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taehyungsgrowl · 5 years

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Sweet Creature - Michael Langdon x Male!Reader

it’s your girl! Back at it with shy!hawthorne!michael! This prompt is actually very near and dear to my heart (and has been promised for a long long time haha.) also i got the name for this bc i was listening to harry styles but it has nothing to do w that. also i got the gif from google and the source took me to the FX website so if its yours LMK so i can tag you!

This is dedicated to some some pretty special people 🖤 @wvntersldr along with @1-800-bitchcraft @ticklish-leafy-plant because well, they also appreciate talking about Michael in panties with me. Thank you guys. And sorry for putting it off for so long, but it’s here now and I hope y’all enjoy this so much. Thank you Liliana and Ava for your DMs about this topic. This is for you.

Warnings: Smut (duh), Fluff probably

Y/N missed Hawthorne. No, he missed Michael. All warlocks were sent home for spring break (if they had a home - many weren’t as lucky as Y/N. Michael being one of those many who didn’t have a place to go. He would stay cooped up in his dorm, sulking at the thought of having to spend his whole week without seeing Y/N. Living at the same school, he had access to his boyfriend whenever he pleased. He missed him a lot.)

Y/N tried to make the best of his time with his family. He’d gone fishing with his dad (although he might have used a little magic to get the fish to bite), and now he’d join his mom on a little shopping spree.

His mother took a large pile of clothes into a fitting room to try on and left him to wander off on his own.

He passively wandered around the huge department store, always glancing at his phone to hear from Michael. As if on cue, Michael pressed send from his dorm and texted Y/N.

I’m so sad. I miss you.

His poor sweet baby. Y/N knew how hard days like these were for Michael. He never talked much about his family which made him assume it wasn’t pretty. He could see the shift in Michael’s attitude any time someone brought up talk of his mom or dad.

Miss you too, baby. I’ll be back tonight <3

He shoved his phone back in his pocket and continued to trail through the store. Before making his way back to his mother - a large array of soft pastel colors caught his eye. Looking up, he came face to face with a wide selection of lingerie displayed neatly.

Lace, satin, silk, chiffon. Panties, baby-dolls, bodysuits. The options were endless.

Y/N picked up the first pair of panties that caught his eyes; a delicate baby blue lace garment. Feeling the bumpy pattern between his fingers, he was taken back to an overheard conversation in the boys’ room.

“My girlfriend looked so sexy in her lingerie.” a boy bragged to his friend washing his hands in the bathroom. “I’m telling you. Buy your girlfriend some pretty panties and she’ll thank you like crazy.”

Of course, Michael was on Y/N’s mind. The blue panties matched the shade of Michael’s eyes perfectly. And Michael was feeling so down over having to spend his break alone.. maybe a little gift would help raise his spirits. How could Y/N not buy them with all those factors in place?

He hurried to the checkout station and made his purchase. He swung around the little white bag he got them in all day long; he was nervous and excited to see what Michael would think about them. He always did have a penchant for pretty things.

Before Y/N could even get his door open a pair of arms were wrapped around his neck and pulling him into his room.

“I missed you so much..” Michael mumbled into his neck.

“I missed you too, baby.” his arms were secured around Michael. He missed this; missed the way Michael smelled and the way he clung to him like a baby koala. He missed his baby.

“I got you something.” he smiled as Michael pulled away and plopped down on the bed, waiting patiently. Michael’s pretty blue eyes lit up as the mention of a gift. He’d never been a person who received much during childhood. Between Constance and the constant shuffling and planning with Ms. Mead, and now here. Someone thinking of him enough to give him something always made him giddy. He carefully eyed the little white bag in Y/N’s hand with dark cursive printing on it.

“Go on, open it.” he was handed the bag.

Y/N felt like Michael pulled the panties out in slow motion. Michael held them up by his fingers, his expression awed.

Cheeky sky blue panties; something so small (because, they really did leave little to the imagination) caused a peachy pink glow to Michael’s face.

“T-these are for me?” he asked, not taking his eyes off of them.

“Yeah,” Y/N stepped closer, “Don’t feel like you have to wear them if you don’t like them. They just made me think of you.” he chuckled.

Michael didn’t think he could blush any further, “They’re so pretty. I love them.” he placed them down on his lap, imagining what they would look like on.

“I’ll let you try them on while I wash up real quick.” he bent down to kiss Michael before scurrying off to the washroom.

Michael quickly stripped himself out of his pants and boxer briefs; he kicked aside the boring gray pair of underwear and picked up his new pretty pair. He slid them up his legs, feeling them cup his cheeks securely. He was still wearing an old tshirt that came down midthighs for him - he examined himself in the full length mirror. He slowly lifted the tshirt to his tummy to see what the panties looked like on.

His large cock was snugged tightly into the adorable blue underwear; he could see traces of his pink skin through the lace. Turning to his side, he caught a glimpse of the curve of his ass in the mirror. He thought it looked plumper than usual, but that was due to the figure hugging cut of the panties.

“Y/N.” he called out, his heart beating faster. He wanted Y/N to think he looked pretty. And how could Y/N not? With Michael’s stunning gold curls, delicate pink flushed face, and dainty blue lace? He was what dreams were made of.

Y/N caught Michael staring at himself in the mirror. He stood at the frame of the door, letting his baby take in how good he looked. He loved seeing Michael appreciate himself. Too often, he lost himself in feeling self conscious.

“Oh my god.” he let out more to himself than anyone else, “so fucking pretty, baby.” Y/N said just above a whisper.

He closed the gap between him and his boyfriend and wrapped his arms around Michael.

Y/N pulled Michael’s tshirt off, discarding it on the floor. His hands found Michael’s hips as his eyes wandered down Boy Wonder’s body. A barely there happy trail drew into his new gift, fleshy thighs on display. Michael felt more nude than when he was actually naked in front of Y/N.

He placed a series of wet sloppy kisses to the corner of Michael’s mouth, sweeping to his jaw and neck. Michael hummed in content of feeling his lovers lips on him.

His fingers dug deep into Michael’s hips, pulling him closer. He could feel him growing harder. Y/N had to pull away to see him. Michael’s cock was stretching the thin fabric even thinner. Y/N dragged a finger over it, feeling him twitch under his touch.

Before Michael’s breath could catch in his throat, Y/N dropped to his knees. His came face to face with Michael’s full glory. He felt like kneeling before an angel.

Again, with a barely there touch, he traced the outline protruded by Michael. Michael’s eyelids fluttered; he was so sensitive down there - even a feather light touch was enough to light him on fire.

“Did you miss me, baby.” Y/N asked, peering up at Michael.

“You know I did.” Michael tries to keep a steady tone, but Y/N hear the quiver in his voice.

“I wanna hear you say how you missed me. How you missed my.. touch,” he pressed a little more force on Michael, “Did you touch yourself when I was gone, baby?” he kissed right above the delicate little bow adorning Michael’s panties.

“I missed you so much, Y/N,” he whined, “No. I’ve been waiting for you.” he confessed.

Y/N licked the same spot he kissed, watching the way Michael reacted to his wet tongue on his skin, “Good boy.”

He pressed a kiss to the pretty pink tip of Michael’s length. He could taste the oozing precum through the fabric. “Hmm,” he hummed against it, “I missed this too, baby.”

“Let’s take these off, okay?” he hooked his fingers in the waistband, slowly peeling them down.

“Made me put them on only to take them off?” Michael blushed, adjusting his thighs to ease the panties down his legs.

“You knew where this was going, Michael,” his boyfriend winked before biting into his thigh, playfully. Michael’s stomach dropped at the name; he loved the “baby”s and the “sweetheart”s but when Y/N pulled out his name it was almost enough to make him cum untouched. Almost.

Maybe it was the tighter fit of the underwear, but Y/N almost flinched back with he way Michael proudly sprung out of his panties. Bright red and glistening; it made his mouth water.

His large hands grabbed at his base, slowly stroking up to meet the head. Small whines falling from Michael’s mouth only made him smile. His poor baby.. all alone for over a week. He needed to take care of him; make him feel loved.

Michael hissed at the sudden contact of his thumb running over the slit of his cock. “Y/N,” he sighed, “I missed you.” and Y/N knew he meant. Not only did he speak it, but the grip Michael held on his hair made him think Michael never wanted to let go. Y/N made a mental note in the back of his head to drag Michael out of this prison for their next break. Maybe they’d go to the beach or something. He’d kill to see his baby sun kissed and thriving.

Surprise washed over Y/N when his teasing was cut short - Michael tugged his hair and pulled him closer to his crotch, pleading, “Y/N please, it’s been too long.” his crystalline blue eyes sparkled so much, Y/N though he was on the verge of tears. And maybe he was.

“Shh, I’ve got you, baby.” needy little thing, Y/N thought to himself. But he didn’t mind. He’d do anything for Michael. He knew it from the moment he laid eyes on him. Stuttering mess, always hidden in his sketchpad. Michael had such magnetism, it always astounded him how shy he was upon meeting him.

With his lips already completely pressed to Michael’s cock (thanks to Michael’s almost forceful pull) he opened up and took as much as he could in one go. He sucked deeply, hallowing his cheeks, taking in Michael.

“Y/N..” Michael growled through clenched teeth, “Fuck,” Y/N heavy tongue massaged up and down his shaft, tracing every vein and pulse point.

Y/N snaked his hands around Michael’s legs and squeezed his ass, all while letting his cock hit the back of his throat. He gave him one firm smack and pulled his lips up and down, bobbing his head.

“I’m-” Michael couldn’t deliver a fair warning. Not that Y/N needed one. He knew his baby like the palm of his hand and knew exactly what flipped his switch.

Hot spurts of his cum flew into Y/N ready mouth. Y/N swallowed all he could while still letting his hands play with Michael. He got him all cleaned up, licking the mixture of saliva and cum off his lips.

Michael held his eyes shut, chest panting hard, and a flush of color that had washed down his neck and chest. Y/N kissed at his penis, taking any left string of cum and picking it up with his tongue, until Michael’s breathing began to regulate again.

“I hope you liked your present, baby.” he winked and gave Michael’s cheeks one last squeeze.

okay y’all. i’ve been talking about michael in panties... for months and i finally wrote it vnfjdksveafjvas soooo i hope u guys like it.

tagging: @langdonsdemon @lathraios @1-800-bitchcraft @michael-langdon-appreciation @ritualmichael @codyfernss @cryptid-coalition @russianspacegeckosexparty @starwlkers @langdonsoceaneyes @infernal-langdon @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @mega-combusken @maso-xchrist @bbyduncan @vampirefairyestelle @ticklish-leafy-plant @wvntersldr @rocketgirl2410 @langdonshell @jim-mason2 @venusxxlangdon @queencocoakimmie @lvngdvns @americanhorrorstudies @divinelangdon @missantichrist @nana15774 @sammythankyou @flowersiren @langdonsrapture @langdonsinferno @littledemondani @lathraios @kissydevil @langdonsfeed @ms-mead @langdonsplaytoy @wickedlangdon

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tb5-hellbound · 5 years

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Talented Amateurs - Top Ten Chapters

Had occasion to browse through TA and pull together my best and favourite chapters and passages therefrom, so here they are!

Spoilers for Talented Amateurs beneath the cut!

1 - champagne and bourdeaux

It’s a strange thing to know, especially as wholly and completely as she suddenly seems to know it. Sitting beside him beneath a staircase, after a day like today, a day so different from the days they usually spend together—realizing that it’s not the silly, childish crush she’s always assumed it was. And it seems like such an enormous, obvious truth, yet it’s hard to know how to react. Penelope doesn’t feel frozen exactly, so much as she feels some essential part of her has stilled, and grown suddenly calm and tranquil, in the presence of something very important.

He’ll remember what she does next for the rest of his life, and so it’s very important that she does it slowly and carefully, with absolutely no ambiguity about her intent. Gordon’s hands are still anxiously occupied by the champagne bottle he’s been toying with, and Penelope reaches over to take it from him, sets it gently on the floor between their feet. One of her knees presses against his as she shifts to sit closer, takes his hand in hers, and threads her fingers into the spaces between his.

And, well. She’s probably had just enough champagne for this to be a viable course of action.

She finds she quite likes the way that, even sitting, she needs to turn her face upwards to press her lips against his jaw.

6 - comment and critique

Well. Of course she’s imagined this.

Half the time she runs into him, he’s wearing nothing better than a wet suit. Frequently this is wet. The damn thing sometimes looks like it’s been sculpted onto him, a classical study of the male form in shades of cerulean. He’s a former Olympian. He’s an efficient, compact package of boyish good looks, supreme physical fitness, and real, actual heroism, wrapped up in bright blue with a sunshine yellow ribbon.

She’s only human.

But before now she’s always had to catch herself, always felt rather guilty if her thoughts about Gordon in particular had strayed too far into “cosmopolitan” territory. Penelope’s always had his brothers for context, had to consider him as the fourth out of five. Second youngest. It’s all relative. She’s known him from the very beginnings of International Rescue, when there were questions as to whether he was too young for the job. She’s almost of an age with his second eldest brother—John’s only a few months older than she is, October to her December. But there are three years between her and Gordon and before now, her idle musings about the shape of his hips, or the curve of his spine at the small of his back, or whether or not it’s true that swimmers tend to wax every last bit of hair off their bodies—it’s always felt a little bit wrong.

The incidental answer to this last question is no, actually. Not quite, anyway.

7 - questions and answers

And then she sits up beside him and stretches, gloriously unselfconscious about her body, not that her body is something she should be even remotely self-conscious about. She’s gorgeous.

And he’d known that, obviously. It’s not like he’s looked at Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward in all her aristocratic untouchability and never gone through the mental exercise of just what she might look like naked. Gordon broadly considers himself to be a good person—but the sort of good person who runs into burning buildings after orphans and who donates millions of dollars to save coral reefs and who drinks eight glasses of water every day. Not the sort of good person who looks at the most beautiful woman in the world and keeps his thoughts about her perfectly chaste and pure.

It’s almost impossible to believe that the reality of her is better than anything he’d ever imagined, chaste or otherwise. By night he’d been enthralled by the feel of her, by the softness of her skin and the warmth of her hands and by the strength hidden behind her essential elegance. He hadn’t expected that. He’s never thought of Penelope as particularly strong. At least, not in a physical sense. She’s always seemed too dainty, too delicate, too ladylike. She’s reasonably fast and impressively nimble, especially for as often as she wears five-inch heels, but he wouldn’t have thought of her as strong, per se.

But then, there are things you learn about a person when their legs are wrapped around your waist, and Gordon’s enough of an athlete to perceive and appreciate what must be a fairly robust workout routine, to give a girl a core like that. Gotta be some yoga in there. Definitely some Pilates.

13 - valentine

It would be fair to say that Gordon’s kissed a lot of people. He could probably number them in the dozens, though he’d be lucky if he could name half of them. It would be reasonable to say that he’s gotten good at it, with a full decade of experience in between now and the first kiss he’d ever had; an awkward, fumbling experience with someone forgettable, behind the bleachers out by the football field, at his dustbowl of a Kansas high school.

This is better than that. This is better than any of the hundreds of kisses that must have come before it, from dozens of people, half of whom he doesn’t remember. This is better by a country mile, and it doesn’t even matter what country. Even if it’s France and the country mile should probably be rendered in metric. Gordon’s usually pretty good at doing the math in his head, but with her lips on his, he’s not sure what that would even be in kilometers. It hasn’t even been a month since the last time he’d seen her—the last time he’d kissed her—and yet somehow it’s like kissing her for the first time all over again.

Gordon’s kissed enough people to know that first kisses are just a means to an end, that is, the means to enable further kisses. He’s kissed enough people to know that she probably only meant to kiss him hello, but then he brought his A-game, and there’s that slight, almost faltering gasp as she draws back for a moment to get her breath back. The hands that had been light and loose around his waist come up, her fingers twisting in his tie as her other hand finds the back of his neck, and this second time is better than the first, not that he would’ve believed that possible. He wonders if that’s always going to be the case, if kissing her is always going to be an experience that iterates gloriously upward.

15 - lover

He needs to stop himself from telling her she’s beautiful, again.

But that means he’s going to need to come up with something else to say, otherwise he’s going to lose the rest of the night to staring at her. Even after everything that’s brought him to this point—Valentine’s Day, in Paris—he can still barely believe he’s really here with her; that this has happened, and is happening.

What pops into his head isn’t ideal, and probably shouldn’t be the first thing he goes with. But it’s relevant, and something he’s been trying to find a moment to mention. Not that it’s been bothering him. Because it hasn’t. But if it were, she’s gradually becoming the person he wants to talk to about the things that bother him. Not that this has. Because it hasn’t.

“Wanna hear something funny?” he says, as though telling her this as like it was a joke will make that so. “Something else Scott said.”

Her fingers slip daintily between his, clasping his hands. Her sarcasm is perfectly measured, exquisite, as she says, “Oh, I do so love it when Scott feels the need to say something.”

Gordon can’t help grinning at that, that she’d make him feel better about it before he’s even told her what it was. “Right?”

“What was it?”

She’s already on his side, and that’s the best possible feeling in the whole entire world. Gordon almost feels a little guilty, repeating back what Scott had to say, but in fairness, it concerns her, too. “Well, when he dropped me off in Sydney, he said it was nice of you to humour me, on my birthday.”

There’s a beat of silence. Her hand leaves his and goes to her wine glass, still half full of the half glass of champagne she’d talked him into. The rest of this vanishes, and the foot of the glass lands on the white tablecloth with perhaps a little less delicacy than should be employed, with stemware. There’s a flash of fire in her blue eyes beneath their dark lashes, but her voice is so cold it brings the breeze up with it. “Your brother,” she declares, “can be such a prick.”

16 - cunning linguist

It’s funny about French, and especially about this particular phrase in French, just how easy it is to get it wrong. The language of love is something of a minefield, especially when it comes to love. All manner of homonyms and double-meanings lie in wait, lurking scandalously in the vicinity of other perfectly innocent turns of phrase. Penelope has, on more than one occasion, made an absolute ass of herself in French and had thereafter settled for nothing less than absolute fluency in the language. There’s really only one way to properly say I love you in French.

Not, of course, that he’d said it in French.

“Yeah, that.” But though he’s still holding her, sat in his lap, he doesn’t look up, and instead decides to bury his face against her shoulder, and he holds her little tighter as he does so. It’s a tremendously vulnerable sort of gesture, rightly so, and she’s quick to press a kiss against the crown of his head and hug him back, as he mumbles into her shoulder, muffled and embarrassed, “I’m sorry.”

That won’t do.

“No!” she protests, because this is precisely what she’d hoped to avoid, “No—darling, don’t be. Please, don’t be. There’s no need.”

Gordon pulls away and shakes his head, and when he looks up at her, Penelope’s heart gives a little twinge of its own at the vulnerability in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have—”

But she puts a finger to his lips and doesn’t let him finish, cutting him off, “Really, dearest. It’s not exactly as though I can’t already tell.”

There’s the slightest spark in his eyes, then, the sort she would’ve missed if she weren’t noticing how pleasing their agate-brown colour is by candlelight. Beneath the fingertip she has pressed against his lips, there’s a flash of a half-smile he can’t quite seem to help, as he comments, “And here I’m usually so subtle.”

“As a brick through a window.”

21 - valentine (reprise)

It's late and the house is dark. The floorboards creak beneath his feet as he proceeds through the front hallway. The hallway opens with the kitchen to his right, pale blonde cabinetry wrapped around a breakfast bar. The dining room is just beyond, a whitewashed trestle table, a hulking wooden thing that his grandfather had built, big enough that it had sat all nine members of their family at its largest—Grandma and Grandpa Tracy, Mom and Dad, Scott and his brothers.

None of them are here now.

The dining room opens up to the living room, wrapped all around with big wide windows with their broad, beautiful view; facing the fields that roll gently beyond the backyard, outward until they run into the wooded break of the treeline that separates the Tracy family's farm from the farm beside it, though the fields immediately around the farmhouse have lain fallow for years now, and those that have been bought up around them are farmed by roving agricultural drones. In the daylight they're a sight to behold, gleaming dark green and gold, John Deere's legacy

As he crosses the room, Scott idly drops his helmet onto the dining room table, where it thuds off the wood and rolls onto its face. "Honey, I'm home," he calls softly into the living room, and after a few moments he's rewarded by a shifting sound from the overstuffed living room couch.

A hand reaches up over the back of it and he gets a vague wave. She's wearing one of his shirts, pilfered from the upstairs dresser, and the sleeve of this drops back from her wrist to her elbow as she greets him, unceremoniously, "You're very late."

Scott feels a twist of guilt through his gut, though he knows by now that she doesn't hold it against him, and that she never will. It doesn't mean he isn't sorry. "I know."

"Late isn't really your thing."

27 - in and out

"Hiya," he starts, and in the time he had to wait for her, he should've tried to figure out what exactly he planned to say when she arrived, not that it even the wittiest repartee would've held up against the way she'd kissed him. Still. "How was—"

The pads of her first two fingers press against his lips before he can get any further, and her voice is soft and sultry and appealingly almost sternas she tells him, "No. No, my darling, none of that. No talking, I promise, we've nothing to talk about. Not now. Not after what happened last time. Later, darling. After."

There are very few people on the planet for whom Gordon will immediately shut up and do exactly as he's told, but Penelope Creighton-Ward is one of them. She's probably at the top of the list. Her intent is unambiguous, and there's a familiar intensity about her, as she leans into him again, her lips soft and her mouth wet as she kisses his neck. One of her hands has buried itself in a fistful of his hair, and the other has found its way beneath the hem of his t-shirt (cerulean blue, with an artfully faded logo declaring his allegiance to Lucky! brand jeans), and her fingers are as cool against the skin of his stomach as her breath is warm against his throat. The shiver that follows her touch is entirely involuntary.

This has happened before. This happened on just the other side of her bedroom door, only she'd known exactly where she was going, then. It's only been a couple minutes, she's only just gotten here. She doesn't quite have the lay of the land yet. So when she pauses again, for just a moment, Gordon easily and obligingly sweeps her off her feet into an effortless cradle carry. Less useful during rescue work than one might suppose. Surprisingly useful in this specific scenario, especially when one benches about two-twenty and one's girlfriend weighs about half that. Penelope gasps as he gets a proper grip on her, but his arms are solid behind her knees and around her back, and she relaxes almost immediately, clasping her hands around the back of his neck.

29 - hue and cry

It’s so easy to forget that Penelope’s tiny, really. With her shoes still abandoned by the foot of the bed, she’s over half a foot shorter than he is, slight and delicate. He glances at his watch—it had been 4:17PM NZST when he’d first taken her pulse, and the moment seems to have frozen itself in his memory—but it’s nearing half past the hour, now. It feels like longer, and yet he can still see the imprint she’d left on the plush duvet, and can’t stop seeing the way she’d looked so small and still and fragile and made him feel sick and frightened inside. Despite everything, these are better emotions to hold onto than anger, a better motivation to try and convince her that he’s right.

“Pen, please. I’m not—I don’t want to fight about this, why’re we fighting about this?” It comes out more like pleading than he wants it to, but it’s still better than shouting at her.

“Because you’re trying make me do something I don’t want to do,” Penelope informs him, coldly, turning away from the window to glare at him. “Something wholly unnecessary.”

Gordon’s not sure how often he can repeat the truth without it making the slightest impact, but he tries again anyway, “But, it’s—you were just gone, Penny. You went right out, fast, and then you were barely breathing and your pulse dropped, your blood pressure—your hands were like ice, they’re still like ice. You scared the hell outta me; you’re scaring the hell outta me. This kinda thing doesn’t just happen without a reason, and—”

“The reason is everything I’ve done to get here.” There’s an imperious little stamp of her foot, which would be adorable if she weren’t so angry—an emotion she clearly has no compunction about—and her hands drop into fists at her sides. Her glare moves up a level in severity and becomes an absolute glower. “I’m exhausted,” she continues, apparently indifferent to the fact that she’s not helping her case, and that the little paramedic in the back of Gordon’s brain is helpfully adding fatigue to her growing list of symptoms, along with irritability and altered mental status. “I’ve done so much to be with you, because it’s been awful not to be. I want you; I’ve missed you.”

She says this like it’s an accusation, as though it’s his fault somehow and she’s simply furious with him about it.

excerpt (nsfw) from - here and now

“Shh.”

There are very few people in the world who can get away with shushing Penelope, and one of them has just stolen her voice with another kiss, and his hand at the side of her neck, his thumb ghosting over the point of her pulse. This must be racing. His mouth leaves hers and lingers briefly along her jaw, before drifting down to her throat. Her eyes close and her neck arcs backward against his hand, as teeth scrape gently against her flesh, the pressure of his tongue against her throat as she swallows, her mouth falling open as another soft sound of longing escapes.

He pauses again, briefly, hesitant. “Tell me to stop,” he prompts softly, and she just shakes her head, shifting underneath him. At some point, beyond her ability to notice, he’s settled atop her properly, knees at either side of her hips. The hand that hasn’t clasped at the back of her neck has found its way beneath the hem of the t-shirt she’s wearing, pushing it upwards, to bare the skin beneath. His palm rests against the curve of her ribcage, but goes no further. “If this is too much—”

“No,” she answers, and her hand fumbles for his, clasping his wrist and pressing it clumsily upward, until his fingers find the tender, waiting warmth of her left breast, and though her breath draws sharply, she still insists, “No, don’t—don’t stop. Anything. Everything. More—oh, god, more. Please.”

He chuckles softly, and the palm of his hand slowly kneads and squeezes her flesh, as Gordon bows his face to hers again, “Well, since you asked nicely,” he murmurs, and she tilts her chin upwards to kiss him again.

#talented amateurs #pen and ink #gordon tracy #lady penelope #about a third of the way through the last chapter of the island arc #and then it's on to the last part before the epilogue #really really hope to have this part done before the end of the year

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persorene · 7 years

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*pulls up to drive through window* yeah can i get uhhh cute mutual jokamu pining with a cute ending *slaps down 5 dollars*

One mutual pining fic, no angst and a side of happy ending coming right up! Please pull around to the next window._______________________________________________________________________The butler stood in the kitchen, mindlessly drying the dishes he'd just finished washing. He worked with the speed of a seasoned professional, wicking away the remaining water from their surfaces and stacking them neatly in the cabinets. His eyes were closed as he worked, listening to the delicate melody that his master was playing from the ballroom. The song was light and peaceful, with a somber, crooning undertone. It was quite like her, in a way; content but hiding pain below the surface. Her skill was impressive, she rarely played but when she did he was utterly captivated. He loved to sit and watch her as she pulled the notes from the keys, however, she was dreadfully self conscious about her music. She created most of her melodies herself and hated to have others hear them.Though always efficient, he worked twice as fast today, hoping to be able to catch a glimpse of the lovely young woman before she stopped playing. With the last dish settled into its place, he left the kitchen. Slowly and quietly he traipsed down the hall, avoiding the old wooden planks that he knew would squeak beneath his weight. He nudged one of the intricate double doors open, peering into the room. She sat her piano, red hair tucked behind her pointed ears, her long fingers dancing across the instrument. Her eyes were closed as she played, swaying to the rhythm. Her passion was intoxicating. He leaned on the door watching his master, his chest fluttering as his mind raced with thoughts of her.Her song began to wind down and he began to applaud softly. He knew she'd hate that he'd watched her, but he couldn't help it, she was as incredible as her song had been and she deserved praise."Jakob!" her cheeks burned a blazing crimson, her ruby eyes locking on to the white haired man watching her "How long have you been here!?" Her heart raced in her chest, he meant well and she knew that, but his presence alone was enough to fluster her.He smiled as he walked toward her "Two minutes maybe. Your song was lovely, milady. One of your own creation I assume?""Yes... but you know I hate when you watch me play. I'm no good at it." she turned her head away from him as she pouted, spilling her red hair down her back and shoulders."Nonsense! You're fantastic, princess. If I could play half so well I'd be thrilled. Alas, music is one pursuit that escapes my grasp." he lightly tapped one of the keys, summoning a high pitched note as he spoke.The princess twisted on her bench, turning her face up toward her butler "... I could teach you.""You needn't worry yourself over me, milady.""Oh stop that. You always teach me things, now let me show you something. Sit with me." She scooted down the bench in a very undignified manner, patting the space she'd made for him.He couldn't deny her, he'd never been able to. Jakob slid onto the wood beside her, feeling her warmth radiating toward him."Okay, first you-" she paused as she watched her own hands, trying to explain something that came so naturally to her "Okay, hold them like this." she lifted her splayed out hands toward him, giggling as he clumsily copied her."Like this?" he asked, displaying his very poor attempt to mimic her."No." she laughed "But you tried. Here, sit still." she stood quickly and moved behind him "Hold your hands over the keys."He did as instructed, barely hovering his large hands above the piano."Okay, now-" she leaned in, pressing her chest to his back and wrapping his arms around his chest. Her hands holding his, maneuvering his fingers into the correct positions. Her cheeks burned as if there were a fire beneath her skin, holding his hands in this way summoned a hundred thoughts that she knew better than to think.He was extraordinarily thankful that she couldn't see his face from this angle. His cheeks were flushed, her warmth and her body pressed into his back sent his heart racing. Even her aroma was tantalising, sweet and warm like a confection fresh from the ovens. Jakob cursed himself for not paying attention to her lesson, but how could he when she was holding him so."Think you can manage that?" She teased, drawing him from the haze of his daydream."Oh. Uhm, yes. I can" He stammered."Good!" She chimed, a brilliant smile growing across her pink tinted cheeks. The princess slid into place beside him on the bench, reveling in the sensation of his presence so near her."I'll play and then when I nod at you, just tap the note I showed you." she instructed as she lifted her dainty hands into place along the keys.Her fingers began to prance along the ivory, drawing forth a splendid array of notes and melodies. Jakob watched her, the sun glinting off her crimson eyes and flaming red hair, the gentle way she nodded at him to play the somber note she'd assigned. She was lovely and beautiful but more than that, she was pureness and kindness, a soul unmarred by the hate and anger that dwelled within him. She was his light, his savior and the woman he loved; the woman he'd die for. In these small moments with her, nothing else mattered. His mind drifted further and he wasn't sure if he was playing in time anymore, he truly would hate to disappoint her but drawing his eyes from her wasn't in his power.She could feel his gaze on her, warm and intense, stirring a fire within her. No one but him made her feel this way. He was he best friend and her butler. The classes dividing them meant nothing to her, it was wrong she knew, to think of him this way and yet she refused to stop. He was so kind and devoted, the moment she'd met him when he was only a small, frightened child, she'd felt a connection to him. In the years that had passed since, that connection had blossomed into a hidden love for the young man. She would lie, for his sake, and say he was a friend and nothing more, but she couldn't lie to herself. She loved him. She had always loved him. In her mindless state, her graceful fingers fumbled and her song snagged."I'm sorry." she whispered as she pulled her hands from the piano, twisting them nervously in her lap. Here in the dimly lit, cavernous room, only inches from her butler, she couldn't bring herself to look at him. Her heart thundered at the intimacy of it all, at the idea that her lips were only inches from his own... she could cross the distance, if she were brave enough she could kiss him."Don't apologise milady. It's quite alright, I'm afraid my playing was rather poor anyway." he said quietly. His hand rested on the bench, the tip of his small finger lay against her thigh, he knew he should pull away but he didn't want to, and she didn't object to his proximity. He couldn't think of what to say to her, he'd never had trouble speaking to her, but it was all he could do not to pour his heart out to the girl."I should get back to work. Gunter will have my head if he-"Corrin gripped his hand, closing the space between him and cutting him of with a kiss. He hesitated, he wanted this more than anything, he wanted her touch, her kiss, her affection; all of it. But he was a butler and she a princess. He was the model of proper servitude in all regards but his love for her, it was wrong, it was brazen, it was a crime. And yet, he couldn't stop himself, none of that mattered when she kissed him, when she touched him, when she looked him with those glimmering eyes as if he were the sun itself. He loved her. It took him only a moment to overcome his fear, quickly returning her kiss."I'm sorry." she whispered yet again as she pulled back from him, her face glowing as red as her eyes."Don't apologise, milady." Jakob muttered, a delighted smile lingering on his lips. He ran his fingers through her hair as he studied every minute detail of her lovely face."Can I kiss you again?" she asked so softly he'd had to strain to hear her.He leaned in slowly, cupping her chin his hand as he pressed into her soft lips "My dear, you can kiss me as often as you like." he whispered as he pulled away.

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