#anyway if you read this far you rock. thanks for reading this silly woman’s streams of consciousness hehe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yamayamawrites · 3 years

Text

Castaway AU - Coming Later This Winter!

Hey friends! If you’ve been following me for a while you probably know/have heard that I’m working on another big fic to rival Mr. Loverman (which you can find here on ao3 if you haven’t read it yet, it’s 20 chapters and ~103K completed). And as a special treat for all of you who follow me on here, I wanted to share a sneak peek of what’s to come! I’m super excited about this one guys, I have a beta reader and everything (she’s the best, an absolute gem)!!

But first, I need to tell you what it’s about. Izuku is a famous photographer/social media celebrity, just returned home from yet another trip abroad. He decides to take his sailboat out for a trip to get some final photos and top off his portfolio for the month, but he ends up falling asleep on his boat. What happens when he wakes up on the shore of a secluded island with a strange man shaking him awake?

(Please forgive me, I haven’t touched up the summary just yet.)

Anyways, if you’re interested in reading a sneak peek of the first chapter, please click the ‘read more’ option below!

June 30, 06:48am

It’s hard not to feel some sort of rush, being awake this early.

Izuku has always been a morning person, and even more so in the summertime, when the sun wakes with him. Like today! The sun is up just moments after he is, peeking out from the shroud of ocean it hid behind. Izuku is home today, his second night home after his latest trip (he’d gone to Norway, and of course taken photos of everything). He recovered from his jet lag – yesterday he slept in until nine in the morning and was disgusted with himself – and has his swim trunks and an unbuttoned Hawaiian tee on before the sun can even cast a glare on his floor.

He lives in Horiuchi, a small town with a beautiful beach. His apartment is small – mostly because he spends so little time in his actual apartment that it’s more of a postcard address than anything. It has a single bedroom, a kitchen with a dining table crammed in its center, and a living space about big enough for Izuku’s couch and a wall-mounted television. And even then, Izuku often ends up vaulting the couch to get through.

But the balcony is beautiful, outstretching over his view of Morito Coast. The apartment isn’t as costly as some of the others with worse views, probably in part because this isn’t a vacation town but also because nobody wants to live in the shoebox Izuku lives in. Before him, there hadn’t been an inhabitant in the apartment in well over six months, and they gave Izuku a pretty hefty discount on the place even though Izuku said he’d take it full price.

Izuku throws back the curtains to his balcony door (after vaulting his couch), allows the sunlight to wash over the ground. He opens the balcony door wide, the fresh sea air pouring into his apartment, the cool wash of the last remnants of summer night coming through. It almost makes him shiver, and it does push his rowdy curls into even more awkward angles than before, but he opens his arms anyway to the fresh air.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture, as he always does on mornings he’s home. Though he isn’t around much in the summer, the photos of the sun rising over Morito Coast always seem to be more popular than the rest, and Izuku supposes he will never truly know why. He does suspect, though, that it’s because the view is just so perfect.

He nearly forgets to eat breakfast before he starts his live stream, seats himself out on the balcony in his little lawn chair and enjoys the wash of the summer sun slowly creeping up his bare legs. “Good morning!” he calls to the phone, waves to the camera as he’s joined by tens of thousands of people to watch his live stream. He constantly has to remind himself that not all of his fans are located in Japan – because if they were, he’d be more than surprised at how many people jump on at seven in the morning to watch him stream just talking through his day plans.

“Today I’ll be going off Morito Coast on my sailboat!” he announces brightly. He’s had this on the calendar since he was back in Norway. His sailboat is nothing special, barely large enough for three people comfortably, but he hasn’t had a chance to sail since he left almost three weeks ago and he’s anxious to get back out on the water. A few comments roll in telling him he should try surfing one of these days; he laughs it off and takes a note in the back of his brain to call Ochaco next week and have her teach him the basics.

It’s a normal stream, for the most part. Comments roll through, Izuku answers questions that reappear when he can and apologizes for the missed questions when he can’t. It’s shorter than most, and perhaps that is the most out-of-the-ordinary part of it, but otherwise it isn’t anything noteworthy.

So, then, how does it become his last?

08:16am

The sun is hot, now. On the brink of July is when summer becomes sweltering, enough even that it almost deters Izuku away from the heat. Truthfully, it’s why he went up to Norway – it’s much more temperate up there, less direct sunlight to try and inflict Izuku with skin cancer. He lathers up the sunscreen, though, and heads down to the beach – perhaps a ten-minute walk – in his flip flops, his Hawaiian shirt (now buttoned, but only twice), and his dark green swim trunks.

A few of the locals are already on the beach, and they wave to Izuku, shout good-mornings and ask how he’s doing out of courtesy. Izuku recognizes Ivanka, a retired Russian woman who lives in the next apartment building over. Her Japanese is stilted, but she likes Izuku because Izuku knows Russian. (And English, Chinese, Spanish, Italian, and a touch of French.) He recognizes the twin girls from downstairs, Kamiko and Hana, putting together a sandcastle with their mother, Rin, off to the side reading a book. Izuku’s sailboat is further down the beach, closer to the jagged rocks protruding from the water, roped there tightly to keep it from straying too far. Still, he has to yank it to shore by the rope, an activity that might have been impossible when he was scrawnier, but now barely makes him break a sweat.

The boat’s name is S.S. All Might, a silly name perhaps, but Izuku doesn’t care. He’s named after Izuku’s favorite comic book character from when he was a child, a man he always looked up to because he saved everyone with a smile. And though comic book heroes don’t exist, Izuku has vowed to make a hero of himself as best he can in this modern age, by making people smile with his goofy tourist-y photos and livestreams and videos. And though he probably should be past the comic book stage of his life by now, he keeps All Might’s spirit buried in his heart, and All Might’s vintage comic book collection buried in his closet.

He unties the anchoring rope and pushes off from the rocks. It takes a little bit to get past the waves trying to push Izuku back to shore, but they aren’t too rowdy yet today, and for that he’s thankful. Out on the water there’s a decent breeze, and it brings with it a spray of seawater that tames the bubbling heat on Izuku’s skin. As he catches a drift his boat takes off, out to sea, while he pulls the sail taut the best way he knows.

Though it probably isn’t the safest place for his cell phone, Izuku pulls it out of his swimsuit trunk pocket and captures a photo of the sun’s steady ascent past the water. There is a full separation now of the sun and the water, but it still refracts brightly on the water below, makes for a stunning stock image that will likely be the source of Izuku’s rent money this month. Perhaps next month, too. He doesn’t too much care about that, though; he flips the camera to selfie mode and holds it up, peace-signing with the sail in the corner and the sun behind him. His skin looks much tanner than he is in this angle, and his freckled shoulders are hidden underneath his Hawaiian shirt, but he plans to post it anyway – when he’s back somewhere with a cell tower, that is.

Izuku has sailed the space past Morito Coast many times. It isn’t a huge expanse of water, but it’s enough to feel like an adventure. It’s not too vast that Izuku gets lost, but vast enough that he can if he tries. But today, the wind carries him further, and he lets it. He lets it because he has a cooler secured to the floor, complete with four bottles of water and a few sandwiches in case he decides to stay out on the water longer than he’s expecting. And there’s more sunscreen, a portable charger for his phone, a change of clothes being kept dry below deck. What could another mile past his normal stopping point do?

The sunlight can only be kept at bay for so long by the spray of seawater, and Izuku is beginning to feel the heat going to his head. The sun is higher in the sky now, and Izuku can tell without even checking his phone that it’s nearing noon, with the sun beating directly onto him, thrumming like a drum. He can feel every pulse of his heart. His first three water bottles are gone and he’s nursing his fourth. Still, he smiles lazily. This is where he’s meant to be – underneath the sun. He sits on the deck of his sailboat and pulls his phone from his swim trunks again, snaps a few photos of himself with the sun hot overhead. His freckles are well-visible, and his Hawaiian shirt has been tossed aside in the heat, so his shoulders and chest (also dotted with freckles) are visible. He stretches out on the deck and holds the phone above, snapping a picture of himself lying on the sailboat deck. His abs look more defined than ever, considering the sunlight above is casting rather harsh shadows from this angle.

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, and he will kick himself every day for doing it, but he closes his eyes, lets the warm summer sun be his blanket as he takes a cat nap on the deck. He’s even so bold as to dip one of his legs off the edge of the boat and into the water, like kicking his foot out from underneath a blanket in the summer when it gets too hot. And he sleeps, he sleeps through the sunlight drawing behind a cloud, and reappearing only to be drawn away again, by angry gray storm clouds that he hadn’t expected today. But when has he ever been one to check the weather?

#tddk #tododeku #ao3writer #yamayamawrites #castaway au #sneak peek #my hero academia #mha #current wip

2 notes · View notes

miss-pearlescent · 4 years

Text

Tag Team (V)

Chapter: I II IIIᴹ IV V VI VII VIII IX Xᴹ

Kai was sharpening the last of his knives when he heard the music. Hours ago, Joori had finally fallen asleep after fidgeting back and forth, caught between fighting sleep and trying to get comfortable. Now there was angry music ringing around the room and Kai wanted to silence it so Joori could keep sleeping.

If she woke up, he would have to deal with her sad eyes again.

Kai paced the room, looking for the source, when he approached Joori’s tiny body curled on the floor and slowed his footsteps.

She jolted awake and let out a little yelp when the cuffs on her wrists fought against her brief struggle. Kai winced and reached to his pocket by instinct for the key that would free her from those cuffs.

But Joori sat up and pressed a finger to her ear, turning the music off.

“What was that?” Kai asked.

Joori blinked sleepily up at him. “My alarm.”

He wrinkled his brows and sat down in front of her, pulling out another energy bar for her. “You set an alarm for four in the afternoon?”

This time, she didn’t fight his offer, and he held back his smile of triumph. “It’s my regular alarm for my days off. Sometimes I will work until the morning and sleep all day. This is the only way I can make sure I see some hours of daylight like a normal human being.”

“So today was supposed to be your day off?”

She nodded as she took a bite.

He chuckled. “And you always wake up to heavy metal?”

A smile made her dry cracked lips more apparent, and Kai grabbed a glass of water for her. “Heavy metal. Rock. Whatever invigorates me.” She put the glass to her lips and took a drink.

Kai looked away, feeling like he shouldn’t watch her so closely when he was her enemy. “What was that song?” he asked casually as he began sharpening his knives again.

“Roulette by The Velvet Redz. Ever heard of them?”

He shook his head. He had learned how to play the guitar from a friend when they were teens, but he didn’t have much time to listen to very much music.

“Ah, you’re missing out. They’re my favourite.”

Kai let the sound of his knives take over the silence for a bit. “Do you go to their concerts on your days off?”

He imagined a tiny Joori pounding her fists to a rock band, her hair whipping back and forth as she screamed the lyrics with the band.

Joori giggled and the light sound made Kai look up. “No, they’ve never had a concert here. Maybe one day.” She took another bite of the energy bar. “It’s a little stupid because I spend all day in my lab anyway, but on my days off, I like to make random bits of music.”

Kai turned back to his knives. “Music?” he asked, wondering how a guard like her contradicted the image he had of his enemy’s guards. He expected them to be cold and inhumane, yet here she was. Very...warm and human.

“Well, silly music bites. Lots of synthetic sound. If I could be a one-woman band and learn every single instrument, I would. They sound a lot better.”

He held back the fact that he could play the guitar though it was on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t want to sound like he was trying to impress her, even if he kind of wanted to. It wasn’t like he was a guitar prodigy anyway; he just played a few songs here and there for his family and friends.

“So why do you want the $500 000?”

Her question almost gave him whiplash with the way it was so sudden.

He looked at her and saw the sleepy daze gone, replaced by a calculating gaze that locked him down. He could practically see the gears in her head working away.

If she wanted the truth, then he would give her the truth.

“Your boss promised my family that much money when I left home to work for him. It’s been weeks and my family has not seen a single dollar. I agreed to all the experiments and enhancements.” He fought a shudder remembering all the chemicals that had been injected into his blood. “My mother and sister are still back home, now working the farm day and night without me.”

Joori’s lips parted in confusion and then she looked down at her cuffs and her clothes. “My boss?” she whispered.

Kai applied more force to his knife, sharpening it as far as he could. He didn’t want to kill, but even if he were forced to run this knife through his enemy’s neck, he would strive to make a clean cut. “Even if I can’t go home to physically help them anymore, I want to make sure they’re safe and have food on the table.”

If he went home right now, he knew his mother and sister would be glad to see him. He’d be stronger and faster with his enhancements and training. He’d be able to harvest so much to sell at the market, and then he’d probably pick up a construction job on the side too.

But he’d be okay with sending a steady stream of honest money back home if it came down to it. Whatever would keep his mother and sister safe and off the streets.

“Kai,” Joori’s soft voice stopped his hands and he looked up.

For some reason, the look on her face told him she was about to deliver bad news.

Why did it not surprise him when she said, “Kai, I’m not your enemy.”

Joori shifted as Kai paced another round back and forth in front of her. She had migrated from the floor to his bed, a small upgrade, but she was still uncomfortable as her wrists chafed against the spiky cuff whenever she moved too much.

She and Kai didn’t exchange many words. They ate and drank, then resorted to silence. For some reason, she was much less scared now that they both knew she was the wrong target. Still, she didn’t let her guard down.

“My teammates won’t hurt you,” she assured him as she watched him testing the straps on his gun holster. This man was preparing for war.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Do you have men on your team?”

She nodded, even though Jongin was the single man on her team who was out on the front lines of missions. Her uncle was too old to be running around.

“Are any of them your boyfriend?”

Joori could feel her cheeks turning red. “N-no. Why?”

Kai looked as if he didn’t believe her as he went back and yanked on the leather of his straps. “If I were your boyfriend, I’d make sure to kill the man that kidnapped you.”

She almost sputtered at his words. What was she supposed to say back? That Jongin didn’t look at anybody besides his wife? Or that Jongin didn’t really stand a chance against the ultra strong and fast Kai?

No, she couldn’t reveal her weaknesses.

And Kai must’ve been speaking figuratively, because she also couldn’t reveal that her weak heart had skipped a beat when he said that.

She’d never envied anybody’s relationship, but sometimes when she was up late working away on a new gadget, she wished she was in a relationship of any sort. Somebody who would celebrate her inventions with her. Somebody who could warm her empty bed at five in the morning when she climbed in after working all night. Somebody who jammed out to heavy metal with her.

Somebody who could protect her from the outside world as she lost herself in hours of work.

“We leave in twelve hours,” Kai said, interrupting her thoughts. “You should get some sleep. It’s a long hike to the escarpment.”

Her muscles protested. They were already sore just from a bit of running yesterday.

But Joori nodded, because what else was she supposed to do for twelve hours other than sleep? Stare at a wall?

She climbed off the bed and went to her corner.

“Where are you going?”

She took a seat on the cold hard floor, her butt protesting already. “To sleep?”

“On the ground?”

Before she could respond, Kai’s arms came around her back and under her knees, and she was suddenly lifted up into the air.

“It’s freezing on the ground,” he grunted as he set her back on his bed.

“It’s fine,” she replied, ready to get off as soon as he turned his back.

But he reached behind him and shut off the light, bringing them to darkness.

The room suddenly did feel colder.

Joori reached out her hands as she felt the bed shift. “Where are you going?” She felt his fingers and held on with both hands.

Kai stopped. “I’ll be right here, on the floor.”

“But it’s freezing.”

Joori’s eyes adjusted to the dark and she could feel Kai’s ironic gaze. “I only have one bed, Joori.”

She shivered, whether from the cold or from the way his words held a different meaning, she didn’t know.

But she couldn’t let him sleep on the ground, not when they had a long day ahead of them.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me, right?” She gulped even as she said the words and tugged on his warm fingers. “As long as we don’t cross each others’ sides, I’m okay with...”

She couldn’t bring herself to say it. She’d never slept with someone, let alone a man.

Strangely, relief washed over her as the bed sank. She climbed under the covers in silence, turning toward the wall and staying as far away from Kai’s side as possible.

The silence continued as she listened to his breaths while the minutes ticked on. She was tired but didn’t want to fall asleep, lest something happened. But an hour seemed to pass and Kai stayed in the same spot, his breaths getting slower and deeper.

Reluctantly, Joori let her body relax. She buried her nose under the blanket, avoiding the cold that seemed to drift from the wall. She could smell Kai’s scent under here, and it seemed to calm her senses a little.

Tomorrow, she would be running for her life and Kai would be running for his. She prayed for both of them as she drifted to sleep.

---

Two people, one bed? My favourite 8))))) Sorry this update came a bit late but I hope you are all enjoying this story <3 I have a lot more ideas floating around in my head these days so I hope to get more stories out in the near future (I say that but I also know that these plot bunnies are very fleeting....) thank you all for reading and have a great week!

#exo #exo scenarios #exo fanfiction #kai #kai fanfiction #kai scenarios #kpop fanfiction #kpop scenarios #kpop #tag team #jongin

37 notes · View notes

jessahmewren · 5 years

Text

in transit / Gillovny fic

Well boys and girls I kind of went for the deep end here and wrote one of my fav pairings. I hope I did them justice. Oh yeah and this is pretty filthy so don’t read this around innocents, at work, around public buildings or at all probably.

Summary: David and Gillian share a limo on the way to the Jimmy Kimmel Show, and things get a little heated.

Also at A03.

-0-0-0-

The engine idled almost soundlessly, blowing a billowy cloud of white exhaust into the brisk January air. It was cold, even for L.A., and David sighed, his lips pursed in thought as he looked at the growing storm clouds through the tinted windows of the limousine. If she didn’t hurry, they wouldn’t make it there before the rain.

“So um, how did you like that game the other night Mr. Duchovny?” David looked up, suddenly pulled from thought, to see the partition down and the driver making eye contact with him through the rearview mirror. He wasn’t Sam, he realized absently. This man was new and much younger.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He was halfway listening, one eye on the door of Gillian’s building, the other on his watch.

“The College Football National Championship,” the young man replied, the eagerness building in his eyes. “Helluva game.”

“Um, I didn’t watch it,” David murmured absently. “Listen—I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Craig sir.” The young man smiled genuinely at David, and to his credit, David returned in kind.

“Craig. Could you ring Ms. Anderson’s building again? Remind her assistant that we have to be at Kimmel’s in an hour and it’s rush hour?”

“Y-yes sir.”

The partition went up again, and for that, David was grateful. He pulled out his cellphone and opened a text window.

David: DARLING

Gillian: yes LOVE?

David: where the hell are you

Gillian: finishing something important

David: hon get your ass in the car

Gillian: can’t in the middle of something

David: can’t it wait?

Gillian: no ;)

David: wait a min

Gillian: …

David: Gillian get down here rn

David: Gillian

David GILLIAN

Gillian: stop shouting at me

Gillian: if you would help me maybe I would finish quicker <3

David: I will do no such thing

David: This is a silly ritual anyway

Gillian: it’s not silly. I get nervous.

David: so you have to flick the bean before every interview

Gillian: I hate it when you call it that :(

He closed the chat window, cursing to himself at the semi he was now nursing. Just knowing Gillian was up there, panties around her ankles (or carelessly thrown in a corner) her hand buried between her thighs…

David shifted uncomfortably on the plush leather seat, now unfortunately fully hard. Then, as if on cue, Gillian emerged from the ornate doors of her building, blonde hair streaming over her shoulders, little black dress swishing around her toned calves.

Craig opened the door for her, and she effortlessly slid into the backseat alongside David, bumping shoulders with him before crossing her smooth legs and canting her hips just so as she got comfortable. David managed to hide his erection from Craig with a crossed arm over his lap, and the engine revved a little as the pulled away from the curb and into midday traffic in L.A.

“Gimme your hands,” David said as the limo joined the line of commuters headed for downtown. Gillian played coy but finally relented as he pressed her fingers firmly to his nose, inhaling deeply.

“You washed up too well,” he said, frowning. “There’s barely any of you left.”

Gillian laughed, snatching them away from his nose and back into her lap. “Why should I tell you anything,” she said, smiling, “when you were so unsupportive before?”

David curled his lips against the crook of her neck, relishing in the warmth there. “Oh but I do support you,” he whispered as his hand trailed up the curve of her leg. “I was just jealous before. Jealous of those pretty fingers.” His hands met her inner thigh, and she squirmed a little in her seat. “Did my Gilly use a toy?”

“The blue one,” she whispered, her eyes nearly closed.

David smiled, leaning over to kiss her ear. “Ah, the blue one. I love that one. It’s got the little—“

“The bunny ears,” Gillian supplied breathlessly. David’s hand had reached the juncture of her thighs now. He could feel the heat of her through the barely-there thong she wore beneath her dress.

“What do you say nervous girl…you got another one in you?” David nipped at her neck while simultaneously thumbing her clit through the thin lace.

She moaned softly, finding his lips, opening her legs to the flat of his hand as his digits trailed through her wet heat.

She gasped into his mouth as he shed the thong, stripping it down her legs to her knees, liking the way her milky white skin looked against the black lace. He palmed her breast then, rolling a nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching it just to the point of pain.

Gillian keened before biting the back of her hand, remembering the babyfaced driver and the thin partition separating them. But David took her hand away. “Make all the noise you want baby.” He worked her clit with the thick pad of his thumb, spreading her wetness over the hood before plunging two of his digits into her tight heat. “I want the world to know you’re mine.”

“Yess,” Gillian moaned, her legs braced against the adjacent seats. “I’m yours,” she choked out. With David’s fingers crooked inside her mercilessly working against her g-spot, she could feel the tight hot coil of her orgasm threatening to tip her over the edge. She began to thrust against his fingers, riding hard as the warmth in her belly spread to her limbs and across her torso. She clung to his shoulders, seeking closeness…seeking more.

“It’s just…” she stammered between thrusts…”I need…”

Gillian was almost whining, but David knew his lover. He brushed the hair back from her face. “You need me to fill you up baby? Fill you all up?” he said as he took his other hand and spread her wetness back over her bum.

She nodded emphatically.

“Just one finger then,” he said gently, and as soon as he filled her she came like a vice, her juices covering his hand and the seat beneath her.

He cooed softly, rocking her gently as she came down from her high. He was harder than ever now, precum soaking the front of his pants. He rubbed his hand over his erection, seeking a bit of relief.

“You did so well sweetie. It’s what you needed.”

Gillian reached up to stroke his face, finally noticing the prominent bulge in his pants.

“What about what you need David?” Her bright eyes flashed up at him almost innocently, but when Gillian reached out to stroke him, he stayed her hand.

“We don’t have time for that hon. I’ll be fine.”

Gillian blinked at him in disbelief. “Of course we do. Look at that traffic.” She tapped on the partition and within in a few seconds, it came down. “Driver, what’s our ETA?”

Craig looked at the thoroughly debauched woman with a carefully blank expression. “We’re going to be regrettably late ma’am. Traffic is heavy. I have already called ahead.”

Gillian smiled. “Thank you.”

The partition raised again and Gillian turned her attention back to David.

She began fumbling with his belt, her fingers brushing his erection through his pants. The sharp intake of breath that resulted spoke of his need and only emboldened her.

When she took him out she trailed a finger along the silken length of him, all veined and angry and leaking for her. She licked her lips as she looked at him, then met his hazel eyes.

“You like what you see, Ms. Anderson?” He’d scooted further down in the seat, and his lips were slighted curved in a demure smile.

“Very much so, Mr. Duchovny.” Her hair had fallen over one shoulder, and she looked up at him through her lashes. “I’m about to show you just how much.”

His hips hitched when her lips descended on him, tongue swirling around his uncut head, lips and tongue lapping at the precum beading at the slit. When she took him in as far as she could, he arched into her, fighting for control as she swallowed him down.

She worked to find her rhythm, moving her head on his member until her mouth was stretched wide over his cock, throat taut with the strain of not gagging with each bob of her head. David’s breath grew ragged with his own orgasm tightening his spine, a white hot streak of lightening he fought desperately to keep bottled until Gillian inexplicably pulled off of him with a plop.

She smiled up at him, her lips swollen and a shiny thread of saliva hanging from the corner of her mouth.

“Fuck my face lover.” She had a gleam in her eye as she went down on him again, his cock twitching at the heat of her mouth, the power of her words.

He buried his hands in her hair and was powerless to comply.

He thrust into her face…once…twice…three times, his hands buried in those golden strands as he ground out his release. His teeth were clenched in ecstasy, then his world went white.

When his bitter essence hit her tongue, she swallowed it greedily, hands clenched on his hips as he released his grip on her. When he finally relaxed, she pulled away from him, wiping her mouth and climbing into his lap.

“You’re so pretty when you come,” Gillian murmured against his cheek.

David smiled, rubbing a thumb across her lips. “How would you know,” he said with a small laugh. “You couldn’t see much with your face between my legs.”

Gillian grinned. “Ah, I’ve seen it all before,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Old news huh,” he said as he lovingly tweaked her nose.

“Old news,” she sighed.

They said nothing for a long time. David tucked himself back into his pants, and Gillian straightened her dress. She lay back against his shoulder. The patter of rain began to hit the roof of the limo.

“We’re lucky,” David murmured. “You know that?”

Gillian ran her hand along the length of his arm. Outside, the sign for Disney’s El Capitan Theater was just coming into view. “The luckiest,” she agreed.

-0-0-0-

#gillovny #gillovny fic #gillovny fanfiction #gillovny fanfic #david and gillian #gillian and david #david x gillian #gillian x david

30 notes · View notes

narrowtriangle33-blog · 3 years

Text

Quotes that accurately describe White Trump Voters.

"It’s not just that he’s white. White people sneer at, mock, ostracize, and generally hate on other white people all the time. It’s that he DELIVERS RACISM and THAT is the priority to his base. This is what gets me when writers and thinkers wring their hands in befuddlement, like Nichols is doing, about how Trump’s base can “vote against their own interests.” They’re not! They’re prioritizing the babies in cages, the “shithole countries” remarks, the deadly Charlottesville clashes with literal fucking Nazis, etc OVER health care, transitioning the economy away from fossil fuels, education, assistance to the poor, and whatever other liberal agenda items one would think would be natural, rational fits for the Cleti everywhere.

These people are absolutely voting in their own interests, and getting exactly what they wanted out of the Trump admin. He has been a tremendous success in their eyes because he has delivered racism since Day 1, and that’s what they want out of politics."

"This, They will never -ever- admit it, outside of trolling on the net, but Trump has done more to support their views and find great joy in it then any GOP member before.

He’s all but given up on the dog whistles, once he found out that the media will simply ‘tut-tut’ and that delights his base. Even when he does something that will fuck them over, they overlook it because he continues to advance their agenda with huge leaps. Most of the never-Trumpers discovered early on that going against him can lead to getting primaried and Mitch is content to let Trump do whatever the fuck he wants with limited disagreement, because he’s busy installing GOP goal friendly judges everywhere.

The DNC’s response has been to avoid rocking the boat as much as they can by offering up Joe with a bone thrown to black people with a possable black woman VIP. (If that even happens), but the chances are high that Trump will get another four years to continue to do as he likes. And what will the Dems do? Protest and throw shade and offer limited resistance that won’t slow down Trump for a second.

People don’t like to even entertain the idea that Trump will win, but without a huge number of people turning out against them, what else can they expect will happen?"

"My father HATED John Wayne with a burning passion that I remember from age 3-4! He loved Westerns but he would spend the entire movie foaming at the mouth at all the racist tropes and outright historical lies of each one of them! Honestly, although he loved thoughtful rap, I think he idolized Chuck D for simply uttering his infamous lyric!

Now that I’ve reached a certain age, I find I love Westerns too - but not John Wayne, Clint Eastwood or any old ones. I like the newer ones that speak to what deplorables white cowboys were: The Revenant, Bone Tomahawk, Hostiles and the like. They’re still white-centered and white-washed but any modern thinking person can see that the cowboy image should stand for nothing but a savagely cruel, thieving, raping murderer (and we’ve been consistently lied to)."

"Does Trump accept responsibility and look out for his team? Not in the least. In this category, he exhibits one of the most unmanly of behaviors: He’s a blamer. Nothing is ever his fault."

"This is nothing but rose-colored bullshit. Anyone who’s ever spent more than 5 minutes working in corporate life knows for the most part this isn’t how white men behave. Those offices are full of extremely mediocre men who are very confident and have nothing to back it up with other than their bluster, egos, and the generational wealth that allows them a leg up over others. That generational wealth allows them to go to the diploma mills that open doors for them. Admitting mistakes or even admitting just not knowing something in that environment comes off as weakness to them. They spend most of their energy trying to project the image of confidence and control, which is why they’re quick to rage when things don’t go their way. A good example is the douche bag running Quibi that gave that horrendus interview a couple of weeks ago. He was asked a couple of questions about why his company was failing while other streaming services are thriving, and where they might have went wrong in their business model. He didn’t accept responsibility for shit. He went into his hurt little feelings and attacked the interviewer, and tried to make the questions seem like they weren’t valid.

On steroids this white American exceptionalist world view is called patriotism. It manifests in the idea that we as a country can do things counter intuitive the rest of the world just because we’re the USA. More mass shootings by far than any other country? USA! Other countries have cheap/free education through college? So what, USA! Biden even displayed this during one of the debates when Warren pointed out the same disparity in our healthcare compared to every other developed nation. Guess how he responded.

I feel like I started rambling a little but what I’m trying to get at is that whiteness, toxic masculinity, and patriotism are so intertwined that its beyond the author of that Trump think piece."

"Funnily enough as the article and subject matter were in regard to racism in the US I didn’t feel a burning need to mention Indigenous Australians but to answer your question they are pretty much in the same boat as black Americans. Did anything I say imply otherwise or were you just fishing for an argument?

"Stupid as it is, “You’re a manly-man, right? So why is your manly-man leader such a cowardly little pussy?”

That’s not what he projects and that’s not what they see. They see him using aggressive and accusatory tones and language all the time and it makes him look tough."

They fall for the “Emporor Has No Clothes” routine because they never look at him critically. They buy the bullshit on the surface, and don’t see that his words never match his actions. He said on tv several times that if anyone in the country wants a Covid test, they can get tested. Ask them how many people they know whose jobs don’t require it, have actually been tested. He down played the death toll of this disaster every step of the way. Remember when we were supposed to be in church for Easter? As long as he lies with confidence, they’ll follow him to hell."

"I’m definitely tired, and frustrated, and everything else. I keep holding my nose and voting, and that only adds to the exhaustion and frustration because very little if anything seems to change, and in some ways we keep repeating the mistakes of the past. I’d never advocate for doing nothing, but trying to engage and challenge the average Republican-voting dipshit to think critically, and not keep supporting people and policies that perpetuate and exacerbate the problems this country has??? No thanks. If you’re not black, I so encourage you to take up that mantle, but for me as a black dude in this country I can’t. Talk about shooting the messenger. Plus, to keep it a buck, this is mostly white people’s mess, if not all. They need to fix it.

Honestly I feel like racism festers because most white people just look the other way. The racism of their peers/friends/relatives doesn’t impact them personally so they’re probably just people to be avoided. Why rock the boat when you can just avoid an uncomfortable topic? Joe might forward you Fox News and OANN stories, and racist FB memes, but he’s fun at Bills games. Well what if Joe is also a cop, or in a management position over minorities? You can bet money he takes those views you overlooked with him to his job. The PoC he interacts with won’t have the benefit of seeing him at Bills games, or might not even have the benefit of being seen as equals."

"People get so caught up in the blatant, mustache-twirling racism that they don’t see the subtle pervasive way it spreads like a cancer. For every Trump there are dozens Joes, and along with the Joes are the real problem: The people who ignore the Joes. The Joes and Karens go on to commit all kinds of microaggressions that Poc pretty much have to tolerate, and in Joe’s and Karen’s minds that’s just the way the world works. I deserved to get followed around Joe’s store. I came in wearing a hoodie and Adidas so I couldn’t be up to any good. Karen felt threatened when I walked into the building she lives in, so she felt justified to call the police, never mind the fact that I live there too. This is how deep this shit runs. It’s not just politics. Racism isn’t just baked into politics. It’s part of the flour the US was baked with.

So I appreciate you if you’re willing to call these fools out. I’m glad somebody is because I’m not wasting my breath. They won’t hear me anyway."

"I mean if Tom Nichols was in front of me and read this steaming pile of shit to me I would’ve slapped him silly and said the reason that people that look like you excuse all of his fuck ups, failings and mistakes is because well HE LOOKS LIKE YOU!!!! The question that none of these mouth breathing chud monkeys seem to want to answer or are incapable of answering is would you excuse any black, Hispanic or Asian man that had his resume? We know the fucking answer.

When this bloated piece of unseasoned chicken shut down the government in January of 2019 hurting his all white, poorly educated base the most a quote from a voter in Florida was burned into my head forever. She said upon not getting her government subsidized check (I mean they have no issues with the government helping them, it is those pesky brown people that are lazy and entitled) “He is not hurting the people he is supposed to be hurting.” Let that sink in. A voting US Citizen thought it was the job of the sitting *president to hurt people. That says it all. Their allegiance isn’t based in anything other than anger and hatred of those that they deem less than them. Fuck him and them and may they both rot in hell."

"“He is not hurting the people he is supposed to be hurting.”

That spontaneous, bewildered, stream of consciousness utterance by someone who doesn’t think critically but has an indwelt recognition of like-mindedness IS the Trump voter exemplified! A racist who found themselves too poor, too old and without the power to demand or protect the status quo and just wants to stick it to their perceived enemies while retaining ‘something’ for themselves.

That sentiment has fueled every waking thought, worry and action of an American white since the founding of this country.

So, it’s not just every Confederate flag waver, every neo-Nazi and every flyover state’er; it’s every aggrieved American white who had to accept the changing world around them; there’s no reasoning with them nor changing their minds.

My fear is that I’m becoming inhumane like them because I was soooo happy when he cut her Meals on Wheels and didn’t cut her Social Security check."

"I think you nailed this right on the head. All through the article, he keeps pointing out what we already know except for one thing. After all, why would white people elect someone who is so far outside of what they claim to be/stand for? He’s not conservative in any real way. Yet conservatives stand behind him. He’s not a Christian in any practical sense by his actions. Yet Christians say he’s sent by God. He’s not a good businessman, father, or even person. Yet here we are. The only answer that makes sense in any real way is that he is proof that to many people, any white man can do the same or better than even the best black man, woman, or POC in general. There’s always a backlash to progress both real and imagined. Trump is it."

"Also, a lot of the characteristics Nichols thinks represent the opposite of idealized masculinity are actually representative of masculinity as it is performed in this country. From my experience with men who lean into their masculinity, it is about performing dominance by antagonizing people, all in the service of making shallow, insecure men feel better about themselves. Trump is a domineering asshole, which is what too many men think being a man is all about."

"It is fascinating how unbelievably brainless racists are. Many of the commenters and you Damon have pointed out the stupidity of racism. I mean this seriously, racists have absolutely abandoned intellect, progress, humanity or desire for real greatness that could manifest through equality, in order to hold onto the despicable delusion of superiority based solely on a human having more melanin than another. The sheer simplicity of the trick doesn’t even seem like it should work; but alas, all roads merge at Slave Rd. The dimwitted aptitude it takes for a person to actually believe stealing humans, beating, burning, assaulting, selling their children on auction blocks, splitting families (and more brutalities)...... all for greed born out of sheer laziness, and again stupidity is mindblowing. You literally must turn your brain off to be a racist, and you see it now. Millions of white people, with switch STILL off, courtesy of their forefathers, have continued down this same disastrous, nose-spite-ing road. There’s a lot of white people walking around with black kerchief’s, hiding the draining blood and a ragged hole where their nose once occupied, holding a tight grasp of their hate. Their greed. Trump finally allows them to remove that blood soaked kerchief with pride for all the world see their disfigurement. It’s stunning that there is pride where instead, their should be pure shame for then and for now."

0 notes

bohemienne-221b · 7 years

Text

( Part 1 ) ( Part 2 )

And the morning after...

***

The horses are wandering through the rich green field that lays before them. There's a stream not too far away, and they trot happily towards it, eager to refresh themselves after the exertion. It has been quite a ride after all, they're hours away from the village now.

It was Gaston's idea to come here, it's got the quiet, he had said that morning at dawn. Then he hadn't spoken much, and Lefou was left to his own thoughts. It wasn't unusual for them to spend the day like this, a sort of little trip in the nature, bringing with them only the bare necessities. When life down in town becomes too... tight, one might say, when the boring routine of every day starts to get into them and wears their minds down, the need to get away was a command impossible to ignore. Sometimes hunting did the trick, sometimes—like today, it was just riding until the horses needed rest.

The sun was bright and high in the sky; a lovely day to spend outside in the wide and warm embrace of mother nature. Needless to say, Lefou loved days like these with Gaston. They brought back to memory their early days, before the war, before they were forced to grow up ahead of their time. Gaston was already a force of nature back then; he was a bright and agile thing, the same leader countenance of his that made every boy want to follow him in his daily quests through the woods. He wasn't quite so arrogant in his younger days, Lefou remembered with a smile. He ventured even to say that he had a rather generous touch of kindness in him. Then those portuguese marauders had arrived, and Gaston took upon himself the duty to arrange a line of defence in their village.

Then the war. It had coarsened and hardened him. The war had made a man of him. He fought and fought and won, no man able to contain the wildness within him. Gaston was invincible to the eyes of his men and enemies alike. He would blossom under the fire and blood.

Lefou knew he was not the same anymore, after the war. Gaston always got quite the temper, but after coming back... he was irritable, full of a nervous energy that kept him on edge at every given moment. He didn't seem at ease in his own skin anymore. That's why since the end of the war Lefou was working twice as hard to improve his best friend’s mood, letting him know that he was always there for him, that he was still wanted and needed. And trying to keep him on balance, avoiding any outburst of violence. Lefou had managed very well, thank you very much. He was proud really, for Gaston couldn't do without him. Lefou was like a compass in Gaston's life. The man knew it too, and on some moments he showed Lefou just how deep was his gratitude. Lefou treasured those moments.

Then Belle came and ruined everything. All Lefou's efforts to keep Gaston on high spirits; all his efforts to keep Gaston from pushing himself over the point of no return... puff, all vanished in a blink of an eye. Gaston was moody and cranky all day until late evening in the tavern, when Lefou tried once again to bolster him, this time involving all the men in the performance. That helped, but afterwards... he can't still wrap his mind around what happened after. Gaston took him in his arms. He held him so tight against his chest. And he started rocking gently back and forth with him, as if he wanted almost to lull him... and then he... his mouth...

Lefou blushed furiously despite himself. He was grateful now for the breeze blowing quietly over them. He doesn't know what to make of Gaston's actions last night. And of what he said, all the 'testing a theory' shit. He doesn't understand. It was the first time that Gaston was so affectionate with him. It's a dizzy feeling. And there he is now, sitting in the grass under a bright sun, near the man he hold most dear to his heart.

Gaston seems to be sleeping. He lays on his back, arms crossed behind his head and hair a bit disheveled. He took off his overcoat earlier and now the garment is being used as an improvised pillow underneath him. The soft white linen shirt was unlaced to reveal the first hints of bronzed pectorals. His breathing is regular, his features relaxed. The sunlight caresses his skin, and it makes his eyelashes almost shine. Lefou doesn't think he will ever get used to Gaston's beauty.

He hears cicalas singing in the distance and the sound is beyond relaxing. He closes his eyes, leans on his elbows and tries to free his mind completely. It was supposed to be a break after all. But he keeps thinking about Belle's rejection of Gaston. He gets up and decides to walk for a bit. He looks down at the sleeping man and shakes his head. Then he takes his hat and places it over Gaston's closed eyes. Gods forbid the man wakes up with a headache caused by the sun's glare, who'd hear the end of it then. He goes towards the trees.

Maybe that was for the best. No Belle, no wife, no one to take Gaston away from him for the time being. Perhaps a ‘thank you’ was actually due to the girl. And from what he knew about her, she wasn't so bad; she seemed a thoughtful and kind woman. Maybe under the right circumstances they could become friends. Yes, he would like that.

He found a good spot under a great oak, its large leafy breaches providing fresh shadows. Sitting there, Lefou leans against the bark. The grass is soft under his fingers, and there are so many little flowers growing here. He picks a yellow cowslip and inhales his sweet perfume. Without giving it too much thought, he picks some poppies and daffodils too, and begins to entwine them with the help of some thicker stems and leaves. He’s got really deft fingers, if he says so himself, and he always liked flowers. Pity he couldn't do this more often; the pig-headed villagers liked to take the piss unfortunately.

He's so focused on the little twisting movements of his fingers that he doesn't even hear the approaching sounds of footsteps, and he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden feeling of a hand on his shoulder. Lefou clutches his chest while trying to regain his composure.

"Lefou, at last! I was looking for you, why you went wandering on your own? It took me ages to find you." Gaston sounded annoyed. What a novelty. He slowly lowered his hand and looked up at the taller man.

"Would you please stop sneaking up on me every damn time? You'll give me a stroke one day, good lord!" The truth was he had planned to return beside Gaston before he’d woke up, but he had lost track of time.

"If you hadn't went and hidden yourself away, you'd have spared yourself a fright and myself a tiresome walk."

...Well. No point in saying that a sleeping Gaston kissed by the sun was distracting at the very least. Snoring aside, that is.

"Just wanted to find somewhere less sunny, you know, not all of us got a perfectly bronzed skin."

Gaston smirked. "It seems like a lifetime ago, the last time I saw you playing with those" he said, pointing at the growing flowery lace in Lefou's lap and sitting down right next to his best friend. Lefou shrugged a 'yes true', looking right in front of him at the green of the field.

"Anyway. I've been thinking." Gaston stated seriously.

Lefou snorted. "Dangerous."

That earned him a little punch on his arm.

"And what were you thinking about?"he added.

"Belle." Came the instantaneous reply.

"Ah." Lefou lets the silence stretch. So Gaston won't give up. He doesn't exactly know what to say that won't make him look like a jealous and petulant child.

"I just don't understand, Lefou. I presented in front of her the very picture of courtesy, charm and gallantry and she slammed the door in my face. She could have broken my nose! Unbelievable." Gaston went on muttering to himself.

Lefou chuckled. "I'm sure she didn't want your cute nose to be hurt in the process." He teased the pouting man, booping a flower lightly on said offended nose.

Gaston took the flower and began to fidget with it. "Everyone would do anything to be in her place, the center of my attention! And she treats me like some sort of ...brainless scum." Gaston stops suddenly.

This is actually troubling him, thinks Lefou. Without knowing it, Belle opened a bleeding wound to Gaston's pride. The man now had to realize that it didn't matter. Gaston wasn't any less of a great person just for one refusal. Lefou knows it like he knows the sky is blue.

"She likes to read. Great. I'm fine with that. I like hunting more. I know it. I'm well aware that I don't care much about books or silly poetry. But that doesn't mean I can't read or that I'm stupid. What does she know about me? About what I've done to keep this village safe?"

He was almost shouting now, the little daffodil crushed in his fist. Lefou moved and knelt before him, placing both hands on Gaston's shoulders.

"Breathe, Gaston." He said firmly "Just take a deep breath, all right." Gaston closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Lefou tries to loosen his friend's tense muscles. Eyes still closed, Gaston goes on, voice lower. "What gives her the right, mh?"

Lefou found himself staring in those intense eyes from up close. "Nothing." He replies sure. "Nothing gives her that righ,t Gaston. She doesn't know you. She wasn't here in those times of danger. She doesn't know you saved us all. She can't know that, and maybe she doesn't even want to know. Because this isn't her home and she wants more. She doesn't feel like she belongs here, and she's not like the others. For that, who can blame her." He added quietly, lowering his gaze. The village didn't easily welcome who's different. "But my point is", he tightened his hold on Gaston's shoulders, who was looking at him with an unreadable expression."If she doesn't care to find out all your good qualities and who you really are, then she isn't worth your time."

After this little outburst of his, the only sounds that can be heard are the singing of birds and insects in the distance. Even the air is still all of a sudden. It's the warm feeling of Gaston's breath that makes him realize just how close to him he was. He hastily leans back.

Gaston remains silent still, and reaches out towards Lefou. He takes the flowers' lace that had fallen from his lap a moment before. Then he smiles in a wolfish way that sends a shudder running through Lefou's spine. "Turn around."

Lefou arches elegantly an eyebrow.

"Go on", orders Gaston firmly. Lefou turns around until he's sitting comfortably between Gaston's legs. He feels Gaston's touch light on his back, his fingers reaching his ponytail. Lefou lowers his gaze, keeping himself still. In one fluid motion, Gaston unties his ribbon and his curls fall loose on his neck.

Keeping still was getting harder and harder; he wanted to be facing Gaston, he wanted to be able to see into his eyes. Gaston curls one lock around his finger, gently. Then he pulls hard.

Lefou gasps from light pain and surprise, basking in the sensation of that hand now massaging his scalp. Then Gaston starts to braid that lock of his hair together with the flowers' lace. Lefou felt taken aback by this simple action of trust and affection. It feels oddly intimate.

"There. All done."

Lefou brings his hand to feel the delicate handiwork of his friend. He turned in the circle of Gaston's legs, and they're now impossibly close. It seemed Gaston didn't mind though. On the contrary. The taller man closed his muscled thighs on Lefou's flanks and leaned back onto his elbows, effectively immobilizing him with just the raw strength of his lower limbs.

"Uhm. Thank you... I guess. But why?" he asked, placing his hands on both of Gaston's knees.

"You like me." Gaston said simply.

Lefou's heart missed a beat, but he kept it cool. "Of course. Everyone likes you Gaston."

"No. You like me, like, like me." He went on, somehow managing to puff out his chest proudly even when half lying on the ground.

Lefou laughs right into his face. "Oh Gaston, you have such a lovely way with words!"

That remark earns him a glare and a clenching of thighs around his sides.

He stops abruptly his giggles, feeling warm all over and becoming acutely aware of every single point of contact between their bodies.

"Stop it. You know what I mean." His dark gaze is digging a hole through him, leaving Lefou to feel bare under such intense eyes.

That was it. Lefou threw caution to the wind while lowering himself onto Gaston. The man brought a hand to his cheek, thumb drawing circles on his jaw; he then captures his chin and pulls Lefou forward still, until their noses are touching.

"Yes, go on now." Gaston breathed on his lips.

Lefou swallows and closes the distance. The kiss is barely a brush of lips, and Lefou's mind goes blank. Gaston's lips feel so soft under his, his stubble stinging the tiniest bit. He leans back keeping his eyes closed. Reality might not be that sweet.

Lefou counts several beats of his wild heart before Gaston moves all of a sudden. He grabs Lefou tightly against him and rolls them over. His pupils are blown wide and he looks—he really looks positively hungry. Gaston descends on him, devouring his mouth and Lefou kisses back with everything he's got. He feels hot and cold all at once, shudders of pleasure running through him, making him feel his body alight.

He's pinned under Gaston's weight, and as soon as the man places a knee between his own, Lefou gasps and at once Gaston's tongue is exploring his mouth. It feels wet and warm and absolutely divine; their tongues start to dance and battle together for dominance, Lefou licking the arch of Gaston's teeth and oh. He focuses on a pointed canine, and he can't stop a moan then, grabbing tightly Gaston's broad shoulders.

Gaston nearly growls and bites Lefou's lower lip. The sharp pain sends a shock of pleasure right between his legs, making him open his eyes wide. He sees Gaston smirking and he's suddenly everywhere. His eyes are two black pools and his cheeks are pink, lips reddened. He's so...

"Mmmh. You're delicious, mon petit."

Gaston's rough voice sets his body aflame; Lefou would gladly reply, but any form of coherence had since left his mind. He's out of breath, his hands wandering over Gaston's chest with a will of their own. He's overwhelmed. Never he would have thought that this could happen. How many lonely nights he had spent dreaming about it, though. And now it feels like his heart could burst from all the love he feels for this man.

Gaston kisses him again, then moves his attention to his jaw, kissing and licking all the way down to his neck, where he bites hard— those damned fangs! cursed Lefou inwardly—and using soon after his smooth tongue to soothe the skin; he then starts sucking and Lefou groans from the sensation. "Oh my god."

At the same time Gaston insinuates his hands under Lefou's waistcoat and shirt, tracing his fingertips teasingly on the sparse hair of his lower belly. He pulls off the shirt from his trousers and splays his hands on Lefou's plumpy flesh. Gaston licks inside his ear and exhales, that warm breath sending shivers of delight within him.

"There it is..." Gaston scratches with his nails the outline of the bite mark. "You showed it to everyone" adds Gaston sounding pleased.

"Ye-yes", he manages to reply under those alluring, teasing mouth and fingers.

Suddenly Gaston lifts his face and flashes a grin. “You like being marked, don’t you.”

Gaston’s hand slides forward, scraping and caressing in equal measure and pauses on a nipple. Lefou holds his breath; Gaston pinches the little pink bud and the reaction is immediate. Lefou shouts and arches his back, pressing himself completely to the broad body of Gaston.

“Gaston…!” he tries to say something, but it’s like a fog has numbed his thoughts, and the only thing that comes out of his mouth is the other man’s name, like a litany and a prayer.

“Shhh.”

Gaston takes the other nipple between thumb and forefinger, and with his free hand lifts Lefou’s shirt all the way up, smiling devilishly while admiring his handiwork. He lowers his mouth and kisses the reddened nipple, starting to lavishing it. Lefou lets his eyes fall closed and he sees an explosion of fireworks, and he begins to rub himself against Gaston’s defined abdominals, the tightness in his trousers now unbearable.

He’s only barely aware of the sounds that are escaping his throat, breathless and high-pitched. Gaston groans and the sound reverberates on Lefou’s chest. But the man suddenly stops and pulls away, making Lefou gasp,confused “Wha- why are you stopping?“

“This won’t do. Wait a second.”

He raises himself to a kneeling position and starts to hastily unfasten his trousers. Lefou’s gaze is attracted to his friend crotch like a magnet now. His eyes go wide.

Gaston smirks at him. “Like what you see?”

Lefou knew Gaston was well-endowed, of course, one couldn’t spend a lifetime together with another person without knowing certain things. However, what made Lefou’s legs feel like jelly and all his blood rush south, was the fact that Gaston was clearly turned on by him. He was hard for Lefou. It was a heady feeling and the urge to touch became compulsive.

He leans in and caresses it lightly with two fingers, almost awe-struck. He glanced at Gaston’s face for his reaction and found him with his eyes closed, breathing deeply. Encouraged, Lefou slides his hands all the way inside the trousers to take him in hand. The hot, rock-hard flesh twitches in his palm and Gaston groans roughly.

He’s so aroused by this simple act that he feels he could come just by watching Gaston in the throes of pleasure. He squeezes once, carefully, but Gaston pushes his hips forward, gripping Lefou’s shoulder for balance. Lefou takes the hint, starting to stroke him fast, savoring each and every one of the low throaty moans of the broad man. He slows down and presses experimentally his thumb on the slit, feeling it wet.

Gaston grips then his wrist and pushes his hand away, breathing heavily, eyes still closed, trying to regain control. “Wait,” he says panting, and pushes his trousers down, freeing his erection. “Come here.”

He takes Lefou in his lap, holding his back with an arm while loosening his trousers. Gaston takes both their erection and brings them together; that contact is like electricity on his bare hard flesh, and he clings to his friend strong body, twining his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist, leaning all his weight on him.

“Yes, that’s it.” Gaston whispers in his ear, still holding him tight against his chest. He starts a regular rhythm, holding them both with his hand, his breath wet and warm on Lefou’s cheeks. Lefou’s groans are becoming louder, he’s already so close and the pleasure is maddening.

“Gaston, I’m—“, he buries his face in Gaston’s neck, his limbs tense while he pushes against him.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Gaston works them faster, the slide now smooth and easy because of their combined pre-cum. Lefou feels Gaston’s face on his hair; the man is breathing him in, nuzzling the soft hair with his nose while thrusting forward with his hips.

“Aaah Lefou … your hair…”

Gaston’s voice makes him shiver and he clings onto him tightly.

“You smell so good…”

With that and a wicked twist of Gaston finger, Lefou was suddenly there.

“Gaston!” Lefou didn’t know what he was asking for, or why he felt the urge to feel Gaston’s approval; he just needs that right now.

“Yes, come on mon petit chou, come for me.”

That was it. His climax is a sudden explosion of colors within him; it shakes his entire being and he feels wave after wave of pleasure flowing through his body.

He feels a sharp pain in his neck then, followed by a guttural growl and he’s almost crushed by Gaston’s tight hold of him.

Several minutes of sated contentment pass by, during which Lefou is happy to melt against Gaston’s solid body. He feels like he had never known the true meaning of happiness before this moment.

Gaston was still holding him, and kept his face in his hair all the while. “So,” Gaston breaks the silence. “Maybe I don’t really need a wife.” His tone is pensive; Lefou remains silent, curious.

Gaston’s playing with Lefou’s locks, and after a moment he whispers “Still with me?”

Then Lefou lifts his head from the comfortable spot of Gaton’s shoulder to look him in the eyes. “Yes.”

Gaston picks up that same little daffodil that had fallen before. He rolls it between his fingers. Lefou knew he wanted to tell something of importance. He had been acting strange all day. Just now, he might perhaps know what the matter actually was.

He waited, taking the flower from Gaston’s hand and cradling it gently. Gaston fixed him with his most intense stare.

“You know, they say you’re not really living until you see yourself reflected in someone else’s eyes.”

Lefou stares at the man openly, and notices that he’s actually a little embarrassed, averting his eyes. How cute. Lefou tries then to tie the delicate daffodil to a lace on the front of Gaston’s shirt; he smiles, and waits.

“And I did see myself in someone’s eyes. I still do. In yours.”

Gaston clears his throat and finally looks at him. Lefou feels tears in his eyes, and tries to laugh them off or he’ll end up sobbing soon. “Glad you realized that, finally.”

Gaston chuckles. “Well. And I’d like it to never change.”

Lefou brushes the yellow daffodil and then Gaston’s cheek. “The way I look at you, it will never change.” That was the pure and simple truth for Lefou.

“I don’t need a wife. But I need you, Lefou.” Gaston turns to kiss his palm. “After all, who needs that when I’ve got us?”

(bonus if you know why I chose those flowers in particular!)

#gafou ficlet #gafou #gaston x lefou #alternative ending #my ficlet #batb2017 #beauty and the beast #lefou is gay #gaston is bi trash #beauty and the beats 2017 #flower meanings #daffodils

112 notes · View notes