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tigertales9 · 1 year

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Weathering the Storm

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Smut

Description: This fic takes place last off-season in mid-April 2022 (about 2 months after the Super Bowl loss to the Rams).

A/N: This fic has been 99% done for several months, but I keep tweaking it to pieces. I'm still not super happy with it, but I've decided to go ahead and post it. It's a bit of a sex fest. Full disclosure: I actually edited out some of the sex and it's still a sex fest.

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You smile at Joe as he strides ahead to open the restaurant door for you. "Thanks," you say, your smile intensifying when he gives you a playful wink. It's good to see him happy, you think to yourself, following him into the dimly-lit building.

It'd been about two months since the Super Bowl and Joe was back to his usual self. The disappointment of losing the big game had morphed into a single-minded focus on improving and coming back better than ever. You had no doubt he was going to unleash hell on the league next season.

"Y'all can sit anywhere," the hostess hollers from across the mostly-empty dining room. "A waitress will be right with you."

You follow Joe to a table in the far corner and sit in the chair he pulls out for you. "We beat the dinner rush," you muse, giggling when Joe heaves an exaggerated sigh of relief.

That was the entire reason y'all drove to a small bar & grill just over the state line on a week-day afternoon. Joe didn't want any attention; he just wanted to eat in peace without it turning into a production. Y'all had also really enjoyed the leisurely drive on this warmer-than-usual April day. Winding around back roads with the windows down and the sights and smells of spring in the air felt like a mini vacation. Him sliding his big hand under the hem of your dress to rest on your bare thigh was the icing on the cake.

A few minutes after you sit down, your waitress arrives at the table with a couple of menus. "We know what we want," Joe says, softening his abrupt words with a big smile while waving off the menus. She blushes and drops her pen on the floor, quickly leaning down to grab it while muttering an apology. Joe widens his eyes at you for a second before she stands back up. You give her a smile and place the order y'all had decided on when looking at their online menu. She scribbles it down, grins at you then hurries away without looking back in Joe's direction.

You shake your head at Joe. "You can't just whip that thang out on unsuspecting people."

"What thang?"

"That panty-dropping smile. You gotta ease folks into it; build up a little tolerance before you hit 'em with it full force."

"It's just a smile," he mumbles, grinning when you narrow your eyes at him. "And the Mona Lisa is just a painting," you counter.

You're still smiling at each other when a waiter walks up carrying two frosty longneck beers; he drops coasters on the table and sets the bottles down, his gaze darting between you and Joe a few times before he takes a deep breath. "I'm a big fan," he mutters, a blush rising in his pale cheeks as he makes this admission. "You got screwed in the Super Bowl," he continues, locking his gaze on Joe and furrowing his brow. "That late holding call was bullshit!"

Joe smiles and nods his head. "Always good to meet a fan," he says, taking a quick sip of his beer while the waiter fidgets. The waiter blushes even more crimson before continuing. "You're gonna win plenty of Super Bowls, though, so don't sweat it. Everybody who knows ball knows you're the truth."

Joe gives him a dazzling smile. "Thanks man, 'preciate it. What's your name?"

"Ca…Caleb," he stammers, eyes going comically wide as Joe holds a hand out to shake his. "Nice to meet you, Caleb," Joe says, giving a firm handshake. "Nice to meet you, too," Caleb whispers, backing away slowly before turning to jog toward the kitchen; he turns back around and points a finger at Joe. "Best QB in the league!" he yells, almost tripping over his feet before catching himself.

Once Caleb disappears, Joe glances around to make sure no one is ogling him. "Thank God this place is mostly empty," he mumbles, giving you a wry grin. You take a long swallow of your beer and give him a wink. "You're 2 for 2," you chuckle. "You need to register that smile as a deadly weapon."

"Hush," he mutters, his eyebrows creeping toward his hairline when you slowly slide your tongue around the rim of your beer bottle before taking a sip. His heated gaze is still locked on yours when there's a commotion at the back door of the restaurant; the door slings open and two men walk in from the outdoor deck, both of them cackling and snorting like a couple of wild animals before one stops dead in his tracks and points directly at you.

"Hot Damn!" he hollers, his bloodshot eyes going wide as a gust of wind from the open door blows your skirt higher up your thighs; you grab your skirt before anyone gets a glimpse of panties and firmly tuck it under your legs. "C'mon, sweetie, don't be shy," the drunk croons, taking a step toward your table before Joe stands up and turns to face him. "Oh shit, nevermind!" drunky yelps, retreating to the bar on the far wall across from your table, his friend close behind him.

Your pulse rate is going crazy when Joe calmly sits back down and takes a sip of his beer. "You wanna leave?" you whisper, throwing a quick glance at the rowdy drunks.

"Nah -- if they keep acting up I'll just beat the shit out of both of 'em."

"And go to jail for assault and battery?" you snap.

"Not if they throw the first punch," he grins, the twinkle in his eye looking scarily like anticipation.

"Joseph Lee," you grit out, your eyes narrowing in warning. "Don't you dare get into it with those assholes."

"Relax, babe," he soothes. "I promise I won't start anything."

You're still pondering if you should leave when your waitress walks up and sets your food down. "Thanks," you say, managing a smile even though your nerves are completely frazzled. "You're welcome," she says. "Just holler if you need anything else."

Before you can take a bite of food, you hear a loud whistle and turn your head to see the two drunks leering at you. "I might have to bust some heads if those assholes don't stop staring at you," Joe grumbles, shooting a death glare at them.

"Hol' up!" one of them yells. "Is that the pretty boy who just lost the Super Bowl?" They both squint at Joe, trying to get their alcohol-blurred eyesight to focus. "Sure is," his buddy finally chimes in, both of them guffawing and chanting "loser" until the bartender slams a hand on the bar in front of them. "Y'all can either shut up or leave," the bartender snaps.

You slowly turn your head and make eye contact with Joe; he takes a huge bite of his burger, his easy, breezy, greasy-lipped smile setting off alarm bells in the back of your mind. He's itching to beat the shit outta those guys, you think to yourself, taking a dainty bite of your burger while keeping a close eye on the drunks out of the corner of your eye. Joe gives you a wicked grin as he shoves a handful of french fries in his mouth before offering you one. You lean forward and let him feed it to you, giving his salty index finger a quick suck to try and redirect all of that pent-up energy. His eyes flash with lust and you give him a naughty grin. Mission accomplished, you think to yourself. "You keep looking at me like that and we'll have to get a to-go box," he mutters, taking another bite of his burger. You give him an innocent look before reaching for another french fry.

Y'all make small talk for the next 20 minutes while he eats all of his burger and half of yours. Just as he's polishing off the last of the fries, you hear more snorts and cackles coming from the drunks at the bar.

"Baby-faced pretty boy don't look like he knows how to please a woman," drunk #1 says loudly. "She must be with him for the money." They both laugh like hell before the bartender snaps at them. "That's it! Get out!"

"Relax," drunk #2 chimes in, giving the bartender a shit-eating grin. "We're just pointing out that he ain't man enough for her. She needs a real man. I mean, look at her!"

Joe's chiseled nostrils flare as he methodically wipes his big hands on his napkin. "Fuck … this," he snarls, pushing his chair back to stand up. "No baby, they're not worth it," you plead, your pulse rate kicking into overdrive as he walks toward the drunks, his long legs quickly closing the distance. The bartender, now joined by the manager, struggle to herd the drunks toward the exit before one of the drunks turns and sees a mad-as-hell Joe bearing down on them. "Oh shit! Run!" he yells, both of them falling all over the place trying to hit the door before Joe catches up to them.

Once they're gone, Joe and the manager have a conversation while you try to take deep breaths and calm your racing pulse. You absentmindedly run a hand through the condensation on your beer bottle as you watch Joe shrug his broad shoulders and shift his weight from one foot to the other. Wonder what they're talking about, you think to yourself, letting your mind wander a bit now that the threat is gone.

You're actually a little surprised by Joe's intense reaction to the leering drunks. He could get a little jealous sometimes but it was never anything too serious, usually just him getting annoyed at guys overtly ogling you or being flirty. He almost always let it go with just a warning look at the offenders because he knew you were going home with him. He was alpha to the bone but without the toxic masculinity that often came with it.

Joe's deep, throaty laugh pulls your attention back to him just as he turns around and strides back to your table. "Manager wants to comp our meal so he refused to take my credit card," Joe grumbles, reaching into the pocket of his gray jeans. He pulls out an old-school money clip and peels a couple hundred dollar bills off before dropping them on the table. "He can't refuse this," he gloats, giving you a smug look while dropping into his chair. You shake your head but keep your mouth shut. You'd warned him about carrying so much cash but he shrugged you off. The conversation went something like this:

"You shouldn't carry so much cash. Several hundred is fine but several thousand is asking for trouble; just use your credit card."

"You never know when something might blow out the power grid and credit cards will be useless."

You rolled your eyes. "What's gonna blow out the power grid?"

"Solar flare, World War 3, alien invasion," Joe shrugged. "You never know."

Joe loudly clearing his throat pulls you back into the moment. You take in his told-you-so smirk for a bit, trying to decide whether or not to remind him that you said carrying several hundred in cash is perfectly fine, so this is not a 'told-you-so' situation. One look at his body language and you decide to bite your tongue. No need to poke the hornet's nest, you think to yourself before grabbing your beer bottle and chugging the last few swallows, feeling his eyes on your throat as you slowly gulp the remaining beverage. When you're done, you set the bottle down and lock eyes with him. His cocky smirk is long gone.

He quickly stands up and gestures for you to do the same. "Let's go," he orders, placing a hand on the small of your back as y'all walk out the door and into the parking lot. The heat from his large hand easily penetrates your slinky shirtdress and you bite your bottom lip as a steady throb of arousal ignites deep inside you. He opens the car door for you, eyes glued to your bare legs as you get settled in the seat. "You okay, babe?" you ask as he slides in the car and starts the engine. "Fine," he mutters, flashing you a quick grin that more closely resembles the lovechild of a snarl and a grimace. Great, you think to yourself. Gonna be an interesting night.

You look out the car window as dusk settles in and the streetlights slide by in intermittent flashes; you note that he's taking the direct route home. No more lazy back roads, you think with a bit of regret, your attitude shifting when he cranks the music and settles a hand on your thigh. You turn your head to look at him, enthralled by his ridiculously sexy profile. You can tell by the look on his face that he's still pissed off. Luckily he isn't the kind of guy who takes his frustrations out by driving aggressively but his body language is big mad.

"You sure you're okay?" you whisper. "I said I'm fine," he mutters, removing his hand from your thigh just long enough to turn the music up a bit more. He slides his hand back under your skirt, teasing the elastic edge of your panties with his limber fingers. You wiggle your hips a bit trying to get closer to his fingers, but he never gives you more than a quick caress over the top of your flimsy lace thong. You shoot him a couple of glances trying to read his mood but the gathering dark makes it hard to read his expression.

You're wet as hell and a little annoyed when he finally whips the car into y'all's driveway. Just before the car rolls into the garage, you notice storm clouds forming on the horizon and realize it's going to be a stormy night in more ways than one. The second he pulls into the garage he quickly kills the engine and hops out, jogging around to open the door for you. You give him a bland smile as you swing your legs out and stand up. "Thanks," you whisper. "Sure," he mutters, ushering you in the house before you can say anything else.

As y'all enter the house he heads directly to the kitchen, grabbing a glass out of a cabinet before slinging the freezer open to get the vodka. He splashes some of the ice-cold alcohol in the glass and takes a hearty gulp, leveling a loaded look at you as you close the distance between you.

"That's not what you need," you say, nodding at the vodka bottle. He raises the glass to his mouth again and locks eyes with you over the rim; he pauses for a second then takes a long, slow sip, finishing it off by loudly sucking on his bottom lip in a way that sends a sizzle of electricity straight to your clit. "You got any better ideas?" he purrs, giving you a dirty wink before pushing away from the counter to stalk around the room like a caged tiger.

Ohhh, he knows exactly what he's doing, you think to yourself. Two can play that game. You watch him pace back and forth for a minute, a tiny smile gracing your lips as a naughty idea forms in your mind. He needs to work this aggression out, you think to yourself, and I know just the way to set it off. You feel a little thrill of anticipation as you think of what you're about to unleash.

"Those guys at the bar really pissed you off but I can't understand why," you muse. "I know it wasn't the stuff they said about losing the Super Bowl. You're just getting started in the NFL, and we both know you're gonna fucking run it one of these days. So what was it?" He stops pacing and narrows his eyes at you. "I didn't enjoy them eye-fucking you!" he snaps.

"I don't think that's it," you shake your head. "That happens all the time, to both of us. That's the price of admission when you're with a baddie." He gives you a tight smile as you continue. "What really pissed you off?" you repeat, holding eye contact with him while slowly unbuttoning your shirtdress. He shrugs his broad shoulders while avidly watching you. "I don't know," he finally answers.

"I think you do know. You just have to be man enough to admit it."

His eyebrows shoot toward the ceiling. "You don't think I'm man enough?" he sputters. "You sound just like those assholes at the bar!"

"That's not what I said."

"Sure as hell sounded like it!"

"Then you're not listening."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Why don't you explain it to me," he orders, eyes glued to the cleavage exposed by your partially-open dress.

"I think you felt challenged when they said you're not man enough for me. But why did that make you mad when you know it's not true? You do know that, right?" you ask, holding his gaze as you push the dress off of your shoulders and let it drop to the floor. He watches closely as you bend over and pick the dress up, tossing it onto a barstool.

"Look." He runs his fingers through his hair and hits you with a penetrating glare. "I'm having a hard time following this conversation since you're mostly naked. Are you questioning if I'm man enough for you?"

"No, I think you're questioning it. I think that's why you're so pissed." You reach behind your back and unhook your bra, letting it slowly slide down your arms before tossing it on the barstool. "But if you're worried about it you can just … prove it."

His hot gaze rests on your ample breasts for what seems like ages before he finally meets your eyes. "You better stop playin'," he warns, narrowing his eyes as you slide your panties off and toss them on top of your bra.

"Oh, I'm just getting started," you tease. You give him a filthy grin before spinning around and sashaying toward the stairs wearing nothing but your high heels. You sling your long hair over your shoulder and add an extra swish to your hips, knowing Joe's eyes will be drawn to your perky butt and toned legs. "You coming?" you ask, throwing him a look over your shoulder. You're almost at the top of the stairs when you hear him pounding up the stairs behind you; it takes everything you have not to run like hell but you know he won't hurt you, not unless you beg him to.

As you walk into the master bedroom you hear the rain start hitting the roof, lightly at first then with growing intensity. You come to an abrupt halt when a bolt of lightning streaks across the sky, the intense flash easily penetrating your gauzy window shades to light up the entire bedroom for several seconds. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding as Joe walks up behind you and settles his big hands on your waist. You can feel the heat radiating off of him and a shiver of pleasure runs through you when he presses a kiss on your shoulder. You turn to face him, his heated gaze causing a visceral response deep inside you.

Before you have a chance to speak, a loud clap of thunder rattles the windows causing you to jump and let out a squeal. Once you regain your composure you take in Joe's stoic expression. Of course he didn't jump, you think wryly, he didn't even blink. You search his face for a minute before speaking. "What are you thinking?" you whisper. He stares at you for what seems like ages before finally answering. "What do you need me to prove?" he asks, voice husky with desire tinged with anger. You shake your head no. "I don't need you to prove anything. This is about you not me."

He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly before dropping to his knees at your feet, his gaze holding yours as he leans forward until his mouth is almost touching your crotch. You feel his breath on your most sensitive skin, and you're sure he's going to taste you but instead he flashes you a knowing smirk before looking down at your feet. "Let's lose these," he murmurs, his agile fingers easily unfastening the ankle straps on your heels. You hold onto his shoulders as you step out of the shoes. "Thanks," you whisper, watching closely as he stands back up and pulls his t-shirt off, dropping it on top of your shoes.

He quickly strips down to nothing but his low-rise boxer briefs before burying one hand in your hair, pulling hard enough for you to hiss at the sting as you lean your head to the side, exposing your slender neck. He eases the pressure on your hair before dropping a trail of kisses and love bites from your collarbone up to the sensitive spot behind your ear; a shiver runs through you as your nipples harden against his muscular torso. He nips your earlobe with his teeth and you feel a gush of wetness between your thighs as he slides his hands down your back and cups your ass, giving a gentle squeeze before picking you up; you wrap your legs around his waist and bury your face in his neck. "So wet," he groans, moving you up and down his barely-there treasure trail, his arm muscles flexing with each motion. You bite your bottom lip as your eyes flutter closed at the delicious sensation.

After teasing you for a bit, he abruptly stops. "Look at me," he orders. You remove your face from his fragrant neck and lock eyes with him. "You think you'd get this wet for those assholes at the bar?" he asks. "God no!" you make a disgusted face. "I'd never get this wet for anyone but you. You know that." He searches your expression for a minute without speaking. Before you can fill the silence, another loud clap of thunder causes you to flinch. "The storm's close," you whisper, glancing at the windows as a lightning strike sizzles across the sky. "Real close," he mutters, giving you a tight smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

He walks to the side of the bed and sets you down before dropping to his knees on the floor between your legs; he plants his hands on your thighs and spreads you obscenely wide, licking his lips while leaning in.

"I need to tell you something," you say abruptly, stopping his forward progress.

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

He reluctantly drags his gaze from your crotch to your face. "Okay."

"I … kind of manipulated you earlier and now I feel bad about it."

He furrows his brow. "What do you mean?"

You chew on your bottom lip for a bit before coming clean. "I knew you were mad as hell and needed to work through it without getting shitfaced on vodka." You shrug. "I goaded you with that 'prove it' shit, but it backfired."

He studies your expression for several seconds before speaking. "How did it backfire?"

"I thought you'd chase me up the stairs, toss me on the bed and fuck me through the mattress, and then we'd both feel better. Instead you got all calm and quiet and I'm afraid you're mad at me, and I'm also afraid you actually think you're not man enough for me which is total bullshit and . . ."

"Babe," he interrupts your breathless rambling. "I'm not mad at you."

"Really? Even though I tried to manipulate you?"

His lips curl up in a genuine smile. "You had good intentions." You breathe a sigh of relief and return his smile. "Plus you were right," he continues. "It pissed me off when that dickhead said you need a real man." Joe's jaw clenches with anger as he relives the memory. "He's lucky I didn't knock his fucking teeth down his throat."

"Forget those assholes," you soothe, leaning forward to press a kiss on his lips. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. I'll never get enough of you." His gaze and body language soften at your admission. "I feel the same way," he whispers, pushing you back on the bed and capturing your lips in a slow-burn kiss, his hands roaming your body while his tongue works magic in your mouth.

He takes his sweet time kissing you before nuzzling over to that sensitive spot behind your ear, smiling against your skin as you writhe beneath him; he kisses a trail down to your breasts, giving you that intense look from underneath long eyelashes as he teases your nipples for several minutes before continuing down, dipping his tongue in your belly button before planting wet kisses against your inner thighs. He eventually focuses his attention on your core, delicately licking your folds before plunging his tongue inside. You're so turned on that it only takes a few minutes of his talented tongue plus agile fingers to set you off.

"Sooo good," you eventually whimper once you catch your breath, your body limp as a ragdoll as he wraps his hands around your waist and easily moves you to the center of the king-sized bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he strips his underwear off and crawls onto the bed between your thighs. "You need a minute?" he whispers, hissing as you reach a hand out and wrap it around his erection, pumping him several times. "I need you inside me," you plead, moaning when he slowly drags his cock through your wet folds before pushing inside. He teases you with several shallow thrusts before placing your legs over his shoulders; once he's got you right where he wants you he starts thrusting again, slowly at first then picking up pace, running his big hands up and down your still-trembling thighs while his hot gaze pins you in place as effectively as a chokehold. After several minutes he moves a hand down to play with your clit. "Damn baby, you feel too good. I'm not gonna last long," he grits out, barely getting the last word out before your climax hits quickly followed by his.

The sound of your mutual heavy breathing is almost drowned out by the sound of the intense thunderstorm. Once you catch your breath, you bask in the afterglow of back-to-back orgasms, smiling at the way Joe continues to caress you as he stretches out beside you on the bed.

About 15 minutes later, a loud clap of thunder startles you out of your fucked-out bliss and your entire body jumps. "It's okay," Joe whispers, pulling you tight against him. You nestle your nose against his broad chest and breathe him in as the storm continues to rage. "So intense," you sigh. He slides a hand up and down your back and presses his lips against your ear. "What's intense?" he asks, "the storm or the sex?"

"Both," you giggle, "but especially the sex. Can't wait for the next time you get a little jealous."

"Next time?" he scoffs, giving you an absolutely filthy grin before flipping you onto your stomach. "I'm not done with you this time, gorgeous," he purrs, massaging your shoulders for a bit before slowly running his tongue down the length of your spine, pressing wet kisses against the small of your back. You smile against the mattress as he tilts your hips up and settles between your thighs. You sigh in contentment and arch your back, already anticipating an easy, slow-grind fuck.

The strength of his first thrust catches you off guard as you're pushed forward against the silky sheets. Damn, you think to yourself, quickly scrambling to brace your hands against the headboard, arching up and pushing back to meet his next thrust. He continues to fuck you hard, relentlessly impaling you on his thick cock as your whimpers and moans are muffled by the mattress. "You like that?" he growls, pounding into you with a force that takes your breath away; you try and fail to form the word 'yes' so you let your body language do the talking, grinding back against him as the sound of your flesh slapping together at the apex of each thrust drowns out the rolling thunder.

Just as your shaky legs are about to give out, he reaches a hand around and massages your swollen clit, speaking words of filthy encouragement as you dig your fingernails into the padded headboard. "Cum for me, baby," he purrs, pinching your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to set you off. Your climax hits like a bodyslam and you draw just enough air into your lungs to moan his name as he follows you over the edge, your core spasming hard around his cock as he empties inside you right before your knees collapse. You fall forward onto the bed and he follows you down, both of you sweaty and trembling and gasping for breath.

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Several hours later your eyes flutter open in the semi-dark room; you squeeze your thighs together as your half-asleep body comes close to orgasm before the moment passes, leaving you feeling unfulfilled. How am I feeling unfulfilled when my man just fucked me stupid? you think to yourself, turning your head to look at said man. The bed beside you is empty and you briefly wonder where Joe is before being distracted by the sound of thunder. You listen to the steady staccato of rain hitting the roof and realize the storm is still storming. You turn your head to check the bedside clock -- 3:33 a.m. -- before yawning, stretching, then going still just as Joe walks into the bedroom, his tall, naked silhouette outlined by the hallway light.

You watch through half-closed eyelids as he gulps water from a water bottle as he walks to your bedside table and sets another bottle down. "Thanks," you whisper, smiling at the thoughtful gesture. "I didn't mean to wake you up," he murmurs, leaning down to press a lingering kiss on your lips. You push up into a sitting position and shake your head. "I was already awake," you answer, reaching for the water bottle and taking several swallows before continuing. "I had a super naughty dream about you, but I woke up right before I got off."

"Why didn't you wake me up? I'm always happy to help."

"You weren't here when I woke up," you shrug. "Plus we already had a marathon sex session. I thought you might be worn out."

"Are you questioning my stamina?" he asks, crawling onto the bed and sitting upright with his back against the padded headboard.

"No, sir," you answer, smiling when he gives you a heated look. "But you put in work earlier tonight. It's okay to be tired."

He narrows his eyes at you. "You think I'm not man enough to get you off again?"

"What? Of course not," you argue, "I know you're man enou . . ."

"Then get your sweet ass over here," he interrupts, patting his thick thighs. You set your water bottle on the bedside table then do as ordered, slinging a leg over his lap to straddle him. He teases your folds with his fingers, groaning when he feels how wet you are. "Damn baby, so wet for me," he whispers, sliding his tip up and down your slit several times before pushing inside; you gasp when he breaches your entrance, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the feel of him stretching your sore folds.

He immediately goes still. "You okay?"

"Yeah." You wiggle your hips a bit to get him moving again. "Just a little sore."

He wraps his hands around your waist and starts to pull you off of him.

"No!" you protest, digging your fingers into his arms to hold your position. "you started this and you're gonna finish it!"

"I don't wanna hurt you, baby," he soothes. "Let me get you off with my tongue."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Are you trying to make me beg for your cock? Seems a little manipulative." His eyebrows shoot upward and he opens his mouth to protest; you cut him off before he has a chance. "I'm kidding," you chuckle, leaning forward to plant a kiss on his lips. You suck his full bottom lip into your mouth, biting it just hard enough to draw a deep-throated groan from him. "If you want me to beg for it, I will," you whisper, kissing a trail up his jawline to his ear. "I need you inside me. Please?"

"You don't have to beg," he murmurs, "but let's take it slow, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

He narrows his eyes at you. "Woman, if you call me 'sir' again tonight we're gonna have a problem."

"What kind of problem?" you ask, trying hard to keep your expression neutral.

"Don't act all innocent," he growls, "you know exactly what kind of problem. Don't you?"

"No, si…."

Joe playfully slaps your ass to cut you off.

"Sorry, daddy," you tease, flashing a wicked grin at the lust-addled expression on Joe's face. Before you know it, he's buried deep inside you. "Yeah," you whine, digging your fingernails into his shoulders and lifting up until just his tip is inside you; you bounce the tiniest bit to make sure you're lined up right before grinding down hard, wanting his entire length back inside you; you manage to get about halfway down before your downward progress is halted by Joe's strong hands on your waist.

"I said take it slow," he orders. "Bossy ass," you mutter, hitting the hardest Kegel when he chuckles. "Shit baby," he hisses. You lock eyes with him. "I need you to fuck me hard," you demand, reaching a hand down to where your bodies are joined. "You've got me dripping wet," you purr, gathering some moisture on your fingers before sliding your hand up and down his throbbing shaft. He looks down to enjoy the view as you gather some moisture and raise your hand to your mouth, licking your fingers then sucking them as he watches.

"Give me a taste," he orders, licking his full lips in anticipation. You reach back down and anoint your fingers again, bringing them within a few inches of his mouth before stopping. "C'mon," he urges, leaning forward and groaning in frustration when you move your glistening fingers just out of reach. "You gonna fuck me hard?" you ask. "I don't wanna hurt you," he whispers, his opaque eyes darkening with lust as as you wiggle your juicy fingers just out of reach. "Please?" you beg, your gaze locked on his as he slides his strong hands down from your waist to your ample ass, getting two handfuls while searching your expression. "Please?" you repeat, slowly sliding your slick fingers across his lips. "I wanna feel every vein on your cock."

"Jesus," he groans, sucking your fingers into his mouth and thrusting up inside you, both of you moaning as he bottoms out. The next several minutes are like an out-of-body experience, Joe's strong hands lifting you up and down, impaling you on his cock as the thunder crashes and the lightning sizzles across the sky.

What seems like a lifetime later, after your fourth orgasm of the night has you seeing stars and gasping for breath, Joe's deep voice penetrates your blissed-out vibe. "You manipulated me just now, right?" he wheezes.

"Of course not," you scoff, panting against his deliciously sweaty neck as your core continues to shoot aftershocks around his slowly-softening erection.

"Bullshit. You know that 'sir' and 'daddy' shit drives me crazy."

"Hadn't really noticed," you shrug, trying hard not to cackle at his incredulous snort. He pulls back and looks at you with an are-you-shitting-me expression. Before he has a chance to speak, you come clean. "Okay yes, I manipulated you like a motherfucker," you admit, still trying to suck air into your lungs as your pulse rate finally starts slowing down, "but you manipulated me too."

"Did not."

"Did too!" you argue, clearing your throat before doing your best Joe impersonation: "You think I'm not man enough to get you off again?" He chuckles as you continue. "You knew that ish was leading to one place and one place only."

"Pound town?"

"Exactly! Thanks for admitting it."

He hits you with a cocky grin, drops a kiss on your parted lips then maneuvers you off of his lap and down onto the bed. "Don't be mad, baby girl," he teases. "I'm not a bit mad," you chuckle, sighing in contentment as he nestles you in his embrace.

After several more minutes of heavy breathing, he nuzzles his nose in your hair before speaking. "I'm gonna pass out now, okay?"

"Yes, sir," you answer, giggling when he gives your ass a smack.

---------

You slowly open your eyes, blinking a few times to bring things into focus. The soft sunlight peeking through the window shades tells you the storm has passed. You yawn and stretch before rolling over to look at Joe; he's still sound asleep, his pretty lips parted slightly and his unruly curls caressing his forehead. It should be illegal to look that good so early in the morning, you think to yourself, grimacing at the thought of your own appearance. You quickly decide you need a shower to wash off the dried sweat, spit and cum from the previous night's activities. You give Joe one more lingering look before easing out of bed and heading for the bathroom.

You turn the shower on to heat up then walk to the toilet enclosure to have a quick pee. "Damn," you whisper as you wipe, a little surprised at how sore you are. "He beat it up for real," you giggle to yourself, stepping into the steaming shower and reaching for your shampoo. You wash and condition your hair then lather your entire body with your fav body wash, being extra careful with your sore bits. Once you're done with your shower, you step out and dry yourself off, towel-drying your hair thoroughly before grabbing a hand mirror out of a drawer. You lean against the vanity and spread your legs a bit, using the mirror to inspect the damage.

A few seconds later there's a knock at the door; Joe enters before you have a chance to respond. Should've locked the door, you think to yourself, giving Joe a reassuring smile when his eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. "What's wrong?" he asks, quickly walking toward you. You set the mirror down and grab your towel, holding it in front of you. "Nothing," you soothe. "Just a little sore."

"Lemme see," he mutters, dropping to his knees at your feet.

"I've been sore before. It's no big deal."

"Let. Me. See." he orders, giving you a belligerent look until you heave a sigh and drop the towel; he uses his thumbs to spread your folds, grimacing when he sees how red and swollen you are. "I was way too rough," he groans. "We've had rough sex before," you shrug, "it's really not . . ."

"But that's the first time I fucked you hard when I knew you were already sore," he interrupts. "I shouldn't have done that." You run a hand through his hair, smiling at the concern in his eyes as he looks up at you through those long lashes. "I begged for it," you argue. "Remember?"

"I remember. I still shouldn't have been so rough." He drops his head against your thigh. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," you soothe, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I loved everything about last night. I lost count of how many times you made me cum."

"It was a lot," he mumbles, trying and failing to suppress a smug grin.

"Exactly," you chuckle, glad to see his cocky swagger is fully intact after the 'real man' angst from yesterday. "Anyway, vaginas are designed to take a beating. One of these days I'm gonna push your big-ass babies out of it, and it will bounce back just fine."

He laughs while standing up and pulling you into a hug. "You always know just the right thing to say," he sighs, burying his face in your damp hair and taking a deep breath. He lets it out slowly before speaking. "Do you get nervous when you think about being a parent?"

"Of course." You lean back and lock eyes with him. "That's super normal. We have a few more years before we need to think about it, but I know we'll be fine." He smiles and gives you a lingering kiss. "We have so many things to look forward to," he whispers, his eyes going wide as his stomach growls loudly, interrupting the tender moment.

"Sounds like you're looking forward to breakfast," you chuckle. "Guilty," he says, laughing along with you. "I'll bring you breakfast in bed. What sounds good?" he continues. "Maybe an omelet?"

You take his face in your hands and level a serious gaze at him. "Babe, I trust you with my life, but I don't trust you to make a decent omelet."

"That's fair," he agrees. "The last ones I made came out a little rubbery."

"We have some blueberry muffins left over from yesterday. I'll just have one of those and some orange juice." You give him a wink. "I'll make us a nice brunch later, does that sound good?"

"Sounds great. Hop back in bed and I'll go grab breakfast." He gives you a quick kiss before striding from the room. You smile as you watch him go. "Nothing like a good ol' fashioned fuck fest to put a little extra swagger in his step," you whisper to yourself, giggling quietly as you walk into the closet; you grab one of Joe's t-shirts and pull it on, deciding to go commando to give your vag some breathing room.

You're just getting settled back into bed when he comes in with a tray of food. You smile at him then grimace as your leg encounters a wet spot on the bed; you scoot over to avoid it, making a mental note to change the sheets after breakfast.

"Something wrong?" he asks, noticing your grimace.

"No, just hit a wet spot," you chuckle. "I could probably wring a few gallons of liquid out of these sheets with how wet you had me last night."

He sets the tray on the bed and gives you a smouldering look. "You keep talking like that and I'm gonna need a cold shower before breakfast."

"Sorry," you mumble, giving him a cheeky look.

"You're not a bit sorry and you know it," he teases, taking what looks like an empty glass from the tray and setting it on his bedside table. He then hands you a glass of juice before crawling onto the bed beside you; he grabs his own glass of juice and holds it up for a toast. "To weathering the storm," he says, giving you a sweet smile when you clink your glass against his. "To weathering the storm," you repeat, taking a hearty gulp of juice before reaching for your muffin. He takes a huge bite of one of his muffins and gives you a sheepish look while chewing and swallowing. "I'm sorry I got so mad yesterday. I know better than that." You swallow a bite of muffin and take a sip of juice before answering. "It's okay; you're human, not a robot."

Y'all exchange small talk for the next several minutes while polishing off your snacks. When you drain the last of your juice and set your glass on the tray, he slides the tray to the side and gives you an enigmatic smile. "Time for some treatment," he says, leaning over to grab the other glass off of his bedside table. "Treatment?" you ask, watching as he dips his fingers in the glass and pulls out an ice cube, popping it in his mouth.

He slides the comforter off of your legs and crawls in between them, smiling at your quizzical expression as he grabs a handful of your t-shirt and pulls it up, exposing your bare crotch. "Mmmm, no panties," he breathes around the ice cube, his broad shoulders spreading you wide as he settles between your thighs. You gasp as he leans down and presses his cool tongue against your sore folds.

"Does it feel good?" he asks.

"It feels amazing," you moan, actually feeling a little lightheaded at the sensation.

"Good. Lay back and relax," he orders. "I'm gonna take my time."

You do as ordered, sighing in bliss as he gently soothes your aching folds with his icy tongue. "You're so good to me," you breathe, groaning as he continues his ministrations. "You're not just getting brunch today," you continue. "You're getting dinner, dessert, and anything else you want."

He grins while popping another ice cube in his mouth, manipulating it with his acrobatic tongue while giving you a dirty wink. "Brunch and dinner is more than enough, baby girl," he teases while lowering his head. "I already know what I'll be having for dessert," he sighs, smiling against your sensitive skin when his deliciously cold tongue causes you to gasp his name.

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow oneshot

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biblio-smia · 6 months

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i love ur writing 🥹 i was wondering if you could write about spending christmas with mike and abby? i think that’d be really cute 🫶

hii thank you so much!! in anticipation of the holiday season here you go <3 please ignore any typos

the air is cold despite the bundles of blankets on you, biting at the tip of your nose and leaving frosty kisses on your cheeks. it's merciless as it pulls you from your peaceful sleep, making you pull up the covers with a groan. your body contracts, folding into itself in an attempt to bask in the warm air you've trapped underneath your blankets.

your alarm goes off and you groan.

your head peeks out to glance at the time. 7 a.m. too early. icy air enters your nose through a deep breath as your brain attempts to catch up and remind you of today's schedule.

you're about to nestle inside your blankets and go back to sleep when your eyes find your clock again.

december 24th.

how could you forget?

there's a few final things to pick up before heading over to mike's: stocking stuffers, some more wrapping paper, pre-made cookie dough (the three of you have decided to make dessert from scratch tonight, but you're sure mike will find a way to mess it up).

another gift for abby catches your eye in glimpses between people, mike's complaining that you always spoil abby ringing in your head (so you buy him another gift, too). you should've gotten a cart or at least picked up a basket but it's too late now that your hands are full. you keep your items close to your chest, fingers going a little numb from the thawing cookie dough, pushing through the overcrowded aisles. it's a relief once you finally check out, exchanging your money for easier-to-carry bags full of your items.

the air is vicious when you step outside, refusing to mellow out. it forces you to hurry to your car, getting inside and turning on the heat hastily. after you rub a little bit of feeling back into your hands, you waste no time in driving over to mike's. 7:58 a.m. perfectly on schedule.

you should've called to announce your arrival before even stepping out of your car. you've knocked and can't expect mike to have been waiting at the door for you, but every second feels like torture when the wind is roughing you up.

your face splits into a grin when the door opens, mike tugging you inside, chilled through his red sweater from just the gust of wind that blew in with the quick opening of his door. he greets you with a warm hug, helps you hang the thick coat that is no longer appropriate for his warm home.

the schmidt house is somehow cozier than it usually feels, adorned with lights and greenery (that you'd helped put up). a christmas tree sits in the corner of the living room, decades old and the perfect size for the space, glittery ornaments reflecting the yellow lights of the small bulbs hidden between the branches of the plastic green tree. there are other ornaments, too - special ones, like old family photos mike still liked to put up, and ones abby had crafted herself. there were even some little snowmen mike had made when he was a kid, out of popsicle sticks and paint. you were proud to say there was an ornament you had gifted mike and abby on the tree, a little reindeer frame with a photo of the siblings inside.

"have you eaten yet? i'm almost done with breakfast." mike offers, resuming his role in the kitchen and attending to the eggs and strips of bacon on the stove.

you shake your head. "i haven't," you admit and mike nods, pulling out three plates from the cabinet.

"you're not allowed to look at these," you motion to the shopping bag you hold, a little lighter now that you've set the cookie dough on the counter. you're on your way to mike's room to set the gifts down before abby spots them when mike scoffs, looking pointedly at the cookie dough.

"you don't believe in me?" he asks playfully, picking up the container to store in the fridge.

"of course not!" you call from the hallway.

you take the small slot of solitude to quickly wrap the gifts you'd bought, knowing you won't have another chance with the busy schedule the three of you had planned. as you'd suspected, mike had been on his last scraps of wrapping paper, forcing you to wrap each gift in a different design. you uncapped a sharpie, wrote abby on one and mike on the other, cleaned up your area, and set the bag aside once again. your timing is perfect - you slip out of mike's room to see mike padding down the hall. you hear the creak of the carpeted wood as he comes up behind you, hand slipping easily on your shoulder as you quietly open abby's door. the two of you slip in to the dimly lit room, overcast sky letting grey shine through.

abby is curled up into herself, arms squeezing the life out of one of many stuffed animals, tightly wrapped blankets suffocating the teddy bear in her arms even more.

you're hesitant to wake her, but you know how upset she'll be if you don't. mike sits carefully and places a hand on the lump of abby that vaguely resembles a part of her arm, attempting to wake her through gentle shaking.

abby stirs but groans, disappearing further under the covers, conserving the warmth she has there.

"abby," mike sings. "it's christmas eve."

you can almost see abby's eyes widen before she even appears, thick blankets and bear thrown aside as abby shoots up. her head moves excitedly as she just now registers your presence in the room, throwing herself into mike's lap and wrapping her arms around him, giggling ecstatically. it's not long before she's moved onto you, gripping onto you tightly like she always does when she doesn't want you to leave.

but you're planning on spending at least a few more hours with the schmidts.

"c'mon, breakfast is ready," you say sweetly, tugging abby towards the bathroom gently.

"i can smell the bacon!" abby exclaims, smiling over at mike. he follows the two of you out, a discreet arm on your back pulling you towards the kitchen to allow abby a chance to wash up.

you expect mike to pull away from you once you arrive, to begin serving the still-hot breakfast he has prepared - but he doesn't. the arm on your back slides, but doesn't leave, as mike wraps his other arm around you, hands joining at your front. he rests his head against you, hold a little lazy but warm nonetheless. your hands wiggle between his, fingers clasping his. mike makes no move to leave and you laugh, elbowing him lightly.

"get off."

this just makes mike hold you tighter.

"mike!"

mike groans against you but doesn't move, forcing you to wiggle your hands out of his grasp and learn how to walk with a new weight attached to you. you eventually make it to the stove, mike giving you the courtesy of freeing your arms and allowing you to begin plating breakfast.

mike doesn't let go until all three plates are full of warm food, straining a little to press a kiss on your face before grabbing two of the plates and moving them to the little dining table. you're just setting down the last one when abby reappears, eyes bright and body cozy in a very festive sweater.

"where's yours?" abby demands, looking pointedly at mike. his mouth forms a little o, getting up from his spot at the table to start heading to his room.

"don't worry," abby continues, uncrossing her arms and looking up sweetly at you as she slides into her seat for breakfast, smile wide as she picks up her fork. "we got you one, too."

with plates cleared and bellies full (and adorned with matching sweaters), abby seizes the opportunity to lay out the schedule for the day.

"okay," she begins, pushing her essentially clean (save for a few crumbs) plate away, folding her hands neatly in front of her. "christmas movies," abby says, looking between you and mike for confirmation. "christmas cookies." you nod when abby's eyes land on you, leaning forward in anticipation. "and... we can go look at the lights?" abby looks at mike hopefully, and who is he to say deny her request?

"there's a neighborhood, like, 40 minutes away that goes absolutely crazy with christmas decorations. abby's been wanting to see it forever." mike informs you before giving abby a smile. "we can go look at the lights."

abby cheers and you laugh, moving to pick up the plates from the table. "so, abs, what movie do you wanna watch first?"

"we can take turns picking!" abby calls as she speeds to the couch, making space for both you and mike as she tugs on the blanket hanging on the back of the couch.

"well, i think the youngest should go first," you call back as you dump the plates and cutlery into the sink, mike bringing over the cups you'd all used. mike doesn't even give you the chance to turn on the faucet before you're pushed out of the way. of course, you shove mike's shoulder (though can you really even call it a shove?).

abby pats the seat next to her excitedly and you grab the small case of dvds, finding the festive ones and discussing the various options with abby. she finally chooses the grinch (the animated one, because the real one still freaked her out). mike is just coming over when she's made her decision, taking the dvds from you and sliding the grinch into the dvd player.

mike settles next to you as the animation begins to play, arm landing around your shoulders as you relax between him and abby. the grinch ends quickly, but you all make it through an entire round of turns and almost 3 hours of animated films before mike is gently pulling away from you and standing, eyeing the clock and muttering something about dinner. it's early, but mike is back soon enough after putting something in the oven.

he's been really trying to make this year the best christmas for abby: decorating much more than he normally would, trying to budget for presents he'd normally never look twice at. making you an essential piece of their christmas.

abby adores you, obviously. almost as much (if not as much) as mike does. while mike and abby have bonded more on their own, mike credits you for making the house feel warmer. for making it feel like he has a family again.

he's really trying to not let that thought terrify him.

but he knows abby feels it, too. the more frequently you come over and the longer you stay, the more it feels like you're supposed to be living with them, an integral piece of the schmidt house that just fits.

mike knows he'd like you around for as long as you'd let him. but for now, it's christmas, and mike wants to remember every moment.

there's a small camera in one of the drawers of a cabinet, one that mike made sure to charge before today. he pulls it out now, snaps a quick photo of you and abby cuddled up on the couch, very invested in home alone on the screen. mike smiles at the result that flashes on the small camera screen, setting it down on the table that sits in front of the couch before settling into his designated spot once more.

you glance curiously from mike to the camera, reaching for it carefully to not disturb abby too much. you let go of her gently, power on the camera and point the lens towards mike. you manage to take a photo of him caught off-guard, and another as he realizes what you're doing and smiles. you make a mental note to back up the sd card before leaving as you shut the camera off again, letting it sit on the coffee table for later.

you're about halfway through home alone 2 (it's no longer abby's turn, but you're all picking movies she wants to watch, anyways), when mike shifts out from under you again, whispering that he's gonna start making dinner.

"hey, abs, think you can finish this one by yourself?" you ask quietly, motioning to the movie.

"hmm," abby hums. "only if you guys make mac n' cheese."

you laugh, press a kiss to her forehead. "deal."

mike has already started pulling out pots and pans, various ingredients from the fridge and pantry littering the counter tops. mike stands, hands on his hips and head tilted in confusion as he looked down at a small notebook.

you come over and place a hand on mike's shoulder with hopes to soothe. you peer over to see what is testing mike and find a recipe for breaded chicken.

"what are we making?" you ask.

"i have no clue," mike admits with a sigh, flipping through the book.

"abby requested mac n' cheese," you offer.

"well that i can make." mike shuts the book and you smile, moving to reach for the ingredients you know you'll need. "i've got it," mike insists, though you've learned that that means he doesn't want to bother you.

"i know you do," you say, kissing his cheek. you reach for a medium-sized pot and mike bites his lip. his chest is warm as he steps out of your way, passing you ingredients and giving you directions as you start on dish one, together.

abby groans as she lets her fork clatter to her plate. "i'm so full, but it's so good!"

you laugh, pulling abby's plate away from her and scraping the last little bites of her second helping onto your own plate. "don't worry, we have a ton of leftovers."

"start getting ready, abby," mike says, finishing his own plate and smiling as abby cheers. "make sure to bundle up! it's cold," mike calls after abby, who's already racing down the hallway.

mike shakes his head and you're grinning. the two of you shove the last few forkfuls of food in your mouths, anxious to start heading out before it starts getting too crowded. the sun has almost completely set, the winter days making the days feel shorter. today, though, has called for a packed schedule.

you insist on cleaning up this time, pushing mike towards his room to go get ready. abby and mike reappear as you're pulling on the coat you shed that morning. mike buttons up abby's thick coat, wrapping a thick scarf around her.

of course, mike has one for you, too.

it's a warm, knit black one that you've seen mike wearing on multiple occasions. he wraps it around you twice, tying it off and making sure it's not too tight. you fix the collar of mike's coat, smoothing it flat with your hands. mike's hands linger on your scarf while his eyes have caught yours.

they're still so mesmerizing, a warm shade of brown that reflects the little lights hung up around the house. he's smiling, shyly under your gaze, but it spreads through his face and creates a glint in his eyes.

abby pulls on the crook of your arm, pulling your hand off of mike's chest. "let's gooo!"

"okay, okay," mike laughs, taking his hands off you and reaching for his keys. abby's hand is in yours as you step outside into the freezing afternoon, hurrying to the car with mike right on your trail. the heat blasts before the last door even shuts, all three of you shivering despite your layers.

mike turns up the radio to the inevitable christmas music playing, though it only fuels your festive spirits. the drive is anything but quiet, between the songs on the radio and abby telling you all about the great christmas party her class had just before break, there's enough chatter and laughter to last longer than the forty minute ride.

the roads are pitch black, thick clouds covering the shine of the moon as mike makes the final turn. the world is suddenly light up, huge blowups of famous christmas characters decorating almost every lawn, houses adorned with enough lights that you're sure would triple your electricity bill. there are huge candy canes, little christmas gnomes, even fake snow - no, real snow.

"oh, my god!" you laugh, pointing at the little white dots on mike's windshield.

"it's snowing!" abby cries, begging mike to get out and enjoy it. he yields and finds a place to park near the front of the huge neighborhood. the three of you are out, joining the small crowds of people who have made it out of their cozy houses on christmas eve to come see the lights.

abby is off, though mike warns her not to go too far, the wet snow not enough to keep her from admiring the glowing displays of rudolph and frosty.

you and mike hang back, watching her from the sidewalks, arms linked. snow collects quickly on your coats due to your leisurely paces, but it's too cold to retract your hands from your pockets to wipe it off.

"look!" abby calls from the next lawn over. "hot chocolate!"

sure enough, one kind neighbor is standing with a table full of hot drinks. three of them are picked up and you know the warmth of the drink and its sugar content is going to keep abby going for a while.

you and mike comment on each house, pointing out all the small details, how one house has been made to look one made out of gingerbread, complete with fake gumdrops. you've even began to give each house a rating out of five, as if you were judges on one of those light fight shows that always came on in the evenings.

"what about this one?" you stand in front of a home that looks like a christmas disco, bright flashing lights and colorful, mismatched decorations taking over the small plot of land.

"hmmm," mike hums through a sip of his drink. "i think three stars. maybe two, it's kind of giving me a headache."

you laugh and mike pulls you along to the next house that abby waves you towards, where a real-life santa has stopped, taking a break before his next round of dropping off gifts.

mike pats his pockets, sighing. "i forgot-"

"this?" you pull out the small camera from your pocket and mike grins. the two of you take turns taking photos of abby and santa, all wide smiles as santa picks abby up.

"here, why don't you two get in there?" a voice behind you speaks, an older woman coming up, patting your arms and reaching for the camera.

"oh, thank you," mike accepts graciously, pointing out the right button to click as he hands it over. the two of you join abby, posing next to santa for a few photos, flash almost blinding you a few too many times.

"thank you so much," you say gratefully, taking back the camera as mike joins you and abby begins saying her goodbyes.

"of course, dear. you two have a beautiful daughter." the woman smiles so wide you can't bring yourself to correct her.

"oh, she's not-"

"thank you," you interrupt. "and merry christmas."

"merry christmas," the woman repeats, heading off to rejoin her own friends, who point and coo at abby even from where they stand.

mike is looking at you with a smile on his face, wondering if there's any way you could possibly share his sentiments around the energy you bring when the three of you are together. he doesn't have time to ask, though, as abby comes up to you.

"ready to go?" mike asks, recognizing the tired look on her face.

abby nods and begins walking in front of the two of your, navigating back to the car. you slide your hand, cold from its exposure to the air, into mike's, pulling him into your coat pocket. you give him a kiss, lips warm from the drink you'd finished and the two of you are on your way, following abby closely.

you'd been forced to stomp the wet mush off your shoes before stepping inside, leaving all three pairs of shoes over a towel to avoid getting the floor wet.

the three of you shed your layers, stripping until the three of you sit in the matching christmas sweaters you'd started in.

"more hot chocolate?" you ask from the kitchen, thinking it's the perfect time to start baking some cookies.

"yes, please!" abby chimes as she climbs back under the blankets on the couch.

the hot milk you pour for the drink warms your hands, but the way abby's face lights up as you set the mug in her hands warms your heart. you waited until the drink was cool enough to drink before bringing it over, knowing abby did not have a patient bone in her body. she goes in for a sip immediately, bobbing for some of the melting marshmallows that sit on top.

"thank you," abby grins, licking chocolate from her top lip.

"you're welcome," you laugh, letting her attention to fall back to the tv behind you as you make your way back to the kitchen where two more mugs sit on the counter, steam coming out in little white wisps.

you bring mike's mug over(the one abby got him, the one that says WORLD"S BEST BROTHER), but considering he has cookie dough up to his wrists, you bring the warm cup up to his lips instead. mike takes a careful sip, humming at the taste of the sweet chocolate.

"does this look right?" mike asks with a little desperation in his voice as you set his mug down a safe distance away.

you take a look inside the large bowl he's working with, tilting your head at the mixture that doesn't quite look like the cookie dough you buy from the store.

"i think you added too much milk?" you offer.

"i didn't add milk," mike sighs, trying to keep his sleeves up and out of... whatever what was in that bowl.

you keep yourself from laughing with a bite of your lip, rolling mike's sleeves up for him. "here." you reach for the flour, adding in more and letting mike mix it around until it finally begins to resemble something more akin to cookie dough. you dare to try it, making a face that mike can't discern the meaning of.

"is it good?" mike asks, opening his mouth for a spoonful of the dough from you you.

"well, it's not bad," you say, putting the small spoon in mike's mouth for him to try. mike makes a face similar to the one you're sure you made, staring down at the bowl.

"how about we just make these chocolate chip cookies instead?" you offer, already moving to get the pre-made sugar cookie dough out of the fridge.

"yeah, that'll be better." mike scrapes as much of the cookie dough as he can from his fingers, washing the rest off in the sink and grabbing chocolate chips to add in. you're pulling out sheet trays to place all the cookies out and abby is called over to help cut out shapes to decorate later.

the sugar has taken its affect. abby bounces around, barely unable to wait until the short 12 minutes on the timer go off, staring at the cooling cookies on the counter as if that'd make them cold enough to decorate, faster.

at least she's still up - you're really hoping to see her open a gift at midnight.

"can we decorate them now?" abby asks, gently pressing on one of the sugar cookies to check its temperature. "they're cool."

you press a finger on the surface of the cookie, right next to hers. she's right - they're perfectly room temperature. you nod and abby cheers, taking a bit of a chocolate chip cookie as she starts decorating a cookie in the shape of a christmas tree.

"she is going to crash so hard later," you laugh with mike as the two you of start on your own cookies.

and abby does, in fact, crash hard.

her sugar-fueled energy had finally run out, leaving her head in mike's lap and the rest of her body sprawled out on you. the laughter that echoed in the kitchen had died down, cookies eaten, frosting spread on noses wiped off and licked off lips. you laid against mike's chest, watching the holiday movie playing with half-lidded eyes.

"are you asleep?" mike whispers when he hears your breathing even out for the second time.

"i'm not," you insist, blinking yourself awake.

mike laughs quietly, clearly not believing you.

"hey," he nudges you. "it's past midnight. merry christmas." mike turns his head to kiss your cheek, lips warm against your skin.

"merry christmas," you whisper back, trying to gently recover your hand from under abby to hold mike's.

but abby twists and turns until her eyes slowly blink open and she yawns, curling up closer to you and mike from underneath the blanket.

"what time is it?" she asks sleepily, though she makes no move to get up to go to bed. that's okay - mike will gladly carry her.

"merry christmas, abs. it's past twelve."

mike wasn't expecting abby to shoot up, giddy smile overriding any tiredness she felt.

"it's christmas!" abby cries, checking the clock just to make sure.

"merry christmas," you laugh, arms gently around abby to make sure she doesn't hit the floor in her excitement.

"merry christmas!" abby replies, throwing her arms around your torso and pressing her head in your neck, squeezing hard.

"merry christmas, mike!" abby moves on to mike, wrapping her arms around her neck as she hugs him tight.

abby is out of your reach quickly, untangling herself from the blankets and racing towards the christmas tree. "everyone has to open one!" abby calls, waving the two of you over.

"okay, let's see," you say, taking the blanket off both you and mike as you go to join abby. there's not a lot of presents under the tree, but both you and mike have worked together over the months to make sure that'll change by morning.

"i say, always go for the biggest," mike says, reaching for the biggest wrapped gift with his name on it - which happened to be from abby. you and abby exchange a knowing look and the two of you giggle, knowing exactly what the present mike picked up is.

you remember when abby shyly approached you with an idea in her head and a drawing in her hand. it'd taken a lot of work to put together, but abby had been so proud of you, excitedly helping you wrap it and unable to wait for mike's reaction to the gift.

well, here it was.

mike glances between the two of you with a smile as he tears the gift paper, revealing a sweater, multi-colored and uniquely decorated by abby.

"woahh!" mike grins, examining the details on the sweater before pulling it on. "it's beautiful. it fits great. it's perfect, abby, thank you. i love it." mike pulls in abby for a hug and she giggles, admiring how the sweater looks on mike. it's... definitely unique, but you know mike will wear it out anyway. the whole thing makes you smile so hard you barely register abby and mike looking at you expectantly, gesturing for you to pick a gift yourself.

"you know, i think i'll pick a small one," you reach for a small bag with both abby's and mike's names on it. you sift through the tissue paper to find a small basket filled with your favorite treats and, most importantly, a small handmade bracelet. you pick it up with a smile, slipping it on and looking up to see abby pull out two matching ones - one for her, one for mike.

"now we all match," abby grins.

'i love it!" you laugh, pulling them both in for a hug, holding up your wrists to look at the three bracelets together.

"okay, last one for tonight," mike says, fighting back a yawn. he's the only one who hasn't fallen asleep (even if only a little bit) tonight and it makes you frown ever-so-slightly.

"mmmm, i choose... this one!" abby reaches for an oddly-shaped, medium-sized gift wrapped in dark red paper with her name and yours written on it. she tears through the paper and the tape holding it together easily, eyes bright once they register the stuffed animal she's been wanting forever in her hands. abby's in your lap again, the little beaver plush you'd gotten her squished in between the two of you as she hugs you tight, thanking you profusely. you laugh, rubbing her back and saying something about the beaver not being able to breathe properly from where it's at right now.

abby lets go, plushie held tight in her hands as she stands, big yawn sending her body into a full stretch.

"okay, i think that means it's time for bed," mike says, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. "we'll open more presents as soon as you wake up."

that makes abby grin and she's in bed in no time. you clean up the area under the tree a little, picking up all the trash and putting the gifts aside for safe-keeping.

you enter abby's room to kiss her goodnight, following mike out and quietly moving gifts from mike's closet to their rightful place under the tree. the two of you clean up the living room: folding the blankets, doing any leftover dishes, saving leftovers and wiping off the counters.

the exhaustion is beginning to kick in, evident in mike's tired eyes. but the night is coming to an end and sweet sleep awaits you.

"you're staying over tonight, right?" mike asks, voice quiet and a little shy.

"well, i already brought clothes, so, yes." you're grinning and mike's face splits into a smile. you're following him into his room and into his bed, the two of you knowing how to share the small space comfortably after a few times now.

you're grateful for the warmth mike provides, for the feeling of security his arms give you. it's really been the perfect christmas already and it's only technically only halfway over. the plan for tomorrow is more or less the same, watching movies together and doing any other typical christmas activities you can think of. you're not worried about inadequate sleep tonight - the chances of abby waking up before ten a.m. are more than unlikely.

late nights in, late mornings. spending time with your favorite people in the world. it's an unbeatable feeling, warming your heart and making a dopey smile appear on your face.

mike can tell you're not sleep yet, feels you shift a little beside him. you've turned to look at him better and he's trying to figure out why when you kiss him. it's dark, but you've essentially memorized is face in this exact lighting.

"goodnight kiss?" mike asks cheekily, pulling you closer.

"something like that," you grin. "today was a good day."

"a really good day. it's been so long since we've had that much fun on christmas," mike admits, a little quietly.

you're quiet, too. you run a hand through mike's hair slowly, fingers wrapping around his curls.

"i love you," mike whispers as though it's the first time he's saying it. and even though it's not, it still makes you smile like it is.

"i love you, too." you kiss him again but he doesn't let you go as quickly as before, hanging on to you and capturing you again a few more times first.

"okay," you laugh between kisses, giving mike one final one. "last one. that's your goodnight kiss."

mike groans, tucking his head in the crook of your neck, gently leaving kisses there. "fine," he mutters against the skin of your neck.

"go to sleep," you roll your eyes playfully, letting mike rest half on you, hands on his back and in his hair.

"i am," mike insists, kissing your jaw before settling down, arm thrown over your body.

you're not quite sure who falls asleep first, but it feels like no time at all before abby is in the room, calling the both of you awake to keep opening presents.

though, her expression is worth it all, mouth agape and eyes wide upon seeing all the gifts that have magically appeared under the tree.

you and mike exchange a knowing glance when abby's not looking, very proud of yourselves.

and as the three of you sit, watching abby unwrap her presents, mike can't help but be a little impatient for the last gift you will open, a small little box from him that's been carefully hidden behind all the other presents.

because, while the past day has only further proven it, mike has known for a while that there's not a day he wants to spend without you - a promise that he hopes you'll accept along with that small piece of jewelry.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fluff #five nights at freddy's #fnaf x reader #fnaf movie #fnaf #v + mike #v writes #no reason this took almost a month to write... insane

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sunboki · 1 year

Note

heyy I love your work so much and was wondering if I could join the event💜💜

love language- quality time

member- Lee know

I was wondering if you could just write a short drabble thanksss💜💜💜

-💜

lee minho x gn. reader

word count . 630 words

notes . aren’t you just the sweetest :( thank you sm for participating, i hope this piece is to your liking!

— event masterlist

Okay. It's go time. You coach yourself, awkwardly standing by the doorway to attempt calming your nerves before walking in to see your date, Lee Minho, who’s responsible for your nervousness in the first place. But seriously, it’s impossible to not be nervous when in the presence of the esteemed Lee Minho — he’s drop dead gorgeous.

Taking a deep breath, you step inside, managing to spot him sitting among chatting couples from how brightly he shines; starkly handsome.

“Hi.” You quickly greet, already stumbling over your feet while clumsily adjusting the chair, wiping sweaty palms on your legs in the process. This is an incoming disaster, you can feel it in your bones.

Fortunately, he greets you with a sweet smile, tapping perfectly manicured fingernails atop the menu.

“Do I scare you that much? I saw you at the door.”

Shit. Now you’ve done it.

And just like that, you deflate.

“..I don't want to mess things up and make you think I'm an absolute loser.” You mumble, glaring at the dessert section in hopes some miraculous courage will fuel you through.

“If I thought you were an absolute loser I’d be sitting here with Han Jisung instead.”

“‘m sure he would appreciate hearing that.” Quick witted, you reply, slow smile creeping onto your face. You failed to notice his heart eyes when he saw you lighten up.

He’s quiet, arms crossed over his chest with a taut smirk upon plush lips as his eyes flickered over your face.

“I like that.”

“What?”

“You’re acting like yourself, I like it more.”

You chew on your bottom lip, staring down before burying your face into your hands and shaking around childishly.

“It took enough courage to even make eye contact Lee Minho, you’re seriously testing my limits.” You whine, peeking between your fingers upon hearing his high-pitched, lively laugh.

Being honest, you hadn’t witnessed it much considering his usual poker-face ridden frame focused on documents — thinking of something you’d never guess. So to see him laugh was refreshing, truly. As pretty as he normally looked, seeing him laugh fully encapsulated all of the charm.

The date continued on smoother than you could’ve imagined, filled with playful banter and honeyed smiles. That is until the plates grew sparse of pastries and your cup went from full to empty. Though kindly enough, the model-off-duty offered to walk you back to your place.

“Thank god I didn’t spill coffee all over myself, that would’ve killed me.” You joke, swaying back and forth beside him, your head tilted up to the sky above. You fail to notice his heart eyes for a second time.

“Hmm, then I'd give you my coat.” He suggestively grinned, earning a light punch to the shoulder while walking along the sidewalk.

There’s a short silence, breath fogging up small puffs from the cold and you can’t help but thank whomever above for getting you this far.

“Will you give me your coat regardless?”

Wow, confidence. Where did she come from?

Minho sent you a nonsensical stare, though shaking off the clothing to drape over your shoulders all the same; his ears dusting a soft pink you knew he’d excuse as the frosty weather. Cute.

“You said this is your stop?” He halts and you skid to a stop, not even realizing how far you had gotten while caught up in conversation. You could talk to Minho for hours.

“Oh! Yeah, here’s your coat-“Keep it— for the next time we meet, I mean.”

“Next time?” You wiggle your eyebrows, dissolving into giggles as the boy lightly shoves you forward.

“Yah, just get inside.”

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allbark-no-bite · 7 months

Text

i would’ve married you.

icemav x reader (wc. 2.4k)

summary: It had always been Maverick. It had been Maverick long before you met Ice and would continue to be Maverick until he took his last breath.

warnings: severe angst, mentions of cancer, vomiting, character death

authors note: for all of my followers, i know this isn’t something that i would usually post but i’m immensely proud of it. this is for all of my Icemav Topgun people out there

————————————————————————

You watch as he cinches his belt one, two, five times. But you didn't have to watch him dress to know how much weight he had lost. The gauntness of his cheekbones could have told you that. He could have told you that. But he doesn't. And neither of you talk about it.

He just trudges tiredly out of the bedroom, running a hand through his frosty hair as he passes through the door frame. It seemed as though out of all the loss you had expected to come along with chemo, both the tumor and his hair were insistent upon staying.

Tom had the kind of hair that one would expect a man aging into his thirties to have: still relatively thick, however dulling in color, and ever threatening to see it's final days. Except it had looked like this for the past ten years. So had you expected the chemo to finally push the bleach damaged strands over the edge? Yes. Were you surprised when it didn't? No.

Along with his steel cut jawline and the soft roundness that his high cheekbones had given his face, it worked for him. He seemed to be perpetually never aging, stuck between a spry young cadet and weathered admiral.

"Where are you going? You have an appointment today." You watch, unamused and arms crossed as he moves through the house, gathering his things.

"No, I have to go into the office today. I'm already behind on too much paperwork," he corrects, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Tom has never been a coffee person, but these days he's totaling a minimum of two cups a day. That's not counting whatever he has while at work. It splashes onto the counter in his haste, but either he's moving too fluidly to notice or just doesn't care.

Normally his carelessness would have ticked you off, and you'd tell him off for the mess, tired of having to mother a grown man in his own home, but you're trying. Trying to be more gentle—be more patient. There is this tremendously guilty feeling that occurs when you yell at someone with cancer. Cancer. You hardly ever even say the word aloud.

It had started out as a persistent ear ache. Something he had chalked up to years of flying. He took antibiotics and that seemed to take care of the pain for a while. Then came the difficulty swallowing, followed by swollen lymph nodes, and finally the cough. It was the cough that he couldn't manage to shake.

"You can't keep missing treatments," you say, even though he knows. Sometimes you think it's worse that he's well versed about his condition. The first few weeks after finding out, he would come home, shower, and spend hours reading books that detailed symptoms and various treatments. Those hours bled into long anxious nights where the bedside lamp never turned off and neither of yourselves slept.

He knows what every symptom means; when it's good, when it's really bad.

Ice is already almost out the door, tugging on a coat that he snatched from god knows where, his combat boots shoved on haphazardly on his feet. His blonde hair is mushed from sleep, cowlicked on one side and only serving to add to his disheveled state. It's longer now, longer than it has been in a while. He'd always kept his hair cropped short in the time that you had known him, but now it was just long enough to stick out over his ears and brush the back of his neck.

"I agreed to do this shit as long as it didn't interfere with anything. It worked for a while but now I'm done. You knew the agreement."

The agreement. The agreement that you and Ice had settled on nearly ten months prior, back when he was just starting chemo—what seemed like a lifetime ago.

He hadn't wanted to undergo treatment. Hadn't wanted to endure the debilitating side effects that would come as a result. The doctors had given him a couple more years if he chose to do nothing. They'd make him 'comfortable' as they called it, and he could carry on with his duties until he couldn't. It was a guaranteed death sentence.

The chemo gave him a chance. You'd begged him to at least try. It was worth a try. Eventually he had given in under the condition that he would do the treatments until they started affecting his job. Your hope was that the chemo would stave off the disease long enough to buy him more time until then. At ten months, the tumor had shrunk in size, but Tom was feeling the effects of the radiation. He was nauseous more often than not and it was rare that he kept anything down. His joints stiffened and along with that came constant fatigue. The mouth sores were probably the worst development.

"That's not fair. You feel like crap because it's working," you argue, but it's like talking to a brick wall. He's not listening, tuning you out as he grabs his keys. He's been looking for an excuse to quit and it seemed as though he'd finally hit his breaking point. "If you skip again, everything so far will have been for nothing. You'll be right back where you started—"

His hand sliding off the doorknob, Ice turns to face you. He releases an exasperated sigh, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. The crease between his brows seems to have become permanent these days. "The stupid appointment will be here when I get back. You will be here when I get back. My career, this opportunity, will not."

"You don't mean that," you whisper, fighting the tightening of your throat, but you don't even believe yourself when you say it.

For a fraction of a second, he at least has the decency to look guilty. Ice pauses in the doorway, his mouth opening then closing as he decides against whatever he was going to say.

"Tom...," you begin to please with him, your voice cracking, but the front door had already slammed shut.

A text comes from Slider later that day.

You need to come get him.

Had you received such a text twelve months ago, you would have assumed that Tom was being an intolerable ass and that the team was at their wits' end with him. These days he hardly even has enough energy to walk from his desk to the door, let alone raise any sort of hell like he used to.

It seems foolish to miss that kind of thing, but you do. You all miss the normalcy of it.

When you make it to the base, it is buzzing with life. The tarmac is lined with rows of aircraft and men, both returning and awaiting takeoff. Given today was the first day for new recruits, it wasn't unusual for things to be so chaotic. You find Viper behind his desk as usual, phone pressed to his ear. Upon spotting you, he covers the receiver and mouths 'bathroom'.

You find him in the one behind the showers in the locker room. He's braced over the sink, heaving. Maverick is there. Maverick is always there.

The brunette pilot is standing beside Ice, a hand on his back to steady him as he retches. Maverick's leant over, murmuring something into his ear, only taking note of you standing in the doorway as he straightens. He nods in greeting to you just slightly, a grim look in his green eyes.

You'd long ago become accustomed to the idea that Ice was not purely yours. The navy owned him first and foremost. That was sworn in oath and inarguable. But anything after that became a little less clear. There was Maverick, and then there was you.

But you knew that.

When you had first met Ice on a night out at the bar, you were completely and hopelessly swooned by his charm, convinced that you'd just met the love of your life. And then you met Maverick and realized that was never going to be true.

It had always been Maverick. It had been Maverick long before you met Ice and would continue to be Maverick until he took his last breath.

Knowing first hand that Tom doesn't like being crowded when he's like this, you wait until he straightens before making your presence known behind him. He doesn't even flinch at the feel of your hand on his back, and you take that as a bad sign. Usually he'd bristle defensively, snap at you that he could handle it on his own. You know his anger comes from a place of fear—fear of being vulnerable, fear of dying.

His face is pale and tired looking, even more so than usual. You press the back of your palm to his forehead but find that he's not unusually warm, which is good. His flushed cheeks and watery eyes must be from gagging.

Maverick now stands a few paces away, hands clasped together behind his back. He's always kept his distance when you were around, held back by not only his respect for you but the laws of the navy. One wrong move at the wrong place at the wrong time would have himself and Ice dishonorably discharged. Their careers would amount to nothing.

If it hadn’t been for DADT, you don’t think Tom would have chosen you. Had the government allowed it, he would have put an engagement ring on Pete’s finger instead of yours. You probably wouldn’t even be a part of his life. And you carry around a lot of guilt because of that. It’s been one of the most selfish things you’ve ever done, agreeing to marry Tom. But at the same time there’s a part of you that doesn’t feel guilty at all because at least that it meant you got to spend your life with him.

Tom was the love of your life, but you weren’t his. Tom loved you, he genuinely did, but he wasn’t in love with you. That was reserved for Maverick.

Tom sucks in a ragged breath, one that hurts your own chest, and a fit of coughing follows it You’re afraid you’re going to hear that cough and it’s painful sharpness for years to come, but what you’re even more afraid of is the day you don’t. You swallow the knot in your throat and pet a hand through Tom’s hair, tenderly brushing it away from his eyes.

The reality of the situation is beginning to hit you, and there’s little you can do to keep the tears from your eyes. Once he stops chemo, there’s no telling how much more time he has left. It could be a couple weeks or it could be years, but regardless, he’s done fighting.

“Pete,” you begin, your throat tight. The brunette pilot’s eyes shoot towards you, his eyes reflecting a look of surprise.

In all of the years that you had known him, he has always been Maverick to you, maybe even Mav on the rare occasion, but never Pete. That had been your way of distancing yourself from him, the man who your fiancé so fondly referred to as his wingman. It was hard to look at Maverick as a friend and at the same time, your fiancé’s lover.

“Pete, take him home, would you?” You ask, finally able to get your words out again.

Maybe he’s not sure if he’s hearing you correctly or he’s just genuinely confused, but Maverick tilts his head, his green eyes lit with confusion. “I don’t—”

Tom’s eyebrows furrow, mimicking an expression similar to his wingman’s when you slip off the engagement ring on your finger and enclose it in his palm. “(Y/n), what are you doing?”

With your heart in your throat, you engulf Tom in a hug. From a combination of him not expecting it and his considerably lighter frame, he has to shuffle a few steps back to accommodate for your sudden weight. Once recovered, his arms tighten around you. The weight of his embrace is overwhelmingly familiar, and it doesn’t hit you until now how much you’re going to miss it. You snuggle your face into the crook of his neck and breathe him in like how you used to when you first started dating.

You hear him struggling to swallow, but eventually he finds his voice. “I would have married you,” he says, his voice sounding full of regret. What he means is, even if it wasn’t exactly what he wanted, even though he wished things could have been different, he would have still walked down the isle and said ‘I love you’ and meant it. He would have loved you regardless.

Tears streaming down your cheeks, you pull away just enough to see his face. “I know, Tom. I know you would’ve.”

And as much as it breaks you to release him, you step away from him for one final goodbye. Turning towards the man standing a few feet away, you open your arms for him, crushing Maverick in an embrace. “Take care of him, okay?” you manage, your words muffled by the leather of his bomber jacket.

“Of course ,” he promises.

“I know you will. You always have.”

——

Six months later, you get a phone call from Maverick. Tom had passed in his sleep last night. The call was brief, Maverick could barley get his words out, but he just wanted to let you know before the navy contacted you. They do around noon that day and you help make arrangements for the funeral.

With Tom being an admiral, they make it into a whole production, something he would have hated but secretly been proud of. It a very emotional day, hearing the fighter jets fly by and seeing all of yours and Tom’s friends.

You intend to slip in and out, but as you’re leaving, Maverick catches your eye in all of the chaos. It’s good to see him. He looks to be holding up okay despite the situation. There’s a gold band on his ring finger that wasn’t there before. The sight tugs at your heart a bit because you want to know how long they got to be married, if they went to the courthouse or if they had a ceremony on the beach like Tom had always wanted.

That’s the thing about love.

Even if it wasn’t you and Tom in the end, you still loved him, probably always will love him.

And that was fine.

All the love you had to give was his to keep anyways.

#iceman x maverick #iceman x reader #icemav #tom iceman kazansky #top gun iceman #icemav x reader #topgun maverick #pete maverick mitchell #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun fic #top gun 1986 #angst

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screamingcrows · 8 days

Note

bestie i am so late to the one bed prompt (purely bc i didn’t see it) so if you don’t have spoons for anymore please know i won’t be offended, but if you feel up for it maybe the prompt "We're both tired, so please just get in." with mister albedo 👀🫣

I hope the alchemist is soft enough /lh💙✨

By all accounts, it'd been a long day trudging around Dragonspine with Albedo. As his student you'd insisted on accompanying him, and to the surprise of everyone, Sucrose included, he'd actually agreed.

It was only the first day and already you were utterly exhausted, limbs filled with lead from the strain of hiking to his little hide. Tumbling down hills, constantly slipping, fingers nearly freezing off, the frigid wind threatening to rip your skin to shreds, it was all manageable. It was all physical phenomena, they could be reversed through various measures, warmth being the most alluring at the moment.

No, as you followed Albedo the last of the way, the only thing on your mind was how he'd outright laughed as you tumbled and fell headfirst into a mound of snow. He'd been quick to pull you out, hands gripping your hips tightly while you wiggled. His assurances that he'd only laughed due to the resemblance of a snow fox hunting didn't bring much comfort, although they were cute animals. The combination of his smooth chuckle and firm hands banishing all thoughts of the cold, heat still flooding your cheeks at the mere memory.

"Are you feeling okay?"

Your mind snapped back to the present, stopping your movements as Albedo's clear eyes pinned you, the snowflakes reflected making them glitter. Ah, you'd probably missed something.

"I'm sorry, Master Albedo, I was just lost in the scenery..."

A plausible enough lie. The way his smile faltered when you spoke the title made your stomach sink a little, perhaps it was better to address him by name only as he'd requested. But Sucrose didn't, and she'd been his student longer.

"Ah, it is breathtaking is it not? Truth be told, most of my visits here take as long as they do because, well because I enjoy it here. The air, the view-"

His gaze turned back to you, a sheepish smile crossing his features before he turned around and began walking, gesturing for you to follow.

"You must be freezing, let's get inside first," he had barely finished the sentence when a plateau came into view.

His base looked comfortable, a well sheltered cave, furnished with more equipment and bookshelves than you could fathom anyone lugging this far into treacherous terrain.

The evening passed in relative quiet, Albedo taking inventory of what he had while you sat with a book, eyes barely open towards the end. Changing was done fast to minimise loss of heat, yet it still felt as though ice flowed in your veins when you glanced around the firelit space.

"Mm, can I just take a bed?"

"Oh," his voice contained something unfamiliar, akin enough to disbelief that hearing it from him set you on edge, "it seems I-... forgot to plan for certain aspects of bringing a visitor."

And that was when you took the time to really look around, there was a single bed tucked into a corner and that was it for places to comfortably lie down. That was unfortunate, but not quite as unfortunate as how giddy the thought had your tired mind.

"I'm truly sorry, I hadn't considered sleeping arrangements. Go ahead and take the bed, I can just as well rest here," he sounded apologetic, voice a little softer than usual as he gestured to his chair.

That wouldn't do. Despite the fact that he clearly wasn't bothered by the frosty climate, his short sleeved coat told you as much, a chair couldn't possibly be comfortable. Patting the space next to you, you steeled yourself.

"We're both tired, so please just get in."

"I insist, please, make yourself comfortable. Isn't it my responsibility as your teacher to ensure your comfort?" he sounded almost a little melancholic, quickly shaking it off.

"Albedo, I'd feel terrible. Just get over here, it's not like anyone's ever died from sharing a bed.

A small glint entered his eyes, the flickering flames dancing across his skin when he approached. Deft hands made quick work of his outer layers, your eyes unable to peel away from his hands. There was a hint of hesitation, but it didn't last when you lifted the thick blankets for him. He was surprisingly warm against you, even through the multiple layers there was a marked difference with him in the bed.

Your weary body quickly began shutting down, having accomplished the last goal of the day, your eyelids were heavy as you turned your back to him, knowing it would be impossible to sleep with the promise of his lips any closer to yours. The arm that carefully came to rest around you brought a wave of security with it, as did the brush of soft lips against your nape, a pleasant tingle running down your spine.

Maybe the reason he'd accepted you along and not Sucrose was easier discerned than it first appeared.

Only one bed prompts

#I kinda forgot what i was doing half way through so if it makes no sense i'm sorry lmao #i need to shake him and kiss him and bite him and [redacted]#albedo x reader #albedo kreideprinz x reader #screaming at the murder

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augustinapril · 1 year

Text

𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 || P.P.

Pairing: Peter Parker x gn!reader

Sypnosis: Peter can tell there's something wrong, he's just not so sure how to approach the topic. On the roof of your snow-covered apartment, the both of you have an emotional chat about your reluctance to open up. He’s willing to wait.

Warnings: none, the reader is called “sweetheart” a few times. Written with tasm!peter in mind but it’s not really specified.

Wc: 1.3k || nav. || m.list

REBLOGS APPRECIATED <3

The streets of Queens were frosty with snow, the soft white powder decorating the sidewalks and leaf-bare trees. Each breath you took became visible with every exhale, reminding you of just how cold it is despite how you never felt it.

It wasn't the only one.

"You really shouldn't be out here in this weather," You heard Peter speak softly from behind you, snow crunching as he stepped towards your sitting figure, draping your shoulders with a frayed blue blanket. How he had gotten here you were never truly sure of with the number of possibilities there were. He could’ve used his spiderwebs, the crowded subway, or even a taxi if he had the money with him. It was usually a stab in the dark unless there had been obvious evidence pointing towards a specific route. Now, however, there were none. "You're gonna catch a cold."

You shrugged instead of giving a verbal answer. You couldn’t will yourself to speak right now, scared you’d mess up the tranquility surrounding you. Everything was calm and content, a breath of fresh—yet freezing—air compared to everything you’d felt the past few weeks.

“Lucky for you, I came prepared,” Peter continued as he dug through the backpack that he had brought with him. You turned towards him with furrowed brows, watching as he pulled out a spiderman-themed ear flap hat with a matching set of cotton mittens. Instantly you broke into a quiet fit of laughter, which made Peter smile. He hadn’t heard you laugh like that in weeks.

“What? You have something against Spiderman, N/n?” You nodded as Peter seized your hands in his. His felt like being snuggled up against a cozy fireplace in comparison to yours. He gave a faux gasp of being insulted as he slid the oversized mittens onto your shaking hands, making sure they were on comfortably. “I can not believe you.”

You observed as Peter adjusted your hoodie sleeve over the cuffs of the mittens, making your heart warm in appreciation. He’d always had a big heart, it was one of the things you loved about him. He’d always check in on you, asking where you were when you never made it to class and making sure you got home okay on the days he couldn’t walk you. The way he always put people before himself was something you both admired and despised; often he forgets he’s human and can only do so much, no matter how strong his spider abilities may make him.

“Spiderman is amazing, I’ll have you know,” He told you matter-of-factly as he began to delicately place the spiderman hat onto your head, using the long side tassels to adjust it over your ears. “Aw man, I'm pretty sure the eyes on the hat are off. How could someone mess that up on a hat?” Again, you shrugged.

Despite his playful demeanor, the way he was talking quicker than normal gave off the fact he had something else on his mind. He seemed worried about it yet it was clear to see he wanted nothing more than to communicate about whatever it was. It wasn’t that difficult to pick up on. He kept biting his lip when he took breaks between sentences, and he struggled a few times to get the hat center on top of your head from his trembling hands.

You readjusted yourself, twisting your body towards his and lightly knocking your leg against his. Instantly, he looked at you.

He assumed, hoped, it was because you were going to say something. Talk about everything you’re dealing with instead of bottling it up like you usually do. Most of the time he has to cajole you into telling him anything that’s bothering you, even the small things like when you accidentally burnt your toast in the morning or got a bad grade on an assignment. He never understood why you wouldn’t just reach out to him for support, as he did with you. Always, whenever something went wrong for him, you were there beside him in a heartbeat. Yet, he could never get that in return. He wanted to help you in the ways you’ve helped him but you never fully allowed yourself to trust him.

Like right now. He caught a glimpse of the concerned look in your eyes, the way your brows creased in worry for him when it was evident you were the one who needed a shoulder to lean on.

It broke him.

"You know you can talk to me right?” He’d informed you pleadingly. He was begging you to talk to him. “I know I'm probably not the best at it but I care about you. Just–just talk to me, okay? I want to help you, you're in pain, I can see it. Feel it. I just need you to tell me, sweetheart.”

The way his voice cracked at the end felt like broken glass slashing through your heart. His hands clasped yours tightly as he started to cry, making you tense in shame. You pulled your dominant hand from his, lifting it towards his pale winter-kissed face and whipping away the stream of tears. At that moment, the overwhelming amount of Peter’s love hit you like a freight train. He cared about you in the most intense way someone could. It was heavy and deep and so full of raw emotion that it was suffocating. It’s hard to believe someone could hold so much fondness for one person, especially you of all people.

You opened your mouth in hopes of saying something, anything that could show him just how sorry you were for it all but not a sound came out. It felt like everything you wanted to let out was stuck in your throat. Peter had noticed, an overpowering amount of guilt splashing you like an ocean's tide during a harsh storm. “You don’t have to say anything now. I don’t want you to feel pressured into telling me it’s just –“ Peter hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. He took a minute but the way he looked at you before he whispered was like a hand smashing every piece of your soul. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you the way you saved me."

Your breath had been stolen from your lungs. Peter Parker felt like he had failed you in the worst way possible.

You vigorously shook your head, denying this lie he felt. Peter had saved you in ways he wasn't even aware of, you just never had the guts to tell him. He deserved more, you'd thought, more than you could ever give him, but he didn’t want anyone else. He wanted you and your flaws and past mistakes, and no matter how long it would take he was going to wait until you were comfortable enough to say it.

You leaned towards him and pulled him into a tight embrace, your arms wrapped around his body in a way that kept him held against you. He could feel the way your body shook with silent sobs, the back of his hoodie tightening when your fists clutched the cloth in a vice grip. He felt every emotion you had right then as he hugged you back. You weren’t ready to talk now, but he knew this was your way of saying you were willing to try. He could feel you whisper against his ear, your warm breath making him shiver from its intrusiveness against the cold.

“You’re a fool for ever thinking you haven’t rescued me, Peter,” you began, your voice delicate. “I’ll tell you of all the ways you’ve become my hero one day. I promise you that.”

“Pink promise?” You could feel his small grin against your skin, making you pull away just enough so you could bring your hand up to his while still maintaining the proximity. “There’s no breaking your promise now, L/n.”

This was Peter’s way of saying he heard you and that he understood. Humor has become a fundamental stone in your friendship, often worming its way into conversations, serious or not. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Parker.”

#peter parker x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x reader #peter parker imagine #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #marvel x you #mcu!spiderman x reader #mcu!peter x reader #mcu!peter imagine #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!spiderman x you

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bambirex · 2 years

Note

how about yennskier + they're trapped in the snow and yen tries to keep them warm with chaos (and maybe she's injured or still regaining her power so the weaker she becomes the colder they get until... 👀)

There's a more nsfw version of this in my head, but I stayed out of horny jail today 😂👀

Warnings: nudity

The light kept flickering in and out. Yennefer cursed under her breath as she tried to will her chaos to stay, to stop floating away and leave her at the worst possible time. She hated feeling so helpless, and it wasn't even herself she was so worried about.

Her body could endure harsher conditions, but even she could feel herself trembling from the cold: she could only imagine how a human body felt right now, fragile and utterly vulnerable to this horrible weather.

They managed to find a small hut just in time before the height of the snowstorm came down, but it wasn't enough. It was an old, shattered wooden shed, and the frosty wind whistled through the cracks, not giving them much protection. Yennefer has only regained her powers, and her chaos was still weak: she couldn't conjure a portal and get them somewhere safe and warm. They were trapped in here, half-buried under the snow, and even trying to keep them warm with her remaining powers didn't seem to help much.

Jaskier trembled next to her, his teeth chattering audibly. He was uncharacteristically quiet, which alarmed Yennefer. Even in the most dire situations, he would make silly jokes to try and ease the mood. He was now completely silent, except for his shaky, weak breaths. He hugged his knees close to chest, rolled up into a ball to try and keep some of his body heat.

"Come on, for fuck's sake," Yennefer groaned as the orange glow around her fingers dimmed again. "Do not fucking leave me again!"

The last time her chaos abandoned her, everything went to utter shit. She couldn't handle another repeat of that, especially not when she had another life to worry about. She might survive, but Jaskier wouldn't. She needed to try and stay strong at least for him.

She scooted closer to Jaskier and tried to direct the warmth of her hands towards him. Jaskier gave her a weak smile. His lips lost their usual pink color, and so did his face. He was pale like the snow rampaging outside.

The more her chaos dimmed, the colder Yennefer felt herself get, as well. She released a shaky sigh, curling in on herself. If the magic would fail, her body would, too. She would be just as vulnerable as Jaskier.

"Well, this isn't the way I thought I would go," Jaskier finally said. His voice was so weak, Yennefer could barely hear him over the wind. "Embarassing."

"I'm gonna warm us up, somehow," Yennefer promised, but her voice didn't sound convincing to her ears, either. She leaned even closer to Jaskier, until their bodies touched. Jaskier's body still held some of his warmth, and Yennefer hoped her own did, too, so she could transfer some of it to the bard.

An idea suddenly sprung into her head. She vaguely remembered Geralt telling her about the winters when it was so cold at Kaer Morhen that nothing helped, only huddling for warmth with his wolf brothers. If they wanted to survive this snowstorm, they needed to share their body heat.

Jaskier let out a surprised squeak when Yennefer suddenly wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer.

"Yennefer, what the hell are you doing? Oh, God," he sighed, shaking his head, "you think we're dying. We're dying and so you're getting all sentimental and hugging me, trying to make up for all the wrongs..."

"What wrongs... Jaskier, I'm trying to keep you warm! We need to stay close to each other."

"Ah. Alright."

Tentatively, Jaskier reached for Yennefer. His arms went around her waist in return, his chin rested on the top of her head. It was nice, Yennefer thought. She soon started feeling warm inside and out; gently, she started rubbing Jaskier's arm, and he tightened his hold on her in return.

Unfortunately, as nice as it was, it didn't last long enough: Jaskier soon started shivering again, his body trembling against Yennefer's. Yennefer realized both their clothes were still wet, and all their shared body heat seeped out as the damp materials, instead of drying, went even colder.

They needed to get rid of those wet rags as soon as possible, because they were only going to make things worse.

Yennefer unbuttoned her blouse quickly, shrugging it off. Jaskier's eyes went wide before he snapped his head away, trying not to stare at Yennefer's naked chest.

"What the fuck!?"

"Get out of your clothes," Yennefer ordered as she got rid of her skirt. The cold air felt uncomfortable against her bare skin. Jaskier made a weird little sound at the back of his throat.

"Woah, that escalated quickly. People usually buy me dinner first."

"Jaskier!"

"I am not getting naked, Yennefer! I'm freezing to death in my warmest coat, you think having my bare arse out would be better!?"

"Our clothes are drenched, we're gonna be even colder if we keep them on! Undress, or I'll tear them off!"

Something flickered in Jaskier's eyes. He bit down on his lip as his trembling fingers got to work, shedding his clothing as quickly as he could. Something about him succumbing to her orders made a strange emotion flutter in Yennefer's chest.

"Do not make this weird," she warned him as she wrapped herself around him. A shiver ran through her body, but it was not because of the cold. Jaskier's skin was terribly cold, but still soft against her own. It was pleasant, and Yennefer found herself burrowing deeper into his embrace.

"Says the woman who ordered me to get naked when there's a literal snowstorm outside," Jaskier chuckled. His voice was already a bit stronger, and his shivering eased up a little. He buried his face in Yennefer's hair, probably to not make her feel like she was being stared at. Yennefer appreciated his kindness.

Actually, she appreciated a lot more. She never would have thought being in Jaskier's arms would feel so wonderful, but right now, Yennefer didn't want to leave.

It was only because she needed to stay warm, she told herself. That was the only reason she liked it.

Combined with the weak flickers of her chaos, they soon warmed in each other's arms. Jaskier's shallow, ragged breathing turned into quiet, almost happy little sighs, and his skin felt much warmer. Yennefer smoothed a hand down his side, only to feel if it really was warm, of course. Not because she wanted more of his bare skin.

"If we survive, I expect you to not tell anyone about this," Yennefer said. "No one needs to find out we were cuddling."

"Naked," Jaskier added. Yennefer felt his grin against her hair. "Also, I thought we were just keeping each other warm. I didn't realize we were cuddling."

The teasing edge in his voice told Yennefer that he was feeling better now. It was now safe to give his arm a smack, so that was what Yennefer did, making Jaskier whine.

All the same, Yennefer smiled into Jaskier's chest. Whether it was about keeping warm, or something else entirely, she couldn't say she didn't enjoy it just a little bit.

#yennskier #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #the witcher #my fic #request

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recordstellar-official · 7 months

Text

A Sword Through The Fog

Scene 1:

Deserved Accomplishment

Rooftops glistened with dew on a cold summer morning in the country of Inthal. The port city of Gerntrude was especially frosty despite it being the middle of Thermidore. The densely packed corridor of this busy city teemed with elves and half-elves hustling to their many tasks and activities. The chaos of the victorian urban sprawl didn't detract from the efficiency of the denizen's movements, nor did it take anything away from the city's meticulous planning. Amidst the teeming crowd strode a particularly dark half-elf strutting towards the docks, jovial despite his lordly demeanor. Thoughts about his night swarmed through his mind as he walked toward a lone fishmonger, a smug smirk creeping upon his lips as he walked towards Jaro, his childhood friend, now fishmonger serving up a chain throughout the entire country. The slap of trout, and the quick dexterous flashes of silver bifurcating fish echoed with the tempo within Juhn's chest; it was near impossible for him to contain his excitement.

"Jaro! Fine morning friend!" Juhn shouted as he approached the stall. The fishmonger turned around, his surprise immediately replaced by a youthful amusement.

"If it isn't the arrogant bastard himself!" the fishmonger said throwing out a hand to shake. Juhn grabbed it, and was pulled into the swarthy fellow's chest. Juhn's hips slammed into the stall, bumping the spice display a bit. A few passersby glanced at the disturbance but looked away as they continued to their destinations.

"Any tighter Jaro, and I'm going to end up like your trout,"he replied.

"Ha!I'm sure I'd get a fine price for le fillet un Juhn," Jaro quipped back. Juhn chortled at the reply as his old friend released hi and patted his shoulders. Juhn finished the grooming by wiping a small remnant of fish guts off himself. He looked at the dark stain on his right shoulder. "You're not going to charge me extra for that, are you?" He said grinning.

"You and your sister always cracking jokes with those sharp tongues of yours," Jaro replied. "Tell me," he continued, "What do I have to thank for this pleasant surprise?"

Juhn looked behind him expectantly before turning back to Jaro. Leaning in he whispered in his friend's ear. "You're not going to believe this, but I'll be hosting the Proctor and his wife this evening at my new winery no less!"

Jaro staggered back, unable to hide his astonishment. "The leader of Inthal eating at your restaurant winery. That's quite an accomplishment for a district lord. Speaking of lordship, how is your district?"

Juhn arched an eyebrow. Jaro usually wasn't interested in politics, his attention was normally fulled toward sports. His friend seeing his suspicion relieved him by saying,"Oh, I'm just happy for you is all."

Juhn tilted his head to the side taking a moment to consider before replying:"It goes well. The people have insisted that I continue for another three years. I've -"

A dull thudding of of wooden soles grabbed both of their attention as the chef Juhn had been waiting for had just caught up. Juhn gave a quick grimace to the interruption before turning to his employee.

"Gregory, is there a specific fish that would go well with our 5098 circa AoD Chardonnay? The one I had you taste last Rohs."

Gregory pointed to a large tusked salmon sitting on a shelf of ice behind the spice stall beside Jaro.

"The marrow in the Bull-salmon should compliment the strong nutty and earthy flavor and spiciness of your elven white wine. Considering that elven wine tastes more like a watered-down whiskey than anything I'd call wine," Gregory commented.

Juhn chuckled at the human. Elven wine was flavored with dried fruits and spices as it kept for centuries before it was considered ready for bottling.

"It's fresh, right?" Juhn asked, pointing to the magnificent specimen.

Jaro smiled. "Actually, yes. We just caught this one. Isn't he a whopper?"

Juhn nodded. A two-foot long Bullsalmon was a miraculous catch for the summer, no matter how unusually cold. These things were supposed to be off deep in the ocean mating and spawning. Obviously, Ora-Laho, God off all, was smiling down on lord Ardos, first knight of Highwater.

"Here's 20 gold currencs," he said, tapping a large circular coin on the booth. A lead cylinder with a brass bell sat there with another gold coin sitting in a slot.

The bell rang and the coin slid deeper into the slot.

Jaro smiled as he grabbed the salmon off of its shelf and threw it to Gregory, who awkwardly hefted it onto his shoulders.

"You are not fair to me, you bastard! You're always so generous!" Jaro shouted.

A grin cracked Juhn's face as he looked the fishmonger in the eye. "It's fair. The best price for the best catch of the season."

The ride home was uneventful as was the rest of the day. Gregory prepared the meal while Juhn handled overseeing the accounting, inventory management, as well as communicating with the rest of the Inthalian council about Highwater Cross and the Tetrum strait. The evening came quick -- too quick, as Juhn looked at the many unfinished projects on the calendar sitting on his office wall. Surprisingly, he felt no satisfaction with the progress he had made. The joy he had felt earlier this morning had slowly faded. It had been replaced by a foreboding sense of dread. Juhn's brow furrowed as the scry-board in his right belt-pouch vibrated. The small rectangular mirror laminated by a glass brick showed the nameplate of Advisor Mauser's assistant calling to confirm the reservation while apologizing on behalf of the couple insisting two more guests be added last minute.

Juhn graciously accepted the request despite her embarrassment. He had prepared enough for an entire party of guests should Mauser's wife, Laurai, extend their dinner to the random street people traveling through Juhn's villa. Still, he couldn't shake the foreboding feeling deep in his bones. His eyes skirted to the skeletal palm clutching a chalice on his desk.

It couldn't be...

Juhn's nerves were on fire as he stood on his balcony, hidden from the sight of those outside. He watched as the Advisor's auto-carriage approached. He took a breath and made his way towards the private nook facing the curb of the street.

As he approached, he heard the advisor speak. The conversation sounded lively, but unintelligible. Following the advisor's voice was a feminine one. It sounded nothing like the advisor's wife. This one sounded familiar. He stopped in his tracks.

No, it couldn't be her, he thought to himself. She was working in Feygard. She had no business here.

The dread hit him in force as an uproar of laughter erupted from the room. There was no mistake; it was the laughter of sister.

Juhn, for the second time, steeled his nerves. He didn't hate his sister; quite the opposite. His problem was that her visits were never a simple hello. No, each visit was a prelude to some hare-brained scheme wrapped inside of a favor. With a collected composure, he entered the room. As expected, he saw Advisor Mauser and his wife. And as had her laughter warned him, there sat his sister, Lialka. Surprisingly however, sat next to Lialka, was his dearest childhood friend, Raina.

Juhn's eyes widened as his composure momentarily left him. He stood silent as he tried to comprehend the enormity of what was in front of him. Raina was the last person he expected to sit at The Prancing Druid. What had Lialka and their mutual friend going all this way to visit him in Arkhaelys? Lialka, oblivious to Juhn's appearance, continued with her conversation.

"Dragonspire tends to get rowdy in these months. They really love their dragon's sprint." Lialka chortled at the thought of the sports riots that were the norm whether the Dragonspire Spitfires or their opponents brought back "the crown".

"Is it true the streets of Draco Major burn around the end of Fructidor?" Mauser asked.

"They don't get that bad, - oh hey Juhn, I was hoping you'd come down to check up on us. We need to talk after. Also, the marrow dip is great! I mixed it. The wine. Gives it this smokey whiskey-flavor that gets you drunk."

A fiery indignation rose from the root of Juhn's being, threatening to consume the entire evening in bitter flame. As expected, she was already embarrassing him during the most important night of his winery's history. He breathed deeply, noting the presence of Mauser, his wife, and Raina, whose frame seemed to shrink. He straightened up in an effort to soothe her. His eyes met Lialka's as a nervous smirk attempted to widen her face. His shoulders slumped.

"Fine, see me in my study when you're done," he sighed.

He smiled at Mauser and Laurai.

"Pleased to see you tonight, Advisor Mauser. I hope the dinner has been to your liking."

"Yes, the marrow-lemon sauce pairs well with the bull-salmon meat," Mauser replied. "I quite enjoy the spiciness of the Chardonnay."

Laurai took a sip of her glass. "How much for a bottle?" she asked.

"I'll have the waitress bring you one on the house, milady," Juhn replied.

Laurai giggled as she took another sip.

"I must be back to my work," he stammered as he glanced once more at Raina.

"It's been a pleasure serving you two," he said to Mauser as he walked away. "And Raina, I don't know why you're here, but I'm glad to see you again. It's been a while. " He was up the stairs before he could hear her reply.

#fantasy #series #anime art #cosmic horror #romance #steampunk #dark fantasy #high fantasy #multiverse #pathfinder rpg

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Urban(e)🚬3

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; violence; criminal activity; alcohol; PTSD, warnings to be added as series progresses.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. It features Tommy Shelby x reader. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: when your father went away to serve in The Great War, you took over his side business in the shed. After the war, he struggles to recover from the damage of his trauma as an unexpected investor shows up at your door.

Note: Thanks to all who are following along. I'm having fun writing this show and the time period.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The biting cold of the English countryside sends a layer of dampness through the house and crawls up the wooden walls of the barn. The grass is frosty and yellow from the looming winter. The rains come harder and more often as the chill grows constant.

You sit by the window and stare out at the sky, the sun hidden behind the sheet of billowy clouds. The clink of dishes sounds from the kitchen along with the voices of your family. Much has changed in the month since Shelby’s broker and yet nothing at all.

Your father’s silence permeates the airy rooms and adds another edge to the cold. It’s mostly aimed at you, the one he blames. You didn’t expect any different.

“Waiting for the boss?” your father’s voice cuts through your isolation.

“Da,” you warn as you sit back and sip your lukewarm tea.

He has the grace to look guilty. “Shelby business is dangerous business,” he sits in his rocking chair, now inside to keep it from rotting through the wetter months.

“I know, da, you keep saying,” you murmur, “it wasn’t my choice, just like it wasn’t yours.”

“I didn’t show you how to work a still to work for a man like him,” he growls.

“So what do I do, eh? What are you gonna do? You know that rifle is as good as a feather against those men,” you shake your head, “he takes his whiskey and goes. It’s better than we can hope for.”

“And those brutes he’s left in the shed, yeah, they bother you?”

“I got Ali, da,” you argue, “and you.”

“Mmm,” he hums and nods, “that’s right, so that means you tell me if they try anything.”

“Da, look at me,” you snort, “they’d rather mess with one of our mares, even the stud.”

“You overestimate men,” he shakes his head, “I still don’t like the arrangement, never will, but I’ll be calmer if you keep me aware.”

“Alright,” you say, “you wanna see the new stills? You never did come out.”

“Perhaps,” he answers and closes his eyes, the chair creaking as he rocks, “if my wound does cease its throbbing.”

“Hope so,” you stand and kiss his forehead, “you know, I don’t like him either.”

“Aye, I see it your eyes,” he smiles at the ceiling, “never seen that before. Not in you.”

“Better get ready, those dullards can’t do much more than watch,” you squeeze his shoulder, “I’ll be back at noon, yeah?”

“Might come out,” he says, “might do.”

🚬

Dawson and Darren. Those are the two men sent by Shelby to assist your manufacture. Unfortunately, they’re more in the way than any help. The shining new vats are bigger than their predecessors but the output is just as slow.

You guide Darren for the dozenth time in how to heat the still and the delicacy of your cyclical processing. The repetition seems to do little to seep past his thick skull and your exasperation boils over with the still that’s done the same. Another spoiled batch.

He apologises but you say nothing. Dawson instead begins his reproach as he is the more capable of the two. The heat of the shed speckles your skin with sweat and your frustration adds to your discomfort. You leave the two louts to argue and step out into the brisk air.

You have the crates filled for the pending deliveries while the excess will go to Shelby as demanded. Still, you have an itch to drain them into the mud of the pen and laugh in his face. Your thoughts are always bolder than you. Never overly talkative but wholly stubborn. Your father always said no words could cut as deep as your eyes.

You pull your jacket closed and do up a single button. You smell like rye and dirty hay. You never notice as your nose has taken to the stench of the farm but every now and then, you think you stink of a horse. Better for it, you like your space.

The distant noise catches your ear. At first, you think the wind is picking up and you come around the front of the house. You smell your mother’s stew even from there and hear Ali’s voice through the closed windows as he yammers at your father. Da always says the two of you were different sides of the same penny, though he would add that you were at least a halfcrown. That’s on the days he smiled, as rare as they are.

You see the black dot along the horizon and you know. You sigh and sit on the steps as you await the man. It’s better to keep him without, your father declares the house no man’s land for the Shelbys. You do your best to keep the two veterans apart. For all they have in common, they have more that sets them apart.

You know soldiers, your father’s friends were all in France. They all wear the scars and you hear how they speak. They carry violence even if it's not in their soul. The war made them that way and you knew that too long together and a new battle will break.

The only surprise about Thomas is that he’s alone. He’s not come unaccompanied since his first visit to the farmstead, that day your father made the short voyage back to the trenches. You watch him step out of his car and the metal door slams.

“Your men are in the shed,” you say as you lean your chin in your hand, “figure it was better to let ‘em burn it down instead of me.”

“They aren’t the sharpest but most soldiers only know how to take orders,” Thomas strides up to the steps and props his foot up on the bottom stair. His leather gloves brush over his jacket and he tucks a hand in his pocket, “I prefer to talk to the commander of the troops.”

“Well, there’s bottles for you in the barn,” you say tritely, “not much else to report.”

He looks ripe to smirk but he just shakes his head, “tryna decide if I prefer you silent.”

You tilt your head and shrug. You stare at him as he drags his foot from the worn wood and stands straight.

“Fine, the whiskey,” he flicks you up with two fingers, “I’ve not driven this far to argue.”

You stand and sense movement behind you. You glance back as your father pulls back the curtain to glare through as he stills his rocking chair. He scowls and Shelby waves to him smartly. You give your father a pleading look and he drops the linen back to cover the glass.

“Right,” you sat, “let us get your due.”

Thomas trails behind you, playing at a gentleman as you lead him to the gate and unhook the pen. He’s unbothered as his boots sink into the muck but you suspect he’s walked through worse. You lift the heavy bar across the door and he helps slide it open.

As you enter, Martha, one of the mares, puffs and you pause to pat her nose. He bares her teeth and her tongue swipes your cheek. She’s more likely to bite Ali but you prefer the obstinate creature.

Thomas comes close and puts his hand out to the horse. She chomps at him and he rescinds his hand. He tuts and chuckles to himself.

“Not many horses don’t like me,” he remarks, “same for women.”

“Mhmm,” you mutter and carry on past the stalls, “back here, Mr. Shelby.”

He follows you to a stack of crates covered in patched wool. You pull back the blanket and present the brown bottles to him. He raises his chin and considers his haul.

“That’s yours,” you say, “we keep the locals up in the loft.”

“You need more men?” he unbuttons his jacket and reaches inside. He takes out his cigarette case, clicks it open then closed, and replaces it under his coat.

“To get in my way?” you counter, “no. Mr. Shelby, I don’t think you understand. We get out what we put in, regardless of the size of our stills or the number of our hands.”

“Something I have considered,” he nods, “we’ve got packaging sorted at least. Bottles comin’ in from Manchester, labels too.”

“You’ll still get the same,” you affirm.

“First step, many to come,” he points a finger, “tell me, you have any dresses?”

You look at him dully. He lets a small grin play on his lips.

“Well?” he prompts.

“Might,” you answer shortly.

“Oh, well, I think you might search it out,” he says, “don’t think this,” he pinches the seam of your jacket sleeve, “will go well with society.”

You narrow your eyes and pull away from him.

“Take your whiskey, Mr. Shelby,” you cross your arms.

“A car will fetch you, Friday, I expect you to dress like more than a farmhand,” he carries on, “you’ll come to Birmingham and we’ll review our new processes.”

“Mr. Shelby, I see no reason for me to venture far. Bring your bottles and your labels and we will fill them,” you sniff.

“Do you recall my warning?” he lowers his voice, “about denying me?”

“I was of the mind that you were interested in whiskey, sir,” you snip, “you have the whiskey.”

“I am doing you a favour,” he insists, “I could as easily write my name on this whiskey but I am offering you a bit of grace.”

“I can read labels whilst in trousers, Mr. Shelby,” you scoff.

“There are people you need to meet,” he says, “so, you will come and you will pack another dress because the next day, we must travel to London.”

“Ali can go as my agent,” you meet his unbending gaze, “I think men are better suited for business.”

“You can go yourself,” he edges closer and you resist the urge to retreat, “and you will do so with ribbons in your hair.”

“Mr. Shelby,” you force through your tight throat and his eyes fall to the small constriction.

“I’m certain your date book is wide open,” he backs away and turns back to the crates.

He bends and takes a brown bottle. He uncorks it and inhales the scent, wrinkling his nose at its pungency. He takes a swig then offers it to you.

“No, thank you, Mr. Shelby,” you say, “I’ll have Ali help you–”

“I can’t fit all this in my car,” he chuckles as he pushes the cork back in, “I’ll send a man with a lorry.”

“Sure,” you reply.

“Perhaps a taste from your still might be good for you,” he muses as he hugs the bottle under his arm, “you surely need something to dislodge the rod from up your ass.”

“As you make it known, Mr. Shelby, I am no soldier, I’m but a woman,” you swallow, “so do not speak to me as one of your accomplices.”

“You might tell your father of my regards,” he surpasses you and receives a snort from Martha as he heads for the door, “I know where the horse gets her teeth.”

🚬

You stopped wearing dresses years before and there were two among the forgotten pile that still fit. Your mother sewed them by hand and so you kept them, even if you never had occasion to wear them. Now, you want to burn them.

They are sorely out of date, you’re certain. Gwenyth Harper used to get all the fashion periodicals and show off the ever shortening hems of modern style. The sleeves and skirts of the plain cotton garments speak of the farm and a time forgotten since the war rearranged the world. Worse than wearing a skirt, you will face the city in an outdated frock. You’re certain you get some jabs and japes for that.

As you fix the fraying cuff with a needle, sitting on your bed as the windows rattle, you hear the floorboards creak without. You look up as your father peeks in through the slightly open door. He eyes the fabric in your hand as you nod for him to enter.

“What’s this?” he asks as he pulls up the square stool from the corner.

You haven’t told him about Shelby’s demands or the one-sided argument in the barn. You’re barely willing to accept it yourself. Pulling out the dresses was enough to make you want to hit your head against the wall.

“Well, you know,” you lower your chin and focus on the stitches, “certain expectations for city folk.”

“‘City folk’?” he echoes, “what… what’re you goin’ there for?”

“Da,” you purse your lip as you tie off your last stitch.

“No,” he says staunchly as he sits straight, “no, not with that man.”

You raise your eyes and fold the dress over the edge of the bed. You frown as he stares at you. His face falls. For all the stubbornness you inherited from him, you both know it’s not within his will.

“Why’s he need ya in the city?” he asks.

“Something about labels, bottles, dressing up the fucking piss,” you sneer and your father’s eyes round.

“Ah, girlie, the mouth on you,” he lets himself chuckle, “I'd tell ya not to but can’t say I didn’t teach ya that myself.”

“I don’t wanna go,” you admit, “I told him as much but he listens as well as any man.”

“Truly. I don’t know how we made it through the war, the way men cling to their daftness,” he shakes his head, “I would go–”

“Yeah, I tried that,” you interject, “he’s playing his game, I know it. I’m not stupid like he thinks. He likes to hear himself talk, likes to make people listen. He’ll get bored of it.”

“Your ma won’t be happy, see ya away like that, with a man,” he clears his throat, “not that I am but… I just wish I could tell him to fuck off back where he came from. Not that I haven’t but do wish he’d listen.”

“I’ll be fine, da,” you say, “he wants to embarass me, that’s all. Wants to show me how much better he is, that he isn’t part of the caravan anymore.”

“Mmph,” he leans his elbows on his knees and holds his chin as he thinks, “you read people like books.”

“No, I just assume the worst,” you take the next dress, a citrine green cotton, “think if any man sees me in this, he might send me right back where I came from.”

He watches you and slowly sits up. He sighs and taps his fingers on his leg.

“Men are men,” he says, “you remember–” he holds up his fist.

“Aye, trust me, I remember,” you assure him, “just ask Ali.”

You pull out a new spool of thread as you recall your father’s lessons. The old sack he stuffed with hay and had you punch, to keep you busy, he said, but now you suspect it was something else.

“You shoulda told me,” he tisks.

“And what? You go off and get yourself hurt,” you poke the needle through the fabric, “you had your fight, it’s over. I don’t want you doin’ it again for me.”

“You’re my daughter, why do you think I went off in the first place?” you meet his glossy eyes.

You shove aside the dress and stand. You frame his square jaw and bend to kiss his head, “and where do ya think I get it from?”

“I’ll kill ‘im myself,” he whispers as he embraces you, “he pulls anythin’ and I’ll do it.”

You stay silent. He won’t. He can’t. It would be more than just his life, it would be your mother, your brother, and you. He knows his threats are empty but you let him say it.

It’s a nice fancy to keep close to your heart, like the tales of Excalibur or the pot at the end of the rainbow.

#thomas shelby #dark thomas shelby #dark!thomas shelby #tommy shelby #dark tommy shelby #dark!tommy shelby #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #urban(e)#peaky blinders #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #series

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qqueenofhades · 2 years

Note

I'm so sorry for your rubbish week and very grateful for your political posts - they've been very helpful. But on a lighter note, consider... Garcy meets Darklina academia AU???

Conferences in London during the summer season are always hit or miss. England, for example, has never actually heard of the word, and there is always the risk that it will be nine degrees Celsius and pissing it down in the middle of June. But academics everywhere are slavering to be let back into the wild after two years of staring at their colleagues' faces on a tiny Zoom screen and pretending it's the same as a real conference, and so Lucy and Flynn have decided to wing it. Arranged for the kids to stay with Rufus and Jiya, departed Stanford with great relief, and flown all the way to London for a super-duper-real conference at the Institute of Historical Research, followed by the annual pilgrimage up to Leeds for the IMC. People. Weird. Gross.

Flynn, of course, is deeply occupied in checking the transcription of his Middle Armenian primary sources on the plane, and is inclined to bark when Lucy interrupts him. They are on rather frosty terms by the time they land at Heathrow and take the Underground into the city, and don't speak again until they decide where to go out for dinner. Afterward, as their tempers have been improved with food, they stroll hand-in-hand in the thick blue dusk; the weather is, for once, mildly cooperative. The lights of London are coming on, and Lucy says, almost shyly, "Do you think we're going to be all right?"

Flynn looks at her down his long nose with dry amusement. "Speaking about the world, or the two of us more specifically?"

"I don't know." Lucy pauses, thinks about it. "Both. Either. Everything."

"As for the world," Flynn says, "if nothing else, we historians know that it's been through worse. As for us, we should be fine. As long as you let me finish my paper revisions when we get back to the hotel."

"Or," Lucy suggests pointedly, "we could FaceTime our children?"

Flynn snorts. "They're with Uncle Rufus, who is probably spoiling them rotten as we speak. They are also fine."

Lucy rolls her eyes to the heavens, but after they get back and she sends a quick text to Jiya to make sure that all is well with the hellions, she opens her laptop and starts making some last-minute revisions to her own PowerPoint deck. They are both full professors at Stanford now, which is a gift not to be underestimated in these troubled times, but she still can't quite shake the feeling that someone is going to turn up at her office, announce that she has been unmasked as a fraud, and turf her out forthwith. Impostor syndrome is a bitch.

They go to sleep, wake up on a grey morning that is at least not actually raining, take the Tube to Russell Square, and head to Senate House at the University of London, tramping upstairs to the IHR with the rest of the conference attendees. They perform the usual shuffle of collecting name badges, coffee cups, and resolving last-minute tech mishaps, which all feels a little sweeter now that it's their first in-person conference since the pandemic started. It is as they are doing so that a tall, dark man comes up to Flynn and says, "Garcia Flynn, is that you? I've so enjoyed your work on the function of the oprichniki in extending Ivan Groznyy's political and territorial legitimacy."

Lucy has gotten used to unfamiliar academics swanning up to her husband and announcing their admiration for his stuff in a field that she didn't even know he worked on, and muffles a small, amused sigh. The newcomer's name badge reads Aleksander Morozov - Saint Petersburg State University, and so he and Flynn instantly switch into fluent, rapid-fire Russian as they start discussing, evidently, the oprichniki of Ivan Groznyy. (Is that Ivan the Terrible? It is, right? Lucy really needs to brush up on her languages.)

It is as the men are engaged in this fashion (and rather animatedly; this is a subject on which they are apparently prepared to go all day), that a dark-haired woman steps up next to Lucy and rolls her eyes at her in a sympathetic fashion. "Don't take it personally. It happens to me all the time too."

Caught off guard, Lucy laughs, and they both peer at each other's name badges in the usual academic-at-a-conference habit of surreptitiously checking if this is someone they particularly need to schmooze with. The woman is also from SPSU; her name is Alina Starkova, and Lucy has seen her in the speakers' program, scheduled to present a paper on the economic and social policy of the 19th-century Russian Empire. They nod at each other, shake hands, and exchange small talk on the weather and their trips here. Then, when the conference organizers are clearing their throats and glancing meaningfully at the chairs in a way that means they are hoping to start somewhat on time, Flynn and Aleksander take no apparent notice of this and continue their argument. Loudly.

Lucy and Alina look at each other, sigh deeply, roll up their metaphorical sleeves, and wade in to grab their respective other halves by the arm, more or less (somewhat less) gently. (Alina is wearing an engagement ring, and the way she looks at Aleksander is the same way Lucy looks at Flynn, that same affection and exasperation mingled, so it's a guess, but a good one.) "Oh my god," Lucy mutters, towing Flynn away. "Good to know you haven't lost your habit of harassing innocent scholars in the wild."

"He's not innocent." Flynn glowers. "His paper in Russian History either deliberately misread or flat-out missed some of the most consequential sources in the entire -- "

"Garcia," Lucy says, in her best wifely tone. "Shut up."

Despite everything, and often many appearances to the contrary, Flynn knows what is good for him, and does so. They sit down across from Aleksander and Alina, and the women engage a long-suffering look, communicating the exact same silent message about their men. If you put those two idiots together, they would doubtless blow up the entire world in a pile of garbage. Probably best to not.

#misscrawfords #ask #thank you for this delightful concept #and yes obviously it does take place in #citation needed #verse #garcy #garcy ff #darklina #darklina ff #fic prompts

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haechanokeh · 3 years

Text

I'm Right For You [pt.9]

pairing: popular college! mark x average! reader

genre: romance, smut, angst, series.

warning (general): corruption, oral sex (both receiving and giving), cream pie, rough sex, mention of religion, rough sex, self-esteem, public sex, sub! reader, sex toys. possessive mark two-faced mark

[teaser] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 2 ] [ Chapter 3 ] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

when mark said that he will not touch you, he failed again. you're sore everywhere and exhausted.

"y/n?" mark poked your cheeks but you didn't respond at all or move an inch. you're weightlessly lying on top of him, cheek squished against his hard chest, arms on each side of his head, and legs spread, dick still touching your stickiness. you can still that the mixed liquids are dripping from you and mark also can feel it.

he played the tips of your hair.

"i love you." he whispered on top of your head and gave it a kiss.

"-mm too." you mumbled. he grinned as he fined it cute.

his phone suddenly rang and it wasn't that far so he reached for it. it's his mom. mark answered the call.

"mom?" he answered with forehead wrinkled in curiosity. it made you flinched and made you panic, you stopped yourself from cursing and was about to get off from mark's body but his hand on top of your lower back pushed you down preventing you from moving.

"stay still." he said with his commanding tone. so you did yet hoping that his mom didn't hear him.

"mark, where are you? your classmates are already here, they told me you weren't in class? what happened?" you could hear the concerned mother from the phone. your heart beating fast in panic and nervousness.

shit, they already knew he skipped class?

"where are my classmates? what do you mean?" mark ignore his mother's question on what happened why he's not in classes.

"we have worship service today mark, remember? you even invited your classmates"

you saw mark squeezed his nose bridge, brows furrowed, and he looked like he screwed up. it felt like you're at fault, if only you stopped mark from bringing you here and just pushed him to attend class. the truth was you loved the idea of staying alone with mark but now you could tell, it wasn't a good idea.

"mom, i'm sorry i forgot. it's because..." his eyes landed on you. mark saw your guilty face. he gave you a reassuring smile and caressed your cheeks. "have the headache today, i'm feeling under the weather mom. sorry."

he lied. you bit your lower lip. mark is a devoted christian and he will never lie about this kind of matter.

"oh my, okay okay. do you want us to go there?" his mom asked, totally fell from his son. mark's mom knew his son as someone who will lie and mark never skipped the worships unless he's sick.

"no, mom i'm fine. just have to rest." he replied. his mom told him to get enough sleep before she hangs up. mark placed his phone beside him.

"mark, you did not attend your worship." you were obviously guilty. "we should've gone to school."

mark didn't like the mood you're giving him, he translated it as if you regretted spending your day with him, alone. he also doesn't like that you're blaming yourself.

"but i got to spend my time alone with you, there's nothing wrong with it." mark smiled at you. his smiles always make your heart flutter but, this one... it's strange. "we don't have to worry about anything, won't go to hell for my absence in worship and my grades won't fall for skipping for a day." mark tucked some strand of hair in your face and tucked it behind your ear. there's no guilt or remorse for skipping two things that his world used to revolve into.

"you and me, that's only matters, hmm? do you not like being with me, y/n?" mark eyes were dark and icy, he smiled but it was cold. it made your blood run cold. he was asking you but he clearly was ordering you to answer him what he wanted to hear from you.

but it's taking you so long, mark looked slightly upset.

"y/n?" his hand grabbed your cheeks and squeezed it but it didn't hurt you, it was playfully but it felt like your heart was stabbed by cold spiked ice.

"yes." finally respond to him with a forced smile.

maybe he's lying, maybe he's just making me feel less bad.

you locked your front door and get inside in mark's car.

"how's your sleep." he started to drive the car.

"insufficient, i still want to sleep." you yawned. mark looked at you.

"do you want to sleep in my condo or your house?" he said.

"what? no, i'm good. i'll just sleep in class." you joked. mark smiled but he knew you will really fall asleep especially during pharma marketing.

"so, does your mom know that i exist?" mark changed the subject. you went silent. "no plans in introducing me to your mother?" he was calmly laughing but he's slightly upset.

"ahm no, well... she doesn't even know i gave friends but ahm, if she has a chance to meet ahm..." he touched your hand and squeezed it.

"relax, i know your mom is very busy." mark intertwined your hands with his. you're staring at him.

he's switching mood so fast.

"you're not yet even my girlfriend... yet." he added. he glanced at me and raised his brow but smirking.

"you can ask me again though..." you lowered your voice but you made sure that he will hear it.

his head quickly turned to you and you burst into laughter when you saw his eyes bulging out.

"yow, dude are you serious?!" his voice cracked and you couldn't stop laughing. you nodded your head.

"but mark if you want me to be your girlfriend, don't call me dude. okay?" you teased him.

"then can I be your girlfriend-- wait what?" both of you looked confused.

"mark!" you threw your head back and shaking in laughter.

"I mean, can you be my girlfriend, dang it." you chuckled and squeezed his hand.

"yes." your eyes were locking. "but eyes on the road."

"oh, yes! right!" he panicked.

it's been only 1 hour after you officially became his girlfriend but he's already pouting.

"mark, we should be careful. i don't like to be the center of attention just because you're my boyfriend." you said.

he stayed silent. well, he kept on insisting that both of you enter the school at the same time but you decline it because it's better if one of you go first just to avoid suspicion.

"I'm going first, okay?" you gave him a calming smile but it didn't reach him. he just stared at the steering wheel. you sighed and just stepped out of the car.

when you entered the room, same morning, no one greets you because the only person who greets you was sulking in his car. you sat on your usual chair, your class has no fix seating arrangement but everyone knows that the corner on the fourth row is your seat.

"hey." you looked up and saw lucas sitting beside you.

"hey." you smiled at him.

"where were you yesterday?" he put down his bag. you already prepared your excuse.

"fetch my mom in the airport." though your mom use land transpo.

"oh, i see well mark is absent to- oh hey dude." lucas offered his hand to mark for hand shake.

you looked up, he's infront of you but he's staring at lucas with his emotionless face. lucas fingers where slowly folding because it seems like mark will not take it.

"move, that's my seat." mark's voice was frosty and slightly loud but it didn't raise a pitch.

"dude, you seat everywhe-" lucas didn't finish his word when mark grabbed his shirt. he was looking up to mark who's standing and towering him.

everyone was alarmed and stood from their seats, including you.

"mark, calm down..." everyone was trying to pull you away from him, some were trying to remove his hand from lucas' shirt.

"mark!" you grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away from lucas who's stop dead in track on the seat.

"you thought you can have her just because everyone kept on saying that you and y/n look good together, that doesn't mean you can have her! stay away from my girlfriend!" he spat harshly. everyone saw the mark that they never expect to meet, eyes dark and glaring.

your jaw dropped when he announced your relationship that wasn't supposed to be revealed.

"mark!" you stomp on your feet and tried to pull his arms once more. "mark, let's talk!"

some of your classmates were staring at you and you started to over analyze it. your felt embarrassed and in verge of crying.

"mark, please." you voice was shaking and tears started to fell from your eyes.

when mark heard that voice he quickly went back in his senses and looked at you. he freed lucas and forget that they exist. mark was about to cup your face but you stepped back.

"let's talk, outside."

mark followed you until you reach the front gate of your school. you brought your bag because you haven't remove it from your back and so was he.

"what was that?" you angrily turned to face him.

"he likes you, but he doesn't like you like ido-"

"i don't care about him!" you raised your voice. mark was surprised from your voice and angry face. your chest was heaving and nose flaring, you face is also redden in anger.

you know that lucas doesn't like you anyway which made you angry more.

"i told you, we're not supposed to tell them that we're together."

"i didn't agree, because if i agree with you, that boy will try ask you out." he pointed his finger to you. "why are you so mad, i just tried to warn him."

"you just made a scene mark! that's not you!" you pointed your finger back at him.

"and you're not suppose to be talking to anyone or get too close to anyone because that's not you. i am the only one who talks to you, all these years i am the only one who notices you and they never did so i don't understand how did lucas casually sitting on the seat beside you which is by the way my seat." he growled, his face was inches away from you but his breath fanning your face. he was fuming in anger.

"you are mine, they are not like what you think they are. they are bunch of losers, blood suckers. i lied when i said that they want to befriend you, they never mention you because they don't care. i am the only person who tried to get close to you so fucking stay away from them!" he shouted.

you flinched. you were staring at him as if you're looking for something... or someone.

"who are you?" you whispered. "where's the mark that everybody loves? the kind mark that i always look up to?"

mark face slowly soften when he realized what kind of behavior he was giving you.

"you only like me because i'm kind." he looked disappointed. again, he wasn't supposed to feel that way.

"no, i love you because you're lovely." you sobbed. you bit your lip and burst into tears. you shook your head. "don't go after me." you were dead serious and walked away from him.

✨if you want to be added in I’m Right For You Tag List, you can DM or Ask me so i can add you ✨

Tag List: @babylion-mork @lalaname @cloudykeiji @jjikyuu @sunshinedhyuck @wassup-haeyadwae @mrklyy @resceluwu @jenonctcity @wanlore @watermelonlovermark @erisxczenie

#mark lee angst #mark lee smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #nct smut #mark lee fanfic

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 3 years

Text

Six Weeks Into an Era

A sequel to Three Weeks Into an Era. Someone ages ago asked for a sequel. Blame them 👀💅🏾.

The plantation hidden deep into private land was an instant success and as reporters broadcasted nationally on the mass disappearance of white men over the age of 21 with an unfamiliar air of fear and a new sense of panic, no connection could be made between the disappearances and the new booming businesses due to the preexisting condition that is outsourcing factory labor. Erik and his crew were fat cats rolling in dough. Dante had been promoted to head of the all-male plantation as Erik floated from camp to camp, the latest camp being for women. It was 10 miles away from the first camp and nicknamed Camp Karen by the all-female team of overseers that supervised the property.

"PICK UP YOUR MACHETE AND SWING YOUR GOD DAMN ARM, BRIDGETTE," Kathy seethed turning bright pink under her frosty white bobbed hair. She'd been toiling in the high heat for three hours, the sun beating on her causing sweat to drip all down her chiffon blouse. She was soaked and pissed.

"You better listen to her, Bridgette," Shavon chuckled misting herself with her battery operated spray fan. "I'll keep y'all out here all day and night until all that sugarcane is harvested. You won't eat or sleep."

Bridgette was a twenty-four year old engaged yoga instructor and mother of one 2-yr-old according to her profile provided by Erik. Her favorite pastimes included yelling at people of color who she perceived to be immigrants and throwing around the N word at black service workers. She'd even gotten violent on numerous occasions. Now she was screaming to the top of her lungs in a sugarcane field, refusing to work despite the fact that she was holding up twelve other exhausted and angry white Karens who were all but frothing at the mouth . She picked up the machete and swung it wildly.

"I don't care if you hit them lice lizards you rode in with, bitch, but if you swing it this way I'll assume you're swinging at me and you WILL be taken down," Shavon eyed the sandy blonde and lanky woman ensuring she understood. As Bridgette began to cry and wail, the other women fussed amongst themselves, fed up and exhausted from the hold up of Bridgette not doing her part. "Oh do you not like her behavior??" They had a nerve. They were all at the plantation for similar offenses. Some for way worse.

Thirty minutes of tantrum rolled by and Shavon returned to the air conditioned tent for a cool drink of Gatorade while Alexis took over as the active overseer. Alexis wasted no words having watched the entire meltdown from afar in her chair. She pulled her whip and lashed Bridgette on the back to snap her into quick action.

"This is what your people did to my people, remember?! You bring it up all the time to black people when you're getting your nonfat lattes you must remember but in case you don't, let me remind you." With another snap of the whip across Bridgette's back, Bridgette started working in double-time. She needed to catch up on all the chopping she had not done. "PUT YOUR BACK INTO IT," Alexis yelled. "YEAH I CAN SCREAM TOO."

Alexis had originally been gentle, but truckloads of entitled and extremely racist white women had ruined that side of her. She stung Bridgette once more holding nothing back, the pain of her ancestors her driving force in that moment. "Do you know that it's estimated that 40% of slaveowners were white women? Yeah? We were currency for you.. A way for you to escape your sorry ass lot as a lesser counterpart to your white man and gain some type of freedom since you couldn't freely acquire land. You say it's the past yet you still view us as your step stool. Well not here, bitch. Pick up the pace."

Meanwhile, at the all-male camp, Overseer Dante kept his group of caucasians in line by threat of fire. He introduced what he called the gun line. If any of the men were to take so much as a step past the boundary of the plantation he'd be dropped on sight. "TRY IT MILK MUTANT. YOUR TOE WILL BE THE ONLY THING LEFT OF YOU," he yelled to a younger pale face with trouble in his eyes. He had yet to be broken, but it was a matter of time.

Erik was out with the truck on the hunt, ready to abduct new cattle based on a list of addresses and coordinates. The world had all but come to a stop, discussing the disappearances to the point that it was the main topic on all news stations and had been for a while. Pictures of socially high ranking white men were displayed from MSNBC to FOX. The president had declared a state of emergency. It was disgusting for Erik to witness considering the ratio of missing white men compared to black men. There had never been so much as a televised conference or lasting discussion regarding the disappearance of non-white people. Erik felt even more justified in his actions. Erik's team also felt just as justified.

"WHY CAN'T WE JUST GO HOME," Bridgette collapsed into the soil, shaking and crying, her portion of the harvest not near complete. "I just wanna go to take care of my SON!" Snot dripped down her top lip mixed with dirt, tears, and sweat.

"You think I give a damn about your little snotty nosed brat? When MY people, my literal great-grandmother was ripped away from her own child? Couldn't breastfeed her own child because she had to breastfeed a white woman's child? Cook and clean in a white woman's home to survive? You think I give a fuck about you? My great-grandmother was whipped by a white woman for being raped by the white husband. She went blinding one eye because of it. The same white women she cooked and cleaned for and raised her child. You think I'm supposed to give a damn about yours? Get the hell up," her top lip disappeared over her teeth as she reared the whip in a real threat once more. Bridgette scrambled to her feet, still sobbing as Alexis walked away back to the tent to collect herself.

"You okay?" Shavon had listened to the whole thing, sipping cold Gatorade in the cool air.

"I'm irritated, I just need to watch some Family Feud to get my mind off of it," she muttered dropping down to watch the small television.

"Girl don't let it get to you, you let that whip get to them ranch roaches and release that stress."

"I know, girl.. I know.." She propped her feet up with a cold beer in hand and Shavon returned to the field refreshed with a new idea in mind.

"Since SOME of you moon crickets don't wanna work there's gonna be some changes around here. Going forward, the last one to finish gets 10 lashes and a night sleeping in the hole. Hopefully that lights a fire under your meth addicted pink and red flat asses. We know who's sleeping in the hole tonight!"

Bridgette's angry shriek was at its loudest yet.

"That's for you Lexi," Shavon called to the tent with a proud grin. Alexis waved in grateful solidarity just as the familiar drop off truck rolled in.

"ERIK," Alexis exclaimed jumping up and fixing her hair to jog to the truck. It was him and he was tired and brooding as usual. "Hey, we've been keeping them busy on our side. Are you gonna stay?"

"Girl, let him out the truck," Shavon smirked from the side, prompting Alexis to stop blocking his door. She was overly excited as always and as always, Erik was uninterested.

"New shipment," he spoke to Shavon giving her the details on eight new women who could be heard screaming as soon as Erik lifted the sound proof gate. "Your problem now," he patted her shoulder with humor in his weary eyes. "Have fun."

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik stevens au #black panther killmonger #black panther fanfiction #six weeks into an era

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turinn · 3 years

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Tatsumi Kazehaya Boyfriend Headcanons

A/N: Tatsumi's winter outfit gave me too many emotions to handle so. hello have this please

Tatsumi is SUCH a sweetheart as a boyfriend. Kisses your cheek as a greeting every time he sees you, whether it's been an hour or a week.

Really not afraid of PDA as long as it's not too overbearing for the people around you. He loves the feeling of your hand in his and if you're with him, you're gonna have to get used to only having one hand available. This isn't negotiable- if you use a mobility aid that requires your hands he'll find some other way to hold onto you.

And he really loves kissing you, especially in random little moments where you just look so cute- who cares if people are around? That's not his fault!

He's always wearing like 4 layers because he runs cold, but this means he gives the world's warmest hugs. Slip your arms under his coat and nuzzle into him on a frosty day and you'll be toasty in no time- not that he's gonna let you go now he's got you!!

His go to pet name is darling, or dearest. You're also the only person who gets a -chan or -kun tacked onto your name instead of a -san, something his friends will pick up on. It's how they know he really loves you, and it's heartwarming to know that's a bit of affection he only reserves for you.

He usually smells like Old Spice and a hint of coffee, and on Sundays you'll be able to pick up candle wax somewhere in the mix. After practice you might catch the scent of something sweet, as Aira likes to pass around candy if they do really well, and Tatsumi is sometimes too kind to turn him down.

Likes to sleep facing you, usually holding your hand at least. He often rolls onto his back at some point in the night, due to the pain in his leg, but he'll take your hand with him. He wakes up first most days, and will usually have breakfast started by the time you start to rouse.

Tatsumi's kisses are gentle, and his lips are the softest thing you've ever felt. He asks permission every single time, and places a gentle peck at first before deepening the kiss. Often, when he pulls away he'll kiss the tip of your nose and grin at you.

Don't tell him if you're ticklish. I'm trying to save you here do not tell him he WILL tickle you until you're crying with laughter and then he will run away so you can't get him back. He may look like an angel but Tatsumi is a little shit sometimes and it really shines through when you guys are dating.

His phone is never on. He hasn't charged it since you last plugged it in for him and that was a month ago. You will never reach him by phone. If you need him, call one of his friends. Not Hiiro. His phone is also never on.

He's written you at least two songs. Whether you've heard them or not depends on whether you met him before his accident, because his confidence in his ability as an idol is at an all time low since then.

Speaking of the accident, accompany him to his doctors appointments. You give him so much more courage than he has on his own, and this is when he needs it most. If his hands are shaking, just... don't mention it, okay? Buy him coffee after. He'll be back to himself in no time!

He's so supportive! Stressed? That's okay, darling, it's nothing you can't handle. But take a break first- you'll never get through it all if you're overwhelmed. Unsure what to do next? Talk him through your options, he'll help you decide. Made a decision? Fantastic! You're gonna excel, he knows it!!! He loves you, and he's so sure you'll succeed at whatever you'll do that it's hard to disagree.

He's just.... wonderful. He's everything you could ever dream of. And the best thing is, he thinks the exact same thing of you.

#I love him SO bad can you tell #🌙. by me #enstars #ensemble stars #ensemble stars headcanons #ensemble stars imagine #ensemble stars x reader #enstars imagine #enstars x reader #enstars headcanons #tatsumi kazehaya #tatsumi kazehaya imagine #tatsumi kazehaya x reader

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yamithediaperdork · 2 years

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Christmas party or baby shower? (MHA)

Katsuki was never the most well behaved person at the best of times, this was a fact that his loving boyfriend and daddy dom Eijiro both knew and accepted.

But even he was taken back as after being woken up at 5 am sharp Christmas morning so they could open up presents, Just how much of a pain in the ass and whiny Katsuki could get with a combination of a lack of sleep and munching on sugary treats.

The only thing that had so fair saved Katsuki from getting a spanking of a life time and having his mouth washed out so much he'd be blowing bubbles until new years day was the fact that A: Eijiro took into account it had taken Katsuki until 1 am to fall asleep in the first place and B: the little guy was just SO adorable in his candy cane print thick diaper and sleeves green top with frosty the snowman on the front. Even then though, the little cutie pie was pushing it, such as his little stunt while Eijiro had been making lunch.

Being called away from the kitchen with a cry of 'Daddy I drew you a picture!' Eijiro was greeted by a poopie smell, not that he wasn't used to that with his boyfriend crapping himself more often then not.. but then froze as he saw brown smeared on the wall and brown all over Katsuki's hand.

"..You didn't!?!" Eijiro gasped, in shock and disgust.

"Whattt don't you like my pretty picture?" Katsuki asked then pointed at the house and the stick figures. "That's our place..and that's you.. this is mean.."

Pausing Katsuki went to slip his finger in his mouth, and got a loud gag of disgust from Eijiro who rushed over to grab his wrist.

"Katsuki! stop what d-" he started to ask, but Katsuki burst out laughing.

"it's just chocolate ya dork! did you really think I'd play with my own soft serve?!" Katsuki cackled.

Lifting his butt up, Katsuki showed Eijiro that small chocolate balls he'd sat on, with some wrapping paper under his butt to make the 'paint and smirked.

"Oh man, the look on your face! I can't even do it justice!" Katsuki giggled and snorted, then caught a look at Eijiro's face and all the mirth dropped from his.

"..Soo I'm thinking maybe that joke wasn't as funny as I thought, and after Lunch I should take a nice long nap." Katsuki said quickly.

"Read my mind!" Eijiro said, between gritted teeth, then lead Katsuki off to go and get washed up.

The prank was useful in one way: Eijiro had been on the fence about letting a certain cat out of the bag for awhile, but hadn't been able to make up his mind as he didn't wanna humiliate his widdle baby boyfriend.

Despite what Eijiro told him and Katsuki's own arrogance told him.. the blonds babyish habits and choice of undies and lifestyle had outed him to more then a few of their friends, who got the rest of the details from Eijiro in exchange for keeping up the lie that they didn't know so Katsuki wouldn't freak out.

The blond barely could handle the humiliation and embarrassment that Eijiro could dish out once he got going, and though his body showed how much he loved it, Katsuki's mind was stuck in toddler land for hours after a good little humiliation session (Usually ended with Katsuki going 'goo goo gaga' hands free.)

But act like a brat and get punished like one was Eijiro's motto for dealing with this, and he started to call up the friends who'd be coming over for a little Christmas party later.. telling them to bring the special gifts for Katsuki that he'd helped them get.

it would only be Izuku, Denki and Momo.. but Eijiro had a feeling that that's all it would take to have Katsuki in baby land till new years, if not a little longer.

'Heh, that would actually work out..we won't have to have a fight over who's the new years baby!' Eijiro thought and snickered.

in the middle of a dream where the stupid red nosed fucktard hadn't shown up so it was Katsuki in his diapers and reindeer sleeper stuck leading the sled for Santa.. The Blond whined and tried to swat away the hand gently shaking his back.

"heh, come on little guy..time to get up." Came Eijiro's voice, though Katsuki kept his eyes closed.

"No get up! sleep!" Katsuki grumbled, reaching around and snagging a large teddy bear and pulling it over his head.

"yes get up. come on little man." Eijiro said, easily taking the teddy and tossing it to the foot of Katsuki's toddler style race car bed.

"Five more minutes!" Katsuki tried.

"you've already said that twice.. if let you sleep in anymore there won't be time to change your diaper before the party." Eijiro said with a snort.

"Bah! I'm clean.." Katsuki grumble, then reached down, patting his butt and front to double check. "Yeah! so it's good." he grumbled.

"Alright but I did warn you..Five more minutes." Eijiro said, clearly delighted.

letting Katsuki drift back off to sleep, he wondered if he should of pointed out that meant no changing into one of his thinner daytime diapers, but then shrugged. that seemed more like a sleepy brat Katsuki problem, not his.

7 minutes later it was a whinny yawning Katsuki who was dressed in long sleeve shirt, red with Santa and some elf's on it and a pair of light grey sweats, his crotch and butt puffed out and the top of the diaper poking out, not that the sleepy blond seemed to notice or care as he gave half hearted waves to everyone as they showed up, nuzzling into Eijiro and trying to sneak back asleep though Eijiro was a step ahead of him.

Silently the four adults agreed to not say anything about Katsuki's clearly padded state till the blond noticed it himself, instead just making small talk as they gathered around the living room to chat and catch up.

Izuku, Momo and Denki had gone on to become full on hero's while Eijiro and Katsuki had opted for the private sector, renting themselves out as super powered bodyguards as needed though it was all on the level, but naturally the three hero's had the more exciting stories to tell.

Not that they were keeping Katsuki from trying to sneak off and get a few more minutes of sleep in, playing it off as he was just cuddling Eijiro. The redhead was wise to the trick however and sat Katsuki up with a smirk.

"I think I better go get someone a coffee or he's never gonna wake up." Eijiro said and wagged his eyebrows.

"oh, I didn't think Katsuki drank coffee." Momo giggled, sipping a tea. "Bad for little guys and all that.." She added with a wink.

case in point, Katsuki DIDN'T like coffee and never drank the stuff if he could help it. He would just get hot chocolate and play it off as coffee instead.

However hearing Momo's comment the diapered brat went wildly on the defensive.

"What!?! Of course I drink coffee! I drink like 2 pots a day! how do you think i stay awake and aware when working long hours?!? I'm a legend at coffee shops around here..or I was till they're coffee was so weak i started to make my own!" he ranted and huffed, snarling and wiggling around in his seat, clearly unaware how much he was crinkling as he did so and the others were biting the insides of their cheeks trying desperately not to burst out laughing.

"in fact, I make a pot of coffee, then use that coffee as the water to make anther pot, then use THAT coffee t-" Katsuki was saying, when Eijiro reached over and pinched Katsuki's lips shut with a expression that made it clear this wasn't the first time he'd had to shut the blond up this way, and he doubted it would be the last.

"Let me sum it up for all of you. he drinks coffee." Eijiro said, then let Katsuki's lips go as the blond glared at him. "Be good while I go and get your drink..failing at that, try to be less bad then normal."

"Hey!" Katsuki huffed and glared as Eijiro got up and walked away. "I can be good!"

"Really? I'll believe it when i see it." Izuku commented, taking a bite out of a Christmas cookie and smirking as Katsuki locked onto him with a death glare.

"Careful, if you attack him you prove him right." Denki warned.

Katsuki growled and crossed his arms, but managed to keep from attacking anyone as he muttered and grumbled away, making the guests laugh.

Getting in the kitchen, Eijiro decided since Katsuki was gonna put up such a epic fuss over him being a 'coffee drinker' that it would be indeed Coffee Katsuki got.

of course he knew this would backfire in a way on him since the little guy would be amped and wired for sound but figured it would be worth it as he got the brat 4 sugar and chocolate milk instead of white milk for the cup of Joe, slipping in some 'fart powder' as Katsuki called, it, though it was really fiber powder.

'not that he needs help pooting up a storm.' Eijiro thought with a smirk, coming back out.

Katsuki had the trey of Christmas cookies in his lap and was blowing a raspberry at the others as he walked back in and he paused.

"..Katsuki do you really wanna explain whats going on or do you wanna put the cookies back?" He asked.

"Um.. is that a trick question?" Katsuki asked.

"Put the cookies back or I'm taking back your game system extreme 6." Eijiro said, setting the coffee down and winking at the others.

"you wouldn't!" Katsuki said, a look of panic coming over his face and a muffled poot coming out.

"Try me little man." Eijiro said and held his hands open for the cookie tray.

"..I'm giving you the cookies because I don't want you to look bad in front of the others." Katsuki said, handing them over quick and picking up his mug, blushing.

"Mmmmhmm and I thank you for that." Eijiro said with a roll of his eyes as he set them back down on the coffee table and then took his seat.

Katsuki stuck his tongue out one last time when went to take a chug of what he assumed would be hot chocolate..and then his eyes bugged out and he gagged for a second, barely managing to swallow the coffee down as everyone looked at him.

"heh, what's wrong?" Denki asked.

"Yeah buddy, what's wrong?" Eijiro asked, snagging cookie and munching on it as Katsuki glared at him.

"I,...you.." Katsuki growled.

"Gee, if I didn't know better..I'd almost say Katsuki doesn't like coffee..but that can't be after how much you were boosting about the coffee you drink earlier." Momo said.

"unless of course..you were lying." Izuku added.

Katsuki huffed and glared at them all.

a honest brat would of admitted the truth. a smart brat would of claimed it was too weak and offer to go and make his own. But Katsuki.. took a big long drink, trying to just get it over with and prove what a big boy he was, even as coffee leaked down the sides of his mouth and dribbled down his chin.

"awww, somebody needs a bib! here, let me handle that." Momo said and used her quirk to make a white one with a blue trim and 'daddies little stinker' written in baby blocks on the front, then handing it over to Eijiro.

"awww look buddy! Momo made you a extra present!" Eijiro gushed as Katsuki pulled the mug away from his face, making faces and trying not to gag. "What do we say?"

"..I couldn't possibly accept that and whatever awesome gift you already brought me so I'm sorry but I'll have to refuse it because I only have one gift for you." Katsuki said, talking normally and then his speech speeding up as he started to bounce a little.

"Nonsense! I Insist that you accept it! you'll just get me two presents on my birthday ok?" She said and then snickered as it was clear to everyone that the sugar and caffeine was hitting Katsuki's system like a ton of bricks.

"No no no no nonononononononononono!" Katsuki said, sounding as if he was going on hyper speed but alas, even though he waved his arms around (having thankfully set his drink down) the bib was tied on nice and tight around his neck. "Ugh! Bib's are for babies and I'ma big boy!"

"oh of course. Totally a big boy." Izuku said, winking over to Denki, who snickered and smirked.

"Why don't you just sit back and relax and enjoy your cup of Joe. Once your finished we'll open up the rest of the presents." Eijiro chuckled then mentally added. 'Of course by then you'll likely be MAKING presents but ah well..'

Such was the price you paid for having a total big baby brat and dork for a boyfriend.

Feeling like his body was filled with energy, Katsuki couldn't sit still and was crinkling up a storm as he wiggled his butt around, slowly working the back of the jogging pants down as he did so, not that he could tell.

with the last of the god awful coffee in him, he scooted onto the floor and slid over to the Christmas tree, to snag the other's presents, not aware that his white diaper butt was semi on display as he wiggled it looking over the gifts and then smirking impishly.

"Momo gets her present first as a thank you fer the bib!" he declared, still wearing it and tossing it over to her.

"Awww, And here I thought I'd be first." Izuku said smirking.

"NOPE~ you git ta go last!" Katsuki coo'ed, then with a evil grin added. "Heck, Maybe you don't even HAVE a pres-"

"Katsuki, you know I still have the receipts to your gifts and CAN return them." Eijiro said, cutting the brat off before he dug himself in too deep.

"You wouldn't!!" Katsuki gasped, and a muffled fart was heard, getting laughs from everyone even as the bratty blond blushed. "Oh grow up, it's just a fart!" He huffed.

"I think I better take over handing out the gifts. why don't you go and sit and behave like a good boy." Eijiro said, coming over and disarming Katsuki's retort before it could leave his mouth with a head pat and hair ruffle.

Huffing and acting like he was doing EVERYONE a huge favor, Katsuki scooted his way across the hardwood floor on his shins and knees using his hands and climbed back up onto the couch.

"Let's do everything YOU wanna do!" He huffed.

"Glad you see it my way." Eijiro said and winked.

with the adult gifts handed out (Momo getting a new MP3 player, Denki getting a box of trading card from a series he was into as a kid and Izuku getting a baseball cap that was signed by every big name hero the duo could find) it was time for the happy couple to get their gifts.

Eijiro's just got a gift from all three in one go, a gift card for a local shop and he gushed over how handy it would come in with getting things for the house.

Katsuki had blushed and squirmed, since the shop in question was where they got his diapers from and Eijiro had been commenting about just how fast Katsuki seemed to go though them.

'but..there's no way those two things are related. you're sooo not busted. your a ninja! a diaper ninja!' Katsuki thought to himself, and was picturing himself in a Naruto type setting and throwing ninja stars when Eijiro snapped his fingers next to his face, Making Katsuki jump and wet himself.

"Jesus!!! Are you trying to give me a heart attack!?!" He yelped and glared, puffing out his cheeks.

"Well I tried saying your name 5 times but you were off in la la land." Eijiro said. "I figured you MIGHT wanna be paying attention when you opened up your gifts..but hey, I'm silly like that."

"...Smart ass." Katsuki muttered under his breath.

"what was that?"

"Nothing! Oh, I better not keep everyone waiting!" Katsuki said quickly, sweat dropping and snatching the nearest present and ripping it open, barley noting that it was from Denki.

whatever he had been expecting as he tore the paper away from the large present, it wasn't the night time lullaby player that boasted about how easy it was to hook onto a baby's crib or even a toddler bed..and how it played 5 different lullaby's.

"Oh wow, look at that little guy! No more fussing and trying to get to sleep at night for you anymore!" Eijiro coo'ed and smirked, patting Katsuki's head as the blond brat's mouth hung open in shock, some drool leaking out and going onto his bib.

"I..I.." Katsuki stammered and then shook his head. "I don't need this! this is for babies!" He said hotly.

"That's bratty baby for thank you Denki." Eijiro said and smirked, as Katsuki stood up and turned to face Eijiro.

"You hush! I'm NOT a bratty baby I'm a-" Katsuki was interrupted as Izuku leaned over and with one swift motion, tugged the pants down around Katsuki's ankles. "Big..big.."

"A big baby?" Izuku suggested, getting chuckles from the the others. "Relax Katsuki, we all know your Eijiro's widdle guy. it's frankly super cute." the green haired hero said and sat back in his seat.

"I..But..nooo! See I hid it so well an-" Katsuki started to say, but it was Momo who cut him off.

"Everyone's known for awhile. you really don't do a good job of hiding it. but like Izuku said, it's alright, it's cute. now be a good boy and sit down and open your next present." She said.

At lost of what to say or do, Katsuki nodded dumbly and took a seat, then as a after thought kicked his pants off from around his ankles.

"Uh-oh, Looks like he's soaked, Do you need to change him?" Denki asked, more out of legit concern then teasing.

Katsuki was too stunned to react or say anything, and the question wasn't addressed to him anyhow. It was Eijiro who asked a, but not before sticking a finger in the leg band of the diaper..a act that had Katsuki sucking on his thumb.

"Nah, he'll be fine. he's flooded them way worse then this before, right little guy?" Eijiro said/asked, then reached up and gently tugged Katsuki's thumb out of his mouth. "Ah ah ah, we've talked about this buddy..whats the rule?"

"N-No thumbs..in mouth..cuz..cuz little boys thumbs have lots of germs.. and..and.." Katsuki said in a slow almost toddler like state.

"Holy crap..did we break him?" Momo asked, raising a eyebrow.

"Nah, he's coming down from the caffeine and when he's super embarrassed he gets like this." Eijiro said, tugging Katsuki in close to him, and giving him a one armed hug. "we might have to just put him to bed though. He'll open your gifts later guys, we don't wanna push him too much further when he's like this or he'll go total baby for a good day or so and we're suppose to visit Mitsuki tomorrow."

"awww ok. well let me know how he likes his T-E-D-D-Y B-E-A-R." Izuku said, reasonably sure that Katsuki could spell at the moment.

"Heh, and if he likes his new S-L-E-E-P-E-R from me." Momo said, getting into the game.

Katsuki felt like he should argue that he could spell, that he knew what the gifts were.. but truthfully he was having a hard time figuring it out at the moment and just nuzzled into daddy, feeling small but safe and warm all over..then a lot warmer around his butt.

"Heh, I guess Katsuki wanted to give you all one last present before he went night night!" Eijiro said. or at least that's what Katsuki thought he said, he was too busy going back to sleepy land to care.

The end.

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