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myuiis · 6 months

Text

because it's written down, you've memorized it

gungoo oneshot

1.7k words

angst because chapter 479 fundamentally changed me as a person

ao3 link if yall want:

"You’re going to die in your best friend’s arms. And you play along because it’s funny, because it’s written down, you’ve memorized it, it’s all you know."

So, this is the end, Park Jonggun thinks as he swirls his wine in his small glass, watching his breath turn to steam in front of his face. It’s not a bad one, by any means. The snow falling from the sky in ill-fated flurries that melt as soon as they touch his skin; the faint rumbling of Seoul in the background; Goo’s gentle breathing by his side.

If anything, Gun thought this whole thing would’ve ended a lot differently.

A knife fight, maybe, or some other sort of barely concealed violence– teeth gnashing, jaws snapping, claws scratching at each other’s throats. That’s how they met, after all. Standing alone in that junkyard, the sky pouring rain as if it was crying for them, blood dripping from their wounds, bones creaking from the effort of staying upright.

But this isn’t much better, Gun thinks. It’s unfamiliar. Suffocating.

It’s so antithetical, so fundamentally opposed to everything they are and were meant to be. Weapons are only supposed to draw blood, after all. Violence is all that they had ever known.

So why is it that all he feels, watching his rival and partner and best friend of four years sitting on the ledge beside him, watching the clouds split into pieces and fall to the earth, all he feels is something stirring inside– a deep, dark, primordial fear?

When will you leave? Will you really leave? Will I really have to kill you? Why did you do it, Goo Kim?

Gun has always been a man familiar with fear. It comes with the territory when you kill for a living. But there’s something strange about this fear; it’s raw, a little bit ugly, a little bit too rough for even Gun to enjoy.

But what’s worse is this: they accepted it so easily, as if it was carved on their bones, as if it was a script they’d both rehearsed; their end was an inside joke between friends– easy, familiar, funny. Even now, they both understand what kind of person the other is, what kind of choices the other would make.

It’s like they both already knew this would happen, from the second they laid eyes on each other. They’re not the type of people for happy endings.

Still, they stayed.

Did Gun expect a different ending? Was he trying to achieve a different ending in the first place? Goo Kim, what did you do? What do I owe you? Is this really what you wanted after all?

Is that why, when Goo asked him to drink, for the first and last time, he sounded so sad?

But once again Goo doesn’t answer any of his questions; once again, Gun is secretly glad he doesn’t.

They sit there under the roof of the old house, the snow still falling in clumps and flutters, its whiteness shining in the dim sunlight.

“Hey.”

The silence is broken when Goo finally speaks again.

“I think I’ve gotta be on my way now.”

Gun looks up from his hands, abruptly realizing how much time has passed when he sees the sun already setting.

“Taejin might start getting worried that you killed me if I’m not back soon,” Goo continues. He cracks a soft smile at his own joke and stares at Gun, as if expecting him to reciprocate the smile.

He does.

“Why don’t we finish this bottle first?” he replies, picking the soju bottle up again to emphasize his point.

“What, I thought you weren’t in the mood for drinking?”

“Mm, changed my mind,” Gun replies, and that’s the end of it.

They pour their drinks out and down it all in one shot again, like they did the last time. The alcohol burns pleasantly as it rolls down Gun’s throat, and he remembers why he likes it so much in the first place: it tastes like a fight.

He thinks he’s drawn to Goo in the same way.

They haven’t ever drank together, courtesy of Goo’s aversion to alcohol and all things that could be considered a “vice"; but as they sit there together, glasses clinking together, it feels as if they’ve done this a thousand times over.

They pour out another shot and down it again. And then another. And then another. The entire time, they don’t speak a single word, barely even look at each other. Perhaps this was exactly the kind of ending that was fit for their relationship.

The irony writes itself.

A violent, glorious start, filled with snarky threats and bloodied fingers; a peaceful end. Like the slow fizzling out of stars that were never big enough to go supernova. Was that what Gun and Goo were to each other?

Friends, colleagues, lovers that never were?

Lovers, Gun thinks, whispers silently, rolling around the word on his tongue like he’s trying to weigh it, trying to scope out its smooth edges and sharp corners. It’s heavy. Unbearably so. He doesn’t think it fits them, doesn’t think it ever will.

Love is a tender, tender thing. Gun and Goo haven’t got a single bone in their body made for tenderness. All of their bones are for breaking.

Gun looks over at Goo, only to find that Goo had already been staring at him for who knows how long. When Goo sees that he’s been caught, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he only grins.

…Gun doesn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the way the light bounced off the rim of Goo’s glasses and fluttered off his lashes like stars. Maybe it was the way Goo’s face looked especially pale amongst the snow, so pale that Gun thinks he’d fade away if he didn’t grab him. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the slight flush on Goo’s cheeks or the farewell that didn’t yet slip off his tongue or his annoying smile that Gun needed to wipe off his face. Maybe it wasn’t anything at all, but at that moment, it was so easy to just lean forward and take.

So he does.

Gun leans in and kisses Goo.

The moment is stretched thin to infinity, like time has just stopped. Goo makes a surprised, muffled sound and tenses, but the movement is brief. He eases into the kiss as well, as if he’s been waiting all his life for this, as if they’ve done this a million times.

The feeling of Goo’s perfectly maintained lips against Gun’s own chapped pair isn’t unfamiliar. Neither is the coolness of his glasses against Gun’s nose nor the way Goo shifts in his seat.

After all, they had spent the greater part of the last three years together, and they had needed to explore some more… primal urges.

But what is unfamiliar is the tenderness.

Gun and Goo’s kisses had always been tongues and teeth: a fight, a challenge, a dare. A battle for superiority, like everything else they’ve ever done. At the end of it, Goo always tasted like blood, whether it be his own or Gun’s.

The taste of Goo, unstained by blood or anger, is something softer, smoother, so much so that Gun hardly believes that it’s really the blonde that he’s kissing. Goo tastes like rain and home cooked food and dollar-store soju.

Is this what a goodbye tastes like?

If so, Gun thinks that he wants to say goodbye to Goo again and again and again. This is nice, he thinks. If the Earth stopped spinning right then and time stopped flowing, the fact that they’re there together in the first ever moment of gentleness they’ve ever shared would be enough.

Gun doesn’t remember who pulls away first. Maybe Goo did, judging by how he instantly moves to adjust his crooked glasses or rearrange his scarf; or maybe it was Gun himself, as he instantly moves to fix his hair.

The moment ends, and they both pretend like nothing ever happened.

Goo is the first one to acknowledge it.

“You know, you’re actually pretty good at this stuff when you’re not trying to eat me alive,” he says, and it sounds noncommittal, like a joke. As if none of that just mattered.

But the crack in his voice at the end gives him away.

“But don’t think that it’s enough to get me to stay.”

Yeah.

Gun knows.

Goo is a breezy, capricious person. His moods come and go like the wind. But when he sets his sights on a path to walk, storms on his brows and a hurricane in his steps, there’s nothing in the world that can stop him.

Gun isn’t any exception.

Still, it’s nice to know that he was at least a temptation.

Goo dusts off his dustless coat and moves to stand up. There’s still a bottle of soju left in the bag he brought, and he points to it.

“Anyways, I’m actually leaving this time. That’s a gift for you. Have fun drinking alone, loser.”

Gun snorts.

“Yeah, thanks. Have fun drinking with your secret friends as well, idiot.”

Goo smiles, but there’s no mirth behind it. There’s a swirl of other emotions there that Gun can’t quite put a finger on. Sorrow, melancholy, regret, but not wishfulness. They would’ve gotten to this point anyways, no matter what happened.

“I will.”

Goo turns to leave. Before he does, he gives a backwards glance at Gun, annoying smile still hanging off his face.

“Hey,” he begins, and he sounds a little sad. Just a little. “It was nice while it lasted, Gun Park.”

“Mhm.”

And Goo walks off into the sunset.

Except–

Gun doesn’t know what came over him, perhaps it was the alcohol again, but whatever painful, ugly, tender thing drove him to kiss Goo the first time drives him to cup his hands around his mouth and shout:

“Kim Joongoo!” he cries after the figure in the distance. “Stay alive until the next time!”

But Goo doesn’t turn around, doesn’t even acknowledge him. Gun can’t let it just end like this. No, he wants, he–

“Kim Joongoo!”

Did you hear me?

Can you do that?

Will we ever meet again?

(Of course they will. They’re bound at the bones, joined by their flesh and their tendons and by something far greater that won’t ever, ever let them leave the other. Like two stars bound by each other’s gravity, they’ll never truly be able to leave. It’s hard to tell where Gun ends and Goo begins.)

Goo turns around in the distance, and–maybe it’s a trick of the light– but he smiles back. It’s something small, reserved, and it’s entirely sincere and free of trickery. It’s something Gun thinks only he has ever seen.

And Goo turns back around and walks off. Gun looks at his retreating form until he is consumed by the snow entirely.

#lookism #lookism manhwa #gun park #goo kim #park jonggun #kim joongoo #lookism fanfic #lookism webtoon #lookism fic #gun x goo #gun park x goo kim #gungoo #myuiis bullshit

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iwritenarrativesandstuff · 1 year

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Actually regarding my last Hatoful post I made, I don’t think enough attention is given to the way Sakuya has been completely un-personed by Le Bel. He’s not only “raised in a sheltered and classist environment”, everything he is is a regurgitation. There is not a single thing Sakuya says in early game that isn’t what his “father” told him to - this doesn’t exactly excuse his behaviour towards his classmates, but it is also very concerning. You would expect Sakuya’s arc to be about the pressure and expectation he feels as the next family head, but while it certainly does seem to be a lot of work, he doesn’t really show much indication that it’s gotten to the point that it’s too much to bear. He handles responsibility very well. He’s just. Unhappy. Sakuya runs away from home in freezing cold weather and collapses in the street, all because he deigned to think about loving music. He hadn’t even come around to thinking about actually pursuing it as a career. This alone seems more like Sakuya hit a breaking point than one isolated incident - there is likely a lot more going on behind the scenes that we are not privy to for Sakuya to be that subservient and that terrified of Le Bel. Hiyoko even internally notes that he’s always acting way angrier than he actually is - anger is a reactive emotion, and if he reacts aggressively, he won’t have to think about these things that challenge the worldview Le Bel has indoctrinated him with. He is literally too frightened to challenge Le Bel, even within his own mind.

Similarly, Yuuya takes on a job that restricts him from forming any semblance of a stable identity or from letting the mask fall. Ever. Sakuya deflects with anger and his high-born reputation, and Yuuya deflects with a flirty laid back persona while allowing everyone he meets to believe every rumour they spread about him. And people treat him horribly. He laughs it off with the whole “that’s a little cold” or “bit harsh” but. Like. It hurts him. I don’t think he’s genuinely ever built up a tolerance against that kind of badmouthing, and the sad part is that the worst of it comes from Sakuya, his own little brother who he would and has done everything for. But he won’t ever refute it or defend himself, because it helps him keep his cover at the school, and also probably in part because he feels he deserves it. Yuuya does not like himself, largely due to his constant guilt. He even doubts his competence at times, when his efforts as an agent fail (see early HoliStar). He has no idea what his future will look like. He has no plans for himself. He acts in defence solely on behalf of other people’s happiness and safety and receives the words of the man he hates most spat in his face by the little brother he would do anything to protect. And yet, to him, it will always have been worth it.

It would’ve been so easy to make them polar opposites but I do love how the writing actually shows a number of key similarities between them that pop up in certain situations.

Their correct answers in their routes typically involve standing up to them or telling them off in some way (Sakuya’s bossiness, Yuuya’s flirtation)

Sometimes make rash decisions due to their anger or irritation (I mean. Sakuya. A lot but also. The egg.)

They are both quick to take on responsibility for others in a crisis situation and tend to handle it fairly well for the most part (rip to Sakuya with the giant tank that showed up at his mansion. to be fair Yuuya couldn’t stop it either.)

Kings of not being honest about their true feelings or personality. Like ever. Masks and defence mechanisms up constantly. (Yuuya is at least a little more self-aware; he does genuinely seem to care about justice - while Sakuya, as stated previously, has very little in the way of an identity at all and is not self-aware in the slightest lol)

Anyways I feel insane about the fantail brothers. That is all.

(Art above is by the author Moa btw. You can find it on the wiki!)

#this post brought to you by my sudden recollection of sakuya being more terrified of talking to his father than an assassin sent to kill him #just. makes you think.#also how sad yuuya makes me. like. he’s still a kid man.#I liked him plenty in bbl but oh man. holistar yuuya. ‘this pain is mine you can’t have it’ holistar yuuya. holy fuck.#easily jumped up the ranking as one of my faves #sorry I’m being melodramatic. eh. oh well #hatoful boyfriend #hatoful kareshi #sakuya le bel shirogane #yuuya sakazaki #hatoful analysis #storyrambles #hatoful spoilers

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jihyocentric · 1 year

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ok so a thought you could maybe expand on for sugarmommy!jihyo. during jihyos pregnancy one day tzuyu gets a lot of attention from some women in front of jihyo. she decides to claim tzuyu by tying her hands to the bed and riding her for hours. towards the end jihyos breasts are leaking and tzuyu is desperate to touch them and taste her but jihyo still refuses. eventually tzuyu cries from the overstimulation and not being able to touch jihyo and she relents untying tzuyu and letting her nurse while fucking her until the both come one last time

cw: lactation

before her pregnancy started, jihyo didn’t have as many accesses of anger as she did now, teeth gritting as she watches two women approaching her fiancée, flirting with tzuyu as if she’s not right beside her.

it’s somewhat funny, jihyo thinks. it makes her amused and her blood boils under her skin. tzuyu says nothing, being polite and excessively kind as she’s always been, making jihyo frustrated because tzuyu never knew how to say 'no' to people, even when there were women flirting with her next to her pregnant fiancee.

the thought of trying to make them stop doesn’t even cross tzuyu's mind and tzuyu nods, smiles, answers nicely when they ask something, in the middle of the hallway, listening to everything the secretaries had to say attentively, as if she didn’t have a reservation at a restaurant waiting for her and jihyo.

jihyo gives tzuyu a few minutes, just so, to see if she’s going to do something about it. the mother of their ceo’s baby stands there, with her arms crossed and a sharp look on her face — but the women, however, show no fear before an angry (and hungry) pregnant woman.

“pathetic.” jihyo mumbles when she gets tired of hearing their voice, eyes rolling in annoyance.

“what did you say?” one of them manages to say, blinking cluelessly.

tzuyu clears her throat.

“i said leave.” jihyo takes tzuyu’s hand in hers, close to growling to scare them. she raises her voice just slightly, “now!” and the girls bow, realizing too late that that was their boss’ fiancée, taking their leave quickly after jihyo shooed them away.

tzuyu opens her mouth, for the first time wanting to address the situation, but jihyo silences her with a finger on her lips.

“i don’t want to hear a word from you until we get home.” jihyo states, keeping her hand intertwined with tzuyu's the whole time they’re out, even when tzuyu is driving.

being pregnant makes jihyo prettier, more possessive and ruthlessly controlling. fatefully, deadlier.

there’s a point tzuyu doubts she won’t get sore, her wrists tied to the headboard, ankles tied to the bed frame, jihyo on her lap, riding her with evident anger, snarling at her if tzuyu dares to open her mouth to utter anything that isn’t a whimper, or a moan, or her name.

“d-does this feel good, huh?” jihyo asks, her entire body flushed from the effort she’s been doing for the past hour, riding tzuyu mercilessly, only stopping when she wants to feel tzuyu unloading inside her. “you’re filling me so full… i bet it does.”

tzuyu wants to give her an answer, tell jihyo to untie her and let her touch her, mouth watering at the sight of her fiancee's swollen breasts starting to leak. jihyo had started lactating recently. tzuyu throbs inside her, whining loudly and clenching her fists, trying to free herself, but needless to say it’s useless.

“easy there,” jihyo lets out a sly giggle, hands on tzuyu’s thighs as she fucks herself on tzuyu’s spent cock, taking it deep, nice and hard, wanting to milk tzuyu for all she has really. “you might get hurt.”

tzuyu groans, disappointed when she realizes jihyo doesn’t plan on setting her free, glossy eyes staring at jihyo’s chest shamelessly as the older woman rides her.

jihyo’s thighs tremble for a moment, tightening around tzuyu’s hips, tight walls squeezing her shaft greedily as she comes, sadly leaking with tzuyu’s cum and hers combined.

“please, jihyo!” tzuyu begs, balls tightening and stomach growing taut when jihyo resumes her movements, back to riding tzuyu without even taking time for herself, ignoring the sensitiveness because she knew tzuyu was about to give her another load.

jihyo licks her lips, eyes coated with a dark glint, making a show of riding tzuyu.

she moves her hips as fast as she can, droplets of milk threatening to spill from her perky nipples, her bump not yet big enough to stop her from using all of her energy to drain tzuyu, raspy moans overlapping tzuyu’s whimpers of pain and longing for something she couldn’t touch.

“oh, you poor thing. should i listen to you? wanna put your mouth here?” jihyo smiles, subtly mocking tzuyu, squeezing her own nipples to help the couple droplets of milk fall.

tzuyu cries, nodding desperately, cock pulsing inside jihyo, feeling so close to the edge it hurt.

“so tell me this is the best pussy you’ve ever had,” jihyo says, demanding. she slows down her pace, letting tzuyu breathe for once. “tell me i’m the best and only one in your life, tzuyu.”

tzuyu knew jihyo was angry, but what she sees in her eyes makes her shiver. if she didn’t say it, she knew she’d be in for even more trouble.

“y-you're t-the best!” tzuyu rushes to say, breathing heavily, whining when jihyo rolls her hips slightly harder, both of them moaning at a deeper touch. “no one can compare t-to you, hyo! n-no one!”

“that’s right, baby.” jihyo hums, a hand supporting herself on tzuyu’s shoulder, the other one caressing tzuyu’s wet cheek. “cum in me one more time and i’ll untie you.”

jihyo doesn’t need to repeat it. tzuyu bucks her own hips, surprising jihyo. despite the lack of support for tzuyu to pound into her, she does her best, planting her feet on the bed and thrusting rowdily, only stopping when she manages to shoot the first jet of cum. it reaches deep, replacing her own load with more. thicker, hotter.

“t-that’s a good girl,” jihyo’s voice weakens at the feeling, feeling the fuller she’s been in a while. tzuyu tugs at the ropes around her wrists, looking at jihyo eagerly, silently begging with her puppy eyes.

jihyo lets out a sigh, a grin forming on her lips as she grants tzuyu’s wishes, pulling away and untying her ankles, then her wrists.

jihyo notices her wrists almost got hurt, and as much as she wants to say she warned her, the words die in her mouth when tzuyu all but pounces on her, making her lie beneath her, mouth finding a leaking nipple quickly, moaning in relief as she suckles.

“that good, mhm?” jihyo coos, gasping, tzuyu switching between her tits whenever one side threatens to leak out. “so eager,” jihyo wants to tease her but she feels relaxed, the words slipping out of her mouth lovingly, letting tzuyu settle between her legs and push her cock back in despite the sensitiveness.

tzuyu takes her time there, sucking and nibbling at jihyo’s chest, giving her some sort of relief, taking care of the swell of her breasts.

she’s careful enough not to inflict any pain with her curious, impatient touches, fucking into jihyo slowly and only filling her up again when jihyo is no longer leaking, another wave of warmth flooding the both of them when tzuyu gives jihyo her last load.

#anon #jihyo #tzuyu #jitzu #g!p #lac stuff #fill #not sugar mommy hyo

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epiclamer · 2 years

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Melting part 8 pretty please? 😳 Your writing is amazing!!!

Yaaaaay this series is back baby!!!!

@hstoria @ajiansaa @letthebodyfall @equestrianwritingsstuff @i-am-overly-complicated @deadwhisper @sufferfictionalcharacters @wolfeyedwitch @kurocantcommunicate @extrabitterbrain

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9

Melting Pt. 8

Sidekick didn’t force Villain to talk at all on their way home, at first, Villain had to admit that they were a bit skeptical. Hero suddenly disappears and Sidekick is overly nice and invites them back to their house?

It seemed too good to be true.

It must’ve been.

Yet, Villain kept to the sidekick’s right hand side as they let themselves be led to the others apartment. Maybe it was hope, maybe the villain longed so desperately for kindness that they let it blind them to reality.

As dangerous and real the threat could’ve been, Villain hardly let the thought occupy their mind.

Sidekick’s hand squeezed their own as they walked, sidekick being the only one who was actually putting any effort into the gesture, even though Villain absolutely adored it. They couldn’t show it. They couldn’t show any weak emotions that would set their guard down again.

Villain hated the way their own heart practically set them up for heartbreak.

It was cruel, a cruel double ended knife that always ended with the villain hurting. Villain couldn’t win; but they could pretend.

They could pretend that right now, Sidekick was holding their hand and leading them home because they loved them, they felt a spark with them, they were so much as slightly attracted to them. Not because their superior was waiting to ridicule and handcuff them or because they were lustful and Villain was easy prey.

For just this instance, Villain could pretend everything was okay.

“We’re here.”

The villain looked up from the pavement at their feet, eyes falling on a quaint looking townhouse that held many bustling people about. Sidekick led them specifically to door 105 where they passed through a freshly mowed front lawn before making it to the entrance.

Sidekick pulled out their ring of keys as they fumbled with finding the correct one for their front door and Villain would never admit how cold their empty hand felt. When it finally clicked and they pushed the door open, Sidekick hesitated, turning to face Villain before they entered.

“You know, if you don’t want to do this we don’t have to. I mean, I’m not going to force you to come inside. I just thought you looked like you needed some cheering up, maybe I can help with that?” They we’re so hopeful it made Villains heart ache. They wanted to just jump into Sidekicks arms and start thanking them. Everything they did seemed to give Villains heart a new life, a new reason to beat, a fresh start.

Thankfully, Villain still had some little decorum left. Clearing their throat before they spoke to hide their previous breakdown. “What are you going to do to me?”

Sidekick chuckled at the formality. “This isn’t a kidnapping and torture session, Villain.”

Oh, right.

“I just wanted to get you back on your feet. A bath, some warm home cooked food, maybe a movie if you can stand me enough to stay and watch.” Sidekick took a step inside, leaving room for Villain to pass them if they pleased, and gave the criminal somewhat of a hopeful glance, but didn’t say any more as they waited patiently.

Villain thought about it. Well, not really. They had made up their mind when Sidekick had first mentioned it being their choice. Home was dirty and wrecked, here could be a fresh start. Of course, they couldn’t forget about the risks, but they could push them aside and step forwards.

So they did.

Not making eye contact with Sidekick as they passed them and into the small entryway, but considerate enough to slip their shoes and coat off and place them neatly at the front door. Sidekick doing the same, just slightly quicker as they began turning on lights.

Villain didn’t want to talk, so they didn’t speak as Sidekick led them around the house, sliding around on the hardwood floors with their socks which made Villain giggle. They would have to get Sidekick to teach them how to balance like that later.

“-and this is the kitchen! That’s about all! I know it’s small, but you can only afford so much on a sidekick wage.” That surprised Villain, they thought heroes were all paid fairly, seemingly not so.

“Do you have any questions?”

The villain looked up from the ground, fiddling with their fingers out of pure nervous energy. The house wasn’t some evil torture dungeon nor was Hero waiting for them at any turn. This could be a new chapter, Villain couldn’t screw it up.

So they settled on only asking one question. “Why are you doing this?”

Sidekick huffed, shaking their arms out at their side as they slipped their hands into their pockets. Whatever confident front they had put on earlier was gone now and Villain had never seen them look so vulnerable.

“Because Hero hurt me too. And no one was there for me. I intend to change that with you.”

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dreamsgazer · 2 years

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A Piece of Cake

Warnings: No use of Y/N, some light cursing, post Bullet Train (obvious canon divergence), no spoilers

Tangerine x You

_____________________________________________________________

You are not angry. Oh no, you have passed that stage two hours ago.

Now you are fuming.

“It will only be a couple of hours, love” you snicker out loud imitating his cockney accent as badly as you can “and when I am back, we are going to have dinner and watch a movie. Ok?”

You said ok because what else were you supposed to say? Don’t go? Do you really need that money?

First, he would never send Lemon by himself to do a job, and Lemon wanted some extra money. Second, you wouldn’t want Lemon to go by himself either.

Third, this was such an easy job, according to both of them. A piece of cake. Something they could practically complete in their sleep, Lemon reassured you with a wink, waiting for his brother to dress appropriately - because to go and beat the living life out of some thugs who irritated some other thugs who wanted the job done but not direct involvement, dark jeans and a white blouse wasn’t the right attire.

You bit your lip, leaning against the doorframe “I thought you two were accepting only a certain... type of job.”

“Tangerine would for sure,” Lemon grimaced “because he has standards, our little princess.”

“Why don’t you fuck off, Lemon?” Tangerine shouted from the bathroom, no doubt smoothing his moustache with expert gestures.

Unfazed Lemon shrugged “International stuff is fun and pays well, but I personally think that money is money, and every once in a while, it’s good to show our faces around certain parts of London. It prevents some pricks to think they can be pricks in our city.”

Tangerine kissed you tenderly goodbye, before leaving “Pick a good movie, alright, darling?”

“Oh, do you think I can stay for dinner? Are you making a cake?” Lemon interjected, with a hopeful smile, stopping the wooden door from closing after his brother. He must have seen the custard and the other ingredients on the counter.

Clearly, you consented again, because he is sweet and fun to have around, but most importantly because he is part of your little family. You can’t deny a good dessert to anyone you love, let’s be real.

So off they have gone, leaving behind a worried you, who has busied herself cooking dinner, of course, and putting an effort into making a special cake you hope they’ll like.

You wanted to wait for them and eat all together.

And then you have waited a bit longer. And longer.

The food has gone cold and so did you, but the Twins haven’t even sent a quick text to let you know they were going to be late.

The scent of cream and baked butter makes you slightly nauseous.

They have gone for seven hours. Seven. Fucking. Hours.

The bothering clock on the wall of your tiny apartment is happily letting you know it’s 2 in the morning.

You are half tempted to go out and search for them yourself, but it's a stupid idea. Even if you moved to London from your Country a couple of years ago, you still can’t say you know the city that well.

And where would you start your research anyway? Surely the kind of neighbourhood they are visiting isn't one you have gone to, at least not alone, at night.

You huff as strongly as you can. There is nothing else you can do. Nothing can stop the horrifying scenarios your mind is playing in a stressful loop.

When you hear the key turning in the lock and see the door opening, you are in between a breakdown and a screaming match.

Tangerine is flaunting a black eye and a cut on his upper lip. His clothes are a bit rumpled, and sure enough, there is a cut on his right hand. All in all, though, he seems in pretty good shape.

With relief comes fury and with that the need to let him know exactly how you feel.

The grin on his face does not help diffuse the situation.

The motherfucker is trotting towards you, you think stiffening in disbelief right in the middle of the living room.

Tangerine stops as soon as he realizes your frown is so deep it could be carved directly into the bones under your skin.

“Let me explain before you strangle me,” he starts, lifting the uninjured hand “The assholes were a bit more numerous than expected and then we had to straighten things up with the people who supposedly should have paid us. Which they tried not to do.”

He smiles at you and then the smile drops. Even if you know he won’t ever admit that out loud, your furious silence makes him feel uneasy. When you are silent, it’s time he starts to worry for real.

“Look, love, I know it’s late...”

“It was late three fucking hours ago!” you finally thunder, hands on your hips “You two morons couldn’t be bothered to send a message, could you?”

Tangerine legendary temper makes an appearance “Well, we weren’t exactly frolicking around picking daisies, were we?”

“Don’t mock me, Tangerine,” you bark back, pointing a finger at him “Do you have a slight idea of how preoccupied I was? I thought I was going to see the two of you tomorrow on the news, face down in the damn Thames!”

“Well, darling, thank you for your trust! I am fucking moved that you think so highly of me!”

You want to slap him “I don’t give a damn about your stupid pride, Tangerine! I don’t see the point of putting you - and your brother - in danger for a couple of quids!”

“Too bad then because this is exactly what my line of work is! Putting our lives on the line for a couple of damn quids!”

You stare at each other with a mix of anger and regret and something else that makes you want to sob and scream and leave the room, but also stay and make sure he is alright.

It’s so intense and confusing you are not even sure who is right anymore. Perhaps both and neither of you.

You feel exhausted, all of a sudden. Rubbing your eyes, you really try not to sniff “I know that this is your life, Tangerine. I just wasn’t prepared to experiment with it tonight, all of a sudden.”

The breath you take is shaky when you look at him “I try to be as strong as I can, but this doesn’t mean I can quietly accept all the time the thought of you being in danger.”

He takes two strides towards where you are standing, his own face deflated and envelops your body in his strong, bruised arms. Bending slightly over you, he presses his forehead to the top of your head.

His presence completely envelops you and you fucking love it, even if for a brief moment you want to push back and tell him that he can sleep on the sofa.

It’s only a fleeting thought, though.

You could never bring yourself to waste the time you have together holding on to silly grudges. Not when everything went smooth enough that he is wrapped in your arms and in no need of a doctor.

“I am really sorry I made you worry so much, love,” Tangerine whispers, pressing his lips in your hair, once, twice. You can sense his regret as much as he can feel the tension finally running out of your body.

So, you let him hug you. You think you are a bit pathetic to be that happy about a simple hug.

You are not, though.

You are just desperately and irrevocably in love with a man who has a terribly dangerous job.

When you lift your face to look at him, you know he’s going to kiss you. It’s a long, slow, I-am-so-sorry-I-fucked-up kind of kiss.

Your lips open when his tongue gently pushes past them, and you grip his shoulders, arching slightly against his chest.

“Did you have dinner?” he asks once he needs to break contact to breathe.

Pressing his lips against the corner of yours, he smiles when you do “No, but if you are hungry, I can heat the food up. Oh, and I baked a cake!”

A sigh escapes from you “I’m sorry Lemon is not here to try it, it’s pretty tasty. What?” you ask when Tangerine looks at you with a touch of mischief.

“Actually, if you want his opinion about your cooking, he’s downstairs in the car.”

“What...? For heaven’s sake, why did he not come up here with you?”

He grins, stealing a quick kiss “I think he was scared you were going to rip him a new one as well. Also, I thought I would need a lift.”

Tangerine kisses your hand, sweetly “I love you, pet, but no way in hell I was sleeping on that thing you insist on calling a sofa. My back wouldn’t forgive me if I tried.”

You gently slap his shoulder with your free hand “Tell him to come upstairs, I will prepare the food. And I think we all deserve some cake, after.”

Lemon has the decency to look sheepish when he enters “Uhm... so, he told me you got cake?”

After all, 2 am is a perfect time for a dessert with your loved ones.

________________________________________________________________

If you liked my little fic, please do reblog, comment, like!

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x me #lemon and tangerine #tangerine bullet train #bullet train fanfic #bullet train tangerine #tangerine x fem!reader

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daisyishedwig · 3 months

Text

@cryscendo and @katyobsesses have been making me think about Hevans today, so I'm gonna share my rewrite of the astronomy room scene from Duets. Will I ever finish this full fic? Who knows.

“I love astronomy,” Sam said, staring up at the planets hanging from the ceiling, “something about all that space makes my problems seem kinda small.”

Kurt rolled his eyes with a smile.

Sam pointed up at the red styrofoam ball directly above his head. “That one’s venus, planet of love.”

Kurt laughed. “That’s actually Mars, planet of war.”

Sam glanced back up and bit his lip. “Which one are we on?” he said with a teasing glint in his eye.

“Earth,” Kurt said, brows furrowing. “Which I need you to come back to for a minute. What changed your mind about the duet?”

“Honestly,” Sam took a deep breath, “watching you sing. You were so confident and incredible up there. It felt like you truly knew who you were. I guess, if I’m going to be in this club, I need that kind of confidence. And I need to not let others talk me down.”

“Commiting social suicide doesn’t make you confident,” Kurt said.

“Maybe not, but hopefully, spending some time with you will. No matter the consequences.” Sam’s pulse was racing, waiting for Kurt to reject him, not fully understanding why he did not want that to happen.

Kurt pursed his lips. “Maybe,” he said, “convince me a duet with you will be better than what I just did on that stage.”

Sam grinned. “Okay. Let’s start with choreography,” he said, pulling his guitar strap over his head. “The singing will be easy,” he said with a spin, “so I’ll just start playing.” He started strumming gently before looking back to Kurt. “Get behind me.”

Kurt stared at him in confusion. “What?”

“Get behind me.” He jerked his head to the side with a lifted eyebrow. Kurt took a breath and set his bag on one of the tables, moving to position himself behind Sam. “Now grab my hips.”

“Sam,” Kurt sqwauked.

“C’mon, I promise it’ll be good.” Kurt cautiously placed a hand on Sam’s waist. “Closer,” Sam instructed. Kurt huffed but did as he was told until his chest was almost to Sam’s back. “And start swaying.” Kurt pressed his free hand to his forehead with a nervous laugh but followed the movement of Sam’s hips. “Now here’s the cool part, give me your hand.” Kurt lifted it slowly and Sam took his hand gently. “Do you know how to play?”

Kurt shook his head with a soft, “No.”

“Oh it’s easy.” He guided Kurt’s hand into position on the fretboard. “Just put your finger there, yeah just like that.”

Kurt was making a concerted effort to keep his breathing steady. He wasn’t sure when the last time he’d been this close to another boy that hadn’t been visibly uncomfortable about it. Sam was so relaxed and calm, even as he touched Kurt.

Sam started strumming again, and he looked up to meet Kurt’s eye. He smiled at him, and their faces were so close. Electricity thrummed through Kurt as he stared in shock. Slowly, the tune they were playing started to click in his brain and he pulled away.

“This is a love song,” Kurt said, spinning away from him, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Yeah,” Sam said with shrug, “it’s one of my favorites.”

“We can’t sing a love song, Sam,” Kurt said with disbelief. “The other footballers will crucify you.”

“Because so many of the guys on the team will be watching us sing,” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Maybe! Anyone could look in the choir room and see us. Anyone could walk by right now and see us, and you know what they’ll think.”

“That we’re two artists singing a song?” Sam said.

“That you’re gay, Sam! And people at this school are not that accepting, trust me, I’ve lived through hundreds of locker shoves and slushie facials and being thrown into trashcans. That’s the kind of talk Finn was trying to protect you from. That’s the whole reason I set you free to sing with someone else.”

“And why should I care? Isn’t being in Glee going to get me that kind of treatment anyway? Why does it matter what everyone else thinks about me?”

“You don’t understand,” Kurt pleaded, “yes, everyone else is bullied, but none of them experience the shit I do. They get annoyed and frustrated, but they can all walk away from the club if they want it to stop. But me? I can’t do that. Everyone at this school hates me because of who I am, not what I do. And if they think you’re like me? You will never be able to escape it.”

Sam’s face was drawn tight.

“I’m sorry, Sam. Thank you for trying, but I can’t let you do this. Just… sing with Quinn or something, it’ll be safer that way.”

#hevans #sam evans #kurt hummel #glee #daisyishedwig writes

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sorendeimos · 2 months

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Some of the fics I’m working on

Enjoy some snippets of the fics I'm working on below! Most of these are Explicit or Mature due to multiple reasons, from sexual themes to graphic violence to just being heavy and difficult to wade through topics. Please read ahead and speculate with that in mind!

Eternal Damnation, Explicit, (Sexual)

The soul between them looked back down at his mangled corpse in front of Them all, at the crowd gathering around the mutilated bag of broken bones and bleeding flesh, at the bus he had been pushed in front of by his sobbing friends nearby. “Do I get to pick where I go?” He asked softly, and his voice shook a bit, as if he were scared of the answer. The two men looked at each other over his head, locking gazes, before Severus waved a hand coated in pitch and sharply clawed in dismissal. Lupin smiled a dazzling, straight and white smile back that had the other man rolling his eyes. “Of course you can, sweet soul. There’s no reason you couldn’t, really. It explains why both of us got the same assignment,” Lupin reached his own hand, stark white and finely manicured, into his waistcoat pocket to extract the golden watch. He gazed down at the face, clicked his tongue, and snapped it closed. He spoke as he placed it back away. “We should make this quick, however, as you may fade within, say, an hour.” “An hour and a half by My estimation.” “And you’ve never been wrong before, isn’t that right, Severus?” Lupin drawled, trailing his golden gaze back to lock with the narrowed one looking at him. “That was one time,” Severus hissed between clenched teeth, lips curling back in a snarl that showed off sharp pointed fangs. “So he’s the angel? I thought… well… I-it’s just.”

Becoming God, Severus POV, Mature (Heavy Themes. Sexual)

I have never been a privileged child. I never grew up with the assurance that my parents loved me and would protect and defend me to the ends of the earth. I grew up with no such illusions that this was a reality I lived within because if it were, She wouldn’t have cowered when he turned his attentions from beating Me for the infraction of the hour to Her. She would have already been between us, defending Me as best She could have. That doesn’t mean I don’t love them. As much as I hate to say that, I love them and I wish they were better. I wish that the God My father so ardently claims to worship would fix him so he was kind, or simply smite him dead. But God doesn’t exist, so I suppose I will have to take matters into My own hands.

Becoming God, Sirius POV, Mature (Heavy Themes, Sexual)

It is never easy to let go of your own upbringing. It’s never simple to accept who you are in the face of family looking down on you and sneering at what you’ve become, despite their best efforts to make you something - someone - that you aren’t. And by God did they try. Mother poked and prodded, snipped with words laced with poison meant to erode away all the “unseemly behaviours for someone of our ilk, Sirius” that came with being myself. But She never succeeded, and it was the worst day of My life when She said She had no eldest son. When She disowned Me and blasted My name off the family tree as I ran from home. It was also the best day of My life because I was finally free.

Coping, Lucius Chapter, Explicit (Sexual)

“This is unhealthy, Severus. Look at what I do to you.” Lucius ran soft fingers over the bruised flesh of Severus’ wrists. He pressed a kiss to one, then the other, and sighed. “You won’t let Me heal these, will you?” “Of course not, they’re to remind Me.” “Of what?” “That I’m alive.”

Mr. Loverman, Mature (Graphic Violence)

“Last chance.” Harry says, his eyes are dead, no longer sparkling green but flat and dangerous. He hasn’t been the same since Draco. The man panics, thrashing in the chair and trying to shake Harry off. He screams, yells that he knows nothing, that he wasn’t there, that he never hated Draco, that he wasn’t even in the country, anything to get Harry to hear him. By the time Harry is done with Pucey, the man has no teeth, a broken jaw, and the fear of one Harry James Potter engraved into his bones. He turns himself in for the list of charges the DMLE has on him two days later when the jaw pain becomes unbearable, and sobs with relief when they fix it. He refuses to give Harry up. He thanks them when they escort him to Azkaban, and he sobs when they lock him into his cell.

I hope you all look forward to these pieces! Any ideas or speculations on the storylines are ALWAYS welcome, though I reserve the right to confirming or denying them!

#severus snape #sordidwriting #writing #fanfiction writer #harry potter fanfiction #sorendeimos #lucius malfoy #sirius black #marauders era #harry potter #adrian pucey #remus lupin x severus snape #lucius malfoy x severus snape #sirius black x severus snape #moonprince #snack #blackprince #snupin #snucius

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yuriko-mukami · 5 months

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I miss Mukami found family headcanons! Can you share more? 👀

The Extended Mukami Family Headcanons Part 3: The New Year’s Eve

This ask was answered together with @ruki-mukami-dl, @seaoflove07, @eri-talks, @mermaid--bride and @nalia-tsukino. We decided to make this New Year's Eve themed since it's that time of the year.

Before the New Year’s Eve

Christine will tell all the girls: “We are going shopping to buy our New Year’s Outfits.”

Other girls aren’t that eager to go shopping but agree anyway. However, Kazemi isn’t very excited about the new year since she never really cared about holidays apart from Christmas.

Kou joins the girls. Ruki allows Yuriko to go with the others but even though Kou’s with them, he will tell a familiar to keep an eye on Yuriko’s wellbeing.

On New Year’s Eve Christine will wake up early to bake different kinds of cookies for everyone. Azusa will join like she always does. Christine will make sure he won't add any spice or chili powder to the cookie batter.

Christine will ask Brother Ruki if he needs help with anything. Ruki will assign her some tasks but wants to take care of most of the cooking himself.

Yuriko would want to help out arranging the party, but this year she isn’t allowed to do that. Ruki tells her to take it easy after the shopping trip and gather some energy.

The Family Party

Maria and Laito come to visit the family party since Maria is close to the other girls. She is very excited about the New Year. Especially about the fireworks. It's her favorite time of the year. The end of a cycle and the start of a new one. So she's going to put more effort into celebrating it than any other holiday apart from her birthday.

Nalia and Yuuto were invited, too, but since they had their twins just before this year’s party, they are staying at home and having their own family time.

Christine will be wearing an Elegant Sparkly dress with a nice pair of high heels.

Eri does not care about dressing fancy, socializing, and partying. The smaller the group and the more familiar she is with them the better.

Kazemi chooses to wear white and the same goes for Maria. But Maria considered wearing black too.

Yuriko wears her blue winter dress for the evening. She didn’t want to waste money on a new dress this time since there are so many other things Ruki and she will need to buy soon.

Christine and Kou will pull everyone to the dance floor. Saying no is not an option.

Yuriko and Ruki dance happily together, but only the slow songs. Ruki makes sure Yuriko’s feet don’t get too tired.

Eri and Yuma sneak out of the dancefloor as soon as possible.

Kazemi will be happy to be there with everyone and might even be a little more affectionate to Kou than she usually is. But just a little bit though since he likes to test her patience.

Midnight & Fireworks

Christine loves watching the Fireworks but will take Azusa elsewhere to watch them together. She loves the family but will want to have a special moment alone with Azusa when the fireworks are going on.

Ruki will take Yuriko to the balcony of the manor when it’s time for the fireworks. He will make sure she stays warm and comfortable. After the fireworks, the couple slip onto the third floor and cuddle in the bed until Yuriko falls asleep.

For Eri, fireworks are pretty, and she enjoys seeing different colors and patterns. However, since fireworks are loud, she would rather watch them from afar. So, she also sneaks out with Yuma in a secluded part of the yard. She wouldn’t mind getting a midnight kiss from Yuma. After that, the couple sneak into Yuma’s room, where Eri will either do her own things (draw, games, etc.) or go to sleep if the socializing exhausted her. Or snuggle with Yuma if possible.

Laito is also eager to have some special time with Maria. And he will make sure they find a place for that.

Kou is disappointed that everyone else disappears when the fireworks start, but Kazemi doesn’t mind that much. And after all, they both have sweet moments at midnight, too.

#answered asks #anon #the extended mukami family #headcanons #(( i assumed you meant this ))#(( sorry if this ask was about something else ))#(( and thank you everyone for participating of making these ))

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flowercrown-bard · 2 years

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For your arranged marriage series:

Could we see Jaskier charming all of the Witchers? (Or maybe just the witchers getting used to him in Kaher Moren- he certainly isn’t what they’re used to!)

hi! thank you for the prompt <3 He's not charming all of the witchers yet, but he's getting there

previous part / masterpost / ao3 word count: 4327

Not Just a Lordling

Jaskier was staring at the wall, the furs tucked up to his chin. He wiggled a little, trying and failing to find a comfortable position to lie in on the bed. It was cosy and softer than he had expected, from what little Geralt had told him about the keep and yet, he couldn't find any rest. There was something missing.

He scoffed at himself. Something, right. As if he didn't know exactly what he was missing. He had always known he had a penchant for getting attached quickly - too quickly, perhaps, for the taste of some. Be that as it may, the handful of nights he had spent curled up against this husband had been enough to get him used to falling asleep holding onto him. Now, his arms were empty and cold despite the heaps of furs and the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. He turned to his other side, so that he was facing the fire. The dancing flames were the same colour as Geralt's eyes.

Jaskier let out a frustrated sigh and threw the furs off.

Trying to fall asleep was not going to work. Not while his fingers were itching to play with silver hair and press against a steadily beating heart.

His toes curled as his bare feet touched the cold ground. For a moment, he just stood there uselessly, unsure what to do. He was half-tempted to hide under the warmth of the covers again, but that would only lead to another hour of tossing and turning. So he picked up one of the furs, wrapped it around his shoulders and crossed his room.

Just like the red shirt, the fur smelled like Geralt. Or perhaps it was just the scent of the keep and Jaskier hadn’t gotten used to it yet. Maybe one day, he would enter the keep and only be surrounded by the smell of home, just as he had always been, when he had returned from a trip to some dukedom with his father.

He tucked the fur tighter around himself, in place of an embrace. It was a bad substitute. It would have been so easy to embrace Geralt before going to bed. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have trouble falling asleep. But the knowledge that Geralt didn’t want to share a room with him had held him back. It was understandable. Of course it was. Geralt was used to having his peace and quiet and Jaskier…well. He was anything but peaceful and quiet, tossing and turning in his sleep and sometimes even talking while he slept. It was only natural that Geralt wanted to have his room for himself.

That didn’t change the fact that at the moment, it had hurt. ‘Why?’ Jaskier had wanted to ask, even though he knew there were hundreds of reasons, ‘Why don’t you want me?’

Pushing these doubts as far down as he could, Jaskier pulled open the door and slipped into the hallway. A couple of torches were lit, though the witchers must have not bothered with making sure they would last through the night.

Jaskier hesitated, before making his way towards Geralt’s room. He didn’t really know what he wanted there or what he could say that wouldn’t sound incredibly awkward or rude. He couldn’t outright say that he wanted to sleep in the same room as Geralt. The witcher needed some time to himself. Besides, Geralt might take it the wrong way. He had put so much care into making the room perfect for Jaskier. If Jaskier told him he didn’t want the room, he might think Jaskier didn’t appreciate his efforts.

Maybe, in a couple of weeks, once Geralt got used to his presence in the keep, he wouldn’t mind so much if Jaskier asked him to share a room. Jaskier would do his very best to get Geralt to like him and then he would ask. After all, what did he have to lose? Geralt was kind, even though he had his moments of gruffness. The room he had given Jaskier was a testament for that. It was as cosy as could be and the window had shown him the last beams of the sun as it went to sleep. Maybe it was merely a coincidence, but maybe, Geralt had noticed that Jaskier wasn’t keen on getting up early, but loved watching the sky change its colour in the evening.

He held onto that hope, as he reached Geralt’s room. Ignoring his pounding heart, he knocked on the door.

“Geralt?” He whisper-called. No reply. He told himself there was no reason to be disappointed. Maybe Geralt had gone to sleep already. Sure, he had told Jaskier that he could come to him, if he needed anything, but that didn’t mean Jaskier had to rouse him from his sleep just because he was feeling a little lonely. Indecisive, Jaskier turned away. He should just go back to bed. He was still weakened from his injuries and his legs already begged him to get some rest. But he had spent the last days doing nothing but lie around and let others take care of him. His feet were itching to move. And so he did.

He did his best to recall what Geralt had told him about the keep. It couldn’t be that hard to backtrack the way they had taken from the infirmary. There were barely any turns. There was no way Jaskier would get lost.

Jaskier was lost. He hadn’t roamed the halls for that long, but at some point he must have taken a wrong turn, or maybe the hallways simply looked different, now as the torches were almost completely burned down. Damn it, he should have just stayed in bed. He had to hurry to get back before the torches went out completely and he was left in the dark.

He hastened down another hallway, cursing his luck, when he suddenly perked up. There were voices. Far away still, but unmistakable!

Quickly, he followed them, already composing a sheepish excuse about why he was wandering about at night on his own. Gods, he hoped this wouldn’t make a bad impression on whoever he was about to meet. Finally, he saw light falling through a door that was left ajar. He straightened his spine, pulled the fur over his shoulders in a way that looked slightly more presentable and marched forward.

“- he doesn’t belong.”

Jaskier froze. He knew that voice. He had fallen asleep to the sound of Geralt talking to his brothers night after night.

His fingers burrowed into the fur, gripping it tightly. So Geralt wasn’t asleep in his room after all. By the sounds of it, he was frustrated about something, though Jaskier could be wrong about that. If there was one thing he had learned about Geralt, it was that it was nearly impossible to tell what he was thinking. At least for him. His brothers and Vesemir didn’t seem to have the same problem. He hoped, one day, he would learn to understand Geralt as they could.

“It’s a little too late for those kinds of thoughts,” a voice Jaskier didn’t recognise answered. “I’m sure he’s not that bad.”

Geralt grunted, though Jaskier had no idea if it was in denial or agreement.

Worry crept up at him and even though he knew this was wrong, he stayed as quiet as possible, so he could hear what was being said next. There was no guarantee they were talking about him, he told himself. Geralt could be talking about anyone, really. Just because he -

“Jaskier isn’t used to this.” Fuck. Jaskier closed his eyes, as he listened to his husband talk about him, growing more and more agitated. “Maybe, he can get through the winter here, but what then?” There was the sound of something wooden hitting a table. “What am I supposed to do with him in spring? Take him with me on the Path?” Geralt let out a bitter laugh. Quieter, he added, “Leave him here?” Jaskier flinched back. Hastily, he retreated. He couldn’t listen to this. Don’t leave me! His mind was screaming, but louder, Geralt’s words were echoing over and over in Jaskier’s head ‘He doesn’t belong. He doesn’t belong. He doesn’t belong.’

Jaskier came to an abrupt halt. No. No, Geralt was wrong. Just because Jaskier wasn’t as strong as a witcher and had been a burden these past days, didn’t mean he could just be discarded. He belonged. He would make himself belong. With determination welling up in him, he turned on his heels and headed for the door once more. This time, he didn’t pause, didn’t give himself a chance to overhear something that might make him doubt and falter. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, groaning as the movement pulled on his arm.

Immediately, the voices stopped. Jaskier was greeted by the sight of five witchers sitting at a table, turning and straining their necks to stare at him. Though Lambert’s position could hardly be considered sitting. He was draped like a cat across the lap of a witcher Jaskier didn’t recognise. Jaskier’s brows rose lightly, when he noticed that the unfamiliar stranger was wearing a dark shirt that seemed to be too small on him, while the shirt Lambert was wearing was too big. Subconsciously, Jaskier tugged at the sleeves of his own borrowed shirt.

The surprise of seeing the gruff youngest witcher leaning against someone else in such open affection, made Jaskier forget his doubts and worries. At least, until Geralt got up, awkwardly standing there and raising his hands just the slightest bit, before aborting the motion. “Jaskier.” His face was doing something funny, before quickly morphing back into a blank mask. “What are you doing here?”

“Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to spend some time with you?” Jaskier said in that tone that sounded like a tease, even though he was being fully serious.

“No,” Geralt deadpanned without hesitation. Softer, he added, “Are you alright?” No, Jaskier thought. Not as long as you don’t think I have a place in your life.

He had already plastered a smile on his face and began to wave Geralt’s worries away, when he stopped himself. He didn’t want to lie. Not to Geralt. Maybe Geralt would think him weak for admitting weakness, but if he didn’t at least try to breach the topic, it wouldn’t get any better.

“Couldn’t sleep.” .

Geralt frowned. “Is there anything you need? More blankets?” He looked somewhat helplessly to Eskel for advice. “Tea?”

Ah, there was that warmth inside Jaskier again, slowly pushing back the fear. Maybe Geralt truly did believe he didn’t belong and was unfit to live here, but he also didn’t expect him to simply change to fit in. He accommodated him instead. He clung to that thought like a child clung to their stuffed animals.

“No, thank you you. I just - I don’t think I want to be alone right now.”

“Oh.” Geralt’s hand twitched, as if he was unsure what to do, then he moved around the table towards Jaskier and awkwardly patted him on the back. “You must miss your family.”

The gesture was so clumsy but genuine that Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“I was thinking I could stay here for a bit? Get to know my new family?” It was too much, calling them his new family already, but Jaskier couldn’t stop himself. He was aching with the want to be a part of this. Before the sudden burst of confidence left him, he took Geralt’s hand and pulled him back to the table, where he sat down next to the spot that had been Geralt’s before. Slowly, Geralt lowered himself on the bench as well, not saying a word. It was a little unsettling, but much better than words of rejection.

A snort from Lambert broke through the awkward silence that threatened to settle over them.

“I don’t know what you expect, but we’re not a prim and proper bunch like your family. You’re not going to find any sleep down here, lordling.”

“Lambert,” Geralt growled in warning.

Jaskier’s brows rose and he pointedly nodded to where Lambert was lying in the other witcher’s lap.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You seem to lie rather comfortably.”

“It is comfortable,” Lamberd agreed unbothered and snuggled a little closer against the other witcher. “You should try it. I’m sure Geralt wouldn’t push you off his lap.” “Lambert!” Geralt hissed sharply. For a second, the worry from before flared back up inside Jaskier. What if Geralt genuinely did hate how Jaskier had snuggled against him on the journey and only wanted to get away from him now? But when he gave Geralt a closer look, he saw something he hadn’t expected. Geralt looked flustered. Jaskier had no idea whether it was because of the idea of Jaskier pillowing his head on Geralt’s lap while his brothers could see, or simply because he didn’t know how to react to Lambert’s teasing. Either way, it wasn’t a bad reaction.

Still, Jaskier didn’t think it was a good idea to follow through and actually do what Lambert suggested, as long as he wasn’t sure whether his touch truly was unwanted. So instead, he gave Lambert a mock-haughty look.

“Maybe if you just keep lazing around instead of doing something fun, you’ll bore me back to sleep.” He put just enough of a challenge into his words to pique Lambert’s competitiveness.

“Boring?” Lambert sat up, making the other witcher pout playfully.

Jaskier shrugged. He couldn't resist nudging Geralt lightly and saying, “It’s not your fault. Not everyone can be as captivating as my husband.” Geralt shifted his weight a little, looking slightly uncomfortable. Fuck, Jaskier hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic. He had just wanted to tease his brother-in-law.

Frantically, he searched for something to distract them. His eyes fell on a deck of cards that was messily strewn around at the far end of the table.

“Is that Gwinnt?” he asked, leaning over Geralt so he could get a better look at the cards.

“Gwent,” Lambert corrected him, at the same time as Geralt perked up and asked, “You know how to play?”

There was only a split-second, in which Jaskier hesitated. But oh screw it, he wanted to prove that he could belong with these people, so he had to make them like him. With card games, the odds were fairly equal for whether his opponent would end up hating or loving him. Not the best odds, admittedly, but right now, Jaskier didn’t know what else to do to get the witchers to see him as anything other than a helpless idiot who didn’t fit in.

“A little.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “We don’t really play it in the South. But a couple of years ago, some travelling bards came through and tried to teach me. It’s been a while though.”

Lambert’s lips twitched. He reached over for the deck and began shuffling it. Jaskier got the distinct impression that he was being extra showy.

“Don’t worry, lordling,” Lambert said, handing the deck to Jaskier. “I’ll go easy on you.” The glint in his eyes promised something entirely different.

“Alright.” Jaskier fumbled with his cards a little, as he pulled his hand from the deck and studied the cards with a frown.

“I can help you,” Geralt said suddenly, scooting a little bit closer, so he could see Jaskier’s cards.

“Oh.” Jaskier very much didn’t blush at how eager Geralt sounded. “Thank you.”

Across the table, Lambert snorted. “It’s cheating if you’re having someone who’s actually good at the game help you.”

“Worried you’re not good enough yourself?” Jaskier shot back. “Maybe you need help too?”

Lambert narrowed his eyes once more. He nudged the witcher with the too-small shirt, who rolled his eyes fondly and pulled another deck out of the pockets on his breeches, handing it to Lambert.

“You ready?” Lambert asked Jaskier with a wolfish grin.

Instead of replying, Jaskier put a card on the table between them. Judging from Lambert’s smug expression, it wasn’t a brilliant move to start a game.

With the confidence of a peacock, Lambert put a card down, immediately rendering Jaskier’s starter card useless.

“At least try to play this correctly, will you?” Lamber teased and leaned back with a smug expression.

Jaskier glanced at Geralt, who immediately jumped to his aid, suggesting a card for Jaskier to put down next. As they played, Jaskier felt himself relaxing. Geralt never jumped in with advice if Jaskier didn’t ask for it and when Jaskier decided to ignore his suggestions, he didn’t protest. Every time, Jaskier asked for clarification on a rule or made an exceptionally stupid move, Lambert teased him mercilessly, but Geralt didn’t make a single comment about Jaskier’s lack of skills.

Eventually, they were down to only three cards each.

Jaskier knitted his brows together as he stared intently at the cards in his hand and back at the those on the table between him and Lambert, who did nothing to hold back his cock-sure smirk.

“So, theoretically,” Jaskier began slowly, “If I had a Scorch card, should I play it in the next round?”

He watched as Lambert’s smirk dropped for just a second, before returning in full force.

“First thing you should learn about Gwent, lordling,” the witcher said with great dramatics, “is that you should never let your opponent know what cards you have.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, voice small. Then, he placed his own card - very much not a Scorch card - on the table, positively obliterating Lambert’s cards. He leaned his chin on his free hand and batted his eyelashes at Lambert in a mock-imitation of the naive amateur Jaskier had pretended to be until now.

“And one thing you should learn,” he said sweetly, “is that you shouldn’t underestimate your opponent. Your reaction just told me that you have a card that you could use against a Scorch, which means - ” he used his remaining cards as a fan, “that I know exactly what cards I need to play to beat you.”

On the other side of the table, Coën snorted into his tankard and the other witcher, whose name Jaskier by now had learned was Aiden, laughed out loud and patted a flushing Lambert on the shoulder.

“Look at that, Lambchop.” Coën draped his arm around Lambert’s shoulders and rubbed his knuckles over Lambert’s head. “Seems you’ve met your match.”

“Fuck off,” Lambert grumbled, but if Jaskier wasn’t mistaken, there was a glint of respect in his eyes as he said, “Where’d you learn to play like that, lordling?”

“Told you.” Jaskier picked up his cards again to shuffle them - much more artfully than Lambert had before. “I was taught by bards. They don’t fuck around.” “That’s not what I heard,” Aiden shot back with a wink, making the others laugh. Jaskier leaned against Geralt, as he chuckled. Geralt wasn’t laughing, but he wore a content expression, as he looked down at Jaskier. Maybe it was just Jaskier’s tired mind letting him see things he wanted to see, but he could have sworn that there was softness and a hint of awe in the way Geralt looked at him. Geralt didn’t say anything, didn’t congratulate Jaskier on his win or tell him how impressed he was with how he had fooled Lambert. But he did tentatively wrap an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder, mirroring how Coën and Lambert sat and ran his hand lightly up and down his upper arm. It was better than any compliment, even though Geralt dropped his arm after only a few seconds..

“Who would have thought,” Lambert said, “you’re more than just a lordling.”

“I did.” Geralt’s quiet mumbling was almost lost to Jaskier, but when he did a double take, there was a hint of red on Geralt’s cheeks and he gave Jaskier the tiniest of smiles. It was so small and yet it took Jaskier’s breath away. So Geralt didn’t just see him as a foreign lord who didn’t belong. He had no idea what exactly Geralt saw him as, but this alone was enough to set Jaskier’s heart aflutter. Maybe he had a chance to make Geralt truly like him after all.

Judging from the way Coën and Aiden grinned at him, he had succeeded in making at least the two of them approve of him.

“Alright then,” Lambert broke through Jaskier’s thoughts. “How about another round? No holding back this time.”

“Oh, you were holding back?” Jaskier teased. “I thought you were just that bad of a player.”

“Fuck off,” Lambert said, as he shuffled his cards again.

“If you’re so confident in your abilities, how about we make it a little more interesting?” Jaskier leaned forward on his elbows, resting his chin on one hand.

“Interesting how?”

“How about if you lose,” Jaskier tapped his chin with a finger, “you’ll have to tell me a story about Geralt.”

Lambert burst into laughter. “Embarrassing Geralt is a reward for me, not a punishment. I’m always ready to make fun of pretty boy.”

“Pretty boy?” Jaskier echoed.

Next to him, Geralt lowered his head, hiding his face behind his hair.

“Lambert,” he growled in warning.

“No, I think, this once, he’s got it right,” Jaskier said. Having the witchers laugh and joke around with him was exhilarating. It took away what little rational thought Jaskier had and replaced it with ill-placed confidence that made him brush Geralt’s hair behind his ear. “You are pretty.”

Jaskier watched in wonder as the red on Geralt’s cheeks intensified. Gods, he hoped it wasn’t because Geralt was uncomfortable. Though just in case that he was, Jaskier dropped his hand and put the tiniest bit of distance between them again. “So,” he said, clapping his hands together once. “If you insist on embarrassing Geralt when you win, then we’ll need a new prize for me. Hmm, if I win…”

“Pretty boy will have to give you a compliment,” Lambert chimed in before Jaskier could come up with anything on his own.

There was a thud beneath the table and Lambert jumped, glaring at Geralt, who glared right back.

Agreeing to this was a stupid idea. A very, very stupid idea. What if Jaskier won and Geralt didn’t have anything nice to say about him?

But what if he won and Geralt did have things to compliment Jaskier on…

It was stupid, but the chance was worth it. Besides, he was to say he would win anyway? He could just play as badly as possible and be rewarded with getting to learn more about Geralt. Really, there was no risk involved.

“Deal.” Jaskier held out his hand and Lambert shook it with a grin.

The game that followed was both the silliest and most intense round Jaskier had ever played. After only two minutes it became clear to everyone that both Jaskier and Lambert were doing their damnedest to lose. By the time they were both down to their last cards, they were grinning like fools, egging each other on.

Jaskier played his last card - and won.

He cursed under his breath. He really had wanted to hear a story about Geralt. He needed to learn more about him to find out how to worm his way into his life.

Lambert, however, cheered and lifted his tankard, making its contents slosh over the sides.

“Pay up, Geralt. Compliment your husband.”

“I don’t know why you have to get me involved in this,” Geralt grumbled and gripped his own tankard in a death-grip.

“Because it’s fun,” Lambert said. “If you didn’t want to be included, you should have said so when we decided on our prizes. So.” He leaned forward, batting his eyelashes at Geralt playfully, similarly to how Jaskier had done. “What do you like about Jaskier?”

Geralt’s eyes flickered to Jaskier, before quickly darting away again. He was quiet for so long that Jaskier was just about to say that the rules were stupid and Geralt didn’t have to give him a compliment, when Geralt turned to him and said solemnly, “Roach likes you.”

Lamber groaned. “Seriously, Geralt? Roach likes him? That can’t be the best you can come up with.”

Geralt squirmed and turned away, hiding his face behind his tankard once more.

“Stop it Lambert,” Jaskier said, “I think it’s sweet.” It was a clumsy compliment, for sure. Some might have said that it wasn’t even a compliment at all, but coming from Geralt, it somehow felt much more meaningful than any generic compliment like ‘your eyes are beautiful’. It was evident that Geralt loved his horse more than anything and if Roach approved of Jaskier, then that meant that he was one step closer to belonging.

Still, Jaskier’s reassurance didn’t succeed in making Geralt look any less uncomfortable.

“I’m not good at this.” Geralt pressed his lips together, before visibly forcing himself to relax and saying, “I mean - you saved her. You’re brave and selfless and -” he broke off. Quieter, he continued, “and you care. Even if you don’t have any reason to. I owe you her life.”

Geralt sounded so earnest that it made Jaskier’s heart clench.

“You don’t owe me anything” Jaskier placed his hand over Geralt’s on the tankard and gently pryed his fingers off so he could thread them together. With a lightly teasing smile, he added, “I like Roach too.” Geralt’s face lit up the tiniest bit. “Maybe when you’re healthy enough, we could go for a ride together?”

“I’d love that.”

Lambert gagged. “Maybe it was a mistake getting him to compliment you. You two are disgusting.”

Jaskier let go of Geralt’s hand and picked up his cards again. “I guess you’ll have to try harder to win then.”

Lambert grinned and the next round began.

---

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#do these tags even work?#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #witcher #the witcher #fanfic #my writing #arranged marriage

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tothepointofinsanity · 4 months

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Hello, I hope it's ok to interact with your personal posts, if not feel free to ignore this

I feel the same regarding relationships "resetting" on my end, do you also forget how to "behave" towards those people once you reconnect? Like how you used to interact with them, what you'd talk about, how you'd present yourself etc.

Ah, no worries, it’s alright to interact with me via my personal posts. ^^ I often feel very embarrassed about my own feelings towards things [which is highly irrational, but I am by all definitions an irrational person to begin with], but people have been respectful to me thus far, so I’m glad…

I do forget whatever mannerisms I used to conduct around those I’ve lost connection with. The thing is that I rarely stumble across those I’ve cut myself away from [be it intentionally or by the aforementioned trouble of simply losing sight of them], so the more regular occurrences are with those I almost lose, but they would reach out to me for hangout events every now and then. Even in front of those individuals, I forget myself, or whichever version of that cut board cutout of a “being” that I presented to them.

In my more shallow relationships, this isn��t truly a problem since it’s easy to bring up what I’ve learned to do, such as making jokes and talking about shared interests over tea time, but it’s a noticeably different case with those I’ve shared a deeper connection with. There is a friend I have whom I admired a lot, and they’re a bit of an eccentric fellow in a lot of ways, and we used to be close until both ends went silent. I still meet them infrequently every now and then between the interval of months, and though they made no remark about it, I noticed that I had reset into that detached and silent state with them. They don’t seem to mind it all that much, and truthfully neither do others, but I’m sure those way before would be uncomfortable with my silence now.

Essentially, resetting to your default self in relationships would be less bothersome if others aren’t observant to begin with. Most of the people I choose to surround myself with don’t spend their time scanning people’s behaviours, expressions and body language as much as I do them, but they can still pick up “thoughts” at times that I might be unwell. It’s preferable that way if others don’t examine me too closely, but the problem still boils down to how you feel about the way you act around others that you consider to be valuable to you. If a friend doesn’t reach out to me from time to time, I would make no effort to pursue them since that person no longer Exists to me. I suppose you also have to consider if you want that relationship to be maintained as well. I don’t mind my relationships falling apart, but it does get lonely at times when you end up in extremely long periods of self-imposed isolation. If it’s someone you used to care about and still want to continue caring for, you would have to slowly rebuild your presentation of the self to them.

But I think if anyone did care for me that much, they wouldn’t be so preoccupied with which version I am currently presenting to begin with. In the end, it still circles back to your own feelings and the choices you have to make…or not. For me, I look at my relationships and I’m reminded that people can be easily faded in terms of their importance to me, which isn’t their fault at all, but rather to do with the nature of how truly self-absorbed I am.

Ah. It’s so complicated and redundant to speak about it at times from my end. One day I care about someone and the next I’m out the door. The kind of person that is shallow and selfish - I really don’t deserve the people I have.

#ASKS 💌

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davecall93 · 2 years

Text

Binge (7)

It was difficult for Derek to process as his mind tried to race while the great expanse of radiated waves of pain and is was stretched to its limits. He groaned loudly, and tried to say something, the words being overtaken by a moan each time he opened his mouth. His eyes darted back and forth across the room, as if looking for someone to help him. All he saw were people staring back.

Suddenly from the back of the room, there came a voice saying, “I’m here.” And the group turned and made room for nobody other than Peter, who dashed to the front. “Sorry, I took a little bit longer. But I just wanted to —,” Peter did not finish his sentence. Upon seeing Derek, the young athlete, dressed in shorts and a tight t-shirt, bounded over to the now more spherical athlete, exclaiming, “BABE, OH MY GOSH YOU LOOK AMAZING! YOU’RE DOING SO GOOD!” To only further Derek’s confusion, his crush bent down and planted his lips on his and kissed him deeply for a few seconds. Derek was in too much pain to fully reciprocate, but somewhere, in his vast expanse, he could a faint tingle, even under the pain.

Peter straightened up again. “Did you tell him yet?”

Coach smiled. “We were just about to.” Coach took his turn to walk up to Derek and patted him on the head. “Derek, I know you’ve had some food already, but can I get you anything?”

Something about the question made Derek convulse a bit and he made a strange sound between a gargle and moan.

“Just so long as long as you’re comfortable.” Coach paused and took a breath. Clearly, he had known exactly what he intended to say. “You know, Derek, one reason our program produces such great athletes, why I produce such great athletes, is because of a lot of effort on my part. You come to me, I shape you into the men you are meant to be, sometimes more than you’re meant to be, and then I ship you out having done as much as I can to set you up for success. And I know that it’s not always easy to make it out there, but seeing my boys do their damndest to succeed is always repayment enough. You see Mehdi there? Just could not make it after college. But he did his absolute best, and then he came back to me and we found something else. That’s the kind of coach I am to all players.” Coach bent down and lift up Derek’s head by the chin and stared him in the eyes. “Especially my best players.”

“Now, knowing that, you can imagine how I felt when one of my best players quits the team out of the blue. Just quit! After all that time! After all that effort! And don’t think I was just thinking about myself. I was thinking about this teammates, his school, his best friend who had taken him under his wing. He just quit! Didn’t talk to me and didn’t even tell me why!” As Derek heard these words he felt the sort of hot guilt kids feel when they have done something to disappoint adults. A small sob jerked across his face.

“And, if I can be honest, I knew why. My boy was gay. Gay? As if I cared! As if Ray and I haven’t been seeing each other for five years…”

“Six…we just celebrated six,” said Ray, irritably.

“Sorry, dear.” Coach grinned sheepishly before turning back to Derek. “Peter’s a romantic one so get used to that…” Coach turned serious again and resumed is speech. “So there all my time and effort down the drain, my dreams for him vanished into thin air, my very best player sad and moping around all the time because his boy crush isn’t there anymore…what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to make everyone whole again?”

Coach cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Professor Schneider. Have you Derek?”

Derek nodded lightly. Tears were running slowly and steadily down his face. His body felt hot all over, not simply from the pain but an odd sick feeling that he had done something wrong and something terrible was happening.

“Brilliant, brilliant scientist. It’s rumored he did all sorts of government work before he got here.” Coach grinned devilishly.

“Just rumors,” said Professor Schneider, grinning . “Who’s to say their true?”

“They say all sorts of thing, mind control, physical enhancement…anyway…just rumors. One day my good friend and colleague tells me he’s been working on a little formula. It makes human flesh…how shall we say…stretchy. Nothing radical. Of course, he wants to see what can do before he goes ahead and tosses it into the pit of bureaucracy and regulation.”

Derek moaned again. His brain seemed to be actively resisting understanding what Coach was saying.

“And on the flip side, as I’ve mentioned, I have my mopey best player, filling my ear everyday about how he misses his little friend. And it’s not just that. Because he’s my very best player, and he tells me everything, like a good player should, I happen to know exactly what kind of body my little sicko is into and always wished his little friend had.”

“Coach!” Said Peter, mock objecting to the word.

“I said what I said. And therefore, with my usual inspiration, I realized I could put you to good use Derek while killing two birds with one stone. I get to help Professor Schneider take a step forward for medical science, and I get to set up my best player with the love of his life, looking just the way he wants him to.”

Derek eyes darted around the room again. As a sort of helpless panic built within him, he could not help but notice how calm. Peter was even hugging coach, saying, “Thank you so much.” Professor Schneider had walked over to Peter, and as he felt various pokes into distended gut, he realized he was being inspected. His head lurched as deep sob hit his face.

“Truly remarkable,” said Schneider.

“Can we play with him?” Asked Lucas.

“You have to ask Peter.”

“Peter?”

Peter smiled. “Oh yeah, go ahead.” He and Coach turned to Derek as the four athletes started poking at Derek and rubbing themselves against him. Derek waved his limbs in a sort of weak protest, saying: “Hey, c’mon guys…”

“Is he as you like?” Professor Schneider asked Peter. “I can do some other things to if you like. More sex drive, more obedient. Or even dumber…you know about that, Peter.”

Derek heard this and shouted, “What?! No!!”

Peter walked over to Derek and rubbed his head. “I like you just as you are, babe. He’s just talking about Dylan there. You see that blond guy? We hooked up my junior year; he was a grad student in physics. And since I can’t be out as the star quarterback, I told him to be discrete and well, he let it slip. So Schneider…I guess…”

“I wiped his mind. Or at least a lot of it.” Schneider looked at his former victim, who was sitting on Medhi’s lap. “He still understands a few languages. Ray says he’s a hard worker. And Mehdi takes good care of him. See?” Schneider pointed to the blond, who was sitting on Medhi’s lap. “Just a fuck toy now. It was a shame to do, he was one of the most brilliant students anyone had seen in some time.”

Somewhere in the pit of his impacted stomach, a tight sinking feeling hit Derek. Between that and how full he was and the impotence of his limbs as he flailed them about and the realization that the four athletes were playing with him, sending waves of sexual arousal that felt like nausea and the sudden realization his body was being permanently altered, he shouted, “NO! MAKE IT STOP!”

Everyone froze. For a minute all eyes were on the young man, as he kept shouting, “Make it stop!” Peter broke the silence, asking Schneider. “Is he really at the limit?”

Schneider shook his head. “Oh, I think you could keep filling him up no problem. He’ll keep stretching.”

Peter wheeled over a basket of cookies and approached Derek’s head which was shaking furiously. With a kind authority, he said, “Let’s eat, babe.” Derek tried to resist but only a few seconds after Peter had pressed it against his lips, despite all his pain, he found himself mechanically opening his mouth and chewing. Peter successfully got in a number of cookies before asking, “Didn’t we also get waffles or pancakes?”

“Dylan will get them,” said Mehdi, who instructed his boy to bring over the trays.

Peter spent the next hour feeding Derek despite the excruciating pain. But no amount of pain or fullness would stop his mouth from accepting food and swallowing. In an brief second of lucidity, Derek thought to himself: “I’m a bottomless pit!”

As Derek continued to eat, the boys kept playing with him, and a certain arousal was building up inside him. When Peter shoved the last little bit of drenched waffle into his mouth, he got up, grabbed the keg hose, inserted it in Derek’s mouth and let it run. Derek’s eyes grew wide.

“Oh, babe, I think I’m ready,” Peter whispered huskily into Derek’s ear.

As Peter disappeared from view, Derek, with the keg hose in his mouth and feeling cool bill run down his throat into his stomach, looked around the room at those who had conspired for this to happen who were chatting happily amongst each other. They seemed as normal and alien to him as his new size and distended gut seemed abnormal and alien. But suddenly there was another wave of pain that shot through him interrupted suddenly by another sensation: that of Peter mounting him behind and sliding well-endowed member into Derek.

In just a few seconds, Derek could feel his stomach expanding as it filled with beer, a pain more intense than any he had felt until then, and suddenly a wave of orgasm that sent his eyes as far back as they could go into his head. It was at that moment that Derek’s brain broke for good.

#weight gain fiction #gay gainer stories #gainer stories #gainer fiction

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noa-de-cajou · 1 month

Text

Prudence, Tomyris and the templars belong to @soupedepates !

CW for implications of child abuse

---

Prudence hates me.

I could tell the second she opened the door on us. The smile that didn't quite meet the eyes, the instant stiffness when she laid eyes on my hijab.

Prudence despises her sister.

I could tell the second she opened her mouth to greet Tomyris. The exaggerated warmth, the controlled kindness. It reminds me of Darsameen, in a way. Except Darsameen had the good taste of not pretending to like me.

Prudence is unhappy.

I could tell the second she laid her eyes on Élisabeth-Charlotte, her two years old niece, our child, in Tomyris’ arms. It was the first time we visited her since her birth. The way she paled slightly, then ushered us inside with a surprisingly sincere don’t stay out there in the cold, you’ll catch something!

Then the unhappiness could be felt everywhere. In the walls, in the enormous amount of kids running around, in the kiss her husband Ghislain gave her before looking away completely, in the meal she prepared alone for them. There was no pork in the food, but she did look displeased when I refused the wine.

Now Ghislain has stepped out for “a digestive walk”, even though I suspect he’s just uncomfortable around me, Tomyris and our daughter, born without a father. Said daughter is blissfully unaware of the uneasy mood and cheerfully playing with Prudence’s youngest kids, who don’t seem to give a flying shit that Beth’s existence isn’t approved of by the bible. They have gotten Tomyris into one of their game and she doesn't seem to mind.

As for Prudence herself? She’s washing the dishes in the kitchen, alone. I’m standing on the threshold, looking at her back in her baby blue dress and her perfectly braided black hair. The stiffness hasn’t left her. I clear my throat, she turns around. Her gaze turns cold and disdainful once more, despite her smile.

“Salimeh. Do you need something?”

“Just thought you could use some company. You don't look like you want my help.”

She blinks in surprise, but her expression then turns to annoyance. She’s not used to being found out, this one.

“Well, it's not like I can kick my guests out of my kitchen,” she replies.

Oh, Prudence, I can tell you want to. But I know you won't.

“Perfect, then.”

I make my way over to her and remain standing by the window as she aggressively scrubs a plate. For a while, neither of us says anything. But eventually, she feels obligated to make small talk.

“I hope the meal was to your tastes. I don’t know what you usually eat.”

It's more passive-agressive than it looks. In her mouth, it sounds like I'm some sort of root-eating savage.

“It was really good, thank you. I noticed you cared enough to not include pork, I really appreciate it.”

She looks a bit taken aback again. Probably not expecting me to thank her for it.

“It was a coincidence. The children prefer chicken.”

I doubt it, but it's time to change subjects.

“Thank you for having us, again. Tomyris was so happy that we could finally bring Beth to meet you. She's been on about it all week.”

Prudence’s shoulders tense again at the mention of her sister.

“The pleasure is mine.”

It isn’t.

“I know that took effort,” I say with my most compassionate smile.

“Beth is adorable and quite well-behaved, so it’s no problem at all.”

That sounds sincere, but there's a form of bitterness to it. One I know exactly the nature of.

“No, I insist. It must be hard. After all, children were the only thing you could have that Tomyris couldn't. I can tell it takes a toll on you.”

She stops scrubbing to look at me with pure shock. I said that in the most casual way possible, like it was easy to guess.

“What are you implying?”

Her tone is colder now. She clearly hates being read through, which is not surprising.

“I’m not accusing you of anything, Prudence, relax. It's normal to feel bitter about these kinds of things. I have older sisters too, so I understand.”

“With all due respect, Salimeh, I don’t think you do,” she replies dryly while resuming her scrubbing.

“No, really. Girls marrying young is common in parts of my culture, as well.”

I don't say the words “child marriage”. That would disqualify me in her eyes. It would sound moralist. She heeds me for now. No matter how much it irks me, I have to be cautious.

“My oldest sister, Darsameen, she married very young too. Had three beautiful kids, a daughter and two sons. She kind of reminds me of you. Very serious, quite duty-lead. My other sister, Parvaneh, didn’t want that and went to study at the capital instead. For several reasons, I couldn't have anything they had. No children, no studies either. I managed catch up on the studies later, but, well… Forgive me for being blunt, but Tomyris is not the sterile one in our relationship.”

Prudence looks surprised, and… Allah, there's actual pity in her gaze. This is templar culture, so of course being sterile is a woman’s greatest tragedy, but it's still off-putting.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It's okay. Even if I didn’t carry her, Beth is still my kid. We'll go with adoption for the next ones, at any rate.”

“... You're planning on having more?”

I can feel the slight tremble in her voice. The frustration. The way any additional kids in our household rubs salt in her wound.

“Not right away, but yes. There are many children out there looking for families, after all.”

She mumbles a vague reply, then goes back to her silent, agressive scrubbing. I pity the plate. After a while, I decide that maybe I should be a little firmer.

“You know, I used to resent both of my sisters for having what I couldn't. I felt justified in it, too, because Darsameen didn’t like me much either, but she clearly didn't want to be in my place. You used to be happy with the fact that Tomyris envied you, didn’t you? You look lost now that it isn’t the case anymore.”

My tone is less gentle. Colder. But I'm not letting it slip into something bigger. Otherwise, it's over.

“This isn’t a competition, Prudence.”

“Would you quit talking like you know everything?!”

Ah. I think those words hit a little too close. Because Prudence is now looking right at me with a face twisted by a barely contained anger.

“It has always been a competition, Salimeh.”

There it is.

“Maybe it was. Maybe you had to be better than Tomyris so you could hold the position of eldest daughter in your parents’ eyes. But Tomyris has left the Commanderie and your parents are not around anymore. This situation was unfair to both of you.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Prudence snaps. “I am perfectly content with my life and proud of the values I uphold. Values that, of course, you wouldn’t understand.”

“It wouldn’t bother me if that wasn’t a lie,” I reply, my voice icy. “If you were truly content, then you wouldn't be so angry to see your sister thriving the way she does. And I'm not trying to convince you that you're unhappy, because I think you already know that.”

She grips her plate harder, her hands shaking.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I step closer to her. She doesn't back off.

“I do. And I'm no better. Because I'm not telling you this purely out of concern for your well-being. I do this because I'm tired of you always being contemptuous and passive-agressive towards Tomyris, the woman I love more than anything, especially since she loves you sincerely too. You’re allowed to be angry, sad, unhappy. But if you stay stuck in this mindset without ever questionning it, then you're no better than the people who inflicted it on you in the first place.”

A memory flashes through my mind. Darsameen coming to visit, which is rare. She insisted, apparently. She’s holding little Brishna, her newly-born son, in her arms while her five year-old daughter plays at her feet with her other son, still a baby too. The men are in another room. I’m preparing food for everyone. I’m famished, I can barely stand, my entire body hurts, I have a fever, I washed myself three times but the smell is still there, my dress can't hide the bruises on my wrists, I'm not even thirteen. Darsameen looks at me from her chair, and I can tell she's unhappy. But I am visibly, thoroughly miserable.

And it's the only thing that can make her smile.

“We are not the same!”

Prudence’s scream, followed by a loud crash, startles me back to reality. She dropped the plate she was washing on the floor, it broke, but neither of us are paying attention to it.

“You're right,” I say after a while. “We’re not the same.”

I look at the ceramic pieces scattered accross the floor.

“But my point still stands. If I may use a timely metaphor, maybe it’s not your fault the plate’s broken. But giving shit to someone else for getting a new plate because you don't have the courage to fix your own… It will not make it better. It’ll hurt them. It’ll hurt you.”

Prudence stares at me, breathing heavily, cheeks reddened, but slowly her anger starts to subside. She looks down at her broken plate and I can see just how tired she looks. She crouches down, starts picking the pieces up. I do the same. She doesn’t push me away.

“I’m sorry you had to see this,” she whispers after a while, her voice shaky.

“It's okay. I apologize for pushing you like this. But I don't think I'm the one you should say sorry to.”

She doesn't reply to this. I see the tears slowly welling up in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks and the silent sobs shaking her shoulders. But I don’t say anything. I pretend I don't notice and she pretends I'm not here.

It’s fine like this.

We can keep picking up what's broken.

#noa writes stuff #lpm #ast #templar content #something about the parallels between salimeh and prudence #they make me unwell

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