#i want to enjoy the sounds of spring and summer but instead its fuck BRBRBRBRBRBRBRRBRRRBRBRBRBRBRRBRBRBRBRRRR

[big-tees-and-short-skirts]

ah, so the misophonia is part of the sensory processing disorder + etc. of course.

#misophonia #okay now that im where im coming from here: #does anyone else get Murderous when they hear lawnmowers/leafblowers/etc #like instant anger. not minor annoyance but This is about to Ruin the next few hours for me #like if someone was trying to get me to join the dark side or whatever but i was in firm disagreement until That Motor revs up #i want to enjoy the sounds of spring and summer but instead its fuck BRBRBRBRBRBRBRRBRRRBRBRBRBRBRRBRBRBRBRRRR #ALL THE DAMN DAY #its fucking night time rn; #its fucking RAINING #and i have a neighbor whos mowing her lawn #shes about ot get evicted out of this house w this giant ass lawn that only she lives in but shes MOWING HER FUCKING LAWN USING OUR POWER #i want all mowers and leaf blowers to explode forever #SHES FUCKING SITTING STILL ON HER PHONE RUNNING THE WORLDS LOUDEST SINGLE PASSENGER VEHICLE #AND I CANT FUCKING TELL HER TO HAVE A LICK OF SELF AWARENESS BC I HAVE FUCKING COVID SO I CANT LEAVE MY ROOM OR CLOSE MY WINDOWS #i swear to fucking god pls get me out of hereeeeeeee #my ears hurt so bad rn i wanna cry #thats all its been for htese days of isolation: mower after mower after mower after mower #i just wanna hear the wind! or the rain! or the birds! or the frogs! OR NOTHING!!!! #i cant fucking sleep thru it either ;;;;;;;;;;;;; #and whenever i describe this frustration no one in my family really sympathizes #they ask if ive tried my headphones which is would be helpful if i hadnt tried and failed w that for years #they just shrug and say 'well it has to be done' BUT WHY DO PPL 'NEED' TO MOW THEIR LAWNS EVERY FUCKING DAY #okay shes done now. at 9 fucking pm. ill be done now

[caravelmp3]

FEAR AND LOATHING IN DOMESTICATION

pairing: josh kiszka x reader warning(s): mentions of alcohol, references to sex, depression, & anxiety  synopsis: in better terms, josh kiszka is a rolling stone, and when the pandemic causes the band to settle down for an undisclosed amount of time, reader helps josh come out of his slump note: title & reference to that one interview. you know the one. as someone with a fear of domestication as well, i related so hard to josh when he talked about settling down, and this came out of that. it’s just a lil something !! also posted on ao3 if you would like to check it out there instead. hope you all enjoy !! x 

Josh was a vagabond, a nomad, living a peripatetic lifestyle of hopping from city to city overnight by bus or jet, bouncing between venues and interviews as if he was born to do so. Staying in three-star motel rooms in the middle of nowhere became a part of his lifestyle, one that he became quite adjusted to after three years on the go. Even while visiting home he was between family and friend houses, checking in on old stomping grounds, visiting studios hours away, anything to stay busy. In the clearest sense of terms, he was a rolling stone.

So, as everyone imagined it would happen, he began to lose his sense of self in 2020. One second the band were planning the release of an album, preparing to hit the road and play stadiums in South America with Metallica in the spring, and then the next they were hit with the news of cancellations and push-backs to everything they had been working towards. With the rise of a pandemic they were forced into a hiatus and into the first real break any of them had received, if they didn’t count the few days visiting home last holiday season.

He and the rest of the band hunkered down in Nashville and Josh started to live in his worst fear - domesticity. He was waking up at the same time every day in the same city, he was living the same life day after day, and it became old very quickly. While catching up on rest and exploring a new city was fun at first, it started to look like every other city before long. The adventure he would wake up to with excitement was no longer around. He had been forced to settle down, and he felt like a trapped animal trying to gnaw its own leg off.

And like the rest of the band and the management team, you hated seeing him that way.

The relationship between you and Josh was short, but you knew Josh for years, and you noticed the differences in his personality immediately once you followed him to Nashville following the shut down of your own job.

You once swung by the studio with a surprise lunch for the boys and the team and he was struggling to write lyrics on a notepad in the other room, surrounded by crumpled and balled sheets of paper. He would stay up later at night scrolling through airline websites for flights out of Nashville to random cities (as long as he was traveling, he told himself), and he shifted through hobbies to find anything that stuck (which eventually was reading and painting) (there was a corner of the living room filled with stacks of books and canvas paintings).

And you tried your best, even when times were hard on you, too. In order to boost Josh’s spirits and get his mind off the persistent idea that he was stuck in time, you attempted baking new treats and made him try them after dinner, you dabbled in bartending and made new drinks with tequila, set up painting dates in the backyard after work, bought books from second-hand stores you thought he would enjoy, and bought new and random vinyl for the nights spent in during summer storms.

But the bright blue, cloudless summer skies and warm breezes rustling the trees of summer became the red of maples and the bronze of oaks of autumn. Everyone hoped things would be different, maybe even just slightly, but nothing had changed at all. The band was still in Nashville, making the best of their time off to expand the album and the universe it was set in, and you were back to working, but only remotely, so Josh insisted you stayed with them instead of traveling back home at seemingly the height of the worst so far.

When the long, hot days turned into cooler mornings and long nights with the sun setting at five p.m., the effect of the year had finally hit everyone. Everyone was tired, they felt defeated.

So in one last desperate attempt to boost spirits and morale, everyone set off on their own adventure and escaped Nashville in the early days of December. Danny was going to Los Angeles, Sam was going skiing in Montana, and you knew that Josh and Jake needed their own trip. So after a few phone calls and exchanged emails over a week, you booked a trip for the twins and their family in Key West. It was something small - a rented RV for the dreaded sixteen-hour drive south, but what awaited them was a week in a rented beach house and days on a boat in the Gulf.

You booked it for everyone, you wanted the boys and their family to let loose and spend some time together before work drove them away again, but you weren’t going to lie and say you didn’t book it with Josh in mind. He was a fan of the beach and islands, history, and the water and sun and sand, and after months hunched over a studio coffee table writing and working endlessly on the album design, he deserved time to himself, to recover, to recoup.

You told him before bed on Thanksgiving day. The Kiszka family had come down from Michigan to celebrate the holiday, and they did with dinner and a fire in the pit in the backyard with music and plaid blankets and smores under the stars. After staying up talking to his mom, Josh had come to bed last with the lingering scent of fire smoke in his hair and Corona on his breath, and he met you under the covers, nestling his face in the crook of your neck before pressing a soft kiss against your skin while wishing you goodnight.

Humming, you rolled over and rolled into him. He chuckled and wrapped an arm around you, and that’s when you, in a sleep-deprived state, began to rattle off all of your plans,

“Tell your parents to stay for another week.” You said, eyes still closed, half-asleep.

Josh paused. “Why?” It wasn’t something he was opposed to, but it caught him by surprise.

“I booked a trip for the rest of us. While Danny and Sam are gone.” You laid your head on his shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to his chest. “We leave for Key West in four days.”

And the shot of adrenaline that ran through Josh was something he hadn’t felt in quite a long time. The last time he got excited about going anywhere was to a new record shop that opened up a few streets over from the house. He quickly sat up in the bed, looking down at you (now laying sideways) in the dark with a smile.

“You’re fucking joking,”

You laughed and reached out for his hand. “Not at all,” you said bringing his hand up to kiss the palm, “I’m going to pick up an RV in a couple of days, and we can surprise your parents and take them shopping for clothes and everything else we need.”

Out of what seemed like a rush of euphoria, Josh threw himself on top of you, peppering your face with kisses and you laughed at the show of affection and at the tickle of the growing mustache he managed to grow (and pull off). You turned your head, holding his cheeks, and kissed him.

“Now, come on, let’s get some sleep.”

“Well that’s unlikely - now I’m going to lay here and think about all the dumb shit we can do.” He said, sliding under the covers and sliding an arm around you.

You just laughed and nestled your cheek against his chest, listening in to the quiet shuffling in the hallway outside the door of everyone going to bed, to the ticking sound of the clock on the wall, and then to Josh’s voice,

“Do you think they have pirate themed dinner cruises?”

“If they do, I’m sure you’ll find out about it.”

And he did.

(There wasn’t one.)

But you found so much more than you two ever dreamed of. Trading dreary Nashville for a bright and warm island, you welcomed the hot breeze and sun-kissed skin.

And even though there wasn’t a pirate themed dinner cruise, you watched Josh come alive in a new environment. You strolled hand-in-hand with him through the butterfly and nature conservatory, letting him rave about the multicolored birds and point at flowers he thought you would like while capturing them on film. On Duval Street he pulled you to get caricature portraits done, he ordered shots for everyone in the bar after a night spent swimming. He roamed Dry Tortugas National Park with Jake, admiring the view and history within the brick fort walls, and first thing one morning he pulled you out of bed to get breakfast and visit the Ernest Hemingway Home, so you sat with him on a bench in the morning light and drank coffee and pet the roaming cats that passed by.

The last night on the island you woke up naked without Josh beside you, and you turned to see him sitting on the balcony with the white sheer curtains billowing around him, writing in the journal he always kept on his person. A smile tugged on the corners of your lips.

Josh was falling in love with life again.

And you were falling in love with life again, too, because Josh was so passionate about living it.

#josh kiszka imagine #josh kiszka one shot #josh kiszka drabble #greta van fleet imagine #greta van fleet one shot #gvf imagine #gvf drabble #josh kiszka

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.15

Stressed

01/16/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 5,747

Warnings: angst, jealousy, anxiety, talks of pregnancy, conception troubles

A/N: I’m sorry this came so late and that it’s taking me time to get these out. I’m writing very slowly right now and I only have my brain to blame. I’m finding it so hard to focus right now and I’m not sure why. I’ve gotten away from my usual habit of writing when I wake up and before I go to sleep. Hopefully, I’ll get back to normal soon. I hope y’all like (hate?) this chapter! Things will start to get tough from here on out. I hope y’all will stick with me through it. xoxo

“Well, I’ve got to get back to my girls. Some of them have taken to sneaking out at night in an attempt to earn their wings. If I catch them, I get to make them do whatever I want and I’m not going to lie, it’s the best part of my day.”

Hilde smiles at you, and you try to give her a returning social exchange with the same energy but your mind and eyes keep drifting back to the astronomer across the room currently chatting with Bruce and Tony animatedly about something scientific that you don’t understand.

“Are you seriously stressing about her?” Hilde asks, exasperated with you already.

“No,” you answer with your feathers obviously ruffled. “I’m not.”

Hilde clearly doesn’t believe you as she skews her lips and tilts her head.

“I’m not!”

You say it too loudly and the trio on the other side of the table turn to look at you.

“Not what?” Tony asks, brow furrowed a little with curiosity.

“She’s not tired,” Hilde covers. “How about a tour from Her Majesty?”

“Uh, yeah, I can give you all a tour of the palace. It’s really big.”

“No,” Tony shakes his head. “No tour for me. As fun as following you around while you brag about how much bigger your house is than mine sounds, I just spent weeks in the trenches and I’m going to try and get some sleep or Pepper will ground me and won’t let me come out and play. So, I think, good night?”

“Right. Of course, yeah. Estrid?” You call out to the two large open doors.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Estrid hurries into view, giving you a quick curtsy before standing with her hands at her front.

“Can you show Mr. Stark-”

“Really?” he asks, incredulous.

“Sorry, habit,” you laugh nervously. “Can you show Tony to his room, please? And Bruce?”

“Uh, yeah. I’d love some sleep,” he nods, rubbing his chest with one hand in slow circles.

“And Bruce as well,” you nod to Estrid who gives you another curtsy.

They all begin to stand, shoving their chairs back in under the table and taking a last drink.

“And…” with odd trepidation, you look at your husband’s very recent former lover and try not to feel too overwhelmed. “Jane?”

“No, actually I was hoping I could speak with you?”

She takes a step towards you, hands pulled to her front as she fidgets with the tips of her fingers for a second then drops them at her sides.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Thank you, Estrid. When you’ve escorted the gentlemen to their rooms, come find me so that you can show Jane hers when she’s ready.”

“Very good, Your Majesty,” Estrid nods, another curtsy before she turns to Bruce and Tony who now look nervous too as they give you and then Jane inquisitive looks. “This way, gentlemen.”

As Estrid disappears into the hallway, Tony and Bruce follow slowly leaving you, Hilde, and Jane to stand awkwardly in the smaller of the two dining rooms in the palace.

“Should I stay?” Hilde wonders, inching a little closer to you and reaching out to grab your elbow.

“Hm? No. It’s okay. But if you’re going-?”

“Your Majesty,” Heimdall’s warm voice fills the space strangely washing over you with a soothing calm.

Something about Heimdall always makes you feel at ease and the night suddenly seems very bearable.

“Heimdall will be taking over your care until Thor returns, is that alright?” Hilde checks, sounding genuinely worried.

“Will I do, Your Majesty?” Heimdall asks, his voice a gentle teasing.

“Of course, Heimdall!” your huff of a laugh pulls from him a gentle chuckle and he moves around towards you to draw your hand up to his lips.

It’s a genuine sign of respect and it warms your heart.

“Alright, well, I’m off. I will see you tomorrow, Your Majesty. Jane.” Hilde gives her a nod and quickly slides from the room eager to catch her troops out of bed.

Heimdall makes his way towards Jane and as she turns to him, she smiles wide, “Heimdall, it’s so nice to see you again.”

“Jane Foster,” he says her name in full though it doesn’t sound as if he’s being formal.

In fact, they sound pretty close.

“It has been quite a while.” They hug and your heart gives a strange uncertain clench. “How are you?”

“I’m good, all things considered,” Jane says.

All things considered? What things considered?

“Yes, well…” Heimdall leaves his words hanging there, full of meaning that you don’t understand and suddenly the warmth his greeting had left you with is gone and in its place is a sense of intrusion.

Jane was the Queen they had all been expecting. Suddenly feeling dismal, you turn away from their reunion to fill up your fancy silver cup with wine and take a nice long drink.

Without turning back around to look at her because in the moment you can’t really bear it, you address her and hope that your voice doesn’t give you away.

“What was it that you wanted to speak to me about, Jane?”

Hopefully it has nothing to do with Thor or you might just lose your head a little. While a part of you would very much like to bury the hatchet and put everything that happened with her and Thor in the past behind you, in this moment, the last thing you want to do is talk about how she is or was the love of his life.

That you know, right?

This is all so fucked.

“I was actually just wondering if you had a space that I could set up my equipment? Somewhere with clear access to the sky is preferable, and lots of space? I’ll need to set up my equipment to show Thor--and yourself what I’ve been seeing the last few months.”

You can hear it in her voice that she added you as an afterthought. She came to show Thor. To see him?

You hate this sudden insecurity growing inside of you, this second guessing that didn’t even exist until she walked into your home tonight.

Are you thinking too much? Is this wrong of you? Thor is your husband. He loves you. He says it every day. Several times a day because he knows you need to hear it. He physically shows you, also several times a day if he can. Just today, in the hallway downstairs…

“Your Majesty?” Heimdall prompts, pulling you from your thoughts.

You dismiss his concern without acknowledging it because it’s in his all-seeing eyes. Instead, you focus on Jane.

“I have the perfect space. It’s a bit of a walk. I mean, it’s still on palace grounds, just a bit further up the hill behind us. But it’s an observation tower Loki was having built probably for this exact reason.”

“Perfect,” she smiles, then moves to her chair to pick up a large brown bag you hadn’t noticed she’d brought in here with her. “After you?”

Heimdall follows behind the two of you and Jane follows a step behind as you lead her out of the palace back entrance which is hidden behind a smaller room behind the throne room.

The night is chilly and you wrap your arms around yourself and regret the shorter choice of dress.

Jane also seems to shiver for a moment but her own clothes are more tailored to the weather outside than yours is. Her shiver passes.

“Do you enjoy living here?” she asks.

For a moment you don’t realize she’s talking to you, then when no one else answers, you start and quickly clear your throat.

“Yes, I do. I mean, it’s cold a lot. I’ll be glad when Summer’s here. Spring is also kind of on the chillier side.”

“Yeah,” she smiles, as if she’s been here often.

The silence after her affirmation grows tense and your heart begins to pound as your mind goes into a flurry of what she might have gotten up to here in New Asgard before you’d come into the picture.

Warmth suddenly envelops you and you turn to look at Heimdall as he places his dark cloak over your shoulders.

“Thank you, Heimdall,” you gasp, reaching up to pull the cloak around yourself more tightly.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Heimdall nods, “It’s my honor.”

The terrain suddenly grows more rugged and Heimdall is quick to offer you his arm as you adjust your steps to accommodate the rockier path.

You make a mental note to have this pathway fixed. Smoothed out and maybe even given a railing as it gets steeper.

The only thing you can hear is the sound of three pairs of feet trudging along shifting stone and dirt then a softer step as the hill evens out a bit more and becomes covered in grass.

When you don’t have to look down at where you’re stepping anymore, you look up at the tower that looms ahead.

The base is made of heavy stone, each placed with precision and reinforced with steel supports. Wooden beams line each of the corners, decorated with carved images of what you can only assume are Asgardian moments in history.

When you’d come to see its progress at the beginning of its creation, you’d recognized the images of Thor and Odin in battle just above the beam that lines the doorway.

The rest of the tower is a mix of wood, stone, and iron. The aesthetic is very much like the palace, Asgardian curves and shapes fit into more modern Norse lines.

The three of you stop as you reach it and Heimdall hurries forward to throw the large door open.

As you step through, you see that the inside of the tower has not changed much since the last time you came to inspect it.

The bottom floor is a large empty room with only a fireplace against the back wall, exposed rafters up above before the height is cut short by the ceiling.

“Wow,” Jane does sound impressed, “This is great. Is there a-?”

“Upstairs,” you point towards the staircase to the right that rises up around the side of the room. “There’s another room, smaller, but it has a lot of balcony space.”

“Great! Thanks,” she sighs with relief as if she really didn’t expect you to give her some space to work, then heads towards the staircase.

“Um, there’s no furniture in here yet. I’ll have someone bring you some tables and chairs, is there anything more specific that you need?”

Jane stops at the foot of the stairs then turns to look at you and then the space of the bottom floor.

“Would it be possible to get a bed in here? You’re right, and it is a long way from the palace. I’m gonna be in here probably all the time so…?”

You know that she isn’t asking for the impossible or anything out of the question, but suddenly the idea of making this tower her little space has a whole other life playing out in your head.

A life where you had married Thor and he had been unable to give up Jane. A life of her living here at the palace with you in her own space where Thor can come and be with her in private away from prying eyes while still giving the appearance of being with you, his Queen in name only.

“Your Majesty?” Heimdall prompts you quietly, reaching out to touch your elbow again and pull you from the pain and panic you’re trying to hide.

You force a smile, a small shake of your head, “Yes, of course. Sorry, I’ve had a busy day. I’ll have them bring you everything you need within the hour.”

“Thank you. Once I have everything set up I’ll make sure to show you what I’ve found and then Thor can um, plan for what might come?”

“Of course,” you agree, eager to get the hell out of here and back to your room where you can fall apart in private. “Now, I hope you’ll excuse my bad hosting skills, but I really am super tired and I think I’m going to turn in a little early.”

“Oh, yeah, sure! No problem at all,” Jane smiles, “Thank you for all your help. And dinner! Dinner was so good. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. I’ll let Cook know,” you nod, hoping that your smile isn’t too tense for the moment. “Good night.”

“Night!”

You’re almost grateful for the cold night air as it bites the skin of your cheeks. Anything is better than the stress you just felt in that tower.

You hear the heavy door of the tower close behind you, then Heimdall’s footsteps join your own though your heavy breathing is alone as he walks calmly beside you.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Heimdall wonders, gentle and honestly concerned.

“I’m fine,” You lie.

“Does having Jane Foster here bother you? There is no need for you to worry. I have seen Thor be with many women-”

“Oh, my God,” and you can’t help but huff a laugh. “Not helping, Heimdall.”

“-and I have never seen him be with anyone the way he is with you. It’s more than just love. It's a partnership. Companionship. It’s friendship. Trust. After their initial reconnection, Thor’s trust in Jane and their courtship dwindled and as you know, by the end, it was completely gone.”

“So, what you’re saying is he’s so sure that I love him that he has no reason to worry?”

Which is true, you do and he has no reason to worry about you not loving him or falling for someone else at this point. You can’t even imagine being with anyone the way you’ve been with Thor.

“He’s not afraid to lose me?” You hate giving into these thoughts.

Honestly though, talking about them to someone will help you sleep tonight. Maybe.

“Yes,” Heimdall agrees. “And no. Even now, this very moment, all he can think of is you.”

You stop walking, stunned by his words because you’ve never asked him to look for you. You’ve heard Thor ask him to see things before, to search, and Heimdall always has. It had never crossed your mind to do the same.

Then again, this is the first time you and Thor have been apart since before you were married.

“What-You can see him?” Heimdall looks down at your feet, focuses what must be his mental eyes, and then slowly nods.

“He’s distressed at leaving you here alone, he’s finding it hard to focus on what Fandral is telling him and Fandral is growing more and more upset.”

You smile, completely absorbed by this information.

“Did he ever ask you to look for her? For Jane?”

Your words are quiet, hesitant, though your heart feels slightly more at ease by Heimdall’s reassurance.

“In the very beginning of their courtship, just after he left Earth and the bifrost was destroyed. Their love was new then. It was short-lived. Then Thor came back to Earth and they were able to be together, for a time.

“But their compatibility has always had its trials. After some time together, Thor was called back to the Universe and Jane had her own work to do. Their responsibilities have always pulled them apart and if I’m honest, Thor is the more hopeless romantic between them.”

You think about all of the small things that Thor has done for you since you came back home. The flowers, the baths, surprise dinners, the small presents hidden under your pillow or in drawers he knows you’ll get into. He’s done a lot more to show you he’s thinking about you during the day than you have and you can understand what Heimdall is saying.

You’re not so much a gift giver in love it seems, and instead give him all of the affection he’d seemed so starved for in the beginning.

“Her being here will not damage your marriage. Trust me.” Heimdall finishes.

You lead the walk again, moving slower but calmer after Heimdall’s reassurance.

“Will you come back up and check that Jane gets everything she needs? We really should have had the tower set up a long time ago.”

“As soon as I am certain you are in your quarters safe, with a guard outside your door, yes. I can ensure that she has everything that she requires.”

For a few minutes you walk in silence, at ease. When you reach the back doors of the palace however and he holds the doors open for you, you turn to Heimdall and after a quick bite to your lip, “Is he still with Fandral?”

Heimdall smiles and nods, “Fandral is yelling at him for not paying attention.”

Both of you laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s so early when you wake. It’s still dark outside and you’re almost sure that sunrise is still a few hours away.

You’re exhausted. Eyes burning as you push yourself up and the night plays itself over.

So suddenly you’re anxious again, nerves making your fingertips tingle and your stomach do an uncomfortable flip as you turn over onto your back to look at Thor’s side of the bed.

It’s undisturbed. Both pillows are still in their made up position.

He said he’d be back very late at night, early morning at the latest. You’d been hoping for the former.

With a groan, you sit up, sliding slowly down to the end of the bed and the bench where Thor sits to put his boots on.

You’re so groggy. The night was restless and you’ve really only gotten about an hour of sleep. Two at the most.

It’s stuffy in the room, the fire still burning and leaving you a little sticky from being huddled underneath a heavy blanket because you’d missed the weight of Thor’s arms all night.

The large glass doors across from you rattle from the wintry breeze outside, beckoning you forward for relief from this heat.

As you step on the floor, your body is rocked with a shiver that pushes you up onto your toes. As fancy as this palace is, you’ll have to ask Thor if it’s possible to get some heated floors installed.

Moving as quickly as you can, you don’t stop until you’re at the doors and then thrust them open and absolutely inhale the frigid late night air.

You scan the distant ocean as it spreads into the horizon, the sky it touches still an inky black with a breathtaking scattering of stars.

You can hear the Valkyrie below in their barracks and training grounds already working hard to get into shape. Hilde must have really caught them sneaking out.

Heimdall should be waiting close by. You really want to see if he has news about Thor’s schedule and if maybe he’s on his way home and just running late.

As you turn to walk back into the room, you freeze as your eyes scan the tower you’d set Jane up in.

From this angle you have a clear view of the balcony. She’s already set up her equipment. You didn’t know that you could see this well into the tower.

It’s all lit up like a beacon in the dark.

It’s an unpleasant reminder that she’s here and you make a mental note to keep the curtains drawn when you know she’s up there. Which you realize that unfortunately, will probably mean all the time.

Sighing, you move towards the door but then freeze again as Thor moves from the balcony doorway towards a large telescope attached to what looks like heavily modified computers.

He’s still in uniform, smiling. Behind him, Jane follows, arms wrapped around herself before she stops too close to Thor for your liking.

She rushes around him and looks through the eyepiece. You can see her talking away, mouth moving at the speed of light as she explains something to him, her hands flying around her as she talks, apparently the cold is forgotten.

She pulls away from the telescope as Thor chuckles then moves back inside out of sight as Thor sidles up to the eyepiece but doesn’t touch it yet.

The telescope moves, clearly Jane adjusting it from inside where she must have set up her computer equipment.

Thor takes a step back then the telescope stops and Jane flutters back out onto the balcony and gestures for Thor to look through.

He does, Jane moves in beside him, saying something that must be a whisper if she’s standing that close. He says something back.

The two of them having a pleasant conversation.

The clench in your chest feels choking.

Thor pulls back from the eyepiece and turns to look at her.

He’s too far away for you to see his expression, too small. But their faces are so close and he doesn’t pull away.

You sink back into your room, terrified to see something that will ruin the perfect bliss you’ve been in these first three months of your marriage.

Not that it isn’t already ruined. You’ve been a mess since Jane showed her face and now with what you just saw, how can you feel anything but lousy?

You don’t do what you want to do. You don’t slink back into bed and hide under the covers to wallow.

Instead you move to your closet and look for a dignified dress. Something that you can wear that will scream Queen of New Asgard but also be relaxed enough for you to work in.

You choose something with a simple cut. Long sleeves, a deep V in the front, with a loose flowing skirt but a tight bodice to match the equally tight sleeves. The color is an iridescent black that shimmers in teal and startling pink.

The color reminds you of the northern lights with a splash of the hazy pink in the orion nebula. It’s beautiful and otherworldly, and it screams Queen of Asgard in casual formal.

With the dress you move back into the room and hang it on the small stand in front of the full length mirror by your vanity before grabbing some new underwear and moving into the bath.

You ignore the large tub you and Thor have spent hours upon hours in and quickly shower instead. You emerge fresh and clean, though not exactly refreshed.

You’re stepping out of the shower when your bedroom doors open and you freeze, staring at them as they swing forward with your hands pressed to the top of your towel holding it shut.

Your heart drops when Estrid smiles prettily at you, turning around to close the doors as she greets you.

“Good morning, Your Majesty, did you sleep well?” She moves straight for your vanity to pull out the brush, pins, and makeup she usually uses on you in the morning.

She’s in here much earlier than normal and she can’t have gotten that much sleep herself. She’s so attuned to you now that you’re worried for her but also grateful.

“Good morning, Estrid,” you reply, refusing to answer her question because she’d only worry. “Did Ms. Foster get all of the things she needed in the tower?”

“Yes, m’am. Heimdall made sure that she had everything she would need for her research before he retired to stand guard at your door.”

You have an endless stream of questions about Thor in your head, things you want to ask Estrid but you bite your tongue as Estrid helps you on with your dress then sits you down at your vanity to dry your hair and work on today’s set of braids.

Time passes as she works. Time that feels like seconds to you as your mind works hard to try and reassure your heart that you have nothing to worry about, and yet, it still aches.

“You’re very quiet this morning, Your Majesty,” she observes.

“Yeah. I don’t really feel like talking unless I have to.”

“Very well, Your Majesty,” she accepts, but then after a few minutes of silence. “Are you not feeling well? Shall I send for the doctor?”

“No, Estrid. I’m not sick. I’m-shit, what’s the date today?”

Reaching around, you look for your phone to check the date.

“‘Tis the fifteenth, Your Majesty,” Estrid informs you.

“Did you forget about me already?” A deep smooth voice slides in from your doorway and you turn in search of the comfort the tone gives you.

“David!”

On your feet and across the room, David greets you with open arms. A small firm hug is what he gives you before kissing the side of your head and then pushing you back to look at you.

His eyes linger on your stomach for a moment before he frowns playfully.

“Nothing yet? I guess we’ll find out today if we’re to expect anything in the next month.”

“No pressure,” you reply sarcastically.

David chuckles, his fancy four piece navy suit a display of his busy nature. As much as he wants to visit, you know that he’s busier now with so many people wanting his services. The prestige of being the Queen of New Asgard’s lawyer has brought him a windfall.

Not that he needs it, but he appreciates the work.

“I did forget we had a testing today. Something happened yesterday.”

Your voice filters into a whisper at the end, though you’re not even aware of it.

David matches your energy, though he doesn’t whisper, he recognizes your stress and concern saturates his entire person.

“What’s happened?”

“I-” You look towards Estrid, and she’s so good that she’s cleaning your vanity, ignoring your conversation as best she can, but still. “Estrid, were you finished with my hair?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she turns to you and smiles. “Will you be needing anything else? Breakfast in the breakfast room?”

“Are you hungry, David?”

“No, I’m not. Thank you.”

“No breakfast, Estrid. Thank you. When the doctor arrives, can you show him in?”

Estrid curtsies, and without another word, she leaves you and David in the room.

“You look beautiful today, by the way,” David tells you as he moves towards the small table in the corner to sit but waits for you to reach your chair first to pull it out for you.

“Thanks, I chose it very carefully,” you admit. “Does it make me look like a real Queen?”

“You are a real Queen,” David assures you, then cocks his head as he registers your stress again. “What happened last night?”

You sigh heavily, using your nails to pick at the woodgrain of the table, shoulders slouched a little as you deflate.

“Jane showed up with Tony and Bruce,” you reveal, a shaky breath accompanying your desperate information.

“Oh? At Thor’s invitation?” David wonders, which honestly sobers you up a little from your depression.

“No. I don’t think so. I mean, Tony and Bruce were supposed to come to install a security system for the palace and I guess maybe she just tagged along?”

“And you are upset that your husband’s former lover has forced her way into your new home.”

It’s not a question. David has always been very observant and he sucks for it. Jerk.

“Well...yeah. But that’s not why-”

“Something else happened?”

David leans towards you and places his hand over yours, a soft knowing look on your surrogate father’s face.

With a quick little sigh you tell him about your stress over not getting pregnant and the pressures from the ambassadors to do that before more time goes by to secure the ties between the Asgardians to Earth. You tell him about your worries about Jane that have died down a little since you and Thor got married but have never truly gone away. Lastly, you tell him about what you saw this morning and how you’d been expecting Thor to come directly to you when he got back but clearly that’s not happening.

“Maybe I’m being too sensitive? But I mean, it’s been what? An hour and a half since you got here and he still hasn’t come to look for me?”

You reach over and rub your arm, the soft fabric of your dress pleasing but only in the back of your mind where you’re not thinking about Thor and Jane.

“If that is how you feel, then that is how you feel. The important part now is talking to Thor about it. Couples lose out when they feel about something the way that they do and then keep it to themselves. Even Gods are not mind readers.”

David tilts his head, eyes looking across the room for a moment before he looks right back at you.

“At least not to my knowledge.”

You almost smile, but the stress of talking to Thor about this is giving your anxiety a nice boost.

“What if I don’t like what he says?”

“Then you don’t like it. You cannot avoid the confrontation because you might not hear what you want to hear. That is not how a marriage, or any relationship works. In big moments like these, honesty I think is the best policy.”

He’s right of course. You know he is. That doesn’t mean you have to like it.

You close your eyes and try to see Thor’s handsome face smiling sweetly at you, just as he had yesterday before he left. Instead you see him smiling down at Jane next to that stupid telescope, him chuckling at whatever she’s saying as she talks away about her work.

Two knocks to your door pull you from your stupid thoughts and drop your heart into the pit of your stomach, but Estrid peeks in to make sure that you’re okay to see her.

Suddenly, you’re dreading seeing Thor.

“Come in, Estrid.”

She moves in, behind her follows two doctors. One is a woman with a lovely heart shaped face and long full dark brown hair that compliments her olive skin. She’s wearing a sleek gray pantsuit, pink camisole underneath, and a thick black coat draped over her arm.

Her name is Amana Wilson and she has been your gynecologist since David gave you your inheritance and you were able to afford better healthcare.

The second doctor is an older man with a thick black beard streaked through with bits of gray. He glows an almost ethereal way. Clearly Asgardian. Your general caregiver since you moved to New Asgard, Doctor Alric Orvinson smiles eagerly, kindly, a pure excitement radiating off of him.

He’s always so eager to put everything he’s learning into practice.

Doctor Wilson curtsies and Doctor Alric bows before they both greet you in unison.

“Your Majesty,” they say.

David waits until you’re standing before he stands too, but then he moves towards the doors.

“I think I’ll go have some of that breakfast you offered me,” he tells you then makes his way towards the large doors. “Doctors, I know you will give Her Majesty the best care you can offer?”

“Of course,” Doctor Wilson assures him and he leaves you with a quick wink of his eye.

“Thank you, Estrid. Make sure David gets a proper meal? No pop tarts!”

“Party pooper!” David shouts back.

Estrid curtsies, “Right away, Your Majesty.”

She leaves you quickly with a chuckle in her throat at your exchange with David.

As the door closes, you take a step towards your doctors and slowly release a held breath.

“So, what will it be today? Should I go strip or…?”

“No. Not today. Since we did a physical on you last time, we won’t worry about that during this visit,” Doctor Wilson assures you.

“Today, Doctor Wilson will be watching me take some blood and perform a pregnancy test to see if you are expecting our heir!”

Our heir?

New Asgard sees the future prince or princess to come as their own. It’s not just your and Thor’s baby. This baby, if and when there is a baby, is an entire people’s baby.

You feel your anxiety rise again. Clenching your hands, you nod and force a smile as Doctor Alric moves towards you with a large metallic box that he places down and opens.

Inside comes a rush of cold air and what looks like medical equipment used to test blood. You don’t know what it’s called and it’s super high tech. Nothing that you’ve ever seen before.

Your two tests before had been sent to labs and then you’d received the results a few days later, if they’re testing the blood here, does that mean faster results?

“So, how long will I have to wait this time then? To know whether I’m doing my job or not?”

Doctor Alric looks up at you with slight surprise and worry.

There must be something in your voice since he seems to realize what he’s said is putting pressure on you because he stands up straight and fixes his own suit jacket before speaking.

“Your Majesty,” he begins, but Doctor Wilson moves to stand beside you and places her hand on your shoulder.

“Within the hour. This is Stark tech, so it’ll be quick and accurate. Have you been stressing about getting pregnant?” She’s so much softer than Doctor Alric, but not because she’s a woman.

She just knows you better.

“Kinda hard not to with an entire planet waiting for it,” you admit. “Do you think that if-if it’s negative, should Thor and I stop trying so hard? We’re trying daily. No breaks.”

“I think the stress more than the trying will probably make it harder but you’re both healthy. It will happen. If you are tired and you think the stress is too much, then take a break. It won’t do any harm if you lose a couple nights of sleeping with your husband.”

You feel a swell of relief for this human woman who knows just what to say. You give her a sly smirk.

“Have you seen my husband? It’ll hurt.”

She laughs a quick knowing chuckle, “Trust me, you don’t gotta tell me how fine he is, Your Majesty.”

Both of you laugh a few seconds then you take the seat that Doctor Alric sets beside you and while you roll up your sleeve, he and Doctor Wilson fly off into medical jargon that you don’t understand and consequently zone out into thoughts of Thor and why the fuck he still hasn’t come to see you.

#king!thor x reader #thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #a wife for thor #arranged marriage au #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #thor x you #king!thor x reader fanfiction #king!thor x reader fanfic #king!thor x reader fic #king!thor x you #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #royal au #thor odinson x you

[hawksugarbaby]

Kirishima x reader- Magnum

Smut

Chapter includes: Temp play (cold), blow job, sex in a small Space, slight praise.

After an hour or so in the freezer you were sufficiently cooled down, the hot summers day had gone cold as the sun lowered and you had spent your time teasing kiri. You had also ran out of ice lollies. 

But it was time to get out of the freezer. Because you were surprisingly getting cold, there was only so much your quirk could do especially since you were keeping two people warm, it was more work with the air cooling down. "Can you help me back out?" You asked, flailing your arms over the side of the freezer, It was a little too tall. 

Kiri on the other hand wasn't paying attention. His mind had been wandering for far too long. Popsicles. How dare they make you look so enticing. He couldn't stop the thoughts plaguing his head, and he felt a little guilty thinking such lewd thoughts about you. 

He looked up for a moment, he hadn't realised you were trying to get out the freezer until now when you were in a rather compromising position. You were bent over the side of the freezer your arms dangling and you continued to try to hop over the side. "W-what are you doing?" His face burned red and hot, images getting more vivid the longer he stared. "Trying to get out of this freezer, its getting kinda cold"

Suddenly his confidence grew 3x what it was, he stood up and you sighed thankfully expecting him to help you out. Instead he grabbed your hips pulling you back into the freezer and sat down again "I could warm you up?" He whispered lowly into your ear sending shivers down your spine that you knew weren't from the cold.

"H-how do you plan on that?" Despite your best efforts of sounding alluring it came out a mess. You chewed on your lip, your ragged breaths coming out foggy and your heart hammered in your chest. He shifted you so you were straddling his lap and your face erupted in flames feeling the hard tent in his jeans. How hadn't you noticed that before? It should have been VERY obvious.

He hadn't spoke, he kept his lips clamped shut he tilted your chin up, Your (e/c) eyes met his, the black pupils swallowed the crimson making him look more shark like than ever. He leaned in meeting your soft, warm lips with his icy cold ones. He swiped his tongue (which was even cooler) over your bottom lip asking for entrance and as if under some spell you granted.

Why were his lips so cold? 

You shivered and he pulled away with a grin holding an ice cube between his pointy teeth, it was melting fast and you looked away "where did you even get that? How did I not notice you put that in your mouth?" He shifted, and a bag of ice cubes was propping him up, you had thought the freezer was empty, guess you were wrong but how was he not absolutely frozen. 

Your thoughts didn't seem to matter since he shrugged and pulled you forward locking your lips again, the icy cold cube melting against your tongue, trickling down your throat. You moaned into the kiss as he pulled you deeper under his spell, your hair stood on end, and you had goosebumps all up your arms. He pulled away from your lips and traced kisses down your jaw leaving drops of biting cold water off of his lips on their place. 

"K-kiri what are you doing" you shuddered, his lips travelled further down your neck the ice cube starting to melt rapidly the closer it got to your chest where your fire was stored. It was a strange sensation, the freezing cold felt… good? It was different, very different, but it wasn't at all bad. "Your enjoying this a lot more than i thought you would" he murmured against your neck, he was right about that much You didn't expect this reaction in the slightest!

His shark teeth nibbled along your neck down to your collar bone, occasionally they would accidentally pierce your skin and a pearl of blood would stain the vest he had given you. Hot purple marks littered up your throat and neck, down your shoulders across your chest, competing with the cold kiri was dragging across yor skin. 

"Slow down kiri, i can't be the only one getting attenton" you giggled, so innocent sounding for such a sinful situation. You grinded against him making him groan, the obvious tent in his shorts getting more obvious "is that your quirk at play or are you just happy to see me?" You teased, he rolled his eyes as if he's heard that joke a hundred times before and looks down at you. There's no innocence left in his eyes, they burn with desire and lust while he watches you unbuckle his leather belt and unbutton his constraints.

"No underwear huh? And in shorts too? How brave" you tease when his cock springs out of his shorts, laying flat against his stomach. Your only thoughts are 'Big… Very Big!' Almost on instinct you reach out and wrap your hand around the base of his shaft making him moan out, "i haven't even done anything yet!" You shout, both your faces are bright red and hot, the tips of your ears are burning like someone was holding a lighter to them. Kiri's eyes were squeezed shut as tight as possible, his fists were balled and the bag of ice crunched every time he moved. 

You moved your hand up and down slowly, watching his reddening face intensely. It looked like you were doing everything right, it definitely sounded like you were doing everything right from the tiny grunts escaping his mouth. You picked up your pace drawing a long moan from his throat, and you chuckled "Y-(y/n)" he groaned. Your name sounded so salacious coming from him right now, you weren't sure you could ever fill in another form without hearing kiri in the back of your mind and you wanted desperately to hear more like that. 

You would ignore the heat bubbling in your stomach, your thighs rubbing together for friction, and your now soaked underwear until you could satisfy kiri. You stopped your hand movements eliciting an annoyed growl and you shuffled forward again and sat on your calfs between his thighs. "Kneel" you instructed and he did as he was told. "Y-you don't have to if you don't want to (y/n), we can stop any time just say the word and its done" he said. You grinned contemplating how in the space of an afternoon you went from friends stuck in a freezer to, in a relationship while fucking in the freezer, either way you were glad to have someone so caring now. 

"I know" you grinned. You reached behind him and grabbed an ice cube popping it in your mouth and in an instant it was just cold water sitting on your tongue "just like a popsicle right?" You laughed nervously while kiri laughed genuinely. How in the hell did he find that remotely funny. 

You scooted closer wrapping your hand around the base and wrapped your lips around the head. he let out a high pitched moan, one you would never expect from him and you looked up at him through your eyelashes. His nails were scratching at the silver 'walls' of the freezer and his eyes rolled back the red on his cheeks, impossibility dark and his mouth hung open. "C-cold" he said barely above a whisper. 

You bobbed your head up and down using your hand to get what you couldn't fit. Nothing like a popsicle. “Holy shit” he whispered and without thinking gripped your hair pushing you further down his cock without thinking, making you choke and gag. Your waterline filled with tears a few running down your face leaving red trails “s-sorry” he grunted, you hummed accepting his apology the vibrations driving him crazy. 

You drew your head back watching his face for miniscule reactions, his nose twitching, his lip quivering, his hands tugging your hair and knotting it. You hollow your cheeks as you went taking as much as possible in his mouth when his member twitched, you looked up through your eyelashes "it hasn't even been that long" you said, though it was muffled but he could clearly hear what you were saying "shouldn't you be glad, your the one doing it" he rubbed his hands over the purple map of where he'd been and trailed his hands down squeezing your breast and rolling his thumb over your hard nipple. You couldn't argue with his logic so you used your mouth for other purposes setting out an unrelenting pace. He grunted and whispered curses and praises that bounced around the freezer then into your ears. 

"S-shit (y/n) i'm gonna c-cum" he said, his tone sounded almost embarrassed making you chuckle. You pushed your head forward. You were all the way down when he twitched again, this time cumming into your mouth almost making you choke. You pulled off swallowing what you hadn't and looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and swollen pink lips. you were both panting heavily and suddenly you were being pushed down against the floor of the freezer with your knees bent so you could fit. 

”aw getting impatient are you” you teased, he growled and pushed another ice cube in your mouth, his substitute for a gag even though it would melt in no time but you took it as a sign to shut up. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and fumbled through pulling out a condom and ripping it open with his teeth then rolled it on. 

”you want to do this right?” he asked, the harsh intensity behind his eyes replaced by softness and his hand rested gently on your cheek where you nuzzled into it ”yes. I want this” you assured him. 

Kiri had never cared for foreplay, it was the part he always skipped when watching porn, if he for some reason was reading fanfiction he would skim over it and go to the good stuff, and now in this situation, you were both far too desperate for him to even think about it. He knew you weren't a virgin, everyone knew you weren't, you wore it like a victory badge (some people do. Don't judge) and though he was upset it wasn't him he could never judge you. but God was he about to make you forget anyone else was your first, he would make you feel so good you would never say their name again.

He sucked on your neck adding to the gallery of hickeys trailing his hands down your stomach and pulling your shorts off. "You ready?" He asked and you nodded pointing to the bag of ice cubes. The cold made your heart race and the more you had the slower they melted. He raised his eyebrows, he hadn't expected you to like the ice as much as you had and he was really enjoying it. 

He dragged the bag over propping it up in the corner and put an ice cube in his mouth, you glared about to get one yourself but the firm "no" from him was enough to make you retract your hand and pray. His icy cold hands held your hips in place and he leaned down kissing you again with his freezing lips drawing a moan from you. "You make such pretty noises (y/n), you should do it more often" he mumbled biting your bottom lip gently. 

You whined desperately and he smirked "okay okay" he lined up with your entrance and pushed in. Your eyes rolled back and you bit back a moan. "Holy fuck" kiri grunted staying in one place "are you okay?" He asked. You nodded rapidly and reached up gripping his shoulder hard. He pulled out and slammed his hips back into you "A-AH KIRI!" You cried digging your nails into his shoulder "you're so gorgeous" he gushed. What a moment to be all sappy. 

He thrust at a relentless pace drawing a moan from you with every movement, You were convinced If you put this on pornhub you would make bank. "Kiri please" you whimpered stretching your arm to the bag of ice that was centimetres out of reach "fine, since you've been so good" he praised and pressed an ice cube against your tongue while his other hand trailed another down your stomach where it melted and dripped off your sides pooling around you. 

"Kiri god im so close please" you begged bucking your hips to meet his. Every time you said his name he went a little more feral and you had officially broke him. He pounded into you at inhuman speed gripping your hips so hard they would definitely bruise and the heat pooling in your stomach reached boiling point. "KIRI!" You screamed arching your back as your orgasm washed over you. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream while he thrusted a few more times until he came too. 

You huffed propping yourself up on your elbows and he pulled out. "That was incredible" you panted. You were a shivering mess, your quirk no longer able to heat you up but there was no way you were walking for hours. "Fuck yeah it was" he grinned switching immediately back to his cheery self "sorry i went to hard didn't I" he kissed the top of your head helping you put your shorts back on which was a very hard task for such a cramped space. "No it was amazing" you grinned trying to pick yourself up but to no avail. "Im really tired now though" you giggled. He nodded picking you up like a gentleman and climbed out of the freezer with ease. 

He carried you to your room and swaddled you in blankets to get the heat flowing through you again and snuggled next to you. "Is it to early to say I love you?" He asked "depends, how long have you loved me For?" "Since first year" he admit "then i'd say no" you nuzzled into him feeling your eyes get heavy and fighting to keep them open "then i love you" he wrapped his arms around you protectively even though there was nothing to protect you from "i love you too eijiro." 

And into a peaceful sleep you sank yet your dreams were far from it

#my hero academia #bnha #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #wattpad #mha #boku no hero fanfic #kirishima eijirou x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima #bnha kirishima #mha kirishima #eijirou x reader #eijiro kirishima smut #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnha eijiro x reader

[obscureamor]

— something about you

⋯  ukai keishin x fem! reader

⋯  t/w  |  nsfw, noncon, choking, mentions of blood (you get cut on a thorn), degradation, ukai refers to himself as daddy, open ending (?), 18 y/o manager

»  ukai can’t get sugawara’s girlfriend out of his head. you plague his thoughts and have him taking action in the worst way possible.

✧  a/n  |  i was putting off posting this for the longest because i’m honestly so nervous about it sksjjss but! this started out as a thirst and then spiraled out of control, so i do hope you enjoy! also... i wasn’t lying when i said i’d make reader work at a flower shop.

The smell of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes invades each and every one of your senses, eyes watering at the intrusive scent. You didn’t understand. You couldn’t— You can’t understand. And as Coach Ukai mouths at your neck, teeth nipping at the skin, as his warm hands find their way under your uniform top; you finally realize that he’s going to make sure you understand by the time he’s done with you. 

You were just so tantalizingly sweet. Sugawara Koushi’s precious little girlfriend. The backup setter that didn’t have much going on for him in terms of volleyball games, but who needed that when he had you by his side? You, who’d help manage the volleyball team. You, who’d always try to make small talk with Takeda-sensei and Ukai, profusely apologizing on your sudden— not so sudden —interruptions. 

“C-Coach? I... I—” you choke, words that you want to say getting caught and your throat hurts; the feeling of it constricting with every breath, mouth dry. It seems like all the water in your body is going to your eyes as he presses you harder into the alley wall. The darkness of the night paired with the dull lighting from the street lamp up above doesn’t let your mind fully register the color of his hair. And you think maybe, just maybe, you can picture Koushi biting at your neck and his hands gripping your hips so tight, too tight you know bruises will blossom and you’ll both blush about it the next day.

It’s Koushi. It’s Koushi. Until your mind tells you it’s not.

Koushi would never take you in a dirty alleyway outside your job. He would never slam you so hard into a brick wall, you feel as if something’s broken. And most importantly, he knew where you worked. The small little flower shop that seemed like the epitome of you or you, it. You shine as bright as the sunflowers you care for. You exude love like the roses you de-thorn. You're as calm and devoted like the lavender you use as filler. You don’t know how Ukai knew you’d be here— in this exact moment, at this exact time —flowers in hand because it’s yours and Koushi’s anniversary. 

Freesias, roses, and carnations bundled up and neatly tied. 

Scattered. Scattered all over the ground in the dim lighting, petals crushed and weeping and trembling as your lips part to choke out a sob, trembling as his hand starts to reach into your panties. Ukai doesn’t know what it is about you. He’s asked himself that question night after night of his hand wrapped around his cock, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he jacks off. His warm cum splattering on his shirtless chest as he gets off to the thought of you. 

“Been waiting for this... for so fucking long.” He breathes, pulling back from your neck to study your face but your eyes are locked onto the fallen bouquet behind him. “You’re such a teasing little slut.” 

Koushi would never call you such words... at least not with so much animosity laced within. If you try, like really, really try, you can once again make yourself believe it’s Koushi’s hand. Koushi’s fingers poking and prodding at your entrance.

Your teeth clench, jaw setting, and— 

There’s a loud smack that rings in your ears. It’s not your skin that burns. It’s not your skin that reddens at the contact. Ukai and you stare at each other as he pulls back, hand gripping his cheek as his other curls into a fist. 

Always the one to be respectful, apologies come rushing out of your mouth. It falls from your lips like cherry blossoms in the spring. Your fingers splaying out before you, a silent warning to not come any closer because ‘You can leave. I-I won't report this. Just please leave, Ukai...’ But you’re so silly. You’re so naïve. Ukai isn’t listening anymore, mind focused on only taking what he wants especially after that little stunt you just pulled. 

His hand falls to his side limply, staring at you with an expression you can’t read. You both can hear your panicked breathing. The way your lips part with words that can’t escape because you just want to get to Sugawara’s house. That’s all you want. That’s all you need, but when Ukai rushes towards you, fingers rooting and tugging you downward by your hair; you come to the conclusion that it’s no longer possible. 

Your back hits the cement harshly, wind getting knocked out of you and stems crushing under your weight. A stray thorn you forgot to take off pricking you, digging deep into the skin like Ukai’s fingers on your hips. A strangled scream leaves your parted lips as warmth sticks to your skin from the small puncture. 

“I-I need to—!” You need to what? You need to what? You don’t really know. Mind scrambling, thoughts running and scattering like petals in the wind. The only thing that registers is— “I-It hurts!” Your back arches, chest pushing into his, and when he places his hand on your chest, shoving you back down, the thorn shifts… a jagged line marring your skin. An even bigger cut oozing crimson that soaks the lone thorn. It’s no longer facing up from frantic shifts but stems still press into you uncomfortably. 

“Look at me.” It’s mumbled, his warm hand wrapping around your throat ever so softly. You don’t think you’ve ever heard Coach Ukai so desperate. Not when the team is about to lose. Not when the team has lost. This is a different desperation that’s running through his veins. It soaks into his actions like flowers soak up water. Your vision clouds more, bright blond being looked at through splotchy vision. Your shoulders raise, body tensing as you look off to the side. “Look at me!” he shouts, hand around your throat tightening with a grip so strong it almost kills you.

Stubborn. Always so stubborn. You don’t do it. Instead, clenching your eyes shut, lips wobbling as you choke out another sob. Sobbing as his hands start to work off your pants leaving your lower half bare before he works off his belt. You gulp in breaths, barely listening as his lips part to utter words of disdain towards you and ‘If you even think about fighting back again, I’ll ruin you, you little bitch.’ The words hold so much weight. They fester in your stomach and the urge to kick and scratch at Ukai wells up even stronger. 

“You slutty little manager.” His cock taps at your clit making you flinch. You can’t help but clench around nothing, an action you correlate with Koushi. And even though he’s not the one doing it, your body still reacts. “Always talking to me for a sliver of attention, huh!?” 

“That’s not true!” you cry, head shaking frantically. ‘Get away! Get away!’ is repeated over and over, breathing frantic and hands coming up to his biceps. His statement is the furthest from the truth. Your actions of respect, mistaken for want. Ukai says nothing as he starts to push in, leaning forward so his face is right above yours. His actions are brash, thrusts frantic but he holds you as if you’re a flower about to fall from its stem. Your eyes shimmer with already shedded tears, brows furrowed as you speak, “Please, take it out! Please!”

He’s so different from Koushi— the feeling of him. His movements. The words he says to you are so different, but when he kisses you so softly, so feather light it reminds you of Sugawara and your pussy just gushes at the thought. Every push and pull just makes you mewl, sobs and pleas swallowed by Ukai’s warm tongue.

“Does he fuck you like this?” No. “Does he make you feel this good, huh?” Yes and even better. 

Ten times better than Ukai could because Koushi knows your body. He sinks into you slowly and teases you so much you sob because you can’t take it anymore. He thrusts into you with such fervor, teasing voice asking, ‘You gonna cum on daddy’s cock like the little whore you are?’ Eyes scanning your body and hands gripping your heated flesh, lips mumbling words against yours. ‘My stupid little whore.’

“Daddy’s gonna fuck you so good.” Ukai’s voice cuts through your thoughts, cutting them away like garden shears to rose bushes in the summer. The sound of smacking reverberating throughout the alley leaves your ears ringing and your heart clenching in pain. An empty feeling in your chest blossoms because you wonder what Koushi’s thinking right now. 

“You want daddy to cum in this pretty little cunt?” He groans. The vein on his cock is pressing up against your walls so snuggly and dragging against your walls so deliciously it makes you moan. But still, you shake your head no.

“Please don’t, Ukai,” you murmur, “P-Please... Y-You can’t—!” 

“Yes I can and you better take every last. fucking. drop.” It’s snarled out, two fingers making their way into your mouth, calloused pads stroking the expanse of your tongue. The pink muscle writhes around his digits, trying to force him out but instead making him groan at your unconscious actions. “Tell me you want it.” 

Garbled noises and whimpers leave you as he shifts his hips, repeatedly hitting that spongy spot. You gasp, back arching and hands grasping at his shirt. Every thrust moves you. It shakes your entire being with how roughly he’s thrusting into you and why does it feel so good? The realization makes your mind go blank, only focused on Ukai’s cock now pressing flush against your cervix with every thrust. 

“N-Nnn... plea—” you try and force out, eyelids fluttering because too much is happening. You’re drunk off the feeling of him inside you but brought back down to earth as stems remind you of who you really belong to. 

Ukai picks up his pace, fingers leaving your mouth and instead taking place on your clit. He’s rubbing tight circles as he raises to get a better look at you. 

The tears in your eyes are now falling for a different reason. 

“Tell me you want it!” he repeats.

“I don’t! I don’t want it!” you wail. “Please don’t! You can’t— You can’t cum inside!”

“I can’t?” He pouts, words mockingly said in disbelief. He watches as you shake your head, trying to move away but your slutty cunt just keeps sucking him in, gummy walls just trapping him. The warmth makes his hips stutter, but he wills himself. “You let Sugawara cum in this pretty pussy? You let him hit it raw?” He’s nodding his head and you don’t know why you repeat the action.

You’re sure every inch of you is going to be marked with bruises as his hips snap into yours, nails scratching at his skin and legs locking up. ‘Please don’t cum in me’ seems like the only phrase you know, puffy lips parting as you mewl. Ukai can see you creaming all over his cock, a milky ring left around his dick as you cry, body betraying you and leaving you with such dread. It’s betraying you. It’s betraying Koushi by cumming on another man’s cock. And even though it’s forced you can’t help but like it, walls fluttering like butterflies in the summer. Flowers bloom in your throat as you try and breathe. It blocks your airway and leaves you loathing the very thing that gives you life. 

If you never met Koushi, would this still have happened? 

Butterflies turn into wasps. You can’t hate him when he has no control over this. 

The sight of you tensing, chest heaving has Ukai’s cock twitching. “I’m gonna— fuck!”

He pulls out... spilling himself on your lower half, shirt staining, and a gasp leaves you. It's silent before you can feel Ukai’s thumb draw soothing circles onto your hip. The action makes you want to hurl and the literal emptiness you feel when you stare at him makes you want to curl into yourself. Warmth seeps into your skin, eyes now focusing on the void sky as you will yourself to look down. Your lips tremble, shakily parting as you stare at the mess. There’s no way you can see Koushi like this. There’s no way you’re facing him with another man’s cum on—

“Let me drive you to Sugawara’s house...”

Freesias, roses, and carnations bundled up and neatly tied, left in a dirty alleyway as Koushi stares at his phone in his room. It’s bordering on 2am and he still hasn’t heard from you.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere x reader #yandere ukai keishin #yandere ukai x reader #i'm going mimis now bc i'm very scared about this and idk why sksjsjss #tw.noncon #tw blood #tw choking #haikyuu #ukai x reader

[sinfulshelbys]

Seasonal Love | Tommy Shelby

Tommy Shelby x fem! Reader

Warnings: age gap (set in season 1 era – reader is 20, where tommy is 29), soft! tommy, slight violence, smut

Summary: In which Tommy Shelby seasonally falls for a younger woman – you. 

word count: 2.1k

this is different from my usual writing style and idk how i feel about it but anywhore enjoy!!

He truly saw you for the first time in the Winter. 

With a frost bitten nose and coat wrapped tightly around your figure as you stepped into the betting shop – pure, was the only word that came to his mind. As pure as a fucking angel. 

He watches as you are immediately cornered by his aunt Polly – the older woman’s laugh echoing through the halls at something you say. You’re young, he knew that from the moment you walked into his office, determination behind your innocent eyes as you asked him for a job. 

A blinder, is what you asked to become. You wanted to be a fucking blinder. He immediately shut the idea down, offering you a place in the betting shop working with his aunt. You settled for it, slightly defeated. 

He watched you as you walked through the multitude of men in the room, their eyes following your figure as you passed. You were an effortless beauty, one that didn’t know her graces – he wanted to tell you, but he couldn’t.

So he settled on letting his gaze flicker from the papers on his desk to you – watching you from afar. He followed as you stopped at the desk of his younger brother, John’s eyes lighting up when you began talking to him about something that he couldn’t decipher from so far away. 

Someone young, he thinks. She deserves someone young like her. 

He watches you place a kiss upon his brothers cheek as you round his desk before walking away – the young Shelby boy staring after you with what can only be described as lovestruck affection. 

He unintentionally groans as you pass by his office door, the sight of your stockings from under your skirt causing heat to cover every square inch of his skin – igniting it like a fire, that only you could put out with your touch. 

Your steps pause as you look into his office, Tommy’s head in his hands as he tries to stop his mind from racing with countless thoughts of you – reminding himself of what he can’t have.

He can’t see the conflict that happens between your head and heart. He doesn’t see your hand reach out to knock on his door, you wanting to ask him if he was okay. He doesn’t see your figure physically deflate as you decide against it, quickly walking away before anyone catches you. 

Too young, you remind yourself. Too young for a man as mature as him. 

~~~~~~~~~

He speaks to you, for real, in Spring. 

You’re standing behind him at the cut, none of his family being available to come along as backup for the business deal with a Scottish gang – so he resorted to his last option which was you. 

“Stay behind me,” he mumbles as a boat begins its decent towards you. There’s a gun in the hem of your skirt – for protection, he told you. 

“If they try anything just shoot ‘em,” he instructed, placing the cold metal weapon in your shaking hands; holding them with his warm ones. 

“Shoot them?”

“Politely,” he chuckled, offering you a reassuring grin. He knew if it came down to it, you would do as he asked – no questions. But he still couldn’t stop the hatred that was bubbling in his chest for having to put you in danger. 

“Politely,” you smiled right back, tucking the gun into your waistband, before leading him out of the building. 

You watch as Tommy keeps a cold expression, his features never giving away what he was thinking or his next move. Blank. Stoic. Completely professional, as both men introduce themselves and begin the deal – Albert Kline’s eyes meeting yours past Tommy’s shoulder. 

Tommy remains stern until the redhead man begins to speak to you. 

He doesn’t hear the question you ask, too focused on trying to calm down his racing heart at the predatory look the enemy was giving you – but he hears the mans response as clear as day.

“A nosey little bitch aren’t ya?” Albert’s accent was heavy, as he looks back at his men who were laughing at his response. 

“You’re one insult off starting a war,” Tommy interrupts, stepping in front of you. “The deal has been made, take your leave.”

Albert doesn’t say much else as he nods and jumps back onto his boat; moving his fingers into the shape of a gun – pretending to shoot both you and Tommy as they move past. 

He waited until they were out of his sight before swivelling on the balls of his feet to look at you – his features returning once again to an unreadable expression. 

“What did he say to you?” He grunted, tone signifying for you to not lie to him. Your eyebrows furrowed – not expecting the question.

“He asked if I was apart of the deal,” you responded, voice barely above a whisper. 

You waited for his response, watching as he rubbed a hand down his face before pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his coat pocket – offering you one, which you took. He cupped his hand around the flame as he gestured for you to move forward; lighting yours before his. 

A gentleman.

“He’s not going to lay a hand on you,” he finally spoke up, deep eyes intently studying yours. “I’m not going to let him near you, to even get a hand on you.”

“I know.” 

A pregnant pause settled over you both as you smoked, before his arm pulled you into his side – wrapping across your shoulders as you both watched the small waves in the water.

“My mum always told me to marry a soldier,” you spoke, staring out into the distance. He let out a hum at your words.

“What’d you say back?”

“I told her that I was a soldier.”

He chuckled at your words, a genuine smile growing upon his lips before he pressed them to the crown of your head. So right. It felt so fucking right. 

You both stayed standing in each others embrace until the sun went down and he walked you home – declining your offer for him to come inside. 

He couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead he offered to take you to the pictures the next night.

~~~~~~~~~

He kisses you for the first time in Summer. 

Neither of you knew when it happened, but somehow you became tangled in a web of nothing but each other. You both knew it was wrong – you should be with a younger man, he often told you. Someone who you can be seen freely with. 

But neither of you wanted that. 

You wanted Tommy Shelby and Tommy Shelby wanted you. Nobody else competed. 

You both knew that his family understood what you two got up to when he invited you into his office during lunch hours – but nobody brought it up. They didn’t have to with the looks you both gave each other across the room during meetings, or the hands that lingered on each others bodies a little too long for just friends as you had told them.

Because friends don’t look at each other like that. 

“Y/N,” he calls, voice gruff as he leans against his office door – catching the attention of everyone in the quiet office. “I need your help. Follow me.”

Ignoring the looks everyone was giving you, you rushed to catch up with Tommy who was already out of the door – almost tripping over your own feet when you catch sight of Polly who is shaking her head at how obvious the situation was. 

Exiting the building, Tommy was waiting patiently for you, offering his arm to you – you immediately taking it. Neither of you said anything, walking in a comfortable silence – the only sound being the click of your heels against the gravel. 

You were halfway down the street when it seemed like Tommy had enough, his actions weren’t thought out or planned like usual; instead they were purely based on instinct as he pulled you into an alleyway. His calloused palms grasped your soft cheeks, quickly pulling your lips to his, as your hands grabbed the lapels of his black coat. 

It was a messy, teeth-clattering against each other as you both couldn’t get enough of one another. One of his hands moving from your face to grasp your hip as he walked you backward until your back hit the brick wall – neither of you wanting to pull away to catch your breath. 

“Couldn’t wait any longer,” he muttered against your lips, his eyes still closed as you tried to steady your heavy breathing. 

You smiled as he moved to rest his forehead against yours, your hand running though his hair – gently brushing through it; twirling a few strands around your fingers.

You shuddered as he began to pepper kisses down your neck, his voice a ghost on your skin. “I’m going to kiss you again.”

You only had to nod once before his lips were back on yours. 

~~~~~~~~~

He made love to you in the Autumn. 

Rough hands on soft skin, his head in the crook of your neck as his hips rhythmically thrust into you. Sensual. Yours. Your head fell back, mouth parted as soft gasps left your lips. You were encased in him, nothing but him and you never wanted to leave. 

You shuddered when the crisp autumn air flowed through the open bedroom window, but it didn’t seem to affect the man who had flipped you both around so you were riding him – your hand pressed against the headboard to steady yourself as his hands rested on your hips.

“So pretty,” he grunted, eyes not leaving the sight before him – yours the same. His hand moved in-between your thighs as his thumb padded your swollen clit, a small moan passing your lips that made him groan.  

He looked so beautiful, almost as if he were a Greek God, as the sun illuminated through the frosted glass window. From the small freckles that coated his skin – reminding you of the stars that littered the night skies, to the tiny scar that rested on his hip that you kissed each time you got down on your knees. 

He was so beautiful, and all yours.

You could feel him, every inch, as you fell into bliss – him not too far behind you. His fingers digging into your hips - sure to leave marks of where they had been in a few hours, your body falling to a slump against his.

“I love you.”

It was a breathless declaration of love that left his mouth, muffled into the crook of your neck. You didn’t remove your legs from their position around your hips as he gently moved you both onto your sides, his hand trailing from your forehead, across your neck and down your left arm. 

“I love you too.” 

You could’ve sworn that his heart skipped a beat – maybe two at your declaration.

~~~~~~~~~

He proposed in the winter.

A whole year of love that was innocent compared to the jobs that the two of you did. A relationship that was never official to everyone around you until the ring was on your finger and you both admitted it to his family and everyone in the betting shop.

He didn’t care about the sharp looks that were shot his way from the men who had spent years trying to catch your attention, and you paid no mind to the jealous sneers of the women who had their eyes set on the Shelby man.

Nobody else mattered when you had each other. 

You both fell in love through small touches and quick confessions. Through tough realities and ignorant bliss.

You fell in love through the seasons – with how they looked against his features. From the way the snowflakes landed upon his eyelashes to the way the sun added an angelic glow to your skin that Tommy couldn’t get enough of.

~~~~~~~~~

You got married in the spring. 

In a meadow not too far from Small Heath. Where the grass was green beneath your feet and the blossoms fell from the trees around you – coming to rest in your hair.

His family watched with admirable smiles on their faces; the couple in-front of them so wholeheartedly in love. 

You couldn’t remove your eyes from the way the sun added a shimmer to his crystal blue eyes, even as Jeremiah Jesus spoke the wedding sermon – and he couldn’t take his gaze off you.

It was a short reception that was followed by a giant ceremony for anyone in the town who wanted to attend. Everybody congratulating the pair of you as you walked around – past the tables and dancing bodies, until you were alone.

His lips were feverishly on yours before you had the chance to ask him to kiss you – nothing but passion and love being expressed between the both of you.

“I love you, Mrs. Shelby,” he grinned through the kiss – all of your senses being sent into over drive as you pulled him closer.

Mr and Mrs. Shelby. 

A seasonal love that was born in the winter and lasted through the changes of the year.

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x younger reader #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby headcanon #tommy shelby head canon #tommy shelby angst #tommy shelby fluff #tommy #shelby #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders head canon #peaky blinders angst #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders tommy shelby #peaky blinders tommy

[tedesquire]

Hi! Could I please add another request to my list? :D it's based off a Hey Arnold episode in which Bill and the reader are on a week long school vacation and they run into each other at the beach and Bill develops a crush on a pretty girl who befriends him but the reader finds out the girl's only using Bill to win a sandcastle contest in order to be on the show Baywatch. The reader tries to tell Bill but he won't listen and he eventually overhears the girl talking with her boyfriend and tells her off only to win the contest with the reader and they confess their feelings? 💕💕

Summer Lovin’ 

Words: 2554

Warnings: cursing, female pronouns (but no genitalia mentioned and no skin color specified) a bit of angst (fluffy ending though)

Author’s Note: first of all, I fucking love Hey, Arnold! and definitely love Helga G. Pataki with all my heart. She’s a weirdo and I love it. I knew exactly what episode you were talking about. I can't believe you got me to write 13 pages of fanfic for such a specific and niche fandom, but hey, I don’t do this for the fame. I do this for the little bit of serotonin my brain gets when I imagine myself in scenarios with fictional characters because real men are disappointing. (Mod Olivia)

-

You hated Bill. You hated the stupid way his stupid blonde ringlets caught the California sun, the stupid vacant look in his stupid sapphire eyes at almost all times, the stupid fucking sliver of tan skin he exposed with his crop tops that he somehow got away with at school. Not to mention you loathed the stupid fucking grin that he gave to his best friend Ted, the one that proceeded the ridiculous laugh the stupid boy had.

All these things you despised, detested, and loathed with every fiber of your being. Simple annoyances beginning since kindergarten snowballed into a big, white burning ball of hatred for the boy. Hatred that made your cheeks heat up and stomach churn, just as it was doing now.

You had been so excited for Spring Break, your family deciding to travel 5 and a half hours to a beach house in Half Moon Bay. A week of the sun, sea, shopping, seashells, boardwalks, and salt-water taffy, with no Bill to bother you.

 So, naturally, when you had reached the beach after a long day of travel, the sight of Bill sitting on the sand in nothing but a swimsuit, skin glowing with tanning oil, made your heart stutter. Okay, perhaps you didn’t hate him… despise him, detest him, or loathe him entirely. From an outside perspective… some might even say that you were… in love with him. 

Oh God, it was true. You couldn't stop thinking about Bill. He looked like he was sculpted after an angel. A prince charming on a white horse. And what he lacked in academic intelligence he more than made up for with kindness. He always treated you with the utmost respect, while you paid him back in nothing but sarcasm and insults. 

You didn’t know exactly why you were so mean to him. Perhaps it was your nerves trying to stop you from getting overeager and admitting your crush. One day you were going to have to either man up and confess your feelings or get over him but that day didn’t seem to be approaching anytime soon. 

You were intent on pretending he wasn’t here, setting up your own place to sunbathe until you heard your name fall from his lips.

“Y/n!?” Bill walked up behind you, prompting you to turn around to face him. “What are you doing here?”

“Bill.” You stated dryly, “My family and I are staying nearby.”

“No way! My family’s right over there!” He pointed at a nearby beach house, a young woman who you recognized as recently-graduated and newfound wife, Missy Preston making out with Bill’s father on the porch. Ugh.

“Yes way.” You responded dryly. “We’re over there.” You pointed over your shoulder. “Isn’t this a coincidence, my ideal vacation ruined by the one person I didn’t want to see.” You noticed a flicker of disappointment flash in his eyes, but you couldn't stop yourself even if you tried. “Don’t get any weird ideas about getting all chummy with me, trying to hang out or anything. Just because we’re staying at the same beach and all.” You scoffed, causing him to flinch.

“Uh, yeah. Fine with me, y/n.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly before walking off. You eyed him, sighing softly. 

“What is the matter with me?” You mumble, setting yourself down on the sand. This would have been the perfect moment to get closer to him if only you didn’t have to open your stupid mouth.

[Bill’s POV]

As Bill walked off, he felt most confused. He could never remember what he did to make you dislike him so much, but tried to get back on your good side. Thankfully, with the sun, sand, and waves surrounding him, Bill couldn’t stay too upset for too long. 

He had decided to finally get in the water, heading towards the crashing shore when he had stepped on something.

Huh. Bill was met with the sight of a brightly colored bucket and shovel. Excellent! There was nothing more resplendent than a nice sand castle. Ted was going to be so jealous when he heard. All he was doing for the week was staying at home watching Deacon. 

Too caught up in his new activity, Bill barely noticed someone approaching him.

“That’s a stellar sandcastle you have there.” Bill’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. Growing up in California he had seen his fair share of tan beach babes, but this one took the cake. A total babe. Talking to me.... Say something, dude!

“Thanks.” Bogus. Thank God Ted wasn’t here to see him blow his shot so odiously.

She pushed her sunglasses down her nose to look over the lenses, her bright eyes meeting his. “My name’s Summer.”

“Bill S. Preston, Esquire.” He puffed up his chest, raking a hand through his hair. 

“Well, Bill S. Preston, Esquire, you seem to be a pretty great artist. That’s the best sandcastle I’ve ever seen.” His dark brows knitted in confusion, looking over her to see if she was teasing him. “I bet you’ll walk away with first prize from the sandcastle competition at the festival thing later this week.”

“Sandcastle competition?”

“Yeah! Whoever wins first place will get a guest appearance on Baywatch! But that’s not until the end of the week. How about, in the meantime, you can show me around the beach? It’s my first time visiting the bay.” Baywatch? That’s only the most triumphant show on television! Ted was going to be so jealous. 

“Sounds most excellent! However, It is also my first time visiting the bay. Perhaps… we could explore the area together?”

“I like the way you think, Bill.” She winked, sitting on the sand next to him, the pair getting comfortable.

“What the hell?” You mumbled, looking over your book to watch Bill cozying up with a stranger. Your heart twisted painfully, swallowing thickly, You had no right to be jealous, he wasn’t your boyfriend, not to mention you were cruel to him in every interaction, but that didn’t stop a bitter taste from forming on your tongue. 

You stood, collecting your things and trekking back to your beach house, the beach having lost its luster.

-

You were so over this vacation. You would have given anything to stay at home. It seemed everywhere you went, Bill and that girl seemed to be infecting the air with their infatuation. 

For the past two days you’ve had to suffer watching the pair on the beach splash each other with sea water, build sand castles, and sunbathe with each other; However, that was nothing compared to today.

You and your family had decided to spend the afternoon on the boardwalk. There you had to endure the couple on the carousel holding hands, feeding each other saltwater taffy, and watching the sunset by the wharf. Most fucking heinous. 

It was early evening, and thankfully, Bill and whatever her name was were nowhere to be seen. You didn’t know if you would vomit or cry every time Bill had given her that award-winning smile, the one you so badly wanted to be the recipient of. 

You didn’t think it could get any worse, until you had leaned against the pier, ears picking up a familiar voice, Bill’s. Your heart fluttered, only to sink back down when you realized he was still with her under the boardwalk, back on the beach. 

“Isn’t this amazing?”

“You are.” You scoffed at Bill’s attempt at flirting, ignoring the tightening of your throat.

“I’m so glad I met you.” She giggled. “I’ve never felt so comfortable with anyone.” 

If it had been any other couple, you might have enjoyed such a romantic conversation. This was all your fault, if you hadn’t been such a bitch to Bill on the first day, perhaps it would have been you and him hanging out at the boardwalk. 

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here!” 

“Excellent!” You heard him scat in that ridiculous, high-pitched way he did with Ted when they mimicked a guitar. As he walked off, you smiled, not noticing you were crying until a tear slid down your cheek.

You were such an idiot. If only you were able to act normal for a fucking minute and effectively communicate with Bill about your feelings. You had fucked up, it was too late. 

“Hey!” You had heard her speak again, wondering if Bill had returned.

“Hey, babe.” That was definitely not Bill.

“It’s all going according to plan. I do believe Bill is falling head over heels for me.”

“Well who wouldn’t?” You rolled your eyes, angrily wiping the tears off your cheeks.

“He thinks I really like him. What a moron.” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What the hell was she talking about?

“If he’s as good as you think he is, we’ll for sure win the contest and end up on Baywatch.” It only took you a second to connect all the dots. This jabroni was clearly her boyfriend, and she was only flirting with Bill to win the stupid castle contest.

You had heard enough, running back to the beach in hopes of finding Bill. 

-

Fuck, all these beach houses looked the same. If Bill hadn’t pointed out which house he was staying at you would have no idea how you would find him.

You knocked on the door, praying you remembered the right house, and that Bill would answer instead of his hormonal parents. 

“Y/n?” Thankfully Bill did answer the door, hair wet from what you assumed to be a recent shower. “How’s it...hanging?” He stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey. I’m sorry about being a dickweed earlier.” He seemed as equally surprised as you were by your apology. “Um, I guess I was just thrown off at your presence… that’s not really an excuse… anyways, the whole reason I’m here is about that girl you were with earlier.”

“Summer? What about her, dude?” Oh my gosh, of course her name was something as pretentious as Summer. 

“Well, I’m not exactly sure how to tell you this, but… She’s using you. I was on the boardwalk, and I had overheard you leaving, and I guess her boyfriend came up to her.. Long story short, she’s going to try and get you to build her a sandcastle to win that festival thing at the end of the week and take the credit so they can win the roles on Baywatch.” You met his eyes, swallowing thickly. “I’m sorry.” 

He stayed quiet, your eyebrows furrowing. 

“That’s heavy. I mean, I’m not stupid. You’re usually most cruel around me, and now you’re acting all...nice? I do not think I’m falling for this one.”

“You don’t believe me?” You couldn’t believe it. “I know I could be less of a bitch to you, but I’ve never lied to you in all the years I’ve known you. You just met her three days ago!”

“Y/n…” He spoke carefully. “I think you were correct when you said we shouldn’t try to hang out just because we’re staying at the same beach.” Your throat tightened, that sour taste returning to your tongue.

“Fine!” You hissed. “I don’t even know why I wasted my breath and time trying to warn you. God, I wish we had never come to this stupid fucking beach!” You ran off his porch into the sand, face burning with shame.

-

Bill couldn’t stop thinking about your interaction yesterday. He was barely paying attention to anything Summer was saying to him. He wished Ted was here. He always knew what to say.

He walked beside her on the boardwalk, eyes glued to the crashing waves, mind replaying the scene over and over again.

“Bill, are you listening?” Bill blinked, turning to face her, cheeks flushing.

“Sorry.”

“I said I’m going to get more sunblock, you’re looking a little pink.”

“Oh, thanks, babe.” He heard her walk off, zoning out again. You had looked so betrayed when he didn’t believe you, but, it couldn't be you were telling the truth. Why would you do something like that? All you seemed to do was glare at him, brush him off, and scoff at his jokes. It was clear he wasn’t your favorite person.

He snapped himself out of his thoughts once more, looking around to see if Summer had come back yet. His eyes caught her figure walking up the beach and he raised his hand to wave, stopping when he saw her wrap her arms around some unknown guy. He was too far away to hear what they were saying but knew what it meant when she had kissed him. Y/n was right. And I was so non-non-non excellent to her.

-

Sweat was dripping from Bill’s brow, his chest heaving as he panted. He could not remember where your house was, even if it was supposedly close to his own. It was the third time he had run up and down the coastline, trying to remember where you had pointed four days ago.

This was ridiculous, he was never going to find you… until Monday, when you both would be at school. But that was days from now!

“Y/n!” He fell to his knees in the sand, trying to catch his breath. 

“Bill?” 

“Y/n!” It was a miracle. He noticed the basket in your hands, having collected odd rocks, seashells and glass while walking along the shore. You had been trying to explore away from your house, hoping not to run into the very man who was looking for you.

“How’s it… hanging?” You asked awkwardly, scanning the area for the female that was usually seen by his side. “Where’s Summer?” He scrambled to stand in front of you.

“Y/n, you were most veracious last evening. Summer had been pursuing me with malicious intent. I caught sight of her embracing her boyfriend and I knew you were speaking the truth. I regret the way I treated you. I should have trusted you.”

“I mean… You had reason to doubt me. It’s not all your fault. Besides, it seemed as if she really liked you. I probably wouldn’t have believed me either.” You coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of your head sheepishly. “Um, to be honest, I really only acted so bogus because I… like you.”

“No way…” He breathed, trying to recall any instance where it seemed you had a crush on him.

“Uh.. yeah. Yes way.” Your cheeks pinked. “But I obviously don’t expect you to return the feeling. I just get really nervous around you so I guess I figured I should treat you like dirt instead of trying to talk to you like a normal person. But I was worried you would think I was too weird, or that I talk too much, or-” You were cut off by a pair of lips. It was so foolish… and so Bill. 

“What about Summer?” You asked once he had pulled away.

“What about her?” It was just like Bill to not stay too upset for too long. 

His gaze was burning, his lips curling into that perfect, knee-melting, pearly smile. That smile you couldn’t stand. That smile that you couldn’t believe was finally directed at you.

#bill s preston esquire #bill/reader #bill x reader #bill s preston/reader #bill s preston x reader #Bill and Ted #reader insert #Bill and Ted/Reader #Bill and Ted x reader #Bill and Ted imagine #Bill and Ted Imagines #Bill imagine #Bill S Preston imagine #bill and ted's excellent adventure #bill and ted's bogus journey #bill and ted fanfic #bill and ted face the music

[writefightandflightclub]

Halt and catch fire (Nathan Bateman x reader)

Summary: you have an... arrangement, to spend the summer with Nathan at his house. Sounds simple, yes? Nope. It’s not. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Author’s note: FIRST NATHAN FIC! I wrote this all in one go, which I never do. It came to me like lightning. Just remember that Nathan’s a bit of a dick, a’ight? Still would though.

Word count: 4k (ish).

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Explicit smut. Angst. Some dark elements. Hints of coercive control / gaslighting in parts. Swearing. Rough sex. One daddy kink moment. Dirty talk, inc. derogatory sexual language. Mild alcohol abuse. Typos.

Tagging: @dameronsgalaxygal​ @geo-winchester​ @xxidontwikeitxx​ @neverlandlibrarian​ @jennibradley​ @itsamedeemoney​ @bioticgoddess​ @spider-starry​ @yougottakeeponkeepinon​ @a-killvr-queen​ @porgiez​ @beyoncesdragon​ @damerondjarin​ @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall​

Song mood: Pixies, Where is My Mind.

(GIF by @pariztexas)

Nathan ticks his eyes up at you, clicking on you like a cursor. You suddenly animate, placing your book down on the coffee table as you watch him dexterously unwind his hand wraps, veins and muscles standing out in relief as he does so.

You would have to work fast, you knew, while you had his fleeting attention. The gears in his brain shifted too quickly to covet his focus for long. You’d learned that it was always best to catch him in-between tasks. In fact, you can already see him start to open up multiple tabs inside his head even as he shifts from his workout space and into the kitchen, the interior / exterior perimeter almost acting as a delineating line of code, shifting his function between mind and body.

He looks good after a workout, his vest showcasing his taut, sheening muscles. Sweat pools at his chest and the damp fabric clings to his torso, highlighting the silhouette of him, sturdy and hard and strong enough to take control of you. You like to see him pumped-up and gleaming like this. It makes you think about getting his dick pumped-up and gleaming underneath you, wetness pooling everywhere. What really gets you though, is that positively primal look in his eyes which follows a bout with his punchbag. When he looks at you like you have captured his id and separated it from the rest of his consciousness, isolated his base desires.

Once, when you’d worked out together, he had pinned you while sparring, peeled your leggings down from your sweat-soaked thighs and rutted into you right there on the decking. Something in the pit of you stirs and awakens with the memory, clenching like your walls had around him as he had spilled his seed into you. He has good instincts when he’s not subject to logic and bogged down by programming.

Still, as he moves into the kitchen his eyes cool far too quickly, becoming calculating; detached again. All the same, your own body responds obediently to his entrance. You wonder, as you react, if Nathan sees the world as an interface, things only springing to life at his command. You are reticent to be so dreadfully accommodating, but the truth is  -aside from the fact you don’t have a lot else to do around here- you enjoy accommodating him.

You especially enjoy him after a workout, when he’s still in his body and not in his head. After all, he might be a genius, but you’d nominate him for the body-based equivalent of a McArthur Genius Grant, if such a thing existed. Especially those genius fingers. Those fingers, which you’ve had to watch skim deftly over his keyboard instead of over your body for far too long now, as Nathan insisted -time and time again- that he was on the brink of yet another major breakthrough.

“Baby?”, you coo at him, and his eyes land on you with casual interest as he finishes blending an iced coffee, pouring it from its jug into a tall glass set atop the kitchen counter.

You’re good for him. With you here he doesn’t need to drink all night, just to shut his mind off. Not that he finds your company mind-numbing... It’s just that you find other, mutually beneficial ways to keep him out of his head. Sometimes, you even convince him to get some sleep.

He takes a long swig of his drink before placing it down and reaching for his glasses. He slips them on to peer up at you, brow furrowed with a question, broad hands settled on his sturdy hips. That look ends you every time. “What, baby?”, he asks, the term of endearment managing to sound a little sleazy on this arrogant fucker’s lips. You’ve noticed him sweetening though, over the summer, whether he’s realised it himself or not.

Nathan looks at you sometimes as if you’re an algorithm he can’t solve, an intricate web of code which makes no sense to him- the only person he can’t figure out and manipulate within five minutes of meeting them. You don’t know why, because your call and response is fairly predictable, as if he has you programmed like everything else around him. You see him? Then you want him. There’s not a lot else to this... arrangement. At least, that’s how it had begun. There’s not anything deeper; not that he’ll admit to. Not yet.

Speaking of wanting him, your eyes wander lazily over his torso and the beading sweat on his skin, his arms defined and pumped through exertion. He looks like a machine and, yeah, you want him this minute. Nothing else will do.

“Shower. Now, strong man”, you command, with a come-hither finger.  

His espresso brown eyes harden with a quiet, lust-ridden stare as he idly strolls over the floor toward you, slinging a towel around his neck.

You always feel like he’s studying you, sometimes to the point of discomfort, and yet you can never look away from him when he does it. 

“Since when did you start tellin’ me what to do?”, he delivers in his soft Bronx-twang, his tone dark. His sweaty hand comes to grab you -securely, not harshly- by the chin. His eyes flash with challenge, which you return with equal fervour.

“Sorry, Daddy, I forgot my place.”, you purr obediently, knowing from the way his eyes blacken with lust that your words alone will have his dick half-hard for you.

“You’re learning.”, he praises, his voice honey over sandpaper, and you deliver him a wicked smile, your thighs pressing together in desperation already as you look over his bare shoulders and chest as if you’re famished.

But, contrary to your wishes, he releases your chin and you can see he’s already following some half-formed thought down a rabbit hole. “What are you reading?”, he asks, his eyes hovering over to the hardcover strewn on the table. “What made you choose that one?” Oh no he doesn’t.

“Nathan.”, you redirect, your voice throaty and brazen. “It’s nice that you’re interested in how I occupy myself, but I’m not here for Book Club.”

“That’s almost funny, sweetness.”, he chides, towelling the sweat from the back of his neck. Patronising fuck. His amused eyes meet yours, and when he finds them humourless in return, he presses on tiredly with a question. “Do I really have to ask? I know you’re about to tell me exactly why you’re here.”

Sometimes, you can understand his impatience. It must be frustrating for him to be one step ahead of everyone around him.

“To be your fuck-toy for the summer, right? That means you actually have to fuck me.”.

You wind your arms around his neck, arching your body into his, breasts pushing unsubtly up against him. “I need this. I’ve sat patiently while you worked and worked-out. It gets me hot for you. So, now that you’ve adequately displayed your prowess, I need you to fill me up, baby. And I’m not past begging.”

You watch his eyes shine with pride at your words before burying your lips into his neck. You trail your hot, wet tongue and mouth over his salty skin, your words muffling into him. “You should relax, baby. Just let me take care of you. Remember, how much you like it when I take care of you?” The contact must finally tap into something more primal and less cerebral, as he responds by circling his muscled arms around your waist and sinking his lips to yours in a crush. His prominent, wiry beard is abrasive over your skin as he opens you up, his supple tongue delving deep into the cave of your mouth.

Nathan is all or nothing. He lives by extremes. In binary. As the kiss skyrockets in intensity, his hands dragging up your back and winding into your hair, you know he’s going to give it all to you. No holds barred. He tugs on your hair, sparks like static needling over your scalp as he demonstrates his dominance. His power over you. He likes control. He requires it. And that suits you just fine.

You whimper into his mouth, the sound feeble; all of you feeling feeble against his crushing, passionate embrace. You’ve gladly gotten used to the sheer intensity of him, when his focus does land on you. But this time it feels… different. There’s a hint of desperation in it. Like he’s coming undone for you, not fully in control of himself. He breaks from you, ragged breaths heaving in the space between you. Yanking your hair back so he can look you in the eyes. But when you look at him you find him distressed; discombobulated. The way he gets when something defies explanation, when some mystery or formula or person fails to yield to him in the way he’s become accustomed to. His eyes are shadowed beneath his brows and that tell-tale vein is popping on his forehead. Something is troubling him. If you’re not wrong, that something is you.

“It shouldn’t be possible.”, he breathes, sounding uncharacteristically weak. “It shouldn’t be possible for kissin’ you to make me feel this good.”

You moan into the air for him, his sugared praise and the brokenness of his voice elevating you to another level. “Nathan Bateman, you sound weak for me.”, you tease, delighting in your newfound power, sounding almost as cocky as him. 

Turns out, that was the wrong thing to say to a man with a superiority complex. To a man on the verge of full-blown narcissism. And yet, it was the best thing to say to him, because now he feels the need to reassert himself... and, oh boy, do you like it when he does that.

“Weak for you?”, he seethes, his mouth pressing right up against your cheek, hot lips skimming your skin as he enunciates his words. He tugs hard enough on your hair that tears begin to spike at the corner of your eyes. “Weak for you? I’m gonna fucking tear you up, you hear me? I’m gonna take you apart until you can’t even remember your own name.”

“Is that what you want?”, he growls, pressing his clothed erection against your hip. “Want me to break you, fuck-toy?”

“Yes. Yes please. Fuck, Nathan.” His words crawl inside the cavern of you, filtering like lines of code to your centre. You respond to his command instantly, and you feel arousal coiling in your body.

His chest heaving, his mouth a snarl, he releases your hair and then both his hands are on the collar of your oversized shirt. He grabs and tears it away from you abruptly, and you squeal as buttons pop their way on to the hard floor, leaving your lingerie exposed to him. Clearly, Nathan wasn’t expecting that to be revealed beneath, as the sight of your body covered in this skimpy, delicate lace garment has him practically falling to his knees for you. “The fuck is this?, he asks, and you’ve never seen anyone look so annoyed whilst captivated.

“I thought I’d surprise you.”, you coo, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“Surprise me? I didn’t know you had it in you.”, he growls, still looking over you with a hunger that makes your whole body quiver. But he doesn’t have his hands on you.And you need his hands on you. Those genius fingers.

“Please. Nathan. Touch, don’t look.”, you plead, eyes roving over him and landing on the tent in his shorts.

You snake your hands out towards his waistband but he grabs your wrists firmly, preventing you. “Uh uh. Naughty naughty.”, he scolds, eyes dark like a destroyer of worlds. “The next time I touch you is gonna be in the shower, and it’s gonna be my dick in your tight cunt, understand?”

You nod in earnest, the look in his eyes demolishing you. Your thighs writhe against each other, aching for some kind of pressure at your core.

“Yes, sir.”, you comply, your voice a husk.

His eyes glow with a self-satisfied, almost cruel glint. You know it’s because you’re the broken, weak one now. You also know that he’s just getting started. Smugly, he releases your wrists, your skin still burning where his fingers dug into you. Then, Nathan inches as close as he can get to you without actually touching, whispering right up against the shell of your ear.

“Turn on the water. Take everything off that hot fuckin’ body of yours. Then face the wall, spread your palms and your legs for me, and wait there until I come and fill you. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”, you tremble, throbbing for him.

His eyes glint with promise as you sweep out, hurriedly, Nathan landing a smack to your ass as your quaking legs carry you toward the shower room. All you can think about is his promise. But you focus on his instructions, and you follow them to the letter. You know he’ll be watching you on the monitor, and if you put a foot wrong, he’ll make you pay for it.

First of all, you pad over and fiddle with the various nozzles, until warm water is cascading from various jets above your head. You let it sluice over you, soak through what remains of your shirt and your lingerie, before wiggling the sodden, torn garment off your shoulders first. As it drops onto the floor with a wet slap, you stand there in nothing but the delicate red lace coiling closely around the contours of you, a little like wires. 

You feel exposed as you think of Nathan watching you through the cameras, seeing the water slipping over the contours of you until you’re gleaming for him. You think of him palming his hardened length through his shorts as you peel away the delicate fabric from your shoulders, thumbs hooking under the straps. For his benefit, you peel it away slowly, inch-by-inch, cups popping away from your breasts, your exposed nipples pebbling under the water. You think about his eagerness growing as he watches, his thick cock twitching, the head beading with slick as the garment peels away from your stomach, clinging to the wetness of your body.

Finally, you fold it away from your hips and your buttocks. It clings to your thighs, material coiling in on itself like the knot forming at the core of you, and your fingers work it down your body until it finally drops onto the shower floor below you. You step delicately out of it, entirely exposed now, and feeling that way. Next, as instructed, you carefully shuffle your feet apart until your legs are spread for him, you palms flush against the wall in front of you. You know he wants to see your hands so he knows you’re not touching yourself. He was quite clear about what the next thing touching you would be, and you don’t think you have it in you to refuse his command. 

The waiting drives you crazy, and you slip your palms further down the wall, arching your spine to push your ass out, further up into the air, writhing it against nothing, but imagining Nathan’s substantial length sliding home into your heat. Imagining his strong arms wrapping around the front of you and dragging you into his slick chest as he pounds you.

Nathan keeps you waiting to the point of irritation. The ache in-between your legs becoming discomfort. Your body stiff from holding its position. You are so eager to press your parted legs against each other. To just reach down with your hand or a shower head and relieve yourself. But you don’t, because you know what’s coming is much too sweet to forgo. You moan on nothing but the thought of him.

When he finally enters you are so desperate, so frustrated, that tears are mingling with the rivulets of water over your face. You hear him pad in and almost turn to look at him before you hear a firm “no” in those deep, rich tones of his. You screw your eyes tightly shut so you won’t be tempted. By this point, your legs are quivering with need, your slick dripping from you. You need his touch inside of you. You bite your lip as you imagine you hear the sound of his clothes being dropped to the floor.

Nathan makes you wait a moment more for any contact, and it feels like the longest moment of your life. He’s made you think about him. Made you focus everything in your mind and your body on exactly where he’s going to touch you.

With a groan, Nathan pushes the head of his cock against your folds. Even the blunt pressure has you mewling for him, and you practically collapse up against the shower wall, wavering with need. Finally, with one swift thrust he slides all the way inside of you, as deep into you as he can possibly go, the base of him settling against you with a smack.

“Holy shit, Nathan.”, you sob, as he fits inside of you, stretching you, the size of him straining your walls, his broad hands clamping down over yours on the tiles. All of your focus is entirely on the ridges and veins and girth of him buried up in your cunt. It feels so good. He feels so fucking good.

He stills in you, simply to tease you more - to demonstrate his power. But you need him to move. You need motion. Need his friction.

“I told you I’d fucking split you open.”, Nathan growls. You try to writhe against him but he’s not allowing it. Not yet. His hands come to clamp hard on your hips. “You said you weren’t past begging, baby. Do it then. Beg me to rail you.”

Your words are sugared pleas into the air which dissolve into the water, making everything around you sweet as Nathan finally begins his ruthless thrusts. He buries himself in you over and over and over as one hand comes to your head, pressing your cheek against the cold tiled wall and pinning you in place as the other grasps the meat of your hip. “I’m gonna take you apart. I’m gonna fucking unmake you, baby.”

You believe him. You believe you are going to come apart for him. You could do so already. Could do it on command, you’re sure of it. With the number of times he’s made you come undone, you have no doubt in the sensations he’s capable of delivering.

Indeed, the way his cock slams into your heat, your walls snug around him, is like an electric current jolting through your body, sending shocks of pleasure with every drag of his contours over your sweet spot. Every time he resheaths himself in your tight cunt. His body fits you so perfectly it’s as if he’s made for you, the way he fills you is like nothing else you’ve ever had.

“Nathan.”, you plead, clutching for him, desperate for more contact. “Nathan, please. Hold me. I need you to hold me.”

There is something so soft in the way he wraps his arm around you and nestles his head over your shoulder, his chest pressing up against you. Even as he pounds into you, his pace relentless - his force punishing. Water sluices between your bodies as his wet skin slaps against yours, your moans surrounding him from all directions in the echoey room. You don’t know how it’s possible for something to feel this harsh and this soft all at once, but you guess the real world doesn’t run on binary. Not everything is an absolute.

Nathan’s groans and grunts billow over your ear as he crushes you to him, ensuring you have no escape from the brutality of his thrusts. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him so vocal. The sound of him, all his anger and arrogance humbled in the place of pleasure – all for you- has your release spilling over, that impossible knot tightening in the pit of you and flooding you with warmth.

Your proclamation comes as a silent plea into the air first of all, followed by a low, guttural moan which blooms from your chest. The sensation overcomes you, wipes everything else from your mind for a moment, as if you are a system rebooting. Feeling fresh. Remade.

“Fuck, Nathan. You make me feel so good.”, you praise into the air, and his hand digs even more harshly into the meat of your hip to pull you down on his length as he drives his own hips up in return. Your words tipping him over the edge, he shoots his seed deep into you in thick, warm ropes of cum as he finds his end too. He sounds wrecked with pleasure as he coats your walls with his release, aftershocks spasming through the both of you as his taut body presses against your back. He is perfectly, uncannily contoured to you.

For a moment then, Nathan doesn’t move. He simply holds you. It is the most still you’ve ever seen him, ever felt him. His mind and his body are always -usually- in perpetual motion. But he just stays there, holding you tight for a second as his cock softens inside you, the only sound the patterns of water slipping off your bodies, and his steady, jagged breathing against the back of your neck. The frenzied patter of your heart as you come down from your high, whole body buzzed.

Eventually, Nathan pulls out and you feel his cum slip out too, down your thighs. You feel satisfaction at having made him feel so good. He directs the shower head to clean himself and then you off, laughing half-cruelly as the water pressure finds your sensitive clit, causing you to shudder.

After a deep, gathering breath you turn to face him with a steady, even grin, and you find the hardness in Nathan’s eyes is entirely gone. Wordlessly, you bat your eyes at him and take the shower head from his grasp, reaching for some soap and, with a soft smile, lathering it over his tired muscles - all over his body. He lets you, closing his eyes against it and humming gently when your hand reaches his chest.

When he opens his eyes, he is looking at you again like you’re an algorithm he can’t solve, an intricate web of code which makes no sense to him. He’s developing a habit of this, the more time he spends with you. You counter his stare curiously, and his eyes narrow in return.

Nathan’s not usually very tactile outside of sex, and so when he reaches his hand out to caress your face you flinch away at first, merely from the shock of it. But, gently, he smooths his palm over your face, his eyes reassuring and like cups of warm, morning coffees on yours.

“How do you do it?”, he asks, his voice faltering. “What makes you different from all the others? Why does it feel so much better with you?”

Your eyes glow with a cautious pride. “Maybe you’re getting soft on me, genius.”

“It’s not possible. What I’m feeling for you... it can’t be real.”

You scoff. You knew the softness had to end sometime. There’s his arrogance again. Nathan Bateman. He thinks himself above most things. Of course he thinks himself above love. Or whatever this is.

“Why not?”, you probe, hiding a slight edge in your tone. “I... I feel it too, you know.”, you admit, but he recoils from you at that moment, snatching his hand away. Looking pained. Looking... pissed off.

“Don’t. You don’t know what you’re saying.”, he dismisses, vein popping in his forehead.

You roll your eyes at him indignantly, flipping off the water and reaching for a towel, which you tuck under your armpits and knot at your chest. You pass Nathan a bath sheet too and he towels himself off before wrapping it around his waist. “So, what? I don’t know my own mind now?”

Nathan replaces his glasses, retrieving them from the washroom counter. He furrows his brow as he looks at you from beneath his mildly steamed up lenses, hands on hips again.

“Do you think you do? Know your own mind?”

This look usually ends you, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you in this moment that you don’t like; like he’s studying you all over again. For some reason his question and his manner cause an unease to bloom in the pit of you and you’re not sure why.

“I mean it.”, he continues, oblivious to your discomfort. “Could you prove that you’re conscious?”

You towel off your hair, dismissing his question. “Don’t start this again, Nathan. I’m not in the mood for philosophy.”. Your voice comes out weaker than you intended it. Unsure. The room suddenly feels hot and airless, but as you turn to leave it, Nathan grabs you sharply by the wrist.

“Could you?”, Nathan continues, an intensity in his eyes that you shrink back from, his voice broken all over again. “’Cause… Please.”, he grimaces. “I need to know how these feelings could seem so real when you’re....”

A dread you can’t explain is flooding you now, your bottom lip trembling. He cuts himself off, leaving you feeling as if you’re hanging over an abyss.

“When I’m what?”, you press, eyes interrogating his. “When I’m what, Nathan?”. There is a rising panic in your tone which you can’t quell. 

Something like fear passes over Nathan’s eyes then and he shakes his head dismissively, trying to backpedal. “Never mind. Never mind, baby. I’m sorry. Just forget it. I’ve had too much coffee. Or not enough.” His voice is sweet. Sickly sweet. Manipulative. But when he speaks that term of endearment it sounds entirely sincere.

He tries to shush you, to soothe you, dragging you in towards him in a surrounding embrace. You don’t resist it, at first. You fit against him as if he was made for you.

Or you were made for him.

A feeling like bile rises up in your stomach as your next thought arises.

As if you were made by him.

“No.”, you say, feeling suddenly ill with understanding. “No, no, no!”.

You beat and thrash your arms against his chest but he tries to pin you close to him; ineffectually tries to calm you. You become a mess of arms, like sparring, as he begins grabbing at your wrists and pleading with you from beneath his glasses, chin dipped low like a boxer. 

Your revelation doesn’t seem possible, And yet you instantly know there is truth in it. When you try to think beyond Nathan? You can’t. You were made here. You’ve never left. You are his. His fuck-toy.

“Baby. Baby, I’m so sorry.”, Nathan begs, looking distraught, undone. More vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him. But you don’t care. You don’t care.This is about you. If there is a “you” at all.

Regardless, you struggle against his attempts to subdue you, but he built you weaker than him. There’s something sinister about that. Though why would a god create someone in his own image when he could create them weaker? If he couldn’t prove himself more powerful, would he even be a god at all?

You sob and sob as the truth of things dawns on you. The scope of this truth feels like it’s frying and warping your brain. You feel like you can’t possibly process all of this. It feels like violence, that he created you at all.

“Baby. Shush.”, Nathan reassures, still trying to capture your flailing arms and to contain you. Control you. “You’ll hurt yourself, please. Please stop.”

He does it with reluctance, at least. When your reactions become increasingly violent, Nathan has no choice but to power you down, for your own safety. For his. He whispers apologies into the steamy air. Claws at his buzzed head in distress. As you fall limply to the shower room floor the sight of you there, like that, makes him hurl abruptly into the nearby sink. His hands shake and tears spill from him as he pushes your damp hair back from your face and carries you down to the lab.

He lays you out on the workbench in front of him, alongside the parts and components and faces of other dismantled flings. For once, he doesn’t have any of the answers. None of the others were quite like you, and he still can’t explain it.

Usually, when he lost control of a test subject, he had one alternative; to delete. To take them apart. To start again. But he’d never lost control of himself; his feelings. Not like this. And even if he deleted you, and all of your memories, he couldn’t scrub you from his own brain.

Could he?

Becoming increasingly volatile with emotion, tears streaming down his cheeks, Nathan yells his stream of consciousness into the air, before fishing a bottle of vodka out of his desk drawer and tipping it to his lips as he takes several generous swigs at once. There are some methods humans can use to forget, he supposes.

Then, his eyes cool slightly, his manner becoming slightly more detached. Detached enough to open you up. To slip red wires inside each of your ports with his genius fingers, connecting you to his system. The wires coil around your body, reminiscent of that red, lace lingerie.

“You’re not real, right?”, he asks softly, over your still, beautiful form, his hands running again over his buzzed head as he leans over you. “You’re not fucking real. Just wires. So, if I just wipe you... doesn’t matter? Right? Doesn’t fucking matter?”

Hands trembling, he boots up your code on his monitor. Frenzied, his eyes move at light-speed over the commands and sequences before his eyes. Looking for some explanation. Some evidence. Something he can point to as proof. Proof of you.

But he finds nothing. He can’t prove it. How can you prove consciousness? So, finding nothing to validate this thoroughly illogical adoration that he feels in the pit of him, he taps hurriedly at the keys and generates a command, his index finger hovering over the button as he tries to psych himself up to “execute”.

Execute. Now there’s a choice word.

Maybe there’s another way. Some other way to deal with this. But gods tend to deal in absolutes, not “if” statements. Nathan tended to deal in absolutes.

If you’re real, he loves you, absolutely.

If you’re not, then he’s not a god. He’s nothing more than a fool.

It all comes down to what Nathan is more willing to risk, in the end. Would he dare risk it for love? Would Nathan ever risk appearing a fool?

His index finger hovers over the key, shaking, like the hand of God.

Creator and destroyer of worlds.

He whispers under his breath.

“I am become death.”

THE END

(PLEASE DON’T SPOIL THE TWIST FOR OTHER READERS? TIA!)

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Want more? I mainly write for Poe Dameron (and recently Santiago Pope Garcia). This is my first Nathan fic! You can check out my masterlist in my bio to read more of my works. It’s always kept updated there. And let me know if you want more Nathan! :D

Want even more? Just ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent tag-list or any series tag-lists <3 Also, you can always check in my bio if requests are open rn if you’d like to see something specific. I write for Star Wars and Oscar and Pedro characters.

#nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman #nathan bateman smut #nathan bateman angst #ex machina #oscar isaac

[dapandapod]

Child of surprise

So my darling gremling @geogrewife were supposed to help me pick a Wip to work on but made me write this instead. Please enjoy!  On Ao3 here

Warning: fluff. so much fluff. Like, fluffy fluff.

“Somethings wrong with Roach.” Geralt frowns at Jaskiers words. They have been staying in a cottage all winter, deep in the forest away from prying eyes. They found it when the first hint of gold appeared in the trees, and they decided that this is a good a place as any. It has been restful. No big bad monsters around, just the normal inhabitants. Roach has been away a lot, roaming the forest but always returning unharmed at nightfall. The cottage didn’t have a stable so they simply made a new door to the cottage, making a pen out of one of the corners. Geralt can be a handyman when it comes to the comforts of Roach and Jaskier relentlessly teases him about it. This is one of those nights they spend in peace, wind whistling among the trees and hard rain falling on the roof. “No?” Geralt protests, because he can see nothing wrong with her? And he is clearly the superior horseman out of the two. “Uh, yes? Geralt, I know I know very little of horses but something is clearly different? Can’t you tell?”

Geralt puts down his gwent cards and gets up from the wooden chair he sat on. Roach is ignoring him, munching on her hay in her corner, resting one hind leg as she does when she is relaxed. He walks up to her, hand on his chin and eyes squinting. He looks her over but sees nothing obvious, so he focuses, letting all other sounds fade away. Geralt rarely uses his witcher senses on her, but she smells like usual? He senses no wounds, no pain, nothing sticking out. Her fur is all shaggy now in wintertime, but that’s about it. “I can’t see anything.” Geralt mutters, returning to the table. “Did you look at my cards?” Jaskier scoffs. “I don’t need to look at your cards to win. Just. Let’s keep an eye on her?”

Time passes slowly. Winter is dark, and every day Roach wanders the woods. Geralt is out hunting for dinner but stumbles on her tracks among the trees. He is very far away, he wasn’t aware Roach made such long trips. He suspects Jaskier might be right. Something is off with Roach. She is getting slower, sometimes in the mornings her legs get a little swollen. Geralt massages her and tries to keep her warm and well fed but he will not be in the way when she wants out. But it’s probably time to see what she is up to. It seems like this stretch is well walked, many hoofprints covering the ground in both directions. Geralt follows her tracks and stops mid step when he notices where they lead. Up ahead is a clearing, a frozen creak glistening in the sunlight, snow heavy on the branches. It looks magical. On the other side of the clearing stands Roach. Only, she is not alone. Next to her stands a white horse. So white it almost can’t be seen against the snow. It has long white mane with grey streaks and the body is powerful. And it’s a unicorn. The horn is long, sharp. Dangerous. The unicorn could easily kill Roach with it. But it doesn’t. They are standing peacefully next to each other, her dark fuzzy fur a stark contrast. They use their muzzles to push away the snow to get to the grass underneath. Geralt barely dares to move, barely dares to breathe. As far as he knew there were no unicorns left. Obviously he was wrong, and it has taken a liking to his Roach. Geralt tries to back away quietly, stepping into his own footsteps, so that he doesn’t startle them. But the unicorn must sense him, his head shoots up and then runs away. Roach startles and looks around, but when she sees Geralt she relaxes. Well. “Hi girl.” He greets her. “Uh… sorry. I didn’t mean to startle your... friend?” Oh. Ooooh. That’s why she’s been away so much. That’s why there was more than one set of hoofprints. Probably. He wonders how long they have met out here in the woods, and he feels oddly protective of her. Roach makes no effort to walk up to him so he leaves her there in the clearing.

When he returns to Jaskier some time later, two winterbirds under his arm, he realizes Jaskier was right. He kicks his boots on the doorframe on the way in, ridding himself of most of the snow. “You were right.” He calls as a greeting, and Jaskier hits a sour note on his lute. “‘Scuse me?!” Jaskiers eyes are huge, startled. “Did you hit your head while hunting?!” Geralt chuckles and hangs up his outer clothes. “You were right about Roach. There is something up with her.” “OH! Yes, I told you so! You know what it is?” Geralt settles down to pluck the birds. “Yeah. She has met someone.” Jaskier picks up his playing again, plucking on the strings in a soft melody. “Oh really? Are there more horses in the woods? Or a nymph perhaps?” “Unicorn actually.” Again, Jaskier makes a sour note on the lute and Geralt cringes at the sound. “Sorry, but. Did you just say you saw a fucking unicorn?!?” Jaskier gapes, not believing a word he hears. “Yeah. It got scared of me though and ran away.” “THIS IS WHY I NEED TO COME WITH YOU GERALT!!!” Jaskier abruptly stands up from his chair, dragging a hand through his hair. “I MISSED A UNICORN!” Geralt smiles again, fingers still working on their upcoming dinner. “You will never let me out of your sight again, are you?” Geralt says fondly and Jaskier huffs. “You are absolutely right!” He plops back in the chair again but lets his lute hang from his hand and rests on the floor. “I can’t believe this.” “Don’t pout. I’ll bring you with me in a few days.”

And so he does. They let Roach get a headstart of a few hours, but it takes two months before they see it again. By then Roach has eaten through a third of their collected hay for the winter. Her legs are still swollen and her back seems to sink a little. Geralt is starting to suspect he knows what is wrong with her.

They follow her to the clearing, this time walking with her instead of sneaking behind. They see her go about her usual routine, scraping a hole in the stream to drink and them starting to push the snow around. It takes almost an hour before she raises her head and she whinnies towards the woods. There is a deep rumbling neigh in return. And there he is. He trots up to her, his neck curved and tail raised.

Because it is a he, Geralt realizes. A stallion. And there is nothing wrong with Roach. She is with foal.

Beside him Jaskier draws in a breath, mouth open with awe. It’s like a picture from a fairytale, the snow glistening, the world holding its breath. The unicorn nuzzles her thick fur, and they start scratching each other's backs. Next to him Geralt can hear Jaskier sniffle, and he is not far away from breaking a tear himself. The unicorn sees them, ignoring Roach buffing his side to continue, and stares. Geralt really, really hopes he won't attack. He is not sure he would be able to flee it, and that would mean fighting it. Luckily it seems to decide they are no threat and turns away. The two horses go back to inspecting the other and then walk off into the woods without a backwards glance. Jaskier and Geralt stay in the clearing for a while longer, breaths as clouds in front of them.

“Wow.” Jaskier finally manages, wiping at his eyes with his ungloved hands. “Too bad I can never sing about this.” he smiles, blinking up at the afternoon skies. Geralt sees the reasoning in that too. The moment rumors of a unicorn comes out there will be people hunting it. He takes Jaskiers freezing hands in his and leads them back towards the cottage.

When the first spring flowers peak through the snow Roach is heavy. It’s clear they won’t be going anywhere for a while. So they prepare to stay for even longer. Geralt leaves for two weeks, trekking towards the closest village. They need more supplies and food, and getting there by foot and back is going to take some time. To Jaskiers surprise (and Geralt's despair) he returns through a portal, Yennefer close behind. She stays for a few weeks, cooing at Roach like she never had before, lovingly petting her down and spoiling her absolutely rotten.

She comes back in the middle of summer. Because it’s time. During the night Roach is restless. She walks around outside the cottage, snorting and panting. Geralt, always the light sleeper wakes up and goes out to her. There is no need for her to sleep indoors during this time of year, and she leads him towards her clearing. It takes another hour for her to lay down, and by then both Jaskier and Yen found him by her side. Roaches sides are slick with sweat, and the small hoofs sticking out from her are just as brown as she is. Geralt wasn’t sure what to expect of this foal, if it would be white or brown. But it would seem that it’s brown. When the first early rays of sunshine filter through the leaves the foal, a little stallion, takes its first steps. His eyes are pale blue, his body a dark brown like his mother, and his mane a shade paler. There is no sign of a horn and Geralt can’t decide if he is relieved or disappointed.

They stay for some time longer, making sure Roach is alright before retreating back a bit. By now they have learned the unicorns habits a little better. Geralt and Jaskier double back to the cottage to bring some breakfast back. Jaskier squeeze his hand all the way there, and when they get inside the door Jaskier pulls Geralt close. He smiles at Geralt, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Why do I feel like a proud parent?” He asks and Geralt chuckles. He couldn’t agree more.

Jaskier decides to name the foal Pegasus. The little thing is feisty, he nips after them even though he doesn’t have any teeth yet. He kicks and he bucks and he flies over the grass. His father didn’t come on the first day, nor the second. But when he comes there is a full show of sniffing and buffing. When Roach thinks he is too rough on Pegasus she steps between them, ears slicked back and teeth on display. She turns around and half heartedly kicks at the unicorn and Geralt swells with pride. When they calm down Pegasus tries to imitate his parents, doing his best with his short neck to bend down towards the grass. He can’t quite reach and stumbles. “I can stay here for hours.” Yen says softly, a soft smile on her lips. Geralt knows how she feels.

And they do. They stay for hours and hours to watch Pegasus and Roach, sometimes around the cottage and sometimes in the clearing. Still no horn in sight, just a small bump in the middle of his forehead. Pegasus seems to have taken a great liking to Jaskier. Whenever the bard sits in the grass, leaning back on the wooden wall with his lute, Pegasus scampers over to inspect. He pulls at his clothes, steals his expensive hat and tries to nibble at the lute.

They talk about what they should do. Yennefer comes and goes, unable to stay away from the little menace of a foal. She claims she wish to study him, if he got any magical abilities, but they all know better.

Perhaps they will make their way towards Kaer Morhen. The area isn’t perhaps the safest for a horse, but at least there won’t be any prying eyes in case Pegasus actually shows any abilities. Jaskier speaks of the coast again, and about Lettenhove. Traveling with a foal however is not the safest nor the most practical thing. But the summer is still young.

They have time.

#dapanda writes #unicorns #roach the horse #the witcher #fluff #like some serious fluff people #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #jaskier the bard #julian alfred pankratz #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer #pregnant!roach #roach gets a baby #as a treat #unicorn #geraskier #fairy tales #at least the vibe of it #and im having so many feelings about this #gosshh its been so long since i had a foal at home #domestic life #winter #summer #horses #foal #pegasus #guys dont read all the tags before the story #im doing all kinds of spoilers here

[thiswasinevitableid]

76. it’s my birthday and you just fucking ruined my party and I don’t even know you

Danbrey, sfw or nsfw, please!

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

“Wow, dude, this is so fancy.” Jake takes in the dining room of Yosemite Lodge, “look, napkins!”

“Jake, we have cloth napkins back home.” Dani smiles fondly; while she’s more interested in the location and the decor, she agrees with her brothers overall enthusiasm.

The rest of Amnesty Lodge, where Dani lives and works, pooled their resources to surprise her with a weekend trip to Yosemite for her twenty-fifth birthday. She would have been happy camping, but they even went to the trouble of booking rooms in the main lodge and scheduling her a birthday dinner in the restaurant that looks out onto the valley.

Mama whistles at the menu from her seat at the head of the table, “damn, this is a good lookin dinner.”

Dani picks up the single sheet of paper, the silver writing informing her the meal with consist of a summer salad, shrimp scampie, and a strawberry rhubarb tart for dessert. When she glances across the table, Barclay is smiling down into his water glass.

“Oh my god, did you request a specific menu just for me?”

Her friend nods, blushing a little, “Head chef is an old friend from my line cook days.”

“Aw, you guys.” She sips the fancy cider Barclay ordered for the table, “you didn’t have to do all this.”

“You ain’t had a real party in years; seemed time to fix that.” Mama’s about to say something else when the fire alarm blares through the room and a server asks that everyone please exit through the side doors into the courtyard.

“Probably just a false alarm.” Barclay leans against a decorative rock.

“Uh, dudes? I smell smoke.”

Dani cranes her neck, tracks the path of the curling smoke through the lights from the windows to the main meeting room on the bottom floor of the hotel. A woman about her age, dressed entirely in red and black with, “The Lady Flame” emblazoned on her sparkly jacket, is talking and gesturing rapidly with disgruntled staff.

Two minutes later, the same woman steps onto the lawn with a sheepish smile.

“Hi everyone! It’s safe to go back in now. I, um, there was a tiny accident with some flashpaper. I think. Anyway, point is, I’m super sorry and there’s no more fire so please come enjoy my show. Oh, but, um, we have to move to the dining room due to some, um, ash.”

Just as she says this, one of the servers whispers in Barclays ear.

“Fuck. Sorry gang, sounds like we gotta postpone until tomorrow; whatever party booked ms fireball over there is gonna take up the whole restaurant.”

Dani sighs, resigning herself to a night of vending machine dinner as they head back inside. Then a hand settles on her arm and she’s locking eyes with the person who just ruined her evening.

“Hey, I always ask the cutest girl in the audience to be my assistant for the next bit. Do you want to-”

She pulls her arm away, “Yeah, hard pass, I’m not in whatever group decided to book you. I’m the person who’s birthday is getting turfed for your party.”

The magician cringes, “EEsh, I’m so sorry, I’ll, um, I’ll just.” She steps back, eyes glued to her black boots. As Dani continues into the lodge, she swears she hears the same voice go, “aw beans.”

---------------------------------------------------------

The spring sunshine feels perfect, the breeze is gentle, and there are literal bluebirds calling around her. Dani feels like a dang disney princess as she naps on a rock near one of the meadows.

Something--a chipmunk, she assumes--munches the grass below her.

“Dr Harris Bonkers, no! This is a national park and I’m not letting my only son go to jail for vandalism.”

Dani rolls onto her side in time to see the magician from last night scooping a massive, orange rabbit from the ground. When she straightens enough to notice she’s not alone, the woman freezes.

“Um. Hi. Again.”

“Hi.” Not feeling like rehashing last night, she studies the rabbit, “should he really be running around out here?”

“Not even remotely. He was supposed to stay in my room, but he gnawed his way out of his carrier, hopped onto the windowsill, and decided to bounce when he saw all the plants out here.” She cautiously sits on the edge of the rock, rabbit in her lap, “I really am sorry about last night. I never used to have problems during my shows, but lately it’s like my flashpaper has a freaking mind of its own. I was kinda hoping it wouldn’t screw with anybody’s plans but mine.”

“It’s fine.” Dani shrugs, “we’re just going to do a dinner re-do tonight.”

The woman bites a matte black lip, “Could I, um, make it up to you?”

“How?”

“Well, it’s your birthday, right? You’re supposed to spend your birthday doing things you like, so I could, like, keep you company while you do them?”

It would be nice to have a hiking buddy. Mama is taking a well-deserved nap, Barclay is off for a swim, and Jake found some rock climbers to hang with. And while the Lady Flame looked good last night, today she’s downright gorgeous. The dyed-red streaks in her curly, black hair, the freckles, black shorts that make her butt look incredible, all of it adds up to someone Dani wouldn’t mind spending the day with.

“Do you have shoes you can hike in?”

She kicks up one leg, showing off her Doc Martens, “I once walked five miles in these with no problems.”

“Great. Let’s get the doctor” she rubs the rabbit’s ears, “somewhere safe and get on the trail.”

--------------------------------------------

The hike’s only three and a half miles, but it’s taking them a long time to complete it. Not because they’re slow, but because Aubrey (as the Lady Flame calls herself) keeps stopping to look at or point out any interesting thing that catches her eye. It’s adorable.

Dani likes when she points out plants, because then she can show off a little.

“Dang, you really know your plants.” Aubrey stoops to take a picture of some Scarlet Monkeyflower.

“I run the teaching garden out back of the Lodge. Uh, Amnesty Lodge, where I live, not this one.”

“Coooool. I keep thinking about making Dr. Harris Boners a little garden when I finally find a place to stay put for awhile, but everything is always about how to keep bunnies out of your garden.”

“I mean, they can really trash it if you’re not careful.”

“I believe it, Dr. Harris Bonkers can take out a whole patch of rug in, like, ten minutes.”

“Herbs would probably be okay, clover too. I guess it depends on how much space you have.”

“Probably not much” Aubrey holds out a hand to help her across a creek, “traveling magicians don’t make much.”

Their talk turns to Aubrey’s life on the road, and her various misadventures trying to transport a fifteen pound rabbit on public transit. When they reach the waterfall that marks the trails end, they slip off their shoes and socks to dip their feet in the nearby pond, shoulders touching as they compare notes on growing up in sometimes stressful family situations.

It’s well after lunchtime when they get back, so they sit in the meadow and split a bag of chips, shooing away several overly ambitious squirrels. Mama joins them for a bit, and Dani smiles when she notices how quickly the older woman takes to Aubrey. Mama can never turn down a stray.

Dani’s already scheming for how to spend the last day of her vacation with Aubrey when the magician turns down her invitation to dinner. She’s a little disappointed, but Aubrey promises she’ll see her later.

Her birthday dinner redux is halfway into its second course when the lights at the front of the room brighten and the ones above her dim.

“And now, as an added, surprise treat for this evening's meal, the magnificent Lady Flame is here to dazzle you all with her astounding feats of magic!” The server at the edge of the room gives a thumbs up and Aubrey bounds into view, smile glittering brighter than her outfit.

To Dani’s delight, Aubrey is an amazing magician; her tricks are interesting, her patter is the same funny, energetic pace that their conversations were this afternoon, and her assistant is adorable. When she declares she needs a volunteer for her next trick, she’s holding her hand out to Dani before anyone else can raise theirs.

The trick turns out to be picking cards and showing them to the audience, though Dani notices Aubrey devotes as much sleight of hand to brushing their fingers together as she does to her act.

“And now, esteemed audience, I will produce a flower from my lovely assistant's hair!”

Dani smiles, then claps along with everyone else as Aubrey produces a spring of Larkspur from thin air. Literally, Dani cannot for the life of her tell where she was hiding it. Or how she was able to get what Dani said was her favorite flower on such short notice.

Aubrey finishes up her act (and doesn’t set anything on fire) to thunderous applause, and Dani spots Mama leaning over to whisper something to Barclay, who nods thoughtfully. It’s only after the magician has taken her last bow that Dani has a horrible realization; Aubrey went to all that trouble to make her birthday dinner memorable, and she didn’t get to eat any of it.

Her white sandals sink into the carpet as she carries a plate down to Aubrey’s room. When her new friend opens the door, she’s between worlds; sparkly jacket on top, red pajama pants on the bottom.

“I brought you some cake. Or, uh, I guess it’s a tart.” She holds out the plate and Aubrey takes it, cheeks going pink, “since you didn’t get the rest of the dinner.”

“Thanks” Aubrey steps back so Dani can join her in the room, “it’s chill that I didn’t get to join you all; I wanted to make up for ruining your dinner last night.”

“You already did way more than that. Aubrey, this was the nicest day I’ve had in months, and most of that is because I got to spend it with you.”

“I dunno, feel weird getting cake from a thing I crashed.” Aubrey is fidgeting with her bracelets, blushing harder every time she looks up and finds Dani still smiling at her.

“Can I give you something else instead?” Dani takes a half-step forward.

“Sure! What-” Aubrey’s words fade into a little sigh as Dani wraps her arms over her shoulders. Then her back bumps into the nightstand as Aubrey throws herself into a kiss.

“Hey” Dani teases, nibbling her ear as Aubrey holds her tighter, “you messed up my big reveal.”

“Aw dang, guess I’ll have to make it up to you.” Aubrey slips her hands down to the small of her back, “how does even more making out sound?”

Dani pulls her towards the bed, heart buzzing with warmth at the sight of her smile and the touch of her hands, “like the best birthday gift ever.”

#danbrey #aubrey little/dani #taz amnesty #meet ugly

[ofcloudsandstars]

Slowly Returning.. but not quite yet

Hey everyone!!

I said I may come back by September/Virgo season but I still feel like this summer hiatus may stretch on a little longer.. However I am slowly going to make my return!!

I feel like saying that I have grown in this time period is an understatement haha. I am not the same person from since I left. I felt since Spring Equinox I was transformed in some fire of the light part of the year, discovering new dimensions of myself in new scenarios, chaos, adventures, disasters and now as the summer is waning I am retreating into myself to reflect but as I am at a new understanding of myself I am not sure what I want anymore, in terms of habits I used to entertain when I was more isolated and not doing much with myself on a tangible plane.

I am someone who thinks way too much. Like I can spend a whole day inside daydreaming sort of 'too much'. And I really enjoy having a platform to share ideas and think more and speculate but I just wanted to experiment with life in a different way and see what its like to start doing shit without thinking and let a bitch (me) 'find out' (there was a lot of chaos in this process) and life granted me a crew of bad ass fiery afro queer witches that made this the most insane summer of my life to date. Anyway as I really miss having a space to share ideas I do want to come back but I also spent wayy too much time giving to the online void as it felt like a place of anonymous safety instead of cultivating the things I liked on a tangible plane with people that appreciate doing the same things. So I am kind of in a crossroads of figuring out how I can take everything I've practiced, created, shared and start weaving it in a new level of my life where it can become something further integrated within my community both online and offline.

My craft has grown tremendously in this time. My understanding of myself has evolved. There were a lot of forces astrologically encouraging us to evolve and change and it definitely was the themes of this summer. I have also been following the lunar cycles more and that's helped me on a personal level. I've also been so involved with various witches of color, queer witches all similar ages that share the same animistic energetic-based understanding of witchcraft and magic that I feel like I should put even more effort into making a community that does shit together. I also notice I have a bit of a giver personality so without thinking I can easily give too much to spaces and prioritize them instead of doing stuff for myself which gets my limited free time with full time work wrapped up in stuff that doesn't help me move forward. (An example of this is my alchemist friend has returned from Greece and is hosting a foraging picnic this Friday and though its going to be beautiful and I will be surrounded by knowledge of native plants and making it into food, it's going to be a full day of servitude on one of my limited days off on a full week of work so I hardly get time to work on personal stuff..)

I will definitely be posting stories of my hot witch summer on here but probably sporadically. They are all pretty long. Like the time we hosted a Solstice forest rave. The time we tried to have a full moon forest rave but the fucking police busted us lol. The time I did a love/hookup attraction spell on a new moon and the fucking lost boys sound track came on accidentally on the shuffle, but then the next day I saw a guy on the street while the same song was playing on my ipod and he has the moody alt aesthetic with long hair, tattooed sleeves and piercings and we hooked up twice and he lives 15 min walking distance from me. The lavender harvest!! Just the summer herbal walks/harvests in general and the witch picnics with the smoking blends. Lions gate at the most chaotic, evil fucked up music festival I have ever been to ft. seeing the abyss while being too high on a pill. All the times my witch friends have DJed at parties and their sets are so good I have danced into trances. Summer Solstice feast! Lughnasadh picnic in Kenwood Gardens. Co-hosting soundbaths at the chapel (and the rich london Goop type bitches that attend omg), I feel like I am missing things but yeah it's been eventful!!

#also I dunno there's a part of me that really wants to share all of the spells I've done and how my craft has grown but its really personal #I do want to share stuff about my craft in art magic though but its also the labor of putting together all the info #and then it's a punch to the gut when you see someone repost your work like they came up with it lol #I dunno I think I am reaching the boring age of wanting to be paid for my time #but thats cause at a certain point everything depressingly becomes about money #like when I was a teen/young adult I spent so much endless time online just... creating.. cause I had no worries #now my free time is so fucking limited it's like.. #I could spend the hours after work doing something magical or relaxing or.. spending 3 hours writing the astro forecast #its really this lifestyle which can make you more selfish but I do want to still have an online platform to connect with people #but you do have to admit that tumblr is very isolating.. it feels like a coocoon in a way #like a safe space where people can anonymously shout ideas and test them out like some nuclear destitute site #but you can't connect on a more personal way sometimes.. at least I don't feel like it #I think I just want something more tangible for the time I put in and I guess that is the real crossroads here #personal #long post

[sabraeal]

And Spring Became the Summer

[Read on AO3]

The very last of my follower fics for the 700 Followers gifts! This one was the bonus for making it to 750 before December, and I’m so glad I’ve FINALLY gotten this done...so I can do it all over again this year 🤣

The last term paper Mitsuhide writes for his undergraduate career he slips into a glossy plastic portfolio-- double-spaced and double-sided, graphs printed in full color-- and turns in personally.

It’s a wide-eyed TA that takes it, seated behind a desk that’s far too big for her. Or well, she’s not wide-eyed at first; instead she’s bent over her work, only glancing up absently to make sure she has it in hand. But a second one turns absence to alarm, eyes fixing to where he grips the plastic, and suddenly he’s all-too aware how easily how just one of his hands could swallow both of hers.

So is she; her eyes pulse wide, and then she’s tracing the line of his arm up and up doggedly, like as long as she just keeps going, she might hit the end of him. When she finally does, he offers her a sheepish smile, shoulders hunched lessen the blow.

She shrinks back, a mousey brown head peeking above an oversized university sweatshirt. So much for that.

“You could have emailed this,” she squeaks, plucking the plastic sleeve from his grip. “I mean, not that you can’t hand it in. It’s just, er...”

“No one does,” another adds, rolling across the floor with a level of curiosity that he’s pretty sure an in-person paper doesn’t warrant. When she measures him with her gaze, she enjoys every inch. “Pretty old fashioned, if you ask me.”

He recognizes both of them; their names had been on the syllabus at the beginning of the semester. He’d found them both on the department website, Amanda wearing the same Clarines sweatshirt she had on today, and Holly’s clearly from some beach vacation, cropped from the shoulders up.

(“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a stalker,” Obi says, hanging upside down from the armchair.

“I’m-- I’m not!” Mitsuhide sputters, heat creeping up his neck. One day, Obi would slip up and say these things in front of someone who mattered, someone with a much more rigid sense of humor than Professor Gazelt, or didn’t know to take every word of his with an ocean of salt like Dean Haruka, and then it would be him that got seated in front of a disciplinary committee. The last thing he needed to do before even finishing law school applications was explain his brother’s poor taste in jokes on the record. “It’s just...”

“That you’re compelled to look at cute girls on the university website?” he offers, so casual. “I could think of hotter majors, if you wanted. Psych seems like it’s the sort of place real tens might hand out, right? Maybe, uh, Education? Kindergarten teachers always are cute--”

“It’s polite,” Mitsuhide grits out, shoulders hunched up by his ears. “You should know everyone on staff in your department, just the way you should know everyone you work with. It’s the proper way to network.”

Obi watches him with wide eyes, like he’s some kind of zoo animal or-- or one of those really bad cooks on TV, the kind who tries to pan fry a chicken whole. “God, you don’t actually do that, do you?”

“It’s the secret to good business.” At least, that’s what his parents always told him.

“You must be...” Obi savors the moment, looking positively euphoric as he says, “Really fucking creepy at the department Christmas party.”)

“No one did,” says the first-- Amanda, graduate summa cum laude from Columbia-- tone aimed to shush. “I’m, uh, happy to take that, though.”

He gives her his most gracious smile. “Thank you.”

“No,” Holly-- Penn State, no honors-- mutters, casting him a speculative glance from the corner of her eyes. Hers go up and up too, but seem to come to a much more amicable conclusion. “Thank you.”

“Stop.” Amanda’s hands flex on the thin plastic; she has soft hands, a callus only on the knuckle of her middle finger, where a pen might rest. Like Shirayuki, only without the thousand nicks and cuts that dot her fingers, battle wounds from wrangling recalcitrant plants.

Her chin pulls up, set in a determined line as she says, “Congratulations on graduating.”

“Ah...” It’s a kind thought, and meant well, but knowing he’s about to spend the next three years earning the degree that counts softens the blow. “Thank you. I hope you have a nice, um, summer?”

“Definitely will be nicer not to grade papers,” Holly offers, immune to Amanda’s shushing. “Do you have pl--?”

“We should get back to grading,” Amanda says, just to the left of too loud. “Have a nice summer.”

Never repeat yourself, Mama always told him, it weakens your position.

You can never be too polite. That’s what Papa would say, when he thanked the cashier for a third time.

Mitsuhide winces; he’s always hated this, being stuck between his parents. It’s clearly time to leave. “Right. Bon été, Amanda.”

“Was that French,” he hears hissed the moment he’s stepped out the door; the same moment another voice says, “Did I tell him my name?”

He should have just emailed it. Mitsuhide can make any number of excuses about the joys of collating and color printing, about face-time and networking, but at the end of the day, he has to call a spade a spade: this has all been an excuse. A thin one too, to keep him out of the house. To put off what he knows need doing.

Mitsuhide steps into the cool air of the foyer, shivering as it catches the sweat that beaded at his hairline on the walk. His courage peaks as he stands there, right next to the shoe mat, grand stair stretching up before him, still in his oxfords--

And immediately effervesces when he catches sight of smooth, bare legs on the coffee table, fuzzy slippers worth more than his phone perched up on the mahogany. This is it, the moment of truth, fight or flight, and he-- he doesn’t know which way to run.

So he doesn’t. He’s drawn there with inexorable motion, a magnet to a lodestone, the hard soles of his shoes clacking against the wood the only thing keeping him grounded. It takes only a few steps before long, tanned legs lead up to sleep shorts; not the clingy kind that curve and cup, but the ones that hang like boxers around the tops of her thighs, rucking up as she moves. After that it’s a hoodie, worn loose and baggy, like it’s supposed to fit someone twice her size, its hood drawn tight against her face. Nothing...sexy, not the way Obi might say, with far too much eyebrows involved. But still, his mouth runs dry, tongue heavy behind his teeth.

How on earth is he going to do this?

“Kiki.” He speaks before he thinks, sinking down on the table. It creaks beneath him, ominous. “I owe you a date.”

“Oh shit.” Obi flops over on the recliner, wide gold eyes peeking over the arm. “Check out the balls on this kid.”

This is a terrible idea. He should have known not to do this in a-- a common room, one where other brothers might be hiding.

“Sorry,” he creaks, levering himself up. “I didn’t realize-- you’re clearly busy--”

“No.” Kiki’s lays her feet right on his thighs, pushing him down with a thump. “You were saying something important.”

He darts a glance to the shadow squirming obnoxiously on soft leather. “But Obi--”

“Obi,” she informs him, as imperious as any C-suite member, “can leave.”

Obi doesn’t so much bark out a laugh as honks it. “Not unless I got time to make popcorn.”

Her head doesn’t move an inch from where she’s got it, chin tilted up to meet his own gaze. Her eyes though, those slide pointedly away, fixed at their corners, radiating malice. Kiki is slow to speak, deliberate when she does, but her eyes-- well, there’s a wealth of words in every look, and right now they’re reading Obi the riot act.

It would have worked better if Obi wasn’t already so used hearing it.

“Ignore him,” Kiki decides, attention snapping back to him. “He’s furniture.”

“Oh, Ms Kiki,” Obi drawls, barreling towards a mistake, “you could sit on me any--”

“You were saying?” she says, every word iron. Obi takes the hint, for once.

“I, uh...well, you paid for a date,” Mitsuhide manages lamely, darting a worried look to where Obi lounges on the chair. “I mean, you paid a lot for a date. And I understand that you may have just wanted to donate to the frat, but if you wanted to--”

“I told you,” Kiki says, dry, toes flexing firmly on his knee. “I expect you to make it worth my while.”

“Ah, y-yeah.” Her saying that while looking at him like she did-- well, his brain had that queued up every time he blinks his eyes. Sometimes it changed venues, and there were some, uh, costume changes at times, but if he shut his eyes right now it’d spool up with perfect fidelity. “I thought it might, um, d-distract you if we tried before finals, but since you’ve finished-- we’ve finished--”

“As of twenty minutes ago,” Obi adds, so helpful.

“--I thought it might be a fun way to relax.” He’s honestly never felt less relaxed in his life just sitting here, contemplating it. Half of it he can chalk up to Obi, curled over the recliner like a gremlin, waiting to wreak his version of chaos the second he can weasel his fingers in, but the other--

Well, it’s hard to ask someone on a date when you know they’ve already got someone in mind for the position. Even if it’s just-- this. As friends.

His heart’s in his throat. At least, that’s what he thinks until Kiki’s mouth curves; then he knows it’s never been in his possession at all, but always utterly hers. “Sounds like fun.”

Tension rushes out of him on a sigh. “Ah, great. I though we might, er, go to Boston? You know,” he hurries to spit out, before any words can fall from her parted lips, “since there’s not much out here we haven’t seen.”

She hesitates. Of course she does. Boston’s practically her hometown, and he’s sitting here, thinking it’ll impress her. Like she hasn’t seen everything that’s worth seeing there twice over and in private. That she hasn’t just told him no outright is a testament to how well Mr Seiran’s raise her, and--

“Let’s make a day of it.”

Mitsuhide startles, nearly tipping off the table’s edge before he glances up, right into her row of perfectly straight teeth. Her mom’s smile, she always told him, but he’s only ever seen it on her. “I-- yes. That’s..good.”

Her lips curl, hiding her teeth. “Let me handle the accommodations.”

“Ah, no.” His head sweeps through big, nervous back-and-forths. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to--”

“You’re not,” Kiki informs him. “I’m telling you. I’ll handle accommodations. You’re seeing to the rest of the weekend, correct?”

“Y-yes.” He tries to fold his arms across his lap, but with her feet right on his thighs, it ends up with his hands covering her ankles. He expects her to move them, but instead her legs still, tendons relaxing under his palms. “That’s the plan, but, really--”

“It’s the least I can do.” She shifts her macbook off the couch’s arm, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “One night?”

“I...” He should decline. He should tell her that if she can drop a whole K on a date with him, he can shell out for one night at a hotel with a higher rating than a Holiday Inn.

But this is Kiki Seiran, heir to Seiran International. She’s not just used to five stars but the penthouse suite. He could book four star cheap on Hotwire, but imagining her in one of those suites, the sheets starched and thread count insufficient--

“Yeah,” he grunts, “one night’s fine.”

“Perfect.” Her teeth snap around the word. “Leave it to me.”

“So,” Obi starts before Mitsuhide’s even hit the last step. “We have a bet going on.”

He grimaces, shifting the duffel over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

‘Pretty sure’ turns to ‘certain’ once he catches Obi’s grin. “It’s about whether you’ll get your dick wet.”

“Sorry, not interested.” He heaves the bag beside the front door, brushing off his shorts. “Isn’t it too early for you to be up? I thought you didn’t know about the hours before ten.”

“I had motivation,” Obi assures him, slinking up beside him with a grin a mile wide. “You know, Shiira says that you won’t on the grounds that you’re a gentleman.”

More like the lady isn’t interested. “I already said I wasn’t--”

“Kai says you will,” he continues blithely, “and you’ll come back on time. Shuuka agrees, except that he thinks you’ll miss check out with all the boning down and won’t make it back until evening.”

“Isn’t this breaking the bylaws?” Mitsuhide grunts, slipping on his sneakers. “Don’t we have something about betting...?”

“For money,” Obi agrees. “Zen still wouldn’t put a bet down though.”

That’s assuring at least. “Of course n--”

“Shiira already took his.” Obi shakes his head. “And we wouldn’t allow him to say the same thing except that he thinks it’s because you’re and idiot.”

Well, that’s a little rich, coming from Zen. Mitsuhide was loath to remind anyone that besides Obi, he is the most experienced, but-- some people should be taking that into account. Even if nothing is going to happen.

“Don’t worry, Big Guy.” Obi claps him on the shoulder, smile somehow drifting towards kindly. “I gave you until Monday.”

“Obi--”

“And Kiki will walk in with a limp.”

“Obi, you know that’s not...” His breath hisses between his teeth. “That’s not what me and Kiki are like.”

“You keep thinking that, Big Guy, but--” he leans in, cupping a hand around his mouth-- “my original bet was gonna be Tuesday. Too bad Kiki had already taken it.”

Mitsuhide stares at him, slack-jawed. “W-what did you just--?”

“I should have known, you’re already here.”

His head jerks up, right to the top of the grand stair, the beginning of a quick glance-- but it’s no use. There’s no possible way he could make his eyes focus anywhere but on Kiki, not when she’s wearing-- when she’s--

“Ooh.” Obi’s mouth curls, matching Kiki’s knowing smirk. “Is that a skirt?”

It is. And not-- not her field hockey kit, mid-thigh with shorts beneath, but and actual skirt, one that floats just above her knees, gauzy and floral. A single flash of leg tells him there’s nothing else beneath. Ah, well, besides the obvious. Mitsuhide swallows hard, mouth dry.

She raises a brow, hand trailing sinuously down the banister beside her. “It is a date, isn’t it?”

Her heels clack when she takes the last step into the foyer, clack because it’s the cork of her wedges that hits the floor first, because-- nom de Dieu-- she’s wearing shoes that tilt her a few inches close to him. Close enough that he could just bend at the neck and--

“Ah,” he coughs, fingers clenching in his shirt. “You might be a little overdressed. At least for this first part.”

Both her brows raise now. “Am I?”

“God,” Obi mutters at his shoulder, head buried in his hands. “You could at least say she looks nice.”

Well, when he’s right, he’s right.

“You look, ah, great though,” Mitsuhide hurries to add. “Beautiful.”

Kiki, to his surprise, beams. “Well, I brought a few outfits. I’ll change at the hotel.”

“Ah, sure.” He scoops up his duffel, holding out a hand for her bag as she passes. “You’re ready to go?”

Her mouth quirks at a corner. “As I’ll ever be.”

He hums, uncertain, suddenly left-footed with her so close. They should leave, but that involves a number a movements he’s suddenly stymied by.

Thankfully, Obi opens the door, practically shoving him onto the porch. “All right kids, be safe now.”

“Obi...”

“Don’t worry,” Kiki drawls, sashaying over the threshold. “I packed plenty of condoms.”

The door cuts off Obi’s laugh, but Mitsuhide can’t escape the pounding of his heart.

“You know,” he sighs, trailing after her, “you’re only encouraging him when you say things like that.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” she hums, floating past. “I was trying to encourage you.”

#mitsukiki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #my fic #ans #THESE ARE FINALLY FINISHED #and this little side jaunt is barely started 🤣 #i wanted to do the whole date...then convinced myself half... #and now i just have the lead up #but lbr #it's better this way #since we get more chaos agent Obi #which only makes Obi's sensitive feelings about his OWN date funnier #buddy you bought and paid for the shit you're getting #and NOW you don't want it? no wonder Kiki gives you crap

[applsauss]

Lightning Bugs in July | II

GUNNER AND BUG

Description: You were christened ‘Bug’ by Beth and ‘Gunner’ by your pals. Those are the names that define you.

Fandom: Band of Brothers


Pairing: 
Joseph Toye/Reader

Word Count: 
5.9k+

Warning(s): Derogatory Language. Nothing you wouldn’t see in the show.

“What did they call you?” 

      “What did they call you?”

Em’s question was so innocent.

      You were called ‘Bug’ once, when you’d run barefoot through the grass, catching lightning bugs with your bare hands in the sleepy twilight.

Beth was younger, then. So were you. She would call after you from the porch: “Buggy! Come in. It’s getting late!”

You existed in a world without war for so long, why can’t you exist there once more? Why is it so hard to stand back on that beach and live in it the way it was, the way you once were? 

There were lightning bugs, then, over the Potomac. They flashed like they wanted to remind you of everything good still left in the world.

“Were you a good machine gunner?”

      They called you ‘Gunner’ once. You used to take pride in that name, then you learned to accept it for what it was: A fact, something that’s definition just meant you, something that was yours.

They would call after you, in a firefight, in the quiet often that followed one:

“Gunner!”

Wars seem never-ending when you’re in the middle of one.

      You are shaking in a foxhole. Dirt falls over your head and shoulders the farther you press your back into the wall behind you, and your machine gun is steaming above you. These are unimportant details. Mostly, you are staring at your bloody hands. 

Something drips down the side of your face like a shiver. Your chest rises and falls quickly -- so quickly -- you can't control it. Mostly, though, you are staring at the wet blood sticking between your fingers. 

"Gunner!"

Where did all this blood come from? You look down at your arm and find that the red is soaking through your uniform as well. Is it yours? Panic flares, cold like dread in your chest, and you can't catch your breath, but you're breathing so quickly -- how can it feel like you're drowning? Is it the blood?

"Gunner!"

There is a loud ringing in your ears, like gnats swarming your head. Are you dying?

"Gunner!"

Someone slides into your foxhole. You suck in a sharp, rattling breath and scramble for your bayonet, but the straps of your webbing are tangled and you can't yank it free. Then a hand settles over yours -- kind in that it is unyielding -- and you realize it's just Joe Toye who's crouched beside you. "Oh, Gunny," he rasps as he sinks to his knees, the edges of him stark against the sky. 

"Joe?'

You can barely make out his face in the broad daylight; your vision blurs and drops off to static around the edges. You try and force more words up and from your chest, but your jumbled mind won't let any thoughts stick. Slowly, Joe wraps his arms around you and brings you to his chest.

"Are you hurt?"

The question confuses you. You don't have an immediate answer. You turn your face into Joe's chest, nose pressed to his jacket, and beneath all the shellfire and hellfire, the air around Joe Toye tastes like Lucky strikes on your tongue. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Where’s Lieb?”

"I don't know." You find yourself struggling to hold down the urge to cry. You wrestle with it on the floor of your mind, bat at its hands and squeeze its neck. Joe cradles your head and begins rocking back and forth. 

"It's alright. You're alright. You're looking fine, Gunner--"

"Oh, dear God--"

Someone else is at the lip of the foxhole, the familiar shadow of a friend cast over you. 

"Go get the doc."

You barely recognize Eugene Roe when he slips down the wall of your foxhole. He has the pallid face of an angel, his halo, the red cross on his helmet. 

Joe's voice rumbles in his chest like a beloved wave of thunder. "You're gonna be fine, huh, Gunner?"

"Huh, Gunner?

      "Huh, Gunner?"

            "Huh, Gunner?" 

Does he know what your name means to you?

You were called 'Bug' once, when you ran barefoot through the grass chasing lightning bugs.

You never liked your first name because it was given to you by your mother, who didn’t, and still doesn’t, know you. You were christened ‘Bug’ by Beth and ‘Gunner’ by your pals. Those are the names that define you.

      When you close your eyes, you urge yourself to remember that beach, that twilight, that last moment of peace you stole before you waded deeper and let the current of war sweep you under, tear you away from whatever simpler life you might have lead if you'd never joined up and shipped off, shot and been shot, dug into the earth and understood intimately the way it shivers during an artillery barrage.

This is one thing you know for certain: Your name belongs to you the same as it is you, who you are.

What did they call you? 

Gunner. Because it's what you call a machine gunner. A good one.

      Joe sets your helmet on your head; You forgot when you took it off in the first place. A hand appears in front of your face; Skip Muck is staring down at you grimly as he hoists you up and over the edge of the foxhole. 

The sun in France is soft like velvet, and with the eclipsing of spring comes a fresh summer breeze. The air rushes over your skin, caressing your face like a lover might, and the sun kisses the apples of both your cheeks, speckled through the leaves. These are unimportant details. 

Mostly you cannot tear your eyes from the field of German bodies that comes into view as soon as you clamber out of the foxhole. There are twenty, maybe thirty of them -- a whole platoon draped like dolls over each other, shredded from high-caliber rounds. It is a mass grave.

Blood soaks into the dirt. The grass it drips from sways in the summer breeze without care. Blood drains from your face, leaving behind cold dread, and you smear it on your pants when you try and wipe it from your hands. 

Some memories make it past the filter of your mind. It was enfilade fire, which is a technical term meant to obscure the horror a gunner witnesses when it happens. The Krauts had been lined up so neatly, eager to catch the rest of the company off-guard to the point of deadly carelessness.

You remember feeling mostly confusion when the first couple soldiers in your sights fell, only to reveal the others stacked up behind them, pierced by the same spray of bullets. Hubs, your ammunition bearer, had shouted something along the lines of 'get those fucking Krauts, Gunny!" before loading up another belt for you to bury more dead with. You don’t remember why Liebgott wasn’t there to do it instead.

That confusion you felt -- your mind unable to process the carnage -- gave way to urgency when you were reminded of your buddies, just over the hill, their backs turned and wanting for a bullet while they take care of the line. “Don’t let anyone past,” Lip had told you and Hubs before shuffling off. “We’re all countin’ on you.”

The Kraut platoon leader managed to get his men together a bit, and they stopped mid-charge to fire back upon your position. Vaguely, you remember an explosion, a squelch, a shout, being thrown against the wall, then jumping right back on your gun. And now you're left in the silence of a firefight. The air tastes heavy with blood. 

"Gunner," Joe Toye rasps. 

You shake your head and fumble with your breast pocket for a pack of gum. You set a stick of it between your teeth, bite down, and let the spearmint burn a hole through your tongue. 

It feels deserved.

“Gunner.” 

That’s your name. It’s what you are. A machine gunner. 

Instruments of war are carefully, purposely, deadly. A well utilized machine gun can change the tide of an entire battle -- that lesson was drilled into you the moment they picked you out for a machine gunner, the moment you were christened in Toccoa by Joe Liebgott and O. Petty.  

You are a machine gunner. 

You attempt for a moment to hang onto that urgency you felt when Lip gave you your orders to justify the death in front of you. You’ve never seen so many bodies before. In certain spots, the Germans are two, three deep, dead and dying on top of each other. One of them wails. The sound pierces you faster than any bullet. The sound is stuck in your ears. It is there, always,whenever it is quiet.

Your mouth tastes like blood and spearmint. You hate that flavor. You squeeze your eyes shut, but no memory comes.

"Were you a good machine gunner?" 

Yes. You were.

      An hour later, the rest of Easy Company bustles around you. You are sitting next to your machine gun while Smokey cleans it, occasionally spitting the chewing tobacco from his mouth onto the grass.

"Joe," you ask quietly, staring down at your bandaged hands while they shake. Joe Toye grunts, and you meet his eyes then, feeling brittle and empty. "Where's Hubs?" 

It isn’t until the next day you find out you’re wearing what’s left of him. Liebgott tells you this shamefully, wringing the straps of his musette bag and unable to look you in the eyes. You both feel the loss immensely.

      But wars end eventually, and in October, the Virginia heat touches down once daily, in the early afternoon. Tommy sits down on the wood pile beside you and pulls out his lunch box, same as yours. You tilt your head back and enjoy the brittle heat of the day wrapping itself around you like a quilt. You let your eyes slip shut and it almost feels like just yesterday you were standing out on the gravel bank in your wrinkled uniform, throwing your medals into the Potomac, instead of three months ago. Your fingers twitch, and your thoughts are flooded with the taste of spearmint.

"Hey," Tommy grunts beside you. 

You peak an eye open to find him holding out a saltwater taffy for you to take. His pockets are always full of them. You don't remember exactly when he picked the habit up, but it's been this way since you were kids. 

You accept the small offering, unwrap it, then pop it in your mouth. "Thanks," you mutter, and he nods.

The afternoon is quiet. The sweat you worked up installing drywall is freezing on your back, but the toes of your boots are sweltering in the dry sun. You find yourself lingering for longer and longer in moments like these. It began in France, when Easy Company would eventually break in a relatively quiet town after going through hell. 

You were always a bit greedy with food and personal property, everybody with siblings is, but you were never as greedy with anything else than a peaceful moment after your boots touched French soil for the very first time. Some days, it was as if your entire mind, body and soul wanted for nothing more than to lounge out in the sun and play a game of cards. You held on to those moments with a greed so intense that at times, it felt like nobody but General Taylor himself could order you away.

There are some things you need to learn to let go of, though. 

“Where’s Ma?” you ask after a prolonged lapse in conversation. The question has been on your mind for some time now. Your mother's a tramp, but she usually shows her mousy face every couple weeks around the house, begging for table scraps, sometimes demanding them.

Tommy shrugs. “Hasn't been back nearly as much since you left. Last I heard -- you know how Beth is with her -- she went off to New Orleans or somewhere with a gentleman suitor. Hasn’t been back since March.” 

You shake your head. “‘Course that’s where she went." You remember her waxing poetic about Mardi Gras and all of its sexual freedoms. You run a hand through your hair and wish quietly for the way Lieb would cut it. The conversation feels awkward and stilted when it shouldn't, because Tommy is your brother and you’ve known him since you were two and he was zero days old. 

The air tastes uncomfortable, and humor is the only weapon you have to mask the flavor. "Anything else happen while I was gone?” you ask, half-joking.

Tommy shakes his head, the attempt at humor landing between his feet, a dud shell. “Not much has changed. You know Norma’s graduating this year, says she wants to be a movie star” -- you laugh good-naturedly at this -- “She’s got a plan and everythin’. L. A,” Tommy continues with a snort. 

You open your mouth to respond but a quick shout interrupts you.

“Hey, Bug!” A couple of the other workers at the job site are approaching you. You smile curtly and nod your head. Tommy is silent while they poke and prod at you, try and get you to tell them a couple war stories. 

“So tell us what it was like.”

“Did you shoot anyone?” 

“You must be either brave or stupid to have volunteered to jump out of a perfectly good aeroplane.” 

These are all things you've heard before, a part of the same, re-used script every man who didn't enlist carries in his back pocket.

“Hey, next time you’re down at Old Towne’s your drinks are on me, alright, hero?” That one's new, and something you're having difficulty getting used to. No one in town thinks much of your family, your mother's broke and half of you are abominations on your fathers' side, but a war hero is a war hero, you suppose. At least that's the case for you. 

You say what you have to to get them to move on as quickly as possible. You don’t want to talk about any of it, you don't want to think about any of it -- you want to scrub Europe from your mind until it's the blurry memory of a night terror you only have early in the mornings, before you're fully awake. 

“Alex is back in town.” Tommy says when the crowd of workers finally moves on.

You frown. “Since when?” 

“Since Christmas. ‘Was all torn up when we broke the news that you’d gone, said that you were real brave and real foolish, waxed poetic about how you were worth the wait.” 

You can't help the bitter laugh punched from your chest. “The wait?” 

Tommy shakes his head in sympathy. “Norma chased her off before I could, and I had to hold Pat back from trying to maul her in town a couple times.”

You laugh and drop the conversation. Alex Lanchester is a jar of worms you don't want to reopen. She left you for a suit and the Big Apple two weeks before you finally confessed to enlisting. 

It’s stupid to get caught up in someone like that, so you don’t. You just close your eyes and think of those lightning bugs on the Potomac and when Tommy lights up a cigarette, you keep your eyes closed and pretend they’re not Lucky Strikes.

      In the winter there is ice along the Potomac. The gravel's crunch underfoot is sharper and the flow of the river is slowed to a crawl. This is an unusually cold year. The snow began in late November and hasn't stopped since. 

You are standing at the edge of the water, where the ice is thick and uneven, and you watch the opposite bank for paranoid movement. You wander back to this beach often. It's changed, eerie like a mirror image of a place you once loved, but it is quiet and often empty.

You kick at the ice, watching it crumble beneath your feet, then your stomach lets you know it's growing impatient for lunch. You stare out across the Potomac for a moment longer, then turn on your heel and begin marching home. 

You pass familiar landmarks as you go, all of them covered by a blanket of slushing, gray snow. There are boulders you'd played king of the hill on as a child, overgrown trails leading up to the manor sitting empty atop the hill, and the crooked oak Tommy once leapt out of, only to break his leg in two places. A faint smile pulls at the corners of your mouth when you remember how he blubbered while you dragged him home. He's taller now, and broad like an ox; he doesn’t often cry anymore.

You pause suddenly at a large willow draped over the river and the road. Its branches droop low, and are frozen to the shoreline. You almost don't recognize your own initials carved into it, next to an A.L. lovingly, painstakingly inscribed beside them. 

You remember when you'd taken a knife to this tree, in your senior year of high school. There's no greater taste than love in your mouth, and Alex taught you that, kissed and kissed you and promised her life to you. You'd been convinced that the world would fold up in front of you like a red carpet, that you would never want to wash out the flavor of caramel popcorn and a promise for the future like starshine from your mouth. 

You press your fingers to the damaged bark, trying to glean some sort of emotion from it, then pull your hand away as if burned. It's stupid to get caught up in a person like that, so you don't. You pull out a pack of Lucky Strikes you'd nicked off Tommy, and set a cigarette between your lips. 

The taste is strong, stronger than anything you'd ever had before. It makes your eyes water, but you keep it unlit and resting against your tongue as you walk home, ignoring the way your heart throbs until you're once again staring up at your three-bedroom house, at the end of the shitty road, wondering what in the hell you're supposed to do with yourself now that you're no longer 'Gunner', but instead 'Bug' once more, like you used to be.

You don't feel much like 'Buggy' these days. 

You just feel tired.

      You're sitting in your bed facing the window. The radiator under it is rattling, and the heat rolling off the coils warms the front of your body. Out the window, Virginia is naked and pale under the early morning sun, and you watch as the gray forest shivers in the breeze. The chill drives you to a razor’s edge and pulls memories you'd long since drowned to the surface of a river edged with ice.

You see faces just under the surface of those dark waters, staring up at you. You blink the image away, then see half-buried foxholes from the Ardennes out your window, waiting in the treeline at the edge of the yard. 

You see yourself huddled in one of them, behind your machine gun, and Joe Toye sitting next to you, griping about his feet and smoking like a chimney. His face, his hands, his voice were rough. You wanted to die wrapped up in the blanket of his stumbled, awful vocabulary. Everything about him was warm to the touch, sometimes like spring sunshine, sometimes like the lick of fire up the side of a pan. 

But winter leaves a bad taste in your mouth, like the bite of iron in blood. You can't stand the flavor anymore, and with it comes this itching under your skin; discomfort, rage.

You turn away and pull open the top drawer of your bedside table, intent on finding the pack of Lucky Strikes you stole from Tommy. There is a stack of letters held together with a rubber band, some faded photographs full of blurry faces, taken in Europe, and those cigarettes. 

The taste of blood in your mouth is unbearable. It tastes the same as a field of German bodies. You lick your teeth, stare at the pack, then decide you deserve the flavor. You shove the cigarettes back into the drawer so they're hiding under a photo of Second Platoon, then look back outside. It's begun to feather snow. 

Winter and the holiday season are in full swing, now -- The kids are home on Christmas break, playing in the snow and bothering Beth at all hours of the day, and the world outside your home is quiet and cold. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth, like the bite of iron in blood. You can't think of anything there is to celebrate anymore, and the fact that people are celebrating at all is enough to make undeserved anger well up in your chest.

There is a pounding of feet up the old stairs that stops abruptly at the door behind you. 

"Beth says breakfast is ready."

You look over your shoulder to find Em hanging from the doorway, poking her head into the bedroom. Her clothes are a clash of yellows and warm blues, and she flashes her teeth when she grins at you.

"Thanks, Sweet Em."

Her eyes light up at the name, then she bounds across the room and drapes herself over your back. You grunt when she squeezes you, her sharp chin poking into your shoulder, then laugh, and grab her arms where they're clasped in front of your throat so you can stand up with her. 

"Noo!" she squeals and wraps her legs around your waist, but she lets you carry her all the way down to the table, where you let her off at her favorite chair, then take Lip's seat next hers. "Got any plans for this lovely winter break, Em?"

Em shrugs her shoulders and begins to eat her oats. “Dog and Tommy said they’d go sledding with us! Did you want to come, too?”

Your mind fills with images of foxholes and forgotten faces and your smile falters for a moment, but you work to ignore the dread sinking into your chest. You're interrupted by a shout.

“Hey, Bug! Did you really cut your hair like this? And who’re your buddies?” Ulysses comes thundering down the steps holding a picture over his head. You immediately know the one, it was taken the day before D-Day when you’d all been kitted out. Joe Toye was in it, so was Smokey and Liebgott.

Panic like anger blooms in your chest. He shouldn't be going through your things. You fix Ulysses with a look. "Give it back."

"Why?" He shrinks back, holding the picture to his chest. "It's just a picture." 

He shouldn't be going through your things. Your eyes burn. You're beyond words. You leap up and try to snatch it, but Ulysses backs up the stairs, holding it behind his back. The fact that he's holding that piece of you, waving it around, unsettles something in your chest. Beth shouts something, but you don't hear her. 

"Give it back, Ulysses!"

He can play with your uniform all he wants, take your loot out and parade it around his friends like he was the one to steal it, but that picture is personal. It's the last thing you have left of your buddies. You grab Ulysses by the belt and tug him towards you to try and snatch the picture from him, but he squirms in your hold. "Hey! Stop it! That hurts!"

"Then give it back!" you shout, increasingly desperate and mad, tugging until Ulysses falls back onto the stairs, shouting at you. Then Jim-boy appears at the top of the stairs, and descends then faster than you can react. He snatches the picture out of Ulysses' hands, gives him a withering look, then holds it out for you to take. 

The silence that follows a firefight is unbearable. You remember that they used to call you 'Gunner'.

You feel four pairs of eyes on you. Ulysses is rubbing his elbow where he knocked it on the stairs. You look down at the picture. 

It's of Second Platoon, the same one you'd thought it was. Joe Toye and Liebgott are on either side of you, smiling. You have both your hands on your ammunition bearer, Hubs', shoulders, leaning over him and you're grinning widely, your mohawk cut fresh on your head. 

Guarnere is towards the back, caught shouting something over his shoulder. Smokey, Rogers, and McClung are next to each other, arms over each other's shoulders. Malarkey and Buck are arm-in-arm with big, cheesy grins. Petty's there too, and Ramirez. Popeye, Muck, Penkala. There is paint on your faces. Half of you are dead. 

Your hand shakes the more you stare at it, anger and frustration rising in you until you're choked by it. "Fuck!" Half of you are dead. You feel as if you died with them. Maybe you wish you had. 

You drop the photo on the floor and stalk out the back door, not bothering with shoes even though the ground is covered in snow. The dog barks happily, but you ignore him and the slap of the screen door as you head straight towards the gnarled apple tree, knowing you can sit behind it in peace. Your feet burn in the snow, but it's nothing you're not used to. 

From the house you hear Beth’s low voice scolding Ulysses, but it’s not his fault. You’ve changed.

      The days that follow are rough. Winter's maw opens up and deepens; swallows you whole. It snows heavily through the rest of the week. You spend the meat of your days working, and the lean margins down at the Potomac, staring at the river ice and the faces just beneath the surface.

Now it is well past sunset, and it is cold. The white of the snow and clouds reflect the distant city lights, creating an eerie, lilac, never-ending twilight that surrounds you, holds its breath and watches your every move. 

Bastogne never had any color; it was just gray. In Virginia, the winter is steeped in purples and pinks when night falls, and during the day it is powder fresh and bluebird soft. 

You're sitting on a frozen log, throwing rocks at the river ice when you hear the sharp crunch of gravel behind you. You jump violently at the sound but don’t turn to see who it is even when your instincts scream for you to. A part of you wants to wait and see if they'll give up without acknowledgement, dreading any interaction, and another part doesn't care anymore.

"It's been a while." After a prolonged silence, a familiar voice rings out in the silence of winter. It is singular and friendly. Alex dusts the snow off a bit of log next to you, and smooths her skirt as she takes a seat beside you.

You continue to stare across the river, ignoring the faces in favor of searching for Krauts now. You're not quite sure why, but you're not surprised she's here. 

Beside you, Alex digs the toe of her boot into the snow covered gravel, then asks, "how long have you been back in town?"

Your mouth is dry. "Since August,” you say reluctantly.

She sighs. "You never came to see me." 

Her tone rubs against you like a cat asking for its chin to be scratched, then tests its claws in your chest. You remind yourself to be mad-- "Yeah, well, you left me first--" But you're not. You're not upset with her. Maybe you were, in the beginning, but you're not anymore. You don't think you could be even if you tried. You're so far removed from that heartbreak, it seems insignificant after everything you've done and seen. 

"Can't say I blame you for being angry," Alex says frankly.

You roll your stiff shoulders and heave a sigh. You're past giving a damn. You bounce another rock off the river ice, then rub your chapped hands together. It might just be the way the light bounces off the snow, but sometimes you can still feel, see, smell the blood on them. You can still taste it. They are red. You work your jaw around a phantom piece of spearmint gum, then wish for the bitter taste of Lucky Strikes.

“What happened?” Alex asks. 

You stare hard at the ground. "I went to war." 

"No," she laughs humorlessly, then gestures to your hands. "What happened?"

You follow her gaze down to your hand, and it takes you a moment to realize she's not talking about the blood, but your scars. They are raised, irregular and uncomfortable. You stare at your skin for a moment, then hide your hands between your knees. "Burned myself with the barrel of my machine gun." Your nails cut your palm as you first your hands, and your mouth runs before you can catch it. "Had no choice but to bare-hand it. Doc patched me up afterward, said I was lucky that it wasn't as bad as it could've been."

She is quiet, then remarks, “Sounds painful.” 

You are not yourself. You feel a sudden urge to correct her. "It didn't hurt till the morning -- I didn't even notice it to begin with."

There is more, just waiting on the tip of your tongue to be spilled. You haven't so much as breathed a word of the war in the months you've been home, so why is the urge to speak so uncontrollable now?

"It happened the same day my first assistant gunner died right beside me, a direct hit with a bazooka round, had his guts sprayed all over me and everything, and I didn't know till the morning. Joe had to pull me outta the foxhole, all covered in gore and that's when this--" you hold up your arm-- "happened, or a little afterwards, you know, when we finally got into the town we'd been trying to liberate. Fucking Nazis."

You look up to find Alex watching you with pity. You turn to watch the river instead. There is movement in the dark forest across the way. You squeeze your knees and shake your head. There aren't any Krauts anymore. 

“Never mind.” “It must have been hell over there.” 

"It wasn't." 

"What?" she asks. 

"It was," you amend. You realize that you don't know how long you've been sitting out here in the cold. It must be well past dinner. You pat your knees and make to stand with a huff. “Well, I gotta go. Beth won’t like it if I’m out after dark for too long. She barely lets me outta her sight anyways.” 

“I missed you, you know," Alex says suddenly, voice wobbly.

You glance over at her, then back across the river at the Krauts and Bitterness returns. “I’m sure you did. Everyone misses the war hero.”

“No,” she says, “I mean I missed you. You. Breaking it off with you was the biggest mistake I ever made.” 

You close your eyes, and even though you're standing in the exact spot you once had, before you'd gone off to war, a toy soldier, you can't picture this beach the way it had once been. But you remember Joe Toye, when he'd held you in that foxhole in France, rocked you, whispered right in your ear that you'd be okay. 

"You know--" you start to say, then are forced to stop when your voice shakes with emotion you didn't know you felt. You swallow thickly, and blink your wet eyes. "You know, burning my hand or even losing Hubs wasn't the worst part of that day."

Alex looks up, but you stare at your hands. There is blood on them, and now you're sure it's not just the lilac sky. "It was knowing I killed those Germans. A whole platoon. I mowed down a whole platoon of Krauts with just a single gun -- and they were just kids, you know, like Hubs -- Like Dog. Just like him! 

"I got a medal for it, they fucking congratulated me, said I was real brave. Crazy thing to tell a murderer, ain't it?"

There is a brief silence, then Alex sighs. 

"Merry Christmas," she says sardonically, and it confuses you for a moment until you realize that today is Christmas. December twenty-fifth. What an arbitrary date. You remember how she used to be so adamant you celebrate it with her. 

"Merry Christmas," you breathe, hollow. You feel her eyes on you for a moment, then she directs her gaze back out over the Potomac, and you wonder if she's looking for Krauts too, the way Joe would. 

You wish for a flare. You wish for Tommy's Lucky Strikes to burn your tongue on. You try and fight the tears, but you're just so goddamn tired. You're more Gunner than you ever were Bug now, and Gunner is so goddamn tired. Why is that?

Your weak knees force you to take a seat on the log once more, and you drop your head into your hands, aware of Alex and how she is watching you, pitying you. Joe would never look at you like that.

You heave a quiet, shaky sob at that thought. How are you ever supposed to be Bug again? Since you were Gunner when you leapt to your death in Normandy? Since you were Gunner when you killed in cold blood for your buddies? Since you were Gunner when Joe Toye would hold you and make you forget about everything but him and his goddamn lightning bug eyes? Since you were Gunner when you heard the crack of a bat, then the news that the war would be over, for good this time.

You try and stifle the way you cry into your hands, but you can't. It is like the rain in Virginia: Absolute. A firestorm. You can't control the way your body shakes with each rattling, frozen breath. Your vision blurs to nothing and you dig the heels of your palms so hard into your eyes you see spots.

You barely realize what's happening when Alex wraps an arm around your back and leans into you, holding you tight to her chest. She's warm, and not as solid as Joe, but she is a startlingly welcome comfort nonetheless. As long as she stays quiet, you can even pretend that It's Joe Toye holding you instead, in Bastogne, whispering to himself and singing that stupid Billie Holiday song he was so obsessed with. 

But you didn't love Joe Toye. He tasted like Lucky Strikes and hellfire and the twilight lit up by flares, drifting like lightning bugs in the sky. His river was not the same as your river from memory but it's all you can seem to think about these days. That night in France, when you'd been so close to something, but afraid to grasp it. Why can't you forget that night, like the rest of the war?

This makes you cry harder.

You didn't love  Joe Toye, but you loved Alex a lifetime ago. Before all of this, you'd been in love, carved your initials next to hers in a tree and promised each other the rest of your long lives. 

This is one thing you know for certain: Joe Toye did not taste like love, but Alex tasted like starshine and caramel popcorn and first dates and first loves and hurt and broken promises and it turns your stomach the way your fifth candy apple does but you want it anyways. 

You fucking want it anyways.

Masterlist | Posting Schedule

#bob #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader #joe toye #joseph toye #joe toye x reader #joseph toye x reader #joe toye imagine #joseph toye imagine

[rataltouille]

BONFIRE, BONFIRE!: A COLLECTION OF FLASH FICTION + POETRY

so i’ve decided to compile all twenty [these will be split into two so that the post isn’t super long] of the writing pieces i’ve done for my random celebration into one post so that it’s easier to read / access share!! you can also find it here, all put into one work, on wattpad, because i feel nostalgic about that website and decided to just post it!!

NOTE: i know that this shouldn't need to be said, but these 20 pieces belong to me so please don’t copy/repurpose it for your writing!! i plan on using these somewhere in my own writing and either way they’re stuff i’ve written so don’t use them!!

1. cooking + destructive + purple from @andiwriteunderthemoon [also i kind of cheated with this prompt and asked my sis @dreamscanbenightmarestoo for ideas and so the base idea’s from her!!]

I didn’t mean to set my house on fire, alright?

Let me set the scene: I’m sitting in my room, watching the infomercials that blur together, and suddenly there’s a bright purple flash on the glitching screen: /grapes/. They’re shiny, plump, and oh? A recipe for fine wine? Don’t mind if I do. So I pop into my kitchen and cut the grapes, dice them up, finally using the knife after years of not cooking— /mother, are you proud of me now?/— and stick the soft, luminescent fluid into a glass bottle. Following each step of the recipe.

The recipe didn’t mention an explosion.

Destruction rained around my house like a meteor shower. The bubbles from the fluid, frisking up at contact with metal, swam across my shoes and into the living room. It touched the TV, which still flashed the recipe, which I was still cursing at. And then, you know, it burnt up. The couch scorched first, I think. So that was fun. I later realised that I’d used my reserve of petroleum, which I’d put in my kitchen cabinet, instead of vinegar. I think I’ve got to move back in with my mother again.

2. running + quiet + sky blue from @kryskakikomi [i have no idea what this is i drafted this in a fever dream state]

Summer crawled up his skin like a worm. He was seated at his dining table, crosswording his way through the sticky morning, when it struck him that the humidity was new. He’d been caught in summer before, of course, but this year was different. His parents had whisked away to their hometown, and he still didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to go. He loved their home— he could have been running on beach sand and waves could have cruised over his feet, and his face would reflect sky blue under palm trees. Instead he sat doodling and scratching at cement walls in a quiet that nagged at his ears, grappling his flesh like a fishing hook, reeling him in. Boredom, him sister told him, before she also left for someone’s home. What would you know? he whispered once the door latched from the outside. Maybe /she’d/ like to sit on the same wooden chair, all the pink paint worn out, and scratch out squares of empty text until the pen poked through the other hand. He scoffed. At least he knew the number of scars on the wood; he could hold that over her when his parents returned.

3. hallucinate + hazy + violet from @chloeswords [i wanted to write something dreamy and ethereal but everytime i look at your url i’m reminded of church mud and indirectly my religious trauma so here we are 🤡]

We hold the book in our arms and chant for God. We don’t know what he looks like. They say that he’s sharp, never pixelating or blurring or showing through, like a hazy image would. No, children, our family says, he will come clothed in gold and velvet— the colour a deep and rich crimson, or chartreuse. And of course, he weaves a violet into his hair. Because he is just that humble. Just that gentle. Loving.

We’ve almost understood now. Pray, clasp our palms together into a transient equinox, and pray. Maybe he will shine down on us. Maybe we will speak so loud and chant so long that our lips will chap. Maybe we’ll simply hallucinate him to salve our bones. Our family says, he will bless you. And so he will.

4. halcyon + pluviophile + beige from anon [i was yearning for cats i am a cat person i love cats]

I remember my life before I moved to London,

Those halcyon days that I spent scooping up cat litter and brushing warm fur,

Being a mother to beige and white and black little felines.

They keep better company than humans.

Now I’m a self-proclaimed businesswoman, artist, influencer, pluviophile,

Even when I’ve barely stepped foot outside during the rain,

[But it needs to be said that when it rains in London, it pours].

I think I’d like to open a cat cafe;

I’m rich enough to pull it off.

5. sing + vulnerable + olive green from @occiidens [this was actually super fun to write because it’s a break from the typically unhinged stories i gravitate towards]

You watch from the highest hill of your town, hand wrapped around the serrated wood of a red oak tree. The bark pokes into your flesh, drawing blood that shouldn’t have been taken from you. You scowl. Just another thing that lives to cause you pain.

Three storeys down is a young man, short and smiling and lovely. He has dark skin and darker hair, walking with the stride of a deer, and he’s smiling; the joy reflects onto your face, even though you can’t hear him. He wears a cotton shirt, the olive green stark against the fire-blue sky. You call out, sing his name, three times in a row.

When he finally looks up, squinting as you silhouette under the sun, the smile widens. A wave. You’re suddenly overcome with embarrassment. Your palm digs into the bark until the wound is freshly dug again, the skin supple and vulnerable. You want to wave, but your hands would look so awkward, and the blood wouldn't help. So you turn on your heel and run— why are you so awkward?— and the grass around you is brighter. This is now a tomorrow issue, you conclude. You’re still smiling.

6. dislocate + ostentatious + blood red from @oasis-of-you [this got really unhinged really fast. TW: body horror]

If you take a turn at Finn Avenue,

Rogue your way down a blood red river,

[It’s not actual blood, do not worry. The colour’s a pigment and it’s saturated enough to give you the texture, the touch, the taste of blood, but I repeat, it isn’t true blood. You might think that it’s ostentatious of us to make you cross a river like that, but you’ll understand why.]

And if can stick your fingers inside the fluid,

You’ll find a bone.

Don’t pull it out fully! Only observe.

[This is a real bone, most likely animal. We may be ominous, but we don’t hurt humans. Not yet.]

So what do you do now? You want passage into a better world.

You came here because you saw the brochure, the flyer,

Radiant Idyll, home for love, but you also saw the jutting anatomy that leads to the city. The pictures were rather clear.

Why do you look so surprised? We’ve put this on the brochure— don’t you ever read the fine print?— to avoid this exact situation. That you would cross a body, a skeleton, pooled over in a fluid that we don’t name, but it’s probably alive.

It’s watching you right now.

So what do you do now?

Hurry up, unhinge your arm, dislocate the elbow, drop it into the blood, forgive me, false blood, and pay for your passage.

Oh! Excellent; that’s record time. We do hope you enjoy your stay!

1. @noteaboy [i’ve interpreted your url as ”note, a boy”]

There’s an orange tree. It’s spring, and there’s an orange tree, and it brims with fruit and citrus perfume. Point your lens flare downwards, and note, a boy. A young man, perhaps, because he combs his hair, uptight and firm, and he wears a tie. A long suit. He doesn’t look up, because his hand holds a book. /He/ holds the book, not the hands— tenderness doesn’t translate through anatomy, I’ve taught you this before. He’s waiting for someone. There’s only the rustle of leaves. He drops the book onto the lap of the tree, crushing the apple that had fallen down. Orange, not apple. Take note better. You only have one chance to get this right.

2. @eatingjupiter [your url is so beautiful omg]

The goddess had said this before she died: you need to watch over him. He needs your sentry to survive. The goddess’ words weren’t heeded. Little baby Jupiter tottered on lava as him parents small-talked with their kingdom. Well, it must have been small talk, because nothing seemed to happen afterwards other than his mother’s face collapsing in agony, anger, annoyance. He knew not to touch them then. He’d fly off into the sun one day, but if his hands were but and charred, he wouldn’t survive even a third of the journey.

The prophecy was simple: the firstborn to the kingdom will metamorph into a celestial, purify themselves so that only stardust remains. Live in the sky forever. The astrologers were baffled; you don’t just become a star. They should have heeded the goddess.

Jupiter was sixteen when he expanded and collapsed all at once. He still lives, they say, and the astrologers /were/ right, in a way: people just don’t become stars. They become almost empty space. Nobody knows if his hands were burnt when they left earth’s orbit forever.

3. @laughtracksonata [your name gave me slight horror vibes idk why!!]

Hahaha. The Horror Movie (don’t ask me for a name, I’m not good with those), with its cymbal crashing and plastic sounds, it’s so loud and scary that it hurts, father. Please turn it off.

Father doesn't listen. I shiver on the couch. The screen flickers like radio static and reflects off our wide eyes. What kind of a home is this anyway? I don’t want to fucking listen to a laugh track or a horror VHS tape or watch the bass crescendo as the serial killer jumpscares the watcher. I don’t think that having hour pupils glued to the same blood-splattered movie, with the same recording looping in his eardrums will help him. He laughs along, sometimes. It’s scary. Father needs a new hobby.

PART TWO COMING SOON!!

anyway this got REALLY long so i’m posting the third prompt group, the one based on songs, as a second part in some time. i hope you enjoy this, and PLEASE do boost!! i spent a lot of time writing these pieces and am pretty proud of them :’)

general taglist: @lovingyou-is @guulabjamuns @andiwriteunderthemoon @coffeeandcalligraphy @melonmilk @silentlylostwriter @charles-joseph-writes @eklavvya @eowynandfaramir @bitterwitchwrites @laughtracksonata @whatwordsdidnttouch @indeliblewrites @thenataliawrites @summersguilt @illimani-gibberish @sarahkelsiwrites @writing-in-delirium @shaelinwrites @sienna-writes @chewingthescenery @jennawritesstories @chloeswords @aelenko @keira-is-writing @cherylinanika @infinitely-empty-pages @jmtwrites @august-iswriting @freedelusionbanana @beetleblue88 @mistercaleb @iwannawritepls @hanwatchingmovies @mortallynuttyqueen @idratherliveinnarnia @maisulli @thegreyboywrites @ahowlinwolf @ravens-and-rivers @oasis-of-you @yanittawrites @chazza-writes-sometimes @skyfirewrites @lovebenders @treybriggsthewriter @themidnxghtwriter @ash-karter @queen-devasena @a-procrastination-addict @gaymityblight @beyondthebracken @madmaxst26 @adielwrites @moonpixxel @hollow-knight-dnd @keep-looking-here @overlap @ashleygarciawrites @ryns-ramblings​ @wordsbynathan @novaemlynlewis​ @sophiewritingstuff​ @howdy-writes​ @occiidens​ @nsanelyawkward​ @viawrites-andacts​

#writeblr #am writing #flash fiction #poetry #wtwcommunity #ofcolourtracking #crabappletracking #anyway part two probably in a couple days #i still have to start writing them 🤡✌️ #bonfire bonfire

[sugardaddytonystark]

Release Life’s Rapture (part 3)

You stay at your godfather’s ludus for the summer, where you meet Jacobus, his champion gladiator.

author: sugardaddytonystark pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader word count: 2038

masterlist

x picture by @264jana x

That night, you dream of making love to Sol, god of the sun. His hair is as brown as the earth, eyes deep and blue as the dawning sky. His skin is bronzed from the sun to which he so lovingly attends, and in return for his diligence, his entire body is encircled in a halo of everlasting golden light.

You and your god are lain upon a large tanned hide, abed a field of green grass, deepened to a dim blue-green in the dark night. Sol looms above you, a single point of light against an otherwise black sky. He is bare as you, and where the god touches you, your flesh burns, his hands too hot for a mere mortal to withstand, his mouth too scalding. But there’s always a price for pleasure, and a night with a being as divine as he is worth the pain in exchange. 

So you wrap your thighs tight around the god’s hips as he thrusts into you, unrelentless, his cock thick and heavy inside of your aching cunt. He’s filling you up, stretching you full, making you feel a burning so different from the fevered warmth of his skin against your own. Your back arches as you seek out more contact, your heated, human flesh so fragile against the sun god’s searing skin. 

Your lover has your wrists above your head, one of his wide, rough palms holding them in place. The other is gripping your jaw, turning your face away from his so that he may nose at your throat and cheek and ear. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine and when Sol speaks, words like whispers so deep and low, you can’t make out their meaning, but delight in the sounds all the same. 

Your cries reach out into the deep, empty, endless night. The noise echo back into your ears and you feel blissfully alone - detached from the world and your existence, everything narrowed down to you and your god and this familiar but indescribable thing coiling in your stomach. 

Your breath catches as you feel Sol’s pace quicken, his hands tightening around your wrists and jaw. He bites down against the curve of your neck and hot tears spill down your cheeks as you feel him find his release inside of you. 

You sob and shake, you ache and burn. Sol whispers your name back into your mouth, guiding you closer and closer and closer with his hands and his cock and his words. You feel him around you, inside you, urging you on, but when you finally reach your peak, it’s not the god’s name that you call out in prayer.

 Blessed night has settled into another day, your god forced to return to the sky once more to fulfill his duty, leaving you with mere memories of his blazing touch. But, as a remembrance, he sends sunlight streaming through your open window, stroking your body and keeping you warm and satiated until the time may come for the god to descend upon you once again.

You long to stay abed, to wait for that moment when night falls so that you may once again greet your lover with open arms and open legs. You want to once again lose yourself to dreams - a much more appealing prospect than this waking nightmare. Even half asleep, you feel the sudden sting of freshly remembered heartbreak. 

You’re grateful for your god - the divine Sol who saw you hurting and granted you solace from your pain. Hair like the earth, you remember, like the soil from whence life springs. Rich brown and lush and soft beneath your fingers. His body built like it was made for toil, strong and deliberately fashioned. And his eyes – blue like the sky. Like the sea.

Unfortunately, your companion, Octavia, does not allow you to dwell in fantasy. She’s no longer beside you in bed, always early to rise and greet the day before the sun has had a chance to ascend. 

“You’re awake,” she says, more a command than a question.

“Yes. And I had the most wonderful dream,” you tell her, giving up all thoughts of returning to slumber as you stretch out along the bed, arms up and back arched. “I fucked a god. He set my body aflame and then I turned to ash in his hands.”

“And this was a good dream?” Octavia asks, incredulous.

You sigh. “It was magnificent.”

You sit up in bed as you recall your dream, rubbing your wrists, sore from where your lover pinned you down in his blistering grasp. Octavia reaches out and grabs your wrists in her own hand, looking it over, and when you look down at it as well, you see bruises instead of burns. The marks of someone other than your god upon you.

“Better to suffer a lover forged from dreams,” Octavia says, releasing your wrist, “than one based in cruel reality.”

“One and the same,” you reply softly. Because you’re no fool. You know the being who visits your dream is both god and man, one image of the other. “Why do you think Jacobus so cruel?” you continue, louder this time. “Do you think he’s always been that way?” 

“I think that you should remove him from your thoughts,” Octavia tells you as she returns, holding a cream length of fine fabric for your stola. “Would it please you to wear this today?”

“He is well removed,” you tell her in reply, and Octavia scoffs. 

You pinch the fabric between your fingers, considering. The color is too bland to convey how you feel this morning. You need something deeper, and more rich. “I have something blue, do I not? Like… like the sky right at the height of the sun’s ascent. Something like that?”

Octavia raises an eyebrow at you, unimpressed. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

 After you groom and dress, you find yourself on the villa balcony, where Alexander and Ophelia are eating their morning meal. On the table before them is a modest spread of cheese and bread and fruit. In their hands are ever-present cups of wine. Behind the pair, a slave cools them off with a large fan made of feathers as they lounge upon their cushioned chaises. 

The heat is almost overwhelming, even in the mid-morning when the sun has yet to reach its peak. Already, a thin sheen of sweat has gathered on your skin. Already, you can feel the fevered weight of existence heavy on your shoulders. 

The heat and the drought has been a source of discontentment for all in Capua, the shortage of water drying out even the most well-attended bath and turning once-fertile soil into dust. Below the balcony, the gladiators are kicking up the dust and the sand with every movement, the sun baking the grains into a hard-packed floor for the men to move around upon. It crumbles underfoot and sends clouds of earth into the air, covering the men and all things else lowly enough to get in its way.

But this is all commonplace to you now. The crash of wooden sword against wooden shield, of dull-tipped spear and trident, of pain and triumph, have all come to be familiar sounds to you and this morning fares no differently. The men have no doubt been at it for hours already, waking early to begin their training, breaking for their morning meal, then back at it once more before you were even out of bed. 

You chance a look down at the men, and your eyes are immediately drawn toward Jacobus, brandishing two swords against another gladiator with sword and shield. His usual demeanor is darkened, his ferocity obvious by tenfold today, and you can’t help but believe that you are the cause. 

You wonder if the gladiator sought companionship last night after you were so viciously turned away. You never sent anyone in your stead, as he requested, not able to bear the thought of another giving him the pleasure that you so desperately wish you could give. Did Jacobus blame you for soiling the night of such a celebrated victory? Will he ever forgive you your desire and your deceit? 

The champion looks up toward the balcony, blue eyes ablaze, and you avert your gaze by busying yourself with choosing just the right bunch of grapes from a serving tray held up to you by one of Alexander’s slaves. 

“The men are of a poor form today,” you muse, attempting to steady your heart as you pluck a grape off of its stem. You place the fruit in your mouth and find the courage to look back down onto the training ground. With both relief and disappointment, you find that Jacobus has once again resumed his training. 

“Wine and whores do have a way of dulling the senses,” Alexander replies. “Which reminds me, how did the champion enjoy his gift?”

You give your godfather a false smile, already weary of the reminder of the night passed. “She was well received,” you answer, not missing the way Octavia looks at you out of the corner of your eye. “Who would not enjoy such a remarkable tribute?”

Before Alexander can respond, the snap of a whip resonates through the training ground and up onto the balcony, drawing the attention of those upon it. You take a step closer and both Alexander and Ophelia stand to get a better look at what is transpiring down below. 

“Attend!” Doctore bellows, voice carrying through the air. The men halt their training and turn their attention to Fury, the Doctore – trainer – of Alexander’s ludus. “Forget everything you learned outside these walls. For that is the world of men. We are more! We are gladiators!”

The men cheer, a great roar rising up to where you stand that nearly forces you back in its enthusiasm. Your hands grip the banister to keep you steady, listening intently  as if Doctore was speaking to you and not the gladiators in his charge. 

“Study. Train. Bleed!” Doctore continues. “And one day your name will be legend, spoken in hushed whispers of fear and awe. As the city speaks of Jacobus, the Champion of Capua!”

More cheers as the gladiator stands distinguished among his brothers. In your chest, you feel a swell of pride. But also, irritation. You’ll have no solace from your pain here and you will not waste your day grieving over what should have been. You feign disinterest while taking a bite of cheese.

“But his legend was not birthed in the arena,” Doctore says. “It was given life here, in this ludus. Under the sting of my whip! Attack!”

The men go at it again with a renewed vigor, grunting and howling, wooden swords clashing with dull but resonating thuds. How easily these men are worked into a fervor! And how easily your passion swells likewise. This business of gladiators is a sordid thing, but you would be false to say that there is no art in it. Surely, anyone who watches someone such as Jacobus move could see the skill and cleverness in every gesture.

“Doctore, attend,” Alexander calls to Doctore, then turns to kiss Ophelia’s temple. “We are off to market.”

His words pique your interest. You feel as though you will go mad if you stay stuck in the villa all day with nothing to entertain you save the sounds of the gladiators training. Besides, you think you should buy something new for the reception for the Vulcanalia. This will be the first time in ages that you will be able to socialize with people other than your godfather and his wife, and you plan to make the most of it.

"Godfather, allow me to accompany you,” you say. “Weeks in Capua and I have yet to go to market!"

Alexander considers you for a moment and then nods his head, giving you the approval that you need. Your smile must be infectious because the otherwise somber man’s lips upturn slightly as he notes your excitement. 

“Let us away, then,” Alexander says to you, then turns and heads inside the villa, you following close behind. 

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #dahlia writes stuff #fic release life's rapture

[garbagevanfleet]

Sun King (smut)

Pairing: Josh & female!Reader Warnings:  18+ ONLY! Alcohol is mentioned, unprotected sex, unprotected sun exposure *gasp* Word Count: 6654 Summary: Josh has been your best friend since middle school. Maybe a vacation to paradise could change that.  Notes: @lantern-inthenight​ and @myownparadise96​ both helped immensely with the ideas in this fic, so this one is dedicated to my resident Josh girls, Shelby and Kaja. <3

Thank you to the amazing Mimi ( @satingrass-maidensfair​ ) for betaing for me! You’re a peach. 

Enjoy my first ever Josh fic, extra hot and wet

MASTERPOST

You had spent the entire day at the beach for four days in a row. It wasn’t often that you got to go on a vacation, so when you did, you really liked to forget the monotony of your everyday life. There really wasn’t any extra room in your head to think about your summer job or college applications with the ocean waves lapping at your feet.  

Your parents had been promising you this trip the entire year so as long as your grades stayed up before graduation, and it had been a struggle, but you had succeeded - the real hardest part was waiting from the end of school until the actual trip came, which didn’t roll around until December.  

Josh had been your friend since middle school, and an unlikely friend at that - or at least at first. See you’ve always had a really feminine lunar energy, a darker, deeper aura, but him?

Josh was the sun personified.

He had the most sunflower-petal-yellow personality you could imagine; his whole persona was a rainbow tie-dyed bed sheet drying on a clothesline.

But opposites attract, or they must anyway, because one fateful day in sixth grade, he had knocked directly into you. The force of it had thrown your tray down to the lunchroom floor, smearing mashed potatoes all over your new school shoes. You had opened your mouth to snap at him, but. Well, how could you? There was never any option but to forgive him when he flashed that big, blinding smile. Especially when he was looking at you like an apologetic puppy.

He had latched onto you after that.

Josh had attended every single birthday party since then and escorted you - as a friend, you assured your parents - to a couple of spring formals. He had been by your side when you tried summer camp and hated it, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been to a movie theater without him.

Your parents had been understandably suspicious at first, but after years of seeing his face at least three-quarters of every month, they had been given no reason to suspect there was anything romantic between you two.

So, that’s how he had ended up here in paradise with you. It was just a given that if you were going on vacation, so was Josh. Your parents hadn’t even asked; they’d just naturally bought an extra ticket for him.

He looked undeniably more well placed here in the tropical climate than you did, and you tried not to be envious about it.

You had spent a bit of time exploring the foreign shops and busy streets, but more than anything, you laid with him in the sand, staring out over the water and trying to get as much of the sun as you could, considering you wouldn’t be seeing it for at least another four months after you got back to the Midwest.

Luckily for you, your parents had not hovered at all. They had given you nothing but free time while they spent almost the entirety of the vacation at the hotel pool up to that point. Their distracted state had allowed you plenty of opportunities to find light beers and sneakily drink them with him. You had never really liked the taste of beer, but it was more for the novelty than anything else.

“Hey,” Josh said, gently pressing his fingertips into your side to get your attention.

You turned your head toward him and tipped your sunglasses down. They were the ones with the orange lenses that you had been absolutely intent on buying before the trip because they matched your suit. You decidedly did not regret your decision.

You hummed lazily in response. He was laying next to you on a teal blue beach towel under possibly the world’s largest umbrella, one tanned ankle crossed over the other. He returned his hand to where he had it folded behind his head, supporting most of its weight as he dozed in and out of consciousness.

His skin was kissed golden by the sun - almost from the minute you’d gotten off the plane- making him look a bit shiny the second he started sweating.

“What time is it?” he asked, voice a shade too concerned for your liking; although, in your lazy state, almost any level of concern was too much.

You glanced down at your phone which was positioned in between you, playing a very long playlist you had collaborated on for the whole car ride to the airport.

“Almost five.”

“Woah, really?” He looked around the beach, which was completely empty, saved for a couple of other stragglers that were staying well away from you.

You had five days worth of practice under your belt, and that had allowed you to find the perfect little slice of beach - secluded, but well kept. You hadn’t had to talk to another soul for the whole trip that you didn’t actively seek out, which was really what you had always wanted from a vacation.

“We should probably get back. Your parents said we were having dinner around six, right?” He nudged into your side, letting you know that he intended to move you whether you liked it or not, even if you had given him a lazy sounding groan for it.

There was no point fighting him (the boy was persistent if nothing else), so you slowly stretched out and prepared to be mobile again after barely using a muscle for days. He was right anyway - your parents weren’t strict in any sense of the word, but they were notoriously a bit picky about punctuality.  

He helped you pack everything into your oversized beach bag and then tugged you up into a standing position. He looked just as stiff as you were as he walked by your side, neither of you concerned with keeping a straight line.

You both instinctively headed toward the shower area, all of your beach-going gear in tow, and when you got there, you each wordlessly headed to your respective shower stalls.

All the other showers you’d used the whole trip had been different, but here there were only two cubicles with just a couple feet in between them. You let your heavy bag drop to the pavement in the middle of the two stalls with a thud, and he did the same, propping the long umbrella up against the brick of the building.

You had wrapped your hair up earlier this morning to prevent it from getting salty in the ocean, but you could feel sand gritting against your scalp as you pulled the scrunchie out, so you picked the bottle of shampoo you’d packed away as you turned the shower on.

It wasn’t particularly warm, but the spray was nice and refreshing on your sun-touched skin.

You had just tipped your head back under the water when the curtain on your stall opened, causing you to jump and cover yourself, despite still being completely covered in your suit.

“Hey, I can’t get the water to work in mine - can I jump in with you?” Josh asked and when you gave him a scolding frown, he offered you a toothy smile back.

“Have you tried turning the knob?” you asked flatly, but you couldn’t help but laugh as he rolled his eyes.

“Wow, I didn’t fucking think of that,” he retorted. “Scoot over.”

There wasn’t a whole lot of room in these little shower stalls - they were definitely only meant for one person at a time, so you couldn’t clear much space for him, but you did your best. Once he was in, he had to stand within inches of you to prevent from spilling back out. You squinted accusingly at him, entirely unconvinced that either of you could get very clean this way.

“This could have been such a nice, relaxing shower,” you complained, popping the cap on the shampoo and squirting some out in your palm.

“It still can be!” he assured with a cheeky grin. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

Just for good measure, he mimicked zipping his mouth shut and tossing the key to the floor. You huffed a laugh at him, working the soap through your hair with your fingertips.

When you tipped your head back and let the water wash your locks clean, you let your eyes slip shut. You could tell that your cheeks were a little sunburnt because the water felt nearly ice-cold as it trickled across them, making you shiver.

Your eyes popped open again to find him watching your face. You huffed a breathy laugh at him.

“Hard to pretend you’re not here when you’re staring at me like that.”

“I’m not staring!” he scoffed, but his face turned charmingly pink despite his defense. “Where else am I supposed to look?”

You didn’t respond but instead decided to shake your head with a smirk. You handed him the shampoo bottle, but when you started to step aside to let him closer to the spout, he crowded closer to you. As he leaned in to wet his curls, your back hit the cold tile wall, making you gasp.

“Jesus, do you want me to just get out?” you complained half-heartedly, pressing a hand against his chest.

It wasn’t until he let out a wet sounding laugh that you realized he was jesting you.

“I’m sorry, am I in your way?” he asked coyly, ignoring your faux-annoyed groans as he leaned over you to steal the majority of the spray.

He was so close then that your nose hit his neck, his chest pressed flush against yours. The atmosphere in the tiny cubicle shifted dramatically for you at that moment, your breath catching in your chest.  

“Josh,” you breathed.  

You shivered again at the contact and, through your suit, you could feel your nipples perk up as your skin tightened into goosebumps. You could tell the exact second that he realized what he’d done to you because his whole body tensed and he took a step back.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be weird or anything,” he said, just loud enough to be audible over the white noise of the shower. His cheeks were flushed from embarrassment - even more so than before, keeping his eyes plastered firmly to the ceiling. Or, at least he was trying. Every couple of seconds, his gaze flicked down, almost comically across your body.

You couldn’t repress the breathless laugh as you watched him work to not look. Your heart was racing, making you feel jittery. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

Biting your lip anxiously, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks too. His eyes flicked down to yours and he gave you a look like he was trying to tell if you were being genuine - if it was really okay.

You reached up to pat his cheek, meant to be a reassurance, but you couldn’t prevent your fingers from lingering against his warmed skin. Touching him like this was nothing new - you were what one could call “platonically intimate”. You shared beds and clothes, and every now and then he’d ask you to brush out his hair, just because he liked the feeling. But this time - like everything else about this moment - felt different. He leaned into your touch a fraction, nuzzling into your palm like a house cat.

Despite your closeness - metaphorically and physically - in all the years you’d known him, you had never once tried to kiss. You had thought about it once or twice, but only because you had gone through a boy crazy faze at the start of puberty and it made you question whether every platonic male in your life could be your soulmate.

But for a second you stared at his plush lips and thought about what it would be like. If it was anything like you expected, then it would be toothache-sweet, because that’s what he was like. Like cotton candy.

You pursed your lips tightly, suddenly overcome with a feeling that you weren’t used to. It felt dreamy like the color rose quartz. Like butterflies were beating their dusty wings against your stomach lining.

He was giving you a questioning look - brows tipped up at the center of his face in a look of concern. You could only imagine what your face must look like to him. You certainly hadn’t been regulating it.

As he parted his lips to inquire, you brushed your fingertips across them, feeling his breathing go uneven.

“Josh,” you whisper, gingerly placing your other hand on the back of his neck. He was so close that you didn’t have to move much to do so. “Will you kiss me?”

  He didn’t react for a second, just stood there blinking like the words hadn’t caught up yet. Then his mouth opened and closed a couple of times as he tried to think of a response.

“Of course,” he finally breathed, and the inflection in his voice - like you’re stupid to even ask - made you blush.

His face was already just a foot away from yours, so when he exhaled, the hot air hit your cheek.

The first brush of his lips against yours was experimental - just the ghost of a touch. You could tell that he wanted to, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to commit to it.

You scratched your nails gently against the back of his neck, urging him on.

He snaked his hand around your waist and pulled you in a fraction closer, hesitantly pressing your lips together, tighter this time. As you kissed him back, you could sense his apprehensions starting to melt away. He was gaining confidence by the second, letting his fingers play against the small of your back.  

Giddy with excitement, you let him press you back against the tile again until he was standing slightly over you, your fingers wrapped in his wet curls. The water hitting the back of his head was dripping onto your face, and it reminded you of those movies where the romantic interest kisses the girl passionately in the rain before the credits rolled. You had never been very into lovey-dovey movies, but he had always been a sucker for big romantic gestures, so you ended up watching rom-coms quite often.

You parted your lips for him, and this time he kissed you in complete earnest. The rush of feeling behind it knocked the breath from your lungs.

His hand was carefully sliding up your back until your skin met the tile of the shower, and he was forced to snake it up your rib cage instead. You knew what he was going to do, even though you were sure he didn’t - that his fingers were dancing along your skin at their own accord. So when his thumb brushed over your nipple through the fabric of your suit it didn’t shock you, but the feeling forced a hum from you that he swallowed down instantly.

He rubbed over it lightly, and every touch made your whole body tingle.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, sounding painfully shocked at the way this day was going.

You couldn’t say you blamed him.

The angle was starting to make your neck ache, but you could only move slightly due to the cramped space. As you shifted, you felt his hardened cock slide against your thigh and you sucked in a sharp gasp.

His whole body tensed like he wasn’t sure if he’d crossed a line, but he continued when you tugged on his hair - maybe a little too rough if you were being honest. He didn’t seem to mind at all; as a matter of fact, if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he liked it - if the suspiciously hoarse whimper he placed into your mouth was anything to go by.

The fingers of his other hand trailed down your other side, thumb rubbing against your hip bone and tugging you closer until your pelvis was pressed against his. The sensation was too delicious; you couldn’t help but grind against him, eliciting a moan from each of you.

When his lips moved to your neck, his teeth grazed the skin. You could feel him starting to bite in, and as good as it felt, you had to object.

“No, wait,” you breathed. “You can’t leave any marks.”

“Who said I was going to leave a mark?” he asked, sounding a little smug. You huffed a laugh at him, rolling your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were an expert at this.” The sarcasm dripping from your voice made him laugh into your damp skin. You opened your mouth to say something equally quippy, but the words got choked back as his fingers brushed against your core.

Your exhale hitched in your lungs, and when you were able to finally breathe again, it was in the sound of his name.

He added just a fraction more pressure, forcing you to bite your lip. He was about to go for it, you could tell, because he was slowly pushing your suit aside, and you were heavily anticipating his fingers touching your bare skin when-

Your phone rang, almost ear-splittingly loud as the tone echoed off of the tile. It caused you to yelp, and he pulled away instantly, face beet red.

Shakily, you bent down and reached past the curtain, pulling it out of your bag and answering it without looking at the ID.

He flipped the water off just as you said, “Hello?”

You silently prayed that your voice wasn’t as shaky as you thought it sounded.

“Hey, just reminding you that we’re having dinner around six,” your father said from the other end. It was quiet enough in the stall that he could easily be heard by Josh as well from where he was leaning back against the shower wall, breathing heavily and staring at the floor.

You swallowed the lump in your throat first before speaking again. “Yeah, we’re just getting changed. Probably be there in ten to fifteen minutes is all.”

Your dad quickly agreed, sounding none-the-wiser to your sins, and after you hung up, you tucked your phone deep inside the bag, like that would help keep everything a secret.

Josh’s eyes flicked up and met yours, his eyebrows raised. You were biting your lip, rubbing nervously at the back of your neck.

“Well, fuck,” he chanced, making you release a shaky laugh.

“Fuck indeed,” you replied, giving him a small smile. “We should get moving.”

He nodded in agreement, and after a second of staring at you, he stepped out, leaving you to change.

Neither of you said a word on the walk back to the hotel, but it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable - just new. Uncharted territory.

Dinner was the same. The air felt heavy, but you did your best to not let your parents feel it, and you could tell he was doing the same.

He easily answered their questions about the day’s goings-on, easily navigating around the part where he almost slipped a finger into you in the shower.  

Try as you might, there was no way you could prevent yourself from thinking about it. You caught yourself staring at his lips while he ate, and thinking about the way he tasted.

The light was catching on his tan cheekbones, making his jawline look razor-sharp, and all you could do was think about biting it. It was a big difference between just yesterday when he’d sneezed on you and then laughed about it.

You think that was what was most alarming - You’d never thought of him sexually in your life, aside from the time a friend of yours decided to date him and then attempted to tell you what he was like in bed. As you stared at him from across the table, your biggest regret was cutting her off before she could say anything actually worth knowing.  

He stared at you over the rim of his water glass as your mom talked about the hotel bar margaritas, and for the first time in your life, you wanted to know what he felt like on top of you.

The closer dinner got to being finished, the more heavily your heart started to thud. By the time you were all standing and removing your napkins from your lap, you were sure everyone could hear it’s eclectic rhythm bouncing around in your ribcage.

You had never been more thankful in your life that your parents had insisted your rooms be in separate wings on the hotel - though you didn’t really want to think of the implications of that in and of itself.

Josh let himself into your room, asking your parents to excuse him. When your mother inquired about what you guys were going to get up to for the rest of the night, you shrugged and told her you were thinking about renting a movie and falling asleep to it - insuring her that you were beyond tired from all the fresh air and sun. She happily told you to charge it to the room and told you to text her if you guys needed anything, but after being here for five days, you thought you had it covered.  

They hugged you goodnight and then retreated down the hall, and you waited until you were positive they were gone before you opened the door. He had left it cracked for you - no need for you to fumble with a keycard, for which you were grateful.

He was at the other end of the room, facing away from you. He had changed into his favorite pair of grey sweatpants and nothing else, and you took a second to rake your eyes up the muscles of his back.

When you shut the door, you leaned back against it, your heart fluttering. You were so nervous that your fingers felt numb, but it was the best kind of nerves you’d ever experienced in your life. You hadn’t ever felt like this about a guy before.

This certainly would not be your first time - by any means. But. Somehow it was.

When he turned around, he looked at you like he was viewing an art installation. It took a second before he could snap out of it, tugging a soft t-shirt over his head and smoothing it out.

You couldn’t stop yourself from following his hand down his chest with your eyes, a warmth rising on your cheeks away when you looked back up and he was wearing a tiny smirk.

“Do you want to go back down to the beach?” he asked, voice quiet, but audible in the - otherwise silent - room.

You weren’t expecting that, and you could tell by the way he smiles at you that he knew he’d take you by surprise.

“Sure,” you agree, nodding. You were honestly a little afraid for a second that he was going to just pretend like nothing had happened. Your chest was tight with hurt for a brief second until he reached for the blanket off the bed, tugging it off the bed and rolling it into a ball under his arm.

No one else on earth could tell that he was nervous, you thought, but he was infinitely more transparent to you.

Just the fact that he wasn’t talking a mile a minute in the elevator was a tell-tale sign. He kept dragging his teeth over his bottom lip; something that would be just a normal, mindless tick for anyone else.

He let you step out first and then held the door from the lobby open for you, which was nothing new, but the way he placed a hand on your lower back as you brushed past him was. The touch made your skin feel hot, even though it was over the fabric of the dress you’d put on for dinner.

You realized about halfway through the walk that he was leading you back to the same slice of beach you’d been lazing on earlier that day, and for some reason that gave you goosebumps.

It felt complete. Full circle.  

Nearing nine pm then, the moon was high, and the only source of light as it threw white light across the waves. The wet sand on the shoreline shimmered with it like liquid metal as the water lapped over it.

There wasn’t a soul around. You two were well away from any kind of civilization, and that notion itself was comforting to you. Still, your fingers were vibrating as he laid the blanket out and sat, toeing his sandals off and dusting his feet of any sand before relaxing back.

You followed suit, smoothing out the skirt of your sundress over your knees as you knelt next to him.  

You cleared your throat, looking up at him through your lashes.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said, without a single hint of reproach. His voice was soft and caring, the way it usually was when he was assuring you of anything, except even deeper in its sincerity this time.

He continued. “If you’re having second thoughts or anything, then just tell me and we’ll move past this, no questions asked.”

You breathed a disbelieving laugh, suddenly feeling too big for your body. You weren’t sure why it took you off guard - he’d only ever been a perfect gentleman to you, and any girl he’d ever known, really.

“I want this,” you stated with a small nod. A smile that read something along the lines of relief spread over his lips, and he let out a held breath.

In the tenderest way you could imagine, he swept a lock of your hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear. A light touch, he wrapped his hand around the nape of your neck then, pulling you in just a fraction at a time until you were face to face for the second time that day.

When your lips touched the first time, it was soft and sweet - clearly trying to ease each other back into it. But you were already there.

You pressed into him, slipping your tongue in his mouth, and he met it with his.

As he leaned into him, his fingers danced along your bare shoulder, slipping under the thin strap of your dress and letting it slide down your arm.

It was nearly a hundred degrees hotter there than back in the still-frozen midwest, but you found yourself shivering as you pulled away from him and shrugged out of the other strap, letting the top of your dress fall from your bare chest.

His lips fell open, and you waited a second for him to do or say something - anything, but when he didn’t, you huffed a laugh.

“Are you going to pass out on me?” you teased, cupping one of your breasts in your own hand and giving it a squeeze just to watch him swallow hard.

“Shit,” he breathed, licking his lips. He grinned at you, showing teeth and all as he ducked in and kissed down the side of your neck.

You let his hand replace yours, his rough fingers brushing over the plush skin.

He didn’t linger his kisses in any one place for too long, no doubt being mindful of your warning about love bites before. That is until he pulled away and placed both hands firmly around your waist, helping you off your knees until you were straddling his lap. When he got you into the position he liked, his mouth found its way to your breastbone, pressing a trail of kisses down.

Your face felt fire-hot, so you buried it into the curls on the crown of his head. His hair smelled like the coconut shampoo you told him to start using years ago. The scent had become a bit of a comfort blanket for you - always put you at ease because it meant he was close.

You had never stopped to think of the implications of that until right now.

A gasp escaped you as he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, tugging it between his lips. His teeth scraped around it lightly, making you whine, high-pitched and beyond lewd.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, pulling his face closer until you were afraid you were going to suffocate him, but knowing that if you did, he’d probably die happy.

He pulled away a fraction, just to flick his tongue against the other one, making your stomach tighten. You could feel yourself getting wetter, and couldn’t help but squirm against him, begging for some kind of reprieve.

You rocked your hips far enough forward that you caught his hard cock against your core, eliciting a choked moan from him. The tingly pleasure spread down your legs, to your toes and made them curl out of reflex.

His fingers dug into your sides as he pushed your hips back and then pulled them forward again, pressing you down harder into him this time. If you had any sense of reality, you’d know to be embarrassed about how wet you were after five seconds of grinding, but you were absolutely gone by then.

Slower this time, so you could really enjoy the fire, you rocked forward again. His fingers found their way to your thighs, sliding up the hem of your dress until his hands were cupping your ass.

Deciding that there were at least one too many layers between you, you pulled yourself up, untying the string on his pants and letting him wriggle to get them pulled down as far as he could in this position.

It was okay though, you had what you needed.

His head tipped back as his cock slipped against you again, this time only your collective underwear in the way. With his throat exposed like that, you bent to drag your teeth against it, not being as gentle as he had been with you.

“No marks,” he reminded, voice gruff, but his fingers painted a different picture - one even let go of your ass to tangle in your hair, spurring you on as your tongue lapped against his skin.

The collar of his shirt in the way of your path only served to annoy you, so you tugged it over his head with haste and let it fall to the blanket.

As soon as his chest was bare, your fingers were mapping it out, tracing along his collarbones and down his breastbone. Even in the dim glow, you could tell how sun-kissed his shining skin was.

The moon was illuminating his curls like a silvery halo, a sight so pretty that it knocked the breath from your lungs momentarily.

You were both breathing hard, not from exertion, but from sheer excitement, and you watched his chest rise and fall for a second before your fingers raked over his stomach and then across the outline of his cock through his briefs.

His hips tried to buck up into the touch in their constricted state, but even the minuscule movement made you blush. Knowing that you could have this kind of effect on him was absolutely surreal. Before today, you’d never even had the privilege of being able to dream about this moment, because it had never even been an option to you. But as you circled your fingertip over the head of it through the fabric, the possibilities seemed endless. When you looked up at his face, he was watching the movements of your hand with half-lidded eyes, seeming like he felt very similarly.

You leaned in and pressed your lips to his again, his mouth hot and sticky against yours. As you dipped your fingers under the hem of his briefs, you could feel him hold his breath. Your fingers wrapped around his cock, giving it a couple of painfully slow strokes and licking into his mouth as he opened it for you.

Neither of you really needed any more warming up, so you caught his eyes and lifted yourself up enough that he could pull your panties to the side.

When you slid down onto it, you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from crying out. You hadn’t realized how wet you were actually getting until you felt how easily it slipped into you. You didn’t allow him a whole lot of time to collect his thoughts before you were moving again, starting to pick up a rhythm as you worked yourself onto his cock.

Your fingernails were dug into his skin, using his shoulders as leverage, and surely they would leave marks, but you couldn’t force yourself to care. He’d think of an excuse if and when anyone ever asked.

“Fuck,” you breathed, voice an octave higher than it usually was. “Oh my god.”

He nuzzled his nose into your cheek, letting his hot, humid breath hit your skin.

Your thighs started to burn from relying on muscles you never use, but the second he started to feel you falter, his hands cupped under them, happy to share the work.

It wasn’t until he starting thrusting his hips up to meet yours that you really knew what fucking him could be like. The simple movement set your nerves on fire.

“Josh,” you squeaked, wrapping your arms around his neck as your fingers shook.  

“I know,” he hummed. “I know, baby.”

The pet name made your stomach flip. You’d never wanted someone’s affection as much as you did in this moment.

He pulled his hands from your thighs and held you firmly around the waist. With your arms around his neck, you were already perfectly set up for his next move. He tipped you back until your shoulders were pressed against the blanket, laying you out with him between your hips.

Your muscles were grateful for the reprieve, but the new angle had him driving into you differently, making your eyes roll back.

It had felt great before, but suddenly you could sense yourself working toward something more - a higher peak. Your body felt hot as you wrapped your legs around his hips, tugging him by the hair into a kiss.

He eagerly kissed you back, biting down on your bottom lip, but not quite hard enough to break the skin.

With him over you like that, hair framing his face, everything felt like a dream. It was dark, but you could see the light of the moon catching on a sheen of sweat on his face, making his features even more intense.

Every single thrust sent you closer and closer to a pleasure you hadn’t been acquainted with yet until it got so intense that you had to squeeze your eyes shut tight and just hang on.

You came first, trying and failing to stifle a cry on your own, so he pressed his mouth against yours, swallowing it down. The feeling engulfed you like a wave, your fingers digging at his bicep.

He held you close to him, but it wasn’t until you were coming down that you realized he was whispering encouragement against the side of your mouth, sounding a little fucked out himself.

When he came, he let out a few choppy, raspy breaths against your face, his fingers wound tightly in the fabric of your dress.

You watched him come back to earth, and you weren’t sure if it was a post-orgasm haze or a real emotional response, but you were convinced in that moment that he was the most beautiful human you’d ever seen. For a brief second, you hated yourself for not appreciating it for all the years you’d known him. You couldn’t make any promises to yourself in your heightened emotional state, but you wanted to tell him.

But what the hell would you say?

He pulled out, helping you sit up. Your whole body felt weak, so you both just sat there for a minute, staring at each other.

The silence was entirely comfortable for you, but you wondered for a second if it wasn’t for him. If you knew him like you thought you did, he was probably reading the silence as a sign of regret and the thought broke your heart in a way you hadn’t expected.

You leaned in and hugged him tight, pressing a kiss against his cheek and feeling him melt into it.

There was no stopping yourself from wondering if he was feeling the way you did. You wanted to ask, but suddenly you were faced with the possibility that he didn’t.

Heart racing as you pulled away, you nervously bit your lip.

“What now?” you chanced, voice so quiet it was almost swallowed up by the sound of the waves.

He gave you a sugar-sweet smile and dragged his knuckle down your jawline. “You tell me.”

After you both redressed and got yourselves looking somewhat presentable, he walked you back up to the room.

A shower sounded nice, but after a moment of consideration, you decided that you’d used all of the energy you were willing to give for the day.

So you changed into a pair of loose shorts and a t-shirt in the bathroom, and when you came back out, he was already snuggled into his bed, smiling at you sleepily.

You huffed a laugh at him, but when you pulled back the blankets to your own bed, his smile fell.

“You don’t wanna come over here?” he asked, sounding like a kicked puppy.

You looked over at him through your lashes. At least a quarter of the nights you’d known him had been spent sleeping within a foot or two of him, but this was different.

“Of course, I do,” you assured with a sheepish smile.

You weren’t sure if you had been expecting to feel differently once you weren’t actively having sex with him, but as you crawled into his bed, you realized that you didn’t.

Nothing felt different, and yet everything had changed.

You laid face to face with him, taking it all in.

Once he figured out that you weren’t going to make any moves, he reached past you and flicked off the light. He gave you one, chaste little kiss before pulling you close.

+++

Your flight home didn’t start boarding until 11 pm, but you’d never been good about sleeping on planes, so you settled in with a book and a can of cola.

The seats were set up in rows of three, so it ended up being you and Josh sitting together with a stranger and your parents in the row ahead.

He was sleepy - you could tell because he kept rubbing at his eyes like he was trying to keep them open.

“Get some sleep,” you instructed with a giggle as he leaned his head against the window.

“Wanna wait at least until we take off.”

The stranger on your other side, however, already had her head leaned back on a neck pillow, big headphones covering her ears.

Through the cracks in the seats, you could see your parents settling in for the night, getting ready to sleep through the nearly eight-hour flight.

Josh was just barely still awake by the time you were sure your parents were asleep, and you were comfortable enough to chance turning to him. You grabbed his chin with your fingers and kissed him slowly, feeling your heartbeat pick up.

You wanted him to know that you hoped this was the new normal - that back home, you wanted to stay this close.

He looked a little stunned when you pulled away, just sitting there blinking at you, but after his tired mind caught up with itself, he grinned at you, showing his teeth.

He pulled your head down to his shoulder and nuzzled his cheek against it, lacing your fingers together and letting them rest on his lap.

Maybe you were going to be able to sleep after all.

Note: thanks again to anyone that leaves any kind of note for me. I fucking love them and they keep me going. <3

#josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka smut #gvf smut #gvf fic #writing