#sorry if the art seems a bit rushed I needed to leave to feed and hang out with our tiny kitty bootsey | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cuttoothed · 3 years

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A little fic for @jonsimsandcats and also inspired by some adorable art on discord! Featuring notes on kitten rearing, and of course some Jmart because it’s me.

Jon works at the Institute here, but a non-spooky version of it!

Martin is doing a final check on the fish tanks when he hears the bell above the front door jingle. He sighs; he knew he should have locked up first. Just his luck.

“This is your fault,” he tells the angelfish balefully. They don’t seem contrite, too busy nosing in the fine gravel for any food they’ve missed. Martin walks out to the front of the shop, preparing his best customer service smile to tell whoever’s come in at—he glances at his watch—three minutes past eight that they’re closed, and no, they can’t just wander around for a few minutes to look at the animals. Honestly, some people seem to think there’s no difference between a pet shop and an art gallery.

There’s a man standing at the front counter, looking around anxiously, a bundled up jumper clutched against his chest.

“Sorry, we’re—” Martin begins, and that’s as far as he gets before the man unleashes a frantic tirade.

“Please!” the man says, “I need your help, I-I’m not sure they’re breathing and they were out there for hours on their own, I know you’re not supposed to move them in case their mother comes back but I couldn’t just—just leave knowing they were still there, and all the vet offices nearby are closed, this was the only place I could think of!”

The man is wild eyed, almost panicked, and Martin lifts both hands in an appeasing gesture.

“Woah,” he says, “Uh, maybe start from the beginning again? Slowly?”

“Right, ah, sorry. Sorry. I spotted them this morning, under a bush just outside my work.” The man sets the bundle of jumper down on the counter, and unfolds it to reveal two tiny scraps of fur: one gray, one black. Kittens, Martin realizes, so small they can only be a week or so old; certainly not old enough to be without their mother.

“I left them alone, because I’ve heard that the mother usually comes back after a little while. A-and I meant to go and check on them again during the day, make sure.” The man sounds anguished now, his face miserable. “But I—I got caught up in work, forgot about it. It was only when I was leaving that I remembered. And they were still there, on their own. Barely moving. Please—is there anything we can do?”

Martin looks down at the tiny creatures in their nest of wool; he can just about see the shallow in-out of their breathing. All day outside alone, at their age, the odds aren’t great. But he’s met enough kittens to know that they’re shockingly resilient little sods, and he’s never given up on a so-called hopeless case before. He’s not about to start now.

“You did the right thing moving them,” he assures the man, moving to flip the sign on the door to CLOSED. “We need to get them warmed up and get some food into them. Body heat is the best thing for them right now—can you start warming them with your hands?”

“Oh—ah, yes,” says the man, turning to his bundle of jumper with a worried frown. Martin leaves him there while he rushes around the shop, grabbing kitten milk replacer and nursing bottles, and then into the back to heat two mugs of water in the microwave while he makes up the bottles. He pops them into the mugs to warm, and brings the whole lot out to the front. The man now has a kitten in each hand, and is holding them pressed carefully to his chest for additional warmth; his expression is still worried, but also desperately tender, and Martin feels a pang of something behind his ribs at the sight.

“One of them is moving,” the man says eagerly as Martin sets the bottles down. Martin can see the gray kitten wriggling weakly in the man’s grip, responding to the heat. Its sibling is still motionless, and Martin’s heart sinks a little.

“That’s great,” he says. “Hold onto her for another minute, and let me see if I can get her sister moving too.”

He holds out a hand, and the man almost reluctantly passes him the black kitten. Martin doesn’t try to notice that the man has lovely hands, with long, slim fingers, narrow wrist jutting out of his shirt sleeve, but, well, he notices a bit. He turns his attention to the kitten; he can’t make out the motion of its breathing anymore. He takes it in both hands and starts to massage it gently. It lies limp in his palms, head lolling, and Martin starts to feel despair crawling cold up his spine.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “You can do it.” The man is watching him anxiously, the gray kitten cradled against his chest, and Martin knows he can’t give up. He keeps rubbing the kitten’s small body, trying to will warmth and life back into the tiny, fragile form. At last, after what seems like an eternity, the kitten squirms in his hands and a faint, plaintive mew escapes it. An answering mew comes from the gray kitten, and Martin laughs, relief washing over him.

“Right, let’s see if we can get them to eat.”

After checking that they’re not too chilled to feed, Martin tests each of the kittens with a drop of formula on their tongue; thankfully they both seem able to swallow without difficulty. He shows the man how to feed the gray kitten, holding its body in a neutral position with the bottle tilted for a gentle flow. It doesn’t take long for the kittens to figure out the process, and Martin can feel the tug on the bottle as his kitten begins to suckle.

“Oh,” he hears softly from beside him, and turns to see the man gazing in delight at the gray kitten, whose tiny, unfurled ears are twitching as it sucks.

“She’s doing great,” Martin comments. “Good job.” The man gives him a tentative, pleased smile, and Martin still isn’t trying to notice but it’s a very nice smile. “I’m Martin, by the way.”

“Jonathan Sims—Jon,” says the man, and then gives a small, tense laugh. “God, I haven’t even apologized for storming in here while you were clearly trying to close up for the night.”

“That’s all right, I didn’t have any exciting plans tonight anyway. I’d much rather be spending time with these little beauties.”

Jon smiles again, more sure this time, and all right, maybe Martin deliberately notices the dimple in his right cheek. Just a bit.

Once the kittens are fed, Martin shows Jon how to stimulate them; both of them only pee a little—poor things are dehydrated—but it’s a good sign. They clean them up and tuck them back into the nest of Jon’s jumper, where they curl up into a small puddle of black and gray. Jon gives a sigh that’s somewhere between relieved and exhausted.

“Thank you,” he says. “I, ah, I think I forgot to say that as well. You know a lot about this.”

“I volunteer at a shelter, there are a lot of kittens. If you like, I can take them for tonight and bring them in tomorrow?”

“Ah,” says Jon. “Do you think that’s—I mean...I-I’m not sure I’d feel right, handing them off to someone else. Not that I think you’re not capable!” he rushes to add, and Martin finds himself smiling.

“No, I get it. You found them, you want to take care of them. I’ll warn you, though, it’s a big commitment. For the first couple of weeks you have to feed them every two hours, even during the night, and then it’s every three or four hours until they start weaning. It’s like having a newborn baby.”

“I don’t get much sleep generally,” says Jon. “At least this way I’ll have something to do while I’m up all night. And my work is—well, I’ll explain the situation.”

He looks set on it, brow furrowed with determination. Martin considers arguing more: that a shelter will be better equipped to care for the kittens, that there’s no guarantee they’ll survive in any case, that Jon doesn’t know what he’s signing up for. But the shelters are always crowded, and kittens this young have simple needs, and really, a dedicated foster parent—armed with the right knowledge—is probably the best thing for them.

“Right,” he says, “Let’s make sure these two are well wrapped up before you take them home.”

He scrounges a cardboard box from the back and they settle the kittens into it, still wrapped in Jon’s jumper along with a soft fleece blanket printed with cartoon fish. Martin gathers a couple of cartons of liquid formula and extra bottles to get them started, and shows Jon how to pierce the nipple so the flow isn’t too strong.

“It should be warmed to body temperature,” he explains, “But not directly in the microwave—put the bottles in heated water, like I did earlier. Do you have a hot water bottle?”

“Yes, I do,” says Jon, frowning intently as he listens. Martin nods.

“It’s better than a heating pad at this age, they’re less likely to get overheated. Don’t make it too hot—body temperature, again—and wrap it in a blanket so they’re not touching it directly.”

“Got it,” says Jon firmly, and Martin believes him. He bags up the formula and bottles and an extra pet blanket, and presses them into the hands of a startled Jon; the till is shut off for the night, but Martin can explain and pay for the items tomorrow.

“What’s your phone number?” he asks, and Jon looks even more startled.

“S-sorry?”

“Or your email. I’m going to send you some links—videos, a couple of good blogs that should be helpful.”

“Oh, ah, right. Of course.” Jon recites his number and Martin saves it under “Jon (Kittens).” He peeks into the box one last time before Jon scoops it up, and sees the kittens snuggled in the folds of the jumper, paws waving in little kitten dreams.

“Thank you again, Martin,” says Jon. “I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.” His tone is shy but genuine, and it sends warmth through Martin’s chest and up into his cheeks.

“Any time,” Martin says. “And feel free to text me if you need anything—if you have a question or...anything. Or call me if you like.” He’s aware he’s rambling a bit, but it’s not every day an attractive man says that he doesn’t know what he would have done without you, so he can hardly be blamed.

“I will,” says Jon solemnly.

He doesn’t text Martin any questions that night, but when Martin sends him the links to a youtube channel and three blog posts on kitten care, he replies:

Thank you :)

Martin spends most of the rest of the night wondering what that smiley face means.

He doesn’t necessarily expect to see Jon again, and certainly doesn’t expect to see him the very next day. But just before one o’clock in the afternoon the bell above the door jingles and there’s Jon, looking tired and more than a bit sheepish.

“I got all the way into work this morning before I realized I’d never paid for any of the things you gave me,” he says, reaching for his wallet.

“Those were gifts,” Martin tells him firmly. “Sort of a “welcome to foster parenthood” care basket?”

“No, I couldn’t let you—” Jon starts to protest, but Martin shakes his head emphatically.

“It’s no big deal, honestly. I get an employee discount anyway.”

“I...well, then I suppose I need to thank you yet again,” says Jon.

“It’s becoming a bit of a habit,” Martin jokes, grinning, and Jon smiles in return. He hesitates a moment before continuing:

“Maybe I could buy you lunch instead, then? To pay you back.”

“There’s no need, honestly,” says Martin, even as his brain berates him: What are you doing, idiot, he’s asking you to have lunch with him? Say yes!

“Please, I’d like to,” Jon says, and then gives a thoughtful frown. “Only if you want to, of course, don’t feel obligated—”

“I’m on lunch in five minutes,” Martin blurts out before he can overthink it.

“Great!” says Jon, sounding pleased. “If you have time, we could go by my office as well and visit the kittens. I just fed them before I came to see you.”

Before I came to see you, not before I came to pay you back, and Martin feels that warmth crawling up towards his cheeks again. Even if Jon’s intentions are purely friendly rather than...anything else, well, Martin could always use more friends.

“How were they last night?” he asks, and the smile that spreads across Jon’s face this time is pure delight.

“Oh I barely got an hour’s sleep,” he says, waving a hand. “And today they’re sitting under my desk reminding me every couple of hours that they need attention and that they are far more important than whatever I’m working on. They’re perfect.”

“Sounds like cat parenthood suits you,” Martin teases gently, and Jon laughs.

“I think it rather does.”

Lunch is...nice, and only slightly awkward in the “getting to know a new person” sort of way. Jon is serious, but also funny in an understated, acerbic way, and there’s a gentleness to him that wouldn’t be immediately apparent, if Martin hadn’t seen him cradling two tiny, fragile lives to his chest last night. He’s the kind of person Martin would like to know better, he thinks.

Afterwards they go to Jon’s workplace, which is extremely academic with a brass nameplate by the door and everything, and down to the basement office where Jon works; Martin doesn’t really know what archiving entails, but it looks like mostly a bloody great pile of paperwork. Jon’s two colleagues give Martin friendly and extremely curious glances as they pass; Jon pointedly ignores them in favor of directing Martin to his desk and the cardboard box sitting beneath it.

When Martin glances inside, the two kittens are curled up in the folds of the fish-print blanket, lying against the shape of what he assumes is the hot water bottle. Their bellies already look rounder than they were last night, thanks to regular feeding, and their limbs twitch as they sleep.

“I’ll take them to the vet for a check up after work,” Jon murmurs quietly, gazing down at them with a soft expression. Martin recognizes that look of adoration, and he knows this pair won’t be going to a shelter or anywhere else; they’ve found their home with Jon.

“They’re lucky you found them,” he says, and Jon smiles self-consciously.

“I think I’m the one who was lucky,” he says.

They spend a bit more time with the kittens, and then Martin realizes that it’s about time he got back to work if he doesn’t want to get in trouble. He excuses himself, waving goodbye to Jon’s still curious colleagues, and Jon walks him out to the grand front entrance of the building.

“Thanks again for lunch,” he says. “And—you have my number, right? The offer is open, if you need anything, just text me.”

“I will,” says Jon. “And, ah, let me know if you’d like to come and see the kittens again. Any day. Well, most days,” he corrects himself. “We could, ah, maybe have lunch again?”

“That sounds...really nice,” says Martin. Jon smiles, pleased, and Martin isn’t trying to notice the faint flush that spreads across his face, but it’s very cute anyway.

As he walks back to work, Martin’s phone vibrates with a text. It’s a picture of the kittens, curled up on top of each other, with the message:

Come back and see us soon!

Martin grins; the kittens, he thinks, weren’t the only ones lucky to be found last night.

#the magnus archives #jonsimsandcats2021 #my fic #jonmartin

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psychewithwings · 3 years

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Pt. 1 A Visitor... Once Again Kirishima x Goddess!reader

hello hello, this is my contribution to this months bnharem collab! The theme was ‘mythology and lore’ and hit very close to my ancient greek loving soul. We have so many wonderful writers and artists that have worked hard so pls check out the rest of the collab here!!!

I’ve been rather ill and so I’ll be breaking it up into parts, part 2 will be out as soon as I am feeling more myself (which will hopefully be next week). Please enjoy a story about 2 of my favourite characters. Kirishima Eijirou, as his hero self (tho with a demi-god twist) and reader! as Kalypso, the goddess, daughter of Atlas, the titan who holds up the sky. Her curse is that she is forced to live alone on an island and fall in love with any visitor who falls to her shores. Once she falls for them, she is forced to ask if they would like to stay and she may grant them immortality if they say yes, and if not? They may leave. They have no way of leaving the island until she falls in love. She is a kind and wonderful character and I have a lot of love for her, (perhaps I relate to her a bit too much) so it is an honor to tell a new version of her story.

This is set in present day even tho Kalypso is an ancient greek figure, Kirishima is about 25-28 here? Pro hero Kiri!

TW: a small sex scene in the beginning, little bit of dirty talk, penetration

———————————————————————

“Fuck, thats it baby, feel it going all the way inside? Feels good right?” You moan into his neck, “s-so good.” He starts to thrust in and out slowly. Your nails dig into the muscles of his back… his… names and faces are unimportant blurs as he continues to thrust inside. Each drag of his cock hits each sweet spot and taps against your cervix. “Fuck~ you feel so fucking good darling, so-fucking-good, perfect, fucking perfect… yeah that's it clamp down on my cock, massage it with that perfect pussy.” His hand slips between your sweat soaked bodies and rubs quick circles over your clit. “Gonna cum for me baby? I can feel it, you’re about to gush~” You cry into his neck, soft tears of ecstasy hitting his skin. You’re close, so very close-

“Hello? Hey!!! Is anyone home?? Hello?”

You open your eyes and the man above you, the cock inside you, all falls away. It had all been a dream… a delicious, wonderful dream. A dream that had been ruined by an incurable racket. You stare groggily at the ceiling. The ache in your core of having been so close to cumming now boils into a rage. “Hello?!?! Is someone here? Hello??” Your brow crinkled in confusion as to who the rasping voice belonged to. You check to see if you had somehow managed to flip the tv on but the screen was dark. “Does anyone live here?” It dawned on you then… It’s a visitor.

You check the clock that blinks 5:37AM. You groan into a pillow and kick your legs in an attempt to relieve the ache. Your bare thighs are covered in your arousal, which has turned into your frustration. You stay lying still in hopes that he will go away, leave you alone, never return. “HELLO????!?!” But he had to stop screaming and it didn’t seem like he was going to until he came into contact with someone… You knew the nature of the curse well enough at this point but you would try to rebel as long as you could…

You flip the covers off of your body and slowly walk to grab a robe to cover yourself with. You stare at your reflection in the full length mirror while you finish tying the robe. “We got this,” you point to yourself, “no falling in love this time, no falling in love no matter what, ever again, you hear me?” You nod back to yourself. “Pinkie swear.” You touch pinkies with the mirror and laugh coldly. “No more foolish love,” you sarcastically remark before opening the french doors and stepping onto the balcony.

You stare down at the man who had been shouting for so long and your heart drops. He’s beautiful, red hair hanging in his face, still wet with the sea. His body must have been designed by the muses and chiseled by delicate hands. It’s clear even through his clothes. Son of Ares? Or even Zeus perhaps? He is interesting, never had you seen a demigod with such clear physical strength and kind eyes. The combination was rare. He gives you a grin which then fades to surprise. “Oh- I am so sorry, my manners,” he laughs nervously before slowly kneeling on the ground. “Great Goddess, I humble myself now in front of your grace and all encapsulating beauty…” You roll your eyes hoping he will take the hint and shut up. It wasn’t any different from the men before him… It was the same shit as always, though you were disappointed, this one seemed different upon first glance. “...your magnificence is profound, you are both elegant and ethereal in your just standing there-” you cut him off before he can continue the asinine speech. “Ya done?” you ask bluntly.

His eyes grow wide and he softly utters a “what?” You roll your eyes and lean on the gold railing. “Dude, it’s 5am, you’re yelling and ranting, can ya just get to the point?” He remains on his knees in a bow. His pitch varies with confusion as he speaks. “My ship, uhh I crashed it on your shore, and I was hoping that you could umm, maybe assist me in getting home? I-” he hangs his head for a moment, perhaps in exhaustion before continuing. “I have no GPS, no compass, not even a map… if I could do it without bothering you, I would, nothing you for help isn’t very manly... but please Goddess, please help me get home.” You sigh, century after century of the same request has really weakened your patience, though he had asked nicer than most. “You’re stuck here for the foreseeable future,” you smile slightly. You wait for the look of annoyance, frustration, fear… but it never comes. In fact he gives a slight half smile as he stands. “Well, nothing we can do?” he asks. “‘Fraid not,” you sigh. He starts to say something else but he winces. “Are you okay?” you ask, genuine concern bleeding through the nonchalant tone you had been practicing the past milenia. He nods and grabs hold of his side. “I got a little beat up, but don’t worry goddess, ‘tis but a flesh wound,” he tips his head down. As he raises his head he looks deathly pale. “Hey sit down okay?” you call down to him, but it’s too late. His eyes roll back and he collapses. “Shit-” you mutter to yourself as you run down to him.

He lays there in a crumpled heap, his breathing shallow. “Wish you’d said you were hurt first dummy,” you grumble before assessing the situation. You need to get him to the herbs and the back porch. This wouldn't be easy, he’s big, huge really. But he collapsed on his side which makes things easier. You hook an arm around one of his and the other around a leg. It takes a lot and it's a staring but you manage to lift him on your shoulders. If your father can hold up the sky, you can surely carry this brick house of a man back to the bed on the porch.

You step into the house while fireman carrying him to the screened-in porch to lay him down on the daybed. You place him carefully in the soft, green covers and he whines softly. “You’re gonna be just fine,” you reassure gently. Your back porch was reserved for growing herbs, arts and crafts, summer sleep, and it occasionally became a makeshift infirmary when visitors came to you injured and in need of patching up. It happened once every few centuries…

You grabbed some fabric scissors and cut away his shirt to reveal what had been ailing him. You hoped for a broken rib, those were easy to heal with a careful dose of leaf from the widows bone flower and some angel root. But what lay beneath was worse than imagined. A deep gash in his side had tried to close over and heal but it’s irritated, angry. The wound is oozing a sickly yellow pus and iridescent ichor. The skin around it is red with infection. This is one of the worst you’d been brought with. You touch his head, it’s hot and sticky with sweat. This wasn’t good. “Wait here, okay?” You grab a clump of angel root and take it back inside to the kitchen, setting it in a pot of water to boil. You grab a cloth and wet it under the sink in cold water.

You place it on his forehead and sit on the bed beside him. His face was relaxed and he was even more beautiful now. You brush the hair from his eyes and smile down at him, there was something familiar about him… like you’d met before. Though no one could return to Ogygia.

You lean down to where you can speak over his heart in a language that cannot be written or replicated... But the meaning of the words would go something like:

You are healing

You are youthful and strong

Your heart knows how to heal because it is made of love

Pure love can heal anything

You are healing now

You repeat this chant until you hear his breath deepen and watch the cut sooth. It’s a small enchantment but it has done its job. Sure, you’re no Circe, or her brethren, but you’re an enchantress all the same.

You rush back inside and grab the angel root, that's now wet and flexible from being submerged in water. You lay it across his wound before wrapping it carefully. “There now, wait here and I’m going to get you some nectar to drink,” He doesn't respond but his face is relaxed, less anguished, less in pain. You sigh in relief, hopefully that will be enough to close the wound in a day or so, else he will need to be stitched up.

You return with a small bottle of nectar and a dropper to feed him with. You coax his jaw to relax with your hand before dropping the nectar slowly onto his tongue. “You heroes are an awful lot of trouble… you know that?” You continue to feed him slowly so he won’t choke. You sigh in relief as the colour returns back to his face. He’s so beautiful he’s almost glowing, you start to reach for him, to brush the hair from his eyes but you stop yourself and turn away. “No, no love this time, remember?” you say to your reflection in the glass of the windows.

His eyes flutter open with long slow blinks. You watch as they focus on you. He blinks again. “Elyssium,” he breathes and you can’t help but chuckle. “No, Ogygia,” you correct gently. “I’m Eijirou,” he smiles. You laugh again. “No no, this island, where you are is called Ogygia, you aren’t dead,” you assure. He blinks up at you still and you curse the gods for creating him to be so breathtaking. “And what are you called?” he asks. He attempts to sit up but finds it difficult. You place your hand on his head, it’s warm and you can feel his brow relax against your palm. “You’re much better now, but just take your time…” His hands touch his torso and then move to his head. “You healed me?” You nod, “I’ll have to sew this one the rest of the way, it was quite deep.” He circles his hand around your arm, his thumb stroking soft circles. “Thank you, goddess,” he murmurs. You pull away, his touch sending lightning down into your fingertips. You don't remember the last time you had a visitor on this island of yours… but none of the previous visitors seemed to matter anymore, even though each one had stolen your heart some way or another. But no- no love, not this time, not now, not again… It hurt, but you suppressed the feelings of desire and brushed your hands down the front of your robe. “It’s nothing, but for the love of the lethe, stop calling me goddess. Kalypso is fine, just Kalypso.”

He grabs your hand as you turn to leave, “thank you... Kalypso, thank you for saving my life.” In all the years you had been saddled with this curse, it was rare for the visitor to say your name... and none of them, had said your name quite like that.

You pull your hand from his grasp and make sure not to look back, even though you want to. “You’re welcome,” you answer simply, “I’ll uhh- get you some water.”

to be added to the taglist

#kirishima #bnha #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x reader #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x you #kiri #eijiro x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnharem #bnharem collab #august collab

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Nie Huaisang is the cutest thing monsters have ever seen, they can be yao dragons or giant turtles one look at nhs and they want to feed hug or kidnapt him nmj trainning involved recovering his baby brother from every monsters nest around qinge

ao3

“I’m sorry,” Nie Mingjue said, his teeth gritted together and his arms shaking from the strain of holding Baxia up. “He’s mine.”

The massive tiger glared down at him over Baxia’s blade, currently stuck in its teeth, and growled something.

“I know,” Nie Mingjue said. His legs were shaking now, too. “I know, trust me, I know! I’m human, he’s – young, yes, yes, I know. But he’s my little brother! I’m not giving him up!”

The tiger spat out the blade, knocking Nie Mingjue backwards on his ass.

“And when you change your mind?” the tiger demanded. “Will you abandon him then?”

“No!” Nie Mingjue exclaimed. “Never! He’s my brother!”

“Mark your words,” the tiger said ominously. “Or else.”

It turned and stalked off, its tail waving arrogantly in the air, until its towering white form disappeared into the distance.

Nie Mingjue sighed in relief. “Huaisang?” he called, and a small head popped out of the nest the tiger had started building, blinking owlishly at him. “Come on, come to da-ge. It’s time to go home.”

“But Master Tiger said we were going to play…”

“Yes, well, he wanted to play for too long,” Nie Mingjue said. “Only a few centuries, give or take. Let’s go.”

It started back when Nie Huaisang was born.

No, more accurately, it started when Nie Mingjue’s father fell in love with someone he probably oughtn’t have, which according to the sect was not a terribly uncommon problem for him to have, and decided to bring home a bride.

Nie Mingjue could still remember the first time he’d seen the Second Madame Nie. They’d all been lined up to greet her, all the sect and close members of the clan in rows according to rank, Nie Mingjue fidgeting in the inside of the house proper in his first tangle with formal clothing outside of the discussion conferences. She had come sweeping in with her head held as high as a princess, seductive and bewitching.

Every movement had been perfect, the eyes of all the men fogging over in lust and the women in admiration – or visa versa, depending on their personal preferences – and a wicked smile had lit up her face when she had stepped across the threshold, officially becoming the sect leader’s wife, and maybe everything would have gone along with whatever plan she’d had back then if she hadn’t next seen him.

“Oh, look at you,” she exclaimed, rushing over to pinch Nie Mingjue’s cheeks between her hands. “What a delectable little morsel you are!”

“Uh,” Nie Mingjue said, staring up at her with big round somewhat-worried eyes.

“You charming little dumpling,” she said. “You adorable mouthful of meat! Spoonful of egg yolk!”

Nie Mingjue cast his eyes around to see if anyone would be willing to help him.

“My eldest son,” Nie Mingjue’s father said, not without pride – albeit perhaps a puzzled sort of pride. “He’s probably just about old enough to come to the forecourt, if you don’t want him to live with you –”

“Oh no,” she said. “He’s definitely living with me.”

And so she stayed, and Nie Mingjue stayed with her, and she doted on him in a way he found pleasant if mildly disconcerting. Within a year, she was pregnant, and irritated with it; six months after that, she was round and complaining, even though Nie Mingjue solemnly assured her that she was as beautiful as ever.

“This is your fault, you know,” she told him, and he blinked at her. “It is! Don’t get me wrong, your father’s a charming bull when he wants to be, and of course he fucks like a champion stud, but I stayed here for you, my little cabbage roll, my charming chunk of liver.”

She patted her belly.

“That means this here is all because of you. So you’d better take responsibility!”

Nie Mingjue considered the issue for a little. The argument seemed plausible, so he raised his hands and put them on her rounded stomach. “I will take care and watch over him for all my life,” he vowed, and the baby inside kicked his hand in response, sealing the pact.

“Oh you are so cute,” she said, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “My darling pork bun! My little fish cake! I could eat you right up, if only you were just a little bit older!”

When Nie Huaisang was born, she disappeared in a welter of blood, but Nie Mingjue’s oath remained.

The trouble started after that.

“You can’t raise a cub like that properly,” the winged lion argued, bating its wings as if that would help it make its point better.

Nie Mingjue glared at him. “Watch me!”

“It’s for your own good, little human. He needs his own kind –”

“I’m not listening to a treasure-seeker!”

The lion scowled at him. “I’ll have you know that most humans think I’m good luck!”

“You’re not trying to steal most humans’ little brothers, are you?!”

The winged lion sighed, a deep sound, so very noble and long-suffering that Nie Mingjue couldn’t resist the urge to lift his foot and kick the lion right in the paw.

“Brat!”

“Don’t care!” he shouted. “You leave my brother alone! He’s my responsibility, not yours! Piss off!”

“You can’t even feed him properly -”

“I’ll figure it out!” Nie Mingjue bared his teeth and wished he was old enough for a saber.

“You little…fine. Fine! I’ll bring you a book on how to feed a huli jing kit, and you keep to it, you hear me?”

“I will,” Nie Mingjue said. “But don’t you even think of taking him away!”

“On your own head be it,” the winged lion grumbled. “Not everyone’s as understanding as me.”

“Why are you wet?” Nie Mingjue’s father asked him.

“Water monkeys,” Nie Mingjue said shortly. “There was a nest.”

“Water monkeys? Don’t they normally stay away from people…? Or, I suppose, were these ones feral?”

“Thieves.”

“Ah. Well, nothing to be done about it, I suppose…bad luck for you to run into them here, of all places. But good experience! How many people your age can say that they fought water monkeys?”

“Can we go home?” Nie Mingjue asked, a little plaintively, and rubbed his nose. “How much can you really have to say to the Jiang sect, anyway?”

His father chuckled. “More than either of us would like, unfortunately. But if you’ve had enough of water, which no one can blame you for, maybe you and Huaisang can go shopping in the pier instead?”

That would work, Nie Mingjue thought, and nodded happily.

(Sect Leader Jiang was extremely embarrassed about the ghostly rats in the night-market – he claimed they’d never seen neither nose nor tail of them before the Nie brothers had accidentally tripped over their trap and had to flee from the swarm...)

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nie-er-gongzi,” the white-clad cultivator from the mountain said, smiling broadly and saluting deeply.

Xiao Xingchen had made himself famous during his first half-dozen night-hunts alone for his extraordinary grace, bearing and strength, and he said he was on a mission to help the world. He was beautiful, virtuous, and matched each ideal of gentlemanly arts.

Sects throughout the cultivation world were drooling at the thought of enticing him to join them, fighting for the opportunity to put in a good word with him.

Not all sects.

Nie Mingjue stepped forward, purposely putting Nie Huaisang behind him.

“Don’t you even think about it,” he said, hand on the hilt of his saber. “Buzz off, birdbrain.”

Xiao Xingchen might wear white, but Nie Mingjue knew a zhuque chick when he saw one.

“I found something for my aviary, da-ge!” Nie Huaisang, seven years old and delighted with his clumsy autonomy, announced.

Nie Mingjue, less than a full year into his new role as sect leader, rubbed his eyes. “Oh?” he asked, only somewhat wanting to scream endlessly into the void, which was better than usual. “That’s nice, Huaisang…”

“Come look! It’s so pretty!”

“I’m a bit busy –”

“But da-ge!”

Nie Mingjue sighed and got up, following Nie Huaisang to the door only to come to a complete stop.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he said to the fenghuang currently pretending to be a rooster in a cage, as if anyone would actually mistake phoenix flames for regular feathers. “Do you have no dignity left?!”

“You can’t adopt the bashe,” Nie Mingjue said to Nie Huaisang, who pouted. “It eats elephants; we’d be broke within three months.”

He turned to the giant python.

“You can’t adopt Huaisang,” he said. “I will literally murder you.”

“Why can’t I go watch the eclipse?” Nie Huaisang complained. “Everyone else is going!”

“I’m not risking a tiangou.”

“The…dog that eats the sun? Really, da-ge, is that even real?”

“You know what,” Nie Mingjue said, “you’re grounded just for saying that.”

Nie Huaisang grinned.

“Maybe I want to go and live among the qilin!” Nie Huaisang screamed, fourteen and hormonal about it.

“Well you don’t get a choice!” Nie Mingjue bellowed back.

“You’re not my father! I don’t have to listen to what you say!”

“I’m your fucking sect leader and yes you do!”

“I hate you!”

“I don’t care if you hate me! You still aren’t going to go live in a field with some magic pointy deer and that’s final!”

The qilin herd wisely chose to withdraw.

“Da-ge,” Jin Guangyao hissed, and Nie Mingjue looked up from his work at him – he hadn’t heard Meng Yao this upset since he’d shoved him into a closet to get him out of way during the whole dangkang boar hunt debacle. “Da-ge, there’s a dragon outside.”

“Again?” Nie Mingjue said, standing up to stretch and feeling oddly unbalanced. They’d just finished another session with the song of Clarity, so he really shouldn’t be feeling like this; he would need to write to Lan Xichen again about his fears that the treatment really wasn’t working. Lan Xichen would probably only say to give it more time, another chance, but still… “Let me go talk to them. Dragons are the worst.”

“No, da-ge, you don’t understand,” Jin Guangyao said. “It’s not a water-serpent or – or even a jiaolong – it’s a dragon.”

“A flood-dragon is a type of dragon,” Nie Mingjue said, following Jin Guangyao outside. “You know that, it’s in the name, what’s the big – oh, I see. It’s a celestial dragon.”

Jin Guangyao glared at him with an expression suggesting that he was under-reacting, but Nie Mingjue really didn’t have the capacity in him to reach with appropriate fervor at the moment. He and Nie Huaisang had been fighting a lot recently, every little thing escalating into a giant argument, and he was no longer sure if he was doing the right thing in trying to force Nie Huaisang onto the path of his ancestors. After all, unlike Nie Mingjue, Nie Huaisang had – somewhat different ancestors, on his maternal side.

And, he supposed, Nie Huaisang was old enough to decide otherwise, if he truly wished…

Still, Nie Mingjue was as stubborn as a mule and had no intention of giving up his baby brother without a fight, so he braced himself and went over to the frankly massive creature draped over the entrance gateway and much of the training yard that the entirety of the Nie sect was doing its utmost best to pretend that they weren’t seeing.

Nie Huaisang was sitting on the thing’s five claws – an imperial celestial dragon, apparently – because of course he was.

“Excuse me,” Nie Mingjue called up to the dragon, which turned its head to regard him, an entire production that took nearly a quarter ké to accomplish. “The brat there is mine, please return him.”

“Da-ge!” Jin Guangyao hissed again, but Nie Mingjue waved him away.

“You have raised him well,” the dragon said, which was…a good deal nicer than most of these interactions usually went.

“…thanks?” Nie Mingjue said suspiciously, ignoring Jin Guangyao’s splutters of “It talks?!” “I think?”

“I have chosen to grant you a boon,” the dragon announced.

“…right,” Nie Mingjue said. “If this ‘boon’ is that you’ll take him off my hands, I’m afraid I’m going to have to refuse. He may be trouble, but he’s still my brother.”

“Da-ge!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, indignant. “Don’t be rude. I asked him for this!”

Nie Mingjue frowned at him, unable to resist the feeling of hurt even though he’d already told himself to expect something like this. “…you want to leave?”

“No, da-ge, don’t be ridiculous. I asked him to improve your health!”

Ah.

“Huaisang –” he started to say.

“Don’t you ‘Huaisang’ me!” his little brother shouted. “I know you’re trying to hide it, but it’s getting worse, isn’t it? San-ge told me so! He said I should get ready!”

Nie Mingjue made a mental note to strangle Jin Guangyao, who had no right to say something like that to Nie Huaisang even if maybe it wasn’t the worst idea in the world to emotionally prepare Nie Huaisang for the upcoming bereavement and inheritance he would need to face.

“Anyway, he said to get ready, so I did!”

“You can’t just ask a divine dragon to fix me, Huaisang. That’s not how this works.”

“Uh, it totally does, and I did, and he agreed. So there!”

Nie Mingjue crossed his arms and glared. “And what did he want in return?”

“The boon is a reward for your past merit, not a trade for the deeds of the future,” the dragon said, not even slightly hiding how its whiskers were shaking with suppressed laughter. “You have travelled a difficult road, and borne the weight of it well. And besides…”

“Besides?”

“If you were to die, he would undoubtedly petition the creatures of the underworld to return you.”

“Well, fuck,” Nie Mingjue said, having not considered that. “Fine. Whatever. Heal me and I’ll try to keep an eye on my health going forward.”

Maybe more Clarity? He could try to free up his schedule, get in a few more sessions…

“I just give up,” Jin Guangyao said behind him. “I just fucking give up.”

Nie Mingjue, assuming that he was talking about Nie Huaisang’s nonsense, agreed whole-heartedly.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #nie huaisang's mom #my fic #my fics #child development #same headcanons as three times the charm #Anonymous

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hanibalistic · 3 years

Text

#67509E | HWANG HYUNJIN.

genre | fluff

word count | 1889

warning | appearances of vampire fangs, mention of blood sucking

tag | @fluffyskzclub

note | i miss hyunjin.

hyunjin pouted like he was throwing a tantrum—well, to a certain degree, he was throwing a small tantrum.

he curled himself around the fluffy blanket that you two left on the couch from yesterday's spontaneous movie night as he pouted at you bitterly. he tried to fit his tall body within the blanket, but his long legs awkwardly jutted out of the end corner, unable to bend enough to curl himself into a tiny ball. his head poked out of the blanket he draped around his shoulder and over his head.

"must you open the curtains all the time?" he whined with furrowed brows, lightly kicking his feet against the couch. "i hate the sun, you know that!"

you rolled your eyes as you closed the curtains after being drowned in his mindless complaints about the last half an hour. you had opened them so the plants could soak in some sunlight. you even took into consideration that hyunjin would be asleep for longer like he always does, otherwise, you would have never let the sunlight into your shared apartment. but for some reason, he decided to leave his stupid coffin earlier today.

to listen to the birds' chirp perhaps. that's the kind of leisure activity a hundred-year-old would like, you bet.

the same thing happens every time you open the blinds, which is that hyunjin does not shut up about him disliking the sun and how it weakens his vampirism as opposed to it actually killing him. he would not stop until you close the curtains and turn on the lights, which often made you scoff. not only was he annoying, for a vampire who was supposed to burn under the sun, he sure does speak of it a lot.

"we will need sunlight somehow, hyunjin," you said as you turned around to glare at him. "the plants you stole, from outside, in the morning, will need sunlight."

you emphasized your words to make sure he knew of all the heinous frustrations he has caused you. the puppy pout on his face, as well as the pitying glint in his eyes, only deepened with each emphasis of your voice, his body flinching and shrinking when he could tell that you were upset with him.

watching him, there was a rush of conflict brewing like bubbles in you. you weren't sure if you felt more annoyed or endeared about the fact that hyunjin, a not quite literally ancient but old enough to feel ancient vampire, gained such comfortability from you that he was fine with throwing a childish tantrum in front of you.

he looks cute, surely! he always does. but sometimes, you genuinely could not stand another second of him whining.

"stop yelling at me! you know what the sun does to a vampire!" he retorted.

oh, god—blah, blah, blah.

"yeah, a vampire that doesn't have an accessory of the sigil," you said cleverly as you moved over to him. you yanked the blanket off his body, ignoring his protest, and you pointed at his neck. "like the necklace you never take off!"

"i only got this recently! the witch would have never sold me this if you hadn't come with me," he argued, pulling the blanket around him again. "i'm not used to the sun yet, just let me have a little more time."

you pursed your lips together, your neck turning sour at his poor mumble as you softened. he did only just get the necklace—by just, it was about two to three months ago. however, while that alone may seem like a long period, comparing that to almost a whole decade of no sunlight, perhaps he really just needed more time to adjust.

but! zooming past the streets, leaving normal people wondering where the sudden gust of wind came from, and hiding in the apartment that leaves no room for any traces of sunlight was not the way to go about it!

"how about just a little bit, hmm?" you said then, suggesting a compromise casually while you walked toward the window. "take it little by little!"

hyunjin widened his eyes in disbelief as you moved farther away from him. he shook his legs in protest, his body moving animatedly on the cushiony couch as he protested loud and clear. "hey! you better not open the curtains, [name]!"

you grabbed the hem of the curtains, your mind occupied with calculating the correct amount you would flip open. it has to be a very small amount, to a point where the sunlight could only hit one leaf of the plant on the window rail, or just one square of your marble floor. it has to be the form of sunlight that could not hurt even a fly, so you could show him just how goddamn dramatic he was being.

"[name], i swear!"

"oh, bite me," you muttered under your breath.

there was a gust of wind—a familiar kind. it blew at the tip of your hair, making it waft around, and the hem of your thin shirt also danced at the breeze of hyunjin's vampiric speed.

blinking consciously, you loosened your grip on the curtains and turned around. immediately, upon feeling the heat of his face, you flinched back and closed your eyes to settle yourself.

"jesus–what the hell, hyunjin?" you muttered with a hand on your chest before you slowly opened your eyes.

hyunjin was glaring at you; no malice, just alluring intensity. his hair fell over his face prettily. the sunlight that he didn't seem to care much for now shone a soft haze over half of his face, making him glow and glitter naturally.

"those are some reckless words to say to a vampire," he said lowly, tilting his head to the side lightly as he arched a brow, "don't you think?"

your heart pounced.

the matter of blood, or just his general nature as a vampire, like his need to feed off of human beings, has only come up once.

he mentioned it to you when he was applying to be your roommate, having a foul plan to erase your memories in case the truth was not well-received by you. he told you that he has been a vampire for a while so he knew how to control his urges, therefore you would not be in any harm, and the matter was never spoken of again.

he held up his words. he has never discussed blood with you, he has never shown any blood-thirsty behavior at all. he acted like any other roommates you have had; being too loud at night, eating cereal in the living room and eyeing your bed-head with a judgemental gaze, knocking at your door and asking if you wanted to pick a takeout place.

if he used his powers less, you would have forgotten about his vampiric side.

why was your heart thumping then? was he too pretty for your own good? or was he standing too close for familiar comfort? or perhaps both?

you scoffed, making your thoughts vanish. "you won't bite me."

hyunjin softened in a way you couldn't catch. deep within the tender wash of his eyes was a sea of wildfires he hid behind closed doors.

you were right, he won't bite you, but he wants to, especially because the smell of your blood happened to be more enticing than others because he likes you.

the art of blood sharing (in a sense) is done between lovers; consider it like leaving a love mark, of a sort. it is an act of claiming and reassurance, and hyunjin has been wanting to sink his fangs into your flesh for a while so he could leave a bite mark.

but he could never do that. that was a desire trapped in his throat, urging to be let out and to be voiced, and hyunjin would not allow it. there were too many risks of unleashing the deep-seated yearning in his chest. it lingered in his head in withdrawal, cautiously threading through his mind to keep his urges contained.

he puts his want elsewhere. his want to taste your blood, to kiss your neck, has to grow somewhere, so he has to put it somewhere, and he puts in it his daydream which that manifests gently when he is with you, and ferociously when you were away.

"i won't," he muttered under his breath, to which you relaxed at. but then he grinned, and he opened his mouth to speak first, "doesn't mean i can't, though."

you widened your eyes when black veins draped beneath his eyes and his sharp fangs appeared. it was a terrifying sight, but you were only shocked to see it than scared. rationally, you reached your hands up and slapped your palms against his cheeks, startling him.

"hmmm... " you grumbled, sounding thoughtful as you surveyed his shocked expression.

the veins under his eyes retreated and the colors returned to his face. the innocence flooded back into him, bright and boyish, and he dared not move an inch under the pressure of your gaze—beneath your touch hyunjin is but a gentle boy hapless in love.

"ah...aah...wha–" he closed his eyes slightly and opened them with furrowed brows, confused and helpless with his head slightly tilted up. his words were muffled but jot too hard to understand. "[name]–why–uhh–"

you pushed at his upper lip with your thumb and looked at his fangs, wondering why they did not retreat with the dark haze of his eyes. then, ignoring hyunjin's muffled questions, you carefully poked at the tip of his teeth—razor-sharp, but very real.

he was whining again. his hands reached out to the hem of your shirt and desperately, as well as timidly, tugged at it. meanwhile, he put on a defeated face. as much as he would with your thumbs poking his fangs, that was.

"ahh, please stop–[name], stop touching my fangs–why," he feigned a sob, shaking his head as a blush reached his cheeks, "they're just teeth."

"teeth that puncture," you commented when you let go. the way your thumbs briefly smoothed over his top lip was not lost on him.

seeing his pout, you pursed your lips with faint guilt. rubbing the back of your neck, you shrugged. "sorry about that, i just got curious."

"it's okay," he waved you off quickly, "i was curious too when i first got them."

hyunjin looked at you when you giggled under your breath; soft, hearty giggles that tried to conceal themselves without the anticipation for his vampiric hearing. gentle, funny giggles that never once questioned his problematic past. lovely, adoring giggles that are here before and after he revealed who he is to you.

he came to your apartment begging for a home where he could be himself, and you allowed him safety with you.

"alright," you said with a curt smile, "i'm going to go change, need to get grocery."

"i–i'll come with!"

you seemed shocked for a moment, accessing him like a trick question. then you relaxed and nodded with nonchalance. "yeah, whatever."

he melted despite the lackluster reaction. it was the excitement that counted. smiling to himself, he twirled and twisted his body shyly as the sun shone from outside.

yeah. hyunjin truly is but a simple boy in love with you.

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strangeinternetwasteland · 3 years

Text

Mating Season- Hawks x Fem! Reader 18+

A/n: thank you to the beautiful and talented @titanialev once again for feeding me ideas check out her art for this piece here

Warnings: Sex, biting

Word count: 2.5k

This day seemed to have dragged on forever. Work couldn’t be over soon enough. How much fun could you have working at a civilian bank. Nothing of note happened here, all you did was count money and do paperwork all day. The few times you got to text your boyfriend he didn’t respond, but that was probably because he was out patrolling, or doing something for the Commission. He was one lucky bastard.

After a few more hours of torturously boring paperwork you sluggishly waved goodbye to your coworkers and walked out of work. You check your phone one last time before walking home. You smiled as you saw the text you received from your boyfriend. Nothing in the world made you more excited.

The parking lot of your work was always empty, but today it seemed even emptier. Those who couldn’t wait to get home left quickly. Not that you could blame them.There was only one place you wanted to be anyway. “Well isn’t there a sight for sore eyes?” You heard a male voice say to you. You huffed at the attention. Any man who used a cheesy pick up line deserved to be punched. You really just wanted to punch that smug voice in the throat. You groaned internally, rolled your eyes and looked toward the voice.

“Look, here asshole!” You started saying but when your eyes fell on the most handsome man you ever laid eyes on. His golden eyes pierced your soul. All the anger you felt melted looking at him. How could it not when you’re looking at your boyfriend.

“I was going to punch you, you know.” You told him. As you looked at him, you saw him leaning against his car hood casually. Wearing his black leather jacket, blue jeans, and sunglasses he looked like a model.

“Yeah, I know. I had to come see my dove.” He told you as he walked over to you.

“This is most certainly a surprise, you never pick me up on Fridays, you’re usually out patrolling until late.” You said surprised as you two embraced. The warmth of his body made you shiver, even though the evening was warm for the season.

“There are few things in life that I like, you are probably my most favorite.” He muttered into your lips as he pressed his lips into yours. Those soft lips the way they seemed to mold with yours so perfectly. He loved making you flustered in public, and especially in front of your co-workers. You broke the kiss, and your face warmed.

“Keigo, please stop, you’re flustering me.” You whined. He laughed at your remark.

“I like you flustered. If everything goes, right you’ll be more than flustered by the end of the night.” He whispered against your ear. You felt the hair on your neck stand at his comment. He took your hand and walked to the passenger side of the car. You slid into the seat, and buckled yourself in. Keigo slid in the driver’s seat and turned the radio on. You normally wouldn’t think twice, since you both listened to the radio, but you heard Keigo belt out in a terribly strangled voice:

“This is the part when I say I don’t wanna, I’m stronger than I’ve been before. This is the part when I break free cause I can’t resist it no more.” You stared at your boyfriend like he grew two heads. The fact that he was singing wasn’t what made you want to laugh, it was when he started dancing in the seat. When he stopped the car at a red light, and turned up the music, you weren’t even sure if he was actually you boyfriend.

The driver in the next car over just looked at him and started laughing. You were a bit embarrassed but when you realized that he was having fun, who were you to stop him? When he had continued singing, and this time surprisingly well, you couldn’t help but laugh. He was definitely in a good mood, but something seemed a bit off, and you couldn’t explain it. You thought no more of it, as Keigo turned into the parking garage that was attached to your building.

“Here, I thought we were going to take me to dinner.” You mused aloud and gave him a sweet smile.

“My little bird, I’ve decided that I’d make dinner for you tonight.” He gave you his smug smile that make you melt.

“Oh, I didn’t know you could actually cook, Kei. We’ve been together for a while and you’ve cooked only breakfast for me.” You teased him. He visibly tensed up at your comment.

“Oh, no I am sorry, babe. I didn’t mean it.” You tried to calm him down.

“It’s fine, let’s just go inside.” He told you before he got out of the car to open your door. You walked toward the penthouse you shared while Keigo followed behind you. You both stayed silent while making your way.

After unlocking the door, you sighed heavily. You made him upset, and you knew it. It was best to leave it alone for now. Keigo walked in behind you and wrapped you in his wings and placed a kiss on the nape of your neck, causing shivers to run down your body.

“Dove, you go take a bath and relax. I’ll make us some dinner.” He reassured you. You did as he suggested. The warmth of the bath made your muscles relax and you felt your eyes getting heavy. You heard a soft knock at the door just before you fell asleep.

“Hey, dinner is almost ready, but please don’t rush on my account.” Keigo told you and he left the door slightly ajar. You decided that instead of sleeping you should wash your body quickly and join him for dinner.

After stepping out from the bathroom in your bedroom, you heard the sizzling of meat, smelled garlic, and onions. Your mouth started watering and your stomach rumbled. You were hungry. You went to your top drawer where you kept your panties, and found a handwritten note, from Keigo. It was written in his undeniable scrawl, ‘Go look in the closet’. You debated on it for a moment, you really didn’t want to wear anything but pajamas, but also, Keigo didn’t go out of his way for no reason.

When entering the walk in closet you found a garment bag hanging in the front of your side of the closet. You unzippered the bag, and found yourself staring at the most gorgeous, black silk halter dress. You’d been eyeing this one for a while now, and when you did go buy it, it was sold out. You decided that you could spend your money on something you needed instead of something you wanted. It wasn’t meant to be for you. Here it was, hanging right in front of your eyes. You quickly changed into it, foregoing any underwear, and went to do your hair and makeup quickly.

After ten more minutes, you were assaulted with whatever food was currently cooking. You saw Keigo swaying to the music he put on, his wings slowly rising and falling with the beat. This time, it wasn’t Ariana Grande, but watching him move was mesmerizing. You noticed the whole dining area was covered with candlelight. The curves and flicker of the flames drew shadows on the wall. The sizzling had died down, and plates were placed on the table.

“Kei, this is so beautiful. What on earth is all this about?” You asked, eyeing the beautiful bouquet on the table. He turned to see you, and gave you the biggest smile.

“Can I not do something for the woman, I love?” He asked as he pulled you into a slow dance. You notice he had changed out of his jeans and tee shirt into a button down shirt and dress pants. Your heart fluttered at his words. Of course, you loved him, and he loved you. You two spent your days off entangled in one another, but this was a different side of Keigo, you’d never seen before.

After the slow dance was over, Keigo brought you to the table to eat your food, where he was a gentleman, by pulling out your chair and pushing it for you. You smiled at him. His eyes glanced over your body, the lust very evident.

“You look so beautiful, my dove. You truly are a vision.” He spoke as he kissed your hand.

“Thank you, but where did you find this dress? It’s been sold out as long as we’ve been dating. It wasn’t necessary to buy it.” You told him with excitement.

“The thing is, I am a hero. Even in civilian form, everyone knows who I am. You know I am willing to pay for the things you want. People are willing to do things when a hero asks.” He waved his words away.

“Well, thank you, but it wasn’t necessary. This dinner looks amazing and smells just as good.” You replied. He gave you a knowing smile.

The conversation throughout dinner was light. The two of you discussed the other heros and his agency. You discussed how boring work was, and how nothing ever happened, but you knew the reason nothing happened was because the Heroes did their patrolling properly.

Keigo took the dishes and cleared them from the table and brought out a small four layered chocolate cake topped with strawberries and whipped cream.

“Did you make this yourself too?” You questioned him. “It looks like something from that little bakery I like not too far from the bank.”

“I admit. I didn’t think about dessert until right before I picked you up from work. So it is from the bakery, yes.” He admitted to you as he sat down in his chair. You didn’t wait, you took your fork and shoved it right into the cake. Not waiting for Keigo at all. You hummed happily and smiled at your boyfriend. You took your finger and swiped a bit of whipped cream from the top of the cake. Pointing the finger at Keigo’s face, he debated for a moment leaned forward and bit your finger.

“Ow! What the hell?” You jerked your hand back. “That really hurt. Why would you ever bite me?” You questioned him, giving him a bit of side eye.

“Sorry, I guess. I am feeling a little off tonight.” He told you slumping his shoulders. He took the rest of the cake, wrapped it back up in it’s packaging and placed it in the refrigerator to keep cool.

You genuinely felt bad for him. He looked so down, when not even moments ago his spirit was so high.

“I guess, I will just call it a night. I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just being playful.” He told you as he walked into the bedroom. You couldn’t be mad at him. The man you loved more than anything, had danced with you, had made you the most delicious dinner, he sang to you, he bought you the dress you wanted since before you two were dating. What more could a girl possibly want?

“Keigo, look. I-” You started saying as you walked into the bedroom. When you entered you saw Keigo wearing nothing but a bow. He looked up at you sheepishly.

“What-” The next thing you knew his mouth was on yours as he kissed you deeply. His hands running over your curves, feeling nothing but your dress beneath his hands. You snaked one arm around him and pulled him close.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you today Keigo, but you’re acting strange.” He grabbed your hips and pressed you against the wall.

“I can only think about one thing… being inside of you.” His voice was dark with lust. He pressed his bulge against you, while undoing the ties of your dress. He didn’t care about anything other than unloading himself into you.

“My dress!” You cried as he tore it off.

“I will buy you 100 more, I just need you right now.” His warm breath on your neck. Without a care, he thrusted himself deep inside you. He moaned in ecstasy.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He thrusted into you again as he hardened even more. “Dove, I don’t know what is wrong with me. I’ve been on edge all day.”

While you normally didnt mind the sex, there was an edge of anger and desperation to it today. Thinking back on it, you two had been together for a little less than a year. It was Rumi who had told you on a drunken girls night out that once a year, when it was rutting or mating season, she’d act more aggressive than normal. She told you that normally she’d find whatever poor soul she could to take care of it. When you had asked her if Keigo went through the same things, she told you probably, but wasn’t sure how he went about it. It was after that night you’d done some research on the subject.

“God, you look so beautiful, my little bird.” His gold eyes bore into your soft (eye color) ones. His thrusting sped up faster. He nipped at the tender spots of your neck, groaning into you.

“Keigo.” His lips crashed onto yours again, tangling his tongue with yours. He was too far gone in his haze to respond to you. He spread his wings behind him as wide as he could, you remembered seeing this once before when studying biology. Keigo didn’t seem to have noticed that he was showing off his feathers.

Suddenly, he picked you up and threw you onto the bed. His wings at thier full span.

“I am going to fuck you straight through this bed.” He hissed in your ear and he closed the gap between the two of you. He thrusted himself in you again with more force than before. Harder and faster he crashed into you again and again. His wings opening and closing with his pace. You felt him as he came closer to his limit. His breathing severely labored. His mind no longer concerned with his normal traditions with you. Mating was the only thing on his mind. Releasing this angry beast that overtook him. A final few thrusts, and he released every drop of his seed into you.

You felt his racing heart slow a bit, and he got his breathing back to normal. You laid underneath him as he had wrapped his wings around you, as he normally did after love making. The haze of lust that filled his eyes was gone. His golden eyes looked at you with love again. He peppered your face with kisses, as you stroked his wings. As he laid his head on your chest for a brief moment, you heard the faintest whisper from him.

“I love you so much, Y/N. Be mine forever. Marry me.” Those were the last words you heard before you both fell asleep.

#mha keigo x reader #hawks x reader #bnha smut #bnha hawks

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spxllcxstxr · 3 years

Text

Creature Teachers • R.L

(GIF not mine)

Request: Hii, this probably sounds really weird but can I request like a (professor, if you’re okay with that) Remus Lupin x vampire reader? Where she really needs some blood so he lets her bite his neck to help her and it can be like cute and romantic or smutty, idk whatever you’re comfortable with. Yikes sorry I sound so weird 💗 — anon

Summary: You’re a vampire out of blood replenishing potions. Your husband offers you his.

Warnings: heavy blood mention, a spider makes a quick appearance, biting, drinking blood, normal vampire stuff, insecurities, all vampire things are a wee bit suggestive if you think about it

Word Count: 1.4k

A.N: I didn’t intend for this to become fic length. Obviously, I got carried away with the idea. This isn’t smutty and it isn’t really romantic? But it’s not angsty. I have no clue exactly what to categorize this as. Hope you enjoy it, because I loved writing it.

****

When your eyes snap open in the middle of the night, you’re greeted by the pitch blackness of the room, and yet you’re still able to spot the spider weaving its web tantalizingly slow in the far corner.

You watch it dangle, seemingly in midair, but it’s thin and translucent web shines just enough for your eyes to catch it.

If you were alive, your heart would be racing and you’d probably be hyperventilating.

The rush of Remus’ blood flowing through his veins is ever present in your ears. His heart pounds evenly in his sleep, and you’re completely and painfully aware of his dorsalis pedis artery pulsating against your own foot.

Your limbs are screaming in pain, skin feeling paper thin.

Hunger.

Hunger is the one thing on your mind, and you groan. If you weren’t so weak, you would pounce on your husband and drain his entire body dry of blood. You’re thankful you’re so weak.

“Remus...” You rasp out, unmoving. “Please...”

You need him to wake up, to help you, so you continue to gasp out.

“(Y/n)?” He eventually mumbles tiredly.

The blanket shifts next to you and his foot ceases contact with your skin. You yearn for it once again, attempting to reach out and follow it, but your body won’t allow it.

“So hungry, Remus...” You whimper, fingers twitching, trying to reach out to him.

“I’ll grab your potions, m’love.” He mumbles, groaning as he gets up from the bed. Your ears pick up the creaking of his joints and the sporadic beating of his heart as he wakes up.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself down.

His bare feet pad across the floorboards and glass vials clink together.

“They’re all empty!” Remus exclaims, going through drawers and looking between stacks of books.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You whine out, roughly swallowing. Your flesh erupts in a fiery pain.

“I can run down to Snape—“

You hiss at the notion, hating his very suggestion. You didn’t need Snape meddling any more in your business than he already is. He was adamant about how the two of you were monsters, set loose around children. Snape delivered potions to you and your husband and yet he still couldn’t trust either of you. You didn’t want him involved to prove him right.

Remus sits on the bed, close to you.

“Bite me.”

His heart noticeably skips a beat due to anxiety.

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him, the whites of his eyes the brightest part of him even in the dead of night.

“What?” You choke, eyes widening at the thought of real human, or at least part human, blood being offered to you willingly.

It’s been so long.

It’s been too long.

“Just enough to get you through the night. Snape will drop off more blood replenishing potions in the morning.” He clarifies quickly.

His heart pounds rapidly which is understandable considering you haven’t had the need to feed from him since you were in school.

“Are you sure?” You ask, trying to restrain your eagerness. Desperately, you lick your chapped lips at the very thought.

Remus hooks his arms under your armpits, dragging you up to sit against the wooden headboard.

Feebly, you head rolls against the hardwood that’s digging into your scalp. A terrible change from your soft and delicate pillow.

“You’re in pain, (Y/n), of course I’m sure. Just not too much.” Remus reassures, pulling off his black shirt, leaving his chest bare and exposed.

Usually, you would use this time to ogle your husband, but instead your eyes latch onto his neck. It’s like every fiber of your being is calling out to his blood supply.

Your vision practically tunnels around his palpitating carotid artery, watching as it jumps in fright. Your gums ache as a fog takes over your mind.

However, you try to fight your instincts off. Using the carotid artery would surely kill him, and rationally, you don’t want to kill your husband. You’re particularly fond of him. It also might be hard to explain how the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor got drained by a vampire in the middle of the night.

You have to have control.

Your lips tremble as Remus drags his body closer to your own. If he’s talking, you can’t hear him. You’re too focused on making sure you don’t bleed him dry. It takes everything you have in you to keep your mind on track.

Abdomens are pressed together, your legs hooked around the small of his back, practically sitting in his lap.

You dip your head in the juncture between his neck and shoulder, burying your lips and your nose against his skin. Deeply inhaling, you can smell the coppery substance through his skin and you haven’t even punctured him yet. Your eyes almost roll back in your skull at the mere thought of real blood. Blood replenishing potions were fine, but they weren’t satisfying.

“You’re sure about this?” You practically have to force out through your lips.

A hand rests on the back of your head, fingers petting through your hair.

“I’m ok, love. Whenever you’re ready.” He shakily replies, swallowing roughly.

Your lips drop lower, away from the arteries and instead hover over the mess of veins nearby.

Before even biting down, you delicately place sloppy kisses on the area you’re about to ruin. You hear him try to calm his heartbeat with a deep inhale.

You draw back, teeth shifting to make room for your fangs, and you finally sink them past layers of skin. He yelps, grabbing onto your hair. He doesn’t try to pull you away from him, but it seems you’re his anchor.

A rush of blood fills your mouth, the coppery taste and scent overwhelming every one of your senses. There’s a sweetness hidden behind all that metal, and you quickly discover it dancing on your tongue. You greedily moan in desire.

You take great big gulps, your body strengthening after each one. You trail your fingers up to his hair, pulling at it to expose more of his neck to you.

Vaguely you’re aware that you’re getting too lost in the thick fog clouding your mind.

“Alright love, that’s enough.” Remus groans next to you.

You let out a low and pathetic whine, tightening your grasp on his hair, lapping at the wound you’ve given him. The flow hasn’t let up.

You hear his heart start to pick up speed at your defiance, like he’s panicking.

“(Y/n).” There’s a faint waver in his firm tone. “Enough!”

That’s enough for you snap out of whatever bloodthirsty trance you were stuck it.

You detach your fangs from his flesh, pulling back swiftly. Blood coats your lips and you dart your tongue out to capture the rest.

Quickly, you scramble away from him, untangling your limbs in favor of cowering on the mattress.

Blood pools where you bit him but you’re in the right headspace to be able to rip your gaze away from it. Your eyes focus on Remus, how pale he’s become, even though you didn’t take too much from him.

“Merlin, Remus.” You pick up his dark shirt and press it to his wound.

Somehow his eyes manage to find yours in the dark.

There’s a glimmer of pain lingering in his irises, and guilt pools in your stomach. A frown tugs at your lips.

You’re a monster, aren’t you?

Couldn’t even control yourself enough, so you had to force your own husband to keep you alive.

You could barely restrain yourself while feeding off of him—you almost killed him. You would’ve, if he didn’t speak up.

“I know what you’re thinking...” Remus murmurs, lazily placing a hand on yours, pressing the shirt firmer against his body.

You purse your lips. Of course he knows, he goes through the same thought process every full moon.

“I’m fine, love. We’ll just both have to take a potion in the morning.” He reassures, scooching back to lay his head in his pillow. “But right now, I’m tired.”

Delicately, he gets under the blankets, shivering slightly.

While you don’t need to sleep at night, to be honest you’re not even tired, but the way he stretches his arm across your cold torso has you cuddling up to his side.

You stay up listening to his heartbeat even out and his breathy snores, knowing that you’re both alright.

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

Remus Lupin Taglist: @lunalovecroft

#Remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fanfiction #Remus Lupin fluff #Remus Lupin angst #the marauders x reader

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pseudofaux · 3 years

Note

Hey there pseu! Is it possible to get a drabble of dom comte punishing and spanking Arthur and mc please? maybe they were being naughty and bratty or Arthur got them both into trouble. everything else is up to you

I have to tell you that every time I have LOOKED at this ask my entire body has become HAPPY ♥️ This request is everythinnnnng, I really hope you will see and enjoy it! Thank you!

(Requests are closed, readers, but there are a lot to be filled in May and likely June, too! Feel free to follow along or just check in and enjoy as many as you like. A masterlist will go up when they are all completed.)

“Now, you know why you are both here,” le Comte says, sounding so disappointed that her shame goes to her toes and then rushes back up to her throat. “There is no replacing the marble you broke, the one you were specifically warned to be cautious around by Sebastian. And myself.”

Leonardo had warned them, too. And Isaac. They just hadn’t listened for more than the time it took to laughingly wave off the admonishments, too involved in their ridiculous game of tag to save themselves this trouble. She feels so foolish and repentant, standing beside Arthur in front of the owner of the house like schoolchildren. Her eyes go down, and the soft carpet of his room looks like it will soak up all of her tears and leave no trace of them.

And she will cry. She’s cried every other time they’ve been called in here. One way or another.

Arthur, on the other hand, rarely feels repentant after any kind of fun (at least, not right away). And though that lack of remorse is unwise before Comte, she knows Arthur will get her into trouble again, and again, and she’ll do no more than hesitate. Sometimes she’s the one that gets him into trouble, though he always takes the fall with a gallant wink.

Now he takes her hand. “Don’t fret, love,” he murmurs.

“You should fret,” Comte says, quietly and completely clearly. He is a man who does not need to be loud. “This is a punishment, and it should make you fretful, and turn your behavior for the better to avoid this in the future.”

Oh, but there is the dreadful thing that makes the inside of her belly twist. She does not want to avoid this. She has no desire to break things— truly, her remorse for the statue is sincere and she will try to find something else for the space even though Comte says the piece is irreplaceable— but she has no desire to not be called to his room with Arthur. For punishment. Do they know it? Comte knows so much else of the world, and it feels like he knows everything she loves and enjoys. She dares to look up at him.

“Just look at me, love,” Arthur says.

“She’ll do no such thing, and you will not speak out of turn again,” says their host, dangerously quiet. “Cherie, when I tell you to, you’ll close your eyes, but you will not hide from this,” he says. His voice is less sharp for her, but it has so little of his usual warmth that she feels the absence like actual frost on her soul.

She hangs her head and nods. “I won’t hide,” she says, and then she straightens up to prove it.

Arthur is not so obedient. “Comte, really,” he tries, but she sees the Comte in question fix him with a flat golden glare that is like a fist to her ribs even though it isn’t aimed at her.

“Consider this your last warning not to speak again unless you want this to be so much worse for yourself, Arthur,” Comte murmurs. His voice gets quieter the angrier he gets-- he is not playing any kind of back and forth right now. She looks down at the carpet again, trying to be appropriately submissive and hoping Arthur will join her. “She will only take a few spankings,” Comte says. “But you will take as many as I think you need to learn your lesson, and as we all know, you’ll break long before my wrist does.”

Arthur says “Ah,” and laughs weakly.

Comte steps in front of her and sighs. “Look at me,” he says. Her wet eyes go to his immediately and she can see how he softens, then steels himself. Even though the odd cocktail of emotions running through her is primarily shame and excitement, there’s a sadness that makes her lip tremble.

He touches her mouth very, very gently, and it stills all of her. “You’re not trying to avoid punishment, are you?” he asks.

“Never!” she is quick to protest. “No!” Not being punished would be a worse punishment than she can imagine.

“That’s good,” he tells her, and pats her cheek with a tiny bit of warmth, enough to sustain her. “Lean over the bed then, darling, and let us get through this and put it behind us.”

She nods tearfully and goes. She hears him whispering to Arthur while she settles herself and flips up her skirt, attempting to make the movement more graceful than desperate. Her feet shuffle apart the way she knows they should and cheek and chest and belly sink into the softness of le Comte’s fine mattress (it used to be higher-- she thinks he somehow lowered it for her). It smells like lavender and his cologne. It smells like time itself.

The scent intensifies when Arthur settles himself on the bed in front of her. He sits with his legs crossed and she wishes she could sit in his lap. He gives her an apologetic smile just before she feels Comte’s hand on her backside, cupping the curve.

“Is ten too many?” he asks.

“No,” she is quick to answer. “It is not. I broke something priceless.”

He hums thoughtfully and then says “That is true. Twenty, then. But no more than that if you are sorry.”

“I am,” she sniffles. “Please accept my apology. I am so sorry and I regret what I did.”

Arthur makes a noise of concern but he seems to know better than to move.

“That’s appropriate. I want you to repeat your apology for each of these,” he says softly. She knows his warmth at her back as he leans over her and strokes her arm where it lays against his bed. Comte whispers “I want to be able to believe you are sincere, sweet girl. Close your eyes now.”

She nods tightly, swallows, and does as he says. He briefly nuzzles at her cheek—too briefly, but so much better than not at all— and then slips back onto his feet behind her.

“Arthur,” he says, with none of the gentleness he used to speak to or touch her just a moment ago.

“Yes... sir,” says Arthur, words stilted but respectful. And then he says “Please, ah... one,” and Comte’s hand smacks immediately against the back of her right thigh. Her entire body feels it lift her feet off the floor. The hit is like flying in more than one way, tiny fizzles of pain and heat tingling in her skin as her feet regain their place on the carpet.

“I am so sorry and I regret what I did,” she whispers, fisting the duvet.

“Two,” Arthur says. Nothing happens. “Oh, right, sorry-- please,” he says, and then the hit comes.

“Watch your tone,” Comte says when the crack of the hit has passed. His hand massaging the place he just spanked her is so, so warm compared to the ice of his voice.

“Iamsosorry,” she says, trembling. “And I regret— what I did.”

“I know you do, dear one. Keep minding your manners like this, it pleases me so much more than you breaking art in our home.”

She makes it to six before the burn of the slaps makes her cry as much as his soothing voice does. The corrective attention he pays her and the way it contrasts with his chill toward Arthur don’t feel fair, but they do feel very, very good.

“Do you think you can continue to apologize?” Comte asks.

She shakes her head and wails, stumbling through an apology for not being able to apologize. She wants this to continue so, so very badly. She is able to say that much.

“Arthur,” Comte says tiredly. “I should not have to remind you.”

“Oh— yes,” Arthur says, moving his legs on the bed. “Comte, sir,” he adds. She hears the silver clink of his belt buckle and sobs in gratitude.

“Arthur is going to gag you now, sweet girl. This is for your benefit, not his, because I see how contrite you are. And I know you want to continue.”

She nods and cranes her neck as though it will help her get to him faster. Arthur’s huff of flattered laughter lands on her like a pillow stuffed with the lightest, softest down.

“But if he comes down your throat he won’t get to eat you out while he receives his spanking,” Comte says, “And since I’m going to take these off now,” he continues, slipping fingers into the waistband of her underwear and slowly pulling them down, “And I know how that agitates you, and how much he loves your mouth when you are getting a spanking, I wonder if Arthur will be able to hold out.”

His tone is so breezy, unconcerned. She knows better. His deviousness is there, it is just as soft-footed as a courtier. He can’t be happy about the marble but he likes this just as much as she does. Just as much as Arthur does, if the way Arthur is always breaking the rules is any indication.

Arthur doesn’t get to say more than “Here, sweet,” before his breath turns to a hiss as she takes the cock he feeds her and sucks as hard as she can from the very first. A startled cry comes out of him as his hands land in her hair and start moving her the way he moves himself.

“Seven, if you please,” Arthur gasps, and Comte mutters something she can’t catch before his hand comes down heavy on her naked cheeks. It pushes her a little farther onto the cock in her mouth, gets it properly in her throat, and the way she gags makes Arthur swear.

“Mind your language or I’ll gag you the same way,” Comte warns so clearly she can hear it over her pulse thumping in her ears and the forlorn jangle of Arthur’s belt buckle. The idea is so incendiary that she moans, deep enough that it feels like the sound bounces back from her navel. It pulls an equally inarticulate sound from Arthur and she smiles all the way through eight even though eight is not gentle.

Nor nine. Ten is a tiny reprieve, and after it Comte drums his fingers on her freshly smacked skin in a way that makes her shiver so hard she thinks Arthur must feel it.

“Certainly... taking your time there, Comte,” Arthur says.

Comte hums at him exactly like a parent does when they are ignoring a child’s poor behavior. Arthur tosses his head back and his fingertips dig into her a little more. But Arthur is never rough. Dirty in spades, but he never, ever hurts her. And even when she pulls back to swallow and work her tongue at the sensitive spot high up under his tip, he doesn’t grip too tightly. He does blow out all his breath, though.

He sucks it back in so he can whine “Eleven. Please?”

Comte gives her eleven. It’s his arm moving the air that makes her realize she is sweating so much her back has dampened her blouse under her upturned skirt just before his hand makes contact. It lands hot and loud, the slap bending her soul as surely as it creases her skin. She loses time for awhile, letting Arthur do the counting as she takes from them both, and only comes back at eighteen, when a spank catches her low and up, pushing her so far she gags again and her face is squeezed in a telltale way.

Poor Arthur. He makes a soft, thick, lost sound and follows the feeling by pumping his hips toward her face. Her nose is buried in the dark blue hair of his belly, and she can smell the musk of a lusty man near his end.

“C-Comte?” he asks.

“I won’t be rushed by the likes of you. Your rushing is what got you here. Remember, now you won’t be able to touch her while you get your own spanking.”

There’s a moment of nothing but breath and grasping, and then Comte goes in for the kill.

“Serves you right, naughty.”

Arthur groans and his cum shoots into her mouth so fast it’s like a slap from the other direction, and after an initial cough she swallows and seeks out the rest. She knows better than to touch him, but he doesn’t seem to need it anyway. He’s already panting tightly and his hips are jerky.

“This will be nineteen,” Comte says calmly, and it’s nothing like the others, more of a love tap. It’s still enough to move her on Arthur while he’s at his most sensitive, which Comte seems to have been expecting because he laughs when Arthur whines and shies back from her. “Stay where you are,” he orders. “Not your turn yet.”

She slows herself and begins to kiss the side of his cock, gently licking away the mess.

Arthur stutters over “Twenty,” but when Comte responds “Exactly,” it’s so warm they both shudder, and it feels to her like the shaking from her shudder lasts all the way through the might of the last slap and then becomes the reverberation from the spank, deep down in her skin.

“I am so sorry,” she whispers, exhausted and exhilarated. “I regret what I did.” Arthur pats the side of her face.

“I know,” Comte says, hands stroking everywhere he spanked. “You took that beautifully.”

His kisses are even lighter than his strokes, and he keeps them that way. The contact means her pain can’t relax to fade, and greedily she never wants him to stop. He makes his mouth wide over her skin and scrapes his teeth over her so gently she whimpers. And then he says “Hands and knees, Arthur, where I can reach you. I don’t think you need your trousers any longer.”

While Arthur does as he’s told (and that’s such a beautiful sight, when he’s finally cowed, and he’s always so pretty after he comes), Comte turns her by her hip. “And you on your back, sweet. Find a space where the embroidery will keep you hurting.”

He is so good to her. She shuffles up a little and then tries shifting from side to side. Indeed, she can feel the exact shape of each petal beneath her. He’s giving her a tiny smile and she returns it with her entire heart. He fondles Arthur’s balls while he stares into her eyes and she is so pleased to be the center of his attention that she could coo.

Arthur is making a more strangled sound. When she glances over at him, his eyes are shut tight and he’s biting his lip. He still looks beautiful, the flush of orgasm soft on his cheeks. She wants to kiss him, but of course it’s not time for that. At all.

Respectfully as she has ever heard him, Arthur asks, “How many, sir?”

“Until I am done,” Comte says. “Perhaps you should pray this one has enough left in her to squeeze, that might spare you.”

Oh, she loves it when he talks about her like that, and she knows he is doing it on purpose-- he is not mad at her at all any more. As long as he lets her, she will squeeze him as hard as she possibly can.

“Is a little time traveler going to run in my house again?” He asks as he slides in, easy as sunlight through gauze. She grasps at his arms and whines at the fullness, always a little too much at first.

“No,” she says, even though she knows it’s not true. She does mean it right then. There will come a time, though, when doesn’t, or when she gets anxious for more of all this, and then she’ll act out just to catch his attention. And Arthur will probably be right there to help her. If he’s not, she’ll go get him.

He pulls back, out, and she whines at the emptiness. “I don’t believe you, cherie,” he says calmly, and he slaps Arthur so hard a noise of shock comes out of the other man’s throat, like a startled animal. She hopes he didn’t bite through his lip.

“I,” he says slowly, and spanks Arthur again. “Don’t. Believe. You.” Each word is accompanied by a smack of his palm or the back of his hand, and that twisted part of her belly would seethe in jealousy if she had not so recently been spanked herself.

Arthur’s moaning the way that means Comte is toying with his hole, and Comte is smiling the way that means he’s enjoying it. His smile widens as he presses his cock along her folds and slides it against her, up and down. Up and down. Not far from this agitation she feels every stitch of a many-petaled flower digging into her abraded flesh. There is so fierce a concentration of pleasure and pain, so near to each other, that she cries out like Arthur did even though she’s not startled at all.

“Once more,” Comte says. “I wonder, is a little time traveler going to run in my house again?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

His smile becomes dark and somehow even more beautiful and warm. He uses his free hand to hold himself so he can push inside her again. “And does she know what will happen when she does?”

“Yes,” she hisses, full and blissful.

“Does she know what will happen to Arthur here?” he asks. Arthur yelps. Comte is inside them both and she is so happy she could cry all over again.

“Yes,” she says.

“Then let us make this worth it,” Comte whispers as he grinds against her. Arthur makes a sound of need and then there’s the sound of a fierce slap. He begins to cry and she really does want to kiss his face, but she will not move for anything in the world, and Comte is in her like a needle, a pin, a spike to pierce her through and keep her in her place in the world.

Arthur hiccups and very respectfully asks “H-how many, Comte?”

“As I said,” Comte answers pleasantly, “Until I am done. Perhaps you might beg her to spare you, if you can manage it.”

Comte doesn’t give Arthur much space to manage it through the way he spanks him as he’s fucking her, but Arthur does babble out some broken pleading. Please, love, be good, please won’t you help him along, help me, help me, please.

She squeezes, as though she could do anything else when Comte’s thickness is pressing against all her walls. Please won’t you-- nnnngh-- squeeze him, sweet, hard as you can.

“She’s trying,” Comte says kindly, without a hint of exertion in his voice. “But I think you should beg more.”

Arthur does as he’s told, and so does she.

#ikevamp fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic #ikevam fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikevamp comte #ikevamp arthur #pseu slings #istg I went full ‘THE HILLLLLLLLLS ARE ALIIIIIIVE~’ when I saw this 😂♥️♥️♥️

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angeltears-writing · 4 years

Note

can i request some angstyyyyy stuff because iM a suCkEr for pAiN me→🤡 how would the brothers (separately) react to their s/o finding out they cheated on her and she breaks up with them and how it goes down and their regrets(?) how/why they cheated and if they did it on purpose and if it meant anything thankkkssyouu🥺

The Brothers cheating on MC

I hope you like this one, I couldn’t do angst for Asmo he doesn’t deserve it!

Lucifer

It’s like his world suddenly turned to ice, his stomach dropped to his feet when he opened his eyes and saw you staring at him.

His words were stuck in his throat as he saw you turn and run away into the crowd.

It had been a stupid dare and he was drunk, Diavolo had dared him to kiss one of the cute witches that were at the party and he had against his better judgment.

Things had heated up with that kiss, her hands looping around his neck and his tongue being pushed down her throat.

His shame hit him like a cold bucket of ice water, waking him from his drunken state.

“MC! Wait!” He raced after you wanting to reach you and tell you it was all a stupid mistake and he didn’t mean any of what happened.

He found you outside in Diavolo’s garden, crying all by yourself in the cold.

Your sobs were like slashes against his heart, he caused this. He did this by being unfaithful to you.

He knew nothing he said to you now would make up for his betrayal and the humiliation he caused you.

He knew it would take some time to win you back after this and he was a patient demon.

He watched you from afar and decided breakfast in bed tomorrow was a good start as any, for now, he’d make sure you had some space while you processed the emotions.

Mammon

It had been constant fighting at the house, mainly between you and him.

He wasn’t sure what had been happening but your relationship was facing a fight after fight, after fight.

You felt sensitive because he wouldn’t stop calling you lowly human and asking you for money constantly. He felt annoyed because it felt like you were getting closer to his brothers and kept taking their side in their fights with him. Both of your insecurities had been bubbling over into passive-aggressive behaviour, snide remarks, and quick bitter arguments. He felt like you didn’t care about him anymore and decided he’d try to stop loving you back.

That’s why he found himself spilling all of his complaints about you to the cute, sweet witch who summoned him. She seemed different than the other times she summoned him, she calmed him down and was nurturing. She also seemed to support his side of the argument which you of lately scarcely did.

So when she moved in on him and kissed him, he didn’t exactly push her away.

When she suggested he spend the night, the next day and The next evening with her he couldn’t say no.

Until he caught her trying to cut him up then this little tryst was over.

He finally returned to the Devildom feeling stupid and angry, when you greeted with tears in your eyes asking where he had vanished to he felt terrible.

You did care about him and there he was returning from his cheating session where he had been bad-mouthing you constantly.

He knew this would turn out badly but he regretted his actions as soon as he saw your face. He came clean.

Your biggest fight yet happened, you shouted, screamed and cried so much you lost your voice and nearly got sick.

He pleaded for forgiveness and tried to explain himself but you were having none of it.

You decided to stay locked up in your room for the rest of the week and were ignoring his calls, bangs at your door and when he tried to talk to you at dinner.

He was broken inside and wished he could turn back time and stop himself from messing up.

Levi

To say your relationship was perfect with Leviathan would be accurate.

You guys respected each other’s interests, you did everything together and you were each other’s hype men and supporters.

So when Levi started a new online RPG game, invited you to play with him and you died immediately every time you restarted he tried to bite his tongue. There were plenty of things you were good at and this just wasn’t one of them.

Soon you said screw it and decided to stop playing altogether, he met a new player who sent him a friend request.

They followed Levi, helping him out during quests and sending him gifts so he sent his Devilcord name. They talked over voice chat while they played and he often forgot you were even in the room.

He was always chatting to his new friend, laughing at their jokes and complimenting them.

You felt like a third wheel and your boyfriend wasn’t making things better when he shouted out that he loved this new friend more than anything in the world after they defeated the mega boss together.

He didn’t even realise you left the room crying, you guys had been together for months now and he had not told you he loved you once.

He told everyone at breakfast that his friend was coming over to visit him that night so they all should stay out of his way.

Levi rushed past you when there was a knock at the door that night and who was waiting there but a pretty succubus in a tight low cut top, her hands were immediately on Levi’s arms and she pressed her body against his.

He didn’t stop her or even blush!

He led her to his room and closed the door, you entered after a few minutes and found her giving him a kiss on the lips after he defeated a boss.

You left slamming the door as you stomped to your room.

Guilt flooded Levi, he didn’t know you were there and didn’t know why the succubus was kissing him.

He pushed her off and told her to get out.

He pounded on your door begging you to let him explain, the door flew open and he was met with your tear-streaked face.

It was like he was stunned, you told him the kiss was just the tip of the iceberg of his cheating, he had not just cheated on you physically but emotionally too.

After being cussed out by you, he went to his room and locked himself in there, not playing a single game or checking out any new anime’s. He felt he didn’t deserve to after what he did to you.

He wallowed in his self-pity and stopped coming out to eat meals because he couldn’t face you.

Satan

He had high standards and lately, it seemed you weren’t measuring up.

Things you did he once called cutely were not apparently embarrassing for him.

He called you from RAD and said, unfortunately, he had to cancel your date to the art museum that night, for the fourth time this month. He said he had to go to the human world for an event.

Well you decided you could go to the art museum without Satan, so when you arrived and saw a tall blonde demon with his arm draped around the waist of some curvy succubus, you tried to brush off your suspicions.

That is until you heard his familiar laugh. You decided to spy on him for a bit.

He led her around the museum, laughing at her jokes, telling her that she was more beautiful than the art on the wall.

You felt like crying but when you saw her go to the bathroom you decided to confront him.

“Hey what the hell is wrong with you? You canceled our dates to hang out with her!” You were going to let him have it.

“Oh MC, well I guess my messages have not been getting through to you, MC I’m sorry you caught me like this but things haven’t been working out between us and I found someone I’d rather spend my time with.”

He seemed slightly annoyed and embarrassed when you started crying.

“I guess I’ll see you at The House of Lamentation, MC.” He marched off and joined his date leaving you alone.

Enjoying the night without you.

Asmo

The Avatar of Lust was someone who you did not expect to be monogamous but he said he’d give it a shot for you.

That promise lasted 3 weeks.

You came home and followed to the loud moans and screams of delight to his room and walked in on him in the midst of an orgy.

When he spotted you he didn’t even seem embarrassed, he just smiled and gestured for you to join.

Instead, you ran to your room and stayed locked in there for hours.

You heard a knock at the door and saw it slowly open, Asmo stood in his nightgown and held two face masks and a pleading guilty smile.

“MC-“He started but you turned so your back was to him. He let out a low giggle.

“Look, I love you MC, I have a great time with you. You understand me and make me feel special. You’re supportive and kind and I just love everything about you. But I can’t be in a closed relationship, I only having romantic feelings for you my love but as the Avatar of Lust, I need to be sexual with others. I hope you understand and we can make this work. If you want to continue and talk I’ll be in my room.”

He left the face mask on your bedside and closed your room door after he left.

Would you be able to share him with others in such an intimate way?

He did make you feel special, loved, supported and he was always taking you as his plus 1 to every event. He gave you special beauty treatments, took you shopping for anything you wanted from clothes, jewelry, and desserts. You were a permanent feature on his Devilgram none of his love-making buddies made it on thereafter he was done with them.

You looked at the face mask and made up your mind.

Beel

It was your anniversary at Devils Kitchen, Beel had been raving about this steak he was eating, he practically inhaled the thing.

He said he’d never tasted something like that before it was like his dream meal.

So when the waiter dropped off complimentary desserts from the chef who made Beel’s steak and was told the chef wanted to meet Beel after he was done, you tried to brush off your feelings of jealousy.

When you met the cute succubus who seemed to instantly connect with Beel, you swallowed your words and plastered on a smile.

The next day when you were meant to hit the gym with Beel you found him in the kitchen with the Chef, they were laughing together making chocolate truffles and feeding it to each other.

“Ah, what’s going on here Beel?’ you said interrupting their giggling session.

“Oh MC! You’ll never believe it, my new friend here just invited me to this great food tasting event in the next town. I’ll be away for a week” The “new friend” gave you a cold fake smile that told you exactly what you needed to know about their intentions.

Well you trusted Beel and wished him well on the trip, I mean it took him a while to open up with you and a place filled with food would mean he wouldn’t be interested in this succubus.

On his second night, you got a call, it was Beel. His voice sounded depressed and strangled.

“MC, I’m sorry. I messed up, I didn’t mean for this to happen! It was an accident I swear.”

Tears pricked your eyes, “Please tell me you ate all the food at the event.” You managed to push out.

“Oh MC…I’m sorry we were getting along and it was late. Suddenly we were kissing. It didn’t mean anything though I only want you-”

You hung up, you hoped that he would stay away for the rest of the week so you could cry in peace.

You tore up your couple pictures and sobbed yourself to sleep.

He came back home the next day but you pretended not to hear or see him.

He was aching inside he wanted to make it up to you, show you it was just a mistake. He didn’t mean it.

Belphie

He had been colder towards you recently, Lilith’s birthday was soon and all of his human phobic feelings were coming back up.

He had been trying to provoke you and hurt you, taking out his frustrations on you.

Nothing had made you break though, you just kept telling yourself and him that you’d be there for him and support him whenever he wanted to talk or just be held.

He felt like you were provoking him, pushing him to hurt you by responding the way you were.

So he took it further he found some random succubus and called her to dinner in front of everyone. He put her on his lap and would not stop kissing her and complimenting her. He looked right at you when he was doing this.

He had a sickly smile when you left the table in tears but seeing you like that he felt terrible.

He told the succubus to get out and knocked at your door.

He told you to open the door or he’d break it down, you unlocked it and he came inside.

“Look Belphie, I’m on your side. I thought that since we were together we’d work things out together but tonight it was too much. You went too far.”

“MC, I’m sorry I was being an ass for no reason, I tried to hurt you. It seems like I can’t stop hurting you. I’m sorry I should just go.”

He knew he was being stupid and he knew to hurt you was wrong but he did it anyway and for what.

He regretted his choices but decided it was best if he left you alone, he didn’t deserve you anyway.

#OBEY ME #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me leviathan #obey me luficer #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me brothers #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me imagines #obey me hc

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bearlytolerant · 3 years

Text

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Bethany x Alistair (Bethistair)

Rating: T

Ch WC: 3115

AO3

Chapter 4

He was dreaming the most wonderful dream. He was old, he could tell by the amount of wrinkles on his hand. Her also. She had the same wrinkles in her skin as his as he held her, staring out over the lake. The sun was just setting and it was warm. Summer, it must have been. It was beautiful, almost as beautiful as her. Elissa smiled at him, her face clear as day and leaned into his shoulder. He kissed her forehead. They remained that way for what seemed an eternity and then—

He had to piss. Nothing was as jarring as that feeling after a nice dream. Alistair went about his business, the dream fading even though he’d clung to it desperately.

He crawled back into his bed. Squeezed his eyes shut. If he could just go back to sleep, he could be with her again. He pulled the blanket tighter. Burrowed himself in its dark and let himself be hollow. The day could start without him right?

He never slept.

Just sort of curled up into himself and let his mind lecture him instead.

Get out of bed Alistair.

No matter how many times his mind told him to get out of bed or tried to entice him with life’s beautiful delights, including the promise of spring, there seemed to be this external invisible force pressing him further into his mattress and he couldn’t get it off. That sudden urge to cry came over him again. Maker, would it ever end?

Clattering by his bed and Alistair groaned. Why hadn’t he written a decree stating that not a single soul could be in his castle excluding his son and the healer?

“I brought you some breakfast. The servants claim you haven’t been eating.”

Great. Somebody had called in the calvary. He clung even tighter to his blanket.

“Alistair. You can’t just lie in bed all day.”

He heard Anora sigh. A bit dramatic in his opinion.

He mentally prepared for her to yell at him or give him a stern talking to. She never came to the castle otherwise.

“Trust me. If I could have just lain in bed all day after Cailan passed, I would have. I understand how you must feel. But you’re not doing anyone any good by not eating. You want to waste away? Leave Bryce without either of his parents?”

The Maker knew his brain was useless for getting him out of bed so he’d thought it’d be comical to send Anora instead. He should count himself lucky.

Light blinded him as the blanket was ripped away. He should’ve clutched it tighter. Blankets these days were as precious as pearls.

“Get up. We’re going to the lake.”

He balked, shrinking away, scrambling for a cozy shadow. “But I don’t want to,” Alistair whined.

“But you’re going to. So sit up. Eat. Get your big boy pants on and meet me at the front gate in an hour. Or so help me I will drag you out of this bed myself and spoon feed you.”

He dared to glance at Anora. She was serious, of course. She shoved a glass of orange juice at him. He eyed it suspiciously as she rolled her eyes and forced it into his hands.

“Now drink,” she commanded.

He hesitated more out of defiance than anything. “I could have you thrown from court for how you’re speaking to me. Could even put your head on a pike.” Emphasis on the last word had to have sounded threatening.

Her eyes nearly rolled out of her head that time. “For Andraste’s sake Alistair, don’t be so morbid.” She shook her head and muttered something about an insufferable little brother. She handed him a piece of buttered toast next.

“Where am I supposed to put that?”

“In your mouth.”

He glared. Drank his juice and traded the empty glass for the toast. He took the world's smallest bite out of it and chewed. And chewed. And chewed. After he swallowed, Anora patted him on the cheek.

“There, wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Why are you here?” Alistair asked.

She cleaned the dirt from her nails with a brush she seemingly pulled out of nowhere. “Fergus has been concerned so he sent for me. He knows you listen to my council.”

Alistair scoffed. “More like I let you boss me around.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

After all this time, Alistair still wanted to stick his tongue out at some point in every interaction with her. He shoved his toast in his mouth instead. He didn’t miss that coy smirk on her face either.

She rose and strutted towards the door. “I’ll be seeing you in a short while. Oh, and do wear something comfortable.”

She exited like she was leading an army. Alistair glanced down at his nightshirt. A miserable army of one. He managed to finish half his breakfast and throw on some clothes before the time allotted to him. Though, his main motivator at that point was getting to check on Bryce before he went on an excursion with Anora.

He spotted Bethany and he froze. She should be at breakfast like every other morning when he visited Bryce. And he had been avoiding her for nearly a month, successfully, ever since what he referred to as the incident. He had half a mind to turn around and walk right back out that door.

“Oh good morning,” she said. She was even smiling. Then she motioned him over. Did she not remember him losing his shit over roses? “He’s been having longer periods of wakefulness. Though, he still often calls me his mum.”

All thought of embarrassing incidents, anxieties and what have you dispersed when he heard that. “He calls you mum? Does he not realize…” Alistair didn’t want to say it.

She shook her head and adjusted Bryce’s pillow, smoothed out his blanket. “You may or may not have to remind him. I wouldn’t worry about it now. It’s still too soon to tell whether his memory is affected long term. Of the patients I’ve seen sharing his condition, many have suffered from short term memory loss. I have rarely seen otherwise.”

Rarely. The word wasn’t lost on him. Alistair didn’t think he could explain her death to Bryce again. Maker, wasn’t once enough? He shuddered at the thought and Bethany’s hand was over his.

“Really, you shouldn’t worry.” She squeezed his hand then let it go.

Shouldn’t worry.

Good advice but his heart couldn’t take it. Alistair leaned over and kissed his son’s forehead. “I love you,” he murmured. Then pulled back.

“I will return again after dinner. I’d like to read him some things.”

Bethany nodded. “I think that’s an excellent idea.” She smiled gently at him and the thought crossed him that she had a very pretty smile. Not that he should notice such a thing. Maker, what was he thinking? Hadn’t he just dreamed of his wife this morning? Now he was admiring another woman’s smile?

Forgive me.

He rushed away from Bethany before he thought something else he shouldn’t possibly think.

—

He really didn’t want to be at the lake. Too many bad memories. Too much guilt. Too few enjoyments. And it was cold. Not quite Ferelden winter cold but the wind had a bite and nipped at the tips of his ears. He ticked the reasons off one by one, keeping his worries at bay with complaints until Anora interrupted his thoughts, shoving a fishing rod into his hands. He’d rather try aiming for fish with a bow and arrow. Fishing with a rod was a slow, agonizing way to catch fish, one in which he was left to marinate in his morose musings.

“Already has a worm. Do you prefer to fish off shore or…”

Neither. He didn’t like fishing at all. It was by far one of the most boring and wretched past times he’d ever encountered.

“Shore it is,” she decided for him.

“I don’t like fishing,” he said. But plodded after her anyway.

“Oh, I know. But I do. I find it quite relaxing.”

“Then why not go by yourself? Bringing me along with you seems the opposite of relaxing.”

“I should confess then, I did not bring you along for my benefit.” She cast her line.

“I already mentioned I don’t like fishing. Did you have a lapse in hearing?”

“My hearing is excellent. The benefit is you getting out of bed, getting some sun and fresh air while putting your duties for the day off for a few more hours. Perhaps it would be a good time for you to take your mind off things.”

Her motives were good, he could admit but they were absolute bollocks. The sky was overcast and looked like it would burst into tears at any moment. How was he supposed to get any sun? And if the fresh air was going to smell like fish, especially dead fish, he didn’t want it.

Alistair sighed and attempted to cast his own line. He got it tangled up in the reeds along the shore. Then he cursed and threw the rod on the ground. “Blast! I think I’d do better wrangling fish out of the water with my bare hands.”

Anora sniggered. “What a sight that would be.”

“I’m going to take a walk.”

“No, no!” She grabbed his cloak sleeve. “Stay. If it helps you can talk and I’ll try my very best to listen.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “I—no. I’m good. No need for a talk.”

Not that he didn’t want to talk. Talking would probably do him good. But he couldn’t think of anyone to talk to. Fergus maybe. Though Alistair didn’t feel like he could be honest without diminishing his grief. Ferguson had been through far worse and he didn’t seem to struggle to get himself together. It intimidated him.

“Fine. Have it your way.” She picked up his rod then and fixed his line, casting it for him. She placed it back in his hands. “I’m really sorry for your loss Alistair. However, being so sullen doesn’t suit you or your kingdom. I’m not saying you can’t grieve, just maybe try keeping it contained, hm?”

Alistair closed his eyes. “And how do you propose I just contain my sullenness?”

“Try fishing for starters.”

He wanted to mock her in a tiny man child voice but he refrained. Thankfully he had Morrigan as a traveling companion long enough to train him in the art of biting his tongue. As well as shoving his foot straight into his mouth but that was another story for another day.

He fished silently alongside her wishing desperately to be back with Bryce. The fresh air didn’t feel any different than the drafty castle. The sun was nice at least, when it decided to make an appearance. But the sky was looking more sullen by the minute and the wind was picking up.

“Isn’t this a terrible time to fish?” he asked.

“Any time is a good time to fish,” Anora said.

“I don’t think that’s true. I remember there were certain times fish were more likely to bite.”

“We’re not here for dinner,” Anora snapped.

“So we’re just dipping worms in water for what? Fun? Sounds like torture.” He reeled his line in and studied the sad soggy worm on the hook. “Aw see? Now the poor little worm is a goner. I’ll have to make it a little worm grave.” He removed the worm and set his pole in the crook of some driftwood.

“Stop being ridiculous.”

“I won’t stop until you let me go back to my bed.”

“You know, I was quite fond of Lady Cousland. She was much better at fishing than you.”

“She was much better than me at a lot of things.”

“She was at that.” Anora got a bite on her line. She tugged her rod and reeled it in. No trouble at all.

Alistair sat on the driftwood with his chin in his hands. “I don’t mean to be so morose. I just miss her. I miss her terribly.”

Anora unhooked the fish–a cute little perch–and tossed it back into the water. She set her own pole aside and sat next to Alistair.

“I miss her terribly too,” Anora said.

“You do?”

“Yes. Is that really so surprising? I’d miss you too, even though you’re quite the lummox.”

“Aww,” Alistair placed a hand over his heart, “such warm fuzzy feelings, right here.”

“Must you always act like this?”

“Only with you. One day you’ll come to appreciate it. I–I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye and I’m glad you and Elissa became close after–well after everything. You could have found a clever way to toss us from the throne but you didn’t.”

“Not yet anyway. I could still.”

Alistair allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Treason!”

Anora clamped her hand over his. “You are such a child!”

A sort of chuckle snort escaped from Alistair as Anora placed her hands back in her lap. He noticed she could smile too. “I’d still like to take a walk. You could come with me, if you wanted. I promise I won’t run away or do anything stupid.”

She nodded. “I’d like to keep fishing. But do be back in time for dinner. I can’t keep you out forever.”

Alistair nodded and stood. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Anora was taken aback. “An honest thank you? With no snide remark? I–well you’re welcome then I suppose. Now shoo, enjoy the fresh air.”

Alistair went without further ado. Surprisingly, it did him some good. But when he entered the castle later that day to attend to his duties, his heart seemed heavy again.

–

Bethany wasn’t exactly sure if she should be in the room when Alistair came back. He had been dodging her since the garden. But she was tired and the fire was cozy. She also enjoyed seeing this side of the King and had missed him–no missed him interacting with Bryce. He was a kind and tentative father. Much like how her own had been. She pretended to read a book she had no interest in to provide an illusion of privacy.

“…and the young boy bravely reached out to touch the dragon’s snout. His friends gasped, waiting and watching for him to be scorched by fire. But the dragon closed its eyes and huffed, melting under the touch of the boy.” Alistair let out a big yawn. “I think that’s all I can manage tonight. We’ll have to pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

Bethany stole a glance in their direction. Alistair was returning the book to the nightstand. Bryce was fast asleep.

He stretched and she admired his form. Strong arms, wide shoulders, and a slightly rounded belly that she briefly dreamed of laying on. Then her eyes flicked lower and saw he also had quite a lovely bottom, not that she was focusing too much on it. Just appreciative. She told herself to look away and stop thinking such things. He turned and definitely caught her staring. She tore her eyes away and buried her nose in the book. Cheeks flushed.

She pretended not to hear his footsteps coming towards her. The book was really really interesting then. She nearly bore a hole through the book with her immense interest.

He sat across from her.

“I haven’t properly thanked you for all you have been doing to help my son. So, I uh—“ He ran a tired hand through his shoulder length hair, wisps of reddish brown bangs with hints of gray, flopping to each side of his face. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome. Though I must say, it’s a pretty easy thing to do.”

“I don’t think most people would share your opinion.”

She laughed a little. “It’s a good thing I’m not most people then, isn’t it?”

He gave a half hearted chuckle coupled with a nod.

Then they both stared into the fire. Bethany wanted to say something more. Have an actual conversation but she wasn’t even sure where to start. Her brain kept wanting to think about the way her fingers would feel running through his hair. Through his beard and–

“Can I ask you something?”

Praise the maker. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you ever dream of him?”

She tilted her head, searching her mind for the him he was referring to. She blinked as everything came up blank.

“Your brother, I mean. Of Garret.”

“Oh!” Her eyes lit up and then that sad sort of feeling pooled in her stomach. She sighed. “Of course I do. They are always happy. And he is always safe. When I wake up, I remember that it’s all a lie and it hurts.”

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

“Yes, in a way.”

“Hm.” He tugged at his beard.

“Have you been dreaming of your wife?”

“Yes,” he said. His hands came to rest in his lap and he fiddled with the hem of his nightshirt.

“Would you tell me about her?”

Alistair glanced up then. Eyes wide like she was asking him to jump off a cliff.

“I–I don’t really know where to start.”

“How about your dream? Do you remember it?”

“Yes.”

“Well I’d love to hear about it if you’re willing to tell me.”

And he did. He told her all about how they had grown old together. How it made him feel. How it had affected his entire day. How it tore him up inside.

“I just–when the person you share everything with, including your deepest secrets and darkest hurts–when they die, who do you turn to? Normally, they’d be your person. But she isn’t here and it’s so incredibly unfair. Which is ridiculous to think, I know. Life isn’t fair and all that.”

Bethany reached out without thinking, covering his large hand with her smaller one and squeezed. “It’s really not. It’s understandable you feel that way. I’m so sorry Alistair. You’re right. It is incredibly unfair. It’s unfair that the world took what you loved most and still moved on, leaving you to pick up pieces of yourself in the throes of responsibility. It must be difficult.”

“It–it is.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, retracting his hand. Then he bolted upright out of his chair. “I’ve taken up too much of your evening, Bethany. Have a good night,” he spit the words out in a hurry as he fled.

“You too, I guess,” she muttered, then doused the fire with a cone of frost.

#dragon age #Bethany x Alistair #bethistair #Bethany Hawke #alistair theirin #holding space #chapter 4 #bear writes #will I ever consistently update anything?#your guess is as good as mine

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reinerispretty · 4 years

Text

groceries. (sokka x f!reader) modern AU

hello!!! i have been wanting to write this for a while. this is based off of one of my favorite songs :) i am sorry if you don’t like modern au’s but i just thought it would make more sense with the song!! it is called groceries and it’s by mallrat!! give it a listen :D

read part 2 here!

Real sorry about your broken heart I'm trying to walk on broken glass Do it all again for art Like had to write a song about it

(Y/N) walked up the concrete steps and four flights of stairs to Sokka’s apartment. By the time she reached his hall, her legs were aching, but she pushed through and walked down the hall to the dark grey door with the golden 4D loosely hanging from a screw. She knocked hard against the door, just in case he was listening to music, and tapped the hanging metal to make it swing.

The door slowly opened to reveal Sokka, wearing a baggy light blue sweatshirt and grey sweatpants. (Y/N) smiled sadly as she stared at him. His eyes were puffy, like he had been crying, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Her fingers tightened around the bag that was slung on her shoulder.

“Can I come in?” Sokka shrugged, letting her into his apartment. It was oddly...clean. She had been here many times before and had never seen it this clean: no take out boxes strung across the counters, no clothes strung across the floor. It was like he didn’t even live here anymore.

“Katara told me what happened,” she said quietly as she took a seat on the couch. Sokka scoffed.

“Katara needs to mind her own business.”

“Your business is her business, Sokka. She cares about you.” He stood with his back to the door, still not looking at her. She stood, dropping her bag on the floor and moving into the kitchen. “Have you eaten anything?”

He shrugged. “I need to go to the store.” (Y/N) opened his fridge to find a single papaya on the top shelf.

“I’ll take you.” She slung her bag over the shoulder. “Come on, it’s only a block away.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It looks like I do.”

I'll go if you go, if you're cool with that I'll go if you go, I have hope that you know that I'll go if you go, if you're cool with that I'll go if you go, I have hope that you know that

Sokka sighed, grabbing his keys and wallet before they both went down the stairs. When they got outside, Sokka winced at the bright light. “When was the last time you went outside?” He turned his head away from her, avoiding her gaze again. It broke her heart, seeing him like this. Sokka was normally the sunshine in everyone’s day. Funny, outgoing, optimistic. She couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t smiled at her.

They walked down the sidewalk side by side. She could tell that his mind was elsewhere, as she had to pull him out of the way of people on multiple occasions. “Thanks,” He mumbled as he pulled his arm away. (Y/N)’s fingers curled into her palm, which dropped to her side. She checked her phone to avoid having to start conversation. A message from Katara: Is he opening up yet?

(Y/N) dropped her phone back into her bag as they walked into the grocery store. Sokka grabbed a cart, slumping over the railing as he followed (Y/N) through the store. She grabbed him the usual: bread, some cereal, fruits and veggies. She turned back to look at him. “What else do you need?”

“Um...” He gestured lazily to the other side of the aisle. “Fruit snacks.” (Y/N) smiled, just a bit.

“Mott’s or Welch’s?” She held up both boxes. Sokka thought for a moment before answering.

“Welch’s.” (Y/N) scrunched her nose in disgust. “What’s wrong with Welch’s?”

“Nothing, if you have bad taste.” She tossed the box into the cart, laughing at Sokka’s hurt expression as they moved onto the next aisle.

I just wanna get groceries I'll pray you wanna get close to me I'll give it some, give it some, give it some time But I think we're supposed to be And if you wanna get groceries And if you wanna get close to me Just gimme some, gimme some, gimme some sign I think that we're supposed to be

They moved onto the freezer aisle. (Y/N) grabbed almost every frozen meal under the sun. She returned to the cart with her arms full, dropping the meals on top of the rest of the groceries. “That’s a lot,” Sokka said.

“It’ll be easy to pop in the microwave,” She explained. “From how your apartment looked it seemed like you couldn’t be bothered to feed yourself.”

Sokka looked down at his hands. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.” (Y/N) stared at him for so long that an old lady grumpily scooted her cart past them.

“Sorry,” (Y/N) said quietly, but she wasn’t sure if she was apologizing to Sokka or the old lady.

They checked out at the front and then carried armfuls of groceries back to his apartment. As they walked up all the stairs, (Y/N) wished that Sokka would move to a building like Aang’s, with a nice elevator. Instead he chose the building with the most stairs in the universe.

They finally reached Sokka’s apartment and placed all of the groceries on the counter. (Y/N) began putting things in their proper place. She had been here enough times to know where he liked his things.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said quietly. She didn’t turn back to look at him this time.

“I know. I want to.” She moved to the stove and put a teapot on the burner. “Sit down, I can make us some tea.”

He would normally argue playfully with her, but this time he didn’t say anything. He sat on the couch quietly and pulled his feet up, resting his elbow on the armrest.

“Why’d you come?”

“Because Katara called me. Asked me to check in on you.”

“But why you?” (Y/N) cleared her throat.

“She knows I care about you.” The teapot started to shout, so she took it off the burner and poured it into two cups with tea bags. She brought one over to Sokka and sat in the rocking chair beside the couch. There was so much space in between them. It wasn’t normal. They used to be so close. She remembered sitting on that exact same couch with him, laughing at one of his jokes while something on Netflix played in the background. Now it felt like she was sitting with a stranger.

I wish that I could let it pass I don't mind that you put it last I made it worse, I put you first We're laughing like it didn't hurt I'm in the dirt, I'll make it work though

Sokka stared at the mug in front of him. It was a cheesy souvenir shop mug that read “World’s Best Boyfriend” and as sad as it was, it brought tears to his eyes. He used his sleeves to wipe them away before (Y/N) saw, but he was too late. She came to his side immediately and sat close to him. She didn’t want to encroach on his personal space, but she wanted to let him know that she was there.

“I didn’t read the mug before I gave it to you, I’m sorry,” She whispered quietly. Sokka shook his head.

“It’s fine, really, I’m fine.” He gave one large sniff before turning toward her, but he still wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Sokka...” She pulled her knees up on the couch. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

“I just-” He wiped his nose. “Why did she have to leave?”

(Y/N) let out a large sigh. The distance between her and Sokka wasn’t without reason. After years of pining, he and Yue finally started dating. They were a cute couple, (Y/N) had to admit, but it hurt her too much to see them together. She had been in love with Sokka for as long as she could remember. They had even kissed once, a year ago, at Zuko’s birthday celebration. There had been alcohol involved, but (Y/N) had thought it might change things. A week later, he and Yue started dating and (Y/N) stopped coming around Sokka’s place as much. She would see him at gatherings and act like she was happy, but on the inside her heart was heavier than ever. She separated herself from their friend group for a while and whenever anyone asked she just claimed she was really busy from school. It was easier that way, not seeing anyone.

But just as quickly as they got together, they separated. Yue packed all of her belongings and left without so much as a goodbye. And while she felt a little relieved when Katara had told her their relationship had ended, she couldn’t help but feel so sad for Sokka. He was the kindest human she had ever known and he didn’t deserve to feel like he had done something wrong.

“Maybe she needed a fresh start,” (Y/N) said.

“Without me.” He played with the frayed edges of his sleeves.

“Sokka, Yue loved you a lot. Loved you so much that sometimes it made me sick. But sometimes, people need to leave to get their own stuff figured out. I guarantee it wasn’t because of you.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you treated her like she hung up the moon and stars for you.” (Y/N) felt a lump forming at her throat. Whenever she thought about them, it made her sad. “You’re a good person, Sokka. And Yue knows that. But take it from me, maybe it just wasn’t the right time.”

Sokka looked into (Y/N’s) eyes for the first time that day. He stared at her for a few moments and she stared right back, her gave immovable. Sokka was a go-with-the-flow kind of person, but (Y/N) was more of a rock. She especially needed to be a rock for him right now.

“I’m glad Katara called you today,” He admitted. “I missed having you around.”

A smile rose on (Y/N’s) lips. “Me too.”

This sucks, I'm lovesick, too important to rush this I'd miss our kiss if it ever left my lips No one I know is sticky on my mind when I go Except ya, but you're just friends with Miss Independent And this sucks, I'm lovesick, too important to rush this I'd miss our kiss if it ever left my lips No one I know is sticky on my mind when I go Heart broke, but I spend it, 'cause I'm Miss Independent

---

Tag List!

@beifongsss , @aimee1602 , @musicalkeys , @aroyaldarknessblr , @mdgrdians

#atla #avatar the last airbender #sokka x reader #modern au #atla modern #zuko x reader #aang x reader #writing #fanfiction #sokka #zuko #katara #aang #iroh #toph #momo #appa #azula

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thedeviousdo · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2

Member/Pairing: Junmyeon x Sehun

Genre/Type: Mature, Fluff, Angst

Love was for mortals, not for a Cupid like Sehun who has spent the last several hundred years doing all he could to stay away from the thing he was born to create. All that changed the moment Junmyeon stumbled into his life.

Chapter 1 part 1 part 2

Main story Repairs

Sehun watched the glare from the water make shapes on his painting. He wondered if Junmyeon would find something in it like he would with the art at the exhibit. Probably not.

He had left Junmyeon driving off to his brother’s in a hurry, something about him being locked out of his place. They had barely made it to Junmyeon’s very impressive sleek black motorcycle before his phone was ringing. Sehun had never been a fan of them before, but he could see the appeal as Junmyeon pulled on his leather gloves with an apology and a promise to text him. It wasn’t until Junmyeon was turning the corner that Sehun realized they hadn’t exchanged numbers.

“Shit,” Sehun grumbled, looking at his painting. He would not toss it into the water this time, he had emptied the trash bin for that very reason.

Maybe he could ask Yixing for Junmyeon’s number in a day or so, somehow bring him into a conversation. The fact that Sehun was conceiving some kind of plan to see some mortal was laughable. But for the first time in a long time he was taken by surprise. Junmyeon had caught his attention and hadn’t let it go for two days now. He just wanted to see if he would feel the same way if he saw Junmyeon now as he had last night… or the night before.

It wouldn’t be a big deal to ask Yixing now, Sehun thought, looking down at his watch. It was just after noon, so it wasn’t too early to stop by. Yixing did say that he could come by anytime. Sehun took a deep breath, picturing the gallery, the walls lined in art, the stark white lobby. The familiar white noise engulfed him, and he could no longer smell the ocean air, instead picking up the scent of a well-used street. Opening his eyes, he was now standing at the doorway of Yixing’s gallery.

Peering inside, Sehun saw Yixing standing at a counter, typing away on a white laptop. He glanced around the area before becoming visible and walking inside. He gave a small wave when Yixing looked up at the sound of the door.

“Three days in a row, you’re becoming a daily occurance.” Yixing smiled as he made his way around the counter to greet Sehun.

“I won’t make it a habit,” Sehun said with a smile to match Yixing’s. “I actually--”

“Wanted to ask me about Junmyeon?”

Sehun felt his jaw drop. “What? No. Wha- how… did you know?”

Yixing laughed as he put his arm around Sehun’s shoulder. “Sehun, I was one of the longest living Cupids, give me a little credit, please.” He walked them further into the gallery until they reached his office. “What do you want to know about him?” Yixing gestured to one of the oversized cushioned chairs for Sehun to sit in.

“Do you have his number?” Sehun asked, as he took one of the seats.

“Yes, but I won’t give it to you. That’s something he should do.”

Sehun wanted to roll his eyes but resisted the urge. “How about where he works? He said he ran a library with his brothers.”

Yixing sat down across from Sehun, crossing his arms as he got comfortable. “He told you that?”

“We, um...we had a drink after he was done helping here. We talked for a little bit.”

“He told you about where he worked but didn’t give you his number. Why didn’t he?”

Sehun did roll his eyes this time, he didn’t know why Yixing was acting so protective. He offered information about Junmyeon, so why not give it to him? “He left in a hurry, and we didn’t get a chance to exchange numbers. Do you know where the library is?”

“Yes, but I won’t tell you.” Yixing smiled so large the twin rubies on the top of his cheeks flickered in the light. He held up his hands when Sehun sighed, ready to protest. “That is something he should tell you, he loves that place. I will tell you that he frequents a certain coffee shop most mornings on his way to work.” Yixing grabbed a pen and notepad from the coffee table, making a show of writing something down. “This is the name of it.”

Sehun grabbed the note. “Cloud 9 Coffee Shop.”

“It’s not far from here.”

Junmyeon cleared his search history on his browser, he didn’t need to have a reminder he had tried looking for Sehun’s account. He’d text or call him if he hadn’t rushed off to help stupid Jongdae get into his stupid apartment and left Sehun without getting his number. It wasn’t like he thought anything would happen between them, he probably dated gorgeous models or something. Still would've been nice to have his number.

“Stupid,” he mumbled.

“What’s stupid?”

Junmyeon jumped in his chair, gasping so hard his breath caught and he started coughing. “Shit, Dae, how long have you been here?”

Jongdae was bent over laughing, glasses pushed to the top of his head so he could wipe at his eyes. “Man, I wish we had cameras in here, that should’ve been recorded.”

“Ass,” Junmyeon pouted, throwing a highlighter at his brother.

Jongdae sat down at Baekhyun’s desk, swinging his feet up to rest on the edge. “To answer your question, I’ve been in here for a few minutes. You were just staring at your phone like Baek when he’s really into the book he is repairing.” He smiled, taking a sip of his sparkling water. “So, what’s stupid?”

Junmyeon shrugged. “Nothing just something I did… well, didn’t do.”

“Which was?”

“Don’t you have work to do?” Junmyeon asked, getting to his feet and grabbing his sweater off the back of his chair. He wasn’t really in the mood to hear how Jongdae would make fun of him if he answered his question.

Jongdae laughed before taking another sip of his drink. “Fine, don’t tell me, and I just got done reshelving the returns, thank you very much.”

“I’ll be back in a bit, I’m gonna take a break.” Junmyeon pulled his sweater on as he left their office, Jongdae already on his phone and yelling his goodbye.

The coffee shop wasn’t far from the library, just a few minutes walk, so he was there in no time. Junmyeon entered the familiar shop, taking a deep breath of the rich scent of coffee and chocolate. Another reason he loved the place so much: they paired different flavored small chocolates with drinks from the menu. He had tried each one more than once.

He took his usual seat in the corner near the window looking over the busy street. He could just make out the park from where he sat, patches of green grass visible. He was happy it was spring, he always enjoyed watching everything blossom.

“This seat taken?”

Junmyeon snapped his head to the side at the voice, eyes widening when he saw Sehun dressed in all black, looking like he’d just stepped off the runway, standing in front of him. “You.”

Sehun smiled. “And you.” He gestured towards the empty chair in front of Junmyeon, who nodded quickly. “Thanks, I didn’t feel like standing and drinking my coffee.”

“What are you doing here?”

He smiled again, raising his cup. “Same thing as you it seems, then again it is a coffee shop.”

Junmyeon felt his cheeks warm. He wanted to kick himself, of course Sehun would be here for coffee. He was smarter than this. “I know...I just...I’ve never seen you here before and I was just thinking about y--” Junmyeon swallowed the word with his coffee, almost spitting it out when it burned his tongue. Seriously, he couldn’t think clearly with this man around.

Sehun watched him for a few moments, letting him collect himself. “I’ve actually never been here before, figured I’d try it out. I’m glad you decided to as well.”

Junmyeon felt his stomach do a little flip at the way Sehun was looking at him. He had a small smile on his lips, obviously enjoying himself, amused as he watched Junmyeon. He just couldn’t believe Sehun was here when only minutes ago he was thinking about missing the opportunity to see him again. And now here he was, sitting here in all his handsome glory.

“Here.” Sehun pushed a small piece of paper across the table towards him. “My number. Just in case you have to run out again.”

“Oh,” Junmyeon said, taking the paper. “Sorry about the other night, I didn’t mean to leave in such a rush.”

Sehun shook his head. “It’s alright. I should've gotten your number sooner.” He could have just said his number out loud, but there was something inside of him that wanted Junmyeon to have something from him. He stopped himself from shaking his head at his own ridiculousness, being happy about this mortal folding his note and putting it into his pocket delicitley. “Did the emergency get taken care of?”

Junmyeon rolled his eyes, emergency, he still wanted to slap Jongdae’s head. “Yeah, he wasn’t locked out of his place for too long. Though he acted like his fish were going to die if he didn’t feed them that very moment.”

Sehun smiled as he watched the obvious memory play behind Junmyeon’s amused eyes. “I’m an only child, but I’d say my friend Minseok is like a brother...a very annoying older brother that likes to pester me and point out how much smarter he is.” He wasn’t lying, not that he knew of having a sibling but it didn’t stop his stomach from lurching. There were always half truths he was giving to Junmyeon.

“That’s exactly what us older brothers are supposed to do.” Junmyeon pulled out his phone, tapping a few times till he got to the picture he wanted. “This is Jongdae, and Baekhyun. Baek is more of an adopted brother, my mother became his guardian when he was 15.”

Sehun sat forward, a smile already forming on his lips as he gazed down at the picture. The three of them were sitting around a campfire, Jongdae was in a mid laugh pointing to Junmyeon who was trying to blow out a marshmallow on fire. Baekhyun was off to the side watching them as he ate his s’mores with a hint of a smile on his face. “Of all the pictures you could choose, you go with the one of you burning the Hell out of that poor marshmallow?”

Junmyeon looked down at the picture, “It’s really the perfect picture of all of us...or what we are like. Jongdae is loud and happy, while Baekhyun is a little off to the side but trying hard to not show he cares.”

“And you?” Sehun asked looking up at him under his bangs.

“I’ll always try to fix things I guess.” Junmyeon sighed as he turned his phone off and sat back in his chair. “That and I really do burn those things more often than not.”

“You paint?” Junmyeon kicked a rock out of their path as they walked through one of his favorite parks. It had little stone sculptures that the college nearby would switch out every so often from student artists.

“I try to, though I hardly ever finish anything.”

This was the third time they had met up in the last two weeks, and he was finally being more himself around Sehun, making witty comments and speaking in actual complete sentences where he wasn’t saying ‘um’ every few seconds. It helped that Sehun saw him as a friend. Once Junmyeon settled on the fact that Sehun would never be interested in him romantically, he had stopped acting like a complete buffoon around him. Sehun deserved someone who was not only as good looking as he was but also had a real direction in life, with a big shiny office and title. Not someone like Junmyeon, who spent most of his time working in a dusty library, or looking after his brothers in some way.

So he was Sehun’s friend, and he was completely and utterly fine with that. He knew Sehun was new to the city, so he didn’t have that many friends to hang out with. Junmyeon was just happy he was one of the few he chose to spend time with. Even if he was sure Sehun probably had someone he called his own, spent time differently than the way they were now. But it didn’t stop him from smiling as he looked at Sehun.He enjoyed the way Sehun viewed things, as if he has seen things happen hundreds of times. There was such a simple wisdom he seemed to have about the world, unlike Junmyeon, who constantly found something he didn’t know about in the world around him. He must look so naive to Sehun.

“Junnie?”

Junmyeon shook his thoughts away at Sehun’s recent nickname for him. “I’m sorry, what?��

“I asked if you’ve ever painted?”

“Oh no, I have a love for the arts but not a talent for them.” He laughed, thinking about his few attempts in the past. “I did one of those drinking art classes with my brothers once. It didn’t turn out that bad, but it looks better after having several drinks.”

“Maybe you were meant to pose for it and not create it then,” Sehun said softly, pushing his hands into his pants pockets and looking off in another direction.

“Hardly,” he mumbled, feeling his ears warm. They walked in silence for another few minutes till they reached the deserted parking lot where Junmyeon’s bike was. “Do you have any plans for the night?”

Sehun shook his head, shrugging his broad shoulders. “I was going to see if you’d like to join me for dinner...if you didn’t already have plans.”

Junmyeon bit his lip. He had planned on making a big pot of stew to bring Jongdae and Baekhyun at work tomorrow. Sure they could cook on their own, but he knew if he didn’t bring it, they would probably live off instant noodles for most of the week. “I actually have things out to make dinner tonight.” He watched as his answer seemed to deflate Sehun, his shoulders lowering with a slight nod. “You can come over to my place instead...um, if you wanted.”

Sehun’s head shot up, a smile instantly on his lips. “I’d like that.”

Junmyeon smiled back. “Okay, if you want to follow me back to my pla…” His words trailed off when he saw something flash across Sehun’s face. “What is it?”

“I, uh, didn’t drive here...I-.”

“Took a cab?”

Sehun nodded quickly, “Yes a cab, I took a cab here. I can take one to your place or back to For Life to get my car.” His stomach tightened at the lie, but it wasn't like he could say he teleported here, not unless he wanted Junmyeon to run as far away as he could.

“For Life? Why is it at the marina?”

Sehun shrugged, a small smile on his lips. "That’s where my yacht is." He watched as Junmyeon gave a little snort of laughter, lips thinning as he tried to hold it in. "Something amusing?"

"Who...who just says they have a yacht? As if it’s a normal everyday thing.” Junmyeon ran a hand through his hair. He of course knew Sehun had money, he had seen the sleek sports car he had driven the last time they met up, not to mention his model-like expensive wardrobe. But he must have serious money if he owned a yacht. What was Sehun even doing hanging out with someone like him? Friendship or not, there was already a huge difference between them.

“Junnie?” Sehun asked softly, brushing his fingers against Junmyeon’s hand for a moment to get his attention. He had been watching whatever thought process was warring inside Junmyeon’s mind for several seconds now. If his eyes didn’t look a little worried, Sehun would’ve thought he looked unbelievably cute right now, his bottom lip pouting perfectly, making his chin crinkle. But Sehun could tell that whatever Junmyeon was thinking wasn’t the happiest thing, not the way his rich brown eyes seemed to have lost a little light.

Then Junmyeon shook his head, putting a smile on his face as he turned to his bike. He opened the small cargo area on the side of the bike and took out a spare helmet. “Dinner won’t cook itself, and a second pair of hands would be helpful,” Junmyeon said, handing the helmet to a stunned Sehun. “I can drive us to my place, and later I can either drive you home or you can call a cab.”

Sehun watched as Junmyeon pulled on his own helmet, taking a moment to tug the zipper up his worn jacket. “I’ve never been on a bike before?”

Junmyeon wiggled his fingers into his gloves. “Are you afraid?” He looked up when he was answered with silence. Sehun’s usual strong demeanor seemed to have disappeared, instead he looked young and uncertain as his fingers moved the helmet in his hands. It was the first time Junmyeon had seen Sehun look so small and unsure. He took a step forward, taking the helmet from Sehun’s fingers and putting into place on his head. “Just hold onto me and move along with me. I’ll tell you when we are turning so that you know to lean your body a certain way.” He smiled as Sehun bent himself lower so that Junmyeon could put the helmet on better and tighten the straps under his chin.

Junmyeon settled on the bike moments later, bringing it to life as he brought a hand out to Sehun. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Sehun took a deep breath as he took Junmyeon’s hand, it was softer than he had expected. He quickly let go of his hand, ignoring the way his fingers tingled and took his seat behind him. He tentatively placed his hands on Junmyeon’s hips, feeling the vibration of the bike through Junmyeon’s body.

“Don’t be so stiff, you’re acting like you almost died on one of these,” Junmyeon joked as he brought Sehun’s hands around to his stomach, making Sehun lean into his back.

“Maybe I did in a past life,” Sehun retorted in Junmyeon’s ear once he was nuzzled into his back.

Junmyeon laughed as he pushed the stand up and revved the engine. “Hold on tight.”

If Junmyeon tried hard enough, he could still feel the warmth from Sehun’s hands the other night. Just the mere thought of the way it felt to have his arms around his waist was enough for Junmyeon’s stomach to start to knot. He groaned as he rolled over in his bed and buried his head into his pillow. Friends, just friends.

Sehun had clung tightly to him the whole 15 minutes it took to drive them to Junmyeon’s house, burrowing his face into the crook of his neck during every turn. Then there were the little touches here and there while Sehun had helped him make dinner. He would brush Junmyeon’s hand when taking more vegetables to cut, or place his hand on his shoulder when passing by to grab things from the fridge. Needless to say, Junmyeon hardly breathed the entire night. He had almost been relieved when Sehun insisted on calling a cab once it was time for him to head home.

He needed to get a hold of himself, not let his mind wander off the way it was now. Sehun was probably just a touchy person, he would be like that with everyone surely. Junmyeon needed to stop thinking about Sehun.

Maybe if he could decipher the looks from Sehun, or maybe if he got more from him about his life. So far he only knew the bare minimum about Sehun, he always seemed to drive the conversation away from himself. Maybe if Junmyeon knew a little more, understood Sehun a little more it wouldn’t leave his mind to wonder to him constantly.

Junmyeon closed his eyes with a deep sigh as he imagined Sehun’s dark gaze once more.

Sehun looked down at his hands, another wave of tingles tickled him from his palm to the tips of his fingers. A soft whisper sounded in his mind: Junmyeon. Junmyeon was thinking about him again. He had been since Sehun had gone home with him the other night. Not like Sehun hadn’t been doing the same.

“What is with that smile?”

Sehun turned around at the voice, finding his old friend Minseok standing in the doorway that led to the lower cabins of his yacht, his almond-shaped eyes crinkling as he gave Sehun a cheeky smile. The last time Sehun had seen Minseok was over 10 years ago, a blink of an eye in Cupid time. His hair was longer now, pitch black strands held behind his ears, a few pieces falling into his eyes. He was in white tunic and loose cream-colored linen pants, looking like he belonged on the yacht, spending the day sipping champagne.

“I wasn’t smiling,” Sehun said, dropping his hands and picking up his paintbrush again.

Minseok pushed off the doorframe and walked up to Sehun’s side, looking over the painting. “Is this why you were smiling? Whomever this is you’re painting?”

Sehun looked down at the drying paint on his canvas. He had been so lost in adding a kaleidoscope of colors to it that he never looked at what he was creating. It was obviously a portrait in the making, there was a general outline to the face but no real features yet, just a set of familiar, warm, chocolate-colored eyes.

“I, uh, it’s noone.” Sehun placed the paintbrush down on the table covered in tubes of paint. He grabbed a cloth and quickly draped it over the painting. “What are you doing here?”

Minseok watched him for a long moment before looking off to the ocean, “It’s been a bit since I saw you, and when Yixing let me know you were out here, I thought I would pop in.”

“You talked to Yixing?”

Minseok nodded with a warm smile. “I talk to him often. Just because he turned his bow in, doesn’t mean he isn’t still my brother. I’ve known him for eons, and I will for many more years to come.”

Sehun watched the happy memories pass over his friend's face. “I’m happy to hear it.”

“Glad to hear you are making friends. You need them.”

“What? I have friends,” Sehun said, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned to look down at his friend.

“Who?”

Sehun rolled his eyes. “I have you and…”

Minseok nodded, raising one finger. “That’s one, go on.”

Sehun mumbled a curse under his breath. “There’s Kyungsoo and um, Yixing?” He wanted to kick himself as what he said sounded more like a question than a statement. Minseok smiled up at him, clearly amused. Correction: he wanted to kick Minseok.

“And what about the person you sought Yixing out for?”

“Junmyeon?” he asked quickly, closing his eyes at his outburst. He really hadn’t wanted to bring him up, not when he didn’t know what Junmyeon was to him...what he was to Junmyeon. He looked down at his hands as they tingled slightly, not as strong as before but there was still a faint whisper of Junmyeon’s name in his head.

“A mortal, from what Yixing has said. You’ve never interacted with them before, other than marking them.”

Sehun shrugged, inspecting his nails. “He’s different, and I’ve only been getting to know him for a few weeks.”

Minseok nodded. “Befriending a mortal isn’t a bad thing, you know.”

Sehun startled slightly when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He swiped the screen to life, and bit his cheek to stop himself from smiling when he saw what it was. Junmyeon had texted him

, asking to meet for coffee. Sehun looked at the time on his phone. It was nearly dinner time, a little late for coffee. Sehun did smile then--Junmyeon had been thinking about him all day and had finally broken down and asked him out. He typed his reply before looking back to his friend. “Yeah, I guess I’m starting to see that it’s not such a bad thing.”

Junmyeon rubbed his stomach, he was so full he was ready to burst. Sehun had readily agreed to meet him, but instead of the rushed offer of coffee, he suggested dinner instead. Neither had anything in mind, so they opted to walk downtown to the street markets lined with food stalls. They had to have grabbed food from at least seven different stalls.

He stepped into Sehun’s side as they passed through a crowded part of the sidewalk, smiling when he felt Sehun’s hand on his back. He let himself linger in the light musk-filled embrace a moment before taking a step away. There was a look that passed over Sehun’s face when their eyes met, again he wished he knew what those looks meant. He wished for a lot of things when it came to Sehun.

“Thank you for dinner.” Junmyeon smiled, “Much better than just coffee.”

Sehun mirrored his smile with one of his own. Junmyeon cheeks were still a light shade of red from the heat of his spicy rice cakes, and seemed to shine when he smiled. Sehun had spent most of the night trying to think of things to make him keep making him smile. Which was hard because Sehun never considered himself funny. But he continued to try, he liked the way Junmyeon’s eyes would crinkle and disappear when he found something truly amusing. Or when the laugh would end in a small giggle and nose scrunching, that was Sehun’s favorite.

“You should’ve let me pay though, I am the oldest.” Junmyeon mumbled as they started walking again.

Sehun wanted to say that he was actually the eldest between them, if they wanted to get technical. But that was something he couldn’t say...something he shouldn’t say. How would he explain it? What could he possibly say to Junmyeon that wouldn’t result in him running away from him, not believing him or maybe even worse... believing him and thinking he was some kind of monster. Even if Junmyeon didn’t think he was crazy, he wouldn’t want anything to do with him after knowing what he was. Sehun was going to live… well maybe forever, he wouldn’t age or die or change like Junmyeon. Who would want to live a life with someone like that?

His heart felt heavy in his chest, as happy as he had been the past several weeks with Junmyeon and their growing relationship, he knew it wouldn’t last. But maybe he could be selfish, just a little bit longer, just once in his long life he really did something for himself. He felt their fingers touch just as a tingling sensation started in his hand. He looked over at Junmyeon to see him look quickly away, bringing his hands into his pockets. “I’ll let you pay next time.” Yes, he can be selfish just a little longer.

He watched as a small smile took up the corner of Junmyeon’s lips. The realization that he wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss the tiny smile had Sehun stopping in his tracks. Junmyeon stopped walking a moment later, pushing out his bottom lip in a pout when he turned to look back at Sehun, noticing he wasn't beside him.

“Something wrong?” Junmyeon asked turning around fully to face Sehun properly. He stopped himself from reaching out to touch his hand when he didn’t get an answer. Sehun was looking at him with his usual unreadable dark eyes. He wasn’t sure how long they stood there on the sidewalk, or how the space between them grew smaller over that time. All of a sudden he was close enough to smell the soft musk of Sehun’s cologne once more, almost feeling his body heat. Coupled with the way Sehun was looking at him, it was making it hard for Junmyeon to think past anything that wasn’t Sehun. That wasn’t a need to be even closer to him.

There was no way Sehun was looking at him the way Junmyeon’s mind and body was making him think he was. He didn’t look down at Junmyeon’s lip right now, not at least in the way he thought he was looking at them. Even if Junmyeon didn’t lie to himself and actually admit that he wanted Sehun to be looking at him that way, to be wanting to kiss him. That there was no one else on the busy street with them at that moment. It was something he knew wasn’t happening. It was only something nice to fantasize about late at night when he was alone, but it wasn't reality. Junmyeon shook his head as he took a step back. Being that close to Sehun wasn’t helping Junmyeon from being any less of a fool for him.

“I um there’s a shop near by I wanted to look at.” Junmyeon rubbed his neck as he turned around, nearly bumping into a passing stranger. “Oh sorry” He mumbled to the stranger before starting to walk. “I um it’s Baekhyun’s birthday next month, and I wanted to get a jump start on finding a gift for him.” He gave a glance over his shoulder towards Sehun. He was looking down at his hands, a small frown on his lips. “Is that alright? I can go another time or if you just wanted to lea-.”

“Lead the way, Junnie.” Sehun cut in, looking up through his black hair, smiling after a moment when Junmyeon nodded and started walking again.

#tether me #exosnet #my fanfic #exo fanfic #sehun #junmyeon #suho #seho #exo #thank you all for being patient while I wrote this and now in the editing process #i hope you like it!!

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astraeal · 3 years

Text

Commission for @aciddial! I had a lot of fun writing this; hope you enjoy! Read on AO3 here.

Stardew Valley, and all characters therein, belongs to concernedape.

Leah’s washing her freshly picked blackberries when the birdsong falls silent. Her days are measured by the ebbing and flowing of flora, fauna, and the babbles of the river, and though it’s growing darker, the birds should still be singing. She flicks the water off her hands, drying them against her shirt as she goes to the window.

The sky is darker than it should be for an autumn evening, but rain is common as the seasons begin to change in the valley; less than the thunderstorms of summer, but still something worth celebrating. Perhaps the rain will push out a couple more mushrooms and berries before winter’s chill sets in; that, Leah can get behind.

Rough sketches, surplus canvases and paints, inventory sheets of supplies, and scattered, dulled tools, resting between miniature scale replicas of future projects cover her only table. She’d rather sit and eat than have to wade back into her workspace. Then again, her cabin is so small, the whole structure could be considered her workspace. She likes to think that she keeps her bed free from her work, but even then she makes exceptions to sketch her dreams from time to time, so.

Perhaps not.

She finishes cleaning the berries, setting some aside in the jars the Farmer had kindly given to her, the rest sprinkling on her evening salad. She perches on her stool, the plate held aloft in her hand as she begins her dinner. As she chews over the fall fresh berries, her mind wanders through the pathway of small cabins and creatives who live inside them, and naturally, she begins to think about Elliott.

He insists that he’s fine down in his little beachside shack, but that doesn’t stop her from offering for him to stay with her every autumn and winter. There are some comforts the forest offers that the beach does not, just as there are comforts her cabin offers that Elliott does not. He treats his piano with better care than he treats himself, despite Leah’s best efforts to improve her friend’s state of living.

Sure, Willy doesn’t mind allowing Elliott’s use the bait & tackle shop’s outhouse, and his electricity bill is nonexistent because there’s simply no lights in the shack. But when Leah points out that maybe those things aren’t exactly good, Elliott refuses to see reason. It’s a point of independence and pride, she knows; they both were running away from naysayers when they each came to Pelican Town.

She still feels that relief whenever she sees him walk into the saloon, that balm of finding another artistic spirit in a place of salt-of-the-earth folk. Of course, there are dreamers elsewhere, but aside from Sebastian and Abigail’s infrequent character art commissions, Elliott is the only person with whom she can talk about her craft.

And right now, she’s in her cozy woodland cabin, eating a foraged salad by the fire, and he’s probably freezing his ass off in his drafty shack. She’s talked with Harvey; she knows Elliott goes to the clinic more often than not in the colder months, and beer doesn’t keep a cold away like mead, according to Willy.

She presses a blackberry to the roof of her mouth with her tongue, feeling it slowly crack apart and turn to sweet, seedy mush. Tomorrow, she resolves; tomorrow she’ll talk to him and make him seriously consider moving in for this winter. Even the community center is well under way; perhaps he could temporarily move in there, and take advantage of a proper fireplace instead of a firepit.

Leah clears her plate to the sink, already planning where she could unroll her extra cot if need be. If she did the work ahead of time, maybe Elliott would take advantage of what she was offering. Maybe, just maybe, she could make him dinner, bring him up to the cottage and have him coincidentally stay while the storm rages on.

Yeah; that’ll be what she does.

♢♢♢

She wakes up to a loud cracking sound outside her cabin, and the sound of something large crashing to the ground. Then, the white noise rushing in her ears registers as rain, the ominous rumble of thunder coming from somewhere to the north. Her cabin is dark, save for the firelight, but even that has dwindled down.

Leah swings herself out of bed, first tending to the fire to coax it back up to full brightness, feeding more logs into the heat. As the cabin glows warmer and brighter, she turns to look around. Nothing seems out of place inside, so she goes to the window, pressing her nose to the glass and looking into the darkness.

Two pine trees closer to the river bank have been struck by lightning, split down the middle, still slightly steaming in the rain. She knows she’s lucky they hadn’t caught fire; the forest could have gone up in flames and she could have been stuck in her very flammable, very toxic-if-lit-ablaze cabin full of art supplies and paint. Still, those weren’t small trees, and while she mourns the loss of two of the older companions she’d had since moving to Pelican Town, she also recognizes the severity of the storm. To be able to strike down such trees, old and strong as they were, required no shortage of lightning and chance.

Again, her thoughts drift to Elliott, in his own drafty, cold cabin, surrounded by much flimsier palm trees. If one of them was struck, the tree could easily fall onto his cabin – or worse, fall onto Elliott himself.

She grabs her galoshes and stuffs her braid into a knit hat, dressing quickly. She doesn’t know what time it is, but if the storm woke her up, then it must’ve woken Elliott. He’s a light sleeper, always has been, and she mentally kicks herself for not heading to the Saloon the night prior, not being able to check in with him.

Before she leaves, she pulls out two thick knit sweaters and sweatpants, as warm and neutral as she can. Much of her and Elliott’s personal taste in fashion overlaps, a fact she’s grateful for, but he can be particular regarding loungewear. Better to be safe than sorry.

Armed with a flashlight and a long waterproof jacket, Leah heads out into the storm. Marnie’s cows are all boarded up in the barn, and the path to town is clear of any debris, though Leah’s footsteps squelch deep into the mud. She moves quickly, running parallel to Willow Lane, skirting between the fence line of the sewer entrance and the trees. The river swells with rain water, and she slips a couple times but never completely falls.

The street lamps at the entrance to the beach have halos around them, the light smeared across the buckets of rain pouring down. She jogs into the soaked sand, and from there on every step becomes twice as difficult. She’s has to be particular with how she moves, taking it one step at a time, fighting towards the door of Elliott’s cabin.

His windows are dark, and she feels horrible for letting him continually choose this version of his independence. The stone pathway does little to give her reprieve from the muddy sand, but it gives her just enough to get to the doorway and knock. A loud crack of thunder sounds from over the ocean, the sky briefly bathing her in white light.

She knocks loudly, even as she opens the door, announcing herself. “Elliott! It’s Leah!”

She shines the flashlight around the cabin. Her cubist artwork still hangs on the wall above the piano. But the table that usually resides in the corner has been pulled into the center of the cabin, with a bucket in the corner catching a rather impressive stream of water. The bed itself has been pulled away from the wall, towards the front of the cabin, and huddled in that bed is where Elliott sits, a book held to his chest.

“Leah darling! What are you doing here?”

Leah closes the door, leaning against it. The movement drags the spotlight of the flashlight across the floor, and it’s then that she sees water bubbling up between the panels. “Elliott, your house is filling with water.” Her voice is somehow calm, despite the freezing rain she had to run through to get here, and the predicament her friend keeps putting himself in. “Your house is filling with water and you’re not even at the Saloon?”

“It’s 2am, I left there hours ago.” He at least manages to look a little ashamed. “I didn’t think the storm was going to be as bad as it was.”

“The Farmer told us the weather was going to be getting worse.”

“The Farmer lives between the forest and the mountains, it’s a completely different biome than here on the coast.” Elliott presents his words with a flick of his hand, yet the ambivalence is undermined by the congestion in his nose and the slight tremble in his fingers.

“Oh, did Demetrius tell you that?” Leah rhetorically asks as she walks over, bringing Elliott’s boots from where they had been discarded by the front door. ��Come on; you’re spending the night at my place.”

Elliott blinks in surprise. “Leah, that’s…you really don’t have to do that. I’m quite fine here on my own. And I can’t leave without my manuscript.”

“El,” Leah murmurs, holding the boots out to him. She aims the flashlight at the ceiling, the light cascading down around the both of them, giving them enough to see in the pale white light. “You have the story in your mind. You can bring it with you, if you really need to, but I’m not leaving you here, alone, with–”

Her words are covered by the loud crack of thunder. Pointedly, she gestures around the leaky cabin.

She sees a bit of that classic Elliott pride in his eyes, the squaring of his shoulders. He’s older than her, yet she consistently takes on the leading role, the more grounded approach, because she can’t fully lose herself in make believe worlds. Her work is in reality, and the reality of this situation is that she can’t walk away and leave him here alone.

But the next rumble of thunder in the distance lets them both know that this storm isn’t going to pass overnight; it will likely be here until tomorrow, leaving them in much the same predicament. Leah gives him another withering look, and two minutes later the duo make their way back to the forest.

As they pass over the bridge, Leah can hear the water sucking at the lower side of the stone structure. She watches as it spills over, and can hear the soft wheeze with each of Elliott’s breaths as they walk back to the forest. It’s slight for now, but she can only imagine it’ll get worse with time. Harvey will have something to say about it, that’s for sure.

Together, the two arrive, rain soaked and nearly blinded by the darkness, to Leah’s cabin. She pushes the door open, ushering Elliott inside first, then following herself. “Take whatever you want from the bed,” she says, tiredly gesturing to the bed, flinging some water off her hand in the process.

The two kick their boots off and lay their jackets on the coat rack. Leah watches as Elliott carefully spreads the manuscript pages – only slightly crumpled – onto the darkened WIP table. She peels off her wet jeans and socks, casting them in front of the fire to dry out little by little, picking her way to the bed. She takes her hair out of its soaked braid, her hat also needing to dry.

“If you’re hungry, I can whip us up some tea with elderberry syrup,” she offers, brushing her hair out.

Elliott comes over, clumsily putting his hair up into a bun and taking the softer, baggier pair of joggers from the bed. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice a little hoarse.

Leah politely looks away when Elliott takes his shirt off, but she is relieved to see a bare back, meaning his binder isn’t on. He tends to keep it on far past the guidelines for expected use, but that’s an argument she’s too tired to have right now. When they’re both dressed in warmer, dry clothes, she pulls back the sheets on her bed and gestures for Elliott to get in.

“What? I can’t possibly put you out of your own bed.”

She points more emphatically at the sheets. “I have a cot I can use, but you need a warm bed. In.”

He throws a pout at her, but which she returns by sticking her tongue out. She feels better – better that he’s good enough to be teasing her, and better that he’s getting in the bed and following her directions with minimal complaining. She goes to the small array of kitchen appliances she has tucked against the wall, and begins to prepare some elderberry syrup tea. Something to warm them both, and she notes the soft sniffles Elliott keeps giving off.

“Do you want something to eat?” she softly asks, the sound of the rain cocooning them in relative safety. Thunder booms every so often, but it’s not as close now, perhaps moving more towards the mountains, or simply a break in the storm.

There’s no response.

She turns to look, and sees him curled up on his side, the blankets pulled so only his eyes are visible, watching her. She furrows her brows a little, though she smiles in response, and softly prompts, “El?”

He hums a little, and she can tell he’s smiling from below the blankets. “Uh huh?”

“I asked if you wanted something to eat. I have some tom kha soup, if you want. With crab.” She watches as his brows furrow a little – now he’s confused.

“I thought you didn’t eat meat.” Leah’s vegetarian, but that doesn’t mean she can’t stock her friend’s favorites.

She simply shrugs. “Yeah, but you do.” At his resulting silence, she blushes a little more, turning back to stir the heating syrup. “What?”

Elliott remains silent, but she hears the soft rustle of sheets. “That’s really very kind of you, Leah. Thank you.”

She feels her cheeks flame a little, then reaches down into the basket of jars. She pulls out the jar of soup and a pot, clicking the flame on the stove and pouring the soup inside to heat up. “Y-yeah, anytime.”

It’s now that she remembers exactly why it would be so difficult for her to have Elliott permanently in her space. If not for their quite different versions of productivity and rhythms of living, there’s also the unmitigated crush that had blossomed over the course of their friendship. She knows he’s aware of her rocky foundations with romance, especially as it intersects with her art career – she’s told Elliott the story of Kel more than once, sometimes after one too many beers at the Saloon. But Elliott was never anything but supportive, and he always made sure to respect her boundaries when it came to romance.

She knows that he’s currently working on some romance novel, though, and that part of that had to do with the Farmer’s influence. Then again, she’s currently working on pieces for the town art show, also at the Farmer’s influence. Maybe they’re all a little starstruck with the newcomer, or maybe the Farmer just makes for good inspiration. Muses come in all shapes and sizes, and the Farmer’s never been anything but helpful.

They’re the reason Leah has leftover tom kha soup in the first place.

She has a spoon in each hand, stirring the pots in circles, before the syrup reveals itself as ready. Her electric kettle has the water primed and ready, and she drizzles the syrup at the bottom of the cups before tossing in some mint tea and pouring the water over it. The rest, she’ll cool to keep on hand as actual syrup, but the freshly made syrup – or sauce, as it really is in this form – is good to go now.

Taking the cups over to the bed, she hands one to the newly resurfaced Elliott. He looks much softer and safer here, tucked in her bed, the sweater a little tight on his arms but still comfortable nonetheless. He takes the cup with gentle, ink stained fingers, green eyes watching her with something she can’t quite name.

“Drink that and tell me how you feel in the morning,” she says, feeling her words slip quietly out of her mouth.

He nods, and she sees his soft freckles across the bridge of his nose, usually long dormant as the shorter days come about in the colder months of the year. “I have some inkling.” The words seem to puzzle him, and Leah tilts her head a little as he hurriedly takes a sip.

What could that mean?

“Let me get the soup. I’ll be the one eating it, it’s the least I can do.” There’s a darkened splotch on his upper lip, leftover from some elderberry syrup. She wants to reach up and wipe the syrup away, but she instead takes a sip of her own tea, nodding in gratefulness. Her legs ache from the struggle through mud and sand, and she hasn’t sat down since they arrived back home.

Isn’t that a thought? To call this a home in regards to them both.

She sits on the bed next to him, watching the fire dance in the brick enclosure. “You could move in here full time,” she offers, her mouth working without full permission from her brain. “Thoreau ran off to the woods for two years, two months, and two days. Think of the beach cabin as a summer home.”

“Thoreau wasn’t writing what I want to write. But I appreciate the comparison.” He laughs a little into his cup, fidgeting with his earring with one hand.

“Just, please think about it. I mean, what is the cabin going to look like when this storm ends? And winter’s coming, all of that’s going to freeze over, and you’re far enough from Harvey’s that going to an appointment is a whole ordeal, and…Look, Elliott, I just don’t feel comfortable letting you stay there.”

Elliott sighs. “…I’ll stay for the next couple days. At least until I can get the water out of my house.”

“And fix it so that the water stops coming into your house. I mean, do you know how unsafe that is?” Leah is aware that she’s perhaps ranting a little, but she feels it’s deserved.

“Yes, darling, I know. It’s all I can afford though, since no one in this town is moving out anytime soon.” He hops out of the bed, going over to address the soup. Wordlessly, she follows, handing him the only bowl she has in her possession. Enough living materials for one, not two, but she would be willing to make the choices to purchase more for him. She’d be willing to make that space in her life and fill it with Elliott, if only he would let her.

Once his soup is poured, she joins him back on the bed, sitting cross legged and clutching her tea. “You pay nothing to live there; I’m sure there’s gotta be room somewhere. Maybe there’s some apartments above Pierre’s? You know he’d love another way to make a quick buck.”

Elliott laughs, sipping the soup directly from the bowl. “Maybe, darling.” He sounds a little cleared up, and Leah hopes that trend continues. Nothing against Elliott, but she knows he can be a bit of a baby when he’s sick. Not that she finds it endearing or anything, or appointed herself Pelican Town’s resident Sick-Elliott-Caretaker despite knowing this. Nothing like that.

“I just, you know. If you don’t want to come here. I know that my sculpting can be kind of loud, and I know you need quiet to work, and there’s not a whole lot of places in town.” She tugs a little at the sweater by her wrist, suddenly shy.

“I…wouldn’t mind living with you, Leah. I’m sure we could come up with an arrangement to suit both of our styles of work.” He’s also blushing, but Leah attributes that to the heat in the cabin. Surely, that just means the warm soup is working its magic.

She nods, and the conversation quietly dies. Rain continues to pummel the roof and siding of the house, but thankfully no more trees fall. They finish their tea, and Elliott finishes his soup, and they’re faced with the exhausting prospect of pulling out a cot and making it with pillows.

“Or you could just sleep in here,” Elliott offers, patting the sheets next to him. “I would sleep better knowing I’ve not displaced you for longer than this storm required.”

Leah rubs her eye, looking at the warm inviting sheets – and man within them – and the empty space where she knows her cot could go. “Would…you be comfortable with that?”

Elliott nods. “I trust you.”

That alone makes Leah’s heart race a double time, and she heads over to the bed. She slips between the sheets, nose to nose with her closest friend, feeling safe in the rain. Just in case he catches anything, she knows she shouldn’t be so close to him. But it’s comfortable, and the moment he slings an arm over her waist she’s out like a light, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

♢♢♢

She wakes with Elliott’s arm still around her, her back pressed to his front, and the rain continuing down. It’s less now than it was in the middle of the night, and she hopes that means the damage to the town is going to be less than the forest. Still, she can hear the rushing of the river, still overly full of rain water, and she knows it’s going to be a while before she feels safe taking her sketching supplies to the pier to draw lake life.

Leah yawns, stretching out a little, feeling her muscles yelling at her for having the audacity to go for a midnight sprint through the rain. Elliott tugs her closer, and she remembers that he hasn’t actually left the bed, nor her house, nor her person. She freezes, eyes wide, staring across her cabin at the whorls in the wood.

Elliott is still asleep, breaths deep and even. She knows that there’s a possibility that he wakes up, shy and embarrassed, about them being so pressed together. Even still, there’s only one bed, and it’s a small bed at that, so maybe they can both be forgiven this moment of weakness. She closes her eyes, resting again in this warm embrace.

She’s unsure of how long passes before she wakes up again, this time because Elliott himself is waking up. He rolls away from her, his shoulder hitting the wall if the dull thud is anything to go by, resulting in a sleepy grumble.

Staying still, Leah waits to see how Elliott responds to their morning position. True to the romantic man he is, he reaches over and resumes holding her closer to him. She feels him sigh, his breath moving over her hair, followed by a soft, “Good morning, darling.”

“Good morning,” she replies, wondering how he knew she was awake. His resulting startle tells her that he did not, in fact, know she was awake. Which meant he wasn’t saying that for her benefit at all.

Interesting.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, still holding her close to him.

“Good; how about you?”

“Oh, wonderful, thanks. Haven’t been this warm since before the Moonlight Jellies arrived.” She can feel his smile through the words, and it makes her laugh a little bit to herself.

“Well, stick around here and you’ll be as toasty as you like.”

There’s a moment of quiet, and then a soft response. “I’d like that.”

Leah blushes, biting her lower lip. “I can get us some breakfast, if you’d like. It’s not too late, I don’t think.”

“That would be nice.” Elliott turns with a stretch, back cracking a little. “I suppose I should see what the damage is at home.”

The dip in his tone makes Leah feel guilty. Of course her first priority was to get Elliott to a safe place, but after that, what of what he had to leave behind? He claimed to do well in his self-imposed minimalist lifestyle, but to Leah, that meant what little he had was very important. It was something he couldn’t deal without, if he’s to be believed.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “Why don’t we –”

A sneeze interrupts her, and she starts, hopping out of bed. The movement makes her muscles protest, and she winces a little, rubbing a hand down her thighs. “We’ll go to Harvey’s first. Then breakfast, and then…the beach? It’s still raining, so it might not be…done.”

It referring to the slow damage done to the beachside shack. She doesn’t want to be impolite, but she doesn’t want to sugarcoat how bad it could be. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get the image of water bubbling up between the floorboards out of her head.

“Sure,” Elliott says, his breathing a little raspier than before. He clears his throat, brows furrowed, the magic of the morning seeming to fade away. “Yeah, let’s see what he has to say.”

Harvey, of course, was happy to see them both, then contrite at his happiness as if they’d accuse him of being pleased with their misfortune. Luckily, Elliott didn’t seem to have anything serious, besides a growing cold. He sent them home with some medicine, tucked away in a little waxy paper bag folded over, and prescription for rest and hydration. Nothing to do but wait it out, he’d said, and Leah had bitten the inside of her cheek.

Of course.

“Well that sucks,” Elliott mutters as they leave the clinic. The Saloon isn’t open yet, and Leah doesn’t feel great bringing Elliott to a bar first thing in the morning.

“Yeah. Sorry about the sickness, but it could have been worse if you’d stayed.”

Elliott shakes his head. “Not that, darling. That I could have gotten you sick is the real drawback here. I do my best work when left to my own devices, but I know how you like to travel around Pelican Town, gaining inspiration from whatever you can find. I’d hate to be in the way of that.”

Leah frowns a little, biting her lower lip. “Well…thank you.” It’s still strange to have someone care for her when she’s so used to doing the caring for others. It’s not that Elliott is immature, far from; it’s just that he has grand, romantic notions that often leave him far from reality, and that means he acts a little less like one would expect. Then again, only Harvey and Shane seem to be in Elliott’s same age bracket, and each of them is so different from the other, Leah doesn’t know how they begin to compare.

“Here, why don’t we do this? You head home, and I’ll restock on some groceries and healthy stuff. When you’re feeling better, we’ll handle the, uh, Beach Situation.” She gives him a warm, crooked smile, and she’s not imagining the way his face flushes a little, independent of the low grade fever he’s running.

“That could take days, though. Leah, I don’t want to –”

“Please.” She puts her hand on his forearm, ignoring the little look Jodi gives her as she and Sam walk towards Joja Mart. “For me? You’re not going anywhere else for the time being, I won’t let you.”

Elliott raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you won’t let me?”

“Yeah, I won’t let you.” The challenge comes with a bit of familiar sass, and she raises a brow in turn. “There’s nowhere else to go, El, please.”

He sighs. “Fine, fine. You win.” And then a warm smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

♢♢♢

Elliott remains with Leah for four days. It takes two before he starts personally feeling better, but it takes another day before the beach is dry enough for either of them to consider going through the sand. Elliott’s important belongings are salvageable, though bigger pieces like the bed and tables need severe rebuilding to make them serviceable again. The mold and rot creeping up the piano’s legs, however, nearly drives Elliott to tears.

Leah comforts him, passing along contact information she had from when she still lived with Kel in the city and had debated a career in music. It would take a couple months, but the piano could be good as new in no time.

On the fourth day, Elliott and Leah sit in the cozy woodland cabin, each quietly working. Elliott had crafted a space for himself at the table, back to the open windows, writing whatever additional scenes had come together in his feverish state. Leah stations herself at the easel, broad strokes bringing to life a vivid autumnal woodland scene. These quiet moments shared together have the opportunity to become something more profound.

Leah finishes putting the touch on the sunlight coming through the young buck’s antlers before she finally pulls back. “El? Do you wanna go to the fair?” she asks, stretching back and feeling her body thank her after so long of remaining in one position.

Elliott grunts in response, and she looks over her shoulder, seeing him clearly still in the midst of working. She sets her brush down on the paper towel, getting up and going over to him. “Elliott.”

“Huh?” He looks up, brows furrowed, flyaways swaying with the movement of his head. “What’s wrong, darling?”

“The fair. It’s starting soon. Do you want to go?” She comes up beside him, one hand in her pocket of her paint splattered jeans, the other on the table.

“Oh. I’d like that, sure.” He gives her a warm smile, hastily grouping the pages back together. “Sorry about not hearing you. I had a new idea for a story.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes; it takes place in an enchanted forest, where the weather is broken. Snow comes up from the ground, lakes and rivers collect at the bottom of tree branches – very Dalí meets Escher. But there’s one woman who moves forward through time, while the rest of the world moves backwards, and she meets a man who moves only through space but not through time. So everything happens at the same time for him, though he can go to different places to experience other perspectives. And they have to work together to put the forest back to rights, but they each have to rely on the other because while she can see the future, he can see the immediate changes and ripple effects, and they have to communicate that with the other while being completely unable to see what the other can. It’s an exercise in communication, trust, and romance.”

This is the farthest from her understanding as an artist, though she does understand the artistic references. “Wow. That sounds…interesting.”

He gives her a look as he laces his boots up. “…Yeah.” The look on his face is somewhat confused. Or maybe something else.

“What?”

He blushes. “Nothing. Let’s go?”

“No, hey, wait.” She steps between him and the door, looking up at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that it’s a bad premise or anything. I think it’s really cool, it’s just…what are you calling it so far?”

“Sunken Shores,” he murmurs, and she has a small realization, that’s more of an altering of her perspective. Something that was always just slightly to the left, just slightly out of reach, now slotting into the proper place.

“…Really?” That’s not what she means to say, and she watches how his expression shutters. “I mean – Elliott, is that inspired by, uh…”

The pain in his expression shifts a little. “You really didn’t know?”

“I…” There’s no way that she’s going to be able to duck out of this conversation. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Get your hopes up,” he repeats in a whisper, as if completely unsure that she actually means that. “Why…you..oh.”

She blushes. “Yeah, oh.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was going to! But then you were here, and then you were sick, and I didn’t want to make things weird while you were houseless. And you really seemed to like living here, and I didn’t want to say something and make you uncomfortable. You’re my best friend, El. I didn’t want to ruin that.” She starts out defiant, voice raised a little in a panic, but it falls to a whisper by the end of it.

“Oh.” He rolls his lips, green eyes looking askance, before searching her face. “I mean, I’ve liked you for quite a while. I knew how things ended with Kel, though, and I didn’t want to press where you were, you know…still healing.”

She winces a little at the mention of her ex. “Yeah…she did a number on me, huh?” A beat, and then, “I’m better. Than I was. And I appreciate that, and…I…do you, um, want to…?”

Elliott blinks for a moment. “Do I want to what?”

Leah’s face flushes, her entire body heating. “Do you want to go out? Maybe?”

He tilts his head, giving her a warm smile. “What do you think going to the fair is?”

“Oh!” The noise is involuntary, a mere vocalization of a series of exclamation points. She’s flustered, and it only gets worse when Elliott takes another step, further into her personal space. He puts his fingertips beneath her chin, delicately tipping her chin upwards so they can lock eyes.

“A gentleman has no reason to withhold his love from the public,” he murmurs, “yet he should also never kiss and tell. So I find myself at odds, with how to proceed.’

This can’t be happening to her. The most romantic man in Pelican Town can’t be asking her in his roundabout way if she wants to kiss. She nods, barely adding pressure to the fingertips at her jaw, not breaking away from his gaze. “I wouldn’t mind,” she whispers.

Despite his obvious charm, Leah knows he’s never really been with anyone for a long period of time. Part of that was due to his discomfort with his perception before coming out, even to himself; once that veil had been lifted, and Elliott established a new relationship with himself, his confidence grew, and with it, his attractiveness. But he’s still new to all of this, and Leah wants to gently push him along, but all of those thoughts of remaining careful melt away the moment his lips touch hers.

She feels herself wrap her arms over his shoulders, pulling him closer to her, going up on her tiptoes and humming into the kiss. It feels electric, like the storm that had forced the two of them together, yet by some miracle they’re able to keep it semi-chaste. When they part, their gazes remain on the other’s mouth, as if waiting for permission for a second kiss. It comes easily, Leah softly pressed against the wood of the doorway, Elliott now cradling her face between his large, writer’s hands, softly tasting the morning coffee from each other’s mouths.

When Elliott pulls back for the second time, Leah realizes they’re both panting. “Maybe…that was overdue,” she says softly, and Elliott laughs.

“One could say that.” He tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and gives her a fond look that is familiar – one he gave her from between her sheets on the night of the storm. “Come. Let’s go get some of Gus’ specialty barbecue. And, perhaps, some of Farmer’s wine for the lady.”

Leah hugs him, pressing her face to his chest. They have so much more to talk about – the logistics of Elliott’s winter move, affording the piano repair, how Elliott will work in the cabin when Leah does her winter sculpting, when they should make the relationship public, among other things – but for right now she’s content to be here, in her cabin, much less lonely than either of them had been before.

“Sure. Let’s hit up the fair.” And so they do.

#commissions #stardew valley commission #stardew valley #sdv #sdv elliott #sdv leah #elliot/leah #aciddial #thank you for commissioning me!! this was a lot of fun

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angelicichor · 4 years

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Wait. Requests are open? Fuck yes. Then I request Thomas bending me over stuff and fucking me into next year! Art or words man it don't matter. Its gonna be fantastic either way .My U R G E S are out of this world right now.

U… I like you. I might actually do some more….. F I L T H Y art of Tommy-boy, but I ain’t home now so that’ll have to wait. For now however…

N//SF//W

Thomas being a bit too eager… but in a good way.Female reader for this one… sorry folks.

Enough

Summer has been a bad season in Texas, for obvious reasons - heat, dryness and dust, oh god the dust, it was everywhere, sticking to everybody’s sweat covered bodies, making it unbearable to go shirtless, but also impossible to go with anything more prude on.

In a way you had a hate-love relationship with this season, you’ve always lived in colder places, so the warmth of the sun was murdering you and seeing Charlie with his big ol’ belly pouch and old man tits out, covered in white, untamed chest hair was an ENORMOUS problem, but at the same time tis’ was the season for drinking refrigerated sodas and eating copious amounts of ice cream that Luda Mae made herself and gosh darn it was delicious.

But the most amazing stuff wasn’t any drink or a snack, no, it was the full-blown dinner date that was Thomas, abandoning his usual shirt and tie to don a simple black tank top, that clung to his chest almost perversely, showing off his robust bicep, beautifully shaped triceps, as well some of the powerful muscle of his back, his tan skin glistening with sweat as he bent over a car’s hood, opening it to check what in tarnation was wrong with Hoyt’s sheriff car, the old man being too damn lazy to do it himself, god bless him for that.

With the apron gone you also had a wonderful view of Tommy’s firm legs and thick ass, stretching the material every time he’d bend over to reach inside the machine. It looked so damn squeezable, but you knew better than to interrupt the man at work, knowing that Luda would be over you in a second, scolding you for not working yourself. You loved her, but how could she NOT understand that her son was a god damned gem and you NEEDED to take a closer look at him.

He seemed oblivious to your hungry gaze coming from the porch, unaware how his form made your heart flutter and your gut heat up thinking of all the wonderful things that behemoth could do to you and that fact made you FURIOUS. It’s not like you didn’t try to initiate things either, just every time you tried anything Charlie would bring in some new meat or Luda would need her son to go to the station with her to help unpack some deliveries or Monty needed to be carried off the sun, too tired from the heat to move on his own.

Little to say, you were frustrated, but a chance to take revenge on this beautiful, dark haired bastard was coming and oh so very soon.

The thought brought a devilish grin onto your face, an expression that made Charlie go “You alright, girlie?” above you and you snapped to attention. “Ya lookin’ at my nephew like he the next one in line for dinner.” He laughed and you puffed at him, standing up with a slight blush, dusting off your jeans.“Sorry, sir, just thought of something funny.” you lied and he cocked an eyebrow, not really believing you.“U-huh, sure, darlin’. Ya ready to go into town? Got the money?” he asked and you smiled warmly, lifting your purse up and shaking it slightly. “Good, let’s go.”

With that you almost jumped towards the old pick-up that waited right next to Hoyt’s sheriff car. Not able to resist the urge you took a swing and slapped Tommy’s perked butt, making him rise in shock and hit his head on the metal above him. You laughed, before getting into the truck and closing the door, so he wouldn’t pull you out. He most likely still could, but instead he rolled his eyes, massaging his head and shaking it shortly in disbelief before going back to work.

Once in the town you quickly parted with Hoyt, running to find a decent, still functioning clothes store, a woman on a mission.

Your plan wasn’t enacted until the next morning, however. For once you’ve been happy that Thomas always woke up way before you, leaving you to your own devices. That was his biggest mistake yet.

The day was pleasant, even with the sun shinning down on all of you mercilessly, there was a nice breeze going through, something you all hoped would be there to stay. You were very helpful right from the morning, shining with enthusiasm when told to hang the laundry, feed the chickens in the coop Charlie and Thomas installed some time ago, and then come back to help Luda Mae make some cookies.

And you probably though you were cute, wearing that baby blue summer dress that was just a bit too short to be innocent, with a bow in front, slightly to the side, as well as those stockings that hugged your tight just right, making it look so squeezable, with those flat sandals that made you look just so much shorter and more adorable.

And you’d also think you were being sly, brushing your hand across Tommy’s forearm while passing him on the way to the coop in a rush, as if the chickens were going to escape, or when you heard his boots stop in from of the kitchen entrance and ‘dropped a fork on accident’, bending down with only your back, giving him a peek at your white, frilly underwear, and acting like you totally didn’t mean to lick that batter of the spoon in such a seductive way.

But he knew what you were doing, realized it the moment he has seen your outfit and those hungry eyes you gave him unconsciously, but Thomas was a patient man. He let you play your game, refusing to give in to your advances, so you’d be forced to come to him and ask properly for him to take you, enduring the constant sting of arousal building in his body when he would notice you, going around, completing your tasks, acting like you don’t notice him. He was doing a fine job, too.

That is, until you up and tripped, falling to your knees right before him and looking up at his masked face with those huge, bashful eyes, a blush creeping it’s way onto your cheek.

And Thomas could swear he heard something in his head snap.

You tried to get up, but before you could rise one leg you’ve been swooped up by your neck to met his eyes. There was an anger to them, but it wasn’t what made you shiver, it was the true, unfiltered, primal lust that resonated from them, as well as the sweet smell of hormones and frustration making your head spin and leg pull up slightly, as your hands helped the rest of your body not suffer from the Butcher’s hold.

The next time you blinked, your whole body has been shoved onto the kitchen table, Thomas’ free hand throwing multiple objects onto the floor, creating a lot of noise that made your anxiety spike, but he couldn’t care less, leaning into you, one hand still keeping you in a choke-hold, the other gripping onto your tight, giving it a good, firm squeeze. His forehead pressed onto your lightly, his eyes focused on yours, a small smirk rising on his lips, followed by a hungry lick, delight hitting him hard when you shivered just at his hot breath hitting you.

With a rushed motion he pushed one of your legs away, the other giving way for his muscular tight, pressing onto your heat, you hips bucking against it in reflex, wanting to feel the man’s warmth.

His free hand shifted from your tight to your chest, rising with your heated breaths, stopping at your right tit and massaging it roughly, pinching your nipple the moment it started hardening, a quiet laugh moving his body when you squeaked at the sensation, your hands moving form his forearm to your mouth, pink painting your cheeks. With that the hand holding you down moved, trailing your body down, until it reached your heat, then pressing against it and rubbing it up and down slowly through your already soaked panties, his index finger pressing them in to reach deeper inside you.

Your hands stifled your whimpers and moans as he teased your chest and entrance, seemingly not phased by the fact that anyone could walk in on you two at any second, that Luda Mae was supposed to come back to resume making the baked treats, but you were slowly forgetting about all that too, too focused on how good his hand felt on your covered cunt, how his eyes pierced yours, so close, warning you not to move a muscle if you wanted him to be nice and you feared what would happen if you disobeyed.

Soon enough one of his fingers slid your panties to the side, making you feel vulgar, even more that you already did, exposed to the world on the table, but all the anxiety you felt melted into nothing, as one of his fingers slid inside you, unannounced. It moved slowly, parting your walls and teasing your nerves, making you tremble at the feeling, insides clenching with need, allowing him to please you, even more so when a second one joined, picking up the speed, already making you feel almost full with how thick and rough they were, hitting you exactly where you needed them.

Your trembling fingers kept collecting your sounds of pleasure, hiding your face from him once he lifted his head away from your face, to look down at your squirming form and he wouldn’t have that, leaving your breasts and pulling your hands above your head, your lips pressing in a line as a reaction and you saw the satisfied smile on his face.

A third finger squeezed it’s way inside you, making your head loll back in shock, a weak moan leaving your lips and that was enough for him.

Slowly he pulled his fingers out of you, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness, eyes closing just for a second, just to look back at him with a small pout, silently telling him how rude he was to do something like this to you, but his devilish smile let you know that he didn’t care, bringing his fingers, still covered in your slick to your face with a silent order, to which your lips pressed together in an act of rebellion.

An act that he quickly ruined, pushing his hips against you, spreading your legs further to accommodate his width and making you gasp with the pressure of his hardened erection, still covered with his jeans, on your needy cunt. The moment your lips parted his fingers slid in and his eyes warned you not to bite, so fearfully you obeyed, letting your tongue collect your wetness, with a deep flush on your cheeks.

Finally his fingers retreated, leaving you panting below the giant, eyes closed in shame.

You heard a clack and some shuffling and just seconds later something warm and slick pressed against your entrance, forcing your eyes open, wide in terror as you struggled to get your hands free, but to no avail with Thomas’ hand still holding them down like an iron shackle.

“No, no Tommy!! Somebody will see, please not he--!” ignoring your pleas he shoved himself into you, the power in his thrust making you scream out, moving the table slightly. Your legs pressed up to your chest, spasming slightly, as the thickness of his cock spread you wide, making your muscles tighten, a long whimper escaping your mouth, your body unable to relax around him, your only saving grace being your wetness and you scolded your brain for bringing the phrase “curiosity killed the cat” to your head.

The pull of his hips burned, sending spiking pleasure throughout your whole body, mixed with a hint of pain, and the second thrust was not kinder, again earning him a sweet whimper, as you desperately tried to stay at least a bit quiet, but as his speed slowly picked up, reaching a steady rhythm, making the leftover things on the table clatter, you couldn’t handle being silent anymore. Every time he hit your end, you moaned, screamed, cried for him to go faster, harder, and he happily obliged, making you see stars over and over again, your hands struggling in his grip, body lifting off the table in a fit of pure ecstasy, letting him ravage you, use you however he wanted, you brought this upon yourself, after all, and now you were going to pay dearly for your teasing.

Just as your mind was becoming a mess you heard a crack and panic returned to you, making your walls clench against his dick sharply, making him groan, his free hand pressing onto your hips, hard enough to leave bruises, but you noticed another crack and realized something horrible.

“To---Thomas!!” You screamed and his eyes shoot up to yours, making your skin errupt in goosebumps at just how feral he looked. “Th---The table!! The table’s gonna!!” You warned and he growled, both of his hands lifting you up to his chest, still kept full of him, until he pulled out just to slam you on your belly onto the kitchen counter, kicking the breath right out of your lungs, and plunging right back into you, his furious hands reaching to the walls as he kept himself steady, pounding into you aggresively. One of them pressed your head to the wooden surface, before grabbing your hair and forcing you up and into an arch, the other following to keep you steady by your waist, forced to look him in the eye.

You felt your climax building, quickly and he didn’t protest when your fingers found your swollen clit, circling it furiously, desperate to reach that peak and you saw him smile, his lips mouthing the word “COME” and with your eyes shooting wide open you did, your walls collapsing on his cock in an almost painful manner, but he forced them away, seeking his own release, ridding your orgasm out as you screamed his name repeatedly, only strengthening his desire to destroy you, finding the strength to pound you harder, fuzzing your mind, making you a babbling, begging mess, moaning as your head was slammed back onto the counter and adoring the dizziness that came with the sudden motion.

His fingers digged into your hips, keeping you still and the stutter in his last harsh thrust was the only thing that warned you of his collapse, warm strings of thick come filling you up, making you moan in a higher pitch, your insides twitching against him, reaching another, smaller orgasm alongside his and your body gave out, trembling, shaking, exhausted, whining when he pulled out, cum slowly dripping out of you and onto your oversensitive thighs. He didn’t move you, instead putting his dick back into his boxers and zipping his pants back up, buckling his belt and letting you get up onto your shaking arms before wrapping his strong arms around you, his leather mask pressing onto your neck, so he could kiss it’s nape and you could swear you heard something similar to the words “I win” escape him, but he wouldn’t... Yeah, no, he would and you elbowed his belly weakly in protest, to which he rumbled a laughter, nuzzling into your hair, both of you covered in sweat.

Then again you felt your body being lifted and eased onto his shoulder, your hands shooting back to your skirt to cover your slightly exposed pussy as he carried you out of the room, grabbing one of the already prepared cookies off the counter and biting into it with a cocky smile.

“Tommy!” you heard Hoyt’s voice from the living room and you hoped he couldn’t see you, one of your hands covered however much of your face it could. “Ya done fucking over there, ya bastard?” The old man laughed and the embarrassment of being caught made your shake in Tommy’s grasp, even more so when he just.... NODDED. “Good! Get me some meat when you’re all cleaned up, boy! We need to get dinner started.” Hoyt replied and you died slightly inside, knowing damn well that you would not survive this evening, mentally.

It didn’t help that after the shower your body refused to function, protesting to the treatment your monstrous man has given it, so Tommy had to carry you down to the table, his chest just swelling with pride and you HATED IT.

Still, even with Hoyt’s rude remarks... It was worth it.

#Thomas Hewitt x reader #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm #tcm: the beginning #thomas hewitt #virgo writes #slasher #slashers #slasher community #This one???#This one my man.#This one is #Something #HOPE YOUR THIRSTY ASS IS HAPPY #you H O E #NASTY #NASTY PEOPLE

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herstarburststories · 4 years

Text

Brutal (Dean Winchester x Reader)

✾ A/N: More Dean x reader content, but angst this time! Reposting because I had to edit a few things. Gif's credits on it. Based on the song ‘from the dining table’.

✾ Summary: Unlike her boyfriend, Dean Winchester, the reader wasn’t raised as a hunter. At first, it seems like a hard but worth it job. Unfortunately, you didn't have in mind how brutal all of it could get.

✾ Words: 3k.

"YOU ARE NOT YOURSELF ANYMORE, DEAN!"

The discussion over a delicate subject at the dining table was blossoming into something bigger. (Y/N) was on her feet, shouting at her boyfriend with a shaking voice; a manner that was very uncommon. You were used to Dean being stubborn, and you were not behind him in this aspect which caused a few disagreements here and there. That certain argument, though, was definitive in every meaning of the word.

"I HAVE ALWAYS MADE IT FUCKING CLEAR WHAT THIS LIFE WAS, (Y/N)!" Dean snapped back, anger dripping from his words like venom. He was hurt. How could you say that he was becoming a cold-hearted person? You, of all people. "IF I DON'T KILL IT, IT KILLS ME! THIS ISN'T AN APPLE PIE LIFE, AND YOU KNEW IT WHEN YOU DECIDED TO STAY HERE!"

"I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT VAMPIRES OR POLTERGEISTS OR WENDIGOS, DEAN! FUCK!" Your usual efficiency with words was starting to tangle with desperation. Dean didn't even see the problem, for God's shake. How could you keep this up? "I'M TALKING ABOUT THE PEOPLE! I SAW YOU KILL FIVE POSSESSED PEOPLE TODAY!"

"DEMONS!" He groaned and slapped the table. You jumped in surprise, making him regret getting out of control and coaxing a softer, calmer tone from his mouth. "I killed demons, not people."

"The demons were possessing them, and you killed them off without any regret. You didn't even take a minute to consider other options."

"What other options?" he questioned, obviously upset. What the hell were you doing? Becoming the devil's advocate all of sudden?

"Using the demon-killing knife to stab a non-vital part of their bodies? Maybe an exorcism?"

"None of those options would end the problem permanently. Do you have any idea how many sons of a bitch came back from hell to get Sam and me? It's them or us, (Y/N). And I will always choose us." Dean was aware that you weren't raised in this life like him and Sam, but this conversation was becoming frustrating and confusing. You were training to be like them. You went to hunts with them. You... You supported him. At least, you did last time he checked. "The human is long gone when they get possessed. Dying is the best thing that could happen to them after that."

You were supposed to be an easy case that turned out to be more complicated than previously expected, what meant both of them staying a little longer in the city, you catching feelings for Dean and vice-versa. After all you had seen, you knew that normal life was a long lost memory that you didn't wish to visit, leave alone live in. Hauntings, traveling across the country, having no banal responsibilities-- that seemed like the kind of dangerous fun you had been looking for your whole life. Then, you came with them. Killing things had never bothered you-- they weren't actually alive, for starts. Until you saw how cold Dean looked when he killed off possessed people-- the humans that were still in there somehow. And he kept doing it as if it were the only option. Of course, this job and violence walked side by side, but not unnecessary lethal choices. Dean certainly shared his portion of brutality, which wasn't tiny, but you would never picture your boyfriend as uncaring. Not until you watched five bodies piled up together, burning. What about the chance that those people should have gotten?

"Are you even listening to yourself, Dean? What if Sam had thought like that when you became a demon!?" Apprehensive, you tried to make him understand what was wrong.

Dean clenched his jaw before his answer came out, "Those are two different things, (Y/N). You know that."

"I..." You flinched, taking a deep breath and letting it out. You shut your eyes before opening them with a determinate glare, locking your gaze with his green one. "I can't. I said I would stand by you through anything, but I can't let this slide. Not like this."

"Because I killed a few demons?" The older Winchester grinned wryly. He was furious, scared by the possibility of you leaving him, and injured by your words. What else could a wounded animal do besides attacking? "I survived, (Y/N). I've killed many others, and I'm not fucking sorry for it. They had it coming. You knew that was my life, and you chose it. What are you going to do now? Play the coward? It's a dirty, fucked up job, but someone has to do it, and you knew that."

Offering a sad smile, you walked towards him and lifted your hand to claim his cheek only for him to pull away from you. Your heart ached, but you needed to do that. Stick to your morals and beliefs.

"I love you." And you did, you truly did. Unfortunately, blood was as normal as water in his mouth, and you couldn't help but remain nauseous after what you tasted. "But there is a better way. Maybe not perfect, but another decision. And if you can't see that, if you can't see why I find it wrong to just rush around with the knife in every situation--" Your voice almost broke. "Goodbye, Dean."

You turned around, passing away from the man you loved before another speech stopped you.

"I bet you regret leaving your home to run away with me now."

You didn't take two seconds to reply, and you desired that he could understand how hard it was for you too. "I would never regret you."

No ray of sunshine licked Dean's face to wake him up. Fortunately for the Winchesters' disorganized sleeping routine, the bunker prevented the sun from invading the window-- a perk of living almost under the land in a bunker.

Instead of a normal reason to emerge from his rest, Dean's eyes fluttered open from an annoying migraine. Perhaps he went a little too hard on the alcohol yesterday, but that was the last thing that mattered. Besides, even if it was an abnormal sensation, he wouldn't trade it for sake of 'drinking like a normal human being', as (Y/N) had teased him so many times before.

(Y/N).

It took two seconds after recovering consciousness to think about you.

“Where are you?” he said in a whisper, playing with himself to the silent walls. Dean laughed with his own brand of self-deprecation-- a learned cruelty to dilute the tug of his emotions before the eldest Winchester had to get up. He knew exactly where you resided and why you were there. He decided against feeding his masochism for once, not glancing at your side of the bed.

To face the light fixtures above him only made his current situation more depressing, just like the hints of paint that (Y/N) had once thrown there. Dean Winchester knew pain like no other; hell, purgatory, an emptied childhood, watching his mother seal a deal with a demon, living with the fact his father had gone to hell to save him, being right in front of Sammy when he died, all the bloody deaths he’d lived through again and again-- the list would go on. He could probably drown in an ocean of his deceased loved ones’ blood and swim there for hours until he reached its edge.

Most of the time, the life of a hunter was synonymous with tragedy.

Therefore, Dean was very experienced when it came to suffering. He even shared a last name with a rifle, for God’s sake. Destruction was stained in his bones. This time, it was a different kind of torment.

His heart had been broken before, sure. He wasn’t in his early twenties, neither was he a saint. Dean was aware that a break in relationships could be devastating.

But again, this time, it was different. (Y/N) had not only broke his heart. You ripped it out and threw it in the trash as you walked out the door without looking back. His trust was in your pockets, and the beliefs clinging to the divine sensation of your touch that left with you.

Dean Winchester was hopeless. Deciding not to mourn for a bit, he closed his eyes from the melancholy. It wasn't a hard job to fall asleep once more. People in his job were always heavy-eyed.

Forty minutes passed by the clock until the Winchester roused again. This moment felt missing without you snuggling up to him or kissing his neck between foolish giggles or even pushing him out of bed when you felt like playing the prankster.

There was no valid reason to remain where he was, glaring at a stupid ceiling that held nothing but an old light you installed together and memories. The yellow and blue paints still held firm where you’d spattered them, jumping in the bed together with your hands drenched in the colors from a gouache paint container just because you’d found the tins somewhere in the bunker. You and Dean became a tangled mess of greens, dirty with paint and kissing. How many sexual encounters happened here, he thought, glaring at this ceiling that looked like three-year-old Sammy’s art project.

The green-eyed man never thought he would feel nostalgic about a stupid ceiling. He had to get out of that room.

Finally raising from the mattress, Dean yawned as he padded towards the kitchen. He didn't mind checking what time it was, knowing he needed an alcoholic getaway. The Winchester sat down, sharing a bottle of Whiskey with his shadow. How distracting it was to make his throat burn when an unpleasant thought attempted to take control of his head.

If he had dared to look through the room, Dean would have noticed the clock's arrow pointing at 10:50 am.

By noon he was already drunk, which took a lot of effort since his tolerance to drinks was a bar high set. Dean groaned, displeased. The buzzy feeling of befuddlement hitting him certainly helped, but he could still affirm that he had never felt less cool. His body was starving for something that wasn't there anymore. Dean's feelings were all over the place, and he didn't have the energy to pick them up at this point.

"I can't believe you are drinking already." Sam sighed, making himself known by Dean in the kitchen. In response, all he got was his brother holding the glass up and drinking all of its bronze liquid. "It's barely noon, Dean. You-- Wait. Are you drunk?"

"Don't start, Sam." He groaned, holding his own cheeks with fingers as his hands slid down to his chin. The gesture was a habit of Dean's when he was fed up with something.

The younger one offered him an indignant glare, which was soon replaced by empathy and sorrow as he watched Dean. His brother was broken. (Y/N) running away from them had really taken him down. Part of Sam was hurt as well-- after all, you were his friend and confidant. But, in all ruthless honesty, he couldn't speak out and point fingers at you on that. Not about the whole situation, at all.

Yet, if Sam was feeling abandoned by his friend, he could only imagine what Dean would be experiencing. You had been a hint of happiness in the middle of misery and combat for Dean. It had been so long since Sammy saw his brother like that, so very long. Suddenly, it disappeared like smoke. And the worst part was that he understood your side. Deep down, the long-haired man knew Dean did, too.

Trying to knock sense back into his brother, or at least a bit of normality, Sam spoke, "You can go out and buy some whiskey. Your bottle was the last one."

"Yeah, right." His voice was impassive, almost serious for such casual conversation. He got up, going to the table to grab Baby's keys.

"Hey, Dean..." Dean turned around to face his brother. Sam’s expression was cautious, voice soft when he continued: "If you want to talk about it, I'm here. It could help."

"I'm pretty sure you heard the screaming yesterday, Sam," Dean replied dryly, an unsettlingly wry smile surfacing. His walls were up. It was an old defense mechanism. "There is nothing to talk about. She left. The sooner we can accept it, the sooner we can move on."

"Move on? You want to move on?" he questioned suspiciously, eyebrows arching to match his inquiry.

Dean didn't answer. He only picked up the keys.

"Dean--"

"Yeah, I think we are out of eggs, too," Dean interrupted. He didn't need to talk about it. Not now. "Whiskey and eggs, got it."

Any other remarks from Sam were ignored as he walked through the door, trotting in direction of his beloved Impala. An old song on one of his cassettes was the soundtrack to his five-minute ride to the nearest store.

Dean went searching for eggs and whiskey, adding a lemon pie that smelled better than himself-- not that it was difficult considering he hadn’t showered since yesterday. The store’s cashier swiped his credit card and offered a polite farewell that was replied with a nod. Everything seemed so normal in the most boring ways.

In the parking lot, a familiar face appeared for the first time in a year. It was Thomas-- a hunter that Dean, you, and Sam had come across during a job in New Mexico.

"Winchester!" The blue-eyed man smiled, making the scar near his lips more evident. Being thrown out of a window left marks sometimes. "It's been too long, dude."

"Cavill." His lips curved into a small smile as he greeted his friend. Laying his green eyes on him, Dean couldn't avoid noticing a familiar shirt. Fuck, he must be hallucinating or thinking too hard about foolish subjects. "Where have you been?"

"Burning bones, decapitating vamps. Same old, same old." Thomas waved his hand, banalizing the supernatural routine as if it were nothing but another Sunday. For them, this was true. "I saw (Y/N) yesterday. She seemed fine. Separate hunts to take different cases?"

His blood burned through an emotional fever in realization. It felt like the boil was intense enough to melt his bones if he remained in front of the other men for too long. Thomas had never been subtle about finding you attractive, and neither was his constant flirting when your cases collided. It didn't help that you and Dean weren't together back then, even though the tension was obvious for anyone. The Winchester gripped his grocery plastic bag harder, offering him a sarcastic smirk.

"Something like that." He reached the car door and pulled out his keys. The familiar red flannel, your meeting with him-- it was so obvious it was basically written all over his face, and sadly, Dean could read it well. Fuck, he wanted to drop his purchases and punch that smile off Thomas’ face. That man probably had more of what was once his. “Gotta go. See you around.”

Sliding in the car to leave this conversation before his treacherous mind could reach more detestable conclusions, Cavill answered, "If you need help, give me a call.''

Dean mumbled something but didn't care enough to give him anything beyond a nod while the Impala finally drove away from Thomas.

At that moment, he wished a bit harder that Ellen was still alive or that another bar like hers existed. The hunters’ bar was full of people who understood that death was a part of the job. Somewhere he could swallow barrels of alcohol, play darts and tell bloody stories about his world-- about the quintessential things he did to get despair out of his system to the point that he felt comfortable on his own skin again.

So, that was it? You didn't just leave him and Sam, but you also accused him with all certainty you had of being a cold killer, and then you slept with the first man who showed up? Who was also a fucking hunter? Why the fuck didn't you tell him how you felt sooner? He wasn't an angel-- he would be even more of an arrogant asshole than he already was if that was the case, but you knew it all along. He didn't deserve anything good in his life. He should've seen it coming.

Dean pursed his lips, deciding for another ride to a normal bar. Home and all the beautiful, tragic ghosts inside could haunt him later.

It didn't take him long to park near an establishment. For once, he noticed the strong grip he held on the steering wheel, knuckles strained whiter than usual. He let out a tired sigh, glaring at the entrance of the place before grabbing his phone.

No calls from you. No text messages from you. Just the feeling of being a thirteen-year-old boy again, just like when he was waiting for Mary to send him a sign that she was all right.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Dean put it back in his pocket and made his way to the bar. No 'welcome' board light was shining yet, and he doubts anyone but he and the owner would be there. Once he got in, two guys were sitting in a table far away, and a girl was entering the bathroom. The bartender stood behind the bar, watching some game on the small television the place provided.

"Whiskey. No ice." His words came out harsher than he expected. The guy didn't seem to notice or care, simply nodding his head and turning around go get his client's order. One more time, Dean took his phone and stared at it. There was nothing but a text from Sammy that he quickly replied to, frowning in disappointment. It was rare for you to be the first one to break after a fight, but that was more than a stupid argument. You had left. You had fucking left. And he was the only one to blame.

Such a miserable routine kept its course. Dean would drink, check his phone, and hurt himself with his own thoughts. The night came with lurking shadows, and he couldn't care less. It seemed like the ghosts had replaced the bunker for his company. He didn't want to believe you would come back because hoping and being destroyed again was too much to bear with right now. Dean couldn't even breathe properly at the thought that he would never, ever see touch you, tease you, or be with you again. You had him wrapped around your finger since the very first day until you cut your hand off and left him. You left. How could you have left? But then, how could you had stayed if you had it all in your mind before?

Someone sat beside him. Still, it didn't catch the Winchester's attention until he heard her voice. For a flash of a second, he thought it was you. Dean looked up instantly, only to find himself incredulous.

The woman in front of him looked so much like you. She could easily be mistaken for your sister. Hair, eyes, voice. Everything but the lips were so similar. The unknown girl kept her gaze on Dean despite his strange reaction to her. Repeating her former words, she asked, "What are you drinking? Seems good."

Yeah, she wasn't (Y/N). You could tell what he was drinking from miles away, just because you knew exactly what he enjoyed. In addition, you’d seen his preferences so much that you’d memorized it all without even trying.

She looked like you, though. A lot. The earlier jealousy mixed with a dangerous quantity of alcohol and anguish made his decision. Move on, just like he told Sam. You didn't call him. You weren't coming back. That was your choice. He had to shut up the little hopes in his mind.

Putting up his best sultry smirk, Dean pushed the glass on the table towards her as he answered: "You tell me."

Two hours later, he was tilting his head to the side, watching the woman in his sheets peacefully taking a nap after a long run. Her hand covered most of her face, pillow carpeted with her messy hair.

"Wake up, (Y--)" Dean restrained himself from finishing that sentence. He almost said your name. It was hard enough to keep the woman's name, which he had forgotten by now, on his tongue during sex-- he wasn't going to give in at the end of it. Clearing his throat, the hunter started waking her up again. He needed to go.

In any other point of his life, he would've considered that night a success. A hot girl was sleeping beside him after he had a great amount of old whiskey. Sammy sent a text about a new case, and he had pie waiting for him in the car. At any other moment, that would be enough to put him in a good mood all day. In any other age, that would be considered a good day. No one died, he had sex and food and was about to hunt a thing and blow whatever it was up.

But you hadn't called.

It was probably a good thing in a messed up way. It was tranquil. There was no arguing, no fighting, no hurting from either side. That kind of hurt was quite similar to being comfortable, in a tremendously distorted way that he didn't wish to feel, like not putting medicine on the wound and just allowing it to heal by itself-- yet, occasionally scratching it. The idea of a comfortable silence was so overrated. Dean would rather be screamed at by (Y/N) by now than whatever this option was.

The woman woke up and left a note with her phone as she abandoned the room. Crumbling the paper, he threw it away and touched his face. A deep breath was taken.

He had work to do.

Maybe one day you'll call me

and tell me that you’re sorry too

But you never do

198 notes · View notes

here4theheartbreak · 4 years

Text

Muscle Paws

AO3 Link Here!

✩ Relationships: yoonminkook (Yoongi x Jimin x Jungkook) ✩ Genre(s): fluff

✩ Rating: Teen ✩ Tags: shapeshifting, general vague mentions of sex, nudity, polyamory, non-idol au

✩ Summary: They say cats choose their owners, and that seemed to be the truth for the cute tabby that hopped into Yoongi and Jimin’s open window one morning. Except that specific cat... Wasn’t quite normal.

✩ A/N: Written for @sujigguk for the drabble requests, prompt #2: When did we get a cat?

✩ Word Count: ~4.9k

Yoongi stretched arms above his head, groaning contentedly. What a great sleep. He yawned loudly. And was promptly silenced by an annoyed squeak from his chest He blinked sleep from his eyes, looking down. On his bare chest, curled into a tight, furry, ball, was a sleek brown and black cat. It looked thin, even curled up.

“Well who are you?” Yoongi asked, reaching down to pet the cat’s soft head. It peeked at him from over its tail, deep amber eyes large and inquisitive. It wasn’t uncommon for strays to wander into the house. Yoongi and his lover lived in a remote area, and often left their windows open. Stray cats, puppies, a squirrel or two, and even a fox once or twice, had found their way into their home.

He carefully scooped up the furry animal as he sat up. “Sorry, I gotta get up and start working, kitty. You should go back to wherever you came from though.” He walked to the window and leaned out, carefully placing the cat back on the barrel it more than likely used to climb into the room. He shut the window and went about his morning routine, entering the kitchen to find Jimin already at the table, sipping coffee.

“Morning.”

“Good morning.”

Yoongi kissed his cheek. “Did you see our furry little visitor this morning?”

“Hm? No, I didn’t. What was it?”

“A cat. Do you think we should start closing the window at night?”

“I don’t see why,” Jimin shrugged. “We don’t hate animals – no harm in giving them a warm place to sleep, I figure.” He shut his notebook. “I’m going into town today though; do you need anything?”

“Hmm, something sweet, if you would, and another bottle of whiskey?” Yoongi asked. Jimin nodded.

Yoongi wandered over to the fridge, opening it to pull out a jug of milk. The two had saved enough to buy this small plot of land after Jimin’s parents passed away and left him a sizeable chunk of inheritance. They managed to stay pretty self-sustaining in terms of food, only going into town to get things they couldn’t grow, meats and drinks, mostly. Both loved the quiet; Jimin’s art required it, and Yoongi’s writing was better done in peace. They also preferred the solitude for other reasons. Their ability to be open and comfortable with one another, the lack of nosey neighbors, the ability to do as they wished in terms of their property and relationship. Though dating, they were less monogamous and traditional than their nearby town would prefer. Though they’d never brought a third in permanently, the idea had been tossed around and tried out a few times over the years.

“Are you working today?” Jimin asked as Yoongi ate his breakfast.

“I am. I’m close to finishing this track, I’ll get it over to the guys this afternoon, I hope. And you? After your trip?”

“Thinking about it. I’ve got a few unfinished pieces that I’d really like to work on, and I had a weird dream last night I’d like to play with a little.”

“You and your dreams.”

Jimin laughed, kicking him under the table. “Me and my dreams help pay the bills.”

“Ohh, hey, what am I, chopped liver? Slaving away in the studio?”

Jimin laughed harder. “Of course not.” He rose and leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to Yoongi’s lips. “I’m gonna head in.”

“Be safe.”

“Always.”

Yoongi watched Jimin get up and slip on his shoes, his heart clenching. They’d met in high school, and even now nearly ten years later… Yoongi was just as in love with Jimin as he was then.

Yoongi puttered around for a few more minutes in the kitchen before heading into his studio. He pushed open the window, letting in the cool morning air as he sat down and turned on his computer to dig into editing the tracks he’d been asked to help produce for a new group in the city. He’d been working for about thirty minutes when something bumped his leg. Yoongi frowned, looking down at the ground. The same brown and black cat was winding around his chair, looking up at him. It chirped before jumping into his lap. Yoongi chuckled, scratching its soft ears.

“You don’t live here, you furry little pest,” he said with no venom. The cat tilted its head, blinking at him.

“Well, you don’t. I suppose feeding you won’t hurt… You’re awful skinny,” he noticed as he stroked the cat’s ribs. “Just once. And don’t tell my boyfriend. He’ll say I’m soft for you fuzzy beasts.” He scooped up the cat and rose, padding into the kitchen.

Once there, he placed the cat on the counter and dug in the fridge, pulling out the jug of milk and pouring it a small bowl. The cat rushed to it, lapping it up contentedly, tail flicking in an s-shape. Yoongi stroked its soft fur, sighing. “You know, I suppose we could adopt one of you one of these days. So many strays come in and out, I don’t see the harm in it, huh, little… Uh…” He hesitated and glanced at the cat’s behind. “Boy. Sorry for the invasion of privacy.”

The cat looked up from his milk and meowed before returning to it. Yoongi chuckled. “I’ll have to talk to Jimin about it. I bet he’d like you.” He scooped the cat up and grabbed the bowl of milk, heading back into his office. He set the milk down near the window and plopped the cat down next to it, going back to his computer.

Yoongi focused on his work for the next few hours, breaking only every now and then to stretch his legs as he hummed a potential tune for the track. Every time he glanced over, the tabby remained, now snoozing in a patch of sun on his rug.

“I’m hungry,” Yoongi finally said. The cat perked his ears up, yawning and stretching as if on command.

“You too? We don’t have cat food. I could text Jimin to get it… But I think I have some tuna.” Yoongi turned and left, leaving the door open for the feline to follow him out. He cracked open a can of tuna, dumping half of it onto a plate and using the other half to make himself a sandwich. He sat the kitchen table, watching the birds flying between the trees as he ate. Next to him, the cat lapped contentedly at the tuna, clearly hungry.

As Yoongi nearly finished his lunch, the front door opened, and Jimin entered with arms loaded with groceries. Yoongi rose, setting the remainder of his sandwich on the table and stepping around the now empty plate to help him. “Hey baby,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to Jimin’s cheek.

“Hey, how’s your day been?”

“Quiet. Got a lot done. Is there more out in the car?”

“Just some packages of meat for the big freezer.” Jimin glanced over and scowled. “Yoongi?”

“Yes?”

“When did we get a cat?”

Yoongi looked over, unable to keep from laughing. The stray was standing on his chair, munching contentedly at the remnants of his sandwich.

“This is the one that was on my chest this morning. He came back to visit when I opened my studio window.”

“I thought we didn’t feed them,” Jimin scolded without venom.

“He’s all bones…” Yoongi mumbled, feeling a bit sheepish.

“You like him.”

“He’s… A cat.”

The cat jumped down and trotted over to them, sniffing Jimin’s sneaker.

“He is skinny. Definitely not owned by someone. But nice, for being feral.”

“I mean, we’re not keeping him or anything,” Yoongi said.

Jimin looked up and smirked. “We’re keeping him, aren’t we?”

Yoongi smiled a little sheepishly. “I mean, he’s a stray so like… We can’t trap him in the house, right?”

“Well, we keep the windows open anyway, so just do that. Once it gets colder and we shut them, then we can decide if we wanna keep him inside.” Jimin shrugged. “You like him. And it’s not like we don’t have the space for a cat. And he’s quiet.”

Yoongi nodded, his heart warming a little at the idea… They were keeping him. He headed outside, considering a name for their furry new housemate as he grabbed the bags of meat from the back of the car.

The following week, the tabby returned daily and spent most days in the home with Yoongi and Jimin. Every evening he wandered away, only to be back the next morning, curled up in bed with one or both of them. He was becoming an honest part of the family pretty quickly. They still hadn’t bothered to name him, opting instead for kitty, or boy to call for him.

One morning, Yoongi awoke to a loud clatter. He groaned, rolling over. “Come on kitty, I’m sleeping.”

“Sorry,” came a weak whisper. Yoongi’s eyes snapped open. It took a moment to focus, but when he did, he shouted. A naked young man was halfway out their window, his broad chest pinning him. He backed up into the room just as Yoongi grabbed a lamp, brandishing it.

“Jimin!” He cried. “Who the fuck are you?!”

“Please don’t hurt me!” The naked boy cried, holding his hands up. His hair was brown and black, the same shades as the cat that had been crawling into their house daily. And his eyes – they were almost inhuman, a vibrant amber that seemed to reflect light.

“Who are you!” Yoongi asked again, lifting the lamp. “The cat! The cat, please, I’m the cat!”

Yoongi hesitated at the absurdity of the sentence. The boy shook his head.

“I know it’s nuts, I can see it on your face, but let me explain, please.”

Jimin rushed in, shouting. “Who the hell—I’m calling the cops.”

“Wait,” Yoongi said, lowering the lamp and holding his arm out. “He says he’s our cat.”

“What?” Jimin deadpanned, making Yoongi chuckle despite the situation.

“I swear. I know it sounds nuts, but I am. Yoongi, you pace around your office all the time muttering to yourself. Right now you’re struggling on the third section of the piece Namjoon gave you, it sounds tinny.”

Yoongi and Jimin exchanged a glance. “Means nothing, you could’ve overheard me talking to Jimin about that spying or something.”

“Fine. Yesterday morning Jimin made you breakfast. I was in the kitchen with him. I sat underneath the counter because he kept dropping pieces of egg and I’d scoop them up. He caught me and called me a personal vacuum.”

Jimin shifted. “The blinds were closed when I did that… And I said it quiet.”

“I know, but you said it in my ear. Please, I have no reason to lie, I promise.”

“Even if we wanted to believe you,” Yoongi argued. “You’re standing in my bedroom as a human. Bare ass naked. Care to explain?”

“I—I was going to get my clothes. I didn’t think I’d shift back so quick…” The boy looked down, covering his nudity with his hands as best as he could.

“Here,” Jimin said. He grabbed his robe from the back of the door, passing it to the boy.

“Thank you.” The boy slung it on, tying it.

“I was your cat. The cat… I don’t belong to anyone, really. I’m a shifter. I can… I can shift from cat to human. It doesn’t always work right though. I’ve been stuck in cat form for a few weeks. Which is why I left every night. It’s easier to shift at night and I spent the evenings trying to shift back. When the sun rose I’d return here.”

“Why?” Yoongi asked, placing the lamp back in its spot. The boy’s shoulders slumped.

“I’ve spent most of my life alone and pretty unwanted. You two were so nice to me, I know you were nice because I was just a skinny cat but… It felt so good. I hoped…” He sighed and shook his head. “I hoped maybe when I shifted back I could meet you face to face, in my human form. Get to know you and… Maybe fit into your family this way too.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know it’s unbelievable. I’m sorry for scaring you, Yoongi.”

He looked up, meeting Yoongi’s gaze. His eyes shined just the way the cats did, and Yoongi’s heart clenched.

“I’ll go now. I won’t be a bother again, I promise.” The boy stood upright and headed toward the door. He grabbed the tie on the robe, undoing it. “I have clothes in the woods, thank you.”

“Well you can’t rightly have breakfast naked, can you?” Yoongi asked, making both the boy and Jimin look over.

“What?” The boy asked.

“You say you’re my cat. Say I might believe you.” Yoongi shrugged. “Right about now is when I normally wake up and feed him, isn’t it?”

As if on cue, the boy’s stomach rumbled. He laughed weakly, lowering his head. “Sorry.”

“What’s your name?” Jimin asked softly.

“Jungkook.”

“Jungkook. Okay… Well, tie your robe then. Have you started breakfast, Jimin?”

Jimin nodded.

“Set another plate.”

Another nod. Jimin cocked his head at Jungkook, his gaze gentle. “You have a pretty face, Jungkook. Much more fitting of a boy than a cat.”

Jungkook beamed brightly. “You believe me?”

“I don’t know. But Yoongi seems to. And you seem kind enough, even if you aren’t being honest… No shame in sharing a meal with a pretty, skinny boy, is there?”

“I’m twenty-three,” Jungkook muttered shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know I look young but…”

“Oh good, so I don’t feel so bad about thinking you’re cute then.”

“Jimin,” Yoongi groaned. “You’re insatiable.”

Jimin laughed freely. He headed out of the room, Jungkook and Yoongi following close behind.

The table was quiet as they ate, each seeming unsure what to say to the other. Finally, Yoongi cleared his throat.

“A shapeshifter is pretty unbelievable, Jungkook,” he admitted. “But say I believe you. How? Why? What’s the story? Where are your parents, are they like you? Why doesn’t anyone know about people like you?”

Jungkook swallowed the egg in his mouth, shrugging. “I know it’s crazy. My parents… They’re… Not around. Dead. I’ve never met anyone like me before,” he whispered.

“Were they like you?” Jimin asked.

“No. They were normal humans. I was born… Wrong, I think. They didn’t want me once they learned the truth… And then when someone not so nice learned… He killed them for me.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen when I first changed. Fourteen when they died.”

“So where have you been?”

“The woods, mostly,” Jungkook said. “I’m a pretty good scavenger. I stay in cat form most of the time to hide.”

“So you said you were stuck in that form,” Yoongi said.

“Yeah, it sucks. Sometimes I try to shift back and I just can’t. I’m like… Stuck in the tiny form. I’m fully sentient, like I know exactly what’s going on and I process just like I do as a human. But I just can’t turn back. The longest I’ve been stuck is a month. It can get frustrating. I’m afraid I won’t turn back one of these days… I guess it wouldn’t be so bad though, I could find a family to love me if I stayed as a cat.” He looked down at his plate. “You guys treated me so nice. I’m sorry I did this to you.”

“It’s not like you could tell us,” Jimin said softly. He reached across and touched Jungkook’s wrist. Yoongi didn’t miss the way Jungkook flinched at the touch. He sighed. “Where do you stay, Jungkook?”

“There’s a cave in the woods nearby. I hide there.”

“Are your clothes there?”

Jungkook nodded.

Yoongi nodded. “Alright. There’s some ground rules you’ll need to follow in this form. Keep it clean, clean up after yourself. And help with chores when you can – firewood, cooking sometimes if you know how, helping Jiminie with the groceries. I have some clothes I think might fit you if you need them, but Jimin or I can take you shopping this week if we have to. We only have the couch. If you want to share the bed with us, well… We’ll need to talk about that too, after we get to know you a little more in the form that can talk to us.”

Jungkook’s head snapped up, his amber eyes wide. “What? I—You’re letting me… Stay?” He stuttered, looking over at Jimin, who was smiling softly.

“Well, you’ve already been living here, haven’t you?” Yoongi asked, waving his hand. He rose and began to clear his dishes. “No reason for you to go running off, it’s starting to get colder at night.”

Jungkook rose and slammed into Yoongi, hugging him tightly. Yoongi bobbled the dishes in his hand, nearly dropping them. His eyes widened a little in surprise.

“Thank you,” Jungkook whispered against his shoulder.

“Don’t thank me yet… You have a long way to go… I don’t know you.”

“But you’re giving me a chance. No one…” He stepped back, gasping when his back hit Jimin. Jimin wrapped his arms around him gently, smiling against his shoulder.

“We get a good feeling about people. You deserve a chance. Come on, lets find you pants at least, to wear while you go grab your stuff from that cave. Do you have a lot?”

“No, a couple of sets of clothes and a couple of things I scavenged from campsites and stuff… Nothing important.”

“Want one of us to come with you?”

“No, I’m okay,” Jungkook assured him.

“Don’t go running off on us,” Yoongi said, offering a smile. “It’s your turn to do the dishes.” He winked, placing the bowls in the sink. He leaned forward, kissing Jimin gently despite Jungkook being between them.

“I’m going to start working.”

“We’ll keep quiet.”

Yoongi nodded. He glanced at Jungkook, his eyes darting down to Jungkook’s plush mouth for a split second. “Be good,” he said. Jungkook nodded quickly. Yoongi walked away, kicking the door to his office shut behind him.

The next few weeks found the three falling into a comfortable rhythm. Jungkook remained, helping out around the house and doing his best to fit in. Though Yoongi still had some reservations about the man, he found himself getting more and more attached to him. A quiet conversation with Jimin one night confirmed that Jimin was feeling the same.

Six weeks after Jungkook had appeared in their bedroom (as a human, at least) the three were sitting on the couch, watching a movie. Jungkook was between them, his knees pulled up to his chest and arms curled around them as he watched the screen. His eyes darted back and forth with the action, muscles tensing and twitching when something moved sharply. From the corner of his eye, Yoongi could see Jungkook’s fingers clenching and relaxing, flexing strangely against his arms.

“Are you alright?” Yoongi finally asked.

Jungkook jumped visibly. “What?”

“You’re twitchy.”

“I—” Jungkook shifted. “I think I should go.”

“Where?” Jimin asked.

“I’m itchy. When I get like this it usually means… I need to shift.”

“To a cat,” Yoongi confirmed. Jungkook nodded.

“Why would you have to go?” Jimin asked. “We haven’t seen you shift, we still don’t know if you’re lying. But either way, there’s no reason to hide it, right? This is your place now too.”

“It is?” Jungkook asked, his voice soft and hopeful.

“It is.” Yoongi touched his leg. “If you think you need to… Uh… Shift or whatever. You can do it here safely. Put your clothes away before you do.”

“How does it work?” Jimin asked suddenly. “You’re not a small man, and the cat…”

Jungkook grimaced. “It’s not pleasant, honestly. It doesn’t hurt so much just… Look strange. I don’t want to show you.”

“That’s fine. Go on. Do what needs to be done. We’ll be here. We’ll pause the movie.” Jimin pressed the pause button. Jungkook rose, stripping out of his shirt. In the month he’d been with them, he’d gained weight, looking far heathier and more handsome.

Yoongi could see his muscles flexing under his skin, his back drawn in tight goosebumps. He was definitely uncomfortable.

Jungkook walked to the bathroom, shutting the door.

Jimin moved next to Yoongi. “Can I tell you a secret?” He whispered.

“What?”

“I believe him.”

“So do I,” Yoongi agreed, watching the shut door.

“And another one?” Jimin said softly.

Yoongi looked over. Jimin smiled sheepishly.

“I want him.”

Yoongi chuckled. “I wondered when you’d confess.”

“You don’t?”

“I have for a while,” Yoongi said simply. “But I wanted to get to know him more, and you with him… I like the man. He’s a hard worker, kind, funny, and handsome. He lives here though. If we take him to bed… Are we ready for a third? Permanently? I won’t feel right kicking him back to the couch.”

Jimin bit his lip. “I’ve been ready, I think. For a while. Just wanted the right man… I think Jungkook… I think he might be.” He took Yoongi’s hand. “Can we bring it up to him?”

“I want to, yeah,” Yoongi said. He kissed Jimin gently. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

“Thank you for accepting me.”

“If he really is part cat…” Yoongi chuckled. “What a wild trio we’d make.”

Jimin laughed. “For sure. Let’s wait until he’s a human to talk to him about this though, right?”

“I don’t think he can quite give his opinion as a cat.” Yoongi laughed as he spoke. As if on command, a soft scratching sounded at the bathroom door.

Yoongi rose, opening it. Out darted the brown and black tabby, amber eyes shining. He’d filled out, coat a healthy shine now. Jungkook’s clothes were in the hamper, and he – the human version of him at least – was nowhere to be found.

“Hey handsome,” Jimin cooed. Jungkook hopped up on the couch, climbing immediately into Jimin’s lap and pawing at the strings on his hoodie.

Jimin scratched his face and behind his ears, laughing when he began to purr. “Such a pretty boy – both human and like this, you know that?”

Yoongi sat back down, slinging his arm around Jimin. “Are you okay to settle down and watch the movie?” He asked the furry form on Jimin’s lap.

Jungkook climbed onto Yoongi’s lap, pawing at his chest and bumping his chin with his head. Yoongi chuckled, scratching his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I think you’re cute like this too. We believe you. Now lay down, you’re going to break my ribs, muscle paws. I swear you weigh as much now as when you’re a human,” Yoongi said, laughing harder as he pushed Jungkook’s paws off his chest.

Jungkook bumped his chin once more before settling down. He stretched himself between both of their laps. Yoongi pressed play again, settling in to watch the movie, absently stroking Jungkook’s soft fur.

When the film finished, the two humans rose, stretching. Jungkook curled up in a tight ball on the couch, burying his nose in his tail.

“You can sleep in the bed,” Jimin said to him. “If you want to.”

Jungkook perked up, hopping down and following them to the bedroom. He curled up on the end of the bed, right in the center. Jimin and Yoongi crawled in after pulling on their pajamas, sharing a kiss before turning off the light and chasing sleep.

The next morning, Yoongi groaned contentedly. A warm body was curled around him, breath tickling his ear.

“Jimin,” he grumbled softly, opening his eyes and turning his head. He gasped, surprised to see Jungkook’s very human face right next to him, smoothed out in sleep. Yoongi shifted as well as he could with Jungkook’s arm over him, seeing Jimin fast asleep still, snuggled up against Jungkook’s bare back. He sighed softly. While he was entirely okay with the situation, making Jungkook uncomfortable was the last thing he wanted. He gently shook his shoulder.

“Hey, Jungkookie,” he whispered. Jungkook groaned, his brows furrowing before smoothing.

“Buddy, Jungkook,” Yoongi said a little louder. He shook him again. “Wake up.”

“Don’t wanna,” Jungkook complained, but his eyes slowly fluttered open. He smiled at Yoongi sleepily, then seemed to realize. His eyes widened and he gasped, shooting up. “Oh God, I’m so sorry!”

“Shh, shh,” Yoongi sat up and touched his back. “Don’t wake Jimin,” he said, motioning to Jimin still sleeping. “I’m not mad, okay, I just didn’t want you to feel weird waking up like this, so I wanted to let you know.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know… I didn’t think I’d shift…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Yoongi said firmly. “Why don’t you go get some sweats on and we’ll make breakfast together, okay?”

“You’re not mad?” Jungkook whispered. “Really?”

“We’re the ones that told you to sleep with us. I’m not mad.”

Jungkook relaxed a little at that. He smiled at Yoongi, his amber eyes just as bright and shiny as they were the previous night. “I really like you, Yoongi… And Jimin. More than I should,” he confessed. “I feel bad. Because you two are so happy together. But sometimes I wish I could have it too. I’d never do anything to hurt you two though, I promise.”

“What if we told you that you could have it too, Jungkook?” Jimin’s voice was thick with sleep still. He sat up, rubbing his eyes.

Yoongi smiled softly at him.

“Someday, sure,” Jungkook said, shrugging. “Just have to find a man who isn’t scared of me. I know I’m a freak… Shapeshifting. I can barely control it.”

“Do you just want one man?” Yoongi asked. “Why not two?”

“Finding one to love me will be hard enough,” Jungkook mumbled. “Especially a love like you two have. You’re beautiful together.”

“The bed is big, Jungkook,” Jimin said casually, motioning to the bed they were all sitting on. “And our hearts are too. We never told you this, because we didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable in our home… But we’re not a traditional couple.”

“What do you mean?”

“We often invite a third man or woman to share our bed,” Yoongi said. “Though up until now it’s been sexual, we’ve been open to the idea of a romantic third as well. I think we both realized we’d found our potential third in you, but we were hesitant about telling you. We didn’t want you to find it strange or off-putting. We want you to feel safe here, regardless of your feelings toward us.”

“You like me?” Jungkook asked. “Both of you?”

Jimin nodded, and Yoongi did as well when Jungkook looked back to him. His nose crinkled a little, eyes thinning as smile lines appeared. His lips finally drew back into a wide grin, top teeth jutting out in a way that made him look unbearably youthful and cute.

“You both like me. You want me!”

“We want you, Jungkook,” Yoongi said softly. He reached out, squeezing the back of Jungkook’s neck gently. “You might have arrived first as a cat, and it took us a while to get used to you as a human… But you’ve become a part of this family.”

“We’re letting you make the final decision, if you want to become a little closer to us,” Jimin finished.

“Yes. God, yes, yes! Of course,” Jungkook cried, his eyes shining. “What—I wanna—” He hesitated, looking at Yoongi. His eyes dropped to Yoongi’s mouth. He parted his own lips, unsure.

“It’s okay,” Jimin whispered, running his hand over Jungkook’s back. “Go ahead.”

“I’ve never…”

Yoongi’s smile faded. “You’ve never been kissed?”

Jungkook shook his head no.

“And other things?” Jimin tried. Another negative head shake.

“Oh, baby,” Jimin cooed. He wrapped his arms around Jungkook, nuzzling his neck. “Take your time, okay?”

“I want to,” Jungkook said firmly. “I just don’t think I’ll be very good at it.”

“I don’t mind. Jimin was a horrible kisser when we first met,” Yoongi teased, laughing when Jimin punched him in the arm. Jungkook laughed a little. It died in his throat when Yoongi leaned forward, shifting his hand from the back of his neck to the side of his neck and jaw.

“Are you okay with this?” Yoongi asked.

Jungkook nodded. He reached up, setting his hand over Jimin’s arm on his chest. He let Yoongi guide him forward, their lips meeting in a gentle, chaste kiss.

Yoongi stroked his smooth jaw, chuckling a little when he felt Jungkook grin against his mouth. They separated, and Jimin shifted over. Jungkook took a breath, leaning forward a bit more confidently. He kissed Jimin, giggling a little when their noses bumped. Jimin held tight to him.

They separated and Jungkook sighed, his grin open-mouthed and contagious.

“You two want me,” he whispered, almost reverently.

Yoongi kissed his temple. “We want you. You’re home, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s grin widened. Jimin kissed his cheek. “Why don’t you get dressed, then we can go make breakfast, huh?”

Jungkook nodded. He scrambled off the bed, hurrying to the space in the dresser where his clothes were. Yoongi reached over, brushing Jimin’s cheek with his thumb.

“You look happy. You’re glowing.”

“I am happy,” Jimin said softly, watching Jungkook across the room.

“Can’t say it’s a traditional relationship,” Yoongi admitted, rising and pulling his own shirt on.

“But the best ones never are.”

“Come on, muscle paws,” Yoongi said, wrapping his arm around Jungkook’s middle and kissing the corner of his mouth. “I’m starving.”

The three walked out of the bedroom together, and into the first day of the rest of their lives together.

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