in his ability to keep you snuggled against him, tucked underneath the warm blanket and fluffy pillows almost muffling your answer.
II. Visiting a music bar
Preferably something with soft yellowish lights, small enough spaces not meant for dancing but to create an intimate atmosphere akin to a music venue.
A jazz club, maybe a brewery.
Dimmed sunlight seeping through the thin curtained window, shadow traces of people smoking outside while making small talk, cushioned bar stools placed around the long bar with a mirrored wall behind it as several aged bottles and fancy glasses with signatures decorate the wooden shelves.
The quiet chatter of people blurring behind the mellow music the band is playing on the nearby stage, smooth movement with relaxed postures as if they've done this a hundred times before, and they probably have.
You're sitting in one of the booths near the window, a private spot where you're far enough for people not to notice yet close enough to still hear the music flowing.
The beat is slow, hypnotising even that the minutes blur together. 
Moblit giving you a smile as he comes back with your drinks, sitting opposite of you before handing you the cold glass, ice cubes clinking against each other as you raise the frosted rim to your lips, sugary sweet filling your senses, the cooling sensation of the drink slides down your throat.
There's a hint of citrus in it.
You've learned to trust Moblit's choice in drinks after being together for so long, he just knows what's going to taste good and which kind of drink you seem to need without having to say a word.
He seems comfortable here, even referring to the bartender by his name like they've been friends for a while, and maybe they have judging by the out-of-script welcoming he gave Moblit.
One conversation starts another and both of you find it so easy to talk to each other without boundaries or second thoughts, the smiles and occasional chuckles almost never leaving your features while nursing on your drinks.
He tells you stories from his work and about his co-workers. You find yourself entranced by his seemingly abusered line of work and the amount of chuckle worthy instances a single work day can offer.
That one time Hange knocked the liquid incense oils that someone Levi brought to freshen the place, well to their luck the oils fell directly on an open flame from the nearby scented candle which resulted in the fire spreading through the liquid alcohol between the broken glass.
And despite the feeling of dread, from seeing his files catch on fire this story brings him, the sound of your chocked laughter as you almost spilled your drink over your clothes, made it all worth it for him.
III. Antique shop
There was something to be said about Moblit's yearning for especially old looking things, trinkets, crumpled maps, tea stained letters and silvered mirrors.
You can't miss the gleam in his eyes as he opens the antique store door open for you the chime of the door bells following after. The smell of burning incense lingering in the air alongside the slow ticking of an old wooden clock.
The look on his face is of pure fascination, his eyes following the trail of the objects lined on the tables, from the old oil paintings with hand carved frames to the crystals reflecting sunlight next to the colourful stones. Observing as he carefully walks behind you through the narrow spaces between the tables and shelves. 
Pulling your attention whenever he finds a particular curious thing to show you as if it's an offering, it can range from music boxes with a really familiar melody that you can't quite remember or a beautifully shaped rose quartz stone that feels cool against your palm.
Whatever he brings, it often manages to intrigue you in some way. Moblit could always notice things other people would skip over otherwise, scanning the tables was like a small treasure hunt.
He'd always pick one or two leather journals, almost filled to the brim with ink scribbled pages and tea stained spots, personal diaries dating back to the 90's and if he's lucky they might edge towards the 80'. He likes to read them, live in someone else's shoes even for a split second, puzzle pieces falling in place as he figures out what kind of person the author was.
Of course sharing his discoveries with you while having lunch later, not out of pride nor to show off, but out of genuine respect to other people's lives and their dedication for leaving behind a piece of their soul.
IX. Roadtrip 
It's something he plans months ahead in advance, he genuinely wants to make the best out of the few weeks off both of you got to spend together. Making sure to plan a set of destinations, preparing snacks and food, packing your essentials and renting a big enough van.
A small getaway even, to completely leave everything behind and set out on a carefully planned adventure with the one he loves most, you.
Enjoying the fresh weather, the high sun and fast wind as both of you roll down the windows, fields of green and yellow meet you alongside the road the further away you move from the city.
Although be careful; the Moblit behind the wheel is a much much more different than the one you know, he's using all what remains of his self-restraint not to speed down the highway and swirl, the thought crosses his mind every hour or so and he's visibly agitated when you're forced to drive behind a particularly slow driver.
You might even have to remind him of the speed limit occasionally just so you don't end up with a pile of speeding tickets at the end of the trip.
It's like all his usually cautious and calculating demner evaporates into mist the second he touches the steering wheel, Temptations of just flooring it while high on adrenaline still linger in the back of his mind.
Beside that, the trip is a relatively calm one as you get to bask in all the new and different places you'll get to visit. Try new food and walk through different city streets, just the experience of something out of the usual is enough to satisfy Mobilt. Not to mention the fact he gets to experience it with you and just wander around without a purpose or care as long as you're together.
He'll definitely keep in mind what sort of things you seem to like, what intrigues you and the kind of reactions you show. He even started an album filled with mostly your pictures and the things you've seen.
It's most relaxing and filled with low stakes, nothing too fancy but nothing too boring either. Walking the thin line perfectly.
X. Visiting a museum
But not just any museum you see, one centred around natural history. Displaying everything from ancient fossils to full on skeleton displays of a 122 foot titanosaur, depictions of distant relatives of homosapiens and modern evolution trees of the current animals.
Moblit guiding you through the shiny tile floor and between the exhibits while holding your hand, eyes gleaming with passion as he goes on and on about each thing you glance at. Making all the trivial facts seem more fascinating than they have any right to be.
The squeaking sound of footsteps echoing on the too clean floors as four children pass you by, racing each other towards the iron suits of armour on display. They almost fall over the red ropes from leaning too close in, their caregiver seemingly busy talking with a security guard over the 'smoking not allowed' sign. 
You spare them a final glance before following Moblit through the corridor leading to the world history & old inventions section. Soon enough he steals your attention again as he begins talking about the first airplane prototype that you can't help but be enamoured by.
Despite there being a sign framed on the wall that sums up the jest of Moblit's lecture, he manages to make it not only less boring but add his own twist and uncommon known facts to it that it feels less of a history trip and of an interesting conversation.
He has so much knowledge that he's so eager not to only share but hear your own opinion and take on it, valuing your view no matter what amount of knowledge you have over the subject.
XI. Painting together
It's an idea that you offhandedly suggested after your museum visit, after all spending an hour in the Impressionism era gallery did leave an impression on you. And so the suggestion of checking out an art store for some acrylics and a couple brushes left your lips on the way home without a second thought.
Well little did you know that the small suggestion managed to latch into Moblit's brain for weeks after, making him spend his free time searching and gaining information on painting and how to start, he even managed to find some really good classes having a limited time course sale
That's how both of you end up in a guided painting class, seated next to each other with aprons on and a pallet to mix paint tubes in. You'll find out how much of a fast learner Moblit is, so much that most of the class he spends guiding your hand through the steps and offering his help whenever possible, although he still remembers not to be overbearing and still gives you space.
Both of you are in your own bubble from the class, being with him makes you feel easy and more reassured. He's like your very own comfort corner that you seek in every party, except that he can walk around with you and always looks out for you.
And whatever you end up putting on that canvas, Moblit will cherish more than any renaissance painting, will even insist on hanging it somewhere in the apartment.
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another taste of heavenly rush
So this was supposed to be a silly little breathplay PWP drabble as a birthday tribute to the lovely @witchertrashbag but then it kind of...evolved??? Mutated??? lol who knows what happened, I sure as hell don’t. Anyway happy late birthday Wine Aunt, you’re a credit to this fandom, I hope you enjoy this belated smutty mess 🖤
Jaskier is utterly bewitched by the sight of a huge, leather-clad hand on the man’s throat.
He should be paying attention to the words being exchanged, seeing as he started the quarrel that led to the aforementioned hand-on-throat situation. Well. Hadn’t started it, per se, but he had certainly escalated it, and gods know Geralt won’t appreciate that particular nuance.
But the red-faced man currently gasping for breath beneath the witcher’s considerable grip had simultaneously insulted Jaskier’s songwriting and Geralt’s honor in one ill-begotten, unoriginal sentence after Jaskier’s performance in the tavern common room, something about “don’t clap for that little prick’s filth, praising freaks and monsters.” The bard had simply smiled sweetly, taken a sip of his ale, and intimated that the man’s wife was something of an expert on the subject of little pricks.
And then the man tried to hit him with a chair, and Jaskier can hardly be blamed for that, although Geralt will, inevitably. He’d scurried away from the onslaught and called out an only vaguely panicked “Geralt!” which led them here, the ugly sour-breathed man pinned to the tavern wall, his feet twitching desperately for solid ground, held up by one huge, bulky hand.
This little misadventure won’t make it into one of his songs. There’s nothing poetic about a prejudiced drunk man being rude and getting choked for his efforts.
Although...Jaskier’s eyes are drawn again to the sharp contrast of the brown leather of the gauntlets against the greasy pink of the man’s skin. Maybe there is something poetic to choking, after all. Choking, choking out, feeling the life drain from your body by a huge, leather-clad hand. Choking as in choking something else, draining something else from...jerking off, choking as in jerking off, and it’s not his best work but he’s fairly distracted at the moment because the thought of a huge, leather clad hand gripping a swollen, leaking cock has burrowed its way into Jaskier’s mind and fuck, how is he supposed to think about anything else now? Slick red head squeezed a little too hard, beading pearlescent drops disappearing into a supple russet fist that’s a little too coarse, too cold, too dry but feels divine nonetheless…
“Jaskier!”
Fuck.
The innkeep is shouting at them to get out, holding a broom as menacingly as one can hold a broom, and Geralt is glowering at him. “Go, bard! Roach!”
Right. He grabs his lute and flies out the door, the cool night air a shock on his overheated skin. He sprints to the stables and sets to work quickly tacking up the mare as he coos at her soothingly. “Deepest apologies, my dear lady, but it seems our plans for the evening have been altered somewhat.”
He’s leading her out and back toward the tavern when the door flies open, Geralt charging out. He fixes Jaskier with an exasperated glare and snatches the reins from him. “Dammit, Jaskier,” he mutters, swinging into the saddle. “If your cock doesn’t get us both killed, your mouth will.”
And if Jaskier’s arousal had flagged in the process of fleeing and fetching their escape horse, all it takes is a reference to cocks and mouths in close proximity to bring it roaring back to life as Geralt drags him up behind him and spurs Roach into a gallop out of the village.
It’s new, this thing with Geralt.
He’d met the witcher just over two years ago, back in Posada. They’d travelled together and parted near half a dozen times since, but this current sprint is by far their longest together, going on four months. They’ve fallen into a routine, found ways of traveling that make both their paths smoother. Jaskier’s songs are more lucrative when he can theatrically proclaim that their hero, his muse, the town’s savior is in their very midst; Geralt’s presence protects him from beasts and monsters and bandits and keeps him fed on fresh game between towns when they make their camps beneath the stars. And though Geralt’s never mentioned it, he can tell he’s come to appreciate Jaskier’s contributions, too: he sets up camp and builds a fire while Geralt hunts when they stay in the country, procures rooms with less humiliation and rarer downright refusals from rude innkeeps and for significantly less coin when they stay in the village. Noticing Jaskier’s penchant for picking wildflowers on the roadside, Geralt’s even started teaching him the herbs, flowers and berries he needs for his potions.
Traveling together does have its drawbacks, of course, particularly Geralt’s reticence to stay within the confines of civilization. He’s perfectly content to go weeks without sleeping in an inn if the town doesn’t have any contracts available, wont to ride away from perfectly good villages where Jaskier would be able to find perfectly good lovers.
This came to a head a few weeks ago. Jaskier tried to settle on the lumpy ground for the night, tried to ignore that prickling restlessness beneath his skin, but he couldn’t will it away, couldn’t force himself into a fitful sleep like he had the past several nights. He tossed again, unable to stifle a sigh, when the witcher rolled onto his side to glare at him.
“Would you stop your fussing?”
“Fussing? I’m not fussing, Geralt, I can’t sleep.”
“Can’t you not sleep quietly?”
He snorted. “What a very stupid question. Weren’t you just saying yesterday that I don’t even think quietly?” Tired and frustrated and horny as all hell, Jaskier opted for the truth. Watching Geralt get that uncomfortable, vaguely constipated look he got when Jaskier talked about sex always provided an amusing distraction, at least. He sighed melodramatically, adopting a most put-upon voice. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve indulged in the wondrous carnalities of a companion, Geralt?”
“Don’t really care.”
“Ages, Geralt, it’s been ages. At least a week. Some may bear the cruelties of celibacy with stoic fortitude, my dear witcher, but alas, some of us simply are not so equipped. We really should stop in the next village. It’d do us both a world of good to sleep in a bed, particularly one that’s warm, if you get my drift.”
The witcher looked at him with that inscrutable expression. “Plenty of chances for you to get your dick wet once we reach Gors Velen.”
Jaskier darted up, horrified, all pretensions forgotten. “Gors Velen?” he whined. “You said yourself we’re still a month away from Gors Velen!”
Geralt shrugged. “You’ve got a hand.” With that, he turned his back to Jaskier.
And well. It had been Geralt’s suggestion, after all, and Jaskier may have many attributes to his credit and otherwise but shyness has never been counted among them. And if perhaps he put on a bit of a show, fucking up into his hand with a little more bitten-lip moaning, a little more breathless panting than was strictly necessary, well, it served Geralt right for brushing off his perfectly legitimate concerns so rudely. And if he came particularly hard with a surprised gasp that was all too genuine when he shot a glance at his companion and saw the witcher facing him again, perfectly still, with an intent, impenetrable expression that Jaskier thought looked almost intrigued, well, that served Geralt right, too.
And that’s how this thing with Geralt started.
The next night, Jaskier made no such fuss when he laid down atop his bedroll, brazenly pulling his cock from his smallclothes and stroking himself languidly as he met that golden stare with something akin to a challenge. “You too?” he asked, breathless, and moaned as he watched Geralt’s hand drift down to palm himself through the rough cotton.
A few nights later Jaskier laid out their bedrolls side by side, not touching but nearly. “It’s not quite fair, is it,” he explained, rolling his balls indulgently with one hand as he set a lazy pace with the other. “You with your extraordinary superhuman witchery senses, you get to hear every little noise I make, see every little expression on my devilishly handsome face from all the way across the fire. Seems like we ought to level the playing field, as it were.”
“Don’t need witcher senses to hear you,” Geralt groused, but the corner of his lip crooked in what could only be the hint of a grin as he settled in beside him without protest, taking himself in hand and echoing Jaskier’s tempo.
(Geralt can maintain his blank expression fairly well while getting off, Jaskier knows now, but he’s slightly less guarded when it comes to sound, to the noises too soft and unintentional to be noticed without such proximity. The little hitch when he twists his wrist just so at the head; the low rumbling of a moan in his chest that never reaches his lips when he’s close, so close; the voiceless exhale when he comes that sometimes, when it’s really good, sounds as though it’s been punched out of him; the abortive, shuddering breaths as his strokes turn into the gentlest trailing of the fingertips down his shaft just past the point of oversensitivity, prolonging that sweet touch until it can no longer be endured.)
The next night, well. A hand’s a hand, and there’s not so very much difference between wanking and assisting your very best friend in the whole wide world wanking, really.
And that’s what this is. Jaskier has no grandiose romantic notions, not about this, not really. It’s not about the passionate heat of bodies entwined, it’s just hands and cocks to aid with sleep and that’s all it has to be. This thing with Geralt is about getting off, not about sex, and he’s not entirely sure he understands this arbitrary boundary he’s constructed but the distinction feels crucial nevertheless. It’s a matter of convenience, not lust. Jaskier is content with this arrangement. It’s more than he ever hoped to experience with his lovely, taciturn friend, and that’s enough. He can enjoy these encounters with Geralt without needing them, without craving something more, without deluding himself into thinking they’re...something else. Paramours. Lovers.
Anyway, this was all going swimmingly until Geralt throttled a man on his behalf and it was the most arousing thing he’d ever witnessed. Now Jaskier is pressed up against him on a horse riding from a town in which they are no longer welcome with what has got to be the most obnoxiously persistent erection of his life because he can’t stop imagining those hands around his throat.
“Whoa, Roach.” Jaskier feels the witcher’s body tense against him as he pulls on the reins, halting as they approach a small copse of trees. “This’ll do.” He dismounts gracefully and Jaskier scrambles behind.
He’d assumed that Geralt would be furious that they’d finally stopped at an inn only for Jaskier’s uncanny ability to find himself in trouble got them ousted, but he doesn’t seem furious as they set up the campsite. Not that he says anything, of course, and not that he would say anything if he were furious, but Jaskier has grown rather accustomed to reading Geralt’s silences. This particular silence doesn’t seem to be perturbed in any way. If anything, it almost seems amused. Surely he’s misreading something.
He’s just finished situating the bedrolls when he turns around and nearly slams into Geralt. “Bloody hell Geralt, are you trying to...oh.”
Geralt unceremoniously tugs the bow fastening Jaskier’s trousers loose, reaching into them and immediately setting to work with a sure, steady hand.
“...oh, you’re trying to...that.” He closes his eyes at the sensation.
Geralt’s hand stills, gripping him lightly. “Will I get some rest if we don’t?” His face remains impassive as ever, but there’s something in his grumble that Jaskier could almost swear sounds teasing, fond. “Rather deal with you now than listen to you toss about and whine for an hour pretending you’re trying to sleep.”
And Jaskier could protest because honestly, he hasn’t since that first night, but he allows it, lets Geralt have his excuse because something’s different tonight. They never touch until they’ve undressed and settled into their bedrolls for the night. It’s just a part of the routine.
Nothing about this feels routine.
He lets out a laugh that’s a bit higher than he intends as Geralt resumes fisting his cock. “My, my, someone’s eager tonight,” he breathes, and all right, he may have no room to talk, but Geralt initiating this is beyond uncharacteristic.
A hum resonates deep in his chest. “Felt you rubbing up on me since we left town. You’re not subtle, bard.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not…subtle? Fuck.”
The witcher rolls his eyes. “Smelled you before that,” and honestly, fuck Geralt for wanting to have a conversation all of a sudden now that Jaskier’s completely incapable of it, “back in the tavern. What was it?” Geralt is shifting them, guiding him carefully, his hand never losing its rhythm, until Jaskier feels the trunk of a sturdy oak at his back. “What got you so hard in the middle of a bar fight?”
A knee slips casually between his legs, and the hard line of Geralt’s still-clothed cock presses against his hip, rutting ever so gently. “Gods, Geralt.” It comes out a whine, and Jaskier’s sure he’ll hate himself later for how easily he’s undone but now there’s just contact, so much touch all over and hot breath against his neck and he lets his eyes flutter closed, lets himself feel.
“Did you actually fuck that man’s wife earlier? While I was at the armourer’s, maybe? Did she leave you with some good memories?”
It takes a second for Jaskier to catch up to the question with Geralt’s hard body leaned against him, a delightful weight. Right. Man in the bar. Implied he’d cuckolded him, that’s what determined the course of this whole bizarre evening.
“Or was it the barmaid? Was she what distracted you in the middle of that scene you caused?” Geralt sounds perfectly unaffected, somehow, that mild, ribbing tone he uses when he pretends to scoff at Jaskier’s antics. “The redhead. The one whose bed you hoped to be in tonight.”
And he’s right, of all the people in the crowded tavern she’d been the one who caught his eye, the one he’d be planning to direct his next song to. Of course Geralt had noticed. Geralt knows what Jaskier wants. Knows what he needs.
And that’s...that’s what this is, that’s what he’s doing. Jaskier had planned to find a lover for the evening, planned to slip into a blissful haze of fucking where he doesn’t have to concentrate on keeping this unwelcome longing at bay and even though it’s Jaskier’s own fault that opportunity slipped through his fingers, Geralt wants to give him some semblance of that release. It’s why he’s talking, why he’s bringing up these women he assumes drove Jaskier to distraction.
And with Geralt’s breath on his skin and hand on his cock and body leaned so heavily against his, Jaskier wants to give him an answer. Wants to give him everything there is.
What got you so hard in the middle of a bar fight?
Jaskier grasps the hand not stroking his cock and brings it to his throat.
The world stops.
His eyes fly open to meet Geralt’s, and he knows he’s made a mistake. The witcher withdraws quickly, stepping away, turning his back.
“Fuck, Geralt, no, I’m—”
“Stop.” Geralt doesn’t face him, but he’s not leaving, at least. “Don’t.”
Jaskier leans back against the tree, trying to catch his breath. He scrubs his hand over his face. Leave it to Jaskier to fuck up something this divine.
He watches those broad shoulders lower, his breathing even out, but the tension is still written in every line of his body. Geralt stands silent for a moment before he quietly asks, “That’s what...at the tavern?”
Wretched, Jaskier nods, but of course Geralt can’t see that, so he stammers out, “Ah, yes. It seems so.”
When he speaks again, his voice remains carefully flat. “You were afraid of me?”
“What?”
“Were you afraid of me? Back at the tavern.” He considers, then adds, “Or now?”
“Geralt, no,” and maybe he shouldn’t, maybe he should give him space, but Jaskier pushes away from the tree, scurrying over to him and clutching his shoulders frantically. “No, listen to me, Geralt, I’m a horny idiot, that’s the thing, it was just...I don’t know, it was sexy! It was sexy, seeing you manhandle him, imagining if you manhandled me, maybe, with your gloves and your hands and your muscles, I don’t know, it was just a fantasy, I suppose, it just happened, but certainly not because I was scared you’d hurt me.” An ugly, desperate laugh rises from his throat unbidden. “If anything it’s because I know you wouldn’t, Geralt, I know you’d keep me safe.”
The witcher looks past him, but Jaskier sees the tension in his jaw release, sees his chest move a little more freely with his breath. After a moment, Geralt nods. “Thought perhaps I’d misread this.” It’s low, almost too low to hear.
“I want you,” Jaskier blurts out, and he should stop talking, he really means to stop talking, “I want you. Quite a lot. The rough, ah, the choking thing, that’s all just...I don’t need that. Don’t want anything you don’t want.”
It’s all a little too raw, a little too genuine, and Jaskier realizes with a sudden sinking feeling that this may actually be worse than his initial blunder, that an unexpected predilection for rough sex is one thing but voicing that longing he’s worked so hard to keep sectioned away is something else entirely.
He’s about to apologize when he hears the low hum.
Geralt is studying him, head tilted to one side. There’s nothing on his face to indicate disgust or excitement, no rejection or acceptance; just those golden eyes meticulously examining him, just like they had that first night. Curious. Intrigued.
Fuck. Jaskier doesn’t need a hand on his throat to make it hard to breathe.
“No gloves.”
“Sorry, what?”
Rough fingertips map his throat lightly, not pressing, not caressing, just exploring. Jaskier recognizes this look, it’s the same studious evaluation he’d seen Geralt give that nekker corpse yesterday before he began harvesting organs from it and that should definitely kill the mood here but it doesn’t. He pauses, wide finger resting over a thunderous artery. “They’re too thick. Wouldn’t be able to feel if it’s too much.”
“Right,” Jaskier rasps out. “Right, yeah, good. No gloves is good.” And if the image of being thrown about like a ragdoll and forced against a wall had seemed erotic, it somehow doesn’t compare to the overwhelming potency of these careful, analytical touches with Geralt monitoring his breath, his heartbeat, his face.
“Do you still want to try?” It’s a low rumble, but Geralt’s eyes are boring into him and all Jaskier can do is nod aggressively, grabbing Geralt’s hand and pulling him back until he’s leaned against the tree again, pausing only to fling off his open doublet.
Geralt shakes his head, quickly disciplining the little entertained smile that flits across his features but not before Jaskier sees it. It sends a reckless, euphoric thrill through his whole body. “Ah Geralt, admit it, you think I’m endearing,” he grins, striking a dramatic pose against the tree.
“You’re a nuisance,” he snorts, but he snakes his hand down the front of the bard’s trousers again, stroking him with just enough pressure to coax him back to hardness.
Jaskier rocks gently into his fist, a small contented sigh morphing into something much more ragged when he feels that solid hand back on his throat.
“Tap my arm if you want to stop.”
Jaskier nods, delighting in the way his flesh shifts under Geralt’s hand at the motion. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the fingers tighten. “Good?”
“Good.”
“More?”
“Please,” and it’s a whine but he doesn’t care. His eyes drift shut. It feels like the pounding pulse is flowing straight from his throat into Geralt’s hand, or maybe the other way around, it doesn’t matter when all he wants is to lose himself in this swelling, living tattoo.
The pressure lets up and there’s a rush, a bright heady flood of exhilaration and he can feel every cell tingling in his body as his lungs work overtime to compensate and he can’t help thrusting forward faster into the tight fist on his cock.
Geralt’s other hand stays in place, loosely cupping his throat, idly stroking the skin. “Eyes open,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the crook of Jaskier’s neck for just a moment, breathing him in, his own breath labored. When he pulls back he looks a little wrecked. “Eyes on me, yeah?”
Jaskier nods, leaning into both warm hands a little desperately. “More?”
Geralt groans as he applies careful, steady pressure.
It’s good. There’s something soothing about the gentle acceleration of that drumming, far-off and immediate at the same time, the only sound that exists here. Peaceful. Floaty, almost. He wonders vaguely if this is what Geralt feels when he meditates.
“Jaskier.” The voice cuts through the haze, low but firm, the softest command. He focuses on Geralt, that unwavering gaze fixed on him. “Stay with me.”
Where else would he want to be?
And he’s still floating but somehow those golden eyes are a tether, not grounding him entirely but keeping him from drifting away. And when the tension releases and the tidal wave of elation sweeps through him again it’s met with chapped lips on his throat and fingers scratching through the hair at the nape of his neck and a steadying weight against him, and when the dizziness settles and he rests against the reassuring stability of the oak behind him, then there’s shifting, moving, the harsh grinding voice asking a question Jaskier can’t make out but understands anyway, golden eyes full of that question staring up at him and Jaskier answers by threading his fingers through pale locks shining silver in the moonlight and the warm, strong hand stroking him is replaced with the soft heat of Geralt’s mouth.
He won’t last much longer, not with the way Geralt’s thick fingers grip him, digging into the meat of his ass, with the way he chokes a little taking Jaskier all the way down but keeps pulling him in, deeper, and it’s wet and messy and a little too divine.
“Fuck, Geralt, I…” he gasps, the closest to a warning he can formulate, but the witcher’s staring up at him through dark lashes and sucking him down harder and Jaskier surrenders, coming with a keening cry.
Geralt diligently works him through it, swallowing and dissolving into desperate noises around Jaskier as he feverishly strips his own cock. He releases Jaskier and buries his head in the crook of the bard’s hip, shoulders heaving harshly. Jaskier pets him soothingly, long fingers massaging his scalp tenderly through the broken moan, the shuddering aftershocks, the shallow breaths slowly evening out.
They stay that way for a few endless moments, neither willing to break the trance, the intimacy. Jaskier barely notices gentle fingers unlacing his boots, pulling off one then the other. Geralt deftly tucks the bard’s softening cock back into his smallclothes before carefully pulling off his trousers and folding them neatly. He stands slowly, guiding Jaskier to his bedroll and settling him there, crouching beside him moments later with a waterskin he presses to Jaskier’s lips.
“Best take care, witcher,” Jaskier teases softly, “a man could get used to such treatment.”
“Don’t,” Geralt grunts, but there’s no heat to it. He thoroughly inspects Jaskier’s neck, tilting his head one way then the other with two light fingers on his jaw. “Pain anywhere?”
“No pain.”
“Good.” Apparently satisfied, Geralt stands, undressing methodically and lying in his own bedroll. After a few moments of silence, he adds, “Wake me if anything hurts. Or if you have trouble breathing.”
Jaskier huffs a laugh, turning on his side to fix his companion with a rueful smile. “Geralt, have you ever known me to suffer in silence?” Those inscrutable eyes hold him, searching, so Jaskier reaches a tentative hand to his jaw. “Thank you. For your...indulgence.” There’s an entirely different tightness in his throat, suddenly. “For taking such good care of me.”
For a moment, Jaskier thinks Geralt may answer as he watches something unguarded yet still utterly indecipherable flit across the witcher’s scarred, handsome face. When he speaks, there’s something soothing in the low rumble. “Get some sleep, bard.”
And he does.
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yeojaa · 4 years
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NOT YOUR FAIRYTALE - ft. myg
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What do you do when you've called your wedding off but forgot to cancel your cake tastings? Why, you ask your brother's grouchy best friend, of course. 
pairing.  min yoongi.  sort of.
genre + rating.  fluff-adjacent.  general.
warning / tags.  mentions of infidelity, cake tasting, cake tasting isn’t a euphemism, fluff and hurt/comfort, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, friendship, friendship/love, childhood friends.
reading.   n/a.  a stand-alone three part one-shot.
word count.  ~3550
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chapter ii.
You know he doesn’t mean it unkindly but you can’t help the way your heart sinks like a stone, the jewel of the ocean lost to the Marianas Trench.  It clenches pathetically in the pit of your stomach, squeezing painfully in a way that only he can elicit from you.
Because even a decade later - after countless distractions and even an engagement - you still carry some childish crush for him, hold a torch that somehow hasn’t gone out.  It still burns, embers of a rampant wildfire doused by heavy rain, smouldering under a blanket of ash and misery.  
“Oh.”  
The single syllable squeaks past the cage of your teeth - a willy rabbit disappearing beneath the underbrush - and morphs into a cough on the back of your hand.  You can feel the warmth already creeping across your cheeks, bathing apples in the colour of their namesake.  You don’t miss the way Yoongi watches you, closely as ever and yet in a way you can’t quite place.  It sweeps through the amber of his irises and disappears into the depths of his pupils;  you want to chase after it, coax it out from its hiding spot, but don’t.  
Instead, you fist your free hand between your knees and manoeuvre another forkful of vanilla cake past the delicate fortress of your lips.  Weakened, now, because they feel feeble and you’re half-worried you’re going to say something you shouldn’t.  That the words are going to tumble right off a stone wall and not survive the drop.
After all, you and your brother had a penchant for doing so.  Namjoon, for spilling secrets about surprise birthday parties and Mother’s Day gifts.  You, for waxing poetic about the ways you’ve dreamt of Min Yoongi throughout the years.
“Disappointed?”  He drawls finally.  It stops you from tearing apart the carefully constricted wooden box that you’ve kept those emotions locked in, little splinters cast below your nail beds – a reminder of hey, stop that.
“Of course not,”  you answer, voice a little reedy, too focused on denial to sound quite normal.  
He laughs then and the sound has your face burning, flames licking over your nose in the same instance his lips curl, revealing pink gums and bidding eyes to thin into amused crescents.  The joy that radiates off him in waves, pours from his pores like bioluminescence at shore, makes you scowl.  
It suddenly all feels very reminiscent of your adolescence.  Of callow teasing and baited breaths, his name scrawled into the margins of your maths homework.
“Stop that!”  You’re waving your fork at him.  It’s meant to be menacing but only makes him laugh harder, shoulders rolling beneath the soft cotton layers that keep him wrapped away.  When he doesn’t stop, you opt to shovel another bite of cake into your mouth, noticing with deep satisfaction that the slice is almost gone and Yoongi hasn’t even had a bite.
You’re going for the last corner when the tines of his fork collide with yours.  So he had noticed.
He meets your stare with barely concealed disapproval, aggressively shoving your own utensil off the plate with a nonchalant flick of his wrist.  “Greedy,”  he says, mouth full of reproach and then, a moment later, citrus and sugar.
“You already knew that.”  And now it’s your turn to turn water to wine, words full of playful reproach that makes him shake his head yet remain decidedly silent.  
It wasn’t as if he could dispute that – not when he’d quite literally spoken the words himself.
So he takes his loss in stride, a gracious loser as you stack the now empty plate with another.  “Go ahead,”  you offer, like some benevolent leader.  
“Oh, thanks.”  The sardonic twist of his words doesn’t go unnoticed and you both roll your eyes, almost in tandem.  Your brother sometimes wondered where you’d gotten your dry wit from, the derisive streak that was at complete odds with every other part of your rainbows and lollipops – his words, not yours – personality.  But here and now, it was easy to see.
It sprouts between your teeth in shades of muted greys and muddy greens, sowed by a one Min Yoongi and cared for by your tender green thumb.
“How is it?”  You ask, chin palmed by a small hand.  The consequences of devouring that last cake are making themselves known, turning your stomach with its weight.
He must notice the way you don’t go for another bite because he’s speaking around a short laugh, the exchange getting lost in how the sound bounces around in your ears and stirs that same childish embarrassment.  “Karma.”  But he doesn’t seem particularly bothered, proverbial feathers unruffled in a way that is very distinctly him.  “It’s good. Really rich.”  Utensil gestures in the same motion his chin does - an unspoken invitation.
You don’t need to be told twice;  you loved sweets, would choose dessert over dinner nine times out of ten.
“Soooo rich!”  The flavour melts across your tongue, drenching every taste bud in cocoa, and you can’t help but hum in delight.  “I think this is my favourite.”  As if that means anything - as if that really matters.
That unreadable expression has found its way onto his face again, slapped neatly upon his features like a mask.  You try not to focus on it, taking another bite as you chew thoughtfully, gaze focused on a freckle in the birch wood grain of the tabletop.
“Last one,”  he muses and you wonder if it’s wistfulness you hear in his voice or if you’re somehow still that love-struck teenager you’ve always been, projecting a decade’s worth of emotion on the poor man.
It’s surely the latter.
“Go ahead.”  Verbatim, in that same sardonic tone you’d used on him, saccharine sweetness threading every syllable as if the sugar particles might turn it into something more palatable.  He's even got that little smirk of his, mouth quirked high over pink gums.  You want to roll your eyes - and do, with an exaggerated jut of your chin and a simpering smile.  
By the look on his face, he must be proud.  He'd instilled all of this in you - the spice softening the everything nice.
The tines of your fork sink easily into the dense, moist cake, gathering a generous helping of pristine white frosting and golden crumb.  You've never been the biggest fan of carrot cake - why would you want veggies in your dessert, you'd joke - but you think if every cake tasted like this, you wouldn't have a problem.  
"I think I'm a believer."  You're faux solemnity, features arranged in a straight line that causes Yoongi's own to split, amusement shining in between the fractures.  
"A believer in what?"
"Carrots.  Carrot cake.  Vegetables."  Spoken as if you didn't inhale green smoothies religiously.  
You appreciate that he plays along.  It's not very Yoongi-like but it's nice, a callback to the days when he'd indulge your naiveté.  "Unbelievable.  You're a disgrace to this family.  Namjoon is officially the better sibling."
Fingers fly to your throat.  You're scandalized, gaping at him as if he's suddenly grown a second head or admitted he's a wizard.  "You mean he wasn't before?  I took that top spot?"  You're not quite sure whether you're joking, the question rolling off your tongue with more hope than you'd meant. 
"No, Moni's the best.  Obviously."  Okay, you deserved that.  You can't really bring yourself to do anything but laugh, the sound twinkling bells.
"I'm telling Joon you said that."  
"He knows where you all stand."  The way he says it sparks curiosity, colourful fireworks illuminating your thoughts as you study him.  It shouldn't, but it does.  You think you can see something hidden there, buried treasure beyond the slope of his mouth and beneath the crags of his teeth.  It calls to you like a stark X on your map.
Another bite is thoughtfully chewed, flavours turning over on your tongue.  You're trying to find your words as icing melts, coating every inch in sugar.  "What's that supposed to mean?"
By the tick of his stare - the subtle tension at the corners - you think you've overstepped.  You recognize that expression well enough.  You'd become intimately familiar with it through the years.  Despite that, it seems you haven't learnt your lesson, repeating yourself when Yoongi's silence - and patience, you're sure - stretches thin.  You can practically see it, pulled taut between his teeth and in his brow.  
It's clear as day that this conversation is over.
So why you're still so intent on a reaction, you're not sure.  Maybe because this is the first time you've spent an extended period of time alone with him in what feels like years and it’s strange - akin to your first high school dance.  Awkward, forced, filled with promise but ultimately disappointing.
You wonder whether he can feel it too and if that means he regrets coming here.  You hope not.
“Sorry.”  It comes with all the lightness you can muster, sunshine filtered through eyelet cotton.  You offer a smile - full dimples and wrinkles at the corner of your eyes.  “You can keep your secrets, Min Yoongi.”
By the way he stares at you - levels you with just one look - you know he sees the effort.  It’s clear as day and he almost laughs, the sound bubbling quietly beneath the surface.
You were never good at doing things with any semblance of inconspicuousness - it simply wasn’t in your blood.  You wore your emotions on your sleeves, heart pinned neatly across your chest in neon pink.  It was both endearing and frustrating but you wouldn’t change it for the world.  It made you who you were.
“One day, I’ll tell you,”  Yoongi muses in a bemused tone that isn’t very convincing, lopsided grin of his own softening his features further.
“No, you won’t.”  And that’s fine.  You don’t mind, not really.
He laughs once but it’s enough.  “You’re right.”
The silence that finds a home between you now isn’t awkward.  If you weren’t so used to this give and take, you might’ve had whiplash.  
Instead, it’s made from years of friendship and shaped to fit between your cracks and crevices, filling the spaces between you with comfort.  It’s a nice reminder that despite everything, you can always come back to this.  That he’ll always be in your corner.
You try to express your gratitude in the way you speak, earnest as ever.  “Thank you for coming, Yoongi.”
Whatever he’s about to say is stolen by a new presence.
Petite - smaller than either of you, with full cheeks and a sweetly upturned nose - the woman offers a smile that fills you with warmth.  It reminds you of your mother’s, all crow’s feet and deep dimples.  There are stains on her apron, the sleeves of her pristine white coat pushed to her elbows.
“Did you enjoy the cakes?”  Her voice is rough but kind, rolling over syllables with an accent you can’t quite place.
“They were incredible!”  You’re quick to answer, gesturing to the free seat opposite you.  “Did you make them?  I wish I could do what you do!  I’ve never had a carrot cake so moist - or light!  And the chocolate— wow!”
You can practically hear Yoongi rolling his eyes beside you, because you’re rambling in your nervousness.
The woman laughs, sliding onto the stool with a little hop.  “Yes, that was me.  I’m glad you enjoyed.  My name is Celeste.”  Her handshake is firm, confident.  Despite the no nonsense tone she takes, her smile never falters.  It brings back memories of your favourite professors - full of guidance and wisdom and occasionally, tough love.  “Let’s talk a bit about you two.”
“Oh, us?”  The question stutters past your lips.  You hadn’t expected that.
“We like to understand the happy couple so we can better personalize our service.”  Another chuckle and her chin jerks toward where Siyeon mans the front desk.  “Did she not include that in her spiel?”
“Oh, no. She was great! I just—!”
Yoongi can sense you’re about to run the train right off the tracks and into a canyon.  It’s written into every inch of your face, the way your hand clenches at your side.
“What did you want to know?”  Control is taken seamlessly, both by words and touch.  His fingers curl experimentally around your balled fist, thumb ghosting easily across the back of yours.  He squeezes once and shakes gently - just enough to jostle the tension from your limbs but not enough to call attention to the movement.
“Anything you think is important.  How did you meet?"
You’re certain this is a standard question she asks regularly.  It doesn’t help the erratic beating of your heart.
“She’s my best friend’s little sister.”  This earns a laugh from Celeste, the sound bouncing off the table and into your ears.
“Wow!”  Arms cross over her diminutive frame and she studies the two of you with a glint in her eyes.  “And how's that?”  It feels like being interrogated by your halmoni - embarrassing and a little familial.  You wish you could find your voice.  You were great with grandparents.
“I never meant to fall for her.”
The words mean nothing - it’s all for show - and yet you very clearly note the moment you quit breathing.  How your lungs stop working, shuddering to a stop.  It’s in direct contrast to the way your heart triples in pace, nearly sending you into cardiac arrest.
“But you spend enough time with someone - and in my case, their annoying little sister - and it just happens.  You can’t really help it.”  His laugh sounds strange to your ears.  “At least I couldn’t.”
Across the table, Celeste’s face is inscrutable, her gaze trained on Yoongi’s. You feel almost invisible - or would, if you weren’t so keenly aware of the fact that he’s still holding your hand.  It's the only thing anchoring you to the here and now, a shackle looped neatly around bone to keep you from floating off into the great unknown.
"That's very sweet."  She says it plainly, like she's commenting on the weather or the colour of the sky.  There's no indication she sees through the carefully crafted facade the two of you have built.  You wonder if your - no, his - acting skills are just that good or if she's doing it for your benefit.  Surely she can see the tension in your posture, how you're ready to burst apart at the seams at a moment's notice.
"I think so, too."  You don't think you've ever heard him the way he is now, honey sweet and miles away from boy you grew up with.  His voice is decidedly soft, none of the usual grit coating the edges.  There's no storm just beyond the horizon; he's only calm blue as far as the eye can see.  "But she'd probably say differently."  
It seems your silence has carried on too long for his liking.  He nudges you above the table, a heart-wrenching smile drawing you back.  Somehow, despite his efforts to calm you - because that's what he's doing, with this grin he very rarely lets see the light of day and repetitive brush of his thumb - your nerves are lit up like a Christmas tree.  You think they must be flashing beneath your skin - a string of lights gone haywire.
"Right?"  A subtle widening of his eyes is enough.  You need to get it together, girl.
You echo him, laughter chasing syllables from behind your molars and into the open.  "Right."
Celeste's gaze bounces between the two of you, barely concealed amusement folded into the corner of her stare, the way her mouth purses into a wall she hides her laughter behind.  "You two are so sweet."
Well, you certainly hadn't expected that.  
"Really?"  It leaps forward before you have a chance to stop it, dragging roses over your cheeks.  The next words tumble out in quick succession, coming of their own volition.  You wish they hadn't.  "I never thought I'd see the day someone called him that."
The subtle flex of his fingers reminds you that you're still interlocked, intimately joined by twined fingers and white knuckles.  
"Well, he's sweet on you and that's all that matters!"  
"Exactly."  Yoongi is haughty and it looks good on him, framing his features and throwing them into a light you've only ever seen in the studio or on the basketball court.  "Don't forget that."  You think he might stick out his tongue - know he won't, but can almost imagine the expression.  It would fit the playfulness that you so rarely see, puzzle pieces filling in the spaces usually reserved for stoicism and austerity.
"Already forgot,"  you return, a little brighter than you mean to, with sunlight in your smile and stars in your eyes.  You can't help it.  Any minute, you might wake up from this strange wonderful daydream so you bask in it, a cat in a windowsill, long-limbed and at peace.
"Like I said—sweet."  There's a fondness in Celeste's eyes and you can't help but hold her stare as she continues on, undeterred by the world you seem so lost in.  "Are you looking for a traditional wedding cake?  What's your style?"
"We prefer understated."  You don't miss the way he speaks for the both of you or that he does so with such confidence.  The fact settles comfortably in the lining of your coat, tucking itself into the pocket over your heart.  You know you'll hold onto this for longer than you should.  "Nothing extravagant but something that clearly took a lot of care and work."
"He means no seven-tiered cake with sugar flowers and live doves,"  you supply helpfully, with glee you can't contain.  It forces itself to the forefront of your smile, displayed in blinding white enamel and gloss-slicked lips.  
"I'd take six-tiered with dead doves."
His deadpan rebuttal meets laughter - both yours and Celeste's.  He might just win Mister Congeniality with this performance of his.  
"What're your wedding colours?  Do you have any photos?"  That stops you sort.  
You blink once, twice, trying to remember the palette you'd decided on before your fairytale had come crumbling down, a castle made of sand at high tide.  It sparks pain from the tip of your nose to the soles of your feet and you reflexively flex your fingers, knuckles stark alabaster at the bitterness that sours your tongue.  
"We didn't even think of that."  Again, your knight in shining armour, refocusing the conversation when you most need it.  Yoongi chuckles but you see the tension in his eyes, how it lurks beneath the surface.  "Could we send some over later?"
"Of course!"  If Celeste notices the change in atmosphere, she keeps it to herself.  "Why don't you just send Siyeon anything you might have for reference and we can go from there.  I know being put on the spot can be hard sometimes."  There's an undercurrent of understanding, kindness cradling each word.  You wonder if you've blown your cover wide open - if there's a bright red FRAUD stamp across your forehead.  "Wedding planning is stressful, so take your time.  If we need anything pressing, we'll reach out."
You're echoing Yoongi's thanks, not quite processing that your meeting has come to an end.  If you really thought about it, you might feel bad - guilty for wasting their time.  Instead, you let yourself be guided from your seat by a warm hand at your back.  
"You two take care now."  She ushers you to the door with wide, wise eyes and a little smile.  "It was lovely meeting you."
Both you and your pretend partner bow, bidding thanks and farewell as the woman disappears back the way she came, imposing double doors swinging shut behind her.  Her departure feels like a weight has lifted off your shoulders, carried into the late afternoon sky that stretches above your heads.  You release the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding and meet Yoongi's expectant gaze.  
"What?"
"Nothing."  You can tell he isn't going to give an inch.  He's back to being the Min Yoongi you know.
"Fine.  Thank you."  
"You already said that."
The scowl you level him with is impressive.  He must be proud by the way his mouth twitches, corners of his lips quirking just enough to belie his pleasure.  "And I meant it!"
It's the reaction he's expecting - easily baited with just the smallest ounce of antagonism.  Rather than respond, he snickers, nose scrunching characteristically.  
"Stop laughing at me!"  You half-whine, sneaker-clad foot stomping on the ground before you can help it.
"You make it too easy,"  he drawls, shaking his head as the two of you continue down the sidewalk.  "Everything I do riles you up.  Learn to control your emotions."  As if it's that easy.  As if you were the sort of person to bottle any of it up.  He knows you aren't;  he's only working you up again.  
"At least I have them, Yoongi!"  It's a low blow, a shot meant to surprise and silence him.  You don't really mean it.
And yet it's you that's left staggered - because you've never seen that mixture of emotion on his face before.  A combination of hurt and frustration painting shadows across his cheeks.
What had you done?
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notes.  this was meant to be two parts but now it will be three.  oops.  
tag list.  @hoodmeup
455 notes · View notes
nsheetee · 4 years
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vanilla latte | renjun
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pairing: art student!renjun x barista!reader genre: coffee shop au | fluff summary: renjun finally finds his muse: a little coffee shop on campus. he thinks the building itself is what’s propelling his hand to finish all of his art assignments, but when you’re not the barista serving him when he walks in one night, he realizes that may not be the case...
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this is part of the moonlight cafe series — please read the preface before continuing reading
he has a sketchpad clutched to his chest, earphones in his ears, and bags under his eyes as he curiously checks out the store
the small, silver bell above the door jingles as he closes it, and to renjun it sounds like magic sprinkling down over him as he walks in
there aren’t many people in the coffee shop, some stragglers who are too busy with their work to notice him
and that’s the way renjun likes it
renjun hates his dorm room
he hates how loud his roommates play games into all hours of the night
it clutters his mind and makes working on his art hard
tonight, he was absolutely done with his shouting roommates and decided to pack his things and head out of the dorm
renjun had no idea where he would go
the library is already closed, and it’s not like any of his friends would be up at this time to let him come over
just as he starts mindlessly walking out of his dorm building, he notices a cafe further down the block
an open sign hangs on the door, and it’s enough to draw him in
you wait patiently while your new customer makes his way to the counter, mouth slowing dropping in awe as he takes in the ambience of the shop
you don’t blame him, the cafe has a certain aesthetic that everyone loves to hang out in during the day
and at night, it’s even more pleasing to the eye
the big windows that cover the front of the store let in the moonlight and the street lights from the park
the dark hardwood floors makes the open room feel less like a store and more like you’re at home
the far wall is made completely of red brick with some fairy lights attached across the top
“how can I help you?” you ask him when he comes close enough, finally making eye contact
he’s stunned for a minute as he looks at you, fingers fumbling to take out his headphones as he begins to speak
“oh. uh, can I get a medium vanilla latte?” he asks, his voice sounding as if he was lost his whole life, and just found himself when he walked through the doors
“sure-” before you can ask if he wanted any extra shots of espresso, he sits down, spreading out his drawing materials, and getting straight to work
you can’t help but peer at him from your spot at the espresso machine
he’s beautiful- you find him absolutely captivating 
his brown hair is long and it grows more in the back, giving him a faux mullet
(you would never in your life think you could be attracted to a mullet, but here you are)
more than his appearance, you find his concentration on his sketchpad and the furrow of his eyebrows to be attractive
he looks so intense as he works, but you can tell he’s not stressed
renjun’s hand moves faster than ever before
and he realizes he just found his muse, his new inspiration:
this cafe
you set his vanilla latte down in front of him, careful to not put his drawings in harms way
“thank you...” he barely mumbles to you, still focused on his artwork
the young artist comes in the next night, and the night after that, and every weekend that you work
he always orders a vanilla latte, sits down at the counter, and draws until you’re sure his wrists hurt and his eyes ache
despite him sitting in front of you for several hours every night, you don’t know his name, and you haven’t talked much or seen any of his drawings
honestly, you’re too shy to ask him
maybe he doesn't want to show you what he has been working on?
renjun doesn’t remember the last time he was this energized and inspired
his hand moves faster than his eyes, his heart rate increasing every time his mind wanders out of him and into the cafe
every time he finishes his assignments, he reaches for his sketchpad and lets his muse drive his art
every time he cranes his neck up, his eyes immediately come into contact with the beautiful cafe
the way you effortlessly move around your side of the counter while making drinks, the backdrop of the multitude of paintings behind you as if you’re dancing on your own masterpiece
the way you smile at all the customers, no matter what time of night it is or how many extra shots they order, the soft yellow lighting of the shop shining down perfectly into every crevice of the store
renjun is so entranced by this coffee shop, he wonders how he didn’t find this place earlier
one wednesday night, renjun feels particularly stuffed by his small dorm room and decides to head to the cafe to clear out his clogged brain
when renjun walks into his favorite cafe, he immediately feels that something is not right
at the cash register, he’s greeted by an older man with a gaze so piercing that renjun is a bit hesitant to sit at the counter
“hello, what can I get you?” the man asks
“uh, a vanilla latte, please?”
all of a sudden, renjun realizes why the cafe looks so different
it’s because you’re not here
there’s something weird about not seeing the same barista that usually resides on the other side of the counter
renjun isn’t sure what this foreign feeling is that’s filling his chest
it’s something akin to the feeling of coming home and the place not looking familiar because of new furniture, or looking at yourself in the mirror for the first time after getting a major haircut 
“can I ask you a question?” renjun reaches out for his coffee as the barista slides it to him on the counter, renjun notices his name is taeyong
“sure.” 
“where is the barista that usually works here at night?”
“are you talking about our new barista? well, she only works friday, saturday, and sunday nights. why? is there a problem?”
renjun shakes his head absentmindedly and taeyong nods quizzically before going back to the cash register where another customer is waiting
renjun opens his sketchbook that he set down on the counter earlier, preparing his pencils and pens, gripping one and staring down at the paper
and staring....
and staring....
and only staring
renjun waits for his hand to move by itself like it did all the other times he has sat in this exact same chair 
he looks up in front of him, and frowns deeper when he sees taeyong sweeping the floor, and not you
he glances around the coffee shop, waiting for inspiration to hit him like a truck and send his hand flying across the paper
but it never happens
renjun becomes frustrated; why won’t this cafe all of the sudden not work its usual charm?
is it because it’s a wednesday night?
is it because there’s more people here than usual?
is it because you’re not on the other side of the counter, sending him your small smile when you hand him his coffee?
oh...
how could renjun be so dense?
he drops his pencil, picking up his sketchbook instead and flipping through the last several pages
the backdrop of the cafe is in all of them
and so are you
your figure repeatedly shows up in all of renjun’s drawings, and when he looks at the portrait of a person he’s been picturing in his mind for weeks, he realizes it looks like you
his head is dizzy with this new discovery
renjun cringes, yet blushes, at the thought of telling you you’re his muse
it’s such an intimate and romantic confession; he finds you so beautiful to draw pages and pages and pages of drawings of you
the next time he comes into the cafe, it’s a friday night
the place is swamped, you have your hair up in a messy bun and your cheeks blushed red from the exertion of moving around so much
renjun’s hand itches to grab his favorite pen and draw this moment into his sketchbook, but he forces himself to sit and watch you, hoping you don’t notice him gawking over your form
once the rush is over, renjun adds shading to the portrait of you as he finally orders his vanilla latte
he didn’t want to add to your hectic rush, so he waited until it looked like you calmed down and restocked a bit
he glances at you through his eyelashes, resting a hand on his cheek to be able to comfortably glance between you and his art
you set his cup down next to him, sending him that smile that he’s so familiar with
until you glance down at his sketchpad
although the sketch appears upside down to you, you can make out your features adorning the person on the page
the young artist hides his face from you, but doesn’t move to cover his artwork
you glance around the cafe; the number of people have dwindled down and the ones who remain don’t focus on what’s happening up at the counter
biting your lip, you walk out of your side of the counter and sit down next to the boy that has been occupying your mind (and counter space) every night you’ve worked for the past few weeks
renjun is surprised when you take a seat next to him, and looks up at you with slight fear and wonderment
“hi, I'm y/n.”
“I'm renjun.” he mentally pats himself on the back for not stuttering, but when you raise your hand to shake his, his gulps and his mind goes blank
your hand is soft, and even though you have espresso under your nails, they’re still the prettiest hands he has ever seen
“I thought that if you’re going to draw me, you might want to see me in a better light.” you give your weak explanation, and renjun laughs 
“sorry, this might be weird for you, but every time I see you I just want to... draw.” renjun tries to explain the feeling of being inspired by you, but you shake your head
“you don’t have to explain. just draw, and I'll sit here for you.”
and renjun does
he draws until his wrists ache and he’s sure he’s memorized every mole, imperfection, and scar on your face
he draws until he has memorized the amount of eyelashes you have and how many stars sparkle in your eyes
and when renjun goes back to his dorm that night, he realizes it’s not enough
he comes back every night you work, draws into the oblivion until he’s sure he has run out of energy
and then he draws some more
taeyong saw renjun’s artwork of the cafe one night and bought all the artwork from him to hang up in the store
eventually, his drawings end up on the red brick wall, snuggly tucked into wooden frames and illuminated by the fairy lights
and in the top right corner of the wall hangs the portrait of you
it’s the only drawing without a frame, and the only one that renjun didn’t receive money for
he even pined it up to the wall himself, wanting to keep you in the cafe in some type of way as a reminder of this place and you, his muse
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