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mauvecherie-writes · 3 months

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the morning after: l.hamilton

pairing: lewis hamilton x black!f!reader.

summary: scenes after a wild night.

warning: 18+ mdni, nsfw, no structural plot, sexual scenes, dirty talk.

note: i started this on his birthday, finished this yesterday lol so this is set around his birthday. flashbacks in italics.

w.c: 1.19k

tags: @queenshikongo3 @dhlfastestlap @hersinsarescarlet @emjayewrites @saintslewis @serpenttines-library @hopefulromantic1 @cocobutterqwueen @bluesole16 @chaneajoyyy @melodicheauxxlovesfood @felicity-x0 @lewisroscoelove @lh44adore @hellomadamebutterfly

You were sore.

You were so, so sore.

A groan left you as you tried to stretch your limbs. The little light coming into the room caused your eyes to squint as you took in the surroundings.

This wasn’t your hotel room.

The first flash of last night was projected within your mind.

Fuck. Fuuuucccckkkk.

The smell of his cologne wrapped around you - reminding you of whose room you were currently in and who it was you spent the night with. You sat up straight and clasped the sheet close to your naked chest. You were finally able to get a hold of your bearings.

Clothes.

Shoes.

Bottles and glasses.

Furniture.

All disheveled from your feverish tryst.

You drunkenly giggled against his lips as you stumbled further into the room. The sounds of the empty champagne bottle rolling on the floor from being kicked by your shuffling feet.

“Sshh.” You placed your finger against his lips as his hands explored the length of your back. “You gotta be quiet.”

“No one is gonna hear you baby, you can be as loud as you want.” He mumbled as he trailed kisses down the curve of your neck as he hooked his fingers beneath the straps of your top.

You chewed on your bottom lip as the memories of the previous night beseech you. You could feel the phantom of Lewis’s touch on your body the more you woke up.

One thing was for certain, you needed to leave his room.

The chilly wind drifting into the room from the parted window nipped at your skin as you jumped out of the bed. As you rushed around the room to pick up your belongings, you felt the residing slickness in between your thighs.

He stroked your clit faster, pressing onto your bud firmer with each stroke. Your body fell into his, Lewis’s arm secured around your body, pressing your back into his chest with his hand on your chest, rolling your nipple in between his fingers. He enjoyed the way your body shook from the pleasure that he was drawing from it.

Then you tried to grab his hand to stop him. He chuckled against your ear. “Don’t try and fight it baby.” He bit on your earlobe. “Just let it happen.”

The first orgasm had rocked your body and he had played you so beautifully. You had tried to give back - it had been his birthday after all - but he wouldn’t allow it. You were his for the night to enjoy.

You zipped up your jeans and haphazardly threw your top back on but your zip was broken. You remember Lewis pushing your top past your hips.

Shit.

And your room was on the other side of the resort too. A good five minute walk - even less if you ran. But you couldn’t walk through the resort like this.

You grabbed his shirt from the floor and put it on and shoved your top into your bag.

The humming of the shower finally stopped.

You halted your actions as you heard Lewis’s movements within the bathroom and soon enough, the door opened. With steam emerging from behind him, he walked out.

You loved the way the towel was wrapped and sitting low on his waist. Skin glistening from the dampness - somehow making his tattoos pop out even more. The marks from your mouth and nails still wore on his skin and the sight made you lick your lips.

“Leaving so soon?” He smirked at you. You were by the door with your braids in a ponytail, bag and shoes in hand with his t-shirt from the previous night on.

“Umm.” You sounded as you tried to recollect your thoughts. “Last night, you told me that you had something planned with your boys. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“They’re plans for me. They can wait until I’m ready.” He walked towards you and you couldn’t help but let your hands fall beside you.

“Oh.” You mumbled, your cheeks warming slightly causing him to chuckle. Lewis’s hands came to your waist and pulled you closer. His touch triggered another memory.

Lewis was above you with his hands on your waist as he thrusted into you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your back arched off the bed.

“Fuck you’re so deep.” You gasped as you felt every inch of his thickness slide deep inside and touch parts of yourself that you could never reach. He moved so that your leg was on his shoulder and he was hovering above you. The position shift caused you to lose your breath and immediately tremble as he touched your sweetest spot.

“There it is. That’s the spot huh?” His dark chuckle rang in your ear.

Lewis saying your name snapped you back to reality. The way that he was staring down at you made you slightly embarrassed about where your thoughts had been. And from the look in his eyes, it was like he knew it too.

“What are your plans later?” He asked you as his finger traced your jawline. You licked your lips, taking a deep breath as if bracing yourself to gaze into his deep brown eyes.

“Nothing. Me and the girls were just going to chill in the lounge bar by the pool.” You whispered softly as he continued to caress you.

“Good. I’ll meet up with you there then go for dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah.” His lip curled to the side. “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t take you to dinner?”

“The kind of man who fucks me on every surface of his hotel room until his cum is dripping down my thighs.” The vulgarity of your words caused his breath to hitch in his throat. Lewis briefly closed his eyes as if he was remembering the way that he had bent you over the couch in the living room area.

Because you remembered that.

“Let me be a good man to you and take you to dinner.”

“Fine.” You giggled at the strangled tone in his voice. You reached forward to place a kiss on his cheek but Lewis turned his head so his lips brushed over yours. He brushed his nose against yours and you took that as the go ahead. So you gently pressed your lips against his but the soft kiss turned heated.

You softly whimpered into his mouth when his one hand went to the back of your neck and pulled you closer. The sound of your moan spurred him on, leading him to press you into the door. You felt every inch of his rigged body down to his hardening dick against your abdomen.

Your moment was only interrupted by the loud ringing of an alarm. You pulled away from the kiss with a heavy pant of your chest.

“I have to go.” You whispered. “ I need a shower.”

“You could have taken one here.”

“I can’t be around you. I can’t think straight.” Lewis chuckled before he moved away from you.

“Go, I’ll see you at dinner. We’ll continue with this later.”

#mauvecherie writes #the morning after fic #lewis hamilton x black reader #sir lewis hamilton x black!reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader #sir lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton fanfiction #sir lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #sir lewis hamilton #lh

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yabakuboi · 1 month

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Steve watched Eddie's van turn the corner and shut the front door, closing himself away from the outside world so none of his neighbors could see him as he rested his forehead against the painted wood.

"I'm not going to cry," he told himself.

He said it even as his eyes began to burn and his face began to twist, teeth grinding and throat closing. He wiped quickly at his face, again and again, as he stumbled to the couch to sit, drying each tear as it rolled down his cheeks, clinging to his jaw.

"I'm not going to fucking cry," Steve choked, and then doubled over into himself, arms around his thighs, and he began to sob.

So what if he was twenty-two, living in his parent's house alone, working the same dead-end job with a sixteen year old manager. So what if all his friends and family were in college, spread out from New York to Chicago to Los Angeles. So what if his boyfriend was moving to Seattle for his band and they broke up, because Steve was never going to be his parents, resenting and being resented for keeping his partner from his dreams. So what if he was too scared to ask Eddie to stay, to ask Eddie if Steve could go with him. So what if everyone moved on and Steve couldn't?

Steve grew up lonely. He could get used to it again.

He didn't realize how hard he was crying until the front door burst back open and Eddie hurled himself at Steve's feet, long limbed and clumsy and babbling.

"Baby, oh fuck, I'm sorry," he said, already untangling Steve from himself, tying all his loose ends back up together with his until they were a knot of their own. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Stevie. I never should have— I wanted to—"

"I'm sorry," Steve sobbed back. He gasped and swallowed it all back down. Eddie had already gotten them raveled up again, it would take forever to pick it back apart. Steve knew it would hurt worse this time. "Fuck, Ed, you didn't have to— I'll be okay, I don't want to hold you back—"

"Come with me," Eddie burst.

And Steve couldn't help himself, and began to sob again.

"Please," Eddie begged over Steve's crying, his voice shaking and his face wet enough to match Steve's. "Please, sweetheart, honey, please just come with me?"

Steve took a shaky breath, embarrassed and now too full of hope and fear. "You sure?" he whispered. He pressed his face into Eddie's neck, breathing him in again for what might be the last time, again. "Eddie, don't—"

"I'm so sure," Eddie said. "I'm so fucking sure, Steve, please."

"Okay," Steve breathed. Eddie had always been the braver of the two of them, especially when it counted. Steve leaned back so he could look at him, red faced and watery eyes. He tried to give Eddie a smile, but he knew it was wobbly and weak. "Okay."

All of Steve's fears meant nothing as he watched the happiness break like dawn over Eddie's face.

#steddie #my fic #shush mal #something something once again about eddie being the bravest when it comes to love something something #anyways they pack steve's shit that night and leave early the next morning to make up for eddie's lost time to get to wherever he's going #and they live happily ever after amen

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hajihiko · 1 month

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Nice night 🌘

#fuyuhiko kuzuryu #hajime hinata #kazuichi souda #akane owari #sonia nevermind #sdr2 #super danganronpa 2 #danganronpa 2 #danganronpa #an art #Me drawing this at 8 in the morning:#I was drawing this after working on the fic a bit. I'm struggling....but trying.... !!!!!!!#Please for the love of God don't focus on the hand size changing. You think u can keep track of that???#Edit: the final chapter is almost done. I drew this as a comfort before All That lol so. Enjoy #Me after writing: ...... and then it was all a bad dream the end :)#Vi if you see this. I'm waving. Tysm for your hard work

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mid-80s · 10 months

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fixing eddies bangs

pov: eddie asks you to fix his bangs

cw: grinding, implied sex

you immediately say yes.

it has been a dream of yours to cut eddies hair or to style it in any way and you hop at the opportunity when it's presented.

you're both on the floor of eddies room, him practicing for his gig the following night, you picking an outfit for him for it.

you don't know when you'd become his personal stylist, but you always find yourself picking out his show outfits.

suddenly eddies soft tune that he's been playing stops. "can you cut my hair?"

the question out of the blue, as they hadn't even been saying anything before, simply content in the others presence.

you turn around, stunned, and look at him with a look that says really?

"c'mon, i know that styling my hair is like a wet dream of yours," you roll your eyes and turn back to his closet, being stubborn. "but i really need my hair cut for tomorrow!" you don't budge. "you're my bestest friend in the whole wide world and i would really like you to cut my hair." nothing. he rolls his eyes.

"please?"

and that's how you ended up sitting on a flustered eddies lap cutting his bangs.

he kept squirming and you're no expert, so didn't want his hair to look worse than it already did. soo you sat on his lap. not the best idea for either of you as now you have to try not to squirm as eddies manhood is rubbing up against your clit just right.

you're both a blushing mess and you pray he can't feel your pussy twitch from his big hands around your waist, the cold from his rings giving you goosebumps through your thin shirt (that's probably his, you don't remember), and his big doe eyes, staring at you like you're the prettiest thing on earth.

and you're not far off as that is exactly what eddie is thinking.

having the girl he's been crushing on for years a half an inch away from his face is not helping the feelings he's been trying to push down, or his growing boner.

it's just the way you press your lips in a line when you're focused, the furrow of your brows, the tilt of your head. ugh, the twitch of your tight cunt against his boner. fuckkk.

he feels his cock jump at that and he knows you feel it too. and as much and he doesn't want to admit it, he's kind of glad you do, especially now because he knows you're feeling the same.

just a few more snips. you tell yourself. it's not helping you feel better because you have absolutely no idea what to do when you're done. eddies grip on your waist tightens and your pussy twitches again.

and then you feel eddies cock twitch. like it's fucking mimicking yours. you finish his hair, and look him dead in the eyes.

"fucking finally." you sigh, breaking the heaving silence hanging over your both.

you brush the hair off his face and practically throw the scissors on the counter while keeping eye contact and eddie looks at you terrified and confused.

you kiss him at the same time you grind against his fat fucking cock. you can't believe you didn't realize how hard he was before.

eddie tries his hardest to kiss you back but can't hold back the moan that comes deep from in his chest.

this is gonna be a long night.

#they def fuck all night after this lol #eddie didn't even see his hair til the next morning #might make a part 2 if this does well #eddie x reader smut #eddie munson #eddie x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader smut #smut #smutshot #stranger things #first fic #best friends #eddie and reader are bffs #eddie x reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb

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moominsuki · 1 year

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telling katsuki you’ve never had a g-spot orgasm before and suddenly you’re back is pressed to his chest as you’re both sat in front of your bedroom mirror and he’s stroking the inside of you walls, making it his mission to make you cream all over his fingers

#you tell him you’ve never fingered yourself even #and all the guys you’ve dated have just never hit the spot #after that he’s folding you in a mating press and angling right to that spot #he’s so cocky after too because you wake up that next morning happy as fuck #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #✎𓂃uma thirsts。°˖⌕#anyways fic coming soon woo oh #✎𓂃stamped: (my hero academia)。°˖⌕#༝˚૮ .♡ katsuki.

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bones-of-a-rabbit · 3 months

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Quick silly doodles of a robot imagining his future w his robot crush, Readerbot <3

#this was gonna be set to lyrics from ‘she wants me (to be loved)’ but it was one in th morn and I had work in six hours lol #aka. I got too lazy to finish lmaooo #doodles #sketches #silly fluff #simp sun #fnaf au #fnaf sun x reader #fnaf sun x y/n #repairbot au #readerbot au #staffbot reader au #after everything was fixed fic #after everything was fixed (but you were still broken)#sun is a big silly simp okay. I don’t make the rule

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hilsoncrater · 4 months

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im literally gonna...be sick to...my stomach. house and wilson wanted each other so viscerally in 3x19. all wilson had to do was barge into house's office and wordlessly kiss him. like. that's all it would have took. house wanted wilson to do that SO SO SO badly. i need to lay down

#hilson #house md #im ill. i have work in the morning yet im gonna lie awake all night thinking abt this #are there any fix-it fics where wilson storms back into house's office after saying goodnight and . passionately kisses him?#are there???? anyone got any recs?????#if not im gonna write it bc. yeah holy shit

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yeyinde · 3 months

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“When your need grows teeth” is so good I literally bite the pillow like a dog while reading it!!! I need to know more about Ghost and the ‘unlucky person was misfortune enough to unleash the muzzle on that particular dog’.!!!!!

haha i really didn't think people would pay much attention to it, tbh! i like adding little things like this into the stuff i write. a little story within a story, i guess. but i would love to flesh it out, since where it was this undertone of "oh, you..." (sort of cheeky, kinda sly when you looked at the bigger picture) with Price, it would more-so be, "oh, no..." with Ghost.

Price's original convo with Ghost would have been acknowledged as gospel and adopted into Ghost's own scripture for the longest time (since it's my weird little hc that Ghost uses Price as a yardstick for normalcy—or, almost like a needle in his morality compass), and then seeing Price give into those needs was sort of like this big moment that caused that compass to go haywire.

essentially, if Price is a starving dog, then Ghost is one on the verge of death, willing to sink his teeth into anything just to survive. and that's sort of the crux of it. in my head, Ghost would have been unleashed by this, but what took the muzzle off is his own MC, who thinks they're taking in this sick, old dog from off the streets, and helping it as much as they can, only to wake up and realise this dog is rabid. and it already bit them. but what really caused this poor person such misfortune was that little tossed in line by Price when he's volleying with Laswell about his status. Or damn near close to it. and that's what sealed their fate lmao. the implication that this baby is somehow more permanent than a ring.

idk! i like the idea of someone sweet, if a little naïve, being bit by him, a man who wakes up most days thinking he's still buried in a grave. or what happens when a living corpse feels heat for the first time in ages after being given a bed and a warm body with a soft touch. quite catastrophic, imo.

#the Ghost fic would be a legit babytrap tho lmao #like youd wake up after Simon broke into your apartment to him fucking you already and hes shushing you #and youre just a little too sleepy to realise you ran out of condoms before his deployment #not that hed have bothered anyway #youd probs wake up the next morning with him calmly drinking tea and the only thing hed say is something like #“if its a boy well name him Tommy”#and ur like fuck fuck fuckkkkkk #kinda rambled sorry!!!#but my writing really doesn't let me dive into stuff as in depth as id like without being omnipotent so whenever i get the chance i go off #ghost x reader (baby trap edition)#cod #call of duty

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youremyonepiece · 5 months

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anxious mornings

sanji x gn!reader (no pronouns used), sanji's pov

anxiety has a tendency to spread, as sanji discovers unexpectedly early one morning.

warnings: mentions and descriptions of anxiety and related symptoms; unhealthy eating habits; small implied mention of disordered eating; slight angst, comfort, light fluff (please lmk if there are any i should add!)

word count: 3k

sanji runs a hand through his damp hair as he steps out of the washroom, unsuccessful in warding off a large yawn. though the early waking hour is by no means unusual for him, he is but human, he thinks to himself with a slight chuckle; some mornings are just going to be easier than others.

shaking his head slightly as though attempting to scatter his thoughts around him like the water droplets that fly from his hair, sanji starts to make his way towards the kitchen. he needs to start prepping for the many meals of the day if he hopes to stand a chance at keeping up with luffy's incessant hunger. his fingers itch for a cigarette, anything to help stave off the remaining sleepiness in his system, but he resists the urge. while he knows he has little to no hopes of quitting, nor does he really want to, smoking this early in the morning feels like crossing a line-- not before breakfast.

it's as he's walking across the planks of the deck in the 4 AM darkness that he hears a sound he would recognize anywhere: the sound of a stomach growling.

sanji's eyebrows furrow as his thoughts about the day's menu are entirely forgotten. his head snaps towards the cluster of barrels from where the sound came-- a stowaway? he wonders briefly, but they've been out at sea for days now. there's no way someone could have gone unnoticed for that long. the growl is followed by a vaguely familiar soft sigh, causing sanji’s brows to furrow further.

he's at the barrels in a few long strides and can't stop his eyebrows from shooting upwards when he peers over their tops to find-- you. you're sitting on the deck with your back leaning against the barrel in front of him, eyes unfocused as they gaze across the distant horizon.

your name escapes his lips in confusion before he has completely processed your presence. you jolt slightly in surprise, clearly not expecting to have any company, before tilting your head upwards to peer at him.

"sanji?" you ask in your voice that he never fails to swoon at. a pause, and then, "is it that time already?"

sanji can't help but smile at your question. you truly are so sweet, so adorable-- he relishes the sight of your wide eyes, your slightly parted plush lips, your mussed hair. you're still in your pajamas, which isn't unusual in and of itself (you tended to get ready for the day after eating breakfast with the rest of the crew) but something about seeing you like this, alone in the early hour, feels more intimate than the two of you had been before. which, granted, was not at all, but that's only all the more reason he feels grateful to be here with you now.

he makes his way around the barrels languidly before leaning against the merry's railing, facing you with a warm expression. "indeed it is, sweetness. good morning."

he watches as a small smile forms on your lips. “good morning," you say, and sanji struggles to keep his thoughts from spiraling into bliss.

“you’re up early,” he comments casually with a friendly smirk, though a concerned quirk of his eyebrow gives him away. “to what do i owe the fine pleasure of your enchanting presence, my dear?”

the corners of your mouth turn upwards at his question, but he notices the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. "just couldn't sleep, i guess," you respond with a shrug, breaking eye contact to stare back out at the dim horizon.

it’s clear you aren't being completely honest, but sanji doesn’t want to push you to share if you don't want to. after all, it isn't like you guys are particularly close or anything. actually, he isn't sure if you could be considered "close" to anyone in the crew, with the exception of maybe luffy.

it isn’t that you didn’t trust them, not exactly-- despite the brevity of your time with the straw hats thus far, you’ve been through enough harrowing experiences together to know that you’ve got each other’s backs. but trusting someone with your life is one thing, especially when it’s already been proven in battle, and trusting them with your feelings is entirely another. it just hasn't been long enough yet; you’re still getting to know them.

at least, that's what he hopes it is, anyway. with the way his eyes seem to cling to you like flies to fruit, he isn't sure what he'll do if the truth is actually that you disliked him.

"anything i can help with?" he offers, trying to keep his voice nonchalant. he wants to help, but he also doesn't want to impose if you don't want him around.

to his relief, you meet his eyes again and smile. "that's kind of you, but no." you don’t say anything for a moment, holding his gaze with unreadable eyes and suddenly sanji feels as though he is gazing upon anubis instead, his heart being weighed on your scale to determine his worth. after a couple of seconds that span eternity, you say, “honestly, i’m just feeling a bit... not great.”

“not great?”

you break eye contact with him to look down at your stomach, silent for a moment again. “just anxious,” you finally sigh, your hands moving to rest at a spot right below your rib cage. “i feel it right here. it feels like... like pressure is building up, but if i press down on it then it's like i can get it to release," you demonstrate, causing a growl to emanate from your torso as though you had simply pushed air out of a bag. you exhale with slight relief again, hands still firm against yourself, before looking back up at him with an abashed smile. "i think my anxiety gave me gas," you half-joke.

sanji forces himself to ignore his ecstasy-- you’re opening up to him! he had just been thinking about it, too! you trust him!-- and to focus on your words instead. it gets easier as you continue, his frown deepening at the sound of your stomach growling again as he remembers what drew him to you a few minutes earlier.

he pulls out a cigarette with the slightest tremble in his hands-- breakfast be damned. you had just unwittingly reminded him of the fact that he’s only human for the second time this day already; some things are harder to deal with than others.

he takes a long inhale of his cigarette, letting the smoke permeate through his system and dull his nerves before slowly exhaling it in a thin wisp. "sweetness," he starts when he finally feels grounded again, eyes full of concern as they meet yours, "i don't think that's anxiety."

you seemingly can't stop yourself from releasing a short, incredulous laugh, lips curved in a smile but eyebrows furrowed and eyes guarded. "what?"

"at least, i don't think that it’s only anxiety." he holds your gaze steadily despite your spike of wariness. when he speaks again, his voice is sincere. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to say you didn't know what you were feeling. it's just--" he pulls away from the railing to crouch in front of you, faces now at the same level. the cigarette between his fingers creates a soft haze in the air between you. "when was the last time you ate?"

sanji feels the guilt spread through him again and attempts to fight it off by taking another long drag of his cigarette. he turns away from you to puff out the smoke, lost in thought.

now that he's thinking about it, you didn't show up to dinner yesterday. or lunch. your absence hadn't been odd; in the not-quite-two weeks you had been aboard, you had eaten with the rest of the crew a whopping total of four times. instead, sanji had noticed you opted to grab your dish and eat in the open air of the deck, taking shelter under nami’s tangerine trees if the weather wasn't accommodating. but he can't even remember you stopping by to make a plate for yourself yesterday. and thanks to luffy, he hadn't noticed any discrepancies in leftover food (that is to say, there was none as usual).

you had been there at breakfast, but he can't recall you grabbing anything except a mug of coffee. how could he have failed to notice? when was the last time he had seen you eat in front of him? it's been maybe two days since, he thinks, hating that he isn't certain. this had happened under his watch. and that too, with you. the person he’s trying to get closer to, to befriend and become a trusted confidant of at the very least, and at the very best... well, he finds you very attractive. but he would never cross that line unless he was wholly certain you wanted to, too.

you're silent as well, seemingly thinking back to find the answer to his question. he watches color creep up your cheeks as something dawns on you, realization and embarrassment fighting for dominance over your features. "i ate last night. at like, ten," you finally respond in a meek voice, looking everywhere but his face.

he can’t stop himself from glancing towards the kitchen. “what'd you eat?” he wonders.

you remain quiet for a moment before sighing again. "you're right. i'm hungry. i... i hadn't realized."

he narrows his eyes at you without malice, seeing through your attempts to escape answering him. “what did you eat?" he asks again, his voice’s volume softening to match yours.

you wring your hands, still refusing to look his way. "a couple of almonds," you say eventually, sounding chastised.

"and?" he prompts.

you don't respond.

"okay," sanji says, feeling his hands tremble again as he takes in your words. "okay," he repeats, "what about before that?"

"um, i think right after you cleaned up for lunch? i stole a slice of cheese, the one with the peppers in it." he can see you’re struggling to keep your expression neutral, but he isn't sure which emotions you’re fighting off.

he does know which ones he’s struggling with, though. sanji feels his stomach turn with guilt and trauma at your words. "and before that?" he asks, his voice low.

"coffee, at breakfast." your hands still but they and your eyes remain on your lap.

he exhales your name softly.

"it had milk and sugar in it," you say defensively at his meager response, voice somehow even softer.

sanji lets out a quiet, humorless chuckle before taking your hands in his. he doesn't say anything, waiting, until finally you look up to meet his eyes. "why?" he asks when you do.

you look confused. "what do you mean?"

he raises one of his hands to tentatively cup your cheek, eyes full of tenderness and concern. "are you... unhappy with the way you look?" he asks carefully, trying not to word it in a way that could be misconstrued. when your eyebrows furrow deeper, he hurries to add, "because you’re-"

"no," you cut him off before he can undoubtedly shower you in praise, "no, it's not that." and then you add, cheeks flushing, "um. thank you, though."

sanji offers you a brief smile, his hand falling from your cheek and rejoining the other with yours, before frowning again. "is it my cooking, then? sweetness, if there's ever anything you don't like-"

"no, not at all," you cut him off again, this time with more certainty as you shake your head. "i love your cooking."

“then?" he prompts lightly when you don't say anything else.

one of your feet begins to flicker back and forth like a light switch against the deck, giving away your restlessness. you’re back to looking everywhere but at sanji, at his eyes. "i'm just... not hungry."

as if on cue, your stomach lets out another low growl, causing your blush to deepen in embarrassment. sanji wants to smirk at you, poke fun at how cute you look flustered like this, but the noise reignites his guilt. reminds him how you’d gotten to this state without him even noticing.

"your stomach says differently," he simply states. sanji pulls his hands away from yours before standing up and offering one back to you. you don't hesitate to take it, and he effortlessly helps you rise to your feet. "c'mon. let's get some food in you."

your wince at his words doesn't go unnoticed by him. he gives your hand, still in his as you both make your way towards the kitchen, a short squeeze before murmuring softly, "wanna tell me about it? you don't have to if you don't want to."

to be honest, he's surprised you've been so receptive to him thus far. he doesn't want to push his luck, your grace, because if he did-- if he made you feel uncomfortable, if you began to avoid him because of it-- well, it would feel crushing, that’s for sure.

the nervousness in sanji’s chest continues to blossom as you say nothing for a few steps. however, it’s swiftly replaced with concern when you do respond, your voice heavy with exhaustion. "like i mentioned before, it's because of my anxiety." you sigh once again, weighed down by your words. "sometimes it just gets... bad. i don't know why. i'm not even really sure if there is a reason, to be honest. it just happens every now and then."

the two of you have reached the kitchen by now. he silently holds the door open for you before leading you to a barstool at the kitchen island and walking around it to the sink to wash his hands. he holds his cigarette between his lips as he begins to gather ingredients from various shelves and cabinets and places them on the island between you.

“the anxiety makes me feel... full, i guess?” you continue. “i don't feel hungry, and i definitely don't feel like eating. and i feel so nauseated because of it, too. thinking about eating makes it worse. so does seeing or smelling food." you sigh. "i know i have to eat. i guess... i just didn't notice that i hadn't really eaten recently.”

sanji turns away from you, taking a final drag of his cigarette before snuffing it out and tossing it away. “you didn’t notice?”

“...i guess i didn't want to notice." you sigh for what seems to be the millionth time and sanji feels his heart twist. “noticing means admitting something’s not... okay.”

sanji hums once you trail off, signaling to you that he heard you and understood.

you start up again after a few moments of silence, restlessness shining through once more. “it’s not really that big of a deal, though. you don’t have to worry-- don’t worry about it. it’ll pass. it always does, eventually.”

sanji doesn’t respond, instead staring at the amalgamation of ingredients he had gathered specifically for you. his eyebrows draw together as he mentally rifles through countless recipes, determined to find the right one for you at this moment. something light, since you hadn't eaten properly in a little bit. no strong scents, either, except maybe ginger since that’s good with nausea. a variety of flavors and textures, to keep it fun. it’s early, so breakfast foods-- that means the bananas, yogurt--

"are you mad at me?” you ask timidly.

he freezes, mouth slightly parting in surprise before standing straight, his attention now entirely on you. "of course not, sweetness.”

"you seem upset.”

sanji takes a beat to process your words. he thought he'd been hiding his reaction well, but apparently not. "i suppose... i’m upset at myself,” he finally admits to you.

you frown. “why?”

he offers you a consoling smile, “you haven't been eating well and i hadn't noticed." he realizes you’ve reminded him for the third time that day that he’s only human-- as much as he wants to keep it to himself, to not burden you with his thoughts, he knows he stands no chance at resisting you. who could?

“but i didn't even notice," you insist.

he feels his adoration of you helplessly grow at your rebuttal. “true, but it isn’t your job to make sure all of our crewmates are well fed and healthy. it is mine."

“fine, but we're pirates,” you shoot back almost immediately. “we should all be taking care of ourselves-- i should be taking care of myself."

he chuckles at your fervency, the warm sound filling the room. “i get the feeling you’re not going to let me win this one."

"i didn't realize there was anything to win,” you grumble, making sanji laugh harder. when he glances over at you, he sees you're smiling, causing his own to widen.

sanji works in a comfortable silence for a few moments, his smile remaining on his face as he feels your eyes on him. he takes a step back when he’s done, admiring his handiwork before proudly presenting you with a small bowl and steaming mug. “made especially for you: peanut butter yogurt topped with diced bananas and granola, served with a cup of ginger herbal tea.”

simple, but he knows that’s always best when feeling nauseous. the cold yogurt should help settle your stomach, and the peanut butter provides extra protein which he had heard could help with nausea, similar to the ginger and bananas. and the granola ties it all together with its crunch.

you give him a genuine smile as your eyes glaze over the meal he had prepared before looking back up at him. “thanks, sanji.” you pause for a moment before adding, “are you okay?”

“what?” he asks, taken aback, then chuckles slightly. “aren’t i supposed to be asking you that?”

only you, he thinks to himself affectionately. only you would share something you’d been struggling with and then ask him if he was feeling okay. ever thoughtful, ever sweet.

his question seems to embarrass you and sanji can’t help the warmth that spreads in his chest as your ears turn red. “maybe not... one hundred percent, but better.” you meet his eyes again, your smile returning. “definitely better.”

his own smile grows uncontrollably wide as he leans over the island to place his hand on yours. “then, sweetness, i’m okay, too.”

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peachcitt · 6 months

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text from thirteen by @anna-scribbles

art by me :)

read thirteen read thirteen it’s everything read thirteen read thirteen read thirteen read thirteen<3 happy thirteen day. have you read thirteen yet. read it again if you have. prepare for your life to be changed if you haven’t.

#thirteen #anna #my art #ml art #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fic #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste #emilie agreste #something happened to me last night prior to last night i only had backgrounds because i was really doing everything for them #and then i was like oh fuck i need to kick my ass in gear . thirteen day is tomorrow #and then i proceeded to stay up until FIVE IN THE MORNING adding the characters details and the words #it’s been a while since ive done that. of course anna would be the cause #anyway i am so insane about thirteen. every panel color and detail of this comic holds significance not just to me but also to how i view #this fic. so if you’re wondering if a color means something or if a background detail feels out of place. that’s because im insane and #and it all DOES mean something #anyway. im in a rush i have work in an hour and a half and i have to look after my old band director’s dogs before i go

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taegularities · 4 months

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Cmi!jk, your eherm *physical* relationship from when you started your fwb has been described as “animalistic”. Now that you guys are in love, what’s it like now? More gentle, soft making love or a balance of both? 😌

your eyelids are shut, your expression peaceful. when jungkook started trailing his touch along your clavicles and up your neck ten minutes ago, you were still sighing and humming in delight. but now that he's caressing your jaw, tracing your lines and curves, you've become entirely quiet.

slumbering away, letting warm fingertips draw patterns on your bare, glowing skin. jungkook thinks you're prettiest like this. natural and content, so gorgeous that it truly hurts sometimes. how did he get so lucky?

the picture of where are you now and of where you used to be is nearly impossible to grasp. over a year ago, your mid-sex conversations consisted of lewd praises, cocky teases and otherwise unintelligible sounds. moans reverberating off walls, intimacy of the most animalistic nature.

barely any kisses; lips lingering on hot skin.

even now, neither of you ever suppresses the hunger. both a writhing mess, thirsting. but… he sees so much more of you now. your moles. your smile. how your eyebrows furrow when he kisses your neck. and how soft and vulnerable you sound sometimes. how you call his name… like you've forgotten every other word in existence.

he still feels the graze of your fingers along his back. how you hold onto him, pull him closer. how you steal kisses and mix your unfading desire with all that your heart contains. all the things he says to you; and all the things you say to him.

want no one but you.

stay with me, my love.

i'm so lucky to be yours.

as jungkook's movements along your shoulder stop, your eyes start to open again. you sigh again, one more crease between your eyebrows before you slowly, surely look at him. a smile comes into view when you notice him staring; and as he basks in the beam, leaning into you with a clump in his throat, all his feeble voice allows him to say is–

"can i… kiss you, angel?"

#how many more times am i gonna use a pic from this live? the answer is yes #it fits those lazy morning/after s*x asks so well sigh <3 #notes for rid 🌹#anon #*amc #*amc: cmi #fic: colour me in

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goodmorninglovelies42 · 8 months

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What if I added some magical realism and de-aged Jamie for a fic and Roy has to be soft with him, because he’s a child, and when whatever magic wears off, and he’s an adult again, Roy doesn’t know what to do with all those soft feelings? What then?

#is this a thing?#or would it weird people out too much?#eh probably would #but who do we write fic for if not ourselves?#jamie tartt #roy kent #royjamie #I feel like it happens after the kebab night #they get a kebab and Jamie goes home with Roy and for whatever reason they wake up the next morning and Jamie is 6 #Jamie is a mix of obnoxious and confident because his mother tells him he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread #and fearful and skittish because his dad is his dad #Roy would be on a roller coaster trying to deal with him #but he’d love him so much

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wannaeatramyeon · 11 months

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Samuel Seo x Reader: Morning Routine

Sammy looks after you in the morning

Samuel is very particular about his morning schedule. He typically starts his day like this:

5:00 am - workout in his home gym

6:15 am - shower and grooming routine

6:45 am - get ready and dressed

7:00 am - coffee and a simple nutritious breakfast

7:30 am - leave for work

You start your day by rolling out of your bed too late, frantically running around trying to get ready, and rushing out the door.

The first time Samuel observes that, after living together and having an unexpectedly slow morning, his lips thinned at your terrible disorganisation.

His routine changes. Just slightly.

One cup of coffee becomes two. One simple nutritious breakfast becomes two.

"Morning."

A hand reaches out to stroke your hair.

Still one foot in dreamland, you blearily open your eyes, and see Samuel crouched down eye-level next to your bedside. You may have been having a nice dream, but damn, this view and the reality is much better.

Barely even registering his hand on you, your body as if on autopilot nuzzles into it anyway, intuitively knowing that comfort anywhere.

This routine, a constant yet never old. Almost everyday, the exact same pressure to brush your hair back to rouse you, the heat of his fingers, the callouses. The little huff of amusement as you nudge his hand with your nose, half asleep but still wanting to be close to him, so he can cup your face and run his thumb over your cheek.

"Coffee and breakfast on your bedside table," Samuel says, kissing you on the forehead and standing up.

He looks immaculate, as always. Far too awake for this time in the morning. Hair precisely groomed, not a wrinkle to be seen with his suit. Smelling expensive and intense and dark, scent matching well with the person.

"What time is it?"

"Time for you to wake up, Y/N."

"Nooo, Sammy-" and you snuggle into his hand again.

"I told you you don't have to work. I can look after you."

"I know."

And true, you don't have to. But you like the work you do. The small little contributions you make. Being self-sufficent, to an extent.

Another day, another dollar it is.

Resigning yourself to your fate, you relinquish your hold on your boyfriend, sitting up and sip your coffee. The first hit of caffeine to kick start your day.

It's adorable, really, and more than your heart can bear most mornings - the fact that Samuel prepares this for you and added your wellbeing into his own routine too.

Once you finish your coffee, and satisfied that there's little chance you're going to fall back asleep, Samuel says goodbye with a final kiss on the lips.

"See you tonight, Y/N."

It's the same routine almost everyday, yet neither of you tire of it.

#the best sort of behaviour #just quietly looking after you #its canon in my head ok #why do i like writing about mornings with sammy huh #lookism #lookism headcanons #lookism x reader #lookism hc #lookism manhwa #lookism webtoon #samuel seo x reader #samuel seo #seo seongeun #seo seongeun x reader #lookism fic #lookism fanfic #wannaeatramyeon

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yeraskier · 1 year

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five times everyone questions jaskier's sanity, and the time jaskier realizes he was (sort of) right all along. [inspired by yesterday's events... you know the one]

also on ao3

Geralt looks… different. Very different. Like his entire fucking face has changed different.

He looked just like himself at supper last night, but now it’s morning, and suddenly, he looks nothing like himself. It doesn’t even make any sense. Jaskier briefly considers that maybe he had a bit too much ale the night before, but he’s drunk more than he did last night and this has never been the result.

Geralt definitely looks different. Very different. Like a whole new face different. He looks a bit taller, too, which is completely unfair.

Jaskier eyes him suspiciously, and he’s probably completely losing it, but even the man’s Adam’s apple looks different when he swallows. Gods.

He doesn’t realize he’s reached out until the tip of his index finger makes contact with Geralt’s cheek. The witcher freezes, spoon stopping midway to his mouth before he slowly turns his head.

Jaskier pokes his cheek again, and then his jaw, and then his nose.

“What happened to your face?” He asks, sliding in closer to inspect. He pokes one of Geralt’s cheekbones, twice. Three times, for good measure.

“Do that again,” Geralt growls in a way that tells the bard he most definitely should not do that again.

Jaskier drops his hand.

—

“Has anyone else noticed that something's wrong with Geralt's face?”

Ciri lifts her head from the book she’s been scribbling in as Yennefer eyes him skeptically through the mirror she’s facing.

“What are you on about now, Jaskier?”

“Geralt. His face. It’s different,” he says, stepping further into the room. “And so is his physique.”

Yennefer arches a perfectly done brow at him.

“Not that I’ve been paying, or have ever paid any attention to his physique or anything,” he amends quickly, “because I don’t…”

Ciri’s snicker covers up a muttered, “right,” which Jaskier pretends to not notice.

Yennefer sighs as she turns to face him, “Geralt is fine. He looks the same as he did yesterday, and the day before, and last week, and the week before. He looks the same as he’s looked for decades. It comes with being a witcher.”

“But—”

“Geralt is fine,” she says with a level of finality that lets Jaskier know he is not winning this argument, “and you’re an imbecile.”

—

Jaskier’s not going crazy, okay? No matter what anyone says (fuck you very much, Lambert!) he is not going crazy.

The man still walks like Geralt, and talks like Geralt, and acts like Geralt, and knows things that only Geralt would know (like the fact that Jaskier has also needed chamomile rubbed on his bum… more than once), so it must be Geralt, except for the fact that looks nothing like Geralt.

“Do you really not see a difference?”

Ciri groans from beside him, clearly irritated at her reading being disturbed. Oh well, she’ll have plenty of other chances to read during their little hiatus. “No, Jaskier, I do not see a difference.”

The bard sighs as he watches Geralt, or whoever the fuck that is, from across the library. It’s all he’s been able to do for the last three days, which, well… isn’t new since watching Geralt has become one of his favorite past times over the last decade or so, but that’s how Jaskier knows he isn’t going crazy. Something is different.

Jaskier has spent hours on hours taking in the man’s defined jaw, and his expressive brows, and his pouty lips. He’s spent so much time trying to depict the specific shade of yellow in Geralt’s eyes, and the curl pattern of his hair, and how long it takes his stubble to grow back after it’s been shaved. He’s spent far too long picking up on every little detail to be told that nothing about the man has changed, because so much has changed.

“How could you not see the difference? Everything about him is different! I mean look at the shape of his face!” Jaskier exclaims, waving his hand wildly in Geralt’s general direction. “And look at his nose! Gods, look at that nose!”

Ciri blinks at him once. Then, again. She doesn’t blink for three beats and then, she blinks again.

“Look!”

She does look this time, and she even squints. Jaskier waits, watching her, mentally begging for that realization to dawn over her.

Her lips do a thing where they press together and push upward, almost like a frown. “I think you’re right,” she tells him.

Jaskier’s eyes widen, posture straightening in alert.

“His skin looks much more vibrant, I think that new soap Yen got him is working.”

His eyes narrow into slits, and Ciri turns to him with a cheeky grin.

“Very nice, Ciri,” he drawls, “very nice.”

Jaskier huffs as he slumps back in his seat, turning his attention back to Geralt.

She’s right, though, his skin does look more vibrant.

—

“Triss, you’ve got to believe me,” Jaskier whines.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Jaskier,” she says, “but I just saw Geralt, and he looked fine, same as he’s looked the last ten times I’ve seen him since I got here.” She continues her journey down the hall, and Jaskier is truly surprised by how fast the woman walks.

“But he isn’t! He isn’t himself, Triss, I swear, and I’m the only one who realizes!”

Triss comes to such an abrupt stop that Jaskier almost crashes into her. When she turns around, her head rolls, along with her eyes. She looks as exasperated as Jaskier feels.

“Suppose Geralt’s face somehow did change, how would that have happened, Jaskier? Explain that to me.”

“Well, I don’t know how exactly, but it must have been the work of a mage. Or maybe one of his potions!”

Triss levels him with a flat look. “A potion? Really? Right, because witchers are running around making potions that can help them shapeshift.”

And when it’s put like that, Jaskier realizes how insane he sounds. “That doesn’t rule out the possibility of a mage!”

“You guys have been in Kaer Morhen for weeks now. Just you, Ciri, Yen, a bunch of witchers, and now, me. And last I checked, Yennefer warded this place so well Melitele herself could strike this area right now and everyone here would remain untouched.” She’s talking with her hands, something she does when she’s at her wit's end, something she does when she’s refraining from turning the person she’s talking to into a toad. “That, alongside the protections that were already set up, means that the possibility that any mage could waltz in here uninvited, or even come close enough to this place, to cast some face-changing curse on Geralt is absolutely zero.”

“Yes, but—”

“You need rest, Jaskier. You’re starting to sound diabolical.”

With that, she turns on her heels and leaves him in the hallway.

—

“So… you and Geralt have known each other for quite some time now, huh?”

Vesemir looks unimpressed.

It’s an expression he’s becoming quite familiar with.

Jaskier flashes his most charming smile, “have you by any chance noticed any changes in his appearance?”

Dead silence. Great.

“Anything at all?” He presses on hopefully.

The witcher’s expression goes from unimpressed to murderous.

Jaskier has never bolted from a room so fast in his entire life.

—

Jaskier knows this isn’t really the smartest plan he’s ever had, it’s probably in the top five of the dumbest, actually.

He doesn’t know what he has to gain from watching Geralt sleep, but it’s better than just sitting back and waiting for answers to come to him. And alright, he’ll be the first to admit that it’s kind of (really!) fucking creepy, but Jaskier has to get to the bottom of this. So, watching Geralt sleep has to hold some kind of answer.

Many years of sleeping alongside the witcher have taught him how to maneuver without waking the man up, he’s grateful for that now in a way that he’s never been before.

Despite what many may believe, Geralt’s quite the peaceful sleeper. He barely moves, he breathes softly, his face remains soft and pliant— he sleeps like… well, an angel. Even with this brand-new face, all of these little things still exist.

There’s always a certain level of alertness, though, something Jaskier realized early on, but that seems to be nearly nonexistent tonight. It must be Kaer Morhen. Geralt’s at peace here. It’s probably one of the few places, if not the only place, where he truly feels safe. The thought makes Jaskier’s heart melt.

For the second time this week, he finds himself reaching out almost involuntarily. The back of his fingers run along the side of Geralt’s face, and the witcher releases a hardly audible sigh. Jaskier smiles, allowing his fingers to wander a bit, lightly tracing the lines of Geralt’s face, both sharp and smooth.

Geralt’s nose twitches, and Jaskier taps a finger to it. Definitely number one on the list of the dumbest things he’s ever done.

The witcher startles awake, sitting up so fast he nearly headbutts Jaskier. He probably would’ve had the man not fallen off the bed, and flat onto his ass onto the cold, hard ground.

“Ow,” Jaskier groans.

“Jaskier?” And oh, fuck, that sleep-worn voice always did things to him, and right now is not the best time for any of those things to be happening.

Geralt’s eyes zero in on him, and Jaskier offers a weak smile and a wave.

“What the fuck are you doing, Jaskier?”

“Trying to figure out what happened to your face,” he responds, and it comes off as more of a question than an answer

Even in the dark, Jaskier can feel Geralt glaring at him. Then, the witcher lights up the candles beside his bed, and Jaskier can see Geralt glaring at him.

“This again?”

“Yes, this again.” Jaskier hisses defensively, dusting his buttocks off as he rises to his feet. “There is something incredibly wrong with your face, and no one else sees it, but I do.”

“Jaskier—”

“No! I’m being serious right now, Geralt. Your face has changed, alright? It’s completely changed, and I don’t know why I’m the only one who has realized but—”

“Wait—”

“I’m starting to feel kind of crazy over here, and I—”

“I think I know what’s going on. Yen—”

“...don’t understand how everyone else can just—”

“Jaskier, you’re not listening.” Geralt’s standing, now, and he’s all up in Jaskier’s space the same way Jaskier was in his mere minutes ago. And he’s shirtless, which is very, very distracting.

But not distracting enough, Jaskier is on a mission here, Godsdamnit.

“No, you’re not listening. Your fucking face—”

“My face is fine. Yennefer—”

“Your face is not fine, Geralt. I mean, it’s not like you look like a gremlin or anything, but—”

“Yen, she—”

“You’re still beautiful—”

“Yennefer is fucking with you, Jaskier.”

“I don’t think any curse could ever make you less beautiful—” Wait.

“Wait.” That was Geralt’s voice, as if he’d read Jaskier’s mind.

“Yennefer’s fucking with me?!” Jaskier exclaims at the same time Geralt says, almost breathlessly, “you think I’m beautiful?”

“Huh?” The bard answers dumbly, “what? Yes, of course, I think you’re beautiful. Woo-hoo, this isn’t news to anyone. Now, what do you mean Yennefer’s fucking with me?”

Geralt doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t do anything. He just stares. He stares for so long that Jaskier starts thinking that maybe Geralt’s the one fucking with him.

“Hello?” Jaskier snaps a few times. “Continent to Geralt?”

The witcher seems to blink out of it and huffs a laugh.

“Remember last week when you replaced the soap Yennefer uses for her hair with an ink of sorts?”

Yes, Jaskier does remember. Vividly. It’s one of the best pranks he’s pulled on the sorceress since they started their little game. “And it turned her hair red.”

Geralt hums in confirmation, “well, you know Yennefer. She said she’d do something about it. I didn’t know what, but… seems like it was this. She casted a beholder spell on you.”

“A what?”

“It’s a spell that makes whoever it’s put upon see whatever the caster wants them to see. In this case, it was… my face.”

Jaskier gasps. “That witch.” She’s a genius. Evil, but a fucking genius. “Do you know how long until it wears off?”

“How long did it take Yen to get her hair back to black?”

“Five, maybe six days.”

“That’s probably your answer.”

Jaskier groans. Knowing Yennefer, it’s probably double that. “Gods.”

Geralt hums, thoughtfully. And then, “so…”

Jaskier doesn’t know where this is headed, but he doesn’t like it.

“About you thinking I’m beautiful…”

He gulps. Right. “I said that, did I?”

The witcher takes a step forward, and it was a big step, and there wasn’t that much space in between them, to begin with, so that single step has them toe-to-toe. “You did.”

“Well, everyone thinks you’re beautiful,” Jaskier grins, nudging him as he tries to play it off.

Geralt tips his head to the side with a slight furrow in his brows, “not everyone.”

“Everyone who isn’t an idiot, I mean,” says the bard, “or a jealous prick, or a prejudiced waste of space. You’re beautiful, it’s hard to look at you and not see that. Most people see that, it’s not just me, ask anyone in this keep. I may not have had anyone on my side about your face looking different, but they all agree about your face being beautiful trust m—”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?”

“You’re doing that thing you do when you get nervous.” Geralt smirks when he says it, the prick.

“What thing?”

“The rambling thing.”

“I’m always rambling,” Jaskier tells him, “and I know this because you’re always telling me to shut up.”

“No, you’re always talking,” Geralt corrects, “and when you talk, it’s controlled. Whereas when you ramble, it’s hardly coherent because you’re going a mile a minute. You only do that when you’re nervous.”

Fuck.

Geralt leans in closer, lips stretching even further, “am I making you nervous, Jaskier?”

Fuck.

“I—”

Gods, they’re so close. They’re so close, and they’re only getting closer because Geralt is still leaning in like he’s going to—

“Stop.”

They’re not close anymore. Geralt is suddenly several feet away from him. He no longer looks smug, he looks confused, and… small.

“I know where that was headed,” Jaskier begins, licking at his lips and realizing how dry they’d gotten from Geralt trying (and succeeding!) to seduce him, “and trust me when I say I am on board, like all the way on board.”

Geralt cocks a brow, as if to say, then why aren’t we already naked?

“But, I want my first kiss with you to be with you.” At the witcher looking confused again, he continues, “I know it’s you, but I want you to look like yourself.”

The witcher sighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever been irritated by Yennefer more than I am at this moment.”

“I feel your irritation, believe me,” says Jaskier, “and I promise once this wears off I’m all yours, but in the meantime… we can still sleep together in a completely clothes-on kind of way.”

Geralt smiles.

And that’s how the two end up spending the rest of the night cuddling while plotting how Jaskier’s going to get Yennefer back.

—

The spell wears off a day later, and by the time Jaskier emerges from Geralt’s room the following day, he forgets what he was getting Yennefer back for in the first place.

He ends up baking her a chocolate cake as a thank you, with the words THANK YOU, THE SEX WAS GREAT on it.

The look of mortification when she sees it is priceless. Unintended, but priceless.

As it turns out, the best revenge is a bit of kindness.

#naturally.... a fic is the only answer to this #im still in mourning okay #the ending couldve went many ways but this is what my tired brain came up with at 1 in the morning and i still liked it while editing it so #there you have it #yennefer because of course it was yennefer #and because i refuse to make a liam hemsworth geralt EVER #even after s4 has aired it will always be henry #sorry lili #i wish i knew how to make my humor/fluffy fics artful but i unfortunately only know how to do that with angst #im sorry #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my writing #geraskier #yennefer of vengerberg #princess cirilla

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 7 months

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the picnic table scene

#this isnt going to make sense to literally any of you for a long time and im sorry about that #but FUCK was i writing this morning #man. man man man man Man the motivation Hit #this fic might get done after all...#i need. to go sleep. OUASGAHSAKJSNCADCLSKDVMS;#THEY MAKE ME INSANE THEY MAKE ME INSANE #YALL ALREADY KNOW WHO IM TALKING ABOUT #THEY MAKE ME CRAZY AGH AGH AGH #ok. ok. ill sleep. and we'll see if the scene holds up when my brain is Refreshed #absolutely unprompted #throwing myself to the ground and howling #who do i need to BITE #oh 7 am me we're really in it now #literally getting myself too worked up. im. Emotional. i almost feel like tearing up #if that was something i could do lmao #fortunately crying does not come easily to me but in my heart im like. idk. Sobbing #anyway in order to calm down im gonna go think about something that makes me equally insane #which is the OG reason i designed a butterfly look for howdy. yass!howdy's origins <3 #slamming my face through drywall ok bye im off to crazyville where i can catch a layover to sleepytown

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fogwitchoftheevermore · 25 days

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(context for watcher/listener!sausage can be found in the “videos” tag on my blog if you want it, but this ficlet can be read without said context)

- - -

“Y’know, of all the Hermits I was expecting to be pulling me into a dark corner tonight, I did not expect you to be first, Grian! I love the initiative!”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Grian says in a voice near a hiss. He’s got Sausage by the wrist, leading him into a small area of the upper floor of the tavern in Sanctaury that does look like it was built for the exact purpose Sausage is implying. Grian decides to ignore that as well.

“What are you doing here?” Grian’s straight to the point. He always has to be, with these Things, if he doesn’t want to get trapped in a loop of slant rhyming pleasantries.

“What do you mean?” Sausage asks, shaking his wrist out of Grian’s tight grip and leaning comfortably against the wall. “This is where I live. It’s my home. If anything, I should be asking you mysterious strangers what you’re doing here, but I’m sure you’ve heard that question enough for one day.”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Grian crosses his arms and tries his best not to look petulant, but he sure feels like it. “I thought They’d given up on trying to snatch me back, so why would They send you of all people? What’s your game?”

Sausage laughs, honest to god laughs, like he can’t believe Grian’s even asking him such a question. Grian thinks it’s a reasonable question, in this scenario, but what he thinks and what’s reasonable rarely seems to matter with these things.

“They didn’t send me,” Sausage looks him up and down in that way that makes Grian have to physically stop himself from curling inwards. This is why he never talks to Them. “Nobody sends me anywhere, they don’t tell me what to do and I like it that way! I just do my own thing. Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“No you’re not! You’re not- you can’t be! That’s not how this works!” Grian begins to notice that he’s no longer whisper-shouting and starting to just-normal-shout and takes a deep breath, trying not to draw the attention of his friends enjoying themselves on the floor below. And, realistically, in the other dark corners Sausage seems to have built into this place.

“That’s exactly how this works. You didn’t think you were the only person who’d left, did you?”

Grian opens his mouth, closes it, and thinks. In hindsight… yeah, he had kind of assumed he’d been the only person who’d left. Not for lack of trying, probably- but They’d tried for so long to get him back, kept him closely surveilled even when They’d accepted he was gone- surely some people had caved to that pressure eventually. When there was no sign They’d ever let up, ever let you go… he could understand eventually letting it overtake you.

“Did- did you leave, too?” Grian doesn’t remember the last time he saw Sausage’s face. He didn’t know him back then, of course. He probably would’ve connected the man with the person Pearl so often spoke about sooner. But he knows it’s been a long time, maybe even longer than the last time Grian had gone There. He doesn’t think Sausage had been There, that day. This might explain why.

“Eh, not quite?”

“What-“ Grian flails, both mentally and with his arms a bit. “What do you mean not quite?”

“Exactly what I said! I was never- it’s complicated, y’know?”

“Explain. Now.”

“Well, uh,” Sausage seems to flounder for the first time since this conversation started, which Grian is choosing to take as a victory. “Look, I wasn’t- they didn’t pick me. For this, or for anything, ever. Sometimes things just happen and you get yourself into a place you shouldn’t have and then… they can’t get rid of me, I can’t get rid of them, it is what it is.”

Grian stares at him for a long moment. Really stares at him, in the same way Sausage had looked him over earlier, in the same way that makes you feel like you’re under a microscope. Judging by the sudden nerves in his eyes, Grian can assume he feels it too. Grian remembers his face. That had been the first thing he’d noticed, when the Hermits had arrived. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other, but Grian knew his face. And now that Grian was studying him, really trying to remember… he’s not sure he quite likes what memories he’s dredging up.

“What are you?”

“Grian!” Sausage’s voice drips with mock offense as he puts his hand up to partially cover his mouth. “We only just met, do you think that’s polite?”

“Answer the question,” Grian sighs. How Pearl deals with this man on the regular, he doesn’t know.

“Well, if you insist.” Sausage sighs, somehow even more exaggerated than his previous movements. “It’s just… if you’ll believe it, it’s somehow even harder to answer the first question.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Grian says. “They’re two very different People, you know.”

“But they’re the same species, when it all comes down to it. Like, you might be very different than a chicken, but you’re both birds in the long run.”

Grian pauses, fanning his wings out a bit behind him as he considers. “I don’t think that metaphor’s quite landing the way you want it to.”

“No, me neither. Anyways, let me continue.

When they don’t pick you, things go a little differently! You don’t get sorted onto one side or the other since, well, you’re not really supposed to be there? So I’m… whatever I want to be, really. I think I’m feeling like more of a Listener, today, but we’ll see how the mood shifts.”

Grian flinches at the Name, on instinct. He doesn’t know how to feel about that, so he files it away to be dealt with at a later date. As for the rest of what Sausage said-

“What?”

“You heard me.” Sausage shrugs. He’s so nonchalant, Grian thinks he might strangle him, if not for the worry that that’s exactly what he wants out of this, somehow.

“Did I? Did I hear you?” Grian wants to pace, but that requires leaving the security of the corner, so he forces his feet to root themselves to the floor. “I thought- I thought you had to- if you wanted to change sides, I thought you had to-“

Grian closes one eye and takes his thumb to it, twisting the finger into his eyelid. The gesture seems to get the point across.

“Well, that’s the funny thing about this, actually.” From the way he’s been talking, Grian assumed Sausage thought this whole thing was funny. He restrains himself from saying that out loud if only so Sausage will finish his explanation.

Sausage reaches up to his left eye, pulls his eye lid back a bit, and unceremoniously pops out his prosthetic eye.

“All these processes and rituals actually have a lot of loopholes.”

Grian doesn’t know what face he’s making, but it’s enough to make Sausage giggle while he pops the eye back in. Because of course he does. Because this how his day is going, apparently. Walk through a weird portal in his basement and wake up in a world filled with his friends who don’t recognize him and also a guy he only ever saw There, who he was never supposed to see again. Sure. Of course he’s laughing about it. Grian thinks if he was a slightly different person, he’d be laughing too. It is, undeniably, absurd.

“Well, I think we’re done here then!” Grian would probably object if he weren’t so shocked about the loopholes. As it is, he just stands there a bit stupidly.

Sausage turns away to return to the party before turn around again for just a moment, reaching over, and ruffling Grian’s hair. That shocks him enough to shake him out of his stupor and swat Sausage’s hand away, though not before his hair is suitably messed up.

“What was that for?!”

Sausage smiles as he reaches up to rough up his own hair as well. “I assumed you didn’t want your friends asking questions about why you were dragging me into a dark corner, you know?” Sausage even goes far enough to pull his shirt a bit out of where it’s tucked into his pants, because of course he does. Grian tries not to cringe, but Sausage is right about this one thing. It is the easiest way to dodge any questions about where he’d gone off to- at the expense of the many knowing looks and teasing remarks he’ll be getting from the other Hermits instead.

“Have a good night, Grian!” Sausage calls over his shoulder as he turns to leave for real this time. “And remember, drinks are on me for all you guests tonight! You look like you need it.”

#empires smp #hermitcraft #grian #mythicalsausage #hermitfic #empiresfic #long post #my writing #….do i need to tag shipping on this #they’re not actually DOING anything. and i would say i’m not really going much further than sausage usually does #but like. idk man. if i wake up in the morning and decide i need to tag shipping i will #anyways. fics for an audience of like two people total #but that’s ok cause i like this SO MUCH #the first few sentences have been rotting in my tumblr drafts for like at least two months #and i finally kicked myself into gear to just finish it #and i had fun! i liked the way i used capitalization here to really wedge the difference between how these two think of the watchers #(and listeners)#grian doesn’t necessarily respect them but he does still see them as Other. and he’s maybe a little afraid #so all the important stuff gets capitalized #sausage doesn’t. he doesn’t respect them and he doesn’t fear them and they’re just a weird bureaucracy to him #so no capitalization!#also ten seconds after posting this i got a post on my dash #of sausage posting a screenshot of e’s tumblr post about him checking tumblr in their twitter replies #terrifying. hey king if you see this keep the bit up. i think it’s funny

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