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katsukikitten · 3 years

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In which Shoto is an asshole Oni and I am the author that wrote the majority of this fic tipsy, you’re welcome! Bnharemcollab masterlist found here

Warnings: Non con bruv. Claws horns? He's an oni bud

"And they say he's been stealing the hearts of beautiful women for centuries. So don't go talking to any ole handsome man that steps over a threshold." The tour guide adds to the end of her ridiculous story about some Demon King that drags women to hell before she leads the group onto the next painting.

Still there was something captivating about the art work, how the man has his back to the viewer and how women bow to him, foreheads pressed into the tatami mats with their own bleeding hearts held high over their heads. Blood drips from their hands, splattering on the mats like rain or tear drops. The man, who is assumed to be the Oni, is looking over his shoulder, hand reaching out for the nearest offering. Both figures are forever suspended in brush strokes and desire for more. The closer you inspect the other worldly looking figure the more your gut tightens. His elaborate kimono hangs loosely from his body but you can still see the broadness of his shoulders, the thick bands of muscle on his forearms, the apparition of elongated nails when you look closer and finally the faint strokes atop of his two toned hair that are in the shape of sharp horns.

A God among men or maybe you should say a Devil among friends. A sigh escapes you as you admire the work before the tour guide announces the title, artist and time period of the next piece. “Wrath of the Mountain God.” A large man, with long hair so deep in hue you first mistake it for black, stands in a Kimono. His chest on display as he stands giving the view his profile, his eyes glow red in the light of the full moon, in his arms seems to be a maiden, a flower crown falling from her hair. It looks as if his strong form had just taken a step, beneath his foot begins a nasty fissure that gapes the Earth for miles and miles. The painting feels charged and emotions practically drip from the ink painting and yet still your eyes flicker to the painting to it’s right. At this angle you can see a faint shimmer in his smoky quartz colored eye. It sends a shiver down your spine as you feel a faint breath on the nape of your neck. Quickly you turn your head, craning your neck to look over your shoulder but no one stands behind you. Just another painting, “Golden God of Destruction.” Red gaze glowering as his hair drips gold, while he walks over the hellish landscape of cooling and erupting lava. You swallow thickly before following the tour guide onto the next section.

The tour lasts another half an hour but your mind lingers on the shimmering eyes of the dangerous entity. The more you think of him the bigger the sinking feeling in your gut becomes, not to mention the more you feel as if something is stalking your every move. Another quick glance over your shoulder as you exit the museum while you ponder over why this particular Oni was handsome when all of the other artworks featuring a yokai or oni were depicted as ugly, grotesque even.

Maybe it was because he was the King? You couldn’t be sure, all you knew is that you could understand why the women would rip out their hearts and offer them up to him. He was hot as hell, no pun intended.

Suddenly the fall air smells of frost and the threat of snow, you wrinkle your nose before you jump out of your skin. .

"So you liked the "Oni King, stealer of heart’s'' piece best?" A smooth voice calls from behind you, you press your hand over your rapidly beating heart as you try to catch your breath. Startled, you turn around to see a handsome man opening the gate, stepping over the grass line onto the sidewalk. Instantly you feel heat rush you as a cool autumn breeze swirls around fallen leaves around your boots.

"How did you…"

"I come here often and no one has ever stopped and looked at that piece as long as you have." He seems stoic and you can just barely see the corner of his mouth lift up. You take a moment to really drink him in, his tall stature, his hair a shocking white with contrasting red and a scar that sits beautifully over one of his gem stone eyes. One a smoky quartz and the other a bright turquoise.

You swallow thickly as you stare at the other worldly man, finding little to no words as your heart beats into your ribcage. You grip at the fabric of your jacket over your heart, it pounds against your rib cage like a fluttering wild bird.

"Where are my manners? I am Todoroki Shoto. But you can call me Shoto." Again he offers his barely there smile, "And you are?"

It's laughable how you stumble over your own name, you have never had issues talking to attractive people before, what the hell was your problem now.

“It sounds lovely.” He says your name, it rolls off of his tongue like music makes you swallow thickly, your knees threatening to buckle and you can’t understand why you’re acting like a love struck teenager again. There is a contrasting air about him, just like his hair. Passion and reservation, raging power and quiet tranquility, and the feel of it is making you dizzy. Tipsy almost, drunk if you linger here too long. Just as you’re about to express how you’ll be late for dinner he smiles at you.

Fully this time.

And you think your heart was going to claw out of its calcium coffin but it stalls when you notice that it doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

“Well since you have a good appreciation of art, would you care to join me in the garden, the Chrysanthemum are in full bloom this time of year.” You swallow as you look at him, a twinge of fear lingering in your blood that is soon lost as he steps over the threshold of the garden, waiting patiently.

“Uh, yea I think I can spare some time.” You smile nervously, he offers out his hand.

“Be careful, the step down can be quite steep.” A genuine small form on your lips now as you remember the first time you set foot into this garden and almost twisted your ankle. You step over the threshold, blinking against the late afternoon sun as you do.

Except when you open your eyes once more, you are no longer in the garden. There are no shrubs and bushes, no cinderblock wall of the old museum, something more sinister stands in its place. The sky is an inky black, the full moon hangs overhead shining down onto a small village that thickens the closer it gets towards a large feudal era looking castle. Fading sunlight filter behind you as you whip your head behind you. A giant Torri stands where the aging fence and garden gate stood before, a hazy image of an autumn afternoon in the shape of the gate rapidly begins to shrink. Panicked you lunge arm outstretched as if catching a full elevator as you’re running behind for a very important meeting.

If only your paralyzing panic was over something so trivial.

A strong set of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you towards a chiseled chest as hot breath whispers cooly in your ear.

“I wouldn’t do that if you want to keep all of your limbs, love.”

Shaking you glance over your shoulder before you watch the portal to home close up.

Just like that the landscape that could be seen through the gate was endless night and rolling hills dotted with homes here and there. When you turn to face your captor his eyes narrow as he studies you. His gem stone eyes glittering in the rich moonlight, following your hands up to your chest. He stills as he listens and while he looks you notice the horns growing from his head. Thin and shaped into a deadly point. He tilts his head as if you are bewitching before he leans closer, capturing your hair between his fingers. Now that you were in the moonlight, in the realm he ruled, you looked...familiar and the feeling made his chest tighten.

“How does your heart feel?” He asks, eyes anywhere but yours. You try to jerk out of his touch but his warm hand wraps around your bicep keeping you well within arms reach.

“My heart?! What does that have to do with me standing in HELL!” You scream and it echoes across the chilled landscape. Some women in kimono pass by, keeping their eyes turned down as they pass but once they are a few steps behind this brute’s back, they send you withering glares.

Your attention comes fully back to the man in front of you, or maybe you should say demon. He presses his hand over your heart with a puzzling look. Your body heats from the contact and embarrassment, you were sure he could feel how hard your heart was pounding. All the while his brows knit upwards.

“Seems you aren’t affected…”He murmurs to himself, tonguing his cheek. Suddenly he tears your sweater, pressing his hand against your chest and part of your breast.

“Hey!” You protest until a burning sensation blooms on your skin, when he pulls away you see kanji puckering up, that reads “Shoto”

“That should keep the lower demons away...for now.” He grabs onto your wrist tightly, too tightly before your world bends and blurs. Folding in on itself as if Space and Time were suddenly a beautiful origami paper creased until the maker was satisfied.

The world is bright when you open your eyes next, cradled in an abundance of candle light as your stomach sours causing you to lurch.

“Ugh, not on the tatami!” A woman’s voice scolds, but her state doesn’t help the nausea that hits you in waves. She wears a beautiful kimono, embroidered with gold and silver thread on violet cloth, the chest stained a deep cherry and a hole is where her heart should be. Her hands stained blood red and you back up, panting as you try to keep a level head.

“Get her cleaned up.” Shoto snaps, “I will want her in my room promptly.”

The women in the room shake slightly, keeping their heads down, distantly you can hear the sound of a thousand thundering hearts, deafening in a sense. The stately woman gently guides you towards the bath in the large mansion, shock sets in as your gaze glazes over. Every hall has a woman, anywhere from the feudal era to today, all dressed in kimonos, most were dressed in the ones they obviously died in or dressed in old clothes with their tattoos and fresh wounds peeking out from beneath the fabric.

Every single person sends you a death glare.

You’re stripped of your clothes and dignity in the company of about twenty women, hands shove you into the steaming water, cupping the cloudy water to wash your skin.

No matter how often the woman dip their hands into the water, the blood never leaves their fingertips, forever stained in their sin.

“We gave them away, you know. Ripped them from our chests….” She looks up at you with a timid look.

“Kiyoko, hush.” An elder hisses as she straightens the thin piece of cloth you were going to wear once you were all pieced together.

“No, she deserves to know..” Kiyoko hisses back, “The story is similar for a lot of us, he appears in a doorway, he seems kind enough, and then we look into his eyes. Gazing too deeply before our hearts seize in our chests, flopping around as if behind your flesh was killing it and it should sit in the palm of his hand. The only logical thing was for us to reach deep inside of ourself and give him what he deserved.” A quite falls over the room before a heavy solem air settles on your shoulders.

“He stopped for a while….after he met you.” Your eyes flash to hers and the elder’s hand wraps into Kiyoko’s hair, pulling her away from you.

“Enough.” She snarls as tears run down her cheeks, down all the women’s cheeks and you swallow thickly.

After an hour of primping you find yourself in front of two sliding tatami doors that have Oni and other yokai decorating their sheets.

“Send her in.” A deep voice sounds from the other side.

“Yes master.” The women answer, opening the doors before one shoves you in.

Doors to the eqwaa are open as he lounges on the polished wood, staring at the moon. He turns his head to look over his shoulder and it eerily reminds you of the painting in the museum.

In an instant he is in front of you, backing you into the plush bed that sat in the middle of his room, you fall onto the raised futon looking up at him.

The lowlight plays tricks on your eyes, the square paper lantern and the moon painting him in strokes of kind, of hurt, not some beastly thing he obviously was. Even his horns seemed soft, but nothing was softer than his lips as he pressed them to yours. Embarrassingly ecstasy blossoms under your eyelids as liquid heat floods your core. His tongue probes yours as he leans over top of you, playing with you nipples through the thin cloth as you moan into his mouth. Your body arches into his his as your heart flutters, trying to pull you away from his addicting touch.

Maybe you could have gotten away, maybe….

If only his hand hadn’t slipped between your thighs where he teased your sex utnil you pruned his figners, singing like the song bird he knew you were. His hard cock presses against your thigh twitching with delight. He kisses down your throat before he shreds the thin white kimono away from your body. He groans audibly before he leans down, one finger pulling at your pebbled nipple while the other pulls it between his teeth.

“Shoto…”You cry and he moans into your supple skin. Taking off his own thin kimono to align himself up to your fluttering hole. Eyes glued to your heart, fingers tracing the kanji as he eases himself in inch by inch. Stretching you and filling you pleasantly. He sits for a moment, taking in your body and how you burn under his touch. Free hand roaming your body as the other prods your fresh burn. Tracing the strokes over and over as if he wrote it himself.

Well technically he did.

“Please.” Your mouth betrays, hips pressing up into his to get any sort of friction, his free hand comes down, slamming your hips into the bed.

“Say it again.” He huffs, “Say my name again.”

“Shoto.” It's a hushed, reluctant breath but your skin was icy hot, lifeforce feeling as if it were evaporating away from the heated tension that sat between you two. He watches your body wither, feels your cunt clamping down onto him desperately and it’s all he can do not to thrust into you widely.

“Again.” He barks, pulling at your nipple harshly.

“Shoto.” You moan, the sound is enough to make him start his harsh pace. Pelvis slamming into yours as his tuft of pubic hair glides across your clit. Your vision blurs with tears, it feels so good. Better than anything you’ve ever had or could ever remember as his claws ghost over your soft skin.

“You thought you could escape me.” He grunts, ramming himself into you harder, you moan in response, “I marked more than your flesh two hundred years ago, I marked your soul.”

“You couldn’t help yourself, coming back to the very piece of art you created.” He continues with a laugh, claws raking down your skin, slicing at your skin superficially. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and you cannot fathom what he’s said. All that there is the feel of his hands, the pleasure that threatens to snap in your stomach.

He watches the way your cunt coats his cock in a silvery sheen that has his lips parting. Taking wanton ruts, the motion of it rattling the art on the wall. Pieces fall around you and any of the scrolls that try to block his view of you get shredded mid air. His thrusts turn sloppy as he comes down to bite at your neck.

“Shoto!” You cry out, vision going black as your body convulses around him, eyes rolling in to the back of your head as you forget your name and only cry out his.

“That’s right, tell me who you belong to. Who owns you love.” He pants, holding his own release for a moment longer just to hear your sweet voice scream his name over and over. Finally your milking cunt sends him over the edge. He grunts, staring into your eyes as he paints your wall a creamy white.

“Mine.” He growls, biting at your breast, at the skin over your heart. You feel his spilling cock harden again as your body melts into the sheets.

Most of the night is spent in mind numbing ecstasy and in those few short hours you forget you were ever brought here unwillingly.

You sit on a throne, overlooking the vast landscape of Yomi, Oni running the underworld as heartless women wander the streets. Their mortal heartbeats keeping time as they ceaselessly beat just beneath your feet. Mind’s eye miles away as you see a ghost of a hand before you. Memory playing out as you take careful brush strokes against your canvas, hoping this would serve as a warning for other women as you dab the brush in the deep colored liquid that stains the tatami floor of your home.

Ever the artist you wanted to add final touches even as you drew your final breaths, having thought it better to take your own life than to sit at the right hand of a demon, your chest was already mutilated with his name.

Irony weighs heavy in your stomach as you realize how futile it was to even make that masterpiece. It did not serve as a warning.

No if anything, it served as a beacon, drawing you like a moth to flame until you circled to close.

Burning up in the flames of the very thing you admired.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #oni shoto x reader #tw: non con #twnoncon

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english8muffin · 3 years

Text

Cozy winter

Summary: going to the market, being cheeky in the parking lot and a warm cuddly morning sprinkled with some funny-business

Warning: Cute banter, smut (NSFW), fluff

Word count: Around 5300 words!

I want to open this with one of my favorite quotes ever, so if you allow me ;)

“Go into the arts. I’m not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven’s sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.” -Kurt Vonnegut

“We need muffins.”

“We don’t NEED muffins, what we need are some fresh fruit and vegetables, ” Henry butts in. You frown and look up at him, “Oh whatever, Hen. You eat your greens, beans, potatoes and tomatoes, while I get fat by munching on some sweet, sweet, delicious chocolate muffins.”

He sends you a smirk from across the aisle. It was always fun to do mundane things, like going to get coffee together or grocery shopping, when he was home from filming. The last year you went to university it was very hard to be away from him for such a long time, especially when you still lived in Europe. You would fly over to England once in a blue moon, when Henry was in London and your schedule would allow it. Other times your relationship existed out of phone and video calls. It was a rough period, if you have to be honest. But It made the two of you closer and your bond stronger. It’s true what they say, absence does make the heart grow fonder.

You let Henry know you were going to get the ingredients for the muffins and start pushing the shopping cart in the direction of the baking supplies. As you walk back to the fresh produce section, you get distracted. So many colorful packaging was just screaming your name…

“What the- lovey! I thought you were going to get your muffin ingredients,” Henry cackles and almost doubles over seeing the now full shopping cart.

It took you a second to answer, a bit too focused on his beautiful face and the smile lines that appeared when he laughed. You quickly try to defend yourself, so he doesn’t think you have no self-control, even though, you know your eyes were bigger than your stomach.

“No! I did get them, they’re just underneath the other bags,” you trail off, eyes drifting to the floor. You sigh, “I just saw this aisle with all the snacks. These magnificent snacks. And, Hen, I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life! And, Hen-Henry! Henry, listen! Stop laughing at me! It was a moment of weakness! You can’t judge me! You don’t even know how they taste, I promise you, you will understand once you take a bite of everything!”

Henry wipes away a small tear at the corner of his eye and kisses the top of your head. You stroll around the aisles, trying to work through the rest of your grocery list, but suddenly you stop dead in your tracks.

“Hen,” you say, trying to get his attention. He gives you a hum in return, letting you know he heard you, “why on god’s green earth does my grocery list say ‘sex’?” You tilt your head up to his face, seeing a bashful grin.

You shake your head, clicking your tongue disapprovingly, “it isn’t even on top of the list! You put your oatmeal protein shake before sex, fuck, you even put curry before sex, you really need to get your priorities straight!”

After getting some more stuff, like pak choi, steak, tofu and the ingredients for Henry’s beloved curry you always make him, you walk to the register.

The petite Asian lady gives you a smile and takes a little peak at Henry, who was too busy looking at the various Chinese cough drops that are displayed in front of the counter. Her brows rise behind her thick glasses, “哇，大帅哥。你很幸运啊。” (Wow, big handsome man. You are very lucky, ah.) She says, turning back to you and winking. You can’t help but chuckle. Grinning you send her an ‘I know’-look.

Hearing your laugh, Henry looks over his shoulder with a questioning look. But you just smile and shake your head.

You two quickly get everything in the reusable shopping bags you brought with you. It was getting late and more people were getting off of work and wanted to do some last-minute grocery shopping. Henry takes both of the flower printed bags and the two of you walk to the car. It was getting colder, your breath turning into puffs of smoke. You look up at the sky glooming over you. They promised snow tonight.

Seeing Henry load the bags in the trunk, his ass proudly sticking out in the air, you give it a pinch. You just couldn’t resist. It was just there, so you better make use of the situation.

Feeling your hand touch his behind, Henry turns around, an unamused look on his face.

“Excuse me, miss. But that is mine,” he says, really playing up his posh accent. “I sure hope you disinfected those filthy little paws of yours.” He cutely scrunches his nose, doing a once over and trying so hard to keep himself from smiling, but failing miserably. He turns back around and arranges the bags in the booth so they won’t tip over.

There is a moment of silence, just the noise from cars driving up and off the parking. From the corner his eye Henry sees the stare you give him but ignores it with a small smirk.

“You know,” you begin with a cheeky undertone, making him curious, “I bet I could kick your ass,” you grin, looking at him and trying to gauge his reaction.

“What was that, doll?”

“You heard me, big lad!”

“Oh really?” He asks and looks at you, towering over you like a brick wall. His eyes glimmering with mischief. Yeah, no, this was NOT a good idea.

You squirm a little and a small nervous giggle leaves your lips.

“Yes, I can. Watch m-AHHHH! HENRY!” You squeal as he lifts you and throws you over his shoulder, fully forgetting you are in public. “Let me down, you caveman!” You laugh, slapping his left ass cheek. But he ignores your plea and just slaps your ass in return.

Wiggling a little, you challenge him, “Beat me up! Come on, do it!”

He turns his head and playfully bites the exposed skin by your hip, making you shriek like a little kid.

Henry lets out a loud belly laugh and puts you back on your feet. As soon as the tips of your Dr. Martens touch the pavement, you get pushed against the car. Trapping you between the icy cold black metal and his warm body. His arm goes around your waist and pulls you closer to his front.

“I love you.” The words are hushed but you hear them loud and clear, making a shiver go down your spine. The both of you look at each other, completely enamored and grinning like idiots. Noses and the apples of your cheeks rosy, bitten from the cold.

“I love you too,” you whisper back. His hand glides inside your coat and underneath the thick knitted jumper you finished to other day. He just needed to feel you. You lean up a little and gently push your lips to his, adoring the familiar warmth that fell over you whenever you’d kiss. Before you can come in for a second smooch, he frowns at you.

“Thought you were going to beat my ass?” He mocks, trying to imitate your accent.

Lightly tapping your finger against your chin, you pretend to be in thought.

“Well, this is much more fun.”

“Hmm, agreed,” he grins, already eyeing your red swollen lips and tilting his head towards yours.

You hear heavy footsteps coming closer, the wooden floorboards slightly creaking under the weight. It was getting dark outside, the overhead lights in the kitchen casting a homey hue down on the oak countertops. Your ‘cooking playlist’ was filling the room with some gentle tunes. You also had a ‘dancing in the kitchen playlist’ but that one was mostly used in the mornings. You hum along to the melody when stirring in the stew you were preparing for the evening, rocking your hips side to side. The stew was softly bubbling away, spreading an amazing aroma around the house.

The footsteps stop behind you. A moment later two big, sweater wrapped arms envelop around you, delicately caressing you. Henry lovingly pulls your loose braid to the side and places his head onto your shoulder, trying to get a peak at what was in front of you on the stove.

“What smells so good in here?” Just then Henry’s stomach makes a loud grumbling noise from the mouthwatering smell going on in the kitchen, you chuckle.

He had been gaming before this, you could hear the tiredness in his voice, it was a bit lower and more hoarse than normal. Whenever he was tired like this, he’d just turn into your big cuddly bear, you loved it.

Dinner was almost done. You made one of the dishes your grandma used to make for you when you were younger. You won’t lie, it was pretty difficult at first to decipher the little recipe she send you in the post, but now you knew it by heart.

“Cantonese style braised beef stew with white radish, bean curd sheets and a side of rice,” you inform him and brush your hand over his, that was placed on your stomach. Hearing that, he has to make sure he’s not drooling.

“And for dessert…” You nod your head toward the piping hot apple crumble pie currently cooling on the kitchen island. “We still have some vanilla ice cream if you want to have that with your pie. I know you want to be healthy, but I just really wanted to make a pie and this one does have filling,” you ramble, joking on the last part about the filling. He probably thought you were pestering him with his diet that most likely didn’t allow him to eat it.

You wince a bit, feeling him tense against you. “You don’t have to eat it, my love, promise!”

“No petal, you’re just… you’re just so perfect,” Henry admits, pressing a kiss just below the strap of the pistachio green apron you were wearing, nuzzling his nose in your tousled hair.

It was a gloomy Saturday morning in London. If your alarm hadn’t gone off, you wouldn’t have known it was morning already.

Yesterday after dinner, the two of you cuddled up on the sofa, under a warm blanket with Kal snuggled up on your lap. His head resting in your lap, while his tail occasionally slapped Henry in the face, making you burst out laughing and Henry almost choke on the fur. The akita would fondly press his snout deeper against you, really loving the head scratches he was receiving. Both you and Henry were fully satisfied with the tasty dinner you had paired with a glass of wine and were now cheekily flirting with each other while watching a detective movie, of which you missed the plot because you were, well, differently occupied…

Now the bedroom held a calm, soft aura, a dim light streaming in through the linen curtains. You let out a little whimper, not wanting to leave the bubble you are in and stretch out your limbs. A bit sore from sleeping in a weird angle, amongst other things. Behind you, you hear a small sound of protest and before you know it, you are engulfed by a strong arm. Henry hides his face in the side of your neck, keeping his eyes closed, groaning, clearly displeased with the fact it was morning already.

You smile, this was your favorite kind of morning. Warm and cozy in bed, cuddling with your boyfriend. You turn around, careful to not let any cold air under the duvet, your arm going around the large form beside you and curling your fingers in the mess of curly hair. Henry moaned, burying his face lower, between your breasts. Now fully content and still a bit dazed by sleep, he lets out the most awful snore. Even though he sounded like a drowning goat when he snored, you couldn’t do anything other than coo and gently scratch your fingers on his scalp, lovingly gazing at the man beside you.

“Are we going to be lazy couch potatoes today?” You chuckle, placing a kiss on his forehead, wild curls tickling your nose as you do so. Your voice was still a little raspy, but Kal apparently still heard you, and pushed open the door to come snuggle in bed with his favorite humans.

“What time is it?” Henry groans.

“Around 8.”

“We can be busy bees if you want,” Henry whispered against the swell of your breast, peppering delicate kisses on the bare skin. “Or better yet, busy bunnies.”

Kal was now situated on the end of the bed, head on his paws while the serenity of the room made him doze off. His dad on the other hand was now slowly waking up, as his hand crept lower and lower over your body. You giggled and pushed his hand away.

“There is a child present ,” you motion towards a sleeping Kal, who lays stretched out on the feathery duvet, already heading off to dreamland looking content as ever. Henry lifts his head, peering at his buddy and snorts, “he’s seen much worse, haven’t you bear?” But he doesn’t get acknowledged.

Laying his head back, he reaches up to push your hair out of your face before grabbing your cheek and pulling you down for a kiss. He places three kisses on your swollen lips, lightly sucking on the bottom one.

“May-,” you try to say something, but he just pushes his mouth harder against yours. Quickly taking the opportunity to stop you from making excuses. A hoarse chuckle rumbles from his chest, as he wraps you in his arms.

“Stop talking, woman, and kiss me back.” You let out a small moan and grip the curls you were playing with moments ago. He deepens the kiss slightly, tongue invading your mouth, surprising you. A subdued hum escapes your mouth, resulting in him grabbing the back of your neck, as the other rests on your hip. The kiss gets deeper and more passionate as the minutes go by. Getting a bit overwhelmed you pull back slowly, softy panting.

“Hmm, so sweet, darling,” he says smugly, earning a little smack to the chest as a bright blush covers your cheeks. Like it wasn’t already hard enough to resist him and stay in the warm bed all morning, he does this. Henry rolls your naked body over so you’re straddling him, a large hand wraps itself around your hair. He tugs, not too hard though, so he has more access to shower open mouthed kisses on your neck and chest. Leaving you a breathless mess on top of him. His hands trail from the top of your back to your rear, squeezing your cheeks before giving them a fast slap, making you take in a breath.

From all the shuffling, little snickers and kissing noises, Kal woke up and groaned, irritated that his humans couldn’t just hanky-panky somewhere else. With a last disapproving look, he jumps off the bed, landing with a thump. From the sound of paws hitting the wooden floor and toddling down the stairs, you look over your shoulder, duvet falling down so you sat there fully naked, much to Henry’s delight.

Then you felt it. It was normal for Henry to get hard in the morning. To be honest, he would be a bit worried if his cock wasn’t hard first thing when waking up.

Involuntarily you grind down, drawing a heavy moan from deep in his chest. Holding intense eye contact with him, you start humping over his bare front, mewling like a kitten in heat. It was embarrassing how he had you wrapped around his finger. A cheeky smile formed on his face, “look who came around.” Your body was practically begging for sex.

Pouting, you keep on moving your hips in a tantalizing slow rhythm, scratching at his hairy chest. Making sure you kept your eyes on his, he licked his three middle fingers and a second later you feel him reaching between your thighs, wiping his fingers down your slit. Tensing up a little, you try to hold back a grunt at the sensation.

“Oh darling,” he started, his voice going an octave lower, “what a mess you’ve made.”

He pulls back and observes your reaction when he pops his finger in his mouth.

“Wet and sweet, like always.”

“You are so nasty,” you whisper in total awe at what he manages to do to your body. He snickers and you quickly grab his hand, pushing it back between your thighs, “I didn’t tell you to stop, though.”

Your jaw goes slack, the moment you feel his thick fingers moving in and out of you. He was hitting just the right spot, making you groan and throw your head back. He felt like he couldn’t hold back anymore, he quickly flips you over so he’s on top of you, fully trapping you underneath his body and smashes his mouth on yours. Everything was happening so fast that you couldn’t pay attention to every incredible thing he was making you feel. Taking his cock in hand, he rubs his shaft against you, up and down, pressing it so you could feel the length. You look up at him, veins bulging in his neck, eyes dark, face already becoming flushed. God, he was so sexy. Grabbing your legs, he pushes your knees back so you were completely spread open and at his mercy.

He curses under his breath and lines himself up with you sticky center. Stifling your moans and pants, by pressing his lips to yours, when he slowly sinks his thick cock inside.

“Oh my god,” you whine, feeling him stretching your walls apart, pushing himself deeper and deeper.

“Y’feel so warm and tight, my love. M’so hard it hurts.” Henry whines against your lips, lacing his fingers in between yours. He trails kisses in your neck and under your ear, trying to get as close to you as possible. He loved feeling your body against his. Your walls were so plushy and wet for his cock, he wanted to stay buried in you forever.

“M’gonna make you feel so good, darling,” he whispers in your ear. You whine softly, getting worked up, “please.”

He smirked, obviously liking your plea.

Instead of giving you a nice, hard pounding, Henry wanted to go slow. It was still very early in the morning, the both of you still barely awake and he wanted to savor this moment with you.

“Oh, Hen-,” you pant softly, loving every bit of it. As he pushes deeper into you, you can feel his entire weight pressing down against you. The weight comforted you in a sense, like others would with a weighted blanket. He prolonged his strokes, making sure that when he slid out you could feel every centimeter of him, but then slid back in quickly.

“Fuck.” He grumbles into your neck, “feels so good, love,” he praises, nibbling on the skin under your ear, grabbing a handful of your hair pulling it back. You move you hands from his grasp and push them up his broad shoulders, pulling him closer to you.

“So good,” you moan out to him, feeling his cock nudge at the extremely sensitive spot deep inside your core. He lifts his head to look at you, seeing your mouth formed into the letter ‘o’, head tilted back into the cloud-like pillow and eyes screwed shut. A string of desperate moans falls from your lips.

This was what he loved, seeing his love, his girl react to the way he was pleasuring her. Just looking at you in this state made his orgasm coil up in the pit of his tummy. He never would have dreamed that another person could give him this feeling, the feeling of utter bliss when you were together. The unconditional love he felt for you was indescribable.

Henry continues to thrust into you and attaches his lips to yours, feeling you squeeze around him. You manage to spread your legs even wider and wrap them securely around his slim waist, digging your heels just above the globes of his perfectly sculpted ass.

He was aiming his stokes into the deepest part of you and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your release.

“Fuck,” you whimper out to him, digging your nails into the skin of his back. He knew you were about to cum. You let out another loud moan.

“Come on, petal. Cum f’me,” he pants, trying to coax you. Hearing the almost desperate tone in his voice, combined with the sound of him slapping his hips to yours and the feeling of his cock moving in and out of you was becoming overwhelming.

“Oh my god!” A loud moan ripples through you, the feeling of your release coming near.

“Almost, my love,” he moans, speeding up the pace of his thrust. He inhales sharply, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulls you up, quickly pounding into you. Completely losing control, trying to get deeper as if that was possible and lets his forehead rest against yours. With one last push of his hips, you get to your breaking point and cum, screaming. Henry feels your walls clamp around him and let’s go, fully satisfied. The noise he made was an orgasm on its own. He keeps himself against you when he lets go inside of you. You could feel Henry’s cum filling you as you slowly come down from your high. You feel his cum dripping out of you, almost proud of what you made him do.

He is about to roll off of you to cuddle up beside you, but you stop him by tightening your legs around him. “Please stay like this,” you whisper, your brain still a bit muddled by the amazing orgasm you just had seconds ago. He smiles down at you.

“Don’t be a silly goose,” he kisses your nose, “I would crush you,” Henry says endeared with a cheeky grin and pulls you into his side. You feel warm and safe. You yawn, blinking away when your eyes become watery.

“I can’t move,” biting your bottom lip, you snuggle closer to him, “and my throat hurts like hell.”

Henry lowers his hand to your ass and gives it a firm squeeze, “I’m not surprised. Oh doll, the sounds you were making,” he bites his bottom lip, closing his eyes.

You laugh and roll your eyes. Henry nipped at your neck, making you erupt into a fit giggles. He chuckles, leaving a kiss on the spot he had just bitten.

Henry trails his hands up and down your back. You closed your eyes and tangle your leg in between his, really liking the feeling. His chest was heavenly and just being in his arms felt amazing. He almost lulled you back to sleep the moment he began to run his fingers through your hair.

“That good, huh? Almost fucked you back to sleep,” he chuckles.

“It was alright, I guess,” you tease him. He raises his eyebrows, eyes twinkling with joy.

“How would you rate the experience?”

Tilting your head to look up at him, “Hmm, ten I guess.”

He looked very pleased with that.

“Out of twenty,” you finish.

“OUT OF TWENTY?” He sobered up, staring at your face with a shocked expression.

You snicker, climbing into his lap, “No, honey, I was just joking, I’m sorry.” A big pout forming on your face, making you look oh so innocent.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to put you up on all fours and take you like that, don’t tempt me,” he says, shaking his head. Wiggling your brows you grin and kiss the dimple on his chin.

“As much as I would enjoy that, I think Kal has to go potty and we have to eat.”

After some hushed pillow talk and hoarse giggles between the silky sheets, you two decide to move downstairs and start making some fresh coffee. When you lift your body out of the bed, a light throbbing shoots between your legs. You almost fall back into the mattress, making Henry roar with laughter. You end up getting a piggy back ride down the stairs, only wearing a v-neck shirt from Henry that fell just below the curve of your ass and showed plenty of cleavage. Your lilac panties were fully on display and your almost black hair looked like a lion’s main on top of your head, but you didn’t care.

The both of you were still in that bubbly, fulfilled state of mind, looking like two drugged out kids, wearing blissful smiles. When you got to the kitchen, Kal bounded around the corner, coming from the sitting area, his tail wildly sweeping through the air. Eyes sparkling with happiness when he saw his parents finally had left the bed.

“早上，宝宝” (morning, baby) You greet him, still on Henry’s back. Kal gives you a high “woof” as to say good morning back. After living with Henry and Kal for around eight months now, the akita started to pick up on a few Chinese phrases. He even decided the pet name ‘宝宝’ (bao bao), which means baby or darling, was only to be applied on him and nobody else.

Every time you would video call with your Chinese speaking friends, and they talked about or to their children, Kal would cheerfully patter over, thinking they were cooing at him instead of the small infant in the background. But you thought it was the sweetest thing ever, he was your little fur baby after all.

“I’m going to make us some omelets, is that alright with you, darling,” Henry asked, already opening the fridge and looking for the carton of eggs.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you call out to him. You give Kal his breakfast and receive many, wet kisses in return. Shuffling back over to your boyfriend, you lean against the dark green counter with its wooden countertops, and look at him carefully chopping up some bell peppers and onion, only wearing his joggers and a tank top. You were a lucky girl, and you knew it. Henry sends you a grin and winks before turning back to cutting the vegetables.

You begin to brew some fresh coffee for Henry, and put on the kettle for your morning tea. While he was finishing up breakfast, you start to read the newspaper to him. He absolutely adored it when you’d read to him, due to your accent becoming more noticeable. Kal came over to you, stuffing his wet nose against the hand you held out to him. “You’re such a good boy, Kal. Yes, you are,” you tell him in a baby voice, “you’re my little angel aren’t you? 我的小天使”

You clean the table, after eating your breakfast and get ready for the day. Henry was already out to go on a walk with Kal. It did indeed snow last night and everything outside was hidden underneath a thin sheet of white snow, so you made sure Henry was wrapped up in a thick scarf you made him and a black beanie. After giving you a kiss as if he was off to fight in a war, he and Kal happily walked through the front door, into the freezing cold. Him whistling and Kal buzzing with excitement.

Brushing your teeth and doing your makeup, you dance through the bathroom, in a good mood. You grab your phone that was propped up against the mirror, planning to put on the podcast you had been enjoying lately. You freeze seeing all the notifications, not having heard your phone due to it being on ‘quiet’. You swallow.

Oh shit.

There you were, plastered on the internet for everyone to see and laugh at. You and Henry making out on the parking lot of the Chinese supermarket. Was he going to be angry with you? It was your fault for teasing him after all. Oh no no no…

‘Henry Cavill and girlfriend were spotted having a steamy make out session outside local grocery store’

The headline read, making your face as red as a tomato. Trying to fight against it, you couldn’t hold yourself from reading the next paragraph.

Being in the middle of winter, doesn’t stop these two lovebirds from having a heated make out session in a parking lot!

Yesterday early in the evening, Witcher-superstar Henry Cavill was spotted with (to some) much younger girlfriend, designer, Y/N Y/L/N. The two have recently confirmed their relationship with an Instagram post from Cavill, showing a candid of Y/N, with the short caption ‘My sunshine enjoying the sun shine’. Last month Vogue came out with a video featuring Y/L/N in which Cavill and his dog Kal made an appearance, making fans go wild. It seems like the two really are living the life and we are excited to see more of them together!

Want to know more about the stars? Subscribe to STAR NEWS!

This was it. You could already hear your sweet grandma, praying to the ancestors to forgive you for your sins, lighting all the incense she could find. You were a disgrace to the family now. It wasn’t that you were ashamed or felt bad about doing it, hell, everybody in the position would gladly sit on Henry’s shoulders and stick their tongue down his throat. You were just disappointed you got caught.

From downstairs you hear the door close with a loud thump and the pitter-patter from Kal’s nails on the hardwood floor, letting you know your two boys were back home. You nervously descend the flight of stairs, holding your head low and tightly clutching your phone in hand.

“Hey, lovey! you really missed something, Kal and I could practically ice skate over the walking trails, it was so much fun!” Henry says enthusiastically as he hears you wander into the living room. You ignore him and plop down on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.

A frown makes its way onto his face.

“What are you sorry for, sweet girl?” His eyes hold a concerned look, not understanding what you were talking about. You huff out a breath and hand him your phone so he could see the article.

A roaring laugh sounds through the open space, making your head shoot up. “Yeah, I saw it this morning when I went and checked my Instagram,” he chuckles, face still rosy from going outside.

“We really gave the paparazzi a field day, didn’t we?” He continues.

“Your ass looks great in this pic, though. Look,” pointing to the one were he had you lifted over his shoulder, but softens his voice when he sees how tense you were.

“Aw, doll, loosen up, I’m not mad or anything, if that’s what you think. I’m rather pleased now that everybody can see how happy we are and how much joy you bring me,” he lets you know nonchalantly, pressing a smooch to your forehead and starts to march towards the kitchen.

“You want another cuppa, lovey?”

And just like that, you were back in your good mood, perplexed at how well he took all of this.

Don’t be a silent reader! Show some love by reblogging and commenting, did it make you laugh, scream, smile? Let me know, it would make my day!

Much love, Nahmi xxx

Masterlist can be found HERE!

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ikevamp-shrine · 3 years

Note

Hey can I pls have d, v, f and w for jean and Mozart?

Jean

D = dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

- Already done here

V = volume (how loud are they? what sounds do they make?)

- He starts out quiet

- Low words of his love for you and how much he only wants to please you

- It's more body language at the beginning- shivers, bumps rising on his skin that follows the path of your palm, mouth parted just a tad

- When his eyes begin to betray the faux control he has that’s when he makes noise

- And my lord how beautiful they are

Little pants and sharp hisses when you swallow him whole, his toes curling and thighs trembling when he wraps his fist in your hair

- French curses slip from his lips like water splashing from a basin when he has you bent over, hands running up and down the curve of your hip as he slowly pushes into your needy core

- Murmuring in that deep, demanding voice about how warm and wet you are, how easily he can take you, how positively ravishing you look completely at his mercy

- Has non-dirty, dirty talk down to an art

F = favorite position (this goes without saying)

- Doggy through and through

- He likes seeing you, feeling all of you

- Loves being able to run his hands down the arch of your back and rest his hands on that delicious rump of yours

- Tends to lift your legs to wrap around his hips from behind, your arms shaking, his hands supporting you in the space between your thighs and that soft little belly of yours he just loves to touch so much

- He bought a mirror shortly after trying this position for the first time

- Purely just because he wanted to see the bouncing of your breasts and the sensual twist of your features as he pounds into you (and I mean completely rails you)

- And by God does he enjoy pushing down on your shoulders to make you bend further, making that arch of your spine deeper

- He’ll demand a “stay” when he cums inside you so he can pull out and watch as that pearly thickness seeps from your heat and slide down the expanse of your quivering legs

- Literally has to pick you up because you can’t move after he has you under him for hours

- He asked once, voice quiet and unsure, “does it not hurt to be in one place for so long?” and all you could do is chuckle and kiss his cheek because yes, it does hurt but damn does it feel good

W = wild card (random headcanon)

- Jean tries to hide his face when he comes

- He doesn’t know why, it’s just his immediate reaction

- And tis a shame it is because when that fiery, lustful blush paints his moon kissed skin and his dark brows knit together, eyes rolling shut- you swear a masterpiece is before you

- Sometimes feeling him hide between your breast and in the crook of your neck or hearing those naughty moans muffled by the pillow he dug his face into is enough

- But other times you just need to see his face become so overwhelmed by the pleasure you give him, so you do what any sane person does...

- You grab his heated cheeks with one hand and turn his face towards you so he has no choice but to obey you

- The satisfaction you receive by witnessing his eyes fly open from your forwardness, tears gathering in those night sky orbs, is tremendous

- He would never admit it but when you bend him to your will and force him to show his face to your prying eyes makes his cock genuinely hurt from how intense he comes

Mozart

D = dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

- To distract himself from the horrid swaying of a carriage he was in, Mozart envisioned you

- Your smile, hair, scent, soft skin, the way you bite your lip when he thumbs over the vein in your neck, the way you so submissively open yourself up so he can slide between your legs

- He started to remember the night before and how tight the silk ribbons were around his wrist, and how lost in the pleasure you looked as you rode him, never allowing him to touch you without his begging first

- He couldn’t stop thinking about you

- Needless to say, he cursed himself for being a wretched fool and quickly unbuckled his pants, pulling them down just enough that his member sprang free, flushed and pulsating painfully

- The moan that drifted through the air as he gripped himself and pumped once imagining it was you, still brings a blazing blush to cheeks

V = volume (how loud are they? What sound do they make?)

- Not loud or very much vocal per se

- More needy sighs and shuddering breaths than anything

- Hisses when you clench down mid-thrust, trying to stay connected, his lower back flexing and shoulders flinching at the pleasure

- Open mouth pants to catch his breath as you claw wildly around you, hoping to ground yourself, his hips slamming roughly against yours

- Low curses and mumbles of foreign languages that make your blood pump rapidly

- He knows all too well and will purposely whisper sharp words in your ear, his voice shaky, giving way to a rumbling moan against your neck

- Sharp inhales and muffled grunts when you push him down and claim him as your own

- His dirty talk is off the charts though-

“That’s it. That’s my good, little meine liebe- taking me all in like that.”

“Sing for me, my love, let the heavens know how nicely I fuck you.”

- Even when you’re straddling him on the piano bench, his cock soaked with your arousal, your fingers on the keys, his hand guiding your jaw to look at his narrowed eyes, looking and whimpering like the absolute mess you are, he still lacks mercy...

- “If you mess up the notes one more time, you’ll be crying with frustration instead of moaning out my name when I bend you over these keys and turn your ass red.”

F = favorite position (this goes without saying)

- Already done here

W = wild card (random headcanon)

- he is sooo soft for you after you fall asleep, especially after your throat had gone raw from screaming so loud when he fucked into you not too long before

- Pulls the sheets up closer to your chin to chase the chill of night away

- Runs gentle knuckles along the side of your face, rubbing a finger over the red and swollen bottom of your lip

- His gaze is so unguarded and sweetly adoring when you huff lightly in your sleep. He’ll chuckle lowly at your hands searching for him and will pull you into his chest; completely encasing you in his warm embrace, cupping the back of your head protectively as if it's just you and him against the world

- He can hear his heartbeat in his ears as his chest tightens at realizing just how much he loves you

- Has to kiss the crown of your to distract himself from the stinging in his eyes

- this man is so rough and prickly but when it's just you and him he becomes the biggest puddle of mush

ABCs SMUT MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

SHOTS MASTERLIST

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen series #ikevam #ikemen vampire abcs smut #ikevamp abcs smut #ikevam abcs smut #ikevam jean #ikevamp jean #ikemen vampire jean #ikevamp mozart #ikemen vampire mozart #ikevam mozart

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elias-code · 3 years

Text

Two Left Hooves [2/7] - Choice II

Choose your own adventure ~ “What’s Better than Breakfast in Bed?“

Characters: Technoblade x gn!reader, Philza

Summary: You've asked Techno whether he wants to sleep with you or not, and he makes up some excuse to join you. He cuddles with you into the night, but you're greeted with a nightmare, Dream's voice warns you of something to come, but refuses to specify what. Techno pulls you out of the dream and you sleep undisturbed until he greets you with breakfast in the morning.

Warnings: Cussing, Nightmares

IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE INTRO AND CHOSEN YOUR ROUTE, DO SO HERE: INTRO

— The Bird —

"Techno-" I said, kneeling to his level, "What do you want? I mean, you can sleep with me if you want to."

He paused, expecting a quip, but instead, I'd forced him to choose for himself.

"Seeing as you’re already cold, even with the fire..." He clicked his tongue, testing his words, "I want to keep you warm."

Holy shit that's adorable, I thought. Techno never let emotions shine through his words. When I talked to him, I had to constantly read between the lines. His monotone speech was, I supposed, a product of his repressed emotions. Ever since meeting him, I felt like it was my responsibility to dismantle the fortress he’d put around his heart.

"Excuses, excuses," I teased, “but you’re right, I’m gonna freeze without you.” I smiled at him. He let out a small huff, but his expression was unreadable.

"It's not an excuse, it's a reason," he said, turning to me, "They're desperate for me to be at the banquet, but they won't let me go alone, alright? If I let you freeze to death, it wouldn't make for great PR."

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, standing up. I offered a hand to him, to help him stand, "Thank you for not killing me so you don't have to go," I whispered.

"No problem, heh," he took my hand and stood, "I'll be back in a bit, alright?"

"Where are you going?"

"Just downstairs, get ready for bed," He said, dodging the question. He let go of my hand and awkwardly pat me on the head, leaving the room.

I didn't know how the ball was going to work out. On the one hand, Techno would go to the banquet and it'd be as awkward as it's always been between us. On the other, I'd manage to tear down his walls and reveal his emotions, changing our relationship forever.

Techno presented himself as untouchable, calling himself 'the blood god,' but I saw him hold back tears when Tommy betrayed him. I saw the destruction his wrath brought upon L'Manburg. He has compassion, but if he bottled them up any longer, there's no telling who he'd become. He couldn't keep letting everything out as anger, or we'd all pay the price.

I dressed for the night, setting his cape on the back of his chair. I chose a simple shirt and pants, the thickest ones I'd brought with me. I was still cold, but I took the opportunity to inspect his room.

He lives in the attic, a small loft with sparse decoration. What little furniture he did have was extravagant and of the highest quality. His desk chair was made of dark oak wood, the velvet red cushion was well worn. The table matched, a knife was stuck in it, too hard for me to pull out. It was dull, probably used to open letters.

His bed was made, probably just before I got there since it was only roughly put together. Next to it, there was a giant bookshelf pushed against the wall. Most of the books were unmarked and dusty, but a few of them were clean, recently put back. The Art of War, Odyssey, and the Iliad were among them. Their spines were worn and multiple bookmarks were sticking out of the top of each.

"Do you read much?" Techno asked, startling me.

"Um, oh," I stuttered, "I don't know where to get books from, so..."

"No?" He reached over and pulled The Art of War out of the bookshelf.

"I live out in the middle of nowhere," I shrugged, "The only thing I read is my mail."

"That's pretty sad," he said matter-of-factly.

"I have plenty of things to occupy my time with, Technoblade," I crossed my arms.

"Mhm," he handed me the book. Its cover was more worn than its spine, the old leather was cracking at the corners. "Take that home with you, I've read it a thousand times. Might come in handy."

"I suppose I can use it to knock intruders out," I flipped it over. It was like a brick in my hand, heavy and hard enough to break a window. "Thanks."

I yawned, realising how late it's gotten. I left my house almost a full twenty-four hours ago and I rode endlessly until I got here. I was exhausted.

I walked over to my pile of stuff and carefully placed the book in my bag. I then took a bit of a running start and jumped onto the bed, landing in a pile of furs and knitted blankets. "Don't wake me up in the morning," I muttered.

Techno came over and sat on the bed next to me. "I'll try not to," He said.

I shuffled under the blankets and shivered. The furs were enough to keep my body heat in, but I wouldn't tell Techno that. I heard him pick the covers up to join me. Soon, I felt his arms wrap around me, his chest to my back.

My cheeks flushed bright pink and I stifled a giggle. The blood god is snuggling with me... This is not what I thought was going to happen when I joined the server. I smiled and put my hand on his, wrapped around my waist. No one was going to believe this ever happened.

--- The Bird's Dream ---

He’s there, he’s right there. I need to go see him, I need to get there before it’s too late. There are so many people in the way, I’m not going to be there in time to dance. Who are all these people? They whisper about him as if they know him, as if they watch his every step and live in his mind. Left and right, they whisper things about me, about him.

“Did you hear, he’s going to the ball!”

“Oh and with that beautiful bird,”

“If only they knew. Tsk.”

Their eyes were unmoving, fixated on me. I shoved my way through the crowd, suddenly falling into the void.

“Did you really think it was going to be that simple? That you’d just seduce him with the snap of your fingers? He’s not a dog, he can’t be trained. He’s a wild animal. He’s unstable, He’ll break your heart, little bird.” Dream's voice boomed, echoing in my mind.

"Who are you?" I tried to yell, but only air came out.

"I'm the one who whitelisted you, the one who trusted you."

"What does that mean?" I was desperate to stop, to wake up, but I was falling infinitely.

"That's not for you to know, Puppet. You're here because I have a job for you, nothing more. You're the only one that can get through to him."

"What- What's my job? Why am I here?"

"You'll know soon enough-"

--- Technoblade ---

I slept soundly until I felt them stir under me. It sounded like they were having a nightmare, they muttered my name. What the hell are they dreaming about? I pulled them closer, brushing my hand through their hair. I wanted to wake them softly, so they'd forget about whatever was just racing through their mind.

They took a deep breath, signalling their waking. I continued to stroke their hair, "You ok, Bird?"

They mumbled an 'ok' and turned to face me, burying their face in my neck. I did the same and took deep breaths for them to follow. Within minutes, they were asleep in my arms. It felt right.

I didn't have the heart to admit it. If I did, I'd just have to tear it all away again, I'd be the one thing I truly hated. I'd be a traitor.

Don't get attached, Techno. We get to break hearts now, not just crush them! If you name this one, you'll regret it. Nothing screams ruin more than you do.

I woke up to birds chirping outside my window. The weather had finally let up, now I could finally get real work done. It took me a couple of seconds to remember the person fast asleep in my arms. A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it.

Carefully, I picked up the covers and snuck out of bed. I wanted to keep my promise not to wake them up, and so I immediately left the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards as I descended the stairs to the kitchen.

I pulled half a dozen eggs out of their box and cracked and cooked them over the fire, adding the occasional spice so it wasn't too bland. I toasted some bread and stuck it all on separate plates. Four eggs for me, two for them. I was two times their size, after all. The image of them laying on my bed flashed in my mind, making me smile. I shook it off. I couldn't get attached any more than I was now.

I pulled myself together and went back upstairs with the food. I put my plate on my desk, pulling the knife out of it and stashing it in my drawer. I walked over to the bed, placing their food on the nightstand. I reached over and gently pat them on the head, slowly waking them.

"Good morning," I whispered.

They opened their eyes and mumbled "G'morn'n,"

"I made you some eggs," I said, still petting their head, "You should eat them while they're hot,"

"Ok," they sat up and I moved back over to my desk, sitting in my chair.

They yawned and stretched, their shirt raising over their waist, exposing their belly button. I looked away and busied myself with my food.

Oh, look at them, they're so cute... so naive... so vulnerable.

I wanted to scream at the voices to shut up. They had been plaguing me ever since Phil suggested I invite them. For some reason, they had a vendetta against the bird. They wanted to see them suffer to, in turn, make me suffer. The voice's presence itself was enough to turn my hair grey, but this added a whole extra layer to my agony.

"Techno?"

"Hmm?" I didn't look up from my food.

"Did you make me breakfast in bed?"

I looked at them, hiding my embarrassment, "You told me not to wake you, but I was hungry, and I thought you'd like some too."

They blushed and shrugged. "You know me so well," they sighed.

"And I thought you'd appreciate the origin of the eggs," I added.

"Oh, and where are they from?" Their mouth was full, making them mumble a bit. They looked a bit scared.

"Well," I leaned towards them in my chair, "They're from The egg."

"Bullshit," they called, stuffing their face with more eggs. Maybe I should have given them more.

I laughed, genuinely, "They're just chicken eggs, I doubt the egg would taste very good,"

We ate and joked like nothing was wrong in the world. They were so good at making me feel at home, but the voices were eager to remind me of my past. I wouldn't let them spoil this. What we had was new to me, and I wouldn't just lay down and take the voices at their word. Gods know they aren't worth their weight.

— Philza —

“Hey, you two…” I creaked open the front door to Techno’s cabin.

The bird smiled at me from the breakfast bar, “Hey Phil, good morning!” They seemed very chipper for having just woken up. Both of them were already dressed in the day’s clothes, excluding overcoats that hung on the hooks by the door.

“Hello, Phil,” Techno nodded at me. His hair was neatly braided and they were both already dressed.

"How was your morning?"

"Techno made me breakfast!" They laughed. That was a surprise, he didn't even cook for me.

"Ooh, nice," I said, "What's better than breakfast in bed, eh?"

"Riches beyond your wildest dreams," Techno chuckled. I guess they were both in a good mood this morning.

“It’s nice to see you, mate,” I said to the bird, wandering over to join them at the breakfast bar. I sat down on a stool next to them, putting the notebook on the counter in front of me. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Ooh, what is it?” They said, sliding the notebook over to them. I reached over and opened it to the page I was referring to.

“The banquet has a dress code, and I’m assuming you don’t have anything that matches it,” Everything they wore was forest green or yellow, sometimes they had black or white clothes, but it was few and far between.

“What’s the dress code?”

“It’s blue, black, white, and gold,” I pointed to two drawings on the page, “I’m thinking either I make you a dress or a tuxedo, or I can mix the two. A tux top with a skirt. What do you think?”

They pressed their lips together, surveying their options. I tried my best to draw them, although they were rough sketches of a fancier design in my head. I could draw buildings and architecture for my blueprints, but flow-y things were not as easy.

/// UNDER CONSTRUCTION, BRRRRR ///

Choose your garment! It only affects the story slightly, I promise! There is no gender attached to them, it just changes how you’ll interact with people :)

Dress

Tux-dress

Tuxedo

#technoblade x reader #techno x reader #c!techno x reader #c!technoblade x reader #dreamxd #dreamsmp #dsmp #mcyt #dreamsmp x reader #dsmp x reader #philza #elias original #two left hooves

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imma-queencard · 3 years

Text

You,Him & The Piano.

Lee Taemin / SHINee / SuperM

Genre-Paranormal,Fluff,yandere

Pairing- Taemin X Reader

Requested by anon [Ask box status: Open]

Ratings/Warnings: Demon,Magic, Assault,Injury,Blood

Rated! [There is no adult scene but some scenes may be inappropriate to some readers specially the minor one. I suggest you to be 18+ for reading this. Thanks for reading]

A/N: I tried to write it on based of advice with a slight yandere effect. I tried my best to portray the art of taemin's advice mv but maybe I failed. And pardon the mistakes please!happy reading~

You changed your side on the bed, desperate to sleep. You knew you had to submerge yourself in a deep slumber before the clock hit 12.

"shit!" You sat up on the bed to look at the wall clock hung on the white wall by your study table.

11.00 p.m.

You took a breath of relief. You still had some time to fall asleep. You laid down the bed again in an attempt to sleep and soon by the mercy of God you fell into a slumber.

Your leg tangled unconsciously with the plushie you had held closer to your body before sleeping. Your eyebrows knitted together as you continually changed the position of your face. Your ears jerked up listening to the faint music of piano. Eyes still shut. Your left hand gripped the bed sheet tighter as the tone started reaching it's peak. You moved your face to the right side panting. Sweats started dripping down your wide forehead. Your brain was protesting against the music that was being played on piano. You felt something grabbed your right ankle ,giving few rough tugs. Your brain had had enough. So with one adequate stimulus ,your brain initiated the most powerful reflex ever making your eyes shot wide opened jerking your body up.

You started panting heavily. Before your brain could adjust your surroundings,you felt someone pulling you by the ankle trying to throw you off the bed. You screamed and tried to kick the thing away with your free leg. But nothing came in contact with your free leg. However, you felt the grip around your ankle started becoming cold. You screamed harder but the hardest when the grip became strongest pulling you towards it. You did gripped the sheets with both of your hands to give one last try but all your hard work went in vain as you were thrown out of your bed by an invisible force and your elbow smashed at the cold marble floor. You winced in pain rubbing your injured elbow. You saw a cut separating your once delicate skin into a bruised one. You whimpered.

No sooner had you wiped your tears, the tone started to be played again making your ears almost bleed.

"stop!please stop!fucking stop it!" You tried to cover your ears with both of your hand as best as you could. The melodious tone was piercing your ears and you were afraid your ears would bleed. But the tone was again reaching it's high notes striking your brain with a hammer.

You walked clumsily towards the sound holding your both ears. You dropped one vase which was placed on one corner stuttering it into thousand pieces. You were feeling so dizzy to walk in a straight line. But you managed to reach the room. You saw a man's naked back who was playing the ancient piano which was given to you by your grandparents in inheritance. You blinked a couple of times to adjust your vision. You leaned on the door frame.

"ple-please stop.." you murmured almost unconsciously and to your surprise,the man's fingers stopped on the keys before turning his head towards you. You saw the man's face was covered in a black cloth. Only his eyes were visible. And they were cold running a shiver down your spine. His upper body was naked but covered in various tattoos and scratches whereas his jeans ripped over knee was covering his lower body.

"who-who are you... " You asked looking at anywhere but his eyes. You felt the man's eyes darkened before answering, "I am your imagination Y/N..."

Your eyes shot up to him, "wha-what are you talking about?" He didn't reply instead turned to the piano settling his lean fingers over the keys. You gulped and almost ran towards him to stop playing that melodious yet eye piercing tone again. You couldn't even reach him when his fingers started moving over the piano wildly.

"aaah!" You screamed frozen at the spot, trying to cover you ears. You looked at the man's back helplessly. But the man was too engrossed to pay a look at you. His head was moving side to side rhythmically along the tone he was playing.

"stop that!" You screamed but he didn't listen. Rather he started singing in a honey like voice,

" Yeah, no matter what anyone says,

my way nothing to tell from my face

The blurted out words without a filter, no, oh, oh, oh"

"shut it uppp!" You ran towards him like a maniac and stood in front of him ready to fight whoever this was.

"do you even listen?Are you deaf!" You shouted but stopped abruptly feeling red liquid coming out from your left ear. Your fingers instinctively reached there and took some blood stains. Your eyes widened in fear seeing blood.

"Do you like that?" He asked suddenly pausing his fingers in the keys just when you were about to cry.

"what?"

"the music...." He said taking his time to look at you. "I played...on your piano..."

"No!I hate it! i hate it!" You screamed at top of your lungs moving away from the piano with clumsy steps.

"But- I made it with love....." He whispered looking down. "But - you don't like it .... " He said in a sad tone.

"your tone pierces my ear! That fucking bleed! What the fuck ar-" you lost your words seeing the sudden change of atmosphere around you.

"what the!" You screamed in horror as you saw your drawing room started freezing. The once marble floor was turning into one of ice. You tried to move away when the ice of the floor crept towards you fast. But all your try went in vain as every inch of the floor turned into an ice rink,dropping the temperature maybe below the -10° celsius.

"stop!" You tried to shout but it came out as a moan.

"Why dont you like my music?..I made it for you..I summonded my soul into this piano..it sings my heart out...." He kept saying to himself looking at the piano thinking whether he should start playing it again or not.

"pleas-" your throat died up seeing icebergs forming on your floor as well as on the ceiling. How can this be possible! You thought. You pinched your arm roughly to check whether you were dreaming or not.

"Even the veil that hides the smile

inside the glass mask is

Lost oh oh oh"

You heard him singing and playing the piano with passion. You could sense the passion and affection radiating from the tone and the song. But your hands instinctively reached your ears. However, your ears didn’t bleed this time. Your eyes widened. Your fingers double checked your ear touching it to make sure no blood coming out again.

"What!how..." you murmured looking at him shivering due to sudden drop in the atmosphere.

"Wait..it-it didn’t bleed this time..." you found yourself informing him. But he didn’t reply,instead continued singing while making the tone in the piano.

"Why do you visit me...at night?" you asked. Gathering your courage,you moved closer to him hugging both your hands together. You saw his fingers paused on the piano.

"The more you deny,the more your body resists.. We have one soul.one passion" His eyes darkened whilst continuing,"I come to you because your soul calls me every night...your soul needs me....Taemin needs you the way you need him" You furrowed. He wasn't joking,was he?

"Stop making up things,Taemin!" you managed to shout making him risen up from the seat. You watched him taking steady steps towards you. You backed up before hitting a cold surface against your back.

"Ouch!" you muttered as the coldness made your skin almost burnt. But there were no cold things behind you!You looked back immediately to find an iceberg appeared out of nowhere. You felt your limbs going numb due to the cold and your brain stopped working seeing all those odd things in few minutes. You watched the man stopped in front of you. His eyes were cold as ice.

"I-who who are you!" you shouted mortified.

"I am Taemin, your imagination, Y/N... I told you...Your soul calls me every night. " he spoke running his cold finger in your messy hair.

"Dont!" you growled battling in your head whether you should push the man away or not. The question was if he truly were a human.

"Dont deny me love.. I came to sing for you. I love you..." he said to you still running his finger into your hair. "See,I get scars everytime when I descend to the earth from hell..I break myself everyday for you...my soul reaches to yours.." he whispered.

"No!" you shook your head bewilded.

"Yes,love,yes! I am here to take your soul with me..we are meant to be together,love!only one soul!one body!" his fingers tightened in your hair pulling your face dangerously close to his. You screamed in horror,tears started running down your cheeks. You tried to push him with your weak and trembling hands. You screamed in pain when you saw your palm burn touching his cold body.

"This world is not for you. Come with me,love. I will sing for you. I will sing away all of your pain, all your sorrow. I will melt our hearts together.." he kept saying as if trying to convince you.

"I don't want to go with you,taemin!" you screamed and tried to get out of his strong grip on your hair. His eyes turned colder and his scars started glowing.

"Surrender yourself,love!give your soul to me!" he pleaded as the icebergs started to vibrate and ready to collasp soon. You kept screaming as your piano started playing automatically and blood coming out of your ear.

"No!please-taemin!I said No!"

"Don't fight me,love. Please come with me" he said before colliding your body into his cold one. You screamed in pain as your body started burning due to excessive cold. You felt his hand snaked around your waist to hold you in place. You tried to kick him but he was too strong for you. You found yourself slowly vanishing into air with him. You kept kicking him continually while screaming. You saw everything of your room evaporating into air as the sudden rise of temparature in your drawing room. Giving the vibes of dessert. You looked into the man's eyes to find his eyes smiling to you. You cursed him knowing it was the last day of yours. You were going to die soon in the hands of an magician. Was he even a magician? You sobbed waiting for vanishing your whole body into air.

"Dont cry,love. We will be happier there"

You looked up to him with hatred radiating from your pair of eyes. You saw his fingers gripped the mask to tear the thing away from his face revealing his beautiful face. You found yourself hypnotized into his godly beauty as your vision started being blurry.

"Pleas-" you murmured unconsciously looking at the most beautiful face and the most beautiful facial structures ever made by God before your eyes gave in, your body into his embrace.

"You are mine and I am yours Y/N.." he murmured kissing your forehead while vanishing from the earth with your unconscious state to his own realm,own world where there would be only three things forever.

You,him and the piano.

Check out the masterlist for more! Thank you for reading!

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

Jammie Horny (Stony)

I tried to just make this horny and not romantic, but Stony deserves romance and that’s just the truth.

THERES MORE STONY ON MY MASTERLIST!

***********

It was cold today and cold days meant fires in the wood stove even though the compound had a state of the art heating system and warming floors and individual thermostats in every room.

No, cold days called for cozy blankets and slippered feet, team members huddled together in the recliners with hot chocolate, the wood stove roaring and maaaaaybe even s’mores because hey, a fire was a fire and roasted marshmallows were a necessity.

“Gimme.” A tiny foot lashed out from beneath the pile of blankets on the chair closest the fire and kicked at Clint’s elbow. “Gimme s’mores.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, let the record show the fierce Black Widow hates being cold.” Clint rubbed his elbow and scowled at the red hair and green eyes peeking out above the heavy quilts. “Make your own s’mores!”

“I will cut you!” Natasha hissed, and as Sam walked by with another bag of marshmallows he flattened his palm to her head and squashed her down into the blankets, grinning over her offended shriek.

“Easy does it, Ms. Romanoff. We’re all cold and we all want marshmallows. Wait your turn.”

Some words that were both Russian and pissed off, and Sam turned wide eyes to Clint. “Alright, maybe we make Nat some s’mores. Damn.”

“On it.”

Clint went back to toasting marshmallows, Sam felt around beneath the blankets and dragged a shrieking Natasha out by her ankle to sit on his lap, and the resulting noise drew the rest of the team into the common area.

First came Bucky, the super soldiers only mildly affected by the weather and sporting long sleeves in contrast to Pepper’s overly fluffy robe and slippers. He scooped the pretty redhead up into his arms and deposited her carefully on the nearest couch, tucked a blanket up over her thighs and got a kiss on the cheek for his efforts, which made the former Winter Soldier’s grin get far too fucking goofy.

Thor was never cold, but he was wearing a long sleeve cable knit sweater because he knew he looked excellent in it. Bruce was also wearing a long sleeve cable knit sweater that was at least two sizes too big and turned his hands into sweater paws and Clint rolled his eyes a little when Thor picked up Bruce’s paw and pressed it over his own heart, rumbling something sweet and probably sappy to his love. Bruce smiled and turned a little pink and smoothed the fabric down over Thor’s unfairly perky pecs and even Natasha let out a begrudging awwww over the scene.

Steve made it in after everybody else had already settled, pausing in the door way and straightening the line of his favorite dark blue sweater, surreptitiously glancing down at his new jeans to make sure they were appropriately flattering, and then looking real quick at all the seats to see if Tony was there yet.

"He’s not here!” Sam said loudly, and Steve jumped, turned bright red. “Tony’s not here yet! Stop standing in the doorway and strategically flashing your package and get your ass in here!”

The team erupted into laughter and Steve fought against a scowl as he stomped in and threw himself into one of the free recliners, snapping open the newspaper and holding it high to hide his blush.

“Aw, don’t look so sad, Cap.” Clint presented a perfectly toasted s’more to Natasha and then curled into Sam’s side to stay warm, resting his hand on Nat’s thigh and dropping a kiss on Sam’s cheek. “You know how Tony and Colonel Rhodes get when they go on vacation. We’ll be lucky if Tony comes back before New Years at this rate.”

“Can confirm.” Pepper shifted closer to Bucky on the couch and hooked just their pinkies together. “One year they went to Vegas for Tony’s birthday and I didn’t see him again until the Fourth of July when he flew in from Paris. For the life of me I can’t figure out how a week’s vacation in Vegas turned into a trip overseas, but he spoke solid French for a month. This time they went to Hawaii, so I have no clue when--”

“A yoo-hoo!” A voice from the entry way, the sound of running feet and less than a minute later Tony came skidding into the living room holding a giant thermos of hot chocolate, wearing a just beaming smile--

--and the single most ridiculous pajamas any of them had ever seen.

“Uhhhh hey bud.” Bucky was the first to speak, because everyone else was just staring and Pepper had both hands over her mouth so she wouldn’t shriek with laughter. “What-- what’cha got there?”

“Hot chocolate!” Tony held up the thermos and his smile stretched even wider. “It was cold today so I knew you guys would be down here! I’m ready for s’mores!”

“Welcome home, Tony.” Natasha elbowed Sam when he snorted a laugh. “Cute jammies.”

“I know!” Tony set his hot chocolate down and shoved his hands into the pockets. “They have pockets! I got them in the airport!”

“Adorable!” Thor boomed, and Clint admitted, “Yeah, you look real fucking adorable, Tony. Black and red flannel onesie jammies definitely don’t make you look like a lumberjack groupie.”

“Definitely not like a lumberjack groupie.” Sam was quick to agree and Bruce pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed, “Oh Tony, you sort of look like a lumberjack groupie.”

“Jealous.” Tony snarked good naturedly, took a big slurp of his hot chocolate then turned a softer but no less enthusiastic smile towards Steve. “Uh hey. Hey Cap.”

“Tony.” Steve hadn’t so much as reacted to Tony’s jammies as he had held the newspaper higher to hide his face and gripped it tight enough that the edges were starting to tear between his fingers. “Welcome home.”

“...thanks.” Tony’s smile dimmed, and the group exchanged uncomfortable looks. “You look good. I like that sweater. Did you get new jeans?”

“Yes.” Steve stood abruptly, tossed the newspaper away and strode from the room with fists clenched at his sides, jaw set and eyes blazing, practically stomping past Tony and slamming the door to the compound on his way out into the yard.

“Fuckin’ yikes.” Bucky muttered, and Pepper immediately snapped her fingers, made room on the couch next to her and told Tony, “Come here and tell me about your vacation with Rhodey. How was Hawaii?”

“No no.” Clint cut in. “No no, I want to know what just happened with Cap and Tony. I thought you were two were just a few steps from canoodling before your vacation. What happened? Why is he mad at you?”

“I don’t know.” Tony slumped onto the couch next to Pepper and took another sip of his hot chocolate. “We texted almost every day I was out with Rhodey and he said he was looking forward to seeing me when I got home today. I don’t know what happened.”

“He told me you two kissed right before he left.” Sam said over a mouthful of graham crackers. “True?”

“Yeah.” Tony’s cheeks turned just lightly pink. “Yeah we did.”

“Good kiss?” Natasha asked and Bucky chuckled, “It’s Steve, Nat. He kisses like a grandma.”

“It was a perfectly nice kiss!” Tony defended and Bruce laughed when Thor muttered, “Aye, like a grandmother’s kiss.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” Pepper soothed Tony with a light hand on his knee. “It can be awkward to see someone you like after being apart for a while and Lord knows Steve isn’t exactly great at expressing his feelings. Give him a little bit and I’m sure he’ll come talk to you.”

“Kay.” Tony pulled the hood of his jammies up over his head and settled back into the comfortable couch. “Catch me up on what happened when I was gone. Also, remind me to show you the picture of Sourpatch in a coconut bra.”

Pepper started listing off everything that had happened while Tony was on vacation, and while she was mid talking about the latest at Stark Industries, Bucky tapped Tony on the shoulder and whispered, “Don’t think too much about Steve, Tony. He’s real emotionally constipated, but don’t worry, he’ll come around.”

Tony just smiled and tried hard to ignore the wiggle of uncertainty in his heart.

Everything was fine.

Steve would come around.

**************

“Hey, what’s Cap doing?”

Another cold day later that same week, another gathering around the wood stove and easy conversation, another appearance of Tony’s flannel jammies and another abrupt disappearance by Steve.

This was the fourth get away in just as many days, Steve basically dropping whatever he was holding and all but running from the room, usually not making an appearance until after breakfast the next day. Any conversation with the Captain dwindled to about nothing, he was skipping movie nights and avoiding meals and any texts or calls to his phone had been met with radio silence.

The behavior had been noticed by everyone, especially by Tony who had just been getting ready to sit next to Steve with a bowl of popcorn when the blond had bolted from the room, and Natasha swore something furious under her breath when Tony’s entire expression crumbled in confusion.

“I will cut him!” she snapped and Clint hooked his arm around her waist to keep her from leaving.

“Maybe we don’t go all stabby on an All American Hero.” he said calmly. “We don’t know what’s going with Steve or why Tony is so sad right now, but I don’t think getting blood on the carpet is the way to find out.”

“It works with everyone else.” Natasha sniffed and Clint just laughed and kissed her. “I’m just saying, it’s been five days since Tony got home and Steve is making it awkwardly obvious he doesn’t want anything to do with him. If I have to watch Tony go all big eyed and heart broken and hide away in his hoodie one more time I’m going to scream.”

“Hey, do you guys know what Steve’s doing?” Sam ambled in, had a kiss for his girlfriend and his boyfriend, then inclined his head out the window. “I thought maybe Bruce asked him to chop some wood, but I’m pretty sure that requires ax.”

“What do you mean it requires a--” Clint’s jaw dropped as he looked out the window. “Wait. What is he doing? Is he-- is he punching logs? That’s not how you chop firewood!”

“Steve’s punching logs?” Bruce had to stand on his toes to see over Sam’s shoulders. “Oh good lord, look at him go.”

“Steve!” Sam pushed the window open and whistled sharply for the blond. “Steve! We need actual logs, not just kindling! Take ten to twenty percent off the top there, bud!”

Steve just looked up and scowled at them, then tore a log in half with his bare hands, chucked the pieces towards the wheelbarrow and kept right on going.

“That had no business being so sexy.” Natasha muttered, and Clint made an offended noise. “Oh please, Clint. When you can tear logs in half and make your tiddies jump like that, we can revisit the conversation.”

“I can make my tiddies jump.” Sam defended and Bruce put both hands up and announced, “I’m slowly backing away from this conversation before it gets weird.”

“You know....” Natasha tapped at her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Steve’s whole obsession with obliterating our fire wood supply started the day Tony came back from his trip right?”

“Right.”

“And Tony swears they were okay before the trip?”

“Right.”

“Soooo....” the fearsome redhead narrowed her eyes when Steve did another one of those jaw dropping tiddy jumping rips on a round of oak. “So what else happened that day that would explain why Steve has gone berserker on the wood pile?”

There was silence as the group thought it through, and Thor-- who had somehow managed to sneak up on them despite his bulk-- cleared his throat and announced, “Tis simple! The Captain is simply aroused by Anthony’s sleep frock!”

“....”

“...”

“...uh...” Clint scratched at his head. “Aroused by-- wait, are you saying Steve is horny for Tony’s jammies?!”

“Exactly! He cannot handle the sight of his paramour in flannel!”

“Oh my god.” Sam’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, Steve is jammie horny.”

“Stevie is what horny?” Bucky ambled up towards the window and slung a friendly arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Horny for Tony’s flannel? Oh yeah, been there, knew that.”

“WHAT?!”

“Gimme a break, the guy turns bright red and gets all stiff legged walkin’ whenever Tony shows up in those things.” Bucky scoffed. “Then either disappears into his bedroom for hours or goes out and does whatever th’fuck this thing is. Can he go to jail for abusing his wood like that--”

--Natasha screamed in laughter--

“--or should we just be glad for the extra kindling?” Bucky finished with a snarky grin and from clear across the room Bruce breathed out a sigh of relief that he’d gotten away from the conversation before it took that particular turn.

“Wait wait wait, I think we need to go through the appropriate scientific process on this.” Clint’s grin was damn near evil. “We’ve made a hypothesis, now we need to observe and gather proof, and then draw our results from the information.”

Bucky slanted Sam a look, and he supplied, “Apparently Tasha loves Bill Nye the Science Guy so they watch it together while I run in the morning.”

“Got it.” Bucky nodded. “Alright then. Scientific process. Any ideas?”

“JARVIS!” Natasha looked up at the ceiling expectantly. “Could we keep the compound at a cool fifty five degrees so Tony has to live in those jammies for a while?”

“Anything for you, Ms. Romanoff.”

Natasha grinned and Thor lowered his voice to ask Sam, “Is even AI scared of our ballerina?”

“Eh. Probably.”

*************

For three solid days the compound stayed at a horrifyingly chilly fifty five degrees, and for three solid days Tony lived in his jammies.

He wore them with knee high slipper boots and crunched through the snow on the porch to toss seeds and things out for the tree squirrels that hadn’t hibernated for the winter yet.

He put his hood up and sunglasses on so only his smile was visible in a selfie for one of the social media sites that posted a Daily Picture of Tony Stark. He thought it was hilarious to submit real photos to their archive and judging by the hundreds of notifications on his phone, apparently they loved his flannel look.

He wore them while playing chess with Bruce, his hair fluffed up to extraordinary heights while he thought each move through, his pockets full of endless candy canes because someone (Clint) kept giving him more because the look on Steve’s face while Tony sucked and licked and mmhmm!ed his way through yet another sweet treat was honestly hilarious.

One day Tony didn’t wear them only because they were in the wash, and that day the entire team was treated to the sight of Tony curled up in one of Thor’s robes, the hem dragging the floor, the tie wrapped twice around his waist, the arms hanging six inches past Tony’s fingers and the collar ruffed around his neck until all that was left of the mighty mighty Iron Man was fluffy hair, bright eyes and a smile that crinkled up his cheeks.

Steve walked into a wall that day on his way to be horny angry with the woodpile and Natasha air-fived with Thor because the entire thing had been a wonderful success.

“Steve?” Today was another jammie day, another day of Steve attempting to bruise his knuckles Hulk-smashing through the wood pile, another day of Tony with his hood on and toes toasty in slippers and hands in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels and cleared his throat shyly. “Hey uh-- could we talk?”

“Tony.” Steve didn’t so much as blink, staring down at his crossword puzzle hard enough to just about burn holes through it. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well-ll-ll--” Tony inched closer, pushed his hood off his hair and blinked earnestly at the soldier. “Well, this is a little awkward cos things have been really awkward lately but I was hoping maybe you could tell me what’s going on with us.”

Steve’s back went ram rod straight, his shoulders tense and stubborn and Tony gulped a little, played nervously with the pom-poms at the ties of his hood.

“I just uh-- you know, we kissed before I went to Hawaii with Rhodey.” Tony rubbed at his hair sheepishly. “And it was a good kiss. Maybe a little more chaste and good ol’ boy-ish than I would have preferred but hey, I’ll take what I can get.”

“Tony.” Steve bit out and Tony rushed on before the Captain could interrupt.

“The thing is, ever since I came back from hanging out with Rhodey you’ve been distant.” He blurted out quickly. “And I mean-- I called you? And I texted you and I even sent you one of those dumb memes that you and Bucky always laugh at and you didn’t even read them! You left me on unread, Steve!”

“Tony, it’s just--”

“I just want to know if I did something.” Tony hurried to finish. “Because we’re adults and adults communicate and I realize it’s dumb to call myself an adult when I’m wearing feetie jammies but seriously, Spangles. Seriously we could have something good here and I’m not going to let it go because you got all weirdly obsessed with chopping wood and don’t want to talk to me. Talk to me.”

“You want me to talk to you.” Steve put his pen down very slowly, lay it at a perfect ninety degree angle from his crossword puzzle, tilted and adjusted the page so it lay impeccably lined up with the edge of the table, took a sip of water and cleared his throat and then put his cup right back where it had been sitting before so not a single drop of condensation was out of place. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

“Great.” Tony made a whew motion over his forehead. “Okay great. Steve listen, all I want to know is--”

“Those jammies make me insane.” Steve interrupted, and Tony only had time for a startled glmphhh?! noise before he was grabbed by the front of his jammies and yanked forward into a kiss that was neither chaste nor good ol’ boyish in the least.

“You are so goddamn cute.” Steve cursed, clutching the endlessly soft material up tighter, nipping and nibbling coaxingly at Tony’s mouth so the pretty brunette would open up and let him in.

“Right here.” Practically a growl, Steve clutching Tony up even tighter and kissing him harder, shoving his tongue past Tony’s pliant lips and deep inside his mouth to lick and thrust with the sort of moan that most people only ever heard in nekkid movies.

“Come here, right here.” Two big hands found their way to Tony’s ass, planted one on each cheek and used the more than generous leverage to haul Tony up onto his tip toes to drive the kiss deeper, wetter. Tony whined eagerly and Steve swept over the hood and yanked it off so he could sink his fingers into the thick curls and tilt Tony’s head just right.

“Christ, I love you in this.” Steve mumbled, and Tony made another one of those hnnnngh! sighs when the blond latched on to his neck. “God Tony, you’re so fucking cute, it’s making me insane.”

“C--Cute?” Tony couldn’t hardly speak when Steve was leaving kitten licks and tiny nibbles down his throat to the curve where shoulder met neck, mouthing a bruise over his pulse digging his teeth into the sensitive skin. “Steve what-- what--”

“C’mere, babydoll, c’mon.” Steve fit a thick thigh between Tony’s knees and rocked into him purposefully, and when the stars and stripes and freaking bells and whistles cleared from Tony’s vision, he finally realized--

“Wait.” He put a hand to Steve’s chest, gratified and wholly smitten when Cap immediately leaned away and tipped his chin up to see what was wrong. “Wait. Listen, I’m one hundred percent on board with what’s happening right now, but I gotta clear something up.”

“What is it?” Steve swept his fingers over Tony’s jaw, down his neck and around to his back, hooked his arm around Tony’s waist and settled him tighter against his body. “What do you need to know, Tony?”

“...do my jammies make you horny?” Tony asked quietly, seriously. “Steve. Look me in the eye. Do my jammies. Make you horny.”

There was nothing but pure adoration in Tony’s eyes, pure adoration and sparkling hilarity, and Steve wet his lips sheepishly... and nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, Tony. These jammies-- the whole flannel thing and the way you hide candy in your pockets and this hood-- it makes me crazy.”

“So...” Tony was fighting against a smile, a blush rising in his cheeks. “So when you go out and get all aggressive with the wood pile?”

“It was either that or push you up against the wall and tear the jammies off you.” Steve confessed, grip tight at Tony’s hips as he rocked into him once, twice, approximately nine inches of All American Beef burning hot against Tony’s waist. “And since we hadn’t done nothin’ but kiss before now, I didn’t want to assume too much too soon.”

“You’re such a gentleman.” Tony breathed and Steve grinned, “Shucks Tony, I usually try to be more of a gentleman than this.”

“Nah, I’m on board with this. Totally on board with you being jammie horny for me.” Tony said confidently, and threw his arms back around Steve’s neck. “Bed?”

“Bed.”

“Do you want to take these things off me?” Tony wrinkled his nose teasingly and Steve dropped a kiss on it. “Or would you rather me do a rather flannel-y strip tease?”

“Oh sweetheart.” Steve’s voice went low and dark and wanting, fingers tracking along the seam of the jammies over Tony’s ass and pulling hard enough to make Tony shriek. “Leave them on.”

*******

Later, when Tony was face down on the bed and still moaning, when Steve was rubbing slow circles on his bare butt and smiling in satisfaction over the still red hand print from where he’d spanked Tony just enough to see that ridiculous booty jiggle--

Later, Tony wriggled and hummed and lifted his butt up into Steve’s palm a little more and asked, “Steve. Did you have to tear the ass of my jammies? I feel like you could have just taken them off of me.”

“Oh.” Steve turned scarlet to the tip of his ears. “Sorry about that, honey. I guess I got carried away. Could we stitch them back together?”

“It’s not like it’s a dick sized hole you tore.” Tony said dryly. “My entire butt is on display right now.”

“Yeah....yeah I know.” Steve couldn’t help another satisfied smile. “I see it.”

“You are decidedly less of a good ol’ boy than I thought.” Tony sighed happily when Steve leaned over and kissed behind his ear and down his neck. “I’m not complaining, I’m just surprised.”

“I dunno where all the stories about me being a good ol’ boy came from.” Steve smoothed his hand down Tony’s back and went right back to his butt, kneading at the tempting curve eagerly. “I’m just mildly polite, but all bets are off when I want someone as bad as I’ve wanted you for so long. Captain America might be an American Icon, but I’m still a man, Tony.”

“Yeah.” Tony turned on the pillow so he could offer Steve a sort of shy smile. “And one I’m fairly crazy about.”

“You crazy about me, sweetheart?” Steve rolled on his side and snugged Tony up into him, tangling their legs and holding him close. “I’m crazy about you too.”

“Good.” Tony twirled one of the hoodie strings through his fingers, squeezing at the pom pom idly. “We could get you a pair of these jammies, you know. I bet you look great in flannel.”

“Absolutely not.” Steve said flatly. “I am not wearing one piece feetie jammies, Tony. I’ll leave that sorta adorableness to you.” and then curiously, “Why did you even buy these? I’ve seen you buy Versace silk pajamas, what’s with the flannel.”

“They keep me warm.” Tony inched in tighter and wrapped both arms around Steve’s waist. “It’s like a giant hug. Also, I feel like a bear when I put the hood up and steal cookies from Bruce. It’s amazing.”

“I’d sure like to keep you warm.” Steve murmured, bumping their noses gently. “I wanna hold you forever, Tony.”

“Cos of the jammies?”

“No.” Steve tipped Tony’s chin up and kissed him soft and sweet and slow. “Cos of you.”

“But the jammies help?” Tony teased and Steve blushed all over again. “Which is why you totally ruined this pair--”

“--sorry, honey.”

“--but don’t worry, cos I bought one of those old fashioned pairs with buttons on the butt for easy access. It says ‘bear cheeks’ on my ass.”

“Oh my god, Tony.” Steve groaned out loud and jerked forward, grinding his suddenly re-interested cock into Tony’s thigh. “You’re killing me.”

Tony just laughed through another kiss and booped Steve on the nose with one of the pom poms. “Yay for cold days and you being horny for my jammies.”

****************

Fic Notes: Tony’s jammies are my jammies, I have them in black and white, blue and white and red and black and I have been living in them for a solid week. Best. Purchase. Ever.

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE FIC!

SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL AUTHOR! (and her new jammies)

***************

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii @livewire28 @tulipsnbigcats @kimstark @alex-stark-rogers @bibbarnes @heeeyitskay @goindownshipping @quietgayguy @nanita90a @justaniche

#ncts fics #stony #steve rogers #tony stark

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cherryonigiri · 4 years

Text

when and where (oikawa tooru) - part one

Summary: Tooru can’t seem to understand you loneliness, and you can’t understand his desire to sacrifice anything to be by your side again. In which the words ‘opposites attract’ are both your beginning and end. (Inspired by the song/lyrics of Undone by Haley Reinhart)

word count: 1.8k

“Stars fade away, they just crash into space, disappear from my life, like you and I.”

“Tooru,” you whisper. The numbers ‘5:00′ glare back at you in red, reminding you of the sleep that continues to evade you, despite feeling utterly exhausted. Your phone is glowing against the pitch black, the blue light acting as a substitute for the moon, which hides behind wispy clouds. “I miss you.” There is an ache that starts in the back of your throat, winding its way down to your chest where it stays, pushing, prodding, pounding against your sternum. Thankfully your voice doesn’t crack, but the tears are still there, trailing down your cheeks. You’ve steeled your resolve, but your heart is still drowning in the loss that is yet to come.

“I know darling,” he laughs. “I miss you too.” Another light-hearted chuckle. You can hear him shuffling through his bag. Seconds later, after the tap of shoes on tile, keys jingle and you hear the thump of the door shutting. It’s almost evening in Brazil (you know because you’ve long since memorized how many hours are between Sendai and Rio). The sun is probably setting on the beach Tooru just returned from, in complete opposition to the flickering stars keeping watch over your sleepless figure.

That’s how it is between the two of you. Day and night. Tooru was more than happy to revel in his overwhelming brightness - embracing his role as the best setter in the prefecture and his popularity amongst his fans. He always had that smirk, the one that was always plastered on his face that screamed confidence in who he was.

On the other hand, you clung to your shyness - you’d never liked large crowds to begin with, and you were happy with the small, close-knit, group of friends you’d made. You weren’t closed off, but new things were met with caution. Tentative touches and long gazes to determine whether an unfamiliar addition would disturb the peaceful familiarity you’d woven.

The words ‘opposites attract’ made you snort, but you couldn’t deny that you’d been drawn to Tooru’s effervescent energy. (A year after you’d started dating Tooru had admitted he’d found a quiet refuge in his relationship with you.) In the beginning, Tooru had coaxed you out of your shell. Never forcefully, and always done with an observant eye. He ignored his team’s teasing, only inviting you to watch them practice after introducing you to each member individually outside of the university gymnasium. He’d rush you home in a heartbeat the minute you looked overwhelmed or uncomfortable. Like two planets, gravity had drawn you together, pushing you closer and closer with every orbit.

Now it’s different. Gravity is chasing after you, bringing your heart catastrophically close to disaster before flinging it into the distance. Your whispered ‘I miss you’ wasn’t an attempt to impart a fleeting bit of affection, or to reassure Tooru that your heart still beat for him every second of the day (which it did). No, it was meant to hide an unspoken plea that was begging him to return, to once again indulge in hour long phone calls late into the evening; to be present. Of course, you weren’t expecting him to pick up on that. After all, you’d dedicated your time alone to perfecting the art of not letting anyone know of your unravelling.

It started slowly—long video chats in the evening became less frequent, replaced by a dwindling number of rushed phone calls on the train to work. Short texts, snuck between sets and during water breaks, became the norm, erasing your habit of sending each other paragraphs about your days. You knew he felt guilty for missing the small snippets of time that he could spend with you. At the core of his being, Tooru is a caring person: he would run himself ragged and work himself to the bone for someone he loved. It was a double-edged sword; working harder and dedicating more time to accelerate his progress so he could return to you faster meant he was inevitably drifting away.

“Tooru, I can’t do this anymore.” You wince as you throw your plan out of the window, foregoing any kind of verbal cue that would let him know that this was serious. That you were talking about more than having a mundanely horrible day at work.

“Love, what happened today? Was today a bad day? I thought work was going better…” Your boyfriend trails off as you remain silent.

“This. Us. I think,” you gulp down the sob that threatens to erupt from your throat. “I think we should break up.” You have to force out those two words, break up, because saying them out loud makes it real. Makes this whole conversation real. Grounds it reality, in the realization that this is really happening, that your heartbreak is rushing towards you much faster than you ever wanted.

You expect him to protest. To at least exclaim loudly and object to the separation. Maybe a part of you wants him to plead, to experience the same hollow loneliness of missing him. To tell you that, yes, I am suffering just as much, and feeling just as broken as you are. Maybe you are desperate, hoping that he’ll convince you that the exuberance he expresses over the phone is one of his carefully constructed facades.

“Can I at least know why?” You catch the slight uptick of his voice, the crack that he tries to hide from you.

And that’s when your heart truly shatters.

Because, by asking that question, he reveals that somewhere between his last night in your apartment and today, at five in the morning, the two of you stopped inhabiting the same realm of separation. In a way, Tooru had confirmed what you’d started fearing with every passing day: that he was stronger than you’d ever be. That he could bear the weight of being separated by continents and oceans while you were crumbling. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t endure the pile of missed calls followed by rushed texts of apology. You can’t stand that the only time you can talk to him is on crowded subways where the ever present bustle of other commuters intrudes on your conversations. God, now that you think about it, when was the last time you’d talked to Tooru for more than five minutes?

“We barely talk anymore Tooru,” you begin, hunching over as both the tears and words begin to flow freely. “I—”

“But you know why y/n!” he responds. He’s pacing, the thumps of his feet echoing through the receiver. He lets out a sigh and you know he’s running his hand through his hair. It’s one of his habits that you have memorized. It’s painful how easy it is for you to imagine Tooru; all his little gestures and mannerisms etched deeply and intimately into your memory.

“Yes, I know why,” you hiss. “But the fact that you never told me outright? That hurt Tooru.” It still does. It’s his strange blend of selflessness and ambition that has led you here. You thought you’d be sad, that this conversation would leave you with a heavy heart. Instead, a small spark of anger lodges itself in your chest.

“How was I supposed to?” He retorts. “It’s not like I can ask you to give up your time with me. I’m trying my best to get back to you sooner!” But how can he say that when he’s already left you behind? Instead of extinguishing your anger, he only fans the flames, truly setting you alight.

“Did you ever think to ask me? Did it ever occur to you that I would rather have waited for longer if that meant you could actually have time for us?” Your rage is dangerous and all-consuming, centering you within the bitterness of the isolation that Tooru had forced upon you.

Silence. And then,

“Y/n…” The way Tooru says your name nearly breaks your resolve. “Please, just wait a little longer. I’ll figure something out, I can train more so I can come back in less than a year. I’m just asking you to be patient.” No, no, no. What he’s offering is worse. You want him to make more space for your relationship, not less. In his quest to hasten his return, he’d turned to a method that consumed the time you occupied in his day. Slowly but surely, the space you’d taken up was sacrificed, leaving you with nothing but those five minutes on the train ride to work.

“That’s not what I want!” You shout. Why is his solution to make things worse?

“Then what do you want?” He screams back, his thinly veiled irritation blooming into confused anger. “You’re lonely, so I’m trying my fucking best to go back to you as soon as possible. “Why…” he pauses, as if he’ll regret his words, before plowing on, “can’t you just accept that?”

Suddenly, all the air is knocked out of your lungs with a whoosh. You barely have time to realize you’d stood up in the midst of your argument before you’re sagging against your bed frame, wilting until you’re sitting on the floor.

You’ve given up, because Tooru’s stubbornness has manifested itself as an irremovable wedge between the two of you. Blinded by his belief that all you desire and yearn for is his physical presence, he can’t even begin to see that all you want is to be given a semblance of space within his life. To have a few hours of his voice, rather than the fleeting promise of reuniting sooner. To accompany him, rather than wait for him at the end of his journey. He is unwilling to bear witness to the different kind of loneliness you suffer; unwilling to peer into the parallel, yet utterly different, dimension of suffering that branches from his own longing for you.

“Tooru…” I’m being selfish, “This isn’t working. Just let us go,” whatever we are now, before it gets worse. You’re not sure if he can hear the shaky inhale of your lungs as you try to steady your voice.

“I can’t,” he sobs. “Why can’t you see I’m doing this for you?”

Because you can only see me as the finish line, not as someone who runs beside you. Because somehow, you can only worry about the me you see in the future, not the person who is speaking to you now. “I’m sorry,” you say, your voice still wavering despite your best efforts.

‘No, please, y/n—”

One last reassurance. “Thank you for everything.” I love you.

“Y/n wait, please, don’t do this.” His pleas are tearing you apart. “I can take a break, fly back—”

You refuse to be the reason he halts his momentum. “Goodbye, Tooru.” A broken whisper.

Equal and opposite, two stars crash into each other violently. Flickering in and out, they vie for the chance to exist as they clash against each other, emitting white sparks.

A press of a red button.

Both of them are gone.

#oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu #oikawa angst #haikyuu angst #aoba johsai #seijoh

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even-after-a-millennia · 3 years

Text

to drown and delight in his eyes

Aka 5 times that Joe drew Nicky through history and one time that Nile did too. This fic is for @hottopicmonk for the 2020 Old Guard Gift Exchange @theoldguardevents hosted! Some of the topics they were interested in were kaysanova, found family, Joe and Nile being art bff’s, history, romance, and fluff. This has got all that and more! Happy Holidays!

You can read it below or over on my ao3 here.

There was a man in Yusuf’s dreams.

Unfortunately, he existed in real life as well. Yusuf realized this on the battlefield, as he met the man’s multi-hued eyes, narrowed with concentration and hatred. Before that moment, Yusuf had appreciated those eyes, odd as they may be.

Now, he wanted to make them close forever.

Fate had other plans.

Yusuf gasped back to life, coughing as he scrabbled at his stomach, trying to find a trace of the stab that had killed him.

There was nothing. Blood on his clothes and tears in the fabric, but his skin was unblemished.

He heard a gasp a few feet away and swung around to see the man with the eyes the color of a torrential ocean come to life as well. He clutched at his throat, trying to find his wound. But it wasn’t there.

Their eyes met.

The man opened his mouth, perhaps to speak. Yusuf sprang forward, shoving his knife into the man’s chest.

“Stay dead this time,” Yusuf snarled at him, watching as his eyes stopped seeing.

He staggered away from the man, reunited with his fellow defenders.

Those eyes wouldn’t leave his head.

Yusuf saw them again and again as they continued to find each other on the battlefield. They fought, they died, they came back.

And still, those eyes haunted him.

He tried to sleep less, to avoid dreaming of them. But then he tossed and turned, seeing them in his mind’s eye. Finally, he gave up and reached for his pack and pulled out his charcoal and a piece of parchment. He didn’t have any pigment, but maybe if he could just put the details of the man’s eyes on paper, he would finally be able to forget.

The paper was filled with the man’s eyes, the wide-eyed look from when Yusuf managed to slice open his neck, the glare of concentration as he fought, the closed, peaceful expression he wore before gasping to life again.

The sun rose and Yusuf threw the sketches into a nearby fire, watching as the paper caught and blazed.

He was no closer to forgetting the man or his eyes.

______________________________

Yusuf was tired of fighting. Tired of all the blood. All the death. He and the man killed each other once more, only to wake together at the base of the crumbled wall of the city Yusuf had been trying to protect. Staring at the smoke filling the sky, Yusuf heaved a sigh. He was so tired.

He turned his head as he lay there, his body still knitting itself back together, and made eye contact with the man in his dreams. His eyes weren’t filled with hatred at the moment.

Yusuf saw the same bone weariness that echoed within his body in the man’s eyes.

Heaving himself to his feet, even though his body wasn’t fully healed, Yusuf turned to the man, who stared up at him. He didn’t make any effort to protect himself from an attack. Just looked at him steadily, those eyes fixated on Yusuf’s face.

Yusuf held out his hand to the man to help him up. He was almost surprised when he took it.

Together, they walked away from the battlefield. They had been traveling together ever since.

The man - Nicolò, he had said - was a quiet, introspective man Yusuf found. There would be days that they barely spoke, just passed the water skin between each other and gestured what direction they should go and when they should stop for the night.

That changed after they were attacked.

While he and Nicolò were on foot, their adversaries were on horseback. They galloped towards the two of them, who quickly pulled out their swords and stood back to back. In a moment, they were surrounded. Yusuf saw the red crosses on the men’s chests and tensed.

They yelled something and Nicolò responded. Yusuf understood about two words a sentence, they were speaking so quickly. The men were asking Nicolò what he was doing with a- well, with Yusuf. Nicolò said a word that might have been “guide” but Yusuf wasn’t sure.

All he knew was that one of the men raised his crossbow and shot him directly in the chest.

He heard Nicolò scream his name as he fell, already dying.

When he gasped to life, the men around them were dead. Nicolò was bent over him, anguish in those kaleidoscope eyes.

“Are you well?” Yusuf asked as soon as he got his breath back.

Nicolò’s mouth twisted and his eyes dropped. “Fine,” he muttered. “Just a few scratches.”

“On the bright side,” Yusuf said, looking around at the carnage, “we now have horses.”

“Santa Maria, Madre de Dios, save me from optimists who find positives after dying,” Nicolò muttered, getting to his feet.

“We die frequently, Nicolò. If I didn’t find positives during these moments, I fear I would have gone mad long ago.”

“What positives were there to be found on the battlefield? Awakening amongst all those bodies?” Nicolò demanded, rounding on him.

“Not many,” Yusuf admitted, getting to his feet. Grinning at Nicolò, he teased, “At the time, I thought getting another chance to kill you was a positive.”

Nicolò stared at him a moment, disbelieving. Then he snorted, a smile gracing his face for the first time. It was small but it was there and Yusuf was momentarily dumbstruck.

“And now?” Nicolò asked, sobering.

Yusuf stared at the man with whom he had created a tentative alliance.

“Now, I think I would rather cut off my hand than raise it against you,” he said plainly.

Nicolò’s eyes widened. Surrounded by the bodies he had killed for hurting Yusuf, he nodded.

“We should go.”

They made good headway that day, seeing as they were no longer on foot. Once they called a halt and set up a tentative camp, Nicolò mentioned seeing a stream nearby.

“I should get some of this blood off of me,” he said, staring at his hands.

Yusuf was thrown when he came back clean shaven. In the time of knowing Nicolò, he had been… well… disheveled. Unkempt. Kind of disgusting.

This Nicolò was a different man altogether.

Yusuf was glad he had the excuse of washing himself as well to get away from this new version of his traveling companion.

Once he was clean and back at camp, Yusuf elected to take first watch. Nicolò nodded, silent once again, and curled up by their small fire, facing Yusuf.

Cocooned in the quiet, Yusuf found he couldn’t stop thinking about Nicolò’s look after his admission earlier.

It was the truth, he couldn’t deny it. In the time they had been traveling together, Yusuf had noticed a change in his travel companion. Before that even. On the battlefield, they had fought, but the look in Nicolò’s eyes had changed as time went on. He had seemed angry, but Yusuf didn’t know where the anger was directed. At the situation? At Yusuf?

At himself?

Since they had left the fighting, Yusuf had seen signs that the latter was the truth. Yusuf prayed every morning, whether he had been on watch at the time or not. Nicolò looked away as he did so, but never disturbed him. Nicolò stopped walking throughout the day, as it came to the next time to pray, to the point that Yusuf didn’t have to ask to stop after the first few days.

Yusuf saw him praying as well, quietly folding his hands as he knelt. He, too, looked away.

Then today, there was a look of anguish in his eyes as Yusuf came alive.

Yes, his companion was changing. But so was Yusuf as he admitted that, should the situation be reversed and Nicolò had been the one killed instead, Yusuf would not have hesitated to attack those who had hurt him. They were no longer adversaries, but something else.

He just didn’t know what exactly he would call them now.

Shaking himself, he got out a piece of charcoal and paper to distract himself from his thoughts. Only, his gaze fell on his sleeping companion and he couldn’t stop himself from starting to sketch him. The lack of tension in his face was better than when he was dead. He was relaxed, not lifeless. Yusuf found he far preferred this.

A branch in the fire snapped and Nicolò’s eyes flew open. Their eyes met.

Yusuf felt the air whoosh out of his lungs as he sat there, stunned at the concern and care he saw in Nicolò’s gaze.

“Apologies,” Nicolò muttered, shifting and breaking eye contact. “I thought I heard something and had to ensure you were safe.”

Yusuf filled his lungs only to let out a shaky breath. “I am well. Thank you,” he said, clutching the paper in his hand.

Nicolò nodded at him, then closed his eyes once more.

This time, Yusuf didn’t feed the papers he filled with drawings of Nicolò to the fire.

_____________________________________

Nicolò’s hair was mussed from where Yusuf’s finger had been running through it. Yusuf revelled in the fact that he could touch Nicolò like that. This new stage of their relationship was so new that every kiss felt like a revelation.

Yusuf kissed Nicolò’s lips one more time, then pulled away to look at him.

“Let me draw you,” he blurted, unable to keep the request to himself.

“Now?” Nicolò said, eyes wide. He reached up to fix his hair, but Yusuf batted his hand away.

“Yes, exactly how you are. I’ve drawn you so many ways before, Nicolò, but never like this.”

Nicolò paused, staring up at him. “You’ve drawn me? When? How many times?”

Yusuf paused, wondering if he wanted to answer that fully. He sighed, hanging his head. “Many times, starting shortly after our first time fighting. It’s your eyes,” he said, looking up and staring into them. He reached up and caressed Nicolò’s cheek. “They captivated me. I could not get them out of my mind.”

“Even as I-” Nicolò said, but stopped, unable to list the number of offenses he had done against Yusuf and his homeland.

“Yes, Nicolò, even then. And after. I thought I would run into a tree the first time I saw you clean shaven and well, clean, I was so distracted. Finally, the rest of your countenance matched those eyes.”

Nicolò narrowed his eyes at Yusuf. “I don’t know if I should be offended for my former self or take that as a compliment.”

Yusuf laughed. “You were very dirty before, in my defense.”

“Granted.”

“So may I?” Yusuf asked.

“What do I do?” Nicolò asked, looking uncertain.

“You don’t have to do anything at all, just sit there. Give me one moment.” Yusuf hurried to his pack and retrieved his art supplies.

He turned back to where he had left Nicolò and was struck once again by the man in front of him.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed.

Nicolò ducked his head, a blush rising in his cheeks.

“Nicolò…” Yusuf had to kiss him. Just once more before he started to draw him.

“Okay, okay. Just sit there, okay? You can talk and breathe and all that, just try not to move too much.”

“So glad that I have your permission to breathe,” Nicolò said with a completely straight face.

Yusuf snorted, then got to work.

He couldn’t wait to draw Nicolò in all the different situations that they would come across in life.

__________________________________

When he made that optimistic, loving thought, Yusuf didn’t have a full grasp at just how devastating some of the situations they would find themselves in would be.

He didn’t know Andromache the Scythian when he had thought that. He didn't know Quynh. He didn’t count them as sisters and fellow warriors. He didn’t see their love for each other and for him and Nicolò and for the world.

He hadn’t yet seen the devastation from the loss of Quynh on Andromache’s face. Hadn’t seen Nicolò’s face go cold and distant as he was told what had happened.

Yusuf hadn’t felt the agony of losing his immortal sister to the waves.

Now that he had, he could barely pick up his art supplies. Still, he wanted that mindlessness that came with being immersed in a drawing, when his mind was so focused on the art in front of him it forgot the world around him. He put charcoal to paper and line after line, tried to capture Nicolò’s face. But the longer he drew, the more he realized.

It wasn’t Nicolò’s face staring back at him on the paper.

It was Quynh’s.

With a shout of rage and desolation, he swept his drawing supplies off his meager desk.

He felt Nicolò’s hand on his shoulder and almost didn’t turn to himself toward his love. But in the end, he collapsed into his arms and felt as Nicolò gave into his anguish as well.

They held each other as they fell apart.

________________________________________

Nicky was reclined in a cloth chair on one of Malta’s beaches, sunhat saving his complexion from the sun’s rays. Though any sunburn would heal, it would soon be back, starting a vicious cycle that the hat helped avoid. He was relaxed into the seat, eyes closed as he lounged.

Joe was having a hard time keeping his eyes off his husband. His everything.

It was their fifth day in Malta and the first that they had made it out of their small but cozy house. Joe knew part of the reason Nicky was so relaxed, and had to redirect his thoughts before they betrayed him.

Nicky’s eyes squinted open and glanced at Joe before he sighed and handed him the bag they had packed for the beach. In it, they had some food, water, sunscreen, and Joe’s drawing supplies.

“Grazie, ya amar,” Joe said cheekily, reaching for his sketchbook and pencils.

“Prego,” Nicky murmured back, eyes once again closed.

Joe began to sketch Nicky’s relaxed pose, being sure to include the hat and the slight redness that was present on his nose anyways. If Nicky didn’t look so comfortable, he would mourn the fact that he couldn’t render his eyes to paper.

As if hearing his thoughts, Nicky’s eyes opened and looked over at him without moving his head. Joe was lucky that Nicky had a sniper’s patience, to sit and not move for long periods of time. Throughout the ages, he had become quite a competent model.

“You’re beautiful,” Joe breathed, taking in the man who had become his everything.

Nicky flushed, just as he did every time Joe said those words so reverently.

“Would you like to swim with me, my love?” Nicky asked.

“Two more minutes and then absolutely,” Joe said, hurrying his hand.

“Take your time,” Nicky replied readily and it was good that he did, because his eyes stayed open, staring at Joe. Joe couldn’t miss this opportunity to put those gorgeous eyes on paper. It had taken him many, many years to perfect the pigments necessary to perfectly render them into his art.

Now, he could draw Nicky sightless. But the experience of drawing Nicky never felt invariable. Even though it was such a normal experience that Joe’s art supplies were packed amongst food and water, Joe himself never felt unaffected by the trust and patience Nicky showed each time.

Much longer than two minutes later, he nodded his head. “Alright. Swim?” he asked.

“May I see?” Nicky asked, holding out a hand.

No matter how many centuries of practice, Joe had to say each time he shared a piece of his art, “It’s not perfect, there were a few places I wasn’t happy with-”

“Yusuf?” Nicky said, not looking at him, just staring down at his drawn face.

“It will never stop astonishing me, the way that you see me. There is love in every stroke of your pencil. Therefore, every drawing of me that you create is perfect,” Nicky stated, looking him in the eye to press his point.

Joe let loose a breath, unable to look away from his love.

Not breaking eye contact, Nicky closed the sketchbook and placed it to the side, then stood. He pulled Joe into his arms, running his nose against the curls of his beard that graced his jaw.

“Potrei fissare i tuoi bellissimi occhi in eterno. Potrei guardarti tutto il giorno,” Nicky murmured. I can gaze into your beautiful eyes forever. I could watch you all day.

He leaned in and pressed his lips gently to Joe’s.

“You may love my eyes,” Nicky said softly, “but yours captivate me as well. Not just their beauty, but how they see the world.”

“Nicolò, ya hayati, baciami per favore,” Joe breathed.

Nicky obliged, hands cupping Joe's jaw as he pulled him into another kiss. When they broke apart, they didn’t go far, just rested their foreheads together. Those beautiful eyes were right there, and Joe found himself getting lost in them.

“Swim?” Nicky asked after a while.

“Sunscreen first,” Joe said, pulling himself together.

He grinned. “I’ll get your back.”

_______________________________________

Nicky was reading on the chair, so of course, Joe was drawing him from over on the couch.

Nile plopped down next to Joe with her own sketchbook.

“Do you mind if I join?” she asked, holding up her own art supplies.

“Please! Nicky deserves to be put to paper as often as possible. I would never claim that honor solely to myself.”

Nicky smiled at him from over his book, then went back to reading. The whole time, he didn’t move his pose.

Truly a great model. Joe was so lucky.

“Awesome! It’s been forever since I’ve been able to do still life drawings. Jay used to pose for me sometimes in our downtime, but we could never do it too often. Thanks, Nicky!” Nile called.

“My pleasure,” he said, his eyes twinkling at her from behind his book.

Once Nile got started, they fell into silence, each concentrating on their own task. Nicky turned the pages with his thumbs, so as to not disturb his pose. It was a move, Joe knew, he had perfected for especially these situations.

“Ugh, I just can’t get his nose right,” Nile said suddenly.

Joe glanced over at her work and did a double take. He had known that she was an artist, she had told the group how she had wanted to go to art school after her tour, but he hadn’t seen any of her artwork yet.

Her style of drawing was different from the way that Joe drew Nicky, there was no denying it, but she had captured the concentration in his brow, the strength in his shoulders.

There was also a massive erased space where his nose should be.

“I would make a Tangled joke, but I know you guys wouldn’t get it,” she said, pouting slightly.

“Lol,” Nicky said, straight faced.

“Oh my God,” Nile said, rubbing her forehead.

“It took me many years to be able to render Nicky’s profile as well as you have here. Well done, Nile! May I show you how to portray his nose?” Joe said, smiling at her.

“Sure,” she said, leaning on his shoulder to get a good look at his paper. “Whoa, Joe,” she breathed when she saw the sketches on the page. “These are incredible.”

“Years of practice,” Joe said, throwing a wink Nicky’s way. “Okay, so for his nose…”

They continued to draw as the day passed by. Nile sometimes hummed a song without seeming to realize she was doing so, Joe and Nicky sharing fond smiles. The fact that she was comfortable enough to draw with Joe, let alone lose herself in it enough to absentmindedly hum, made Joe’s chest warm with affection for his new immortal sister.

He sensed Andy before he saw her. She emerged from the patio where she had been sitting as the day progressed and was staring at the scene in front of her. He could see the smile in her eyes, even though it didn’t grace her lips.

“Here, you two, I’ll give you a real pose to draw,” she said, before she flung herself horizontally on top of Nicky, who scrambled to save his book and cursed her affectionately in three languages.

Nile’s laughter rang through the room and Joe didn’t want to stop himself from joining her.

Andy grinned from her sprawled position on top of Nicky, who looked resigned to his fate.

Joe switched over to a new piece of paper and saw Nile doing the same. Sharing a smile, they turned back to their little immortal family and began to put them to paper.

Joe made sure to emphasize the look of long-suffering love in Nicky’s eyes as Andy began to snore on top of him.

He did always love to draw Nicky’s eyes, after all.

#tog gift exchange 2020 #joe x nicky #kaysanova #yusuf al kaysani #aka joe #nicoló di genova #aka nicky #nile freeman #fanfic #my fic

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 3 years

Text

Summer Nights: Part 3

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x Overweight/Plus size Female identifying Reader

Series: Summer Nights

Warning: Fred’s death, the series will mention issues such as guilt, grief, etc. + Chapter specific warnings: guilt, self-blaming, trauma, scenes of magical healing, mentions of past childhood fatphobia/body shaming

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff (formerly imaginesofeveryfandom) aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Summary/Request: You’d always had brief glimpses of Charlie Weasley throughout your life, but despite your closeness with the rest of the Weasley family and your friendship with the Weasley Twins, you had never officially met. Until Charlie Weasley decided to take the summer off from his work as a Dragon Keeper at the Romanian Reserve and come back home, to the Burrow, that is.

Notes: Gif is my own, using my art of Charlie Weasley which you can find on my art blog @artisticwarnug here. If you use please make sure you credit me and my art blog properly, that the ownership is clear as it is my own art and I would hate for it to be unclear that I made it <3 x

Prologue / Part 1 / Part 2

Dinner that night was a riotous affair. You, six Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione all crammed in around a table, reaching for the amazing food that Mrs Weasley always made. Shoulders bumped against each other, the volume reaching extraordinary heights, but as you sat there you couldn’t help but smile. This felt right. Being around all these people. So welcome. Watching the way Ginny looked up to Charlie and the way Ron and Harry joke around, while Hermione rolled her eyes at George. You’d often felt alone since Fred’s death, a distance seemed to exist in your mind between yourself and the Weasley’s, a gnawing guilt. While you lived with them there were very few moments like this, one’s where you felt like yourself again.

As you look around the table with a smile, your eyes catch Charlie’s. A soft, small smile, shy, lifts at the corner of your mouth and you're delighted to say that Charlie smiles more with his eyes than anything else.

When you go to bed that night you think perhaps it will be a night in which you will fall asleep easily, in which the memories won’t haunt you, in which the guilt that settles like a stone in your stomach will ease...that is a foolish belief you realise rather quickly. Your head rests against your pillow as you stare at the ceiling.

You toss and you turn, twisting this way and that. You lie on your side for a moment, arm curled beneath your pillow, before flipping onto your back and then your front before going back to your back. You try sleeping with your head at the other end of the bed, maybe you’ll trick your brain that way. It doesn’t work. You try every trick possible, but you just can’t sleep. The frustration is clouded by other thoughts, intrusive ones, the ones you try not to dwell on because you can’t change the past and you can’t bring him back. You don’t have that kind of power, although sometimes you wished you had a time turner, you might go mad, but maybe, in the process you could bring one of your best friend’s back. Maybe you wouldn’t fail him this time.

You lie there trying desperately to calm your mind, to silence your thoughts, to sleep, for what seems like hours. In truth it can’t have been more than an hour before you decide to just forgo all the tossing and turning and potter downstairs to make a warm cup of something and maybe nab a biscuit or two.

The Burrow is eerily quiet at this time of night, the lights are out, the stairs creak as you pad down them, and a chill has you grabbing the knitted throw blanket from the living room on your way to the kitchen. There was never a shortage of blankets at the Burrow. Something you could thank Mrs Weasley endlessly for.

You wrap yourself up as tightly as possible, the blanket a soothing weight across your shoulders, before putting the kettle on the stove. Despite magic being at your disposal, you always preferred to make hot drinks whether coffee, tea, hot chocolate or otherwise, the muggle way. Working with your hands, going through the motions of creating something whether food, drink, art or something else entirely, helped you calm down more often than not. You suppose it was very Hufflepuff of you, doing things the muggle way, doing things the homely way.

You look up before he’s even at the entrance to the kitchen, you hear the footsteps softly pad down the stairs, the creek of an old floorboard, the quiet shuffling of clothes and a soft sigh of frustration. You didn’t know who you’d expected, Charlie, wasn’t it though. Perhaps Ginny or maybe Ron or even Mrs Weasley.

The tattooed dragon that had previously been on his neck had moved, as magical tattoos are want to do. It was now laying across the other side of his neck, nearer to his shoulder, barely peeking from his sleep shirt, sleepy and annoyed looking. You wondered if it wanted to sleep but couldn’t because of Charlie’s alertness. You’d never given much thought to wizarding tattoos, but you suppose they must have some sort of personality or thought process or....something. Why else would they move? You supposed that they might work like wizarding portraits, perhaps the dragon had been a real one, its likeness etched into his skin.

His hair is out from the tie it had been in during the day, loose around his face and a sort of bird's nest that screamed ‘i’ve been tossing and turning for a while now’. During the day he’d looked so confident, put together, like everything was okay, but here, in the dark of the kitchen, with only a few little lights to provide a warm glow, he looked haggard. He looked how you felt.

“Would you like something to drink?” You keep your voice soft. Partly knowing that the walls in the Burrow were thin, not wanting to wake the others, and partly because it didn’t seem right to speak loudly or even speak at your normal volume right now.

He pauses for a moment, taking in the kettle on the stove that’s begun to whistle quietly, thanks to a well placed muffling charm, the blanket across your shoulders, the bags underneath your eyes. He blinks before nodding his head towards you in confirmation, a small upturn at the corner of his mouth, a polite smile not more and not less. It cannot compete with his earlier bright smile during the day.

“Tea, please, love.” You grab a tea bag and another mug, making both your own preferred hot drink and his mug of tea. Only stopping to ask if he had sugar in his tea, for him to respond with 3, and you to not comment further despite knowing his mother would probably exclaim that 3 was 2 too many.

You carefully hand him the mug, not wanting to spill a drop, fingers brushing against his. You note his hands are rougher than most wizards, years of hard work will do that. Most wizards and witches have soft hands, skin that only ever touched a wand. The Weasleys are some of the few you knew who relished in hard work and manual labour, some things magic helped with like chopping vegetables, but other things like collecting eggs or planting fruit in the garden seemed to them more suited to their hands. Like you they seemed to enjoy the calming nature of going through the steps, of grounding yourself with the world around you.

You sip at your drink and study the grooves in the table, the different grains of wood, the stains and the marks. Some you know the story of. Like the burn that was caused by Ginny playing with Arthur’s wand at the age of 5. Others are the sorts of stains and marks that come from a family using it every day, from children playing and drawing and existing.

Charlie clears his throat and you lift your eyes to his, he looks a little sheepish, “Sorry, if this is a bit...if you don’t want to talk, but can I ask why you’re not in bed?”

The truth is that you’ve barely known Charlie a couple of days and perhaps normally you’d be reluctant to talk about anything personal, about nightmares or your guilt or your feelings. But, Charlie isn’t a complete stranger. He’s a Weasley and there has never been a Weasley you couldn’t talk to, even Percy who could be and had been an arse in the past. Even when he wasn’t around, the other’s talked about Charlie, their darling boy or their amazing brother. If you knew one Weasley you inevitably felt like you knew the rest even if you’d never met. Maybe it was that he was a Weasley, that he was Fred’s cool older brother, or maybe it was that you were lonely and fed up of hiding it all...that you knew him the least and it seemed easier to talk to someone who’d understand and yet didn’t know you well enough to push too far. Or maybe it was just that Charlie Weasley had one of those faces that made you want to talk.

“I...I struggle to sleep these days. I’ve struggled to sleep since the battle to be honest...if it's not tossing and turning then it’s nightmares. When the lights go out the thoughts come out...”

“From what I heard you did alright. You helped people, you got a few death eaters along the way...” There was an unspoken question, ‘what do you have to be haunted about? What did you do? or what did you not do?’

“Yeah....I helped some people, used my healer training to my advantage and sure I got a few stunning spells in, but I....I couldn’t save the one person that really mattered. I couldn’t....” You breathe in a shaky breath and can already feel the tears welling in your eyes at the thought of him. A hand reaches across the table and covers your own. It’s a comforting gesture, it reminds you that you’re safe here.

“I couldn’t save Fred...I tried, y’know, I even tried muggle methods, I thought maybe if magic wouldn’t help, muggle medicine might...I thought if I could just get him breathing again he’d be okay. It would all be okay...I” You close your eyes hard, feeling the press of your lids together, the wetness welling at the corners, “It’s my fault...I don’t even know why your parents let me stay...how any of you can even look at me...if I had been a better healer, or better at defence, then Fred might still be here.”

“You can’t seriously believe that?”

You lift your eyes to his, his eyebrows are furrowed, twisted down, mouth set in a frown. “I should have been able to save him. I have helped so many people. I have stopped so many people from dying...but I couldn’t save him.” You avert your eyes, his stare feels too intense, too much.

“You’re not to blame, look at me,” He squeezes your hand, firmly, but still gentle. The other reaches forward, a finger underneath your chin to lift your face as he brings your gaze back to his and leans ever forward as if all he wants is for you to truly listen and truly believe. “You didn’t kill Fred. You didn’t cause his death. No one can bring someone back from the dead..there was nothing you or anyone else could do. Rookwood was to blame. Voldemort and his followers were to blame. Not you.”

“Then why do I feel like I am? Like I should have done better?”

“Because we all do. Do you think Percy doesn’t blame himself? Like maybe if he’d not made a joke, not distracted Fred, he’d still be here? Do you think George doesn’t think he could have protected his own twin better? Me? I wish I'd bloody been right there, right next to him. I wish I did more and I feel the guilt of not doing more each day...We all feel like we failed him. You don’t feel guilty because you did something wrong, you feel guilty because he was your friend and you’re a good person. Good people always want to do better, even if it's not possible, love.”

“How do you do it? How do you keep going?” It feels impossible some days, the idea that you shouldn’t feel guilty or sad or angry or hurt. Some days you almost forget that he’s not here, you see George and go to ask after Fred, you think of a joke and think that you should go tell him...Some days simply getting out of bed seems impossible.

“I let it go. You can’t live in the past or else you’ll forget the present, and never look to the future. That’s what we were fighting for. That’s what Fred was fighting for, a better future. I chose to stop punishing myself for what I did or did not do because my brother would feed me a canary cream if he heard me blaming myself.”

You let out a sharp laugh, quick, unexpected even for you, and it's true. Fred wouldn’t stand for it, he wouldn’t stand for anyone blaming themselves, he’d tell you to buck up and crack a few jokes, stop hurting yourself. He was like that. Whenever he found you squirrelled away behind a tapestry, sad and crying, he always found a way to make you smile. His life’s work was getting people to smile.

“...Thank you. I know it’s not going to get better over night, but...maybe it’s time to try and stop dwelling in the past.” You stare into your empty mug for a second before rising to place it beside the sink. He’s still drinking his tea, and you, realise this whole time you hadn’t asked him why he wasn’t asleep.

“Why...why aren’t you asleep, Charlie?” You lean back against the counter to watch him, the blanket slipping off of your shoulders slightly.

“I...I have a few old injuries that keep me up sometimes. Mostly my back, the scars I have ache a lot...but I...I sleep best on my back so...”

It surprises that his lack of sleep was something that seemed so fixable to you, but you often had to remind yourself that most witches and wizards struggled with even basic healing charms and didn’t think in the same way that you did. Healing was a skill and knowing the right solution to a problem took both natural intuition and training.

“Do you...have you ever learnt lenio?” You move closer to him, throwing the blanket off of your shoulders and onto the back of your chair. Each step shows your healer nature as you itch to get closer and have a look at the problem, to solve it like you do every day of the week.

“Uh, I’ve never heard of it?”

“Oh...I suppose you’re probably used to being given potions for pain, they usually last longer, don’t rely on the witch or wizard’s will power. It’s a...a pain relief spell, it works on a great deal. I...Hermione’s scar hurts a lot so I taught her it, but her scar’s easy for her access...you could always see me before you go to sleep each night and I can administer it. It’s considered outdated because of potions but I find that it’s most effective for scarring or pains that distract or make you unfocused and people don’t get as reliant.”

“Does...does it last awhile?”

“It varies on the caster’s strength of thought, I typically find when I cast it it lasts anywhere between 12 hours to a day, some people it can last minutes. Hermione manages to make it last around 8 hours. It’s why it fell out of fashion, not a lot of wizards or witches have the aptitude for it.” Potions had become easier. Easier to make. Easier to administer and more predictable when duration was involved. But, pain relief potions could be addictive and you always found yourself leaning towards charms and spells over potions, where possible.

“Before you...before you go to bed could you cast it? I’d really like to get some sleep, love.”

Nod with a small smile, easing the tension in Charlie’s shoulders just that little bit. That famous bedside manner of yours pushing its way to the surface.

“You said it was your back?” You ask as you reach for your wand in the waistband of your pyjama shorts. He nods at you, “First year on the reserve a Hungarian Horntail decided he didn’t like me very much...never told mum.” You let out a little laugh at that, the thought of Mrs Weasley’s reaction was rather comical in your mind. While she could be fearsome, she was also known for her over the top and sometimes melodramatic responses.

You understand why he chose not to tell her. Mrs Weasley could be overbearing in her protectiveness and you’re sure she would never have let him work on the reserve again, no matter how much he loved it. “Could you...um, disrobe for me.” You ignore the nerves in your stomach and try to get into the healer mindset, you’ve seen plenty of patients wear even less and it was never a problem before. You weren’t going to let Charlie Weasley taking his shirt off get to you. You’d seen him without it early that day and surely he couldn’t affect you quite so much the second time.

Or that’s what you told yourself before you found yourself gazing at him a little too long. Truth was Charlie was an attractive man, even fully dressed and the beauty of his torso was not diminished by you having seen it previously. Up close you noticed things that you hadn’t earlier in the day. Scars of various types caught your eye, a few bite marks you recognised well as various types of dragon, scratches, burn marks, his body told the story of a dragon keeper who had known pain and yet still enjoyed his job. He was covered in freckles head to toe, or at least what you could see of his body, and red hair that criss crossed his arms and his chest. The dragon had moved from his shoulder and neck area, stalking its way across his left ribs, breathing little spouts of fire.

You cleared your throat and gestured for him to turn his back towards you. You could see it was covered in scars, a large portion was burn scarring, but there were claw marks too. You placed a hand gently on the top of his shoulder and gently pushed him forward so that you could get a better look. Your other hand softly trailed over the skin, examining the depths of the scars, making an assessment of what sort of scarring it was. “These were healed poorly, did you not go to the reserve healer?” You could tell they could have been healed better, they would have left a mark certainly, but with less pain you were sure. It was, in truth, a rather shoddy job.

“Oh, I went...he’s just not very good.” You scoff, not very good was an understatement and you wrecked your brain for anyway you could fix the damage done. You’d never seen wounds healed so poorly or such extensive scarring caused by magical healing, you think that they might have healed better on their own.

“This was about nine years ago, correct?” You watch the back of Charlie’s head move up and down in a nod, “He used a mending charm.” You scoff, irritation strong within you.

“Is that wrong?”

“They’re meant for objects not people, it’s why you have so much scarring, why it hurts...I just wonder...I wonder if...I know you just wanted me to do a quick lenio, Charlie...but I’d like to try something, I have absolutely no idea if any of the spells I know will work, but I might be able to permanently reduce the pain, and the damage.”

“You couldn’t do that with Hermione?”

“Her scar is the product of dark magic...that’s...we’re still trying to figure out how to undo that sort of injury, but this is normal in comparison. I could make it worse or I could make it better or it could do nothing...”

“Love,” he looks over his shoulder at you, eyes surprisingly full of mirth, “I doubt you could make it worse, give it your best shot.”

You think through all the healing spells you know and you contemplate the nature of this. It isn’t an open wound or a broken bone, but it is damaged flesh, scar tissue so mangled it hurts and you think deep about your time at St Mungo’s, the many healer’s you’ve known and learnt from and you think of your own experience creating spells, melding your wants, desires, outcomes, into a single word, a single channel for your magic. You use his confidence in you and your desire to see his pain reduced or undone as a force behind the words that leave your mouth without even thinking and the almost natural movement of your wand.

“Renovare” It’s not a spell you know and yet, as you speak the words and channel your magic through your wand, you know what it does and you know what it’s purpose is. Renew. To fix what isn’t wounded, but is damaged, to heal what has been healed poorly. You watch delicate streams of pearlescent light, flickering between white and pink and teal, fall over the scars and break them apart delicately before rehealing wounds. You hear Charlie hiss and squeeze his shoulder in reassurance that everything is working the way it should and that you’re sorry it hurts. The scars that are left behind are less angry, closer to the skin, and less like knotted damaged tissue. Perhaps had you been there when it happened, there would be no scars at all, but unmending and re-mending a wound is not so perfect or simple. You have the presence of mind to realise this is a new spell, of your own creation, and that you should write all of this down before you go to sleep tonight. This spell could be a breakthrough for wizarding medicine, at least where angry scars that cause pain are concerned. You’re so focused on fixing his pain that this realisation doesn’t bring you the pride it should, after all, not many witches or wizards could simply create a spell.

There’s something satisfying about watching the process, the breaking open of skin and the regrowth of new. The new scars looking as you’d want them to be, knowing that you have fixed the work of a poor healer and hopefully, in the process, stopped the pain that causes Charlie’s lack of sleep.

You run your hand over the new scars once you’re done, checking the thickness of the scar tissue, his dragon has moved to his back now, curiously dancing around your fingers, nipping as if it could catch them. You get the feeling that it is grateful for your work. “Does it hurt at all? or...at least is the pain lesser?”

“It’s...it’s sore, like i’ve just come off the quidditch pitch, but it doesn’t hurt. Not like it used to.”

“Mmm...,” you continue your observations for a while, asking more questions about how it feels as you go, “I suspect the soreness will go, I have just broken your scars open and re-healed them...they look better, proper healing work, none of that bollocks from before.” You find your patience for bad healers always to be quite small, healing was serious business, people’s lives, their feelings were at risk and bad healers, in your opinion, simply shouldn’t exist.

“I...thank you for letting me try I...”

“I’ve never heard that spell before.”

“That’s because I just created it.” He looks at you as you expect, surprised and a little bit in awe. Most wizards and witches can’t just make their own spells, you know this, but your experience with Fred and George had taught you a few things. The two of them had always innately created their own charms and potions, and they taught you how it should feel, how to focus, how to think, how to tap into that part of yourself that was purely magic, that knew without words what it could and wanted to do.

“That’s...impressive.”

“Your brothers’, they’re...they were...George and Fred have always...” You sigh in frustration, it is so hard to find the right tense now. George is here and Fred is not, but they're a pair, not individuals and it feels wrong to...to leave one out. He’s patient with you, soft eyes, a reassuring smile as a hand reaches for yours and gives a quick squeeze. “When we were in school, the twins just knew how to make their own spells...all their products are their own work and creation...they taught me how to...how to tap into that part of me, the part that knows what to do. I’ve not done it in years, I've not had need to...I just knew what I wanted to happen and I let myself guide me.” You smile at him softly, round cheeks pushing upwards with your smile. His eyes are darting curiously across your face as if seeking out the answer to some question only he knew.

There’s a look of surprise behind the curiosity. You can see it, that he never fully realised just how brilliant his brothers’ were. Most of the people who meet...met the twins underestimated their abilities, but they were brilliant. Sometimes you just have to look past the laughter, the jokes and the ostentatious colours.

“Thank you...thank you for this,” He gestures to his back, “and thank you for teaching me something about the twins that I...that I failed to realise myself. We’ve always undervalued them, I love them...loved...but, even I saw them as jokers and never...never realise the work they put in.”

“Brilliant, that’s how I describe them. Insane. Terribly immature at times. Quick to anger, like most Weasleys, but brilliant and kind...” You look off into the distance, eyes losing focus for a second, “have I told...has anyone told you how I became friends with the twins?”

“I always assumed they just wouldn’t leave you alone,” It’s a cheeky smile that makes you laugh, “that would be rather like them.” You lean against the table, thick thigh pressing lightly against the outside of his knee as you think back on how you met the twins.

“In truth...it’s not a wholly happy story. But it’s not entirely sad either, meeting them was the best thing that ever happened to me. They gave me friendship, companionship, knowledge, protection, and family. They gave me a wizarding family that would always support me and I don’t think at the age of eleven I truly understood the importance that your family would play in my life. Now, I couldn’t live without them.” You turn your eyes on him with a soft smile.

“We have a way about us...Weasley’s collect people, I think. We’re never happy alone, we like a full house, we like fighting over a bathroom in the morning and cramming around the table. Mum loves adding people to the family, and I'm sure the moment she met you she knew you’d be the newest addition.” You smile at that. You wonder if a Weasley could ever truly be happy alone. While Charlie lived away from his family, you were sure, judging by his little smile, that the distance was hard on him and that he probably surrounded himself with friends and colleagues to feel that familiarity.

“It was my first year and I was crying…” You look up at the ceiling, the wood beams that cross it, the hanging pots and drying herbs. “I was behind the tapestry on the 5th floor...there’s this little room behind it and I found it by accident, I’m rather clumsy,” You laugh and look back at him. It startles you a little to realise you have his undivided attention, but it also pleases you, to know that he’s listening, that he values what you have to say even if it's just a silly little story.

“I was bawling really, none of that quiet dainty crying. It was rather horrible actually...they must have heard, said I sounded like Moaning Myrtle which just upset me more...they sat beside and they asked ‘what’s happened? Who do we need to prank?’' It was ever so Fred and George even back when you were all just eleven. Their solution to a problem was often either pranking the person responsible or starting a fight with them. The latter was your least favourite of the two.

“Sounds like them, although I wouldn't have been surprised if they offered to throw a few punches...we have hot tempers.”

“You seem awfully mild mannered for a Weasley to me?” It was true, Charlie and Bill both seemed like two calm individuals, at least compared to Ginny or Ron or even Mrs Weasley. All of whom were known for their explosive, passionate tempers.

“Well, love, you’ve never seen me nearly tear the Ravenclaw quidditch captain a new one after a blatant display of cobbing...Although, i’m definitely less fiery than Ginny. She scares me a little sometimes.”

“She is prone to bouts of violence,” You love it about her though, her quickness to defend others, her bravery. If there ever was a Gryffindor it certainly was Ginevra. “Either way, they offered pranking services rather than violence...good move on their part, I suspect I would have been terrified of them had they offered to break someone’s nose…”

“So who or what made you cry? Homesick?”

“No...I mean, I was homesick, but that wasn’t what had me crying behind that tapestry...it was boys actually. They’d been picking on me, all years, all ages, all houses, for the first few weeks of my life at Hogwarts. Sometimes it was my hair...and other times it was my teeth, sometimes it was the fact I was muggle born...but mostly, it was that I was fat,” You see he rearing up to say something at the word, but you stop him before he can speak, “I am fat. Charlie, that’s not an insult to me, I can be a million wonderful things, and fat is just a descriptor. I am fat and a hufflepuff and I am pretty and I am brave and I am terribly dedicated to my work. But back then...the way they used it. That was an insult. I was fat, I was a whale, a pig, or some other creature they could demean me with. They said I was ugly and unworthy and ‘who’d want to date you?’...I wasn’t even old enough to care about dating, but they made me feel like I was unlovable...and then your brothers came along.”

You smile at him, at the hand he’s placed on your knee in reassurance, the hand that doesn’t stay there too long out of respect for you. He’s listening now, truly, there is no desire to butt in, to interject, because he realises that you do not unjustly hate your body. You are simply telling a story. “After that they never let anyone say a bad word about me...they protected me and I protected them too...you’ve not seen a thing until you’ve seen a hufflepuff fly at Draco Malfoy with the intent to maim.” You quirk a lip thinking of all the times you’d nearly hurt the boy, he was better now, you could have a civil conversation, but Merlin, he’d been terrible in school.

“Should I worry for my personal safety?” Charlie laughs, leaning back away from you as if you might attack at any moment, but it is all play and it makes you chuckle. “I think you’re safe, dragon boy…”

There’s a comfortable silence in which your leg pressed against Charlie’s as you leant against the table, Charlie leaning back in his chair. It’s the sort of silence that feels like companionship, there is no pressure in your chest to speak, no feeling that the silence was wrong, no strange buzzing in your chest.

“I’m glad they looked out for you...you deserve to have people who look after you the way you look after them.”

“You...you barely know me.” You look at him through your lashes, feeling shy, bashful at the kind words. He just gives you a stunningly soft smile, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

“True, but in the short time I have known you you’ve been nothing but kind, caring, and you even invented a spell simply to help me. Love, that says more than anything else about you. You care about people...and people should care about you too.” The tenderness should scare you, intimidate you, instead it makes warmth blossom in your chest and happy tears well in your eyes because no one has ever said something so kind. Even when you doubt how useful you are, even with the guilt, it means so much to hear someone acknowledge the kindness you give, the care you provide, and not take it for granted. It is this that makes you realise how desperately you want to keep Charlie Weasley in your life, even simply as a friend because he cares so deeply about people and because he doesn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed to share those thoughts or feelings that would matter most to a person.

It is with those words and thoughts in your head that the two of you say goodnight and you return to your bed, the blankets don’t feel irritating anymore, your head does not buzz with bad thoughts. While it is hard to go to sleep it is not out of guilt or anger or sadness, but a sort of giddiness that you haven’t felt in so long. You fall asleep with a smile.

#summer nights #reader insert #readerinsert #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasleyxreader #charlie weasley/reader #charlie weasley / reader #harry potter #harry potter reader insert #plus size reader #overweight reader #female reader

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

I Scream a Truth, You Hear a Lie - part 2/ 5

for @ban-aard <3

read on

AO3

previous / next

It was just one day, Jaskier had told himself. One day of indulging and not having to pretend anymore.

One day wasn’t enough. It could never be enough. So who could fault him when he did his best to find ample reason to start their little act a little sooner?

In all fairness, it hadn’t exactly been a calculated plan but a necessity to go into town together the next morning. Jaskier had looked through Geralt’s clothes to find something suitable for Geralt to wear to the festival. He shouldn’t have been surprised to find no such thing.

So, naturally, the only solution was to go buy Geralt something he would look nice in – well, nicer. He could probably wear a potato sack and still look breath-taking.

“Why do I need new clothes?” Geralt grumbled, though they both knew it was far too late for any protest. They were already making their way through the streets of the small town in search of a tailor.

“Because, my dear witcher, no husband of mine will walk around as if they just crawled through a forest.”

“I did crawl through a forest just yesterday.”

“Yes, but you don’t have to look like it.” Jaskier swatted a hand against Geralt’s chest. “I like to spoil my lovers if I have the means. And right now that means getting you some clothes that don’t still have dried blood or mud on them.”

“Then spoil away.” Even without looking, Jaskier heard the eye-roll in Geralt’s tone.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “You know, being spoiled by me is a wonderful thing. You could at least try to look as if you enjoyed it.”

Geralt didn’t answer, but his shoulders sagged with an inaudible sigh.

“Besides,” Jaskier said after making sure no one was around to listen in, “if we just show up at the festival and announce that we are married out of the blue, no one is going to believe us. But willingly going to the tailor with me? That does sound like something a witcher would only do if they were hopelessly gone on me.” Jaskier ignored the way Geralt stiffened. He wished he could also ignore the knowledge that Geralt very much didn’t willingly go but was all but forced to accompany him. “And rumours have to get started somewhere. I promise you by tomorrow half the town will know that I have your heart.”

If only. Oh, how the words stung, how he loved indulging in this hopeless fantasy. He needed to be careful, or else he might start to believe it himself. Maybe it would be better if he did? Who cared about the inevitable heartbreak when it followed the beautiful belief of having all he had ever wanted?

Without waiting for any more grunts of protests he opened the door to the tailor’s shop, holding it open for Geralt.

He entered after him and immediately felt at ease. Within a moment he had forgotten about his inner turmoil about their pretence, when he saw the stunning fabrics.

Immediately he went to the first rack with doublets and ran his fingers over the soft materials. There were so many he wanted to try on, but before he could decide which one to try on first, Geralt cleared his throat behind him.

Jaskier turned around and his eyes widened when they fell on Geralt holding up a light blue doublet with beautiful silvery-white embroidery almost the same colour as Geralt’s hair.

“It would look good with your eyes,” Geralt said, everything about his tone and posture speaking of discomfort, but Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat nonetheless.

He stepped closer to Geralt –perhaps a little closer than necessary - to look better at the garment and saw Geralt’s throat bob.

Jaskier’s eyes were transfixed and suddenly it was hard to find the words for what he had wanted to say, so he said the first thing that came to mind.

“I thought you were going to sit in the corner and brood while I do all the, you know, looking at clothing and all that.”

Geralt’s jaw tightened. “I can put it back if you don’t like it. I know I’m no good with such things, I just… I thought as your – “

Geralt’s voice broke off and he averted his eyes with a closed off look. Something softened in Jaskier’s chest and he gently took the doublet from him.

“No, no! I love it. It is really thoughtful of you. Give me a moment, I’ll try it right on.”

Jaskier disappeared into the fitting booth, if only to stop the spate of words that threatened to spill from his mouth. For some reason, his heart sped up when he pulled the curtain to the side. He knew it was ridiculous – Geralt probably wouldn’t care at all – but he almost felt like a bride letting her spouse see her dress for the first time.

“So, how do I look?”

Jaskier tried not to show his disappointment when Geralt only stared at him with a blank expression for a few moments that stretched into eternity.

“You – good.” The words sounded like Geralt wished to be anywhere but here, but Jaskier couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten pleasantly when Geralt scrambled helplessly for more words. “You look beautiful. Of course you do. You always do.”

Jaskier snorted. “Always? Need I remind you of how you see me in literally my cheapest undershirts when it’s just the two of us or when I don’t have time to comb my hair properly because you make me get up at an unspeakable hour?”

A strange look – almost fond? – softened Geralt’s eyes.

“Always,” he repeated quietly, looking Jaskier straight in the eye.

Jaskier’s mouth went dry. He wanted to squirm from under this intense gaze, but felt rooted to the spot. He never thought he’d needed to be saved from wordlessly gaping like a fish, but relief flooded him when the tailor appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“Ah, master bard!” She said with a smile. “That is an excellent choice.”

Immediately, Jaskier felt more at ease. This was a performance; this he knew how to do, though a bitter voice inside him reminded him that unlike him, Geralt must have heard the tailor even before she had shown her face. Everything he had said and done had already been part of their lie.

He shook the thought off with a smile.

“Actually, it was my husband’s choice.”

For a second, the tailor’s eyes went wide, darting over to the only other person in the shop, before settling back to her normal expression.

“And can I get anything for your lovely husband as well?”

“Something black. Or dark blue,” Jaskier said, chancing a glance at Geralt who had a look of barely concealed surprise on his face. “Preferably in silk or some other smooth fabric.” Geralt had always hated the feeling of scratching fabric on his skin. Not that he ever said so out loud, but the way he kept shifting uncomfortably in his old clothes spoke for itself.

The tailor hustled to the back of the shop and Geralt crossed his arms. “I thought you didn’t like it when I wear black. I could have just worn my own clothes if we just buy black again.”

“Careful.” Jaskier’s tone was full of teasing mirth. “If you keep talking like that I might start to think that you’d want me to buy you the most colourful garments I can find.”

Though Jaskier wouldn’t mind seeing Geralt in lighter colours for once, it was an empty threat. Geralt looked too good in black to force him into anything else. How could Jaskier resist bringing out the snow white hair and the glowing eyes with the contrast?

Geralt huffed but the corners of his mouth turned upwards. “No thank you. I’ll leave the eye-catching clothes to you.”

“As if you could ever not be eye-catching.”

Jaskier regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth. The smile that had teased Geralt’s lips vanished in the blink of an eye and he hunched over, as if to make himself look less tall and bulky, his eyes averted.

“I know.” Geralt’s voice was rough. “No need to remind me.”

Jaskier’s insides twisted uncomfortably. “Remind you of what? Of the fact that you are gorgeous?” When Geralt scoffed, Jaskier added more firmly, “Just you watch, when we go to the festival, I’m the one people will be jealous of for having such a beautiful husband.” He stepped closer to Geralt and put a hand on Geralt’s arm. Slowly, he felt the tension in Geralt’s body ebb away “And you are the most beautiful when you are comfortable. So, dark clothes it is.”

“Then why did we need to buy new ones at all?” Geralt grunted, though there was barely a hint of true annoyance in his tone.

“It’s the thought that counts. Like, how people give their loved ones flowers. It’s not really about the flowers. If it were, the beloved could just buy or pick them themselves. But it’s a show that they are thought of and that the other person wants them to be happy.”

Geralt’s brows were knitted together as if in deep concentration, but he didn’t argue.

When the tailor came back to show them the clothes she had found, Jaskier was sure they were perfect for Geralt. The right balance of artful and moderate that Geralt would hopefully feel handsome in without being out of his comfort zone.

Geralt, however spent more time than Jaskier had ever anticipated scrutinizing the doublet.

“Can you change it a bit?” Geralt finally asked when the tailor got nervous from the scrutiny.

“Of course,” she said hastily. “Should I sew it tighter?”

“No,” Geralt said and for a moment he looked as though he didn’t want to continue talking. “Embroider some flowers on the collar. Buttercups if you can. Or blue ones.” He glanced over at Jaskier before looking away quickly. “Cornflowers.”

“Oh darling.”

The whispered endearment escaped Jaskier without thought. The warm feeling in his chest grew stronger, like a wildfire and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Geralt who turned away and pretended to look at the other clothes on display. It was obvious that he was avoiding Jaskier’s eyes, but it didn’t matter. The damage had already been done. If there had been any hope that Jaskier would escape this whole ordeal without his heart fully in Geralt’s hand and shattered when he inevitably crushed it, it was all gone.

Yet somehow Jaskier managed to get through the day without too much trouble. He kept teasing Geralt good naturedly and eventually Geralt stopped tensing up whenever Jaskier let an endearment slip. It was exhilarating to be allowed to call him such a thing as his darling.

Jaskier should have known he was taking it too far.

“I won’t call you that,” Geralt said when they retired to their room and were allowed to drop the act, though in Jaskier’s case it meant that he was forced to put the mask back on that hid the open affection he had for Geralt. “’Darling’. Or ‘my dear’ or anything like that.”

He said the endearments as if they were something spiteful. Jaskier’s stomach turned to lead.

“Oh. Yeah, no of course. You don’t have to. I wouldn’t expect you to.” But oh, how wonderful it must feel to have Geralt call him by a word that spoke of love and being important to him. “Is there anything you would like to call me?”

“I don’t know.” Geralt didn’t squirm, but the discomfort radiated off of him. “Those pet names just feel wrong. Like an act.”

Jaskier let out a bitter laugh. “It is an act.”

“No need to remind me.” Geralt hesitated for a moment. “But if it were real I wouldn’t call you by an endearment either. It’s too performative. I wouldn’t want my partner to have to perform or pretend with me.” Jaskier could only nod, his throat suddenly too tight. The way Geralt talked about what ifs that never could be, that weren’t wanted by Geralt, made it impossible not to yearn. “You are just… Jaskier.” Geralt didn’t seem to notice the way Jaskier deflated at that. “You are Jaskier and that should be enough, don’t you think?”

Yes. It should be enough. But the gods knew it wasn’t. If being Jaskier would be enough, Geralt wouldn’t sit out of reach from him, he would be leaning against him and let him run his hands through his hair, he would tell him that he loved him. But Jaskier wasn’t enough. Still, it was a nice thought, one that he would keep locked away in his heart for cold and lonely times.

“So, do you want me to not call you by an endearment either?”

It wasn’t something Jaskier had considered before. He loved telling his partners in whatever way possible that they were dear to him. Of course there were plenty of couples who didn’t do such a thing. It had never crossed Jaskier’s mind being one of them, but somehow he didn’t think he would mind with Geralt. There was a softness in knowing they what they meant to each other without having to say it for the world to hear, as much as Jaskier wanted to shout it from the rooftops – but none of that mattered anyway. There was nothing to know – nothing but the fact that he wasn’t as dear to Geralt as the witcher was to him.

Geralt shrugged. “You call all of your lovers ‘darling’.” Why did he sound so bitter about it?

“That I do. It would be just fitting if I called you that as well.” Jaskier tilted his head to the side. “Although… you aren’t just one of many. You are special - Would be.” Jaskier cleared his throat and let out a nervous laugh, praying that his overcorrection didn’t draw any more attention to his slip up. “You would be special. If any of this were real. Which it isn’t. Obviously.”

Geralt sighed. “Jask. It’s fine. You are a convincing actor, but there’s no danger of me believing your act.”

“No?” Jaskier’s voice trembled and his blood ran cold.

“No. I know you don’t love me. So. No reason to be nervous, no reason to remind me of what I already know.”

“Oh. Yeah. Good. That’s good.” It was a relief, though somehow the way Geralt had said it so gently and softly tugged at Jaskier’s heart. “But the point still stands. I can’t call you what I call everyone else. But just calling you by your name… I don’t know. It’s too simple.”

“I like it.” The quiet admission shouldn’t have made Jaskier’s heart feel like it was beating out of his chest. “It’s…it sounds nice. The way you say it.”

Jaskier stared at the back of Geralt’s head, wishing more than anything that he would turn around and let Jaskier see what was going on in that head of his.

“What way do I say it?” he asked, blinking dumbly while wrecking his brain about what Geralt could possibly mean.

Geralt grunted. “Forget about it. It’s enough to know that you’ll do fine pretending.”

“As do you. Really, Geralt, I would have thought that I would have to be the one pulling all the weight with this act, but you’re a natural.”

Geralt froze. Even from behind Jaskier could see how his body was gripped by an iron tension.

“I’ve watched you be in love with everyone around you for years now. I learned a thing or two.” Before Jaskier could even begin to pick that statement apart, Geralt let out a heavy sigh. “You should go to bed. Acting like you are in love with me must be exhausting and you’ll have to do it all over tomorrow.”

It was Geralt’s own fault. If he hadn’t opened his stupid mouth, they could have just stayed in their room at the inn until the day of the festival arrived. But Geralt just had to ask for the extra embroidery that of course meant they had to get out together again to get the doublet once it was finished.

“That’s good!” Jaskier had said, brimming with excitement when Geralt had reminded him of that the next morning. “We can be seen together more. That’s exactly what we need for this to work.”

Another thing they apparently needed was touch. Geralt had known that. Of course he had. After all, he had seen Jaskier with lovers before, had watched how he laid his arms around their shoulders and waists and leaned in close, while Geralt had stood back and had tried to rein in that ugly, bitter feeling inside him that made it impossible to look away, yet torturous to watch.

So yes, he should have been prepared for the amount of touching to come. He had been yearning for it, if he was truthful with himself. And yet, it was so different from how Jaskier touched his real lovers. With them there was no hesitation, no hint of reluctance.

But then again, Geralt had always known he’d been different.

For all that Jaskier always said he liked Geralt just fine, he had rarely ever touched him. Geralt found himself looking forward to those treasured casual touches he sometimes received when Jaskier forgot himself, when he forgot whom he was touching. He longed for them – and he resented them. They were always just a hand on his shoulder to steady himself, a bumping of elbows when he made a joke. Never more. Never enough. Sometimes Geralt had been foolish enough to think that Jaskier was finally comfortable enough with him to touch him as Geralt wanted him to, but every time Jaskier’s hands would only hover above his skin just shy of touching him and always changing course at the last moment.

Geralt had tried his hardest not to let his disappointment show. He had scowled and turned away and grunted at Jaskier.

It had been different when they had first met, when Jaskier had offered his touches freely. Geralt like the fool that he was had growled at him, until Jaskier had finally realised who and what he was so casual with until he had finally stopped. The longer they had known each other, the more averse Jaskier seemed to reach out to him.

So Geralt shouldn’t be surprised – shouldn’t be hurt – that even now that Jaskier pretended to be in love with him, he touched him differently than his lovers.

His touches were soft, almost unsure. A brush against hands first, before he got brave enough to intertwine their fingers. A look searching Geralt’s face before he carefully, slowly brushed a strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear, always mindful not to touch too much of his skin as if it was the most repulsive thing he could imagine.

It stung. And still Geralt found himself yearning for those false caresses if they were all he could get.

After going to the tailor for the second time, he suggested just strolling through the town – like lovers did, so that they could be seen together – if only so he could hold Jaskier’s hand for a little while longer and pretend Jaskier wouldn’t pull back the moment they left anyone’s sight.

As they went back to their room, seemingly knowing eyes following them, Geralt felt his heart grow heavy with every step. The door had no sooner closed, that Jaskier took his hand away from Geralt and put distance between them as if he had burned himself.

Sharing the bed that night felt different. There was little space between them, but the way Jaskier lay rigid as if trying to keep them from touching left no doubt that he wished they didn’t have to share, while downstairs people thought it was different, they thought they were laying in a lover’s embrace, safe in the knowledge that come the morning they would wake entangled with the one who had chosen them.

How Geralt wished that was the truth. But as it was, he shifted until he laid at the far edge of the bed, giving Jaskier the room he needed.

In the morning they still woke up entangled, and maybe that made it hurt even worse.

#fake dating #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geraltxjaskier #witcher #witcher fanfic #fic #my writing #gift for a friend #I scream a truth you hear a lie #multichapter

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kayrogers · 4 years

Text

sugar baby ][ r. drysdale

50 shades / CEO au

Paring(s): ceo!ransom x curator!reader

Inspo: the embarrassing amount of ransom smut I've read

Word Count: 2300+

Warning(s): cursing, implied smut, unequal power-dynamic, mention of kinks, and ransom being the hot douche he is

Part: part 1 | part ??

A/N: imma be real with y’all I saw knives out in theaters like three times and I am absolute ransom trash, I apologize

It was already a shitty day.

By the time you had reached Thrombey Selects, you were on the verge of frustrated tears and you hadn’t even gone into your interview yet.

Your day started normal enough, you prepared for your interview and organized your portfolio about ten different times before you could run out the door. Coffee was a better option than actual food for breakfast as the thing really filling your stomach was anxiety. You had only gotten your masters recently and it was a miracle that you were given an interview at Thrombey Selects, only having pulled together minimal art galleries — most of which were done as part of getting your degree in the first place.

Then there was the subway. It felt like it took forever to get to the Lower East Side, especially being sat between two men with no concept of personal space and a snot-nosed two year old giving you a stink eye across the aisle. And to make matters worse you got a coffee spilled on your dress right as you walked off the train. The woman who spilled it actually had the audacity to scream at your face, and say it was your fault, like she wasn’t nose-deep in her phone. Luckily, you had left your apartment super early and you stopped at the nearest department store you could find. A too-expensive little black dress later and you were on your way to Thrombey Selects. And then it down poured and by the time you walked into the building, every inch of you was drenched in water.

You took a deep breath, approaching the receptionist with rain droplets falling from your hair and onto the floor. She looked up at you with an unimpressed gaze, stating that you’d be meeting with a Mr. Drysdale ‘whenever he felt like showing up’. You weren’t exactly sure what that meant but you took it as a chance to dry off.

Stepping away towards an empty hallway you were quick to work, taking up residence next to a decorative plant and ringing your hair out into the pot. Taking off your cardigan was the most work, the grey material sticking to your skin like glue. You undoubtedly looked like a madman, wrestling to get the knit off and finally slicking it onto the floor to reveal the tight little number you bought.

“Quite the weather, huh?” A deep male voice said from behind you.

You jumped and nearly tripped over your heels as you turned around to find the source. That source being a very gorgeous man with piercing blue eyes. He had a confident smirk and carved features, it was almost like he was created by a sculptor in Rome.

“Oh- oh my gosh! Sorry, I um yeah... kinda got caught in the rain.” You blush with a sigh, still taking in the stranger’s appearance.

He dressed sharp, yet casual. Adorning himself in a black turtleneck and pants, accompanied by a brown trench coat and Chelsea boots. The accessory on him which drew the most attention though was a large, flowery scarf. You suddenly felt very aware of the less glamorous state of your dress and reached for the cardigan you so ungraciously plopped on the floor.

“You’re [Y/n], right? [Y/n] [Y/l/n]?” He shamelessly looked you up and down while saying that, only making you blush more.

“How do you know my-“

“Because I’m interviewing you. The name is Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you can just call me Ransom. The help call me Hugh.” His lips curled into a wide smirk and he shook your hand as it changed into a white-toothed grin.

‘The help’ stuck in your head for a moment and nearly made you frown. Any man who talked like that came from money, lots of money. And he clearly wasn’t the type to be polite about it.

“Let’s head up to my office, Honey.” And with that the two of you were on your way.

You could help but feel his eyes on you with every step you took, each click of your heels hitting the floors like a deafening clock. He opens a door to reveal a sleek, modern office room complete with a portrait of Harlan Thrombey on the back wall. You would recognize that face anywhere after reading his novels repeatedly, his picture always located in the back. He was the reason you applied here in the first place, he was passionate and creative. Any man like him would be expected to have a taste for the arts.

Ransom took his seat behind the desk and you sat in front of him gripping your portfolio tightly while he pulled out a Manila file.

“It’s interesting that grandad picked you for the interview... from the looks of it, you’re extremely under qualified compared to the rest of the staff.” Ransom immediately listed off in a twisted tone, dismissive and intrigued all at once.

You pulled a tight-lipped smile, “and yet, here I am.”

He looked up from the file, blue eyes shooting into your own holding intent you could not read. The smirk appeared on his face once more.

“Tell me about yourself, [Y/n]. I want a better understanding.” You suddenly felt small in that moment, you knew what he was actually telling you.

‘Show me why I should give a fuck about you.’

“Uh- well I’m a hard worker. I come from a low income family so I’ve been working since I was 14, in my mom’s diner. I still serve to keep up with rent, but that’s at a classier place no offense to my mom. Art has um always been my passion though... I’m sorry, am I doing this right?” You bit your lip, staring across to see Ransom sporting a sneaky smile you didn’t understand.

“How bout I help you along? Are you prepared for a lot of physical work? How much do you exercise a week? I know you may think being one of our curators is easy work, but I like to run things differently here.” That confuses you.

You know how curation works, hell it’s why you got your degree but the only physical thing you ever did was hang paintings on a wall.

“Uh- I mean I workout when I can but I’m pretty busy. I serve so I get a lot of time on my feet. But, I’m sure I can handle whatever you throw at me!” You answered honestly and watched as he quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m sure you can Miss [Y/l/n]. So... any significant others?” Warmth filled your face at his question.

“No I am single- sorry I just don’t understand what this has to do with being a curator.” You finish with a smile to hide how unsure you were.

Ransom just grins back, “oh that is because I am opting you for a better position. Higher up, better pay grade, and more personal work with me. Here take a look,” He reaches into his desk and pulls out a black file, tossing it to you.

Opening the folder shows you a contract that makes your eyes nearly bulge out of your head.

‘Sugar Baby’ is in bold at the top.

Reading through, you become flustered seeing the requirements and perks. The pay is definitely better, but is it worth the submissive role he intends you to play? Calling him ‘Sir’? Your cheeks burn as you keep flicking through, seeing all his kinks and desires written in ink. The particular emphasis on bondage and the sub/dom dynamic made heat pool between your legs. You run your thighs together in instinct, missing how his eyes light up at the response.

“You don’t have to give me an answer right now. In fact, my cell is on there, take a few days to look it over and text me. If not, I can still offer you that basic paid internship of a position.” His eyes were intense when they met yours, hiding the gears which were in overdrive behind their deep blue.

He was manipulating you and he wasn’t even shy about it. You were ashamed to think that you didn’t mind it. This was insane! Completely unethical and gross, but you found yourself considering the position all the same. Especially given the rut you found yourself in for quite a while now in the sex department. Graduating and entering your career didn’t leave much time for any sexual encounters, excluding your dominant hand.

“Yeah- uhm I’ll definitely have to get back to you. Not that I’m not interested-“ Your voice betrayed you, coming out quiet and almost naive.

“- it’s a lot. Sleep on it, Babe.” He stood up and you took that as your signal to leave which you were thankful for.

“Thank you, Mr- sorry.. Ransom.” You stood as well, closing the folder and holding it tightly in your hands.

You move to grab your sopping cardigan but he scoops it up before you can.

“I’ll have our dry cleaners handle this, don’t need a potential employee getting pneumonia today. Take my jacket, I’m sure I’ll be getting it back soon.” He matter-of-factly states and hands you his trench coat.

You sling it on, feeling small in the garment made for the clearly muscular man. Even in your heels he towered over you.

“Thank you.” There’s a small smile on your face and you head towards the door.

He walks behind you, his hand finding the small of your back as he opens the office door for you.

“Can’t wait to hear from you, Miss [Y/l/n].” Ransom’s voice is low and his breath fans on the back of your neck as you exit and the door clicks behind you.

It was about 11 PM in your apartment as you sat on your bed thinking of perhaps the longest pro-con list you could with a glass of wine in hand.

You had been surfing on your laptop, gathering as much information as you could about Ransom Drysdale and the idea of being a ‘sugar baby’.

‘Pros: He’s gorgeous. We have a lot of the same kinks. It’s a lot more money than the internship. I’ll probably get some nice clothes out of this. I can stop waitressing. He’s really really hot. I have the opportunity to live my dream and work at my dream company, and get some good sex on the side.’ You thought, biting your lip and thinking too much about what he looked like without clothes on.

‘Cons: this is a very unprofessional proposition and definitely a little demeaning. He’s clearly a douche. The ‘help’ comment. I don’t know if he even is that good in bed. I don’t really know this man at all and now I’m basically signing a portion of my life to him. If he doesn’t think I’m good in bed, am I getting fucked over??’ You took a large gulp of wine, eyes focused on the computer screen in front of you.

Ransom’s crystalline eyes stared back at you through the screen, the picture from a Ralph Lauren photo shoot.

“Fuck, he’s a model too.” You muttered with a groan.

Of all the valid negatives that filled your mind, the heat pooling below your stomach at the thought of him taking control of you and your life felt much stronger. Were you a little messed up to even be considering this so heavily?? Fuck, probably.

But even so, the idea tantalized you in such a way that had you reaching for the folder to read through his demands once again.

You didn’t quite like the demands of you working out 4 times a week and completely overhauling your diet. Sure, you probably shouldn’t have been eating the amount of microwaveable and junk foods you usually did but that's none of his business! But perhaps these things could be amenable within the contract? You decided you wouldn’t take part unless they were.

But most importantly, you wouldn’t decide on anything without a good night’s sleep.

The next morning you stared at the contract as though it were the most important thing you could sign in your life. A weight settled on your shoulders and you avoided the piece of paper for the rest of the morning. Instead you decided to run through your daily routine, taking a shower and getting dressed for the day. You made yourself a cup of coffee and stared at your small apartment with a slight frown.

Reality rushed through you as you realized the position you were in before this opportunity presented itself. You have tremendous debt from school, even with the scholarships you had received. The shoebox you lived in was already barely affordable while you practically worked yourself to death at the upscale bar-restaurant you were currently employed with. The idea that you could leave all this and live lavishly on the payroll of one of the wealthiest families in New York, was one which had been growing on you enormously.

Impulsively, you grabbed your phone and typed his phone number into your messages.

‘Hello, Mr. Drysdale. Or I guess I should say, Ransom.

This is [Y/n] [Y/l/n]. I have thought over your offer and though I have a few concerns with certain aspects of the contract... I would be glad to talk them over with you and get to an agreement we are both comfortable with. I am indeed interested in this position.

When would you like to go over the details?’

You typed out the message, writing in the most professional manner you could (despite the content of the proposal). Pressing the send button sent a series of sparks through your skin and up your spine, butterflies filling your stomach.

Within minutes though, there was a response.

‘Saturday night. Be ready at 7 PM sharp. I will send a car for you. Can’t wait ;)’

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

taglist(s):

sugar baby -

permanent -

@ultrunning @jesseswartzwelder

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale x reader #knives out imagine #chris evans imagine #ceo au #50 shades au #sugar daddy au

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salemsbones · 3 years

Text

Lonely Stars Chapter Five

Trigger Warnings: swearing, fainting/ blacking out, scarification/ getting the Dark Mark, self harm, mentions of blood, family arguments/ being disowned

Age 16 The Great Hall was practically empty, almost all the other students had retired to their house common rooms or wherever tickled their fancy after dinner had finished. Regulus was seated with me at the Ravenclaw table, hunched over his Astronomy homework, his face a concentrated frown while I flipped through a book I had recently borrowed from the library. "I'm getting a tattoo tonight," Regulus says casually, not looking up from his homework. I look at him in surprise, "Of what?" He glances up at me and shrugs his shoulder, "It's not really a tattoo I guess," "What do you mean?" "I'm getting the Dark Mark," He says in a hushed tone. "I think you should come with me." I shift on my chair and close the book I was reading, "I don't know Reg, that basically brands you." He swallows, his Adams apple bobbing before saying, "I'm getting it, Barty and Lucius are doing it to me." I nod slowly, "Okay. If that's what you want to do." He glances back down to the parchment in front of him, "It is." And then we fell back into a comfortable silence. <> It was the next morning when an unexpected owl arrived for me carrying an envelope. After I remove the envelope that was tied around the owl's leg I fed it a bite of my breakfast sausage before it flew away. The envelope was addressed to me, with the return address coming from my Mother; my brow furrowed in confusion as I open the letter, wondering why she was possibly writing to me, unless it was a dreaded howler she occasionally sends to Sirius. Aurelia, It has come to your father's and I's attention that Regulus has decided to proudly join Voldemort's revolution and get the Dark Mark on his arm. As we are very proud of him, please send him our love. See you for summer holidays, we will send a driver as usual for you and Regulus. -Walburga Black I scrunched up the letter as tears welled in my eyes from frustration. If she wanted to send Regulus my parent's love and affection then she should have written him the damned letter, not me. Why could she never be proud of me? It was always about Regulus, the perfect child, the better twin, nothing ever about me and my accomplishments regardless of how hard I tried or how often I strived for their approval. I look around the Great Hall for Regulus, spotting him leaving breakfast with his friends Lucius Malfoy and Barty Crouch Junior. Shoving my chair back, I grab my bookbag, shoving Mother's letter deep inside and take off after my brother, finally catching up to him and his friends down the hall. "Reg!" I call, jogging towards him. He turns to me and smiles lightly, "Aurelia," I stand a few feet from him and his friends, who eye me with curiosity, I look down at the floor sheepishly, "I'll do it. I want it." His forehead creases in confusion, "What?" I look up at him and spit the words out quickly before I could think about what I was about to do. "I want the Mark." He takes my arm and pulls me closer to him, causing his friends to also step closer, "Are you sure? I thought you said it was a bad idea." I shake my head and swallow the lump forming in my throat, "I'm sure. I want it." Regulus looks quickly at Lucius and Barty who look both surprised and intrigued but then back to me, nodding. "Okay, let's go somewhere more private." I follow him and his friends down a series of hallways until we stopped in a quiet corridor that looked almost like no one had come down this way in a very long time. Barty pulls out his wand as I roll up my white shirt sleeve to the elbow, Regulus pulls me to the side quickly, "You're sure about this?" He asks, the same grey eyes we shared filled with concern. "Just get it over with." I say through gritted teeth. Barty jerked his head towards Lucius and Regulus, "Hold her down." I go to sit on the floor, my bookbag discarded across the floor, "It's better if you lie down Lia." Regulus suggests and I do as he says. Regulus places his hands on my shoulders, forcing them flat on the floor as Lucius holds my hand and the crook of my elbow down. I grit my teeth as Barty asks if I'm ready, I look up at Regulus who gives Barty a quick nod. I knew it was going to hurt but as Barty whispered the quick spell of Mosmordre I felt like my skin was having a hot metal spike burning away a pattern on my inner forearm. I cry out as I feel the skull and snake mark etch itself onto my skin, a dark black mess that made me scream bloody murder. "Lia it's okay," Regulus tries to say as I fight against his grip, trying to desperately get away from the searing pain. I could barely hear him over the blood rushing through my ears and my screams of pain. My vision is spotted with black stars as Regulus covers my mouth with his hand, silencing my wails. "Mother sends her love," I mumble around Regulus' hand as I succumb to the darkness that floods my vision. <> I wake to angry voices arguing about something I couldn't comprehend. I was lying down, a soft pillow under my head and a green knit blanket covering my body loosely. I blink away the bleariness covering my eyes to see my brothers, Sirius and Regulus, arguing about something, both of their faces screwed up with anger and frustration. "It's none of your damn business Sirius." Regulus hisses, his hands balling into fists. "It's my business when I see you carrying our sister who's passed out with a bloody branding on her arm!" Sirius growls back, pointing a finger at me. I whimper, my throat stinging and raw from my previous screams, this caught my brothers attention, Regulus quickly come to my side, kneeling before me. "You okay Lia? You really scared me," Regulus whispered, brushing back some hair that fell in my face before I could. "I'm okay," I whisper, glancing down at my arm; the sleeve of my shirt had rolled down slightly, covering most of the deep black marks that was now permanently etched into my skin. I sit up slowly, my body shaking slightly from the sudden movement. "I can't believe you two." Sirius said harshly, shaking his head. "Sirius, stop, now's not the time." Regulus hissed, shooting him a look I couldn't see. "You got a fucking branding Regulus! And you convinced Lia to get one too!" He shakes his head in both disapproval and disgust. "Sirius-" "He didn't convince me!" I plead, looking to Sirius with big eyes. "Please understand," "Understand?" Sirius exclaims and lets out a laugh. "Understand that both of you just joined a fucking cult? Understand that you're just pawns in a giant game of chess?" "Please," I whisper. Sirius shakes his head and looks away, "Unless that Mark disappears, you're both dead to me." With those words he storms out of the Slytherin common room. <> Regulus It was late at night, the library illuminated by the soft glow of half burnt out candles that floated nearby. The library was practically empty, only the occasion student sitting at tables hunched over books for classes they were most likely failing anyway. I was walking towards the back of the library, towards the restricted section, hoping to get my hands on another book about the dark arts. As I walked past the hundreds of bookshelves piled high with endless amounts of books I suddenly hear a small crash and a soft but familiar voice cursing under their breath. I follow the voice until I find my sister in the Muggle Studies area of the library, a area I hardly ever frequented. She was crouched down, picking up several books she had dropped, her long thick black hair shielding her face. "Aurelia? What are you doing here so late?" I question, helping her pick up the remainder of her fallen books. "N-nothing," She stuttered, taking the books back quickly. "Go away." I take one of the books from her pile, Muggle First Aid: Wound Repair Volume I read the title, I flick my eyes back up to her, her face was paler than usual and she looked scared. She snatches the book back, "It's nothing Reg, don't worry about it." As she pulls her arms back, I can see red has seeped through her left blue sweater sleeve. Before she can protest or move, I take her wrist in my hand and pull up the sleeve. I nearly gasp from what I saw, a bloody hack job on her forearm, the Dark Mark cut away by what looked like a blade or a razor. The cut was still oozing blood and looked very painful. "It wouldn't come off," She whispers, her voice cracking, her eyes refusing to meet mine, only staring at her bloody arm. "Did Sirius make you do this?' I ask quickly, knowing that if my older brother had anything to do with the harm of my sister I would surely kill him. She shakes her head, her dark curls moving as she did. "I just want him to talk to me Reg, he looks at me like I'm dirt, not his sister." For a moment I was dumbfounded. Truthfully, I didn't care what Sirius thought of me or if he disapproved of me joining Voldemort. The only reason why I still spoke to him was because of Aurelia, and if she weren't here I doubt we would even have a relationship anymore. I gently roll back down Aurelia's sweater sleeve, careful not to cause anymore damage to her arm and I grab her stack of books. "Go wait outside, I'll check these out and then we'll get you cleaned up."

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ren1327 · 3 years

Text

Sweater Weather ch.5

Ben and Kenji watched Bumpy as she slept on Ben’s lap, Carmen sitting next to him to stroke her flank as she read her new manga, brown eyes scanning over each detail of the art.

Kenji had sat on the sofa and Ben flush against him, acting as the comfortable partner and lover.

But Ben couldn’t help but feel how comfortable Kenji was. How well he fit to his side. How warm this image of them with a dog and his sister relaxing in the living room was. He leaned his head back and Kenji looked away from the movie to nuzzle in his hair.

Ben wanted this to real if only to feel the comfort and trust in that single moment.

“Dinner’s ready.” Candy said as she came in, pausing to look at them and smile.

Bumpy yipped and stood, stretching before she followed Candy to her new bowl in the corner of the dining room on a soft rug.

Ben got up and Kenji followed, Carmen calling she wanted to finish the next few pages.

Kenji pulled out Ben’s chair and smiled when he sat down with a soft thank you.

Once Carmen was seated, Kenji sat between where Kosei would sit at the head and Ben.

Candy brought out a savory casserole with meat, cheese, tortillas and chili. She then placed down bowls of red rice, refried beans, chips, red and green salsa and cabbage.

“Enchilada casserole!” Carmen said excitedly, then looked at Ben from across the table. “It’s Kenji’s favorite!”

Kenji nodded and was happy to help Ben fill his plate.

Once he had a substantial amount of everything, Ben noticed they were watching him. He then saw that they were holding hands.

“Are you comfortable with grace, Ben?” Candy asked.

“I…yes ma’am.” He said and took Kenji’s and Carmen’s hands.

The family closed their eyes and he noticed only Candy and Kenji bowed their heads. He quickly closed his own eyes as Candy prayed outload.

“Dear provider and father above, thank you for reuniting our family this winter. Thank you for the safe journey of my son and our transition into our new home. Thank you for blessing us with Ben and Bumpy. And thank you for giving us so much more to be thankful for and love. And we say”

“Amen.” She and her family chorused.

Ben lowered his hands and smiled, blushing as he held back tears.

“Ben?!” Carmen asked and Ben quickly wiped his cheeks.

“Sorry. Sorry. It’s just been a while since I’ve prayed.”

“We don’t expect you to be obligated to, Honey.” Candy said and Kosei nodded.

“How you express or don’t express your faith is up to you. But thank you for joining our thanks.” Kosei said gently.

“Does your family have a faith?”

“I uh, I think we were Jewish.” He said.

“Think you were?” Kosei asked.

“Um, my mom was the religious one and um…my Uncle got work overseas so it’s uh…just been me.” He said.

“What?”

“I didn’t want to stress my uncle out and he knew I was with friends and I haven’t…I haven't even told him about Kenji to be honest. It’s been so long and I…”

“Oh, Sweetie.” Candy whispered. “and your mother—”

“Mom.” Kenji said and she covered her mouth in surprised.

Kosei sighed softly as Carmen looked from her parents to Ben, slowly putting the pieces together.

“Oh, Ben. I'm sorry…” She whispered.

“It’s okay. She’s with my dad and I know if I work hard, I can make them proud.” He said, sounding robotic at this point.

“Well, if it’s not too candid…You always have a place in this family. Even as a friend.” Kosei said and Ben smiled, wiping his cheeks again.

“I’m sorry. I made dinner awkward.”

Kenji put a hand on his and look him in the eye. “Never be sorry for expressing how you feel.”

Ben nodded as he looked down at his food. He took a bite…

And coughed hard, grabbing a napkin and holding it to his running nose and burning mouth.

“Oh my gosh!” Carmen said and gave Ben his water. “Kenji! Did you give him the green salsa?!”

“What? It’s not that hot?” Kenji said, grabbing his own napkin for Ben to switch out.

“Mijo, you’ve been eating jalapenos since you were in diapers! Mamita, get him some of the banana milk.” She said.

Carmen quickly got up and returned, twisting open a school cafeteria looking yellow bottle of milk and handing it to Ben, who sipped it slowly, panting softly as he finished it. He then whirled on his pretend boyfriend.

“You’re not human!” He said to Kenji, who was trying to hold back his laughter.

“Stop…stop laughing…” Carmen said, placing a hand over her mouth to hide her own smile.

“I reacted horribly the first time I had the green salsa too, Ben.” Kosei said. “I was sweating while pretending I wasn’t affected, then got sick later.”

“I told you not to put so much. You need to build up to that amount!” Candy said and Ben laughed imaging such a regal looking man sweating and red faced.

“Okay. Stay away from the green sauce.” Ben said. “I’ll remember for next time.”

He took a bite of the casserole and nearly melted.

“Wow…”

“One of the perks of my marriage.” Kosei joked, making Candy huff and roll her eyes with a smile.

“One of many, I hope.” She said.

Kosei took her hand. “Too many to count.”

“Ew. Mom. Dad.”

“Oh, they get to flirt, but us older folk don’t?” She asked her daughter, who giggled.

“So!” Carmen said, gaining everyone’s attention. “How did you two meet?”

“Online.”

“Friends.”

Ben and Kenji looked at each other and Kenji stuttered.

“W-well, we met through friends online…”

Ben put his hand over Kenji’s, smiling at him with steely eyes. Kenji’s mouth shut as Ben hunched his shoulders.

“Its kind of embarrassing really.” He started. “You see, he was video chatting with Sammy. And Sammy and I have been friends for so long…we were comfortable around each other. So one day, while Yaz was at a retreat, I had gotten out of the shower and was only in my boxer briefs because I forgot my clothes in my room.”

Carmen and Kosei looked scandalized as Candy covered her mouth.

Ben blushed as if it were true as he continued. “So, being so comfortable with Sammy, I was drying my hair as I walked nearly naked past her and Kenji unfortunately got an eyeful of my pale chicken legs. The scream I let out.”

Kenji chuckled just imagining the scene.

“And then I asked him for his number.” Kenji said with a shrug.

Candy laughed. “That sounds very like you, Kenji.”

“Texting Ben and calling him leveled me down. Made me want to come back just to…” He paused and shook his head, interlacing his fingers with Ben.

“He makes me happy.”

“So you two are still new to a lot of things.” Candy said. “Despite talking for three months.”

“Yeah.” Ben said and smiled at Kenji, almost genuinely. “He’s way taller than I expected.”

“But you’re just as cute.” Kenji said, making Ben blush deeply.

“Aw~!” Carmen cooed and Kosei scoffed at his daughter.

“Now, now.” He said, then turned to the boys. “Ben, I never asked. Do you prefer a separate room?”

“Excuse me?”

“Dad!”

“We understand how couples are and respect how you express your love.” Candy said. “As long as you’re safe. However, if you’ve only started being together…”

“Stop, stop this now.” Kenji said.

“I’ll be okay with Kenji.” Ben said with a nod. “He takes really great care of me and respects my wishes.”

Kosei nodded in approval of his son. “I am very happy to hear so.”

“Ben, I have to ask because it’s been bothering me…what’s that scar on your upper arm?” Candy asked.

Ben looked at the jagged scar on his left bicep. He covered it.

“It’s…from an old relationship.”

Carmen gasped and Kosei placed his glass down, eyes hard as he looked at Ben. Kenji squeezed his hand.

“What?”

“It was way before I met Kenji.” Ben said. “And I never brought it up because…”

“No, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Candy whispered.

“It’s fine. He’s…” He took a deep breath. “He’s gone and I’m far, far away from him.”

Kenji pulled Ben’s hand to rest on his chest. “Ben…don’t be scared to tell me things. I won’t judge you, ever.”

Ben smiled and kissed Kenji’s cheek.

“Thank you. All of you.”

Ben sat on the king sized Ben in Kenji’s room.

It was decorated in shades of red and gray, as opposed to the white and blue outside. He was dressed in an old t-shirt and pajama pants, Kenji showering.

The room was very…sparse.

It had rich dark wood furniture, plush latte colored carpet and pale pastel yellow walls that could be white in different light. Rich strawberry red bedspread and rugs and grey curtains and armchairs next to a white brick fireplace with a glass guard. There was a desk, a small table next to the large window with the armchairs next to the fireplace and with another tall, small surfaced table. The bed was in the middle of the back wall, two nightstands holding touch lamps and piled with soft velvety red and grey pillows overstuffed, but comfortable enough to leave on when going to sleep.

Bumpy snored from her plush pet bed near the heating vent, exhausted from the busy day she had.

Ben felt himself already getting sleepy as he read one of the books Yaz had bought him as an early Christmas gift. He looked at his phone

He text Sammy.

B: I told them about J

S: WHAT?!?!?! Ben, you didn’t have to!

B: It felt right. I trust Kenji.

S: Okay. How do you feel?

B: A little better tbh Like Like I have some more eyes looking over my shoulders to watch my back Idk

S: Kenji would kick his ass into next year! I WOULD TOO!

B: Thanks, Sammy. We’re heading off to the hotel tomorrow. I’ll send you some pictures.

S: Be safe! Yaz said to say she misses you.

B: I miss you too. Love you both.

S: <3

Kenji came in dressed in flannel pajamas and looked at Ben, who was still curled up on the right side with his book.

“Um…”

“It’s okay. You’re probably cold.” Ben said, pretending to read his book as Kenji draped the damp towel over the back of his desk chair.

“Are you cold?” He asked.

Ben ducked his head a bit, not wanting to make a awkward situation more so.

Kenji reached into his bag and pulled out the soft knitted blue sweater he had worn to dinner. He held it out to Ben.

Ben blinked and suddenly, Kenji blushed.

“Sorry! I’ll get you a clean one or—”

“I’ll take it.” Ben said, taking it from his hands and pulling it over his shirt.

He blushed as he smelled Kenji’s cologne on the collar and wrists. Kenji got in bed next to him.

“What are you reading?” He asked Ben.

“A sequel series of this young adult…um…It’s a little complicated, but it focuses on my favorite characters from the first series.”

“Read a bit to me?”

“You wouldn’t understand it.” Ben said. “But if you want me too, I can explain plot details and stuff...”

“Okay.” Ben said and found where he had paused. “Magnus saw hundreds of masked people in elaborate costumes dancing in unison, and around them was music that could be seen as well as heard. As if ripped from a black-and-white sheet of paper and turned into bright, living shapes, the notes floated in the air, drifting along currents of musical lines and wrapping around the glittering masks and elaborate hair of the dancers. Along the ceiling, the constellations were moving; no, they were the orchestra…”

He noticed Kenji had relaxed and was dozing off, soft snores floating from him. Ben placed his bookmark inside the page and placed it on the nightstand. He touched the lamp, and the room went dark.

Kenji wiggled closer and hugged him loosely around the waist.

He smiled and pretended this was his life, with a loving boyfriend and his family and safe and loved—

“Sorry…Brooklynn…” Kenji groaned and Ben froze. He pulled away and rolled over, leaving Ben cold and feeling empty.

#jw fanfic #jw sweater weather #ben pincus #kenji kon #kenji x ben #kenji and ben #mentions of #red scrolls of magic #camp cretaceous fanfic #camp cretaceous sweater weather

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readyplayerhobi · 4 years

Text

Flower | 04

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, light angst, insinuated smut

; Word Count: 3.3k

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: This week...you get two chapters! The usual Sunday chapter will also occur, but I didn’t want to leave you waiting for the second half of their date too long! So...consider this my Black Friday deal I guess? Let me know what you think, I love reading you love your this <3

; Flower Masterpost

Inhaling deeply, you let your cheeks puff out as you slowly let out the breath that you’re trying to use to calm yourself down. Tonight is officially the night, the date. Or whatever he wanted to call it. And here you were, in the outfit in your best friends had picked, waiting for one Jung Hoseok to appear.

You’d been terrified all day that he wouldn’t actually turn up. That he’d ghost you, and you’d have to fight the tears as you called Soyeon and Chungha to tell them that the emergency supplies were in fact necessary. Even though Hoseok had messaged you again this afternoon, reminding you of your date.

As if you were somehow going to forget a scheduled date with him!

But you were here, at the appointed time outside of the large modern art statue in the centre of the city. It was a common spot for people to meet up as it allowed for quick and easy access to most places within walking distance so you weren’t surprised that he’d picked here. Plus, it was in public and you appreciate all the people who were around.

Pulling your phone out of your bag, you turn the screen on and check the time once more, frowning slightly when you see that he’s two minutes late. It might not seem a lot, but you always got a little antsy and worried when people were late. You usually turned up fifteen minutes early and then just waited around.

Better to be early rather than late.

“Y/N?” The deep voice comes from your left, causing you to squeak in surprise as you jump, whirling around almost comically to face one Jung Hoseok. Who looks even more handsome than his photos make out, which is just plain wrong. That should not be allowed. You were probably a colossal disappointment in comparison.

He was dressed equally casual to you, black skinny jeans with rips clinging to his legs and ending in leather military style boots while a plain white shirt adorned his chest beneath a black leather jacket and thick silver chains around his neck. You couldn’t help but take a small step back, looking over his visage with wide eyes as your mind accepted the fact that people like him really did exist in real life.

His hair was styled for once, swept off his forehead in a look that had obviously been done on purpose and yet looked completely effortless while the nearby lights from a shop front shone off the silver ring in his lower lip.

“We match.” You say dumbly, pointing at his clothes before cringing at how dumb you sound. It throws him for a moment, dark brows rising on his statuesque face before his eyes run over your body before looking down at his own. And then he smiles, and you swear your knees go a little weak.

Because if Jung Hoseok is handsome normally, then he’s out of this world when he smiles. It positively lights up his face and his eyes almost gleam with happiness as he lets out a raspy laugh.

“So we do. You look very beautiful. Your makeup is amazing!” Hoseok exclaimed, eyes widening as he leans a little closer to take in the carefully placed makeup that you’d spent half an hour putting on. It’s nothing hugely special, a little bit of a smokey eye with black eyeliner and a shimmer of rose glitter on the lids of yours with a touch of silver glitter liquid eyeliner. You’d wanted to match your outfit and put in a little bit of an effort, but not make it look like you were ready to walk a red carpet.

Still, your stomach swirled with a combination of happiness at his compliment and nerves at the overall meeting. The teenage part that still lived in you wanted to scream and jump at the fact he’d called you beautiful. Hands clutching at nothing once you put your phone away, you glance at him from beneath your mascara covered eyelashes and smile shyly.

“Thanks. You look good too.” The words are almost mumbled out and you grimace at yourself, nose wrinkling as you wrack your brain for what you’re supposed to say to him now. You never had any idea how these kinds of conversations were meant to go and you made a slightly odd noise before gesturing lamely.

“So...what do you, I mean...what are we doing for our date-I mean...hang out? Or whatever this is.” Idly, you eye the fountain ahead of you and wonder how quickly he might leave if you just jumped into it and refused to come out. Because the awkwardness was building and you felt jumpy with the nerves and anxiety, desperate to give him a good impression but so unaware of how to do that.

He doesn’t laugh at you thought, just gives you a gentle smile before gesturing down one of the streets. You start to move automatically, the ghost of pressure from his hand on your back sending tingles around your body and you look up at him through wide eyes, noting how beautiful his side profile is.

Your side profile probably didn’t look that pretty.

“Well...I guessed that you might be a little nervous about tonight given how quickly you tried to back out of talking to me...so I thought we could do something that means we have to work together and talk, without actually having to talk about anything serious. So...I booked us an escape room and then we could have dinner after?” He sounds so carefree about it and you pause for a moment before gasping in delight.

“Oh my god! I’ve always wanted to do an escape room! Is it themed? I saw there was a Harry Potter one somewhere and that would be so cool! I don’t really know how they work and I’ve always been a little afraid to do them in case I’m too stupid to figure them out.” You don’t realise your babbling till you catch sight of his grin once more, body heating in embarrassment as you duck your head and apologise.

Immediately though he’s soothing your fears, giving you little cooing noises and an overly dramatic expression that has you snorting out a laugh. “Hey, don’t do that! It’s cute, I’m glad you’re excited. That’s what I wanted. I wanted to try and find a way to make you a bit more comfortable. I know how nerve wracking first dates are and I’ve been pretty nervous too.”

You look at him then, a look of pure disbelief written all over your face so plainly that he lets out a bark of laughter, his hand coming up to cover his mouth as he points at you with the other. “Oh god, your face. I have! I’m not lying. I know I can look pretty intimidating but I’m just a guy and first dates are just as scary for me.”

“Mmm, I’m sure they are. Especially when you look like...this.” A brief movement of your hand gestures to his whole body and he looks down with a breathy laugh again, shaking his head before looking at you, tongue running along his lower lip.

“I get the feeling you’re pretty blunt and sarcastic. Am I right?” Immediately you look away, shoulders hunching as your hands grip your bag tightly.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to. I don’t mean to sound like that, it just comes out.” He’s shaking his head though, smiling to himself as he looks forwards and directs you down another street before pointing at the sign for the escape room.

“It’s okay. I like people who speak their mind. As long as I know that you’re joking if you say something mean…” You go to protest at that but it dies at the sign of mischief in his eyes, recognising that he’s coaxing you out of the shell he obviously knows you must have built so strongly around yourself. And your heart warmed in response, glad that he’s not immediately pushing you away and in fact encouraging you.

“We’ll see if you still think that after we’ve got out of the room...if we can get out.” Hoseok hums, tapping his finger against his lip ring before grinning brightly, opening the door to the business and giving a completely over the top and ridiculous ‘enter’ gesture that has him bowing comically. Even as silly as it looked, he still looked amazing yet you felt a little more at ease with how open and friendly he was being.

“After you my lady. I have full faith we will get out. How hard can these things be?”

“What the actual fuck was that. Seriously! We didn’t even get out of the first damn room, I didn’t even know they had more than one room!” Hoseok rants, his cheeks slightly red as his brow creases while he gesticulated wildly through his rant. You watch him, amused for a few moments before continuing to walk along with him.

Despite his bravado at the start, you had both actually done abysmal in the escape room. You’d quickly discovered that Hoseok had absolutely no idea what he was doing in there and you’d tried your hardest, only to discover that you’d been fixating on a strange looking picture which actually had absolutely nothing to do with anything.

The staff had been incredibly amused when they finally let you out after an hour, telling you both cheerfully that no one had ever not managed to get out of the first room before. At least you’d made an impression on them, and you’d probably be an amusing story for Hoseok’s friends too.

He certainly was going to be for Chungha and Soyeon.

It had been fun though, oddly fun to say you were making no progress. Hoseok was funny, the kind of guy who made you laugh without even realising he was trying as he’d talked to himself in confusion, brows knitted together before exclaiming in a loud and suddenly thick dialect. You’d ended up spending a lot of time giggling at him and surprisingly, you’d managed to find out more than you’d expected during that hour.

He’d talked about how his friends would love to come and do this but that he wasn’t sure if they’d do worse or better. Apparently, the thought that two called Yoongi and Seokjin would probably do well. They were both sales account managers at Seokjin’s father’s company while someone called Taehyung worked as a customer service rep at the same company.

He was apparently the blue haired guy in Hoseok’s profile picture on Facebook, while the pink guy was Jimin. He worked as a bartender at the usual place Hoseok and his friends drank at; a dive bar basically that was frequented by bands trying to start their career. Jungkook was in college, doing a postgrad degree in sports psychology and his final friend, Namjoon, was a lawyer.

The diversity of his friends bemused you, but he’d said that was because most of them he’d met in college. Jungkook was apparently one of Taehyung’s friends who’d slowly become integrated with Hoseok’s friend group once he’d gone to college whilst Namjoon was a childhood friend. You’d found it fascinating that he considered six people his close friends when you couldn’t imagine having more than two or three.

It was then that he’d queried your friends, asking if you had anyone who might like to come to an escape room. Chungha would have been happy to get involved but you knew that Soyeon didn’t like the idea of being locked in somewhere. She had claustrophobia and while it wasn’t bad enough to make her panic in an escape room, she wouldn’t be happy at not being able to escape.

Other than that, it had mostly been passing comments that had led to small discussions between the two of you as you both tried to figure out what you were doing. Which evidently hadn’t worked, given you hadn’t gotten out but it had relaxed you all the same. You’d almost felt comfortable around him by the end, the fact it was a date pushed out of your mind until you’d both finally walked out of the door.

And now you were faced with the dinner. On the one hand, you were eager because you were hungry but on the other hand, it meant that you had to finally talk one on one, without the interruption of something else. Hoseok doesn’t seem to notice your sudden quietness, his hands gesticulating as he continues to talk about your previous activity and you follow along.

You don’t know where he’s taking you, but you hope it’s somewhere nice and not too fancy. Somewhere that you’ll actually enjoy the food. He pauses suddenly, mouth open and letting you get a glimpse of the silver ball in the middle of his tongue and you feel warm at the sight, wiggling slightly as your best friends comments race through your head out of nowhere.

“Oh god, imagine getting oral from him. That tongue and piercing...oof...yes please.” Soyeon sighed, fanning her face and looking up to the ceiling as Chungha lets out a low whistle. The photo they’re looking at is one where Hoseok is sticking his tongue out fully, a festival scene behind him and his tongue piercing clearly on display.

Her comment makes your cheeks heat while you squirm slightly, embarrassed at what she said but even more embarrassed at the fact you too had thought of that already. There was no way in hell that you would admit to perhaps touching yourself to the thought of that tongue doing things to you.

“I bet he knows how to use it too. That man has the confidence of someone who’s brought many to orgasm. Girl, you are going to be so lucky if everything works out!” Chungha giggles, pushing at your shoulder while you whine softly to her. You could only hope that you wouldn’t end up hyper fixating on that piercing, because it had become one of your little group of friends favourite things about him.

Needless to say, that hadn’t worked and you let out the quietest breath as he ran that tongue over his teeth slowly, eyes focused away from you and completely unaware of just how ridiculous hot he was right now. It was just plain wrong, yet you can’t pull your eyes away from the straight lines of his jaw, nor the way the tendons in his neck strain just right as he looks down the street.

“Are you okay?” You croak out, coughing slightly to clear your throat and you hope he hasn’t noticed how husky your voice sounds. Thankfully though, he jerks in response to your voice and looks at you slightly dazed for a moment, dark eyes focusing again before he smiles lopsided.

“Yeah, sorry. I just...I don’t remember how to get to the restaurant I was thinking of. Do you like Indian food? There’s this really great place...that I know is here somewhere. I think we need to backtrack and then I can find it,” He pauses before giving a self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry, you’ve discovered flaw number one already. I am useless with directions. Don’t ever ask me to find somewhere. We’d end up in France. Don’t ask how, we just would.”

The laugh that leaves you is unexpected and loud, but you can’t help it and you see him grin in response out of the corner of your eye. He’s looking at you expectantly though, one brow raised as he reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair. Eyeing him for a moment, you nod your head and grasp desperately for the right words.

“That’s fine, I’m great with directions, luckily. I think I know where you mean, it should be back down the street and then to the right.” Pointing, his eyes follow your hand and he lets out a little ‘ah’ noise before smiling brightly.

“Great. Let’s go. I want to eat some good ass food. Mmmm, it’s been so long.” He moans out and you almost choke on your own spit at the sound, body feeling very warm at the overly sexual sound. The man just oozes sex appeal and it’s almost appalling how attractive you find it, but it also leaves you very flustered and unsure what to do.

So you just begin walking in the direction you’d pointed, staring down at the ground while your hands grasp at your bag and your shoulders rise up almost to your ears. A huff of laughter is behind you before the sound of shoes hitting the ground takes over, echoing over the quiet street and then he’s next to you again.

“Hey don’t leave me! How will I ever find it?” Hoseok pouts almost comically and you watch him for a few seconds before raising your brow.

“You’re a big boy. I’m sure you know how to use Google.” There’s a moment of silence and you wince, just about ready to tell him that you’re sorry and you didn’t mean to insult him. Because he was probably insulted, or offended. Or something at you. Either way, you could’ve been nicer.

But instead, he just lets out a loud laugh and shakes his head in amusement before looking you over with an expression that’s almost fond. “Point taken. Let’s go get some food. I want some naan bread.”

“Did you know that naan just means bread in Old Persian so technically you’re just asking for bread bread?” The words come out automatically, your natural instinct to just give a random fact and you don’t even realise it. It was something you’ve always liked to do, looking up information and absorbing it like a sponge. Your friends liked to joke that you were always prepared for a general knowledge quiz.

“Yeah? Why do we call it a naan bread then?” Hoseok asks cheerfully, interest laced in his voice and you shrug in response.

“For the same reason we say chai tea or Sahara desert. There’s also Lake Tahoe, because Tahoe apparently comes from a Native American word meaning, you guessed it...lake. Another favourite of mine is Table Mesa, which just means table table.” You carry on, remembering more examples as you continue and you laugh in amusement at yourself.

Hoseok chuckles as he walks alongside you, giving you a look that you don’t notice as you babble on about places that are also similarly named, letting you telling him more and more places while he just listens. Finally, you realise that you’ve been talking for too long and give him a chagrined look before apologising.

He just shakes his head and grins. “No...it’s okay. Oh...I know of one! The Los Angeles Angels! That just means The The Angels Angels. You’d think that we’d take into consideration the original language meaning sometimes wouldn’t you? Though I guess every language does it.”

The casual acceptance he gives you of the random tangent you’d just gone on warms something inside you and the fact he’s even actively got involved makes you smile ever so softly. Nodding at him, you note that you’ve finally arrived at the restaurant and duck your head down.

“Okay...let’s go...oh my god. I should tell Jungkook about that naan thing. He can just say ‘let’s get this naan!’” You frown in confusion but he just laughs in response, shaking his head and gently pushing you through the door. “I’ll explain inside. Come on, I want to eat!”

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zeldasayer · 4 years

Text

Loving Dyn VII - It’s Lonely Out In Space

(Or, Life As We Knew It Part 2)

Pairing: Mandalorian/Dyn Jarren x Reader

Summary: Dyn and Baby have disappeared. You try to find some kind of life without them.

Warnings: ANGST. HEARTBREAK. DISTRESSED BABY GREEN BEAN. I’M SORRY. Smoking, language, death.

“Keep you waiting, hour after hour

Every night, in your lonely tower

Looking down, at all of the wreckage

When we met, you never expected”

There is shuffling and grunting of a fight on the other side of the wall of yours and Dyn’s bedroom. You curl the blankets up around you as you hear the scuffling getting closer. Baby.

Adrenaline takes over as you fear for your sweet boys life, you kick off the blankets and leap to the door. You pull it open and you’re met with the most hideous man you’ve ever seen, your breath hitches. He raises his blaster to your face and you know that you are about to die, you close your eyes.

You hear the sound, but nothing happens. You open your eyes as the man falls to your feet. Your head shoots up and you see him - Dyn in full armour. You can’t see his face, but you hear his modulated breathing and you know it’s him. His blaster smoking, still pointing at you, and he’s panting.

“Dyn.” You gasp.

He turns to Baby’s room and starts.

“Dyn.” You yell, but he’s not listening.

He retrieves Baby, and you latch on to his arm. “Dyn, don’t do this.” Your voice breaks as it’s is full of nothing but desperation. With him in his armour, and you in just your sleep shirt you feel tiny against him, like he could crush every bone in your body with just his arms. That would hurt less than the emptiness in your chest.

“Dyn, PLEASE.” You cry as he keeps walking, and Baby reaches for you, little face full of terror.

“Baby needs me.” You sob. “I need you.”

Dyn tries to shake you off his arm and Baby starts to whine. He’s still reaching for you and the small bits of your heart Dyn left behind shatter.

“Why are you doing this to me?! What did I do?!”

Dyn stops at the door. “Let go of me.” His voice is low and dark, it’s practically unrecognizable. Baby tries to climb out of his arms to get to you, but he stops the child by shielding him away from you.

“Dyn, where are you going?!” You look up at him, but he’s just looking forward at the door.

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

You wake up from the dream in a cold sweat and you are reminded instantly of the crushing weight of reality. Dyn and Baby are gone. You sleep on the couch, because the smell of Dyn in your bedroom makes you want to be sick. You’re still in your night shirt from days ago, because you’ve barely moved since you woke up without him. You have covered every reminder of Baby, because your lack of sleep and heartbreak have begun to delude you and you can make yourself believe you can’t remember the sound of his cooing. It feels like you’ve died every day without them.

There’s a tap at the door and you sit up, taking a sip of the cold tea left over on the coffee table. Your head feels tight, and your face is sticky from crying and you are just realizing it is late at night. Had you slept through the day? Two days? You tie your hair up as you walk to the door.

The winter air nips at your face and you grimace as you meet one of your mother’s droids in the door way.

“Hello, Miss. Juniper.” It says.

“Hi, Seven.” You sigh.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.” You pull on your brown fur coat hanging next to the door and you stand there.

“Is there anything I can help you bring?”

You look around the cottage for a moment, “No. Nothing.”

You cross your arms, “I’d just like to leave. Please.”

The droid nods and you follow it out.

Your mother has sent for you. Once you confessed to hardly caring for yourself the past few days, Wilhemina decided it was best not to leave you alone and insisted you come stay with her at the residence until you felt like a human being again.

You arrive just as dawn is breaking and you kick off your shoes before silently walking up the grand spiral staircase.

“Perhaps a bath?” The droid calls from the bottom, and you don’t respond. You walk through the corridor, past your own childhood room, the guest rooms, bathrooms, to the room at the very end. Your mother’s.

You push the door open quietly and peek in. You can’t see much, the only bit of light seeping in from a crack between the drapes. But you can make out the huge white canopy bed, and slip out of your coat, leaving it on the floor.

You pad across the room, like you did so many nights as a child after a nightmare. This felt similar, and just like then you want to remind yourself it isn’t real. And that’s what makes this so much worse.

You lift up the comforter where your mother lays and she stirs, but moves to make room for you and you crawl in next to her.

“Hello, my star.” She says, voice raspy with sleep.

You lay there, facing her and you pull the blanket over your heads.

“Hi-i Mom” your voice breaks as you tear up again and she pulls you to her.

You don’t sleep, but you lay there in the darkness, focusing on her breathing. Waiting. Tears pooling in the corner of your eye and you wonder if you’re even alive.

Later in the morning, you sit in the tub, knees pulled up to your chest, your arms wrapped around them. Wilhemina pours water over your head and down your back and you just stare into the sudsy water. She’s finished washing your hair after you said you didn’t have the energy to bathe at all, and she says, “You will be okay, my star. It’s going to hurt until it doesn’t.”

You turn your head completely to the side, to shield her from seeing you cry and you feel her stand. Wilhemina walks out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her. You stay in this position until it begins to strain your neck and look back down. Tears rolling off you chin and into the bath water, you feel as dreadfully alone as you did as a child and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself think about Dyn completely. How he swore you’d never have to feel the childhood loneliness that shaped you ever again. You groan as you tilt your head back and your sight goes blurry, eyes filling with tears again, and you wonder how there could possibly be any moisture left at all.

You fall back into the water, submerging yourself totally. The hot water stings your face but you don’t care. It’s the first reminder in days that you are truly alive. Blood pumping, heart beating alive and it’s killing you. Under the water you are hyper aware of your emptiness and you scream, lungs filling with water.

The days drag on like this. Each one melting into the next as you take long baths and pace around the mansion in your big t-shirt and fur coat. Sneaking your mothers cigarettes to smoke outside, like you did as a teenager. Watching the sun set, how it once made you feel so alive, now left you with nothing. You can’t remember if you’re sleeping, you genuinely don’t know and all you want to do is tell Dyn it hasn’t fucking stopped raining since he left. You want to pull Baby out of the grass when he falls asleep after a long day of keeping up with the other children. Hear his excited coos when Dyn walks through the door, or when he brings you the insects he’s found. You want to read to them on the beach, then nap to the rhythmic sound of the ocean softly crashing into land. You want to hear Dyn’s voice. The way your name drips out of his mouth, how his moustache would tickle your jaw. You want to feel the warmth of his skin against yours and you want to hear him say “The sun rises and sets for you.” Because you aren’t sure anymore.

Your mother has bought you a new closet full of beautiful clothes, and art supplies as you left the cottage with nothing but you just keep rewashing the same big t-shirt and doing mindless activities to keep yourself occupied. It’s like your attention span has depleted, and your memory is playing tricks on you. You find yourself falling into fits of rage, for how could someone, one person, have this much influence on you that their disappearance has set your whole world on fire. And as you look down on the wreckage, you’re scared you’re forgetting how it used to be.

Days seep into weeks and suddenly -

“It’s been a month.” You say, looking up from your breakfast as you sit across from your mother and stepfather. Your eyes flutter in the realization and you stare off in thought, your eyebrows knit together. A whole month without any kind of communication. Could this really be it?

“I’m going to send Seven to the cottage for more of your things.” Wilhemina breaks your concentration with her words, “You’re wasting away here. You need your books. Your paints. Everything that makes you, you.”

“I’ll go with Seven.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Your mother responds, lifting an eyebrow.

It isn’t a good idea. Especially since you have the grotesque idea to lay on Dyn’s side of the bed for a moment when you’re back. The thought both comforting and tearing you a part. You have a sick desire to be reminded of his smell, to burn it into your skin, for you feel in your gut that it may be the last time. You need the reminder that you were once with him at all, existing, together.

“I just want to make sure Seven gets the right things. I left so many ongoing projects.” You say, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

Your mother squints. “Alright.”

You land at the cottage later that evening

“I’m going to go in alone, Seven.” You say flatly.

“I’ve been given strict instructions to help you Miss. Juniper.”

“I know, but this is something I need to do on my own.”

“Miss. Juniper I really must insist-“

“Seven, do you want my mother to know how often you snuck me back into the house, all hours of the night, as a teenager?” You’re starting to get frustrated and in the same instance wonder if this is now worth it. There really can’t be any good in putting yourself right back in the middle of memories that are going to just pull you right back down.

Seven turns, looking forward. “Very well.”

“That’s what I thought. I’ll let you know if I need any help.”

You exit the ship, throwing your arm over your head and run through the pouring rain and up the steps of the cottage. You fumble with the keys as you start to feel nauseous and you know this isn’t a good idea. You stop and look back at the ship, debating wether or not you should just let Seven do this after all.

No, you think, I can do this. Get my books. Familiar clothes. Get out.

You unlock the door and you step into the dark cottage. It smells like home and it makes you want to cry.

You close the door, turn on the light and pause.

“Where have you been?” A deep, modulated voice demands darkly from behind you.

Your face goes cold and you turn slowly, coming face to face with The Mandalorian.

Tags: @otherthingsinhead @aeryntheofficial @maryan028 @readsalot73 @osric-the-l3m0n-l0v3-demon @capsironunderoos @antclottz @intense-sneezing @igotmadskills @applesislife @marrvelle-fics @killtherandomness @holyground1996 @taoiichii @fahhhhq

A/N: I know the title is from Rocketman but the true inspiration for this comes from We Don’t Deserve Love by Arcade Fire. I recommend if you want to be emotional and we’re only going to get more emotional from here so buckle up babies. Love, Zelda

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #dyn jarren #dyn jarren x reader #baby yoda #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #star wars #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #angst

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