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lealdern · 8 months

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Fuck around/Find out

Explicit content: Minors please DNI.

Dick x Reader smut AO3 Link

Inspired by Send to All by Kerosceene

Dick asks you to be his fuck or die and you agree. There are consequences to having sex with someone you have feelings for. You're both about to find out.

second person/fuck or die/consent given/sex pollen/ she/her reader / reader has a vagina

“If I was going to die if I didn’t have sex, would you have sex with me?”

There’s no fanfare when Dick asks you this, and it’s so uncharacteristically serious that you can’t help but snort, watching him for that telltale grin of his, and when it doesn’t appear you wonder if you missed something.

“What?” you laugh, confused but still amused.

“If I needed to have sex with you to not die, would you have sex with me?” he clarifies, with a tilt of a smile that does worrying things to your heartbeat, not a skip in the rhythm but more of a stumble. You ignore it in favour of stirring the ice in your drink, listening to the soothing click clack of ice cubes against glass.

“Well yea, but… Blue balls isn’t real Dick, you can’t listen to what Jason tells you.” You lean your head back against the back of the settee and turn to Dick with a smirk on your face.

“One hundred percent you would?” He asks, like he’s needing to catalogue this somewhere in his mind and you frown.

“Well yea, you die or we have sex? We have sex,” you say simply like it’s a formula. “You’d do the same for me, right?” It only feels fair to ask the question back and he nods with an earnest expression.

“Of course.” His nod is firm and it feels like something like a contract has been signed verbally, though you’re still a little unsure what actually just happened.

And that’s the last you think on it: Not the sex with Dick bit, you think on that a lot and its increasing frequency is getting worrying since he’s a friend, a very good close friend, and you don’t want to ruin that with something so messy as friends with benefits or, even messier, Love.

Yes, capital L, Love

It’s a late August afternoon when there’s a fist pounding at your door and you startle enough that you fumble your phone, juggling it for a moment in the air one handed before it falls to the floor. The hammer-fisted person at your door bangs again and you stride to the door ready to rip them a new one when you open the door and stop stock still.

Red Robin is at your door, but the most surprising part of this is that he’s supporting Dick, who is wincing and sweating like he’s in agony, clothes dishevelled like he’s been roughed up. They step into your apartment together, or more Dick stumbles while Red Robin guides him in.

“Dick, oh my god, are you ok,” you follow them to the settee Red Robin places him on, and your hand smooths over Dick’s bicep. There’s a low moan and a shudder that passes his lips and you pull back worrying you’ve hurt him. “Is he ok?” You look to Red Robin, his white eyes giving you nothing to work from, though the thin set of his mouth makes you worry.

“He’s been exposed to Poison Ivy’s latest pheromone, and if he doesn’t have penetrative sexual intercourse ending in fulfilling ejaculation he will die. He said you would help him through this.”

He almost sounds like he’s reciting something from a book, verbatim, impersonal as he speaks, except for the last bit, he sounds like he’s asking and apologising at the same time. For a moment your brain flatlines, only coming back to life when Dick shudders and groans.

“Gotham is so fucking weird- Alright, thanks for bringing him here, uh…you can go now?” If he finds your dismissal rude, he doesn’t say anything, and judging by the speed he leaves he seems glad to be gone. You crouch down in front of Dick, who looks like he’s in agony, knuckles white where he grips the fabric of his jeans. Reaching out you feel heat radiating from his skin and hesitate for a moment before cupping his cheek.

He leans into it with a sigh that wheedles off into a whine, and his eyes are lidded and heated in a way you’ve never seen before.

“You’re gonna be okay Dick, I’ll look after you.” The words sound like a filthy promise to his mind and he shudders in delight at the thought of all that that entails. It gives him renewed energy and he surges forward, hand sliding around the back of your neck bringing you close enough that he can kiss you messily, hungrily, while moaning into your mouth.

It’s startling but fuck it goes straight to your cunt, like lightning, and you gasp.

He deepens the kiss, tongue sliding deliciously over your lip and your eyes flutter shut as you groan, pushing further into him until his free arm manoeuvres you onto the couch with him, straddling him.

“Please,” he whines against your mouth, his hips jutting up searching for relief between your legs. His hands settle on your hips pushing you down against the solid erection you can feel through both of your clothes. His head falls backward, throat exposed and Adams apple bobbing up and then down as he swallows thickly, gasping at the sensation. It’s as though some sanity or sense comes back to him, his eyes finding yours, “Is this- Is this okay?” He asks, and you see the worry in his eyes and know that if you said ‘no’ he’d not let this go further.

But you don’t say no.

Instead you lean forward, hand sliding under his collar to touch the heated skin of his neck and feel the rumble of his moan along his throat, “Of course it is,” you murmur against his lips, capturing his full bottom lip between yours in a kiss that makes Dick thrust against you as breath catches in his throat.

It’s like your words are the starting gun, and you realise how much Dick has been holding back. His strong arms wrap around you, hands splayed open on your back and pulling you close like he can’t stand the air between your bodies. One hand cradles your head as his hips cant, and you’re moving and turning in one smooth motion and he’s above you now on the couch, his hips between your legs pressed against you.

It's like he doesn’t know what to do with himself: With you. One hand roams your side, clumsily sliding underneath your top so his hot hand can press against your hip and squeeze as he grinds slowly against you. His other hand finds your nipple through your t-shirt, when he realises you’re without a bra the softness of your breast and the hardness of your nipple through thin cotton has him growling against your neck where he bites and licks and sucks in frenzy.

But the noises you’re making in his ear, they are what’s driving him mad. The gasps stopped short by moans and hitching of breath as he does something that makes you writhe underneath him are making his cock weep precum messily, he can feel it. He feels greedy and drinks all of you in, the feel and sound of you underneath him is going to be seared into his memory forever, he thinks through the haze of the need to fuck you until you can only sob his name while you come undone on his cock.

“I knew you’d sound pretty,” he groans against your neck, “You’re so fucking pretty.”

He pulls back and you’re treated to the sight of Dick, sweating and panting as he takes off his black t-shirt. The vision of him, body rippling with heavy breaths, between your legs, stupefies you. You take too long to move for Dick and he’s pulling your top over your head, arms wrapping around you again to bring you against his heated skin. The feel of your bare skin against his has him panting hot breaths across your chest as he leans down to take a hard nipple in his mouth, flicking along it expertly with his tongue before capturing it between his teeth gently.

Your nails scrape along his scalp as your fingers thread through his hair and it makes him whine, “Oh god,” you breathe out, almost overwhelmed by the way he feels on you, it’s all encompassing and you’ve never been so present in your body before. All you can think of is the brush of his calloused hand against your side, the sharp bite of teeth, and the hot tongue that dances over your skin.

And his eyes.

He looks up at you, mouth still on your skin, his eyes are almost black with the way his pupils are blown, but they’re heated as they watch you: And they have been watching you, watching the way you gasp, mouth in a pretty little o shape as you writhe under him. He watches your face as his hand slips under the waistband of your shorts, into your underwear and through the wetness he finds there, fingers pressing into your wet pussy with ease. He could come just by the feel and the sight of you alone as he watches your face when his fingers slip past your lips, almost shocked at how good it feels.

Dick can’t help himself, he moves up your body, fingers still dancing up and down your folds, learning what makes you keen so deliciously. He wants those noises in his ear, like a secret just for him. He presses open mouthed kisses along your jawline as he pushes a finger into you, holding you close when your whole body bucks and the moan you breathe against his ear has him replying with his own.

It’s almost as good as the noise you make when, after a few stoking strokes of his one finger, he slides a second one in, coaxing expertly along your walls to find your g spot and press against it just right. The heel of his hand presses against your clit as he flexes his wrist and crooks his fingers inside of you, stealing your breath away as your arousal coats his fingers generously.

“Dick, let me- please-“ your hand slides down his front, nails grazing his skin in a light drag as your hands land clumsy on his waistband. Reaching underneath you find the hot head of his cock, already smeared with precum, “oh fuck,” you breathe and Dick swallows down the moan. When your fingers swirl through the sticky precum his hips push up, and your hand curls to sheathe him, to squeeze him. His eyes nearly roll back at the sensation, and his head falls to the crook of your neck when you roll your wrist and slide along the thick tip of him.

His skin is hot, almost feverish, and you run a hand through his hair, soothing his groans as you shift to remove your shorts. His hand grips your waist as he sits up to remove his bottoms, like he’s loathe to break contact with you.

When you’re both bare and naked in the midday sun on your couch it’s like time is caught, suspended, like a dust mote in a sunbeam. You both breathe heavy, taking the other in. Dick’s cock is hard and upright, precum glistening where it still beads freshly at the head, the perfect length for you and a thickness that has you biting your lip. Looking down at you from where he kneels between your legs he licks his lips, thirsty for the taste of your skin on his lips again.

It’s not frantic, or desperate when you reach out to him and he lays down above you pressing a kiss between your breasts as you wrap your leg around his waist. The sigh he breathes shudders as he enters you, resting his forehead against the place he’d set a kiss, almost reverent while your fingers tug at his hair and his breath heats the skin of your sternum.

When his arms tremble you know he’s restraining himself.

“Dick,” his name is soft and wanting on your lips and he stills, looking up to see your heated gaze, feels your hips move underneath him, urging him onward, “It’s okay.”

You don’t know what he’s going through, you don’t know how tomorrow will be, but you know you need him to know that now is okay, and you’re here for him.

It’s permission to let go completely.

He sits back then, on his knees still inside of you but not fully, not really. The first thrust goes so deep it’s almost painful, a sharp sudden stab deep within you. But that drag back out makes it all worth it. His hips roll, the sound of wetness against his groin rends the air and it makes everything feel like more. Dick’s eyes raise and he looks intoxicated, you think, eyes unfocused as he thrusts into you at a punishing pace but he looks good and he feels good and his hand is on your cheek, thumb caressing your wet lips before sliding into your mouth where you swirl your tongue and caress it as he digs his fingers into your hip. His thrusts shake you, the sensation of your tits bouncing while you suck on his thumb and god he’s looking at you so fucked out.

When he pulls his thumb out of your mouth there’s a string of spit that glistens for a moment, before breaking and the lewdness compared to your eyes looking up at him lidded and heated for him, because of him, sends him over.

The thrusts go longer, deeper, as he pushes into you as far as he can while he chokes out moans of your name, almost sobbing in relief and ecstasy.

You anchor him, as he comes down from the pheromones. His body collapses next to yours, exhausted and spent: You shift so he can have more space but he just reaches out to hold you close as he pants into your hair.

The hand on his side is soothing, and your body is soft against him, and he decides he just wants to be in this moment for a good long while, happy and content, if a little exhausted. He doesn’t want to think about what tomorrow might bring, hell he doesn’t want to think about what the next hour will bring.

Just now is good.

Next Chapter

#Red Robin is there but wishes he wasn't #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dc x reader #my writing #dick grayson reader #nightwing reader #nightwing/reader #dick grayson/reader

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ghoultrifle · 6 months

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There's a First Time For Everything Chapter 2 - Fighting With You

WC: 1.8k

Summary: Dewdrop buys the toys he's been so curious about, with only a few breakdowns along the way. Set immediately after the previous chapter.

Notes: Fun fact! The toy reviews are almost all verbatim reviews from the lovehoney website :) isn't that fun! thank you to the unnamed friend who reignited my passion for reading sex toy reviews ashdfklhsg

I'm going to give a very slight warning for dubcon. Nothing happens, but Dewdrop gets in his own head about what might happen. Of course, Rain would never.

And a big thanks to @everybodyshusband for proofreading and hyping me up <333

Read below the cut or on AO3

“‘m ready,” Dewdrop whispers into Rain’s neck, pushing the larger ghoul off his lap, “Wanna get the feeling back in my legs,” he chuckles.

“Are you sure, Dewbug? We can wait if you want, I’ll still love you even if you never end up buying anything.”

Dewdrop grabs the water ghoul’s chin, bringing his head down to eye level, “I’ve never been so sure in my life, especially with you here,” it isn’t entirely the truth, but Dewdrop is feeling better than before, “Anyway, what is your opinion on what I sent you?”

Rain pauses before dragging a stack of filing boxes next to Dew’s chair, perching on them to watch the screen. As Dewdrop logs back in (his password is rainisgay69, ironic for someone who on some level of his dysphoria-ridden brain believes rain is secretly straight), their eyes are accosted with the bright screen illuminating the now dark room, a lilac dildo front and centre on the screen. The description reads, “Realistic Silicone Suction Cup Dildo - Perfect For Beginners”. It’s veiny, a respectable length and girth, nothing that would rip the ghoul open, but enough for him to feel the stretch, to feel full. It looks respectable, with the bonus that Dewdrop could definitely throw it into a strap on the rare occasion he does want to top; he could finally stop stealing from Cirrus.

Dewdrop flicks through the photos, capturing the length, girth, and the size comparable to a hand. Rain’s cock begins to stir at the last picture, remembering that one day he may be lucky enough to hold it, to fuck Dewdrop sweetly and gently with it while he rubs and flicks at the fire ghoul’s small dick, wringing out the most lascivious moans as Dew finally experiences divine pleasure. But this isn’t about him, so Rain wills the blood to return to his head so he can give a coherent response to his mate.

“Fuck, baby, it looks perfect,” he coos, planting a chaste kiss on Dewdrop’s cheek. He can’t help the sly comment that leaves his mouth before his brain can catch up, his mind preoccupied with the image of the toy against Dewdrop’s auburn curls, “Gonna look so good against your dripping cunt, heard ginger and purple go well together.”

The darks of Dewdrop’s eyes widen, and Rain’s face drops as he realises what he just said, “Shit- fuck- I’m fucking- I’m sorry Dewy that wasn’t the right time. I promise I’d be fine if you bought this and it just sat on the shelf forever. Or- or if you didn’t even buy it. Actually, I’d be fine if you banned all sex toys. You coul-”

A firm but gentle slap to the face interrupts the water ghoul, “Alright, wrap it up Sappy Steve. Save it for when I’m actually panicking, okay?” he chides, “And I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

He briefly glances at the top reviews, struggling to believe what he’s reading:

“I have recently celebrated my 70th birthday and this gave me the best orgasm of my life.”

“This is amazing. I can't believe how satisfying it is for a transgender person. I love to sit on it.”

Dewdrop laughs so hard he has fresh tears spilling down his face. That’s a new hobby unlocked: reading sex toy reviews online.

“See!” Rain exclaims, pointing at the screen and nudging Dewdrop’s shoulder, “You’re not the only trans person who wants to get fucked nasty with a toy,” the water ghoul is beaming at the review, hoping it will ease Dewdrop’s apprehension about it all. They’re having fun but Rain won’t pretend he hasn’t noticed how the other’s hand has been trembling as he navigates the website, how Dewdrop’s taking deep yet rapid breaths, his free hand worrying the ring on his middle finger.

The basket icon lights up as Dewdrop’s informed he only has to spend £15 more to get free delivery, “Might as well get the vibrator too, then?” he shrugs weakly, voice catching in his throat as he navigates to the second link he sent Rain earlier. “POWERFUL Vibrator - For Internal and External Use” it reads. Dewdrop re-examines it, looking at each photo in turn, breath turning shaky as he thinks about using it, putting it inside him, where no object has ventured before. As he thinks about the hard plastic sliding in, surely cold and rigid, perhaps he’ll be so dry that it will hurt, and he’ll just have to grin and bear it for his Rain.

The desk begins to shake slightly as Dewdrop’s knee bounces up and down with a fevered pace. His thumb is in his mouth, biting at the skin around his nails, leaving it red and sore. It’s getting to him. This is real. In just a few days he’ll be laying with Rain as he freaks out about it all. Now he’s told the water ghoul he wants it, he feels pressured, like he can’t say no anymore. Because if he says no, then he’s clearly leading Rain on for something that will never happen, and Rain really will break up with him this time. Why would he be with someone who is clearly never going to get over his fear of penetration? Perhaps Rain is straight and just waiting for Dewdrop to realise he is a woman after all, and when he finds out that Dew is just a man who’s scared of dick, he’ll run to the mountains, screaming a warning to everyone: Don’t Date Dewdrop.

A third set of tears begin to tumble their way down his cheeks, a small waterfall flowing with each blink the ghoul makes. His eyes are glassy, he can no longer see the offending toy on the computer, just a set of blurry white pixels laden with illegible text, Rain must have scrolled it down. Rain brings the fire ghoul into the warmest hug he can muster, peppering kisses to his neck. There is no sexual element to it, just pure love for his mate. His mate who he wishes he could take all the dysphoria from and suffer through it himself if it would mean a better life for Dewdrop. His mate who loves Dewdrop in a way the fire ghoul cannot even begin to fathom.

He truly believes he’s unlovable on a fundamental level, that his identity makes him some freak in between man and woman, that no guy would want to fuck him or be fucked by him, and no woman would take his pathetic excuse for a dick, even if he did want to top. It’s solidified in Dewdrop’s mind that Rain is only with him for his own sexual gratification, and now that Dewdrop wants to explore his own pleasure, he’ll be left to figure it out on his own. The image of him weeping as he forces a dildo into himself, cold and alone in his bedroom, is being seared further into his brain with every second that passes. Until he’s brought back to reality by Rain’s shuffling arm.

Rain decides against a tissue; Copia clearly had no regard for his own skin since the tissues in his office may as well have been constructed from sandpaper. Instead, he brings a bunched-up sleeve to Dewdrop’s eyes, catching the tears as he calms the sniffling ghoul beneath him, rocking them together in a soothing motion much like his mother would do in the pit. Words wouldn’t do Dewdrop’s pain justice; consolation would feel inadequate and pity, well, is just that and Dewdrop deserves better. He’s sure that if he reached inside the fire ghoul’s mind for just a moment, it would be more than he could ever bear. So, Rain opts for silence. The kind of silence you could sit in for eternity. The kind of silence where the world is at peace; there’s no buzzing of electricity, no shuffling in the quarters, just the sound of a gentle breeze creeping its way in through the poorly sealed windows, whistling hello as it sings its song. Rain rocks them for what could have been hours, Dewdrop isn’t sure, the sun had already set by the time he started.

Fresh air stings Dewdrop’s eyes. The flood has stopped, Rain’s sleeves near-soaked as the fire ghoul blinks the last of the hot tears from his weary eyes. His own sleeve is drenched in a thick layer of snot as he wipes his nose, the water ghoul looking on in a weird adoration for his mate. If Rain could watch him do that and still love him, then maybe there was hope. As he squints his eyes to focus on the screen, Dewdrop’s confronted with the reviews for the vibrator:

“My clit is tingling like a mo fo!! Thanks lovehoney. What a piece of cum equipment.”

“It took longer to get the item out of the packaging than it did for my wife to cum.”

Okay, maybe it isn’t quite so serious. As hilariously honest as the reviews are, it does spark something in Dewdrop- the curiosity at what these toys feel like, at how they’re so much better than just a set of hands. There must be a reason the vibrator gets a 4.7/5 on the ‘orgasm rating’. Dewdrop hesitates over the button that would add it to the basket, “I’m scared, Rain,” he admits with a sigh of relief, finally putting words to it.

“Then do it scared, spitfire,” the water ghoul replies, “Want and fear can coexist. If you truly don’t want to then I support you, droplet, but it sounds like you’re just conflicted. I think when the time comes, you’ll be glad the toys are ready for you, just like I will be.”

Dewdrop melts into the larger ghoul’s embrace. Rain has somehow managed to reach into Dew’s brain and lay his feelings bare on the table, raw and sensitive. But he’s right, about everything. Dewdrop does want it, he is scared, and he should buy it anyway. “Fuck it,” he smirks, stifled only slightly by a sniffle, as he adds the item to the basket, heading to the checkout page, a fuck you to his dysphoria. Copia’s bank details autofill and Dewdrop doesn’t complain; he’s not been left with much money since being charged with sourcing the pack’s weed on tour. Before he gives himself a chance to second guess his actions, he completes the order.

The thick tension that had filled the air dissipates in an instant, Dewdrop slumps in his chair as Rain idly braids a loose plait into hair, whispering praises to his love, “So proud of you, droplet. Whatever comes of this I want you to remember how brave you are for getting this far, okay?”

“Brave? In what world?” Dewdrop huffs.

“In this world, my love. In this world where every day is a fight between your mind and your body. In this world, where today, your mind won. And in this world where your mind won’t win every day but where I’ll be here, always, fighting with you.”

#next chapter will be smut i promise #just got too into the angst whoops #trifle writes #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #nameless ghouls #dewdrop ghoul #rain ghoul #trans ghouls #there's a first time for everything

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eryiss · 2 months

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[Fraxus] Multifaceted - Part 5

Or: The 5 Times Laxus Learned of a New Skill Freed Possessed, & The 1 Time He Fell Victim To Them

Summary: For the rest of the world, it had been seven years. For the members of Fairy Tail it had all been in the blink of an eye. But, for Laxus, that was more than enough time for his closest friend to seem like an entirely new person. This self assured, competent Freed was something new to Laxus, and he found himself enjoying it. Perhaps a little too much… Note: Ohh, it’s time for emotions, backstory and flowers. Hope you enjoy it all. Links: Ao3, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

5: Floristry

"Hey, I got dinner- what the fuck?"

The apartment was filled with flowers. Every available surface had flowers over it, including a good amount of the floor, Laxus had to move around them, treading carefully not to crush any of them as he placed the takeout bag on the counter. After having to push a pile of roses to the side, of course.

Freed looked at him with a half amused, half exasperated expression. He was sitting at the table, where a selection of vases - some were filled, some not - were scattered. There were also ribbons, bows and translucent coloured plastic wraps.

"You gonna explain, or do we just live in bee paradise now?"

"That was almost funny, congratulation," Freed teased, and subsequently avoided the little bolt of lightning that flew his way. "Valentine's Day is approaching, and I'm sure Mirajane told you about her anonymous bouquet idea. Well, she's contracted an illness and apparently it falls to me to pick up the slack."

"Makes sense. Out of all the people in the guild, when I think of flowers you're the top of the list," Laxus frowned through the sarcasm. "Not any of the women who wanna have flowers, not the guy with plant magic, and not our actual teammate who had her own rose garden. No, I think of you."

"That's more or less what I said verbatim," Freed hummed. "Apparently I have an artistic and elegant soul, and that's more important than competence in the task."

Laxus wasn't going to deny that Freed's soul did seem elegant and artistic, but it wouldn't be in his best interesrts to agree with it either. He looked over the seemingly complete bouquets and hummed quietly. "They look pretty good for someone without any competence. You getting into it?"

"I like working with my hands, this is a form of that," Freed shrugged. "And I suppose it brings back memories of my father. He was a florist."

Laxus halted, and didn't turn to look at Freed no matter how much he wanted to. Freed's family had been one of the biggest question marks about him, nobody knew anything about them. Laxus hadn't known if Freed even knew them. "He was?"

"Yes, I used to work in his shop sometimes," Freed continued working, sliding a white tulip into a vase. "Not often, and not for pay of course; I was nine when he was killed. But he sometimes let me help get the flowers he wanted. It was probably to stop me from asking questions about what he was doing - I had no filter as a child, you see, and apparently could talk a mile a minute - but I enjoyed it all the same," he stopped moving, looking at a bare point on the table. "He was a good man, it's a shame I never got the chance to know him."

"I…" Laxus started to say, but didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry."

"Yes, well, things happen," Freed mused. "They couldn't find my mother after his death, which I suppose is the point of leaving a baby on a man's doorstep. I was made a ward of the state, flittered around orphanages until I was sixteen then joined the Rune Knights. That was bad, but short lived. Then, I found Fairy Tail, so I suppose it all ends well."

Laxus placed a hand on his shoulder, just for a moment. "You okay?"

"Yes. I suppose I'm just a little morose when I think of him, my apologies," Freed assured him. "Have you ever been given flowers, or sent them out?"

"No, to both," Laxus removed his hands, giving Freed a lingering look before walking back to the food. "The two times I've been with someone, I guess they didn't see me as the type of guy who needs to be treated like that. And I was always kinda weird about sending flowers, didn't wanna get it wrong. There's this language they have, right? Didn't wanna accidentally tell a guy I liked that I thought he had a small dick and didn't know how to use it, or something."

"Okay, which of those things do you want to discuss first? Because, as a language expert with a family heritage in flowers, I have opinions on the so-called language of flowers," Freed said, placing down his secateurs. "But I feel like we should focus on the fact you just, perhaps unintentionally, came out to me."

Fuck, he had, hadn't he? "Well, I know you're not a bigot, and I know you've fucked men so if you had problems with he liking guys then you'd be a hypocrite, so maybe we brush past it and you rant about flowers."

"Wonderful," Freed smiled. "The idea that flowers have language is absolutely absurd, and a way for disingenuous hacks to overcharge for their services."

Freed didn't stop his rant for the next ten minutes, and Laxus had to sit back and laugh when Freed began to explain the nature of the concept of language, and how character based information could not be passed with such a small pool of participants. When he picked up a potted sunflower, waved it in Laxus' face, and demanded what letter it was, Laxus let out an undignified snort of laughter that made his cheeks red.

Suitably kowtowed, Laxus got to work plating their dinner. Freed continued on with his work, snipping at plants and quietly humming as he did so. Laxus pulled out his music Lacrima and started to play the song Freed had been humming, catching the flash of a smile on Freed's face in the reflection of the window.

They ate together, and Freed didn't once stop working. Once Laxus' plate was emptied, he reached over for a note written in Mirajane's handwriting, quickly reading it over. He put it down and frowned.

"This has to be done by tomorrow morning?" He demanded. "Valentines is a week away."

"Apparently the surprise of them being gifted earlier will make it more romantic, and will give the recipients time to figure red out who they were from so they can do something on the day itself, should they wish to," Freed explained as he wrapped up another vase. "It's stressful, though I suppose I understand it."

"And Mira hadn't done any of them before she got sick."

"Well, she had," Freed looked slightly guilty. "I have higher standards than she."

"Of course you do," Laxus smiled to himself, then pulled an empty vase over to himself. "What do I need to do?"

"Oh you really don't need to-"

"Just fucking tell me."

Freed reached for a stack of small pink cards, rifled through them and handed one to Laxus. 'To Natsu, From Gray'. Laxus huffed; fucking finally one of them was going to make a move. It'd been fifteen years since their weird obsession had begun with each other, and it was starting to get on the guild's collective nerves.

"I thought you could fill it with any pale blue, white, silver and grey flowers you could find, and place a fire lilie in the centre," He motioned for the lilie as he mentioned it. "It's hardly subtle, but given how the two of them are, I think they can do with all the help they can get."

Laxus got to work, finding as many of the correctly colours flowers as he could and placing them in the vase. Quickly, he realised that he didn't know what he was doing, but he knew when he hadn't gotten it right. After blunt forcing his way through it, he eventually settled on an arrangement he was happy with, and carefully slid the lilie into the centre. It gave the composition a shot of colour that seemed to bring it to life, and Laxus found himself oddly proud of himself.

When he turned to ask Freed what he needed next, he found the other man looking at him almost softly. He squirmed slightly in his seat, frowned and asked a blunt, "What?"

"Nothing," Freed dismissed. "Just, I've enjoyed living with you. That's all."

"Yeah," Laxus nodded, taken aback by the confession. "Me too. Er, who's next."

"Well, we've got 'To Evergreen From Elfman', and 'To Elfman From Evergreen', so we could take one each," Freed suggested, and Laxus nodded.

They made somewhat quick work of the rest of the requests, with Freed taking point on themes, colours and arrangements, while Laxus did as he was told. The music playing through the Lacrima gave a gentle, soft feeling to the proceedings as, one by one, the vases were filled and wrapped. The surfaces became bare of their flowers and Laxus got to tidying up.

It was near midnight by the time the apartment was back to it's normal, crappy yet useable state. The smell of the flowers were pleasant enough, and almost made it feel homely. Or maybe that was Freed. Pretty much every good thing in this place had come Freed…

"Laxus," Freed cut through his thoughts. Laxus turned to him, to find a single yellow rose being offered to him. "Since apparently we're being vulnerable today, you should have this."

"What?" Laxus asked, looking down at the rose. He tentatively took it, and he knew his cheeks were exploding with red.

"Just, I want you to know that, despite what your past partners might have made you feel, you are fully deserving of getting flowers," He looked away, then smiled. "Goodnight, Laxus."

He retreated to the bedroom, shut the door and left Laxus alone with the most beautiful flower he had ever seen. He twirled it around, running his fingers up and down the rough and spiky stem. He then looked around the apartment. It should be a tiny, crappy, hell hole. That was how he saw it when they first moved in. They only had one bed, and barely enough space for a damn armchair. It was a horrid little place, and yet Laxus had only fond memories for it,

Freed had done that. Freed, and his cooking. Freed, and the shelf he'd made that housed all the little crochet dolls he crafted. Freed, and his fluid movements he performed when he thought Laxus wasn't looking. Freed, and his flowers. Freed, and his openness and his life and his damn smile.

It happened before he could stop it. This hadn't happened for years. Not when he had been kicked from the guild. Not when they'd welcomed him home. Not when he had accepted his death on the island.

Laxus sobbed.

A throaty, quiet cry, devoid of reason, split through him.

The tears started to fall before he could stop them.

He couldn't stop them, nor explain them, but he felt them in his soul.

He felt Freed in his soul.

#fraxus #freed justine #laxus dreyar #fairy tail #fanfic #writing #multichapter #canon compliant #Word Count: 1.8k

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phoenixkaptain · 2 years

Text

My favourite parts of Cloak of Deception are as follows, typed verbatim from the text (I didn’t take screenshots because my phone is out of space for pictures ¯\ _(ツ)_/¯ ) (minor spoilers, but this book came out in 2001 and I’m pretty sure it isn’t actually canon anymore, so):

“Yoda and Qui-Gon had a long-standing relationship, but Yoda was one of those who sometimes took issue with Qui-Gon’s focus on the living Force over the unifying Force. As Qui-Gon explained it, he was simply built that way. Even in lightsaber training, he rarely entered into a match with a strategy in mind. Instead, he allowed himself to improvise, and to alter his technique according to the demands of the moment—even when the longer view might have helped him.”

“”I remember this like yesterday,” Obi-Wan said.

Qui-Gon quirked a smile. “It’s a good deal of yesterdays for me, Padawan.””

“”I couldn’t keep my mind in the moment.” [Obi-Wan]

“And you still can’t.”” [Qui-Gon]

“”Even so, I think you would have made a good field hand.”” -Qui-Gon to his dear Padawan who just tried to have a conversation with him about their roots

“”We thought we’d retire from mayhem,” Rella said, taking hold of Cohl’s left hand at the same time. “Maybe take up moisture farming.””

“”Where is your young apprentice?” she asked as they sauntered.

“Sharpening his wits.”

“So you actually give him an occasional respite from your resolute tutelage,” she teased.

“It’s a mutual thing,” Qui-Gon said.”

“”Palpatine represents Naboo,” C’baoth added.

“Just the world for Qui-Gon,” another human Jedi said from farther along the walkway.

C’baoth nodded. “More indigenous species in one square kilometer than you normally encounter on a hundred worlds.” He smiled faintly. “I could easily see Master Qui-Gon losing himself there.””

“”Worried your young Padawan appears, Qui-Gon,” Yaddle remarked from her seat at the table. “The minefield is it, or other concerns?”

Qui-Gon almost smiled. “That’s his normal look of foreboding. When he’s actually worried, you can see steam escaping his ears.”

“Yes,” Yaddle said. “Watch him train I did. Saw the steam.””

“”What should we do in the event of trouble, Master?” Obi-Wan asked quietly.

Qui-Gon’s gaze didn’t leave the cockpit viewport. “In a rainstorm, you try to keep dry by hurrying for shelter. But you get soaked regardless.”

“It’s better to conclude beforehand that you’re going to get wet,” Obi-Wan said.”

Five minutes later…

“Lambent with late sunlight, the black lake expanded below.

“And I thought you were just being figurative about getting wet, Master,” Obi-Wan said as he looked around for something to hold on to.”

They are crashing into that lake.

“”The plan has been a closely guarded secret. Someone named Havac is behind it. We must go to Karfeddion.”

“Impossible, Qui-Gon,” Yaddle said, shaking her head back and forth. “Leave the Senex, we must.”

Qui-Gon squared his shoulders. “Then my Padawan and I will go.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped slightly.

“Not in any of our ships, Qui-Gon,” Tiin said in challenge.

Qui-Gon glanced around. “Then we’ll use the Hawk-Bat.” [quick note: the Hawk-Bat is a highly recognizable ship used by a well-known criminal]

“Making this personal, you are,” Yaddle said. “Defying a direct order from the High Council, you’ll be.”

Qui-Gon didn’t argue the point. “My duty is to the Force, Master.”

Yaddle studied him for a long moment. “To what end, Qui-Gon? To what end?””

“”You’re one lucky fellow,” the humanoid said, holding his blaster where he could cover both of them.

“Not from where I’m standing,” Qui-Gon said.”

“”It��s not like Qui-Gon to defy the express wishes of the Council and the Supreme Chancellor,” Plo Koon said.

Yoda’s eyes snapped open and he raised his cane. “No. Like Qui-Gon, this is. Always forward, the Living Force. Adjust to Qui-Gon’s actions, the future will.” He shook his head again.”

“His green blade hissed and thrummed as it sliced through the air, deflecting a dozen blaster bolts—along with a hurled blaster to top it off.”

Someone threw a blaster at Qui-Gon.

“He glanced around for Obi-Wan and found him standing at the base of a large dome, atop a wall that enclosed a deep courtyard. Qui-Gon was headed toward him, when he spied an indistinct shape sliding down the steep curve of the dome. The shape collided with Obi-Wan and sent him flailing over the edge of the building.”

You know when someone pushes a cat off a fence? That’s how I imagine Obi-Wan, in this scene.

[context for this next one: while Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon are on Coruscant, they overhear Master Anoon Bondara talking to young students. He gives them a thought puzzle that basically amounts to: “A man is dangling over a treacherous pit of Darkness, by his teeth by the strut of a skimmer. He’s in a dark wood, and some lost travelers approach to ask him for help. Opening his mouth would mean falling (to the Dark Side) while leaving his mouth closed would mean going against his duty as a Jedi (to help people).” The thought puzzle is basically, what should this guy do?]

“”That was quite a stunt, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said.

“I guess you would rather have found me dangling by my teeth, Master.”

Qui-Gon showed him a perplexed look.

“The thought-puzzle Master Anoon Bondara put to his students on the day we spoke with Luminara,” Obi-Wan explained. “About the man dangling by his teeth from the strut of a skimmer over a treacherous pit.”

“I remember now,” Qui-Gon said, with sudden interest.

Obi-Wan blew out his breath. “After much thought, I decided that the skimmer is meant to be the Force, and that the pit represents the dangers that await any of us who stray from the path.”

“And what of the travelers who asked for help?”

“Well, on the one hand, travelers—even when they’ve lost their way—should know better than to ask questions of a man dangling by his teeth over a treacherous pit. But, more important, the travelers were merely distractions that the man should ignore, if he is to remain in the Force.”

“Distractions,” Qui-Gon murmured.

He thought back to the attempt on Valorum’s life, the events on Asmeru, and the evidence that had been discovered in the customs warehouse.

Qui-Gon clapped Obi-Wan on both shoulders. “You’ve helped me see something that’s been eluding me.” He glanced at the half-dozen terrorists. “There’s little more we can do here. Hurry now, Padawan, Havac’s scheme is afoot.”

“Where are we going, Master?”

“Where we were meant to go from the beginning.””

Sherlock Jinn and Obi-Watson-

“Yaddle turned to face Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, who were standing outside the Masters’ circle. “You two: flying here, flying there, chasing duties… If stopped for a moment to listen to the unifying Force, see what was coming you might have.”

“I did what I had to do, Masters,” Qui-Gon said, without apology.

Yoda loosed a prolonged sigh. “Blame you, we don’t, Qui-Gon. But exasperate us, you do.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head in a bow.”

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chaoslifeforme · 11 months

Note

Please tell me more about Coco Last they sound awesome. How extra were they already as a kid?

Oh my god, I love you, thank you. And they were extra from the very beginning.

When they first met Cove, they were like finders keepers. And every month on the same day they found Cove, they'd give Cove a drawing of a white linen poppy. (Were the drawings good? No, but they did end up everywhere in Cove's room). Over the years their skills improved and they gift Baxter ink drawings for every important date, from the day of the first soiree, the date when they met the second time, the third time, their first date the first time, first date the second time... there's a lot of dates. Only Baxter's planning skills (and calendar where he writes down all these dates as Coco celebrates them) allows him to keep up. The chocolate fountain illusion cake Coco made on Miranda's birthday (that they brought to Miranda's party after the reveal), is the only one Baxter had any issues with. *He nearly had a heart attack because he woke up and discovered a chocolate fountain in his kitchen. He thought it was a nightmare.*

Spoilers for Cove step 1 dlc: When Cove ran away Coco went with, but they didn't need any of Cove's drinks or snacks. They always carried a purse around with them, and that purse was almost as big as them (might be the main reason they end up with some slight muscle definition as they get older). They have all the basic necessities in the purse. (In Coco's mind, the necessities are snacks, drinks, first aid kit, and two full disguises including wigs, contacts and outfits that fit over top of their clothes).

The minute Cove says Coco can come Coco throws on one of the disguises and insists Cove uses the other. The conversation goes a bit like this:

"What are you doing?"

"Putting on my disguise. Where's yours?"

"Why would I have a disguise?"

"Because you said you don't want people to know you're leaving. If they see you they will know, so you just have to make sure they see someone else, someone more fabulous. Did you not even bring a disguise?"

"No"

"Here, you have to use my extra one so we don't get caught"

"But there's no one around"

"Wanna bet?"

"Fine" *Pouty Cove puts the disguise on. He didn't like the wig and couldn't keep the contacts in for long. So only his clothes ended up different.. It made Coco pout for a second before remembering their disguise was an adult who doesn't pout. Yes, they did think they could pass for an adult at 8 years old, 3 feet tall, with the biggest possible child like blue eyes (the brown contacts did not make them look older) and chubby cheeks.... *

Coco also has a new, fully choreographed, victory dance for every year. Whenever they have a big win, they will break out into a full song and dance as soon as there is enough space to. Even during "Dinner" at Cove's house, when they win the card game, they actually go outside to do one, much to everyone's amusement. Cove is an excellent best friend because he becomes very efficient at clearing a stage area for Coco at a moments notice. He's so good at it, that after Coco became famous people thought he was Coco's body guard, or the one scheduling these seemingly impromptu pop performances by an Oscar winning actor.

Coco, cleared that up really quick, and their fans enjoyed the performances all the more for knowing they are victory dances.

They definitely did a dance after Baxter asked them out in "Sightseeing", though they waited until after Baxter was inside. Also, when they asked Baxter out after Scott and Jude's wedding. (Although they were a little disappointed that Baxter didn't notice that they quoted when he asked them out verbatim, without the part about things being temporary)

They also love dressing "grandly formal" all the time. They actually had to dress down for Scott and Jude's wedding. Of course, a paparazzo got a picture of Coco only looking "formal" and their fans were so worried they broke Twitter. Coco had to to a whole press release through a reputable journal that they were alright. They also explained that they knew the importance of not stealing another person's show. Same as how upstaging your costars ruins a performance, stealing the show takes it out of it's context and ruins the show. In this case, the show was the wedding of two people near and dear to their heart and they'd rather die than ruin that momentous occasion. (They may or may not have given their publicist a conniption over refusing to change their wording).

Ps. They carry four disguises in their purse now, so they are never caught by paparazzi if they don't want to be. All their friends are used to Coco putting on disguises while out with them, and Baxter thinks it's rather ingenious of them. Whenever they put on a disguise while out with him, he always asks, "What wonderful gentle person do I have the pleasure of escorting today?"

It's the only thing that ever gets Coco to break character, and even then, only sometimes. They may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but they sure are the shiniest and most skilled in the arts of performance, drawing and cake decorating.

#baxter alexander ward #baxter ward #cove holden #coco last #i hope everyone has a nice day #Thank you for the ask #our life beginnings & always

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melxncholymermxid · 2 years

Text

Theory/Thoughts

The whole "men are less drama than women" ; "women can't really be friends with each other" attitudes many people (men and women) have are the results of how we're socialized.

And I'm not talking about women competing with each other, bc believe me men do as well. I'm talking about the deepness and complexity of what a friendship consists of.

Men have a "brotherhood" when they're a part of a group: sports, business, etc. Sisterhood is in everything.

Of course not every friend you make is like a sister, but way more women have deep friendships like that than men.

Also, for men, because of the macho emotional suppression many cultures have placed upon them since boyhood, making a "deep connection" is simple enough as sharing something personal or crying.

And a whole other factor comes into play with married women or those who have children.

Specific situation for me

My friend, who I've been in a rough patch with, said something to me while we were explaining how we each felt uncared for, and I haven't stopped thinking about it since.

While I was the one to start bringing up my issues with our relationship, she was the one who reached out socially first. We met for coffee a week or so ago, everything was fine, but we just caught up and didn't speak on anything about why we haven't seen each other in over a month.

I texted her a long block of text, trying to get out what I needed to communicate while also trying to be mindful and cautious with my words as to not seem angry/accusatory. She called the next morning and we talked.

She said to me, this isn't verbatim, that she would rather have some sort of unideal friendship than be alone. Not just because of emotional sadness, but for safety and wellbeing.

She has a lot of health issues, seizures being one of them. Her and her ex are sharing custody more often. In the almost two months we had apart, she had three of them where she lost time, one of which she fell and injured herself.

I've taken this to mean that she doesn't want to actually be my friend, but she feels that I'm a safe enough person to keep in her life.

This is what I'm still hung up on .

On one hand, I wanna say fuck you, I'm worth more than what I can do for you.

But on the other hand, as much as it doesn't feel good, I understand why she's the way she is. She isn't safe alone, she does need support systems, she has been failed by so many people in her life.

But it still feels bad. Her sharing how she finally felt, after I finally got her to open up a dialogue, she confirmed so many of my insecurities I have about what I am to her.

Back to the original topic:

This is not a situation a man would have to deal with. If you're a man and you're mad at your boy, you don't have to worry about "if I leave him alone, he's not going to be safe/survive".

Men don't have to worry about being a misandrist for dumping a friend who said something hurtful to them, regardless of where that friend is in life.

It's so common for men to not have deep friendships, and to only talk to coworkers or neighbors, but it feels like women are much more likely to be totally alone.

After my situation, it would be so easy to cut my friend out of my life and carry the trauma from this relationship around forever and never attempt to make a friend ever again. However, if I were in her shoes I probably wouldn't be able to do that either.

In conclusion

I don't know how to navigate these feelings. I don't wanna be a doormat who just listens to everyone's beck and call, but I don't want to continue this behavior of just abandoning ship either.

And back to the original topic of this post, I don't know how to balance any of this without also taking into consideration a) what I "should be doing as a woman" and b) should that even matter.

Because on one hand, yes. As someone who has been with my friend through ups and downs, I should always try to be mindful of her feelings and her situation. I can't only wanna be friends when things are good.

But conversely, I am my own person who should get to feel cared about and wanted, not just needed for support.

#long post #sorry #im genuinely so fucked in the head over this #the 'my friend' saga again #are yall tired of me treating my dash like therapy yet?

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landoncrris · 2 years

Note

Could you write something where you've known mason since you were a kid through your brother and he's always had a crush on you and you haven't seen him in a while and now you're both older he confesses and makes a move. Thank you! I love your writing! :)

thank you so much anon!! hope it meets your expectations <3

secret admirer - mason mount x reader

notes: i kinda wrote more verbatim speech this time and less details? so idk if that’s good too,, we’ll see i guess

word count: 1.2k

“Oh my God, Y/N?” someone said near you as you visited one of the bakeries in your neighbourhood, as you had done every morning since you were little. It became a kind of routine to get the same coffee before you went to work - or to school when you were younger. When you looked up, you caught sight of your brother’s old childhood friend, “Mason?”

“I never thought I’d see you again!” He beamed as he sat down across from you at the small table. “Damn, you’ve changed so much I almost didn’t recognise you” laughing at the fact that he met you in the same bakery you went to together all the time many years ago.

“Didn’t think you’d remember me”

“Oh, come on, as if I could ever forget a face like that.” you blushed slightly at his comment, thoughts of him as a child running through your mind, as well as all the times you went to school together or when you were at your brothers and Mason’s football practice, always cheering them on. And because Mason was one of your brother’s best friends, you also became something like friends, although you never had a real connection, the only one being your brother.

“You’ve changed a lot too, I mean from the little boy with the long hair and braces to this,” you said as you motioned him up and down, eliciting a shy laugh from him. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” asked Mason with his usual grin, which you recognized immediately as it didn’t change at all.

“Definitely a good thing” causing him to raise his eyebrow at you and making you question what you’ve just said, “Not that you didn’t look good then, but I mean— you look older now, out of puberty” mentally slapping you for acting so awkward in front of him, instead he thought it was cute to see you blush and get nervous, like he always had thought. You always had this special way about you, just being different from everyone else, but in a positive way. And he couldn’t help but see in you the girl he stupidly had a crush on years ago, as your smile was the same one and still made his eyes light up.

“Anyway, what are you doing here? My brother mentioned that you moved away?” You take a moment as he speaks to sip your coffee and sort out your thoughts. “Oh yes, I did, though not far away. And I’m here to visit my parents, so I thought I’d bring my mum this cake she loves so much.”

“She still does?”

“Absolutely, wants it for every fucking birthday of hers.” which pulled a laugh from you as you remembered that he never liked that specific cake his mother always got when they visited. “Shit, I already have to go, can’t be late for work..” you said with a quick glance at your phone, only now realising that you had been sitting in the bakery for far too long.

“Oh... where’s your workplace?” Mason asked you, not wanting to end the conversation yet as he got up and pushed the chair back under the table while you put on your jacket. “Basically just down the road, have to walk for about 20 minutes.”

“Walk?”

“Yeah, I can’t afford a car yet, but it’s actually nice to walk there, it gets me moving a bit.” you smiled as he still looked stunned to hear that you walk to work every day.

“Not today. I’ll drive you there, just give me a minute to get the cake for my mother” Mason went over to the till and ordered everything he needed. “I’m fine with walking too, you don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to. If you want that too?”

“Sure. Thank you” sending him your lovely smile as he opened the door for you and let you walk past him, out of the bakery and away from the sweet smell of pastries. “No problem”

“Soo, I guess that car over there is yours?” pointing to the only clean and prosperous-looking car on the road. “Wonder how you could have guessed that” he grumbled as he opened the car and you both got in.

“How does it feel?” you murmured, which made him furrow his brows as he started the engine and signalled you to enter the address. “How does what feel?”

“Having thousands of girls on their knees for you” pulling a snort from him, “You say that as if I didn’t have them back when i was 18 already.” Mason laughed in the same cocky tone he had back then.

“I certainly didn’t have a crush on you,” you looked over at him instead of looking out the window and saw his lips tilt up slightly, “Oh, as if.”

“Listen, Mount, not every girl in this world fancies you.”

“I did”

“You did what? Fancy yourself?”

“You—” he said as his voice broke with embarrassment and his cheeks flushed, somehow wishing he had kept his mouth shut but his ego was bigger than that. “I had a crush on you.” his statement made you gasp overdramatically but your insides burned with excitement because you couldn’t lie that he looked ridiculously hot and was apparently still the polite guy you knew, which you always appreciated about him. “No way, seriously?!”

“Of course, I mean, have you looked at yourself? I’d be an idiot if I didn’t have a crush on you.” he stopped at a red light and gave you a look that made you bite your cheeks to suppress the feverish smile when he did. “Anyway. How’s your life going in general at the moment?” Mason asked as he looked back down the road and quizzed you about your life for the rest of the ride.

“Thank you so much for driving me.” you thanked him after he parked the car in front of your workplace and you reached for the car door. “Wait, wait, wait” Mason said as he got out of the car, making you stop your movement. Chuckling to yourself as he walked over and opened the car door for you, “What a gentleman”

“Oh, and here...” he handed you his phone, on which a new contact was opened, named after you, before telling you to enter your number. “There you go.” you said after handing him back his phone.

“Thanks. We could meet up later this week if you want. I don’t know we could get something to eat… watch a movie...”

“A date?”

“Yeah, I mean— if that’s what you want, of course, otherwise we’ll just skip the movie part.” he muttered to himself, which made you grin, because you had that effect on him that made him nervous, and that certainly didn’t happen often. “I would love to go on a date with you”

“Great!” letting out a nervous laugh, trying to hide his excitement, “I mean, okay. Cool, I’ll text you then.” he corrected himself before pulling you into a hug and saying goodbye to each other, a grin on his face for the rest of the day as he was about to have a date with his teenage crush.

#mason mount #mason mount fanfic #mason mount oneshot #mason mount imagines #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #mason mount fluff #chelsea fc #chelsea imagine #england nt #england nt imagine

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Note

✏, hotchreid, first kiss 🥺

You don’t just get a blurb honey, you get the whole damn night. I’ll eventually start writing blurbs and not full-length oneshots for these asks, but Cee (my love my family my favorite always) is who got me back into CM in the first place so yours was always going to be the long, fleshed out version. I love you so my dear.

((P.S. Yes I’m still working on the 200follower asks xD I’m so sorry life got in the way and I discovered hcs but I’m being responsible and finishing all of these now I promise!!!))

Personal plot bunny: Hotch invites Reid over to help with a research paper/with Jack and Reid gets to see his boss all domestic and soft, and in turn Spencer just kind of fits in his home seamlessly and Hotch kisses him as he leaves.

Word Count: 3107

It’s a perfectly ordinary day in late November when Hotch opens his apartment door to Reid standing there in the clothes he’d worn to work earlier that day. Satchel over his shoulder, wrapped in jacket and scarf, and giving him a small quirk of a smile in greeting -- still very obviously thrown off kilter that Hotch had invited him over in the first place.

When Reid said he’d lend him a hand on his most recent research paper, the younger agent had probably expected them to do it at the office. Interviews and research were all a big part of having a Behavioral Science subunit at the FBI, and published papers were a requirement from all BAU members to aid in this endeavor. Every team had to keep a steady output of resources and research studies going just to keep funding for the department afloat. He may be Unit Chief, but Hotch was no exception to these requirements, even with as much work as he has to put in on the regular.

Usually, he can do his research and piece together papers in between his daily paperwork. But this week Jess is sick with a stomach flu, and Jack hadn’t gotten to spend time with Hotch in what feels like a month. So the easiest solution was obviously to invite Reid to have dinner with them at his home, entertain him while he read over the drafted paper and helped Hotch out.

Obviously.

The only reasonable option, really.

“Thanks for coming, Reid,” Hotch greets back with a softened expression as he looks him up and down. “Did you even go home first?” The very first thing Hotch always does is change out of his suit when he gets home, shedding that armour as best he can to switch mindsets between Agent Hotchner of the FBI, and Aaron Hotchner the ever-stressed-out single dad. That evening donning worn jeans and a heather grey Henley to better accommodate himself within the space.

“Oh -- no, I didn’t see much point,” Reid shrugs, then motioning to his satchel which is now filled with books that weren’t there when he’d left the bull pen a couple hours before. “I stopped by the law library in Georgetown and found a few more references, just in case you were using the Favero citations instead of Weston and I don’t have all of those read yet -- or I didn’t. I do now. But I still brought them--”

Hotch smiles, a real smile -- small as it is, but no less fond of Reid going out of his way to help him. But before he can thank him again Jack’s socked feet come thundering down the hall behind him.

“Dr. Spencer! Dr. Spencer! Dr. Spencer!” And he’s slipping past Hotch, smooth and fluid as water, attaching himself to Reid’s legs and waist in a hug with a big smile that looks so much like Aaron’s own. When he’d been younger, only about three or four years old, Jack had been deathly scared of Doctor’s visits. It had been Reid’s idea to have Jack start calling him ‘Dr. Spencer’ to help alleviate some of that fear, associating the moniker with his non-threatening and familiar face. Reid had been much younger then, too, and that had helped the tactic work like a charm. Haley had been over the moon when his reverse psychology worked out so well.

“Jack! Woah, you got taller!” Reid’s whole demeanor changes. A little more animated, more comfortable, even -- and Hotch could remember a time when Reid hadn’t even wanted to hold a child for fear of the interaction. Now, he was always the first to talk to one if JJ didn’t beat him to it. “How’ve you been?” “Good!” Jack says excitedly, barreling over the small talk in ways only children can. “Dad says you’re going to help him with his homework, can you help me with mine too?!”

Reid smiles even wider and chances a glance at Hotch that he feels in his chest. “You bet, I love helping with homework.”

Jack just scrunches his nose up at him. “Why?”

“Because it’s fun.”

“Homework isn’t fun.”

“Well, maybe you’ve been doing it wrong.”

“Let’s let Dr. Reid in from the hallway,” Hotch interrupts with a laugh, herding his son and the younger agent inside. “Jack, go get your homework and you can do it at the table,” Hotch says as he takes Reid’s coat and watches him kick off his shoes by the door. Mismatched socks prominent against the hardwood floors. Making himself at home, shedding some of the layers and getting comfortable in the space much like Aaron does every day after work. “Hope you like spaghetti. It won’t be as good as Rossi’s.”

“Who doesn’t love spaghetti,” Spencer grins with a soft laugh. “Rossi’s is almost too fancy for me, anyway.”

“A man of simple tastes,” Hotch teases him.

“I’m easily impressed.”

“Lucky me.”

It slips out, the low, comfortable banter, and Reid’s eyes are alight and Aaron feels himself smiling enough his dimples show, and he leads the way to the kitchen where dinner is already in the works on the stove. Filling the small condo with the smell of tomato sauce and garlic.

Jack and Reid set up at the kitchen bartop where they can watch Hotch finish cooking and stay within reach of conversation. It doesn’t take long for Hotch to finish making dinner, or for Jack to finish his homework spurred on by Reid’s strange enthusiasm for math problems. With how much time they spend talking about psychology and sociology (and sometimes even philosophy) Hotch always forgets one of Reid’s Ph.D.’s is in mathematics.

“Numbers just make sense,” he explains, when Hotch brings it up while drizzling olive oil on the drained pasta on the stove. “There’s always a right answer and the rest are wrong. It’s comforting, to an extent, but predictable -- that’s why I shifted focus from sciences to humanities. There’s no right or wrong answers in philosophy, it’s all argumentative. Always evolving. I prefer that, it’s no fun having all the answers.”

And coming from someone who does always have all the right answers, that must mean something profound to the younger man. One conversation outside the walls of the BAU and Hotch already feels like he understands Reid more than he has in a long time.

Dinner runs so smoothly it’s as if Reid is always there for it. Jack even finishes all of his food and helps with the dishes before Hotch has to ask him to. Making the two men exchange a glance and Hotch ask, “You charge by the hour?” and Reid laughs into his water glass in reply. They end up talking a bit about the paper Hotch has been working on, along with about a dozen other things Reid launches into in side tangents -- from the books he’d read during his brief visit to Georgetown that afternoon, to his most recent philosophical debate he had with his doctoral advisor about his thesis paper he’ll have to submit at the end of next month.

“Do you need time to piece it together? I didn’t know you were that close to your next Ph.D.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Reid waves him off. “I just need a weekend where we are actually in town and not on a case, and I’ll get it finished.”

“I’ve been working on this paper for the past six months,” Hotch all but balks in disbelief. “How can you write a Ph.D. dissertation in a weekend?”

“Well, I’m not the Unit Chief or a single parent,” Reid points out with a gentle grin, and Hotch feels one pulling at his own lips as well. “But it’s mostly written anyway, just all up here.” He points to his head, and Hotch bets he could recite the paper verbatim with what he writes up when he has the time.

“You could always write it on the jet,” Hotch says.

“I do,” Reid smirks, and Hotch can’t help but roll his eyes. “In my head, someone is usually taking up the table with a headstart on paperwork.”

“I think they can be talked into relinquishing some table top space,” Hotch says, until Reid gives him a look. “Oh, you mean me?”

“You spread out everything to keep it organized in piles.”

“I’d share with you.”

“You told Rossi to use the couch last week when he wanted to answer emails,” Reid says with a barely contained laugh.

“Yeah, well, he’s not you,” Hotch admits before he can take it back, and Reid almost answers -- mouth open and everything -- when Jack comes back and is all but begging ‘Dr. Spencer’ to help him with his science fair project he hadn’t even decided on.

The rest of the evening ends up with the three holed up in Hotch’s office, Reid surrounded by Law books and reading material he hasn’t gotten to sift through before, Hotch with his drafted paper printed out for Reid’s ease of access, and Jack with his science textbook and a notebook already talking Reid’s ear off about a science project for the spring.

But once the time starts to tip into the later hours of the night, Hotch tells Jack to get ready for bed and say goodnight to Dr. Reid.

“Goodnight, Dr. Spencer. Thanks for your help,” Jack says politely, ingrained in him by his father and Reid smiles a little too bright and soft at the same time at how sweet it is he tries to be good for company.

“You know, Jack, you can just call me Spencer if you’d like,” he says, knowing that the older boy has already outgrown his fear of the doctor and the reverse psychology is no longer needed.

Jack looks a little confused for a moment. “Dad doesn’t.”

“Well, your dad can, too -- if he wants,” Reid says, looking to Hotch and they share a look he once again can feel in his chest. Watching the whole interaction with a carefully guarded expression, but it melts under Reid’s glance and he isn’t quite sure what is there anymore. But whatever it is, it makes Reid smile softly at him.

“Okay, goodnight Spencer,” Jack interrupts their moment, and hugs Reid around the neck from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. It jostles the younger man, and Hotch smiles wide and ducks his head down to hide it. But Reid hugs Hotch’s son back, and tells him goodnight, as well. “You’ll come back, right?”

“Of course, I’d love to,” Reid tells him, and -- satisfied -- Jack goes off to brush his teeth, leaving the two in a lull of heavy silence. “Sorry, I think I just invited myself over, some time.”

“You’re welcome anytime.” And he means that, knows Reid knows that as he looks at him a little more soundly than before. “Not just for work.” If that needed to be said.

And if Reid’s face flushes a little darker in the low lighting, Hotch doesn’t mention. No matter how much he can’t seem to look away.

Reid looks over his entire paper while Hotch tucks Jack into bed, and is already making notes on it at his desk when the man returns. The next hour rolls into two, and Hotch drags another chair in from the kitchen so they can share his desk and work through bullet points on the paper but… it was pretty much done, from the start. Even Reid’s edits didn’t take them long. After a while they dissolve into just talking, discussions and anecdotes and sitting maybe a little too close and laughing so much and so loud sometimes they have to quiet themselves so they don’t wake Jack down the hall.

It’s almost 10:30 by the time they resurface from each other, before Hotch realizes Reid probably needs to go home because they both have to be at work bright and early. But this was… this was the best night he’s had in a long, long time, and he wants to do it again. Soon. More than soon. More than once. He thinks about all of this as he follows Reid to the front door and helps him gather the rest of his things.

“We should do this again, sometime,” Hotch mentions, hands in his pockets and trying to be more cool about this than he feels.

“I’d like that, I had a lot of fun tonight,” Reid answers, standing up from tying his shoes and giving him that bright, wide smile he doesn’t always feel comfortable enough to allow. It never fails to stall Hotch in his tracks, staring a little too long at his mouth than he should be.

“What if, next time, it’s just us? And no Jack?” he continues, elaboration just in case Reid doesn’t grasp what he’s asking. Reid is watching him with this look as if he’s unsure he heard correctly, and Hotch is nothing if not patient.

“I’d… I’d be okay with that,” Reid answers, slowly as he weighs some unseen options and gauges Hotch’s facial expressions to the most minute detail.

“Good. How about Saturday?”

He can see the moment it all clicks into place.

“...Are you asking me on a date?” Reid asks, a little winded.

“If that’s alright with you,” Hotch says with a half smile. Once again sounding more confident than he should in the face of how Reid’s eyes start to dart around and he licks his lips nervously.

“I don’t know how -- how good I am with dates.” There’s a story behind that, and Hotch wants to know it, but he does his best to press Reid gently. Because… he’s been holding off asking the younger man for a long time, now, but after tonight he gets the feeling that he might not have needed to be so hesitant, after all.

“Oh?”

“Just -- the ritual of it all always throws me off. Dressing up and going out, and making conversation over dinner while trying to eat and maintain the other’s attention, and then keeping it all going if you manage to do that I just don’t always do so well one-on-one and --”

“Reid.” He pauses, then -- “Spencer.” And that stalls his stream of thought to words, catching Spencer’s attention and snagging it in the best way. “...we just did all of that. And it was great.” Hotch knows his own expression has softened around the edges over the course of the night, smiles easier to hold, eyes more expressive, and Spencer takes in every change and nuance with a well-practice eye and is… very obviously stunned by what he finds. “So -- I’d like to do it again. Saturday?”

Shocked, eyes a little wide, breath lost to the wind, Spencer waits a beat too long to answer. Enough to make Hotch nervous, before he answers in a sound that could have been a whisper if it had been quieter. A slight crack to it that betrays his emotion.

“Okay.”

Hotch gets a turn to be stunned, because he thought this had been about to take a very different turn. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“--Okay.”

Intelligent men that they were, that was the extent of the conversation, and then Reid is smiling that bright, sunshine laced smile and Hotch is trying to contain his own and -- Reid still needs to go home. So, biting his lip, Reid turns as if to leave -- is just about out the door when he stops and turns back so quick he almost runs into Hotch on the threshold.

“So… technically, that means this was our first date, then. Right?” he looks so goddamn hopeful, and like he has something further to add, that Hotch smiles outright and this time doesn’t bother hiding it.

“Technically, yes.” He supposes it was. And it really had been… a great night. Not a bad first date, at all.

Reid takes far too long trying to string together words after that. Keeps looking to Hotch then away to gather his thoughts, then back again as if in search of something; and it’s after about the third time that Hotch realizes what he’s getting at. What he’s trying to find a way to ask.

It hits him so silent and hard it about knocks the wind out of him.

Oh.

He can do that.

Hotch steps closer, about the same time Spencer opens his mouth like he’s finally figured out the right combination of words within the range of the English language to form a coherent sentence, and they all die on his tongue the moment Hotch guides him back with a hand on his hip. He’s done it before, gentle leading when Reid strays the wrong way or needs to be shifted in a crowded room on cases, and this time is just as easy and no different.

Except this time, Hotch isn’t maneuvering them to get past him. This time, he presses Spencer’s spine to the doorframe and leans in to capture his lips with his own. Right there, in the open doorway.

Hotch kisses him, and it’s perfect.

The gentle slide of lips is over before either know it, lasts longer than his racing heart can measure, and before Hotch can decide his next move Spencer tilts in closer and kisses him back, slow and methodical and Hotch feels that. Feels it the way he’s felt every moment they had and shared the whole night. His free hand finds that sharp jaw framed in messy curls getting longer all over again, and Spencer doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands beyond grasp at Hotch’s shirt at his sides and then --

Then Hotch pulls back enough that he can nudge his nose against Spencer’s carefully, a punctuation that ends the kiss soft and apologetic. Silently says that’s all they can do tonight. That there’s more, awaiting them, but that…

That had been one hell of a good first kiss.

“See you in the morning, Spencer.”

For once, Dr. Spencer Reid is speechless in an entirely new way, and he merely nods with lips still parted and a little darker from the kiss. From kissing him, and Hotch knows he stares more than he should, but that’s been a frequent occurrence lately. It’s just getting harder and harder to turn away, watch Reid -- Spencer -- smile at him in that quiet way only ever directed at him, and then walk away. But he lets it happen, feels every step even as he shuts the door behind him.

Because Hotch will see Spencer tomorrow.

And, one day, maybe he won’t have to watch him walk away at all.

#I'm so tired I can't even tell if this is good or not because OF COURSE these dorks would flirt over a damn research paper #tell me I'm wrong #also I'm a sucker for domestic hotchreid we all know this #but I hope you like this my dear I know it's hella long it just got away from me #Cee my love my light ilysm #asks #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting #200followerasks

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nerdsideofthemedia · 3 years

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I've come to terms with bb but I still want to know when it was decided to be endgame. I don't buy the "planned from the start" thing since everything in show points to the exact opposite. Maybe the volume commentary after the fact will finally put the matter to rest...or muddle things up further lol. given the likely possibility of them lying ) if it was planned from the start there should have been hints from the start they shouldnt have began hinting at bb halfway into the series ( and attempting to use bb being a same sex ship as a shield and claiming anyone who didnt see evidence just didnt see it because it was a w/w ship makes me roll my eyes "I recognize that BB is likely to become a canon ship. But given that it's a stupid-ass canon ship, I've elected to ignore it."

Have you ever gotten around to reading from start to finish the one giant post dedicated to you that goes into length about your harassment and it is now linked to in all my rwby post in the wordpress blogs, @megashadowdragon (yes, I am almost certain that is your actual real account even if my evidence is circumstancial)? Should I put a link to your tumblr profile too?

You've claimed to be in your late 20s, how the fuck can you be that old and still think it's acceptable to harass someone over a ship? and for months, no less. The only time you left me alone is when I had cut all means to do so. I shouldn’t have to do that. Have you been checking on my account every week for the last month to see when you could strike again? Get the fuck over it. BS sunk for good in early V6 (yes, the Renora/BB parallels are very clearly intentional and no, they didn’t change their minds mid-volume – that would have been likely impossible). V9 is starting in a couple of months.

If the writers told you every single hint they had to reveal BB, you would not believe them, so don’t bother feigning curiosity and pretending you’re open-minded. A person who thinks Adam attacked Yang and associated the word love without any planning on the writers' part is someone who could not care less about what the writers were trying to convey. A person who sees Yang getting associated with the ex and Sun getting associated with the unrequited love doesn’t think it says anything about story is naïve at best. And a person who keeps sending me to a goddamn post (that I’ve even quoted verbatim in one of my posts) that says “Like seriously if I was writing two characters that were only meant to be platonic, I would never write a scene like that. The implication of those words are too strong.” but tries to pretend this only applies to Renora and not BB is a deeply homophobic one. I have yet to understand how the hell you fail to see that that post makes actually a massive amazing argument for BB being planned from very early on.

Nothing can be applied to Renora without applying to BB too.

It wasn’t just the Renora scenes that were written by writers, the BB scenes also were, including the flirting and wink, the ship named Pride, the ex attacking and using the word love, yet classmate for Sun, Yang paralleling Pyrrha when they both helped the object of their affection in the dance arc, the Arkos/BB parallels in V3, etc. The writers decide everything. If they wanted Sun to fight the ex and not be associated with unrequited love, that would have happened. Don’t bother pointing Adam didn’t fight Sun when they were alone, that’s why he used the word classmate because the fight could have happened any way the writers wanted it to happen. If they wanted those 2 to fight (or with Blake) and use the word love, they would have.

The writers decide everything. If they wanted to associate Sun with the ex instead of the unrequited love or if they wanted to associate him with the word love instead of classmate, they would have.

Instead of writing a post responding to all your nonsense for the 124539th time,

let’s decide what to do with you.

I’m guessing reporting you to tumblr is worthless because you harassed me using several accounts that no longer exist (mysteriouslypaleenthusiast, reallydelicateturtle, red2sposts, ravenstarsblog, violetcloudsworld, pleasantbarbarianfire, makofan and now lightningemperorsworld). Let’s not forget the multiple anons and the [email protected] and the [email protected]. Still, reporting to tumblr and see if they have ways to check it’s you and see what they can do about it, not off the table.

Here’s my suggestion: you stop harassing the BB community (the entire community, not just me) and I let bygones be bygones.

Or maybe, I inform your community (yes, I have also saved the usernames of the people you are constantly asking to bring down our posts because you can’t do it yourself – to be fair, neither can they) and let them know what you’ve been up to and how you’ve been using them to harass us. Unless of course, they already know, but they’re garbage so they don’t care. I may be willing to take a shot and find out.

Oh, and you can stop with the nonsense of being offended because I called you out on your homophobia. You don’t want to be called out on it, then stop being homophobic. For starters, stop harassing real LGBTQ+ people because your fictional straight ship didn’t become canon.

If most saw it coming and you didn’t, then the writers didn’t fail, you did. Also, the hints didn’t begin mid-series, they have been there since the red fucking trailer. By the end of V3, a good chunk of the audience had called it. By the end of V6, almost no one thought BB wasn’t going to be endgame.

You are one of the few exceptions. If that doesn’t scream volumes to you about your lack of understanding of storytelling/how much you live in denial, then nothing will. Live in “I’m right and everyone else is wrong” for as long as you want, but don’t ever bother me or anyone else ever again.

For the sake of honesty, I will say that I do not know if @megashadowdragon is the one behind the harassment of several BBers. I know with almost certainty they are behind mine, but I cannot be sure they have other victims since the patterns aren’t the same (at least, not the victims I know of). This been said, add them to the list of suspects.

I suppose I thank you for not being a complete asshole to me for the last 2,5 years, when I actually wrote the post that has you screeching for months. And now I say fuck you for being a complete asshole to me for the last 4 months because of a goddamn ship. Yet you have the fucking gall to pretend we are the toxic ones.

TLDR: act your age (which you claimed is late 20s), and stop harassing people over a ship. No one owes it to you to pretend they did not see BB coming just because you didn’t. No one gives a shit about what you ship. Ship whatever you want as much as you want. Want to have an entire tumblr page just for BS? Go right ahead. What you cannot do is force your garbage ship down someone else’s throat.

#bumbleby #bmblb #harassment #found the culprit #rwby #shipping discourse #yang x blake #blake x yang #lgbtq #stop living up to your initials bsers #lgbt in fiction #lgbt couples

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

Text

You Look So Lovely, Darling (I’ll Love You for Lifetimes) - |BaL|

Kinda feels weird to be writing the proposal scene so early, but like? This drabble series is all out of order so whatever lmao :) enjoy some sweet nervous channie who just wants his proposal to be perfect <3

(and again, thanks to @deathbykpopboys for helping me work out this scene!! I LITERALLY owe you the world if you ever have ANY requests I'll be willing to write them :D)

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, slice of life, single parent!au

Triggers: cursing

Word Count: 2.9k

Chan just wants to give you a picture perfect proposal - why is that so hard?

SKZ Masterlist | Breathe, and Live | Touching Stars (TBZ teacher!au)

Proposing, Chan comes to learn, is no easy task.

It looks so simple in movies. One of the couple pulls a ring out of their pocket, kneels down in front of their significant other, and pops the question. There might be tears, but it always ends in pure joy.

Movies make it seem like a formula, a simple algorithm that Chan just has to follow in order to get this proposal right. In real life, though, Chan thinks he’s about to lose his mind.

Because movies don’t demonstrate how to act in front of an older brother very protective of his sister. They don’t show him how to talk to his children or hers, how best to ask them if they’re all right with gaining new siblings and a new parent. They don’t give him insight on how to pick the perfect god damn ring, something maybe reminiscent of the promise rings you both wear on chains around your necks, but also not too similar because what if you think he isn’t being creative?

And the worst thing is, they don’t tell him how to pick the perfect moment. They don’t tell him where to go, what ambience is right, whether or not little kids in the room will ruin the timing.

At this point, just thinking about proposing turns Chan into a stammering mess. Even though you’ve discussed marriage before, you haven’t made any large moves beyond that. Jisung and Felix have been calling you Mama for a bit, but Hyunjin has only just started calling him Papa, and mostly on accident (though each time he does, Chan’s heart fills with this overwhelming happiness that brings tears to his eyes). What if you decide now isn’t the right time? What if you decide you want to wait a little longer?

What if you decide Chan isn’t the right person for you?

That’s a question that plagues Chan every time his mind even brushes on the topic of marriage.

He loves you, though, he loves you so much. And he knows you’re the right partner for him, even if in the end you might decide he isn’t the right partner for you.

Patience, he tells himself, taking a deep breath. He really should be working on this new track, but instead, he’s staring into his hands, trying to map out the perfect proposal. Not too fast, Chan. Take it in steps.

The only problem is, step one scares him out of his wits.

. . . . .

Chan is a full year older than Minho, and then some. By all rights, he’s the elder, and he shouldn’t be as terrified of the younger man as he is.

Minho’s a scary person, though. He’s driven, concentrated, focused – it’s how he’s gotten so far as both a dancer and a father. Chan knows he’s hardworking, but Minho is just as much, if not more, than he is.

And he’s very protective of you.

(When Minho found out you two were dating, he told Chan, verbatim, “I won’t hesitate to take you to international waters, chop up your body, and toss the parts overboard if you hurt my sister.” Just thinking about the blank expression Minho had on when he spoke those words is almost enough to make Chan lose his nerve.)

But here he is, standing just outside of Minho’s studio, ready to knock. He’s sweating, not because it’s hot or anything (it’s actually pretty cold because Minho is weird like that), but just out of sheer nervousness. His heart feels like it’s pounding a mile a minute.

Oh, God. Chan raises his hand again to rap on the door. Stop thinking. Just do it.

He knocks.

A few seconds later, the dancer opens the door in all his sweaty glory. “Chan?”

“Yeah.” Chan tries to smile, but he’s pretty sure it just looks like a grimace. “Can I ask you something?”

A glint comes into Minho’s eyes. “Of course, come on in.” He opens the door widely, smiling in a distinctly cat-like fashion that is literally scrambling Chan’s brain.

Why does he look like he knows what Chan’s about to ask?

The door swings shut with a soft but audible click, and with the noise goes Chan’s last chance to run away.

“So?” Minho looks over once Chan’s inside the room. He’s enjoying this way too much.

There’s no way he doesn’t know what I want to ask.

“I… um, so I’ve been dating your sister for a few years,” Chan starts.

Minho actually snorts. “Yes, I’m aware.”

Chan can feel the tips of his ears turning bright red. “Right. Um, I just wanted your approval for – I’m planning to – well, with your permission, of course –”

The smirk on Minho’s face only grows with each stuttering word that comes out of Chan’s mouth. And in all honesty, he actually has no idea what he’s saying. All of the sentences he rehearsed in his head before coming here seem to have completely flown out of his brain, and from Minho’s expression, he just sounds like an idiot.

He keeps going anyway, because nervous Chan doesn’t always make the best decisions to make himself look good.

“Well – um, look, I just really love her a lot.” Chan looks down with the admission, knowing he’s definitely rambled too much already, but he needs to get on with it and ask the stupid question. “I… wantedtoaskifyouwouldbeokaywithmeaskingtomarryher.”

Minho leans forward, eyes innocently wide. “Sorry, I didn’t get that, can you repeat what you said again?”

Lee Minho, you are a grade-A asshole.

Face burning, Chan clears his throat. “I wanted to ask if you would be okay with me asking to marry her. Your sister, I mean.”

Silence. Minho leaves him in silence for five whole seconds which feel more like five millennia. Chan thinks he’s going to crumble into dust on the floor out of terror and embarrassment.

“Do you have a ring?” Minho finally asks.

Chan’s cheeks burn redder. “Not… not yet.”

“So you’ll need help picking one, then?” The dancer raises one perfect eyebrow.

“… Yes?”

“Beautiful. I’ll be there whenever you need me.” Minho smiles. “Anything else you wanted to ask?”

Chan just stands there, dumbfounded. “So… is your answer yes?”

The smile immediately drops off of Minho’s face, replaced by an eye roll and a sigh. “Yes, Bang Chan, you idiot.” He punches Chan’s shoulder. “No one’s ever going to fully deserve Y/N, but you’re the closest I think anyone’s going to get. You really thought I’d say no?”

Rubbing his arm, Chan smiles sheepishly. “You can’t blame me for being nervous.”

“What? Nervous, around me?” Minho laughs, sharp and loud. Even though Chan knows he’s teasing, it’s still a bit frightening. “Never would’ve thought that.”

“You’re just proving my point,” Chan says.

“No, I’m not.” Minho smiles, close-lipped and slit-eyed. It’s terrifying. “Now, off you go. And don’t come back unless you need help picking a ring!”

It takes Chan five minutes of sitting in the hallway, garnering strange looks from several people passing by, before his legs are stable enough to take him back to his own studio. Heart still pounding, he mentally crosses a line through step one.

Next comes step two. Chan purses his lips. Step two is a bit less scary than step one (mostly because it involves children and not Lee Minho), but no less challenging.

Well, he got through Minho. Chan sighs. He just has to hope that the kids will be as receptive to the idea of a new parent as Minho was to a brother-in-law.

. . . . .

The kids know that you and Chan are at least, in some shape or form, together. They might not understand the nuances, like how you’re technically dating but don’t always refer to yourselves as boyfriend and girlfriend (because it just feels so much deeper than that, somehow), but they understand that you two “like” each other (Jisung pretends to vomit every time he hears the word “love,” so Chan just uses the word “like” to avoid that) and thus live together.

They love it, most of the time. Hyunjin was a little put out when he found out he would have to share a room with two other boys, but after Minho moved out and Hyunjin realized he would get his uncle’s old (and slightly bigger) room, he happily accepted the new plan. Jisung and Felix were mostly just happy to live with their best friend.

(Children, Chan just thinks. They’re so easy and so hard to please.)

Of course, there are difficulties. Jisung’s sensitive and has more than once broken down when he thinks Chan isn’t giving him enough attention with a new boy in the household. Felix’s tantrums are rarer, but they exist, and Hyunjin is still getting used to sharing his mom with someone else.

They’re a family, though, a messy, mostly happy family that can pull together at the end of the day and whisper “I love yous” to each other before bedtime. And that’s something Chan values more than anything in the world.

Which is why obtaining his kids’ approval for officially tying the knot is something so important to him.

He gathers them together one day in the apartment with the promise of watching a cartoon show after he asks them something. Three pairs of big eyes stare up at him from the couch, and Chan feels his heart melting with love and racing with anxiety.

Chan takes a breath. “Do you know what marriage is?”

“Yeah!” Jisung pipes up. “It’s when a girl and a boy get together and kiss!”

The laughter spills out of Chan’s mouth before he can even think. “Well, not quite, Jisung,” he chokes out, trying to stifle his remaining giggles. “It’s when two people who love each other very much get together officially. Marriage can be between a woman and a man, a man and a man, or a woman and a woman. Any two people can get married.”

Three small heads bob their heads in understanding.

“I wanted to ask you three if you would be okay with me marrying Y/N.” Chan looks each of the boys in the eye. “Is it?”

Felix nods quickly. “Yes!”

Jisung furrows his eyebrows. “Are we still going to live together?”

Chan smiles. “Yes, Sungie.”

The other twin nods. “Okay!”

Hyunjin’s mouth pouts slightly. “Will I have to call you Papa?”

A little piece of Chan’s heart breaks, but he tries not to show it. “No, of course not, Hyunjin.” He smiles as brightly as he can. “You can keep calling me Channie or Uncle Channie or whatever you want. You don’t have to call me Papa if you don’t want to.”

Hyunjin’s round, dark eyes gaze into his with a solemnity Chan honestly didn’t know toddlers could have. “Do you want me to call you Papa?”

Oh, fuck.

What the hell does Chan say to that?

With a sigh, he decides to be honest. “I would love it if you did, Hyunjin, but like I said, you don’t have to. I’ll never force you to do something you really don’t want to.”

There are a few seconds of silence, then Hyunjin nods. “Okay. You can marry my Mama.”

A weight lifts itself off of Chan’s chest and he smiles, freer this time. “Thank you, kids. One more thing – don’t tell Y/N about this!” He looks into each of their eyes, trying to convey how serious he is but in a fun way. “It’s a secret, okay?”

“Like a spy mission?” Jisung bounces in excitement.

The smile on his face widens. “Yes, Sungie. Like a spy mission.” He looks at the other two boys. “Do you promise? Pinky promise?” He holds out his pinkie.

The three resulting shouts of “YES!” make Chan hope their neighbors won’t come knocking. But even if they did, Chan thinks, he wouldn’t care.

He’d go to the ends of the earth to defend these three kids, after all.

. . . . .

Step three goes by in a flash. Out of sheer anxiety, Chan actually takes a full day off from work and calls Minho for help in finding the perfect ring.

Miraculously, he finds something within his budget range – a silver band with a small diamond set in the center. It’s simple but elegant, and the diamond glints beautifully in the sunlight. Really, the ring matches the way Chan often finds himself summing up your existence.

So only the last step remains: the actual proposal.

Looking back, Chan has no idea why he thought each of the other steps was so stressful. This is pure stress, he thinks, waiting for the perfect time to pop the question. Should he plan something extravagant? Or should he just go with the flow? When is the perfect time, anyway? What constitutes “perfect” in your mind? In his?

Minho just tells him to wait for the moment he thinks is “right.” But what the hell does “right” even mean?

“You’ll figure it out.” The dancer gives Chan a bright grin, patting his shoulder. “And if you don’t, I’ll tear you limb from limb.”

Chan just puts his face in his hands and screams.

. . . . .

When Chan proposes, the sky is dark. The kids are already tucked in bed, and you’re sitting on the couch, leaning into his shoulder as you mindlessly scroll through your phone.

Absently strumming his guitar, Chan smiles down at your face, illuminated by your phone’s glow. As if sensing him staring, you look up as well. “Sing me something?” you murmur.

“Of course, love.” He leans down to kiss the top of your head. “What song?”

“Anything you choose,” you reply. “Anything.”

Chan thinks for a moment, then starts strumming the instrument.

Softly, with mood, tightly hug her

Use it once a day, every day…

When your eyes meet hers, smile.

The characteristic chords of one of your favorite songs make you relax even further into Chan’s body, a smile blooming across your face. He badly wants to stop playing and just kiss you good and full, but he keeps his fingers strumming the guitar.

Let her breathe under a different sky, a different wind,

Sometimes, kiss her without a plan…

Chan almost stops playing.

Without a plan.

He doesn’t have a plan. He doesn’t have any proper plan on how he’s going to pull the little box out of his pocket and ask the question. But now…

Maybe he’s got an idea.

The final chords die away, and Chan finally gets his long-awaited kiss when you sit up lethargically, pressing your lips to his softly. “Are you awake enough for one more?” he whispers when you pull away.

“Mm, one more.” You nod happily, snuggling back into his side. “Then sleep.”

Chan takes a breath. One chance, Chan. This is your chance.

His fingers start strumming a song very familiar by now to him and the boys. From the way your eyes light up, you recognize it too.

It doesn’t have words. It’s just a collection of guitar chords, hastily arranged in a sweet, rough melody. In the track version, it would have piano, but because Chan only has two hands, he has to make do with just the strings of the guitar.

It’s the first song he ever wrote for his twins, the song he created that day so many years ago when they weren’t even born, when they were still kicking in their mother’s stomach. They think of it as their family song, the song he plays when the twins are sad, when they can’t get to sleep, or when they just want to hear something nice.

The last strains of the song fade away and Chan looks at you to see a tear glittering on your cheek. “You play that when the boys are sad,” is all you say. “It’s your family song.”

Chan smiles softly. “But you’re part of the family too.”

When he pulls out the box, your eyes widen. “Chan –”

“Shh.” He presses a finger gently to your lips. “Y/N, the past few years you’ve been with me have been some of the best of my life, and I can’t ever thank you enough for staying with me all this time.” There’s a tear welling up in Chan’s eye, but he blinks it away. “I would love to spend the rest of my life with you, if you would marry me.”

There’s a moment of silence that nearly gives Chan a heart attack. What if you say no?

“You – you stupid romantic sap.” The tears are really sliding down your cheeks now, but your mouth is smiling wide. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you, Chan. I’ll marry you.”

Chan can’t speak as he slides the ring onto your finger with trembling hands. Throat choked, he can only pull you close, burying his face in your shoulder as your tears soak his shirt. “I love you so much,” you whisper.

He pulls back just enough for to see your eyes sparkling with love, so much love. Your touch intoxicates him, with your fingers pressing gently against his skin as you press your lips to his in a sweet, sweet kiss.

Yes, he thinks. You’re the right partner for him.

The perfect partner for him.

Teary-eyed, he smiles. “I love you too.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 congratulations for the newly engaged couple!!!)

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tanoraqui · 4 years

Text

tanoraqui

Still thinking about an au in which for some reason WWX and the Wens are left to just live peacefully on the creepy death mountain - some detente wherein they don’t leave the mountain ever and in exchange no one tries to visit ever. Borders patrolled by corpses and sect disciples. So A-Yuan grows up raised kind of collectively but mostly by WWX and Wen Qing (the one most likely to tell WWX that he’s doing it wrong), and learns healing-focused spiritual cultivation AND demonic cultivation, and then at some point starts sneaking out to be the terrifying force of righteous kindness he was always going to be

tanoraqui

Righteous kindness but also, like, having picked up WWX’s cavalier confidence (or at least some of the ability to fake it) and Wen Qing’s general attitude of Do No Harm But Take No Shit

Like IMAGINE

tanoraqui

In this au, despite the strict border-by-mutual-agreement that’s the only reason somehow no ones tried to attack, LWJ sneaks in like one a year so he and WWX can make eyes at one another but not actually say anything ever, and Wen Qing and LXC are both EXHAUSTED bc both their dumb little brothers (WWX is a sibling by adoption now don’t @ me) mope for like a week after EVERY SINGLE TIME THIS HAPPENS, and it’s been /over ten years/.

tanoraqui

Meanwhile Jiang YanLi and JZX are FINE, and JYL somehow keeps up some sort of correspondence with WWX - or at least, he’s faithfully managed to send a birthday present for Jin Ling every single year, and every time, JYL makes her son write a thank-you note and bribes some series of people to get it smuggled back to Yiling

tanoraqui

...which means, honestly, that Jin Ling is probably wildly curious about his uncle the evil demonic cultivator kept trapped within the terrible ghost mountain by the forces of Good and Right, and WILL sneak out one day to try to visit. Optimally, obviously, at the same time Wen Yuan is sneaking out to see the non-mountain world

tanoraqui

The optimal plot is that Wen Yuan ropes Jin Ling into helping him set up WWX and LWJ, because he, too, is exasperated at this point, and Jin Ling ropes Wen Yuan into arranging like a parent trap reunion for the Jiang siblings, and obviously there are monsters and undead to complicate it all

tanoraqui

They kind of acquire Lan Jingyi somewhere, somehow. He’s having a blast

There is a 100% chance that the first Adult(TM) to find them is Wen Ning and they just kind of rope him into whatever the hell is going on at the time

...you know what, I think this is just a good au where JGY fucking died at some point

tanoraqui

Maybe someone threw him down the stairs again and he just broke his fucking neck. WWX is still vilified but between Jiang Cheng not really wanting to attack and Jiang (Jin?) Yanli being AGGRESSIVELY against it, and dragging JZX along with her, they’re left in peace.

tanoraqui

Oh man and Jin Ling has YOUNGER SIBLINGS in this...

Hey for u: Jiang Cheng/Wen Qing can accidentally happen while the Teens are trying to get everyone else to meet

Today at 8:42 AM

@professorsparklepants

I love this it's so goddamn wacky

tanoraqui

I just want teenager-based shenanigans ft. surprisingly competent teenagers and all the adults running around like chickens with their heads chopped off

professorsparklepants

Jingyi: why are you two more calm about this than the literal adults

Wen Yuan: have you met my dad?

tanoraqui

Also to be clear it is not at all hard to convince Wen Ning to join Team: Teenage Shenanigans, bc literally ANYONE in the Burial Mountain village would probably be down if you were like, “we’re engaged in a conspiracy to make Wei Wuxian fucking admit that he’s in love with that Lan guy who visits a couple times a year”

professorsparklepants

"This is my father, and this is his sugar daddy."

tanoraqui

I kinda wanna say he goes by “Wen Yuan” more often bc he’s 100% the baby of the entire remaining Wen clan there, but his adult name or w/e it’s called IS Wen Sizhui, because WWX asked LWJ if he had any suggestions and LWJ said this while maintaining eye contact

professorsparklepants

OH MY GOOOOOOD

tanoraqui

They meet LXC and he figures out what’s going on in like 4 minutes, despite the teens’ best attempts at obfuscation, and instead of calling anyone’s parents is like, “okay, I’m in”

professorsparklepants

#1 wingman...

tanoraqui

Jin Ling and Wen Yuan are definitely both traveling under false names, too? Wen Yuan obviously can’t admit to being a Wen and Jin Ling is making a privileged but slightly helicoptered teen’s rebellious bid for freedom

professorsparklepants

His dad is panicking at home and Yanli is like "boys need their freedom :)"

I saw a post forever ago about how Yanli would be the most hands off parent & Zixuan is an only child who would panic every time his kid fell down

tanoraqui

With a side order of “my mother is the only one who’ll say nice things about the Yiling Patriarch and she always looks sad when she does so I’m going to sneak into the Burial Mountain and either drag him out to see her or force my parents to come get me”

professorsparklepants

"I'm gonna beat up the Yiling Patriarch" "why" "he made my mom sad" "okay proceed"

tanoraqui

^ actual real conversation with WenYuan

professorsparklepants

A-Yuan then repeats the same thing to Wen Qing and she has the exact same answer, verbatim

tanoraqui

Side note: Wen Yuan has never been scared of the undead in his entire life, and probably this will lead to getting into severely life-threatening situations when he doesn’t have more backup than 2 other teenagers

professorsparklepants

Oh absolutely

professorsparklepants

He's so used to tuning out the sound of sentry corpses that one jumps on him and almost punches his lungs out

tanoraqui

Also what if he took WWX’s sword, so he looks like a proper normal cultivator - honestly, what if WWX gave him the sword when he turned 12, or whenever one customarily gives a child a sword in this world. He also has a flute stashed in his robe somewhere but he does know how to use both

tanoraqui

But also, while obviously it’s very important that this is the sword he inherited from his father, it’s never OCCURRED to him to, like, strongly associate it with WWX, in terms of “this would be a recognizable weapon”? Chenqing the flute, obviously, but WWX just left the sword on a shelf all the time

professorsparklepants

He's very good at fooling people into thinking he's a normal rogue cultivator until he busts out the flute

LOL YES

tanoraqui

So the first time someone looks at him and is like, “That is WWX’s sword” he achieves, like, “Who’s Morales? [NOT THAT DUMB]” levels of blank-brained

professorsparklepants

It like, doesn't even occur to him that this stick named whatever will be recognizable to people until it actually happens

"this is the Yiling Patriarch's sword!" "... I've never heard of him"

tanoraqui

“What sword?”

professorsparklepants

KDJAKSNJS

tanoraqui

“Oh, THIS sword? I...found it. In a stream.”

tanoraqui

Also...at some point...once the teens have admitted their identities to one another...and possibly gotten into a couple other increasingly public shenanigans...they run into a bunch of concerned people searching from the Jin or even Jiang sect - JC being there would be PERFECT - and Jin Ling is like, “aaahh, no, I don’t want to be dragged home... kidnap me.”

WY: what?

JL: pull out the flute, summon a couple corpses, shout that you’re the dread son of the Yiling Patriarch, and pretend to kidnap me

WY: ...yeah okay

AND THEN THEY DO THAT

professorsparklepants

The dumbass energy...... off the CHARTS

tanoraqui

They’re 15 and neither of them has ever faced consequences but in...actually not too different ways

They’re 15 and neither of them as ever faced consequences nor most of the real world

Oh my god is Lan Jingyi the most sensible person here

They’re going to DIE

professorsparklepants

JXHAKAJAKKQHSJA

JC and Yanli immediately see through this probably

"dumbass kid just doesn't want to go home. I'll break his legs."

tanoraqui

I think Yanli does but I have minimal faith in JC’s ability to think logically at any time

He’s still angry at WWX for leaving

professorsparklepants

Stomps to Yiling to demand his nephew back & wwx's like "lol, A-Yuan left two months ago"

Okay my shift is starting later

tanoraqui

/snort

Though, bold of you to assume that WWX isn’t also running around anxiously somewhere like “oh god, oh no, my son is missing; I must find him”

professorsparklepants

Sizhui is a responsible boy, I don't think he would leave without telling at least ONE person where he was going

tanoraqui

Ok but it was Wen Qing who thinks it’s good for WWX’s health to stop brooding and go run around like a headless chicken instead, optimally if he runs into his totally-not-a-boyfriend-Hahahaha-why-would-you-say-that

Alternately it was, like, Granny, which, ditto

No one on this mountain is going to stop WWX from going out to cause trouble and hopefully get laid, is my point

tanoraqui

Also, the cultivation world has been basically at peace for 13 years and the reason is that this is an ideal AU where JGY is dead and whenever trouble starts to stir politically, NHS and JYL meet eyes across the room and mentally Rock Paper Scissors over who has to manipulate everyone into calming the fuck down

Neither of them actually wants this job; they’re just good at it and recognize both those aspects in each other

professorsparklepants

LOLOLOL

That is.... so goddamn in character

tanoraqui

concept: JYL and NHS are friends and no one else understands it, or attributes it to JYL just being that nice, bc NHS still generally acts useless

professorsparklepants

Nhs actively wants to be useless and life is conspiring to make sure he can't

tanoraqui

a little less dramatically useless, but why ruin a good thing when you're having fun and it's useful

professorsparklepants

Lol

tanoraqui

but JYL fucking identified him as Actually Competent one time when he couldn't hide it, so now sometimes they get tea together and bitch about politics and stupid people

professorsparklepants

He's the only person who can correctly identify when she's talking shit about people, because it's VERY subtle and her brothers & husband are too busy thinking she hung the moon to notice

tanoraqui

JYL striding into Nie sect HQ (whatever it's called) and tossing her coat over a chair. "You would not BELIEVE what my brothers are doing now."

NHS: *probably knows, because he's found that the minor investment of effort in maintaining a very good spy network pays major dividends in helping him avoid greater work* *immediately sits up and pours her a cup of very expensive tea* Oh, girl, dish.

professorsparklepants

Question: are they also friends with lwj...

tanoraqui

yes but he's obviously not invited to hte political gossip sessions

professorsparklepants

I'm trying to imagine lwj making eye contact with them at some meeting his brother dragged him to and both of them struggling not to break into hysterics

tanoraqui

but they both know that he sneaks into Yiling to visit WWX a few times a year, and every single time, JYL sits him down within a couple weeks and aggressively debriefs him as to her brother's condition

professorsparklepants

I'm sure she tried to get him to take treats in

tanoraqui

for sure

it's hopeless, though, bc there's no really predicting WHEN he'll go? It's basically just "every 4-6 months when LWJ's resolve breaks"

professorsparklepants

Too bad she's not a stress quilter instead of a stress baker

tanoraqui

she gets him to go at an actual arranged time, bearing pork soup, like once, for WWX's 30th birthday or something

professorsparklepants

tanoraqui

omg lit brain: LWJ of course is hte WORST for getting gossip, but JYL has pieced together a reasonable amount about the people her idiot baby brother (#2) is now living with. And she's mildly despairing as to idiot baby brother #1's ongoing refusal to get married and have an heir or three. So she, if not actively connives, then certainly siezes the first available opportunity to set Jiang Cheng up with Wen Qing

tanoraqui

basically, this au is PEAK romcom

tanoraqui

...also, for max happiness, i'd like to think that WWX made some strategic raids to rescue additional Wen refugees and bring them back, so there's a properly populated village and they didn't all just die

professorsparklepants

!!!

Good... Good thoughts

Good because 1. more people die and 2. The Yiling Patriarch will attack your village and steal your people away!

tanoraqui

(romcom being exclusively adults-focussed; the teens initiate it all but Jin Ling and Wen Yuan are both so delighted to have an Additional (But Cooler) Family Member that they comfortably cousinzone each other instantly)

professorsparklepants

*nice*

tanoraqui

...i feel like i keep characterizing Jin Ling as an only child, when really he ought to have a small horde of siblings

maybe they just...couldn't conceive more. shit happens. pregnancy is hard.

professorsparklepants

That happens sometimes

#mdzs #the untamed #ficlet #my fic #lan sizhui #jin ling #lan jingyi #(not actually here much; rip)#wen ning #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang yanli #nie huaisang #lan xichen #wen qing

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girlwithwolftatoo · 3 years

Text

Consecration-Pascal!Priest character (original work)

Father Pascal is in, lost lambs, I hope you’re ready to receive the... blessings.

WARNING: Mild NSFW (mostly indirect sexual situations), hierophilia (can I get an A-MEN?!), original characters and... religious stuff.

Being raised as a catholic may be a headache, specially if you aren’t fond to the religion and rituals most of your family follows the verbatim. Of course, mass was the main event and sometimes preaching could be interesting, but being about forty minutes every Sunday morning in a church to secure your inmortal soul sometimes felt like a high price you weren’t willing to pay. You were a good person according to usual sermons, you helped your neighbor as much as you were able, respected and loved your parents, accomplished lent every year since you remembered and, if you felt like you’ve done some nasty stuff, you went to confession.

The problem began when the new priest came into your local church, in order to replace old and ill father Colin, which lumbago had forced him to give up and some masses he had to remain on his seat. His replacement was different... much more different than anyone, you included, could have thought.

The first thing that jumped at the sight was his appearence, younger than father Colin but, in a weird way, ageless, like he could be either in his thirties or fourthies; his complextion didn’t seem hardly built, but neither wasn’t very thin, and sometimes you could notice how the mass robes tauten on his chest and shoulders. No living person with eyes could have said he wasn’t appealing, for even his sharp eyes and hooked nose fit perfectly in his always radiant and kind face.

Suddenly, masses became the most precious moment of the week. Every Sunday morning you prepared yourself with your best, clean clothes and rushed your parents to get a good sit in the church. As the bells rang, telling people the mass had started, and father Pascal walked between the seats, followed by the usual altar boys, your eyes followed him using as much discresion as you could, so nobody could notice the heat on your face and the red on your cheeks as you traced every movement of that gorgeous man of God in your mind, to use it as a lucky charm through the week. His preaching was always filled with energy and excitement, the strenght of his passion and youth printed on every word and moves from his hands; yes, he talked with his hands as much as with the voice, making the audience dance at his rythm in such way even the usual sleepy heads would turn their whole attention to the man.

Along with his features, father’s hands had became a problem for your futile concentration skills. If you weren’t following his face gestures, you did the same for his hands, yout eyes darting in the big palms, usually showing at the congregation, the thick fingers clenching in the air, pointing at nowhere to remark his words and, of course, doing the sign of the cross when it was appropiate. Those hands were a dream come true, the epitome of grace and virility, both kind and strong at sight, and the almost tender form he used to hold the communion wafer before sliding it into the parishioner’s mouths... God, it was the best moment of the mass.

“Going to commune?” your parents asked innocently, unaware of the true feelings boling in your chest as you took your place in the line, hands pressed together in praying position as you were taught in catechism sessions, and kneeling towards the altar as soon as you reached it.

How would be to kneel for father Pascal? You, walking towards his magnificent figure, head lowered to show your complete submission, and finally, bending your knees to fall over them on the floor, silent and longing, waiting for his voice to command you.

Father Pascal presented the tiny, white wafer. Every time, you felt like truly blessed, and didn’t have enough words to thank the Lord for bringing this gorgeous servant of His to your church. Your eyes met father’s, and you leaned your head in an attempt to hide yourself. It is known God knows people’s heart and what they hide in it, but what if any of your thoughts was powerful enough to permeate through your skin and showed themselves there were the priest could see them? How would he react if he knew the only reason you started to show interest in religion was him? How would you dared to see his face again when you spent most of the mass time creating fantasies involving him?

The father’s hand placed the wafer at the necessary distance for you to take it. You stretched your neck and caught the thin form into your lips, but doing it so further you noticed, for a fractment of second, how your lower lip hit against father Pascal’s finger. You retracted quickly, fighting to not take a look at his brown, warm eyes, and walking back to your place trying to not looked guilty. You kneeled in the padded plank and closed your eyes, pretending to make your pray, when you were actually getting into a new fantasy.

You saw yourself, kneeling on the floor, and listening the father’s preaching that didn’t meant something to you, your cheast moving up and down hard as your breathing became more superficial. You opened your eyes and found yourself facing at father’s belt a black, broad piece of clothing that adjusted around his waist with a strip hanging in front of his right thigh. One man’s hand was holding a golden globet, the one he used to pour the wine for the mass, and the other one reached the back of your neck, pulling your head back so you could see him from below. “Take it, my lamb” he commanded you, pressing the globet’s border against your wanting lips, and you gave a sip to the red, bitter liquid. He kept sliding the wine into your mouth without giving you a single moment to rest and take a breath, but every small nuisance was nothing, as long as you could rejoice in the priest’s hands and becoming his little, sinful plaything.

“Honey?”

Your mother’s voice dragged you back to reality. People were moving around you, the mass was over, and you just spent the last minutes kneeling in silent like a saint picture. You stood up, ashamed and worried, and your eyes went to the altar one more time. Father Pascal was there, speaking with a few persons and displaying his usual sweet smile. At the moment he moved his head towards you, and your sight met, you saw his smile fade, and a new, disturbing expression on his face. His lips moved, separating from each other, and for a moment you thought he was going to call you out, but then he returned to his normal manners and continued speaking with their interlocutors.

You had to force your feet to move and leave the building. The imprintment of the father’s finger against your lip still felt like fire, and you imagined it was how someone should feel when they were touched by a sacred thing, even if that was an heretic thought, you smiled. You were willing to kiss and receive anything he could hand you, even the keys of hell, even the most sinful piece on Earth, and you would kiss it and worship it in his divine name, the father’s name.

...

Sooooo, I think this can have a sequel perhaps, if you’re interested on it of course. If you have new ideas for this prompt or for another writing, please let me know!

#fanfiction #original fic #hierophilia #priest kink #priest #catholic aesthetic #pedro pascal #original characters #din djarin #maxwell lord #marcus moreno #oberyn martell #sfw

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lilbabycee · 4 years

Note

Need some more miles embarassing / outing his parents content that shit is too funny!

appreciative // steve rogers

↳ pairing: steve rogers x reader

READ ALL GOOD

this must be done:

you and steve’s son, miles, has a never-ending supply of energy and with that comes a never-ending supply of questions

you’re so proud because he is the smartest little baby you’ve ever met and his vocabulary and articulation is getting pretty advanced as he gets older

so you’re not surprised when you’re curled up on the couch in your living room, a book in your hand and blanket draped over your legs, and your son comes padding into the room

he parks himself in your lap and sticks his thumb in his mouth, sucking while he just blinks at you

his baby blues drill into your forehead as his long eyelashes brush against his skin

absent-mindedly, you tug at his wrist so that his thumb pops out of his mouth and sigh, closing your book and putting it on the coffee table after bookmarking your page

the moment your book is out of your hands, miles grins, moving further into your body and lays his head on your chest, comforted by the softness of it that he can’t get from his father

“mama,” he starts, little fingers playing with the bracelet on your wrist. you note that he looks a little nervous but you want him to tell you himself

you rest your chin on the top of his head while you comb your fingers through his thick hair

“yes, baby.”

“you know how my- my birthday is tomorrow?”

“yes, i do know how your birthday is tomorrow. how old are you gonna be, miles? show me.”

he proudly holds up four fingers and you blow a raspberry into his cheek which makes him giggle

“that’s right, honey. you’re gonna be four, which means you’ll be a big boy-”

miles gives you a deadpan look and you stifle a laugh when he crosses his arms and tells you for the millionth time: “mama, i’m already a big boy.”

“mmhm,” you chuckle. “are you excited for your party?”

he nods but twists his lips to the side, raising his hand to stick his thumb back in his mouth but you stop him halfway

“what’s going on, bud?”

“i- i- i wanna- i wanna,” he huffs sweetly, stopping to think about what he wants to say before opening his mouth again, “i’m scared.”

this shocks you - your son is quite literally fearless. he isn’t scared of what most kids his age (and adults) are terrified of: the dark, clowns, monsters under his bed - he’s braved it all with no qualms at all

“what’re you so scared of, baby?” your mind goes to a thousand different terrifying scenarios and your voice immediately bleeds concern like an open wound. even miles can sense it - you can tell because he leans back and his eyes dart between yours as he places a comforting hand on your arm

(you almost laugh because who’s supposed to be the parent here?)

“s’not that bad,” he goes back to fidgeting, averting his gaze from yours. “i just- i’m scared ‘cause- ‘cause if i don’t like my present, what do i do?”

your heart stops trying to beat out of your chest and instead a huge smile spreads across your face

“oh my god, you scared me, honey - is that all, miles?”

he still refuses to meet your eyes but he nods

your laugh is relieved as you run a hand up and down your son’s arm

“if you don’t like the present, bud, you just smile, say thank you and move on. they don’t have to know you don’t like it.”

your heart falls again when your son finally looks back up at you, eyes wet and bottom lip trembling as he attempts to hold back tears

“but that’s lying! i don’t wanna lie, mama!”

jesus, this boy is more like his dad than you ever realized

but your heart is threatening to burst because it’s so full with all of the love that you have for your compassionate almost four year old

“oh, angel,” you coo and he buries his face in your breasts, fisting your shirt as sobs shake his body

rubbing his back, you try to think of a viable alternative for him: “shh, shh, relax, relax. would it make you feel better if i just tell everyone not to bring presents-”

“no!” he exclaims, looking up at you desperately. “i want presents! i just- mama, i don’t wanna be mean.”

you only realize how long his hair is getting when you brush it out of his eyes: “sweetheart, they won’t mind if you don’t like it. as long as they know you’re grateful and appreciative in the end, hmm?”

“app- appre- appreciate-? mama, i don’t know that word.”

you smile while helping him sound it out

“you know what appreciate means.” he nods. “appreciative is the same word, just as an adjective. it means the same thing as grateful.”

“so i tell them when i don’t like my present but i have to be appre- i have to appreciate it.”

“well, yeah, but maybe don’t tell them-”

“okay, mama!” he kisses your cheek before hopping off of your lap and running out of the room with a “thank you!”

the sun shines down on miles’ outdoor birthday party. miles - who has invited all of his friends from pre-k and all of the avengers - is showered with affection and compliments all day, spending plenty of time hanging out with his favorite uncle bucky

miles is having so much fun that he almost forgets about presents altogether, but tony keeps urging you and steve to open them now because he wants to see miles’ face when he opens his gift

(it was a starkpad that you definitely yelled at tony about later because he’s four and you already have a headache just thinking about how much time you’re gonna spend prying it away from him)

so you’ve formed a circle, you and steve flanking miles on either side as he tears open the paper to a reveal a multitude of presents

and thankfully, the people in attendance all know your son fairly well so he’s loved every single gift he’s opened

“love you peter! love you shuri!” miles stands up and throws himself into the two teenagers’ legs when he sees that they’re taking him to disneyland and your heart warms at the way all of their eyes light up

but trouble ensues when wanda hands him his present and he rips it open to reveal... a train set?

miles quietens and although nobody else really notices, too busy chatting away, you observe the change in his demeanor because it’s obvious that he doesn’t like it. he once said to steve verbatim: “daddy, i don’t like trains. trains are stupid” to which steve laughed and subsequently told him off for

(”stupid is not a nice word, miles. would you like it if someone called you stupid?”

“...no i wouldn’t, daddy.”)

“what do you think, miles?” wanda probes, an excited smile on her face and there’s a pause where you silently pray that miles won’t say anything-

“mama said i should tell the truth so... i don’t like it, auntie wanda. but mama also said i should be ‘preciative, so thank you!”

and you’ve never wanted to the floor to swallow you as much as you have in this moment

people quieten while miles puts the train set aside, stands up and heads over to his auntie wanda

wanda, who looks to be absolutely crushed, furrows her brow in confusion and looks at you

you casually look anywhere but her, feeling your face heat up and instead choose to busy yourself with gathering the wrapping paper into one pile

you hear snickers come from behind you and when you look over your shoulder, steve is red in the face with trying to hold back his laughter, as is bucky, but sam, rhodey and tony are actually just full-on cackling at your discomfort

a fierce scowl you send their way makes them shut up... just for a minute, though

you chance a glance at wanda and feel a sense of relief when you see miles trying to cheer her up, arms wound around her neck while he presses a huge kiss on her cheek with a loud “mwah!”

(she’s still staring at you but all you can do is mouth a regretful “sorry!”)

luckily, that was the last present and you take this opportunity get as far away as possible from this entire situation

heading into the kitchen to throw the paper away, you feel a strong body behind yours and when thick arms wind around your waist, you know that it’s your husband. you turn in his arms to face him and scowl at the mirth in his eyes

“baby,” he wheezes, still chuckling, “wanda’s pretty upset. what did you tell him?”

“oh my god,” you bury your face in your hands because this is so embarrassing and you feel awful. “i- steve, he literally came to me yesterday because he was so scared that he wasn’t going to like his gifts.”

“why didn’t you tell him to just not say anything... or lie?” steve’s laughter intensifies and it’s hard to refrain from grinning youself

“i did! and then he burst into tears at the mere thought of it and i didn’t know what to do! so i told him that if he was just honest and appreciative, then everything would be fine and nobody would think he was being rude-”

steve cuts you off with a roar of laughter, tears spilling from his eyes as his head falls onto your shoulder

“why are you laughing?! this is your fault! he did not get that moral compass from me.”

steve only laughs harder

“shut up, stop! it’s not funny, babe, people are gonna think i’m a terrible mom.”

“doll, no one thinks you’re a terrible mom,” steve immediately sobers up and looks you straight in the eyes. “people were just telling me how good it is that you’re teachin’ him to be honest.”

“stop lying.”

“i’m serious!” he holds his hands up. “on my way in here, people kept stopping me and telling me that he’s such an honest, polite little boy. he could’ve thrown a fit like a lot of other kids would if they didn’t like what they got for their birthday - but he didn’t. and that’s because you’re a great mom.”

you smile bashfully and you hook your fingers in his belt loops, pulling him towards you. you lean in to capture his lips between yours, grateful that he’s provided you with some reassurance, and he tightens the grip of his hands on your waist, running his tongue along the seam of your lips as he deepens the kiss

“daddy, mama- ew! gross!”

miles runs in but stops short, covering his eyes dramatically when he sees his father with his tongue down your throat

steve pulls away from you with a fond smile on his face as you sigh, forehead resting on steve’s shoulder

“what’s up, buddy?”

miles runs to his father and raises his arms, making steve lift him up and sit him on the countertop

“i ‘pologized to auntie wanda,” he tells you

“oh yeah?”

“yeah,” he swings his legs back and forth, looking between you and steve, “i was being a meanie. but she said it was fine and then she said she’s gonna take the trains back to the store.”

“that’s great, miles, i’m so proud of you,” steve hugs him and kisses him on the cheek which makes miles beam, proudly showing off the gap between his two front teeth. “but you weren’t being mean. sometimes there’s just such a thing as being too honest, y’know?”

miles nods, “i guess so, daddy. i miss you, can you guys come back outside?”

“yes we can, sweetheart,” you run a hand through his hair. and before steve can even bring him back down, your son jumps off of the counter (”oh my god!” you squeal because this boy is going to give you a heart attack) and sprints out of the room

on his way out, you grab the back of steve’s neck to pull his lips back to yours but are interrupted again by a very insistent voice

“and no more kissing!”

“bud, who are you talking to?”

that’s bucky’s voice

“uncle ‘ucky, mama and daddy are kissing! at my birthday party!”

bucky gasps: “no! ew!”

“i know!”

i am crying goodbye

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers headcanons #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers blurbs #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers x y/n #requests

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