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mayajadewrites · 2 months

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For Me (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

CHAPTER SEVEN: COLLEAGUES

Over the next 2 weeks you spend a lot of time with Levi. You learn his routine, what he likes to order at restaurants, all that good stuff. However, neither of you have spent the night at each others house. For you, you knew that it would be hard to control yourself if you were in bed with Levi.

Levi enjoys the finer things in life, but not in a stuck-up way. He loves a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant, but also doesn't mind staying in and having a movie night. He works a lot, which makes it so you only see him really at night and on the weekends. It gives you something to look forward to, but it doesn't feel like enough time.

It's Wednesday - half way through the week. Since you and Levi have decided what you're relationship is (more like Levi decided) you haven't gone to the coffee shop much. He's been bringing you coffee before he heads to work, which is a sweet treat for you.

This day is no different.

You hear a knock at your door and open it to see your stoic boyfriend holding your iced coffee and a bouquet of flowers. "You needed fresh ones." He walked into your apartment and took out the old flowers (from last week), cleaned the vase and set up the new bouquet.

You sip your coffee as you watch Levi work the flowers. He meticulously places them and makes sure every flower is tended to. Your eyes wander down his body - he's wearing a navy suit that is perfectly tailored to him with chestnut shoes. "You look very handsome today."

"I have a big meeting today with some potential clients." Levi double checked the flowers. "These are good to go. I'm gonna head out now."

"Have a great day." You smile as Levi takes a step towards you, his eyes swallowing your figure. You're wearing a tank top with no bra, and your comfy short shorts. Your ass basically falls out of them.

"Don't go outside like that." Levi presses his lips to yours, bringing his hand to your face. "This is for me only."

"Okay dad." You roll your eyes, walking him to the door.

"Daddy is the only acceptable form of 'dad' that I'll answer to." His tone was flat, so you couldn't tell if he was kidding or not.

He had to be, right?

"I'll call you when I'm on my lunch." Levi kissed your cheek swiftly before turning around and heading towards the stairs. You lean against your doorframe, still feeling Levi's kiss on your lips. This is really your life. Levi Ackerman is your boyfriend.

You're about halfway through your new novel at this point. You got in touch with your editor to let her know that you'll be sending a draft her way soon. This excites you - it's been months since you had any motivation to write.

As you finish typing a sentence, you feel your phone vibrate in your lap.

"Hello?" You tap the 'speaker' button.

"Why do you always answer the phone like you don't have caller id?" Levi said.

"Because that's just what people do. Sorry we're not all special specimens like you."

"Anyway. Our clients loved us, and the office wants to go out to happy hour to celebrate after work."

"Okay! Have fun. Are you coming over after?"

"You're coming with me. And then we're going home together."

"I missed the part where you asked me if I wanted to go."

"I didn't ask. Be ready by 6." Levi hung up the phone. Sometimes he can be so sweet, but other times it's like he forgets that he has other people to communicate with and we all don't think the way he does.

You sigh, shutting your laptop and pushing it towards the back of your desk. You turn your head to your closet, knowing you'll be tearing it up to find an outfit. You look at the time on your phone: 1:30PM. It's time to start getting ready.

You take an everything shower, making sure there's no hair anywhere on your legs. You moisturize your skin, wash your hair, everything.

This is the first time you're meeting anyone in Levi's circle. Even though he says they're his "colleagues" you know that that's his way of saying friends. You blow dry and curl your hair, watching the curls bounce before you brush them out into loose waves. Your makeup is simply but glowy - your go to.

Your outfit consists of a beige square neck body suit with straight leg jeans that are slightly distressed. You pick out a pair of beige heels to match - they're not too high to where you're uncomfortable but you'll be at Levi's height now.

By the time you're done with everything, it's 5:45. You decide to pick up a bit around your apartment and spray your favorite vanilla perfume.

Right at 6, there's a knock at your door.

"What did I do to deserve seeing Levi Ackerman at my front door twice in one day?" You tilt your head to the side, smiling.

Levi's eyes wandered to your chest, which was accentuated by the neckline of the bodysuit. You have a bigger chest, which you typically hide. You watched Levi's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "You look beautiful, per usual. Do you have everything? A bag for stuff you'll need for tonight?"

"Wait, why would I need that?"

"Because you're staying at my house tonight."

"Staying as in..."

"Sleeping over. You're sleeping at my house tonight. With me."

"I didn't know." You bit down on your bottom lip. "Ok, give me a few minutes. Sit down." You turn to grab a tote bag out of your closet and grab your essentials. Toothbrush, makeup remover, a change of clothes, a pair of UGG slippers, pajamas, and body wash. "Done." You hold up the bag with a smile plastered on your face.

Levi nods as he takes the bag from you, turning off the light in your foyer. You lock the door behind you and triple check that its actually locked before you both descend down the stairs.

"So where's happy hour?" You ask as you watch Levi's hands on the steering wheel.

"It's at this bar downtown that everyone likes to go to. I don't go out much, so I've only been there once when I got my promotion."

You nod as he explains, gazing out the window. You feel Levi's large hand land on your thigh, squeezing it gently. "They're going to love you."

"I hope so." It's like he knew exactly what you were feeling. That you were anxious to meet the people that are around him every day because they could think you're not good enough for him. They could have seen ex girlfriends that were prettier than you. Levi rubbed his thumb across your thigh for reassurance.

Levi helped you out of his car before leading you into the building, which was half bar, half restaurant.

"Levi! You made it!" You look up and see a group of people with drinks in your hand. The one that called for Levi was one of the guys that was with Jean when he asked for your number.

"I'm still Mr. Ackerman outside of work." Levi squeezes your hand gently. "This is my girlfriend." Levi introduces you.

"So you're the reason he smiles!" A brunette woman with glasses walks up to you. "My name is Hange. It's a pleasure to meet you!"

"Likewise!" You shake her hand, smiling.

"This is Erwin, my best friend and President of Ackerman Inc." Levi points to a tall blonde man with piercing blue eyes.

"Nice to meet you. Levi has told me a lot about you." Erwin shakes your hand.

"Not a lot. Don't listen to him." Levi rolls his eyes, introducing you to the rest of his colleagues. "This is my cousin, Mikasa. The one I was telling you about that loves your books. And this is her boyfriend, Eren."

Eren was the one that Levi said to call him Mr. Ackerman. You smile as you meet the couple, noticing the similarities between Levi and Mikasa. They're both very poised and serious at all times.

Levi leaves you for a few moments to mingle. Mikasa grabs your arm gently to get your attention.

"I know my cousin can be an ass." She smiles. "But he really cares about you. He's talked about you and has even cracked a smile while doing so."

"Thanks, Mikasa. I appreciate that. He's not the easiest to deal with." You laugh, glancing over at Levi. He's standing with Erwin and Hange as he waits for drinks at the bar. He doesn't bother asking you what you want to order, since it's always a white wine.

Your nerves calm down a bit when Levi's fingers graze yours to hand you your glass. "You okay? Are you having a good time?"

"Yes, Levi." You take a sip of your wine. "Your friends are nice. I like them."

"Colleagues."

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fanfic #attack on titan #aot #levi ackerman attack on titan #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman my bookie #levi ackerman my beloved

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moemoemammon · 3 years

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Sorry, my English is not good, but if it's alright can I ask for some fluff head canon for beel, belphie, asmo and mammon or just one if fine if your feeling tired and not good today :) if its just one please do Asmo, and the headcanon I want is for them just getting there hair brushed or braided, female reader or gender neutral is fine I AM SO SORRY MY ENGLISH IS UGLY. But please can I have some hair fluff :3

Brushing the Bros' Hair!

(Feat GN!MC, and the Demon Bros)

I just went ahead and did em all lmao

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

Lucifer has his softer moments when he's especially weak to you, more specifically your touch. So when you ask to brush his hair, he doesn't refuse.

It's the ultimate stress relief and he melts under your touch every time your fingers brush along his scalp. He's nearly forgotten about the brush tbh

He lets out a long sigh, clearly content. He'll have to treat you to dinner as a thanks. It's almost like you sensed how stressed he was, or maybe you saw the pile of papers on his desk when you passed his room.

Either way, you being here is much appreciated. An old man like him finds joy in the little things. But don't comment on his greys-

"Thank you, MC. I enjoy the time we spend together like this. It's odd to be the one that's tended to for once, but... I can't say that I dislike it when it comes from you."

Mammon

At this point, Mammon basically makes you brush his hair.

It's become something of a routine between the two of you, where he'll get out of the shower and finish blow drying it, and lets you take care of all the brushing.

A busy man like The Great Mammon doesn't have time for such trivial things! Besides, he sorta likes the way you do it, and it's nice to feel your hands in his hair, and...

What're you staring for? Get to it! He's already taken a seat on the bed, so you should know what he wants without making him say it, right?

"..............." It's not that he doesn't have anything to say, but rather, the moment the brush touches his head he's silent. He's melting into your touch like an overgrown house cat. Is that purring you hear?

Levi

Once you get past the whole "yucky otaku" thing, and his general aversion to being cute with you, he finds that he actually likes having his hair brushed!

You can guess that his schedule doesn't allow a lot of time for self care, so it's a big help when you'll do it for him.

Did he mention how nice it feels?? It's like he's the only person in the world when you smooth his hair back, delicately brushing every strand. He might end up getting addicted to this...

It's almost become a normal thing where you'll do it while he games, so he's intently focused on the screen until you "accidentally" brush against his ear.

"H-Hey! Be careful with that, will you?? The brushing help me focus, but I can't concentrate if you mess with me! If you're teasing me, I'll get you back..!"

Satan

Surprisingly, he actually lets you brush his hair! Satan's not the cuddly type, but when it comes to little romantic things like this, he's all for it.

He'll seat himself patiently and let you brush his hair while he reads, finding it even easier to get lost in the pages. Sometimes you can sneak up on him and just brush his hair while he's not paying attention, and he won't even notice until you stop.

THEN he gets all embarrassed about it, trying to deflect and act like he wasn't just thoughtfully leaning into your hand like a cat nuzzling for affection.

He can't hide from you, though. You swear he was about to pull you even closer while you were brushing his hair, so it's obvious he liked it. Conveniently keeps placing his hairbrush out in the open from then on.

"I can't help that if feels nice, can I? It's so relaxing, I'm almost afraid I'll become addicted. If that happens, will you take responsibility?"

Asmo

Asmodeus is very particular about who and what touches his hair, so you can guarantee that he practically trained you on how to do it. You're like a certified hairdresser at this rate! From curls to ombré dye jobs, you can practically do it all

And Asmo is spoiled so he'll pester you every chance he gets to have you brush his hair. He'll also whine about it should you decline, and do everything in his power to guilt you. He just manicured his nails so he can't do it himself, MC! 🥺

Asmo's especially receptive to your touch, and he tends to move around a LOT. It's because he's so excited he can barely sit still! He keeps trying to turn around to kiss you, so the process takes forever.

He makes it sound like it's a privilege to do, as if you're enjoying it more than he is, and he'll definitely thank you for your hard work~

"My hair is the silkiest you've ever felt, am I right? I'll show you all the products I use to achieve this flawless perfection! Make sure you appreciate every strand, okay~?"

Beel

Initially confused when you strolled up with a brush, but he's going to be sitting for a while since he's eating, so it’s fine.

But never did he think having his hair brushed by someone else would be so amazing.... Like, it took him a little while to get into it, but when you really start working out the little tangles, he's hooked.

Beel doesn't do anything special to keep up his appearance. He has to be reminded to get a haircut sometimes, so things like this are beyond him. But its become a ritual for him to ask you to brush his hair in the morning.

LOVES it. This big ol teddy bear rests his cheek against your thigh the whole time, and you swear you can hear some kind of rumbling sound coming from him-

"Do you mind doing this before my Fangol games? Um.... It's like a good luck charm for me, I think. It makes me think of you, and I feel like I can win no matter what."

Belphie

This is all Belphie, the epitome of laziness, has ever wanted.

He loves anything you do to his hair, whether that's brushing or combing it, washing or drying it, patting it or running your fingers through...

It's like it's his weakness, and almost always has him nodding off. Is it really okay for the youngest to be spoiled so much? You're gonna make him even more rotten than he is.

Though like Mammon, he also chases you down with a hairbrush in hand, so it's not like you have much of a choice.

"My hair is soft, isn't it? It's all thanks to you brushing it everyday. I feel like I can sleep much better lately because of you. Though... that might be because that tangle in the back is gone."

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honeymoonjin · 3 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: both non-sexual and sexual pet play, dom!jimin, sub!jk, sub!tae, handjob, yoongi and yn pretending like they don't wanna suck the souls out of each other, exhibitionism, voyeurism, mutual masturbation

A/N: welcome back to my best boys ;;;;-; this chapter is being cross-posted from ao3. in the future i'll try and upload in both places at the same time!

DAY TWENTY-THREE

It’s two blocks of pure ice that wake Taehyung up that Tuesday morning. Before he’s even really coherent, he’s hissing and tucking into a ball away from the cold.

“Puppy, shh, it’s just me.”

Even as those chilled items that Tae can tentatively identify as feet tuck between his bare legs, he goes lax and accepts the body that wraps around his curled back. “Minnie,” he mumbles, and it’s so quiet that the older boy probably doesn’t hear, but his grip tightens anyway. “‘What time ‘s it?”

“Early, I’m sorry.” Jimin’s voice, unlike his thawing toes, blows warm across the back of Taehyung’s neck. “Missed you.”

A sleepy smile of bliss crosses Taehyung’s face for exactly three seconds, at which point he recalls the fact that he didn’t go to sleep alone tonight. Shooting up so quickly that his shoulder catches Jimin’s chin, Taehyung peels his eyes open to see Jungkook, awkwardly hugging a pillow to his chest with his legs crossed.

He bites his lip, avoiding their gazes. “Sorry, I, uh, don’t mean to disturb.”

“Shoot.” Jimin rubs his face blearily. “I didn’t see you there, Jungkookie. I should go-”

“No, no, stay,” Taehyung begs hurriedly, launching himself back onto the mattress and wiggling himself back into the curve of Jimin’s front. “Jungkook, um, you can come cuddle too if you want. I like being middle spoon.”

The youngest gazes back and forth at them, never resting long enough for eye contact. His indecision is palpable, but there’s a pleased glimmer too. “Is that...okay with Jimin-hyung? I don’t wanna intrude.”

Jimin’s voice is soft, his eyes slipping closed as he eases his face into the crook of Taehyung’s neck, arms snaking around his torso. “You can be a part of us too, Jungkookie.”

The words are perhaps more intimate than Jimin even realises, and in the vulnerable setting of a bed in the early morning hours, Jungkook’s hard swallow is audible, before he slowly puts the pillow aside and tucks his feet under the covers, slipping down. It’s not until Taehyung’s arm is his headrest and the other one provides a comforting weight low on his hips that he speaks up again. “Do you… do you mean that just for now, or… Or for good?”

“What do you think, Minnie?” Taehyung’s fingertips trace lazily over the bare skin that’s exposed by Jungkook’s shirt riding up. “Can we keep him?”

Jimin hums in affirmation. He’s just about asleep again, but Taehyung can feel his pleased smile against his shoulder. “Of course we can, puppy.”

The repeated nickname causes Taehyung’s heart to twitch just as his dick does. It’s no less endearing and special, but Jungkook is still perfectly awake and right there, and it feels a little confronting.

But Jungkook just chuckles, twisting around in Taehyung’s slack embrace to face him, eyes bright. “If you’re a puppy, what am I?”

Taehyung’s careful not to jostle Jimin. He’s begun snoring, nothing more audible than regular snuffling, but still Tae doesn’t want to disturb that rest. “What do you mean, Jungkookie?”

He scrunches his nose, thinking away. “Well, there’s Minnie and there’s puppy. I want a cute nickname too if I’m gonna be - you know - with you guys.”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung begins haltingly, “Jimin calls me puppy because… God, it feels silly saying it out loud. He calls me puppy because sometimes when we’re together I go into puppyspace. You know; like petplay.”

“That’s not silly,” Jungkook says reflexively, even as his eyes widen and lips part. “What’s it like?”

“Puppyspace?” Taehyung asks. Jungkook nods eagerly, and the motion is transferred through Tae where they connect, making Jimin grunt and bury his nose deeper into the crook of his neck. “It’s so peaceful, Jungkookie. He takes care of me so I don’t have to think. I can nap and cuddle and play, without all of the stresses of life. It feels all warm and cosy, you know? I love it.”

Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in wonder, his fingers finding their way to Taehyung’s worn black sleepshirt, fiddling with the hem. “Can I try? How do you… how do you know if you can do it?”

Behind Taehyung, Jimin lets out a half-asleep groan, his nose pressing against the taller one’s back. “Of course you can try. Let’s just sleep for now, though? I’m sure Minnie can play with both of us later.”

It’s that promise that allows Jungkook to settle, nodding with a tentative hum and shifting down so that his head can rest in the crook of Taehyung’s neck. Taehyung falls back under like this, with a heartbeat thrumming against his back and soft, even breaths tickling his bared shoulder.

“Hobi?”

Hoseok pauses, frothed toothbrush clamped between his teeth. “Mmng?”

“I don’t-” you cut yourself off, clearing your throat to dislodge the thickness that distorts your voice. “Can we not tell them?”

He bends over to quickly spit out the majority of toothpaste, but when he stands upright to face you again there’s a smear on his chin. “Tell them what?”

You blink. “Last night. I just… I don’t want them to- to pity me or treat me like I’m glass or anything. I know it won’t happen again, it was just…” Shrugging hopelessly, you give up on trying to put words to it. “I don’t know.”

The dom remains silent for a few moments, lips pursed in thought. “The chicken must have been bad,” he concludes.

Bewildered, you cock your head to the side. “Huh? What chicken?”

“You and I went out for dinner at this fried chicken place, but when you got home last night it made you sick. That’s why you aren’t quite yourself today. I’ll get Yoongi-hyung to make some hangover soup.” His eyes are warm, pulling you into a comforting one-armed hug. “Just the chicken, that’s all. Yeah?”

You swallow down the swell of gratitude and instead bury yourself into his safe embrace. “Yeah. That’s all.”

To his credit, Yoongi doesn’t ask questions, pushing all his concern into his cooking. The doctor all but feeds you himself, hovering with a furrowed brow and a napkin. Strangely enough, his fussing goes a long way in cheering you up, and you let the events of yesterday wash away with the salty broth.

Hoseok hangs around for a while before going down to do some laundry, Namjoon briefly jumps in to steal a spoonful directly from the pan, eyes never leaving the novel he’s holding open with a single hand. Even Jungkook stumbles in blearily at one point, nose first, requesting an extra two bowls for Jimin and Taehyung as well.

You’re onto your second serving by the time it’s just Yoongi and you. He’s pulled up a chair beside you, cradling a coffee. “I got a text this morning, you know,” he begins gently. “I can ignore it if you’re not up to it.”

It takes you a moment to process his words, recalling Sejin’s instructions the day prior. “It’s your day, then?” He nods silently, scanning you for any reaction. You hum, spoon swirling lazily in the dregs of your breakfast. “I’m up to it,” you answer finally, “if you are.”

“Always,” Yoongi replies immediately, voice bared and soft. His hand passes over yours, squeezing briefly, before he stands up and clears the bowls from the table. “Aspirin is in the pantry if you need it, blue container.”

You give him your thanks, left alone as he disappears upstairs.

Grabbing a glass and pouring yourself some water, you track down the aspirin and take out two tablets, grimacing as the bitterness sticks to your tongue. While you may not actually be sick, a headache was beginning to bloom between your brows.

So much had happened in the past few days, you almost felt like you’d gotten whiplash. The early days of lounging around the house and chasing pleasure seemed so distant. Feelings tangled things up more each day, unraveling quicker than you can get a hold on them.

It wasn’t just you, either. You saw the way the guys looked at each other, how gentle they were, how thoughtful. It was in the little things. Jungkook’s laundry pile started featuring clothes from the other maknaes; Namjoon and Hoseok always sat so close together, even when there was room on the couch; Yoongi had started giving the others bigger portions when he cooked, even as his stayed the same. And Jin…

You startle when a door opens, glass almost slipping from your hands. It’s the unfilmed room across the stairs. You frown as a tall figure slips out, swamped in a massive pink hoodie that you’d never seen in the house before. A sleeve-covered hand reaches up to rub under the hood, dark hair poking out. Your breath catches. Jin…

He moves across the hall gingerly like his body aches, hand never leaving his face as he grumbles sleepily. For a split second, your mind entertains the thought of sprinting past before he sees you, avoiding the conflict that is no doubt upon you.

But only for a split second. Because the only thing worse than being confronted by him is not seeing him at all. You wait, instead, until he rolls his shoulders back, tipping his face to the ceiling to stretch out his spine. The hood falls back, exposing a serious case of bedhead, tired eyes, and sallow skin. But it’s Jin nonetheless, beautiful despite his apparent exhaustion, and your heart breaks again for being the one to cause this.

He notices you when his head comes back down from the stretch, and were you not in such despair you may have cracked a smile at the way he jumps. “Y/n…” he mumbles, voice barely audible.

Your mouth goes dry. Even if it wasn’t you don’t know what to say, simply bracing yourself for anger.

He doesn’t stiffen his features, however, simply watching you with melancholy eyes. “You look sad,” he says weakly.

Your heart is racing a hundred beats a second at just hearing him speak to you, and it takes you that much time just to process his words, eyes pricking sharply. “I am sad,” you reply honestly, blinking the wetness away. “You look tired,” you whisper in return.

His bottom lip trembles, before flattening tightly. Instead of responding verbally, he just nods.

The two of you sit in that silence for a while. Jin’s breathing is ragged, his eyes unfocused as they slip past you. You think you might be sick with the way your stomach flips.

Finally, you can’t stand the silence. “Are you still mad at-” you begin, but your words die in your throat as you’re enveloped tightly by him, clutching you so close that your chest constricts. The tensed breath you didn’t know you were holding rushes out of you with a sob, and your arms fly up to hug him back, just as tightly.

There’s nothing more than just a simple hug, but your heart is still full, almost overwhelmed by the cathartic relief of having him close to you again, his chin resting on the crown of your head, his hands rubbing circles on your back, the gentle sway as he rocks you in the hold.

It lasts for an eternity too short, and when he pulls away you feel untethered, already pining for that contact again.

His eyes are swimming, though you see the way he tightens his jaw to hold it back. “I’m devastated,” he admits, “but I miss you too much to ice you out like this. I need time but god, I don’t want space. Can you give me time?”

You’re nodding hastily, sniffing as your nose threatens to run. “Of course, Jin. I’ll be here. I… I think I-”

“Don’t-” he interrupts sharply, sucking in a shaky breath. “Don’t let now be the first time we say it. Later,” he promises.

We. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps, electricity thrumming along your nerves. You let that word settle you, repeating it in your head as Jin sends you a sad smile - but a smile nonetheless - and takes his leave, disappearing upstairs.

You decide to take a bath, in the end, letting yourself soak in the thought of “we” a little longer.

“So, what, we start barking? Chew on some sticks?”

Taehyung colours violently and Jimin sends Jungkook a sharp glare in rebuke. “Say less,” he scolds the youngest, before reaching up to run his fingers through Taehyung’s hair, breaking up the curls. “We just ease into it. Taehyung doesn’t use it for humiliation or anything like that, he just likes being taken care of. Isn’t that right, pup?”

Taehyung hums, eyes already fluttering as he leans his head into Jimin’s palm. The three of them had migrated onto Taehyung’s now-made bed after their breakfast after Jungkook once again mentioned wanting to try petplay.

Significantly larger than Jimin, Taehyung has to awkwardly shuffle down the mattress further to rest his head in Jimin’s lap, but Jungkook can immediately see the lines of stress that melt away once he does so. Jimin smooths his hand down to cup the younger’s chin, delicately stroking the soft flesh as if he were patting a sleepy dog.

“You’ll just watch for now,” Jimin instructs Jungkook without removing his gaze from Taehyung, “and if it feels right, you can join in. There are no expectations and no rules, only to respect the process and don’t disrupt Tae’s petspace. Got it?”

Jungkook swallows as Jimin chooses that point to lift his steeled gaze, brows high as he waits for Jungkook to agree. “Got it,” the youngest confirms. He gets comfy, tucking his feet under him and leaning up against the pillows.

“Such a lucky boy,” the dom begins with his voice like melted sugar. “Dogs aren’t meant to be up on the furniture. But you’ve been good lately, so I thought I’d treat you.”

Taehyung’s eyes flutter closed. He shuffles slightly, stretching one leg out until his ankle dangles off the edge of the mattress, but doesn’t audibly respond.

Jimin chuckles fondly through his nose, hand running down to rub up and down Taehyung’s clothed tummy, which is now facing upwards. “Oh, pup,” he coos, “you must be tired after the big walk. How about we rest for a bit, and we can play later?” Instead of waiting for a response, the dom just gasps like he’s forgotten something important. “Oh! Your collar! I must’ve taken it off when I took off the leash. Never mind; Jungkook, dear, could you get me the brush and collar out of the bedside table? Bottom drawer.”

It feels like the very particles in the air shift when Jungkook is ripped away from the observer role and into an active participant. He swallows away the dryness in his throat to little avail and nods, fumbling with the drawer handle and pulling out a barely-used hairbrush and velvet dog collar. “These?” he asks redundantly, nerves settling when Jimin gives him a pleased smile and holds out his hand.

“Alright, little puppy,” Jimin announces, his voice lilting easily back into the candyfloss tone that all owners used with their pets. “Let’s give you a brush before we put your collar back on. I don’t want your coat getting matted.”

Taehyung gives a small, throaty hum and lifts himself laboriously up onto his elbows, tipping his head up to his master. Jimin pats his cheek warmly and calls him a good boy, and Jungkook gets a front row seat to the beautiful sight of a sleepy, lusty Kim Taehyung going pink in the face, a shy smile twitching his lip.

‘Brushing his coat’ is just brushing his hair, but even Jungkook can see that the technique is slightly different. Jimin does it slowly, methodically, line by line from the front to the back, then reaching around to the nape of his neck to give it a good brushing there - Taehyung all but shivers at each swoop of the brush - even folding down each ear when he goes past. Watching it is nothing short of mesmerising, and Jungkook feels his spine tingle, wanting to feel it too.

Was it too soon to join? He could always ask for the brush later, he decided. Though even as he reached that conclusion, the thought was slipping out of his mind sand through fingers, hazier and hazier the more he listened to Jimin’s lull tone and watched his patient movements.

“There we go,” the dom whispers, passing the brush over one last time to settle all the curls in their rightful place, “much better now. Chin up, pup; time for your collar.”

Taehyung’s chin lifts the minutest of degrees. Jimin waits for a moment, but the brown-haired boy looks almost like he’s falling asleep on the spot, swaying slightly as his elbows prop him up.

“Silly me,” Jimin tuts with a smile, reaching out to manually adjust Taehyung how he wants him. “Doggies can’t understand human words, can they?” Like a proud parent, he turns to Jungkook, grin widening as he sees the state the boy is in. “I am trying to teach Tae-tae some commands. Sit, lie down, wait. Suck. He’s getting better.”

With that, the dom grabs the collar off the duvet and fiddles with the buckle, undoing it so that he can wrap it carefully around Taehyung’s neck. The process reminds Jungkook much of what happened when his parents put a collar on his childhood dog: slipping a finger under the material to test how snug it was, shifting it around until the small dangling pendant was to the front, giving it a little tug to ensure the buckle was on right.

At the gentle tug, Taehyung practically topples, going lax with his face down on Jimin’s thigh and snuggling down, breaths even. Jimin doesn’t comment on it, simply humming in acknowledgement and returning to softly stroking his back and shoulders. But he does glance over to Jungkook again, eyes glinting. “Do you wanna come a little closer, hm?”

At the invitation, Jungkook almost trips himself scooting over, wrapping his arms around one of Jimin’s and holding it to his chest. Seeing the tender moment shared between Taehyung and Jimin had made him feel positively touch-starved, desperate to feel some of that sweet attention.

Jimin’s eyes widen in bemusement before twisting his hand in Jungkook’s grip and giving his stomach a little scratch. “Goodness me, little energizer bunny, huh?”

Jungkook whines, recognising that higher-pitched voice. He was being talked to like a pet, and the thought made his insides hot. He presses his face against Jimin’s shoulder, feeling the heat on his skin there too.

“No need to get all shy on me now, bun,” Jimin teases. “I’ve already seen that little friend in your pants. Well, I suppose he’s not that little.”

Jungkook tightens his arms around Jimin’s one, wanting to rock his hips up to feel some friction. He just squirms instead, hoping his need is answered. “Jimin-hyung.”

Jimin sucks in a breath. “Can this bunny speak, hm?”

Jungkook blinks, the furnace inside him cooling for a moment. “Am I not… supposed to?”

“I’m not telling you off, I’m asking,” Jimin explains softly, cocking his head down at the potentially-sleeping Taehyung in his lap. “Tae-tae likes to be non-verbal. It’s just preference. Would you rather keep speaking?”

After a moment of thought, Jungkook nods, then props his chin up, sending Jimin his best puppy eyes. “Minnie, I need you,” he pleads in a small voice, writhing against him again.

Jungkook’s fingers curl when Jimin’s hand dips lower suddenly, grasping his length from over the fabric of his sleep shorts. The pleasure is like a bolt that shocks his whole body, and when Jimin strokes him once, the texture of the fabric increasing the friction, the guttural sound that falls from his lips is more animal than human.

Jimin just smiles placidly, patting the throbbing heat once. “Does it hurt, bun? Want me to make it go away?”

“Y-yeah.” Jungkook’s breath is shallow with excitement. This feels like new territory, relying fully on Jimin to relieve the ache, too helpless, too stupid to do anything about it himself, just a dumb bunny with a generous owner.

“You’re drooling, bun,” Jimin points out, voice raspy with arousal. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Jungkook feels fingers at the elastic band of his shorts before Jimin withdraws. He whines, a pout threatening to form, but the dom just runs his fingers and palm over Jungkook’s mouth and chin. Then, when his hand delves in and grips Jungkook, he’s slick with Jungkook’s own drool, the slide wet and hot and electric.

He moans, but saliva won’t stop gathering in the hollows of his mouth. It’s like it’s impossible to close it at all, every firm, purposeful stroke making it harder to do that basic function.

“Noisy boy,” Jimin scolds, though there’s no venom to his tone. “You might wake the puppy up, bun.”

With a strangled groan, Jungkook’s head flops down, his teeth banging against Jimin’s shoulder. A thought floats across his dazed mind, of pressing his teeth into skin, lovebites to colour the bronze.

But his teeth don’t sink into flesh. Fabric fills his mouth. Jimin’s shirt. His teeth don’t stop, though. On the contrary, he chews on the cotton, letting it muffle the sounds he can’t help but make.

“Oh, good boy,” Jimin praises warmly, his hand speeding up mercilessly to pitch Jungkook over the edge. There’s no foreplay, no kisses or teasing touches. His hard cock is a problem that his master is kind enough to solve, that Minnie-hyung is making go away, and he won’t stop until his bunny has finally-

When Jungkook comes, his whole body feels it like an earthquake. Every muscle jerks, pulses so that his toes curl and his core trembles, the drool soaking the fabric of Jimin’s shirt now until he feels it run down his own neck, blubbering through the waves of it.

Jimin slows down after the first burst of cum, but doesn’t stop, only tightening his grip like he’s milking every last drop out.

Once the tides of pleasure have dipped back down again, Jungkook goes boneless, whimpering until the hand finally leaves his softening, oversensitive cock.

He’s panting, all of his body weight on Jimin to stay upright, and it takes a few moments for his senses to properly return to him, his heart still beating erratically in his chest. “Oh, fuck.”

Jimin giggles elfishly, before reaching up to tap on Jungkook’s bottom lip with wet fingers. “You made such a mess, little bunny. Clean it up, now.”

Jungkook welcomes the digits, blinking blearily as the bitter tang of his own cum fills his mouth. He sucks Jimin’s fingers clean two at a time, swirling his tongue between them dutifully. It isn’t until he’s done and Jimin is praising him that he restores enough energy to sit up again.

Across from him, Jimin peels the soaking wet sleeve of his shirt off his shoulder, laughing softly in good humour even as his brows furrow at the weird feeling. Before Jungkook can offer up an apology, Jimin is stripping it off entirely, chucking it away and rubbing at his now-bared chest. “Much better,” he muses to himself. After a moment of letting Jungkook clear his head, Jimin turns to him, his dry hand returning to lazily card through Taehyung’s curls. “How was it, Jungkook?”

“Uh,” Jungkook replies eloquently, feeling the way his cock still throbs every few seconds in aftershocks. “Uh.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jimin states proudly, before sending Jungkook a serious gaze. “We’ll talk later, yeah? When your dick isn’t hanging out.”

Jungkook flushes, scrambles to tuck himself away, and the movement jostles the bed enough that Taehyung groans, craning his neck up with bleary eyes and rumpled hair.

The two sitting on the bed go silent. Jimin cocks his head to the side and cups Taehyung’s cheek. “Were you- Tae-tae, did you just have a nap in the middle of the scene?”

Taehyung beams sleepily, eyes still lidded. “Mm.”

“Tae! Are you out of petspace now?”

“Think so.” With a dramatically loud cry, Taehyung reaches an arm up into a deep, arching stretch, rubbing at his eyes once he’s done. “Mm, yeah, definitely. My foot has kinda gone dead too.”

As Taehyung sits up to rub at his foot, pressing his thumbs into the muscle, Jimin’s shoulders sink with a deep pout. “Tae-tae,” he whines again, “you know I like playing with puppy.”

“Sorry,” Taehyung replies easily, though it doesn’t sound like he is in the slightest, “I guess I just wanted to destress more than anything. I didn’t sleep so well last night.”

Jimin’s face softens, his complaints dissolved at Taehyung’s words. Without a verbal reply, he just reaches out, hooks his finger on the neckline of Taehyung’s shirt, and pulls him in for a kiss, humming into it slightly.

The movements, the touches are so natural and intimate that Jungkook feels like he’s intruding. It only lasts a moment before they break apart to go shower, but it’s enough time to sear the sight behind Jungkook’s eyelids. Maybe he’d been allowed to join them in their scenes, even cuddle with them, but he wasn’t a part of that bond that tied Jimin and Taehyung so strongly together. The thought sinks in his stomach, and he decides to skip the shower, getting dressed instead for a long workout downstairs.

When you knock on his door, Yoongi is at his desk, a pair of black-framed reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He glances up, an eyebrow lifting in mild surprise.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You muffle a smile at his domestic getup - a grey t-shirt hangs off, far too big for him but outlining his chest and strong shoulders nonetheless, and his long black sweatpants all but cover his bare feet, toes tapping the carpet unconsciously as he waits for your reply. “I’ve been informed that today is your day.”

“Ah, checking in to the Fuck Hotel, I see,” he quips casually, slipping his glasses of and shutting the lid of the laptop he was working on. “We do have one vacancy.”

“Is that so?” you say, unable to stop your grin as he stands up from his office chair and rolls his head back like an athlete warming up.

“Comes with a continental breakfast,” he assures, before ducking his head with a sheepish chuckle. “God, hyung is becoming a bad influence on my sense of humour.” With slightly pink cheeks, he stretches out a hand towards you, before jerking it back and freezing, fingers curled and tensed. “Wait. Shit.”

You frown, glancing down at yourself, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. “What is it?”

“Hm. I just remembered my prompt, is all.” He takes a step back with a thoughtful furrow of his brows, clenching his hands into fists and putting them behind himself. “Dammit, I was meant to think of a game plan but I got distracted sorting out- uh- client emails.”

“Was this a bad time?” you ask with a light laugh, even as you cast a guilty glance towards the laptop. A month in and he was still doing work?

“No! No, it’s fine, it’s just…” Wincing, Yoongi scratches at the back of his neck and takes another step back, gesturing down at himself, and at the messy work desk. “I’m not in sexy mode yet. I look like a stay-at-home dad trying to work out how to order groceries online while my toddler is finally having her 2pm nap.”

You pause before an incredulous laugh bubbles out of your throat. “Okay, first of all, I think stay-at-home dads are very sexy, and I happen to think that you are very sexy. Secondly, ‘her?’ Why was that whole analogy so specific?”

Yoongi huffs defensively, petulantly throwing himself down to sit on the bed with his legs splayed wide. “I used to have a life plan, okay? But that’s not relevant now. The point is, I haven’t worked out how to do a good scene. I don’t want to it to be disappointing. Or, god forbid, boring.”

Your frown just deepens. “It doesn’t need to be an elaborate setup, Yoongi. Just fuck me. Touch me, at least. I can’t believe we’re still both wearing all our clothes when I’ve been very explicit about my intentions.”

You don’t miss the wince that flutters across his face. “That’s kinda the issue. Touching you, I mean.”

“You don’t wanna touch me?”

“I-” Yoongi all but stomps his foot, teeth clenching in frustration. “Of course I fucking want to, but I have to stick to my prompt, Y/n.”

Your mouth drops open. “So your prompt is that we can’t even touch each other? Doesn’t exactly sound very appealing for a porn show.”

He clicks his tongue. “You can still touch me,” he corrects with a dry gaze.

Unconvinced, you narrow your eyes. “Isn’t that convenient?” you question rhetorically. “Gonna make me do all the work this week because you haven’t organised it in your planner yet, Doctor Min?”

He glares at your teasing tone. “Excuse me for trying to play the game properly.” You swallow as his eyes run down your body heavily, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. “If I could touch you, trust me, I’d have you dripping by now.”

Your thighs tighten, but you force them not to move. The last thing you want him to know is that you’re just about dripping already. “Sounds to me like you’re just lazy.” He doesn’t react, watching you make up your mind. You suck in a breath to hype yourself. “If I walk away right now, you’ll get nothing. Not only will you lose your prompt, but you’ll be stuck with blue balls. But if you give in and fuck me already, then you’ll only lose the prompt.”

“Who says I’ll even have blue balls? I’m perfectly comfortable,” he fires back immediately, tipping his head to the side cockily.

“Oh, please,” you drawl, letting your eyes fall to the sizeable bulge beneath his sweatpants, “you aren’t that big soft. Don’t kid yourself. So do you wanna get off, or not?”

His gaze hardens to stone, jaw flexing. “I’m surprised you think I need you for that. Aside from the fact that there are six other people in this house, I brought a fleshlight from home for a reason.”

Now that is something you hadn’t expected him to say. You freeze from your spot in the doorway, feeling heat pulse between your legs. Your spark of resistance is quickly fading, overtaken by need, so you don’t hesitate in firing back while you can. “If you think your fleshlight is better than me, then that’s your loss. Enjoy the bunkbeds; I’m off to do what you’re too cowardly to.”

“Have fun, sweetheart,” he snips, one of his hands sneaking under his shirt to rub his lower abdomen, fingers slipping below the hem of his sweats. “Shut the door on your way out.”

Feeling like you’ve lost the argument (and a little too horny to care) you have your final say by slamming it, thumping your feet with every step down the hall to your room.

Once inside, it takes mere seconds to throw yourself onto your bed back-first and shove your hand down your pants. But then, before you even dip into your wetness, a thought strikes you.

Pulling your hand out and making your way to your desk, you use your other hand to clumsily type in your password, and open a browser. It doesn’t take long to navigate to the page with all the paid streams for your own show, and with a slight flush you select Yoongi’s bedroom, impatiently punching in your credit card details.

After an agonising wait, the payment is processed and you’re brought to a private livestreaming site, a single window open in front of you.

The angle itself is strange, making Yoongi’s room look larger than it was, but you’re surprised at just how high quality the video and sound is once you bring it to full screen and slip your headphones in your ears. Yoongi is hunched over his nightstand, and you can actually hear the wooden slide faintly in the background as he opens and closes a drawer, returning to his office chair with a seemingly-transparent fleshlight and a bottle of lube.

Something about watching him through a camera in the corner of his room feels so wrong, especially as he palms impatiently at the tent in his pants, uncapping the lube and pouring a generous amount into the opening of the toy. You’d never been much of a voyeur - or, at least, so you thought - but you couldn’t take your eyes off him, blinding slipping your hands down your pants but over your underwear, simply pressing down on your clit to ease some of the crying need.

Oddly, the lube pours down and begins to drip out the other side, creating a dark patch on his clothed thigh. The audio picks up Yoongi cursing, and there’s no further preamble before he’s using one hand to hook down his sweatpants and kick them off to pool on the floor. The motion causes his cock to jerk up onto his stomach, leaving a smear of precum on his grey shirt, visible only by a few pixels of darker grey.

He scoots a little down the seat of the chair and hitches a leg up over one of the arms, eyes slipping closed as the hand not holding the dripping fleshlight grips his own cock, thumb pressing at the head.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans lowly, the sound running through your headphones and straight down between your legs. His brows are furrowed like it’s almost paining him, but he hovers the opening of the fleshlight over his tip as if he’s trying to hold back.

Slowly, he lowers the toy down one inch at a time, until the lube is drooling over his cock. Finally, the transparent toy slips down over his cock and his hips jump off the chair, his knuckles white on the arm of the chair and the fleshlight as he growls and lifts it back off again.

The sight of him intentionally teasing himself is too erotic for you to stay unmoving, and you find yourself burning up, losing the headphones for a moment to shuffle out of your own clothes. You hurry as much as you can, grimacing at your sopping panties, but by the time you’re back in your chair with nothing but a bra and tuning back into the stream, Yoongi’s not even focused on his toy anymore.

It sits propped up on his thigh, with two of his fingers lazily, almost absentmindedly thrusting deeply inside of it to keep it steady as the rest of him swivels in his chair to open his laptop again.

You frown and squint at the tiny screen on the stream. Rows of fuzzy squares stack up, and while you can’t be certain the phallic shapes of some of the miniscule images inside them make you think he was on a sex toy website.

He quickly opens a new tab, however, and your heart begins to beat nervously as a familiar page comes up. One you’d been on just earlier.

With bated breath you wait, hands grasping at the meat of your thighs and clothed breast to hold off on touching between your legs just yet. Yoongi navigates the Bangasm page, going through the same payment process you did.

It isn’t until you’re met with a miniature version of your own room on his screen that you realise what’s happened. And it’s when Yoongi squints and leans in closer, before turning to face the camera directly with a bewildered look, that you know you’ve been caught.

Frozen, you watch the on-screen, Yoongi look back and forth twice, before slowly scooting his chair back on an angle to the table, so that the laptop is in eyeshot even as his body is facing the camera fully.

Your mouth is dry, but the fleshlight he picks up again is wet, so wet that his fingers glisten, almost slipping off the toy entirely. He holds it tightly, transferring it to his dominant hand and teasing the top over his tip, biting hard on his lip.

The squeeze you have on your thigh is almost painful as your core burns, but you’re too stunned still to move, watching him dance the opening of the fleshlight over his cock, never dipping it inside.

With a twitching grin and lusty eyes, he glances towards the laptop. Your whole body feels hot as you glance over your shoulder to the camera in your room, before looking back at the screen. He’s not moving, chest visibly heaving even as he stares patiently at the computer screen.

He’s… waiting for you.

With one strangled breath, you tilt your chair away from the desk, adjusting your own laptop in a similar setup to him. Eyes locked on the stream, terrified you’ll miss a single moment of him indulging himself, you let your fingers uncurl from your inner thigh and trail them down, wasting no time in automatically locating your clit, massaging around the small bud.

Pleasure flows through you like hot water, down to your toes. After holding out for so long, after being so aroused for so long, the simplest touch has your knees weak and your head lolled back against the headrest.

On screen, Yoongi’s grin widens, and he rewards you by lowering the fleshlight, the clear silicone making way for the tip of his cock. He doesn’t stop there like last time, though; instead, he slowly but surely plunges it all the way down until it’s flush with his pelvis. Your eyes fly open when the flushed head pops out the other side, and Yoongi clearly enjoys it too judging by the way he curses and grips it tight, practically panting.

Without really intending, your fingers dip down and slip inside, two already. You barely feel a stretch with how wet you are. Although the feeling of something inside you is nice, you know your fingers just aren’t enough, especially with the angle of you slumped back in your chair.

So, you chance one look back at the screen - Yoongi is using the tip of one finger to spread his precum around the glossed tip of his cock, but his eyes are firmly locked onto you - and walk on shaky legs to your closet, where an unassuming (and so far unused) black silk bag lies amongst your shoes.

The amount of time it takes for you to duck into the bathroom and quickly wash the silicone vibrator you have with soapy water feels like an eternity, and by the time you hurry back it isn’t the toy that’s vibrating.

Frowning, you hesitantly answer the call that’s coming through on your phone from a familiar contact.

Yoongi’s voice immediately fills the room as the pixelated version on the screen rests his phone on the side of his desk, not jerking but twisting the fleshlight in slow arcs around his cock. “Couldn’t get enough of me, hm?”

“Says the one calling me,” you offer back lightly, switching onto speaker mode so that you can settle back in your chair, “enjoying the view?”

“A little too uneventful for me yet, sweetheart,” he teases, and his breathy groan is timed with the Yoongi on the stream lifting the fleshlight up a little and plunging it down again. “How about you put that toy in your pretty little pussy for me. For us.”

You feel your core pulse at the reminder that it wasn’t just Yoongi on the stream. Any number of anonymous strangers could be tuned in right now, seeing you with your legs spread.

The only way to cope is to lean into it instead of shying away. You slide the black silicone toy through your folds to slick it up, sighing with every light pass over your clit. Once it’s as wet as you are, you press the slightly bulbous tip down until it slips inside you, immediately shivering at the feeling.

The toy is small enough that you don’t need any special prep, yet big enough that it was satisfying, and curved just right. It had been your old reliable long before coming on the show, and there’s something strangely familiar and comforting about feeling it fill you out as you push it in deeper.

“Fuck, there we go,” Yoongi praises, and you hear the wet smacking noise of him snapping his hips up into the toy. “I may not be able to touch you, but you’ll still call my name when you cum for me.”

Your toes curl, and you’re no longer able to focus on the stream, letting your eyes fall shut and your ears tune in to his voice alone as you work the toy in and out of you.

He doesn’t waste any time in joining you, and the resulting sounds that fill your room are obscene, him making no effort to muffle the gravelled curses and moans, nor the wet thwack of silicone that gives away his movements.

The noise is somehow even more thrilling than the sight, and the feeling of his eyes on you encourages you to speed your hand up, even reaching down to desperately rub at your clit with the flat of your fingers, shivering at the wave of pleasure that wracks through your body.

It’s not long before you hear Yoongi’s voice turn guttural and the pace of the flesh light pick up frantically.

You wrench your eyes open and gaze blearily at the computer screen just in time to watch the stream of white that spills up through the back end of the fleshlight and over Yoongi’s knuckles. As hot as the image is, you whine at being made to watch this through the pixels instead of in real life, and the thought of being right fucking across from him as he fell apart is enough to make you seize up in your chair, orgasm draining you thoroughly, with not enough force to squirt but dripping on the seat nonetheless.

You take the toy out once pleasure turns to the sharp tweak of oversensitivity and pant, fighting to catch your breath as your feet feel positively numb.

Coming down from your high, you almost forget the running phone call until you hear his voice come through the speaker again. “Have a shower and then come back down to my room. You’re sleeping with me tonight.”

The beeping tone leaves you alone in your room, and you loll your head back over the edge of the chair with an exhausted moan, not without a grin playing on your lips. You wouldn’t protest to that.

#the gentlemen #tgm #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #vminkook smut #vmin smut #jikook smut #taekook smut #i don't even know how to tag anymore fksdfjsk

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realcube · 3 years

Text

characters dealing with a deep sleeper! s/o (_　_)。゜zｚＺ

characters: bokuto, oikawa & saiki k

tw// swearing, fluff, mentions of death, illness, funerals, sexual references

Kōtarō Bokuto

he literally thought you died

this was your first time sleeping over at his home and last night, y’all were stuffing your faces with treats until your stomachs ached

you had mentioned several times how you were feeling sick - even after bokuto took you out for a late-night run - but he just told you to take a pain-killer and sleep it off

but now he was kinda regretting not calling someone to help

like what if the sickness was a symptom to a deadly disease which took you overnight?

plus, he had tried everything he could think of to wake you up: he shook you, he blasted music from his phone, he opened the curtains to allow blinding light to shine on you, he flicked spits of cold water onto your face and he literally wafted cookies around the room in hopes you’d catch the scent

but it was no use as even after all that, you didn’t move an inch

he tried to check your pulse which he believed to be on the wrist but he couldn’t think it

so either he was too stupid to find the exact location or......you didn’t have a pulse

he’ll admit, it was an eerie thought that there could be a dead person in his bed rn but even he considered that a rather outlandish idea

how could a person as healthy as you just die overnight? so he did what any reasonable person would do in that situation-- no, not call a doctor

he held a funeral for his beloved s/o 💀

he gathered all five of the plushies laying around his room (all of which were owls) and lined them up on the foot of the bed

‘we are all gathered here today to celebrate the epic life of my partner, (y/n) (l/n).’ he sobbed into the sleeve of the black blazer he had pulled out of his closet, ‘gone too soon.’

silence. but in his mind he was met by a chorus of ‘aww’s and whimpers from the crowd

‘i loved them. (y/n) was my rock; they helped me through some of the hardest points in my life--’

his speech was cut off upon hearing one of the audience members pipe up, ‘bo, what are you doing?’

a wave of excitement washed over him as he scurried up to the line of guests, closely examining each one, ‘i didn’t know y’all could talk!’

you rolled your eyes before leaning forward and gently tapping the back of his head, ‘it’s me.’

upon laying his eyes on you, healthy and alive, his lips curled into a foolishly large grin as he immediately pulled you into a tight hug, ‘(Y/N), you’re alive!’ he cried

you gasped at his rather dramatic reaction before slowly melting into his embrace, ‘yes, i am.’

as your lips parted from the skin of his jaw and he slowly let his arms fall from your waist, you finally inquired, ‘did you hold a funeral for me?’

bokuto’s eyes-widened at your ‘crazy’ suggestion, ‘uhhhh, nooooo.’

if his elongating of each word wasn’t enough to show that he was lying, the dead giveaway would have to be the sheet of A4 paper with ‘(Y/N)’S FUNERAL 😭’ written on it that was stuck to the door with blu-tac

ignoring his completely false reply, you leaned back on the bed and picked up on the owl plushies, gently stroking it’s soft fur, ‘are these the guests? why are there only five?’

bokuto shrugged, picking up one himself and absentmindedly attempting to balance it on your head, ‘seven; if you count me and you.’

you giggled, about to make a inquire about the names of each guest until bokuto suddenly through his arms around you again

‘why didn’t you tell me that you are such a deep-sleeper before?! i was so worried - i thought you died! please never die on me again, (y/n)?’

you smiled, pulling back to plant a sweet kiss on his cheek, ‘i promise.’

Tōru Oikawa

he would take advantage of this opportunity lol

the first time y’all slept over together as a couple, he had no idea that you were as deep of a sleeper as you actually are

like he thought you meant ‘i sometimes sleep through my alarms’ deep-sleeper

NOT ‘IT TAKES A WHOLE NATURAL DISASTER TO WAKE ME UP IN THE MORNING’ DEEP-SLEEPER (/h)

anyway, at first, he’d probably just freshen up while you sleep: take a shower, wash his face, brush his teeth, floss etc so he’s no longer effected by that ✨morning crust ✨

but when he pokes his head out of the bathroom and noticed that your sleep asleep, he tries to blow-dry his hair bc he knows how much you like it when it’s all fluffy

but his blow-dryer was quite loud so he put it on for a few seconds to see if it’s wake you up and just as he expected, you were still sound asleep

so he blew-dry his hair until it was that soft texture that you liked so much- all while you were still like (∪.∪ )...zzz even though the blow-dryer was making a racket

you were still sleeping and upon looking at the time, he realised that it was completely fair considering it was currently half past 8 and he had just woken up extremely early for some unknown reason

he didn’t want to wake you so he was just doing to go out for a run or make breakfast until he caught a glimpse of himself in mirror

o.O

despite his puffy hair and pearly-white smile, he still looked sloppy

but it was definitely bc of his stained, torn, washed-out pyjamas tbh

he was just wearing an old T-shirt that he’s had for god-knows how long and a pair of grey sweatpants; it wasn’t a look

he had no idea what possessed him to wear such casual nightwear while you were at his house - especially when you chose to wear something so relaxed yet titillating - but he knew that he needed to change

after a while of rummaging through his nightwear drawer, the best he could find was a pair of white, silk, loose-legged trousers which he had bought for a halloween costume many years ago

it was pretty classy though :)) he was sure that you’d like it

however, he still couldn’t find anything to wear on his top half but there is no fashion problem oikawa can’t solve

thus, he went shirtless ( •̀ ω •́ )✧

he also threw on some jewellery too, just for the lols

you weren’t awake yet thought, so after he set up some candles to create a ‘mood’, he just sat next to you on the bed, scrolling on his phone and anticipating your reaction once you woke up

for a moment, he thought that he might’ve went when too far but upon taking a look at himself in his front-facing camera, he realised that there was no harm in spicing things up

once he noticed one of your eyes slowly flutter open, he quickly tossed his phone to the side and turned his body to face you, shooting you a kind smile and he gently ran a hand through his fluffy hair, ‘morning, angel~’ he cooed

you grumbled your greeting in response, then proceeded to rub your eyes to make sure you were seeing him correctly, ‘what are you wearing, tōru?’

‘can a guy not dress up for his special someone anymore?’

you rolled your eyes, playfully slapping his chest and going to hop out of bed until he pulled you back down against the sheets

a faint gasp escaped your lips but you were quickly hushed by oikawa pushing his finger against your lips, ‘you’re not going anywhere, (y/n).’

Kusuo Saiki

this was the first time you ever slept over at his house or next to him yet y’all had been dating for year and a half

he was just scared that he might accidently do something crazy in his sleep (bc of his powers ofc) and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you 🥺

you were patient with him though but bc y’all had never woken up together before, he had no idea how deep of a sleeper you are

he thought it was cute at first bc you were laying there like the beauty you are, lookin’ all serene and calm and stuff

but after a while, he got bored on his own #•̀ ︿ •́

also, you promised to bake macarons with him for breakfast and he was hungry as hell, still he didn’t want to eat without you but if he didn’t wake you up rn to make macarons, he’d surely starve to death while they were in the fridge

on any other day, he’d just try do it himself but when you helped him make food- it just hit different 😍

‘(y/n), wake up.’ he spoke into your mind using his telepathy, while light nudging your arm, ‘i’m hungry.’

you didn’t reply, seeming completely knocked out

he tried the next best thing, holding his annoying alarm noise near (but not too close) to your ear

still nothing, though

his last human attempt was aggressively pulling your blanket away but even after that you showed no signs of waking up so he realised that he’d have to resort to using his physic abilities

he considered using his astral projection to possess your body but he felt as though taking over your body might cross a few boundaries

but he did try duplicating himself so he could shake you from many different angles but it was still no use

he continued to use his telepathy to try wake you up but it didn’t seem to work either

after multiple different attempts of using his powers to try wake you up; here he was, standing in the middle of some dystopian, apocalyptic scene - alarms ringing in the distant along with sirens, screaming, honking and wails. everything around him seemed to be engulfed by flames which created thick, smoky air

he wasn’t really sure how he got here but he was pretty sure it started around the time he tried to form an energy ball

whatever 🤷‍♂️ it’s no biggie

he jumped back in time so he was standing next to your bed once again, exactly where he left off before he created the energy ball

he stared down at your sleeping figure and let out an exasperated sigh as he realised that he’d have to employ one of his most dangerous tactics

he really hoped it didn’t have to come to this

‘(y/n), if you get up right now.’ his voice rung through your head, ‘i speak with my voice.’

just like that, both of your eyes shot open as you hastily sat up on the bed

‘do it, saiki!’ you cheered, a foolishly large grin plastered on your features

and he couldn’t help but smile too

curse you for being so cute

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thatharringrovehoe · 3 years

Text

So I've been playing Dishonored which is my favorite game and this popped into my head so now you all have to suffer with me. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

He's so fucking cold. Like he’s been plunged into a lake mid winter and can’t find his way to the surface. Hands shaking, Billy sifts clumsily through the box of his mother’s things he keeps hidden in the back of his closet. He's found that if he thinks about the good times, picnics at the beach under the California sun, the thing oozing it's way though his brain losses just a bit of it's grip. Leaves Billy with enough motor function to stumble around his bedroom, trying to find the right pieces. And fucking hell it’s been so long since he's done this. He can remember helping his Ma when he was little, chubby fingers clenched tight in her cotton sundress as she arranged the items on the table just right. Pricked her finger to draw sigils in a language long forgotten, her voice a soft cadence through the bedroom as she hummed Billy’s favorite lullaby. No words, just a beautiful mournful thing. Humming a song of grieving loss. Billy doesn't know why he likes it so much.

“Remember baby. When you offer your gifts they have to be special. Well loved. Something that brings you joy every time you use it.”

His mother kept a pair of earrings on the cloth covered table. She never wore them when his father was home. Took them out and put them back on the little rickety stand in the back of her closet every day before he came back from work. Dangling silver daggers with the onyx beads. Billy shoved one straight through his left earlobe when he turned fifteen and has barely taken it out since.

His Ma told him that everything he built his shrine with had to mean something. Had to be something he treasured. From the fabric to the stand itself. So Billy tried his best. Draped his best leather jacket over the milk crate that held all of his favorite hair products. Placed his Ma's Fleetwood Mac album next to one of his mother's silver earrings (the one he always wears), arranged as neatly as he can manage. He’d had to prick his thumb seven times because to his dawning horror it kept healing over. Just another tally mark towards something being really fucking wrong. And he remembers the warehouse. Can still feel the slimy caustic sludge being pumped down his throat by a fucking tentacle. But he’d hoped it had been a dream, a nightmare from reading to many Lovecraft novels. Billy curses as he slices open his thumb for what feels like the millionth time.

Apparently not.

He's drawn the characters just how he remembers. His mother had made him practice every day, showing him each and every shape and line, drawn in colorful crayon. She gave him a cookie every time he got them right. Never hung them up on the fridge though. Didn't want his father to see.

He can feel the shadow creeping through his blood, dragging it’s claws against his veins. It might not know exactly what he’s doing yet, but it must be able to feel the intention. Billy thinks of ocean waves and a soft hand running through his curls. Fights the pull at the back of his mind to just give in. To sleep. His hands shake harder.

Fuck, where is it?! Billy combs through records and trinkets, a bottle of her perfume. He’s desperately hoping it didn't get lost in the move because his mother never taught him how to make one. Hell, he's pretty certain that he wouldn't be able to find the pieces he needs in Hawkins anyway. Not like Melvalds has a supernatural voodoo isle.

Then finally, finally he finds it. Lifting up his mother’s satin scarf it comes tumbling out to land on the floor with a clatter. Bleached white and beaten smooth by the waves, it's about the size of a sand dollar. Billy picks it up, places it in the palm of his hand. He still remembers the day he found it out on the shore. Washed up between some sea glass, the leather bindings still somehow soft even soaked with salt water. Etched with symbols and shapes Billy will never understand. When Billy showed it to his mother an unreadable expression crossed her face. It was that evening she showed him her shrine.

The rune seems to hum against his skin, an otherworldly song from far away ghosting past his ears. The thing that’s trying to Shanghai Billy’s brain writhes. It's angry, but more than that it’s fucking terrified and Billy has never been more sure of anything in his life. This was a good idea. But his limbs are getting colder, heavier. Whatever this evil piece of shit is it doesn’t like what Billy’s doing. He has to fight against the deadening of his limbs, crawling towards his shitty attempt at a shrine from his place on the floor. His vision is starting to grow dark when he finally clutches on to the milk crate, placing the rune between the earring and his cassette tape. And he knows that there's no guarantee. That whatever his Ma prayed to every night never shielded her from Neil’s fists, didn’t do a damn thing as the cancer slowly drained her down to nothing. That sometimes (most times) when someone would call out to the void the only thing they heard in return was their own disappointment. But he's got no other options. This is his trump card. His last resort. If this hocus pocus bullshit doesn’t work then Billy is up shit creek without a paddle. With a frustrated shout against the nightmare pulling him in, Billy begs.

“Please! Fuck, help me! I'll do anything, c’mon just- please!”

The air in Billy’s bedroom all of a sudden seems to shudder. The shadows flicker and meld together, reaching outwards. The sound of dry fall leaves blowing in the wind, a wail of a thousand dying worlds ricochets off the walls. Then nothing. Billy scrunches his eyes shut against the sting of tears. Fuck, of course it didn’t work. Story of his life. He called for help and just like always it doesn't mean shit. No one is coming to save him.

“Well well well. Certainly been a long time since someone summoned me like that. Very old school.”

Billy’s eyes snap open, the surprise and adrenaline enough to fight the heaving weight of his limbs to raise his head. And there, perched on his shitty milk crate shrine, sits the most beautiful boy he's ever seen. He's got hair the color of soil after it rains. High cheekbones and full lips, milky white skin dotted with a constellation of beauty marks. Billy didn't know what he expected but it certainly wasn't this. The boy god is dressed in a swanky leather coat the color of charcoal with pants to match. Eyes like an oil spill, inky black and endless. With a good look at Billy, they narrow dangerously.

“I thought I fucking told you not to touch this world. You want a repeat of last time?”

Whatever deity he summoned looks pissed as hell. Did he not do it right? Maybe the items weren’t good enough. That would be just his luck. He's so confused he almost doesn’t notice it right away. The shadow slowly working it’s way through his body has stopped, retreated a little even.

“I-... I don't know what you’re talking about. Please, there's something wrong with me. Something got put inside of me and I need it out. Please, help me.”

Billy hasn’t begged since his Ma was takin her last breath in that damn hospice bed. Didn't see the point when it always got you nowhere. But now he can't make himself stop. Cuz he's never been this scared before. The things this monster inside him wants him to do. It's so strong, like he’s fighting a steam roller. He's got no hope on his own.

The boy sitting on his best leather jacket stills. Cocks his head to the side slightly, considering. Then those pretty pink lips are spreading out into a gleeful smirk. Slides off the shrine to settle on his knees in front of Billy. Reaches out his hand to cup Billy’s jaw gentle enough it makes him want to cry.

“You can't get a good enough hold of this one can you? Interesting. Tell me trouble maker, what's your name?”

That voice, deep and ethereal, seems to echo from all around him. He can feel it vibrate in his bones. He wants, no, needs to answer.

“Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

The boy smiles now, all gleaming pearly whites. If Billy looks long enough reality starts to flicker. And for just a second all he can see is teeth sharp like knives in a Cheshire grin. There for a moment and gone in a flash. The hand on his jaw tightens just the slightest fraction.

“Well Billy Hargrove. You seem to find yourself in quite the predicament. That parasite sucking on your soul is an old acquaintance of mine. He's one nasty little shit.”

If a brain washing shadow monster could feel indignant he’s pretty sure that’s what's happening now. Whatever was hijacking Billy's mind has curled up somewhere tight, sunk it’s teeth in deep. Cornered like a threatened animal.

“Please, I’ll do anything you want. I can’t… I can’t fight it. It's too much.”

There’s enough tears leakin down his face that it's soaking the front of his shirt. The boy is giving him this look, almost amused. The longer he holds Billy’s jaw the more the monster losses his grip, and Billy is ready to do anything at this point. Because that thing stuck to his brain wants him to find people. Feed it people. Wants Billy to drink all the chemicals in the supply shed at the pool. Told Billy that if he tried to fight it would take Max first and he can't let that happen.

The boy seems to come to a decision, grabs Billy’s hands to help him shakily to this feet. He doesn’t let go even when they’re both standing.

“You know there’s not many who can fight his hold for this long. I'm impressed.”

He steps forward until his chest is practically pressed up against Billy's. He smells like ozone and smoke, bottomless black eyes trained on stormy blue. Reaches up to tangle his fingers into Billy’s curls, sending tingles across his scalp. Smiles wider at the small noise that escapes Billy's throat.

“I'll help you Billy Hargrove. But in return, you have to do something for me.”

Billy's nodding before he can even really register what’s being said. Anything. He'd do whatever this pretty boy asked as long as he keeps touching Billy like this. Gentle, with a reverence no one has ever bothered to show.

“I need you to kick this little shit back into the hole he crawled out of. Can you do that for me Billy? I wanna see how your story pans out trouble maker. Wanna see what you do when someone gives you a chance.”

Billy nods again, breathless. The boy chuckles, the sound saccharine. Like warm honey dripping down his spine.

“Gunna have to use your words baby.”

Billy swallows, the click of his dry throat loud in the warm personal bubble they’ve created.

“Yes. Yeah. I’ll do it. Whatever you want pretty boy, please.”

It comes out a whisper but the boy hears it all the same. The boy smiles bright, pulls Billy forward. Soft warm lips press against his own and Billy is floating. He's never been kissed like this before. Slow and deep, the boy's tongue pressing in to curl and slide. Stuff him full. Billy's shaking for a whole other reason now. Reaches out to grip the boy's coat, cool to the touch where Billy is burning. Fire rushing through his veins, and he's already so close just from this. Whimpers brokenly into the kiss.

The boy pulls him in impossibly closer, slots his thigh between Billy’s legs, pushes up up up. And Billy is right fucking there, grinds down as he swaps spit with an old god in his shitty bedroom with the peeling yellow paint and the door that locks from the outside. Can feel the tell tale tingle spreading behind his navel.

“ ‘m gunna cum! Fuck, more please!” Billy mumbles curses into the kiss, breath hitching as his balls draw tight. The boy smiles against his mouth, yanks his curls back to bite into the meat of his neck and Billy’s gone, pulsing rope after rope of cum into his underwear.

“Oh my- .. Fuuuuuck. Yes! Uhhhnn!” He's panting like a dog as he slumps forward into the boys shoulder. Gentle fingers card through his hair as aftershocks zap up and down his body. A kiss is pressed behind his ear, a soft warmth flooding his core. He can't feel the shadow anywhere.

“So good for me sweet thing. Makes me want to keep you.”

It's said so quiet, like the boy doesn’t intend for it to be heard. Billy presses his face into his neck. There's no heartbeat under the boy's skin.

“You could. I want you to.” Whoever this is, whatever he is, he came for Billy. Answered his literal cry for help when no one else did. He doesn't know what he has to offer but he wants to give this impossible boy everything.

The boy in question hums. Brings Billy's left hand up to kiss the back of it. His skin feels hot under his lips, bordering on uncomfortable. Like stepping on sun scorched pavement. When the boy pulls back there’s a tattoo on his hand. A strange design that looks vaguely like a compass. It's the same mark as the one on the middle of the rune sitting behind them.

“I haven't given my mark to someone quite so special in a while. Try not to disappoint me Billy Hargrove.”

The boy goes to pull away but Billy still has his hand clenched tight on his coat. Panic wells up in his chest. Doesn't want to end whatever this is quite yet.

“Wait! What’s-…what's your name?” Which is a valid question he thinks. And probably one he should have asked at some point before he started grinding his dick on the guys leg. Oh well.

“I've had many names, none if which would hold any significance for you. Call me what you want trouble maker. I'll be there when you need me.”

Billy believes him. Then between one blink and the next the boy is gone, tendrils of dissipating smoke the only evidence he was ever there. A deep voice whispers from nowhere and everywhere.

“Ask your sister about the monsters in the woods.”

On the shrine the only thing that remains is the rune, both his gifts having apparently been accepted. Billy gives a hysterical bark of laughter at the thought of some higher being listening to Fleetwood Mac somewhere out in the void. It gives him an idea. He drags his lips across the fresh mark on his hand, mumbles into his skin.

“Thanks Stevie.”

#i don't know what this is but here ya go!#Outsider!Steve #Billy Hargrove #harringrove #dishonored au #yes Billy gets powers but i haven't decided what they are yet #that hoe writes #stranger things #Neil you better watch out my boy has a literal old god for a boyfriend now

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lizzy-williams · 4 years

Text

𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐰𝐚𝐱

🕯️Warnings: wax play, smut, degrading, choking, burning

🕯️ Requested: 2. can we please get some of the colson wax play shit with degrading names

🕯️ Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m91Vq-Yd3BA

I THINK by Tyler, The Creator

━━━━PLEASE READ THESE FIRST:

✮ PART 1

✮ PART 2

━━━━

masterlist

((This about to get ~funky~. ‘Tis just a Colson smut, because Dominic is away. Don’t worry, he’ll be back soon ;) ))

𝗜𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗗 having Dom be away for so long. You loved Colson with all of your heart, but you couldn’t help but miss the other half. Colson was affectionate, but not as good with realizing when you needed a hug or praise. But Dom could read you like an open book, and always knew what to do.

But now, you were laying on the couch in the middle of the afternoon, dozing off to whatever happened to be on the TV screen. Colson was at the studio, which left you all alone, again, in your house. You were wrapped up tight, cuddling into one of Dominic’s hoodies that he had left you. Even though it still smelled like him, you couldn’t help but still feel sad. You wanted the real thing. You missed him.

You missed both of them.

Then your mind went into a devious places. Colson had been pretty neglectful of you. Come to think of it, the only times you saw him were in the evenings, and he wouldn’t want to do anything then, his eyes close to shutting in exhaustion.

You were idle. But now, it was time that you got the attention you believed you deserved.

You got up, going to your bedroom, slipping into your closet. If he wouldn’t give you attention, you were going to make him give you attention. You dug around in one of your drawers, one thing and one thing only on your mind.

There was a certain set of lingerie that always hit different, especially with Colson. It was one of his many gifts he would surprise you with every once and a while. Sometimes he bought things for you that were for his own enjoyment. And this set of devilish undergarments, it was obvious who he had truly gotten them for.

You slipped it on, glancing at yourself in the mirror, admiring yourself. You could see why Cols had gotten it for you... you looked HOT!

Smiling, you got on your phone, switching it to Snapchat, and holding up the camera. You teased your hair a little bit before you finally took the picture. You found yourself pressing the button over and over again, saving every single one.

You smiled to yourself, This will get him.

You opened your chat with Kells, who’s name you changed to Papi Chulo, mainly as a joke, but it just kinda stuck. But his name for you was Baby Bear in his phone, so you guessed that made it even.

You sent one after the other, and not all of them at one time, making sure that he got the notifications. You waited. And waited. And waited.

30 minutes eventually passed, which meant he was either really busy, for just ignoring you. Besides, he knew good and well when you sent messages in the afternoon like this, it wasn’t innocent.

You slipped a hoodie back on, along with some sweatpants, the lingiure still hugging your form underneath the baggy clothing. Your feet patted down the stairs, your phone in your hand, your feet carrying you to the living room as you laid down on the couch, deciding to finish watching The Umbrella Academy, a show that you decided you would watch strictly when the boys were away.

You found your eyes slowly closing, your mind slowly drifting off into a state of calmness, your body relaxing as you tried to get some sleep. At least a nap in. Because you knew you were in for it when Colson got home

The sound of your phone vibrating against the glass coffee table had ripped you from you half-asleep state, your hand reaching over. You looked at the phone to see a new message from Colson.

Papi Chulo: I want u on the bed, no clothes, leg spread, hands up to the headboard. Don’t do as ur told, and the punishment will be something you won’t enjoy.

The tone of his text sent shivers down your spine as you read it. You bit your lip as you starred at the screen. You were going to get your attention... but was this really the way you wanted it?

There was nothing you could do now but follow his every command, in hopes he would at least let you cum tonight.

You stood up and quickly made your way up the stairs once again. You stripped yourself of all clothing, all except the special surprise and laid down on the bed on your back, your wrists going up and making contact with a headboard. You had to stay like this until he got home. Or else there would be hell to pay.

You sat there for maybe 15 minutes, and by then your arms were killing you, when you heard the front door slam open, Cols’ heavy footsteps bounding up the stairs.

You watched as he came into view in the doorway, and he immediately made eye contact with you. He walked over in big strides, before you felt his hand coiled around your neck, making you gasp.

“Do you know how fucking hard you had me?” his voice was full of venom as he spoke through gritted teeth, “I had to go into the bathroom and take care of myself, because I was so hard, it fucking hurt. I ran so many stoplights to get to you, slut,”

The look on your face told him everything he needed to know. He read you like an open book. Of course he could, he’s a Taurus. It’s what they do.

“You just wanted my attention, didn’t you...” he clenched his jaw before speaking again, “I’m not like Dom, I won’t give you anything you want on a whim. And I don’t think you deserve what you want right now.”

You looked him dead in the eyes, your mouth not moving. You knew that you had to speak with permission. You were his now.

“Here,” he reached into your bedside table drawer, taking out the dreaded pink rope you really didn’t want him to use, your wrists always hurt afterwards.

But you didn’t dare complain. You were in for it bad enough already. You sat up a little bit as he tied you up nice and tight, and his eyes went soft for a second, “Too tight?”

You shook your head no. You wanted this.

“Of course it’s not too tight. I know you like to be treated roughly, whore,” he leaned in closer, “But at least your my whore.”

He licked a harsh strip up your neck, before stopping at your ear, biting at your earlobe, making you whimper, “I think you’re going to like this punishment,” he sighed right into your ear, his breath causing goosebumps to erupt on your neck and down your arms.

You watched him disappear into the bathroom and come back out with a candle stick.

Oh god.

You weren’t the biggest fan when Cols had access to fire. But you knew this got him off. He loved watching you as you squirmed, your restraints limiting your movement.

The candle was a garnet red. You were anxious, but somehow in a good way.

Colson fished a lighter out of the pockets of his black ripped jeans. He flicked it on a few times.

“Safe word?” he looked over at you.

“Red.” you replied, your demeanor now soft and subtle, a great contrast to the vibes you gave off in the sinful photos you sent your lover.

“Good. Nice to know that my cock isn’t the only thing you let occupy your mind. God, your such a good little slut.”

You whimpered slightly. You loved the degradation. And you knew he didn’t truly mean it. You knew he thought highly of you. He never called you those names outside the bedroom.

He flipped the lighter on and left it on for about 10 seconds, Cols’ glance switching back and forth between you and the flame. Finally, he turned it off. He set the candle off to the side and you gave him a look of confusion.

But before you could say a word, you felt the hot metal of the lighter sear into the skin of your thigh. You let out a series of squeaks and whines. It was the perfect temperature where it was hot enough to cause pleasurable pain but to not leave a burn.

“God, princess, you make such pretty little noises.” Cols gushed, drinking up your reactions.

He then sat back up, straightening himself out before he reached for the candle. He looked at you almost tauntingly, looking into your eyes as the pupils were dilated.

He lit the candle, waiting for a minute.

Now, the moment you were waiting for patiently, completely compliant, (which Colson completely appreciated.)

He then held the candle over your body, tilting it, and watched as the liquified wax dripped down onto your soft skin.

He watch in fascination as the liquid turned solid as you let out whimpers and moans at the sensation of a hot fluid dripping across your stomach. You squirmed.

It felt so good. More good than it was supposed to. Colson continued his actions, dripping the wax onto you.

He than looked at the undergarments you had on, he blew out the candle quickly, his hands around your back as he unclasped your bra. At the sight of your breasts, he almost lost it right then and there, taking one of your pebbled nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, soon switching back and forth between breasts, your mouth gushing out moans and praise.

Colson then pulled back, lighting the candle once again. But instead of your stomach getting covered, he drifted the candle higher, the red wax now dripping down on your breasts, making your nipples feel amazing.

Colson reveled in the sounds you made, knowing that it was him making you feel this good, nobody else. He knew that he was in control, and one of the only people that could bring you to the most amazing, toe-curling, mind-numbing, crushing orgasms, while also getting them over the edge as well.

Soon, you body was covered in wax─ both wet and dry ─ and once he saw that his work was done, Cols stepped back, admiring the work of this labor. Looking at you, hands tied up and chest heaving, he thought he would cum on the spot.

You just looked so good.

“Daddy,” you whined meekly, praying that he didn’t think you were stepping out of line, seeing as you were speaking without permission, “Please touch me,”

“Soon.” was all he said, holding the candle up to his mouth, blowing it out and setting it to the side, not really caring where it was. Now, it was time for his favorite part.

His hands drifted over the wax-covered parts of your body as you tried your best not to move. The sensation was indescribable. There was a barrier between your skin and this fingers, and you somewhat despised it. You wanted to feel him, all of him.

He then pinched large pieces of skin, rolling it between his fingers gently, watching the wax crumble and break, peeling effortlessly off your complexion.

He went from spot to spot, repeating the process of removing the wax, brushing it away. All the while, you shifted and fidgeted, loving the small amount of contact he was giving you.

Once your body was (mostly) cleared, he untied your hands, and held your chin, a sadistic smirk appearing on his face when he noticed how fucked out you looked. Your lips swollen due to you biting them, your hair a mess from throwing your head back so many times.

“I want you to go to the bathroom, and run us a shower, got it, princess?” he asked, and your eyes went wide, realizing what was coming next.

“Yes, daddy,” you muttered.

“Good.” he sighed, before his lips met yours passionately, making you moan into his mouth, wanting nothing more than to stay like this the entire night. His lips were just so good, it made your body feel like jelly.

As soon as he detached his lips, you quickly sat up, standing up, walking as fast as you could to the bathroom, running the water to the perfect temperature. You waited for the water to heat up impatiently.

You finally stepped in, your muscles relaxing, making you let out the smallest moan as the water enveloped your body like a hug. The sensation was almost euphoric, the water dripping down you body.

But when you felt the sensation of large, stalky hands running over your shoulders, you immediately turned around, your eyes meeting those of your lover’s, his pupils dilated, obviously effected by the sight of you earlier.

He immediately pushed you down, your knees meeting the hard surface of the tile covering the floor of the shower, knowing that there would be bruises as consequence.

“Come on, little slut, open your mouth,” he grabbed your jaw as you opened it.

Wasting no time, he shoved his shaft into your mouth, and it didn’t take long before he was thrusting in and out of your mouth quickly. The size of him made you gag, and the sensation when he would hit the back of your throat made your eyes roll back.

Your hand drifted down to your throbbing clit, two fingers being placed on your slit as you rubbed it to the pace of Colson’s thrusting. And it didn’t take long to notice what you were doing.

He suddenly pulled out, forcing you up, and slamming the side of your face against the wall of the shower, his front half completely against your back as his face was right next to your ear, and you could feel his breath, cold compared to the temperature of the water that was now running down his back.

“Did I say you could touch yourself, little whore?” he growled, and when you didn’t answer, he gave are harsh lick to the shell of your ear before pushing you more into the wall, “You know whose job it is to give you pleasure. You don’t get to feel good till I say you can,”

And with that, he shoved himself inside of you, the time he gave you to adjust was zero, before he started pounding into you, over and over and over. You let out cries and groans of pleasure as his movements never stopped.

You gasped out, the feeling almost too much, his mouth open against your temple as he thrusted. In, out, in, out.

Your mind was blurry as he turned you around and muttered out a low “Jump,”, your legs wrapping around him tightly as he entered passed your folds. It was so good... and the sensations of the water were helping immensely.

His head was leaning down on your shoulder, your hand going up and massaging his hair as he continued to thrust into you with earnest. The sounds of pleasure spilling out of his mouth was already enough to push you over the edge.

“H-Harder, please, daddy,” you gasped out.

Without a word, he was now pounding into you as hard as he could, hitting the little spot inside you that made you see stars. You cried out in pleasure, Colson growling as he dripped his hand between you, rubbing and flicking your clit at an inhuman speed.

“FUCK, daddy, please, I’m gonna cum, please please please don’t stop,” you gasped, something in the back of your head worried he would disappear or pull away.

“Come on, my little cock-slut, come on my cock and show me how good I make you feel,” He bit your shoulder, which drove you over the edge.

“FUCK!” you yelled out, your cunt clenching him like a fist as he continued to help you through your rapture.

You could see stars behind your eyelids as you closed them, trying to come back down to earth. The both of you panted in unison.

“Now let’s get you cleaned up, I’m not through with you yet.

((School is making me ~ l o s e m y m i n d ~

#mgk #mgk fanfiction #mgk imagine #mgk smut #mgk x reader #two #hotel diablo #hot #smut #aesthetic #hee hee

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horrorslashergirl · 4 years

Note

Chromeskull becoming infatuated with the reader so he stalks her and leaves special gifts on her doorsteps. 😊

Your girl here has a habit of getting writing ideas when buying lace lingerie and high brand perfume. Yes, because I bask into a little luxury...and Chromeskull.

Here you have a piece of some big-bad-killer-skull-daddy .

Chromeskull x Reader- Dating tips from Chromeskull

You attracted weirdos, that was your own opinion about yourself and you had a huge list of examples to attest to this said theory.

First, it was a guy in high-school who used to have a stash of playboy magazines. Nothing weird, only that he used to keep it in his backpack all the time with him. You even heard he masturbated in the school toilet. Gross. Just no.

Then there was a guy named Darwin that gave you love letters, only said love letters were always theories about how you resembled cartoon characters, not to mention the guy had a habit of spitting all the time when he talked.

Last, now in college, a pervert who always smelled of cheese and was a vegan. No, you weren't judgemental, but he always eats with his hands and tried to show his theories about eating meat is evil down your throat. You had enough to say the last.

Dating has never been your top game and being in college, you hoped you would find a decent guy, but your expectations weren't meet. Guys who were decent enough always scrambled away once they found out you weren't a dizzy bimbo who only giggled at every comment they made.

This is how you ended up on a Friday night at home, drinking some wine and watching serial killers documentaries, while your classmates were probably at a party, snorting cocaine and fucking into dirty bathroom stalls.

Yeah...Not exactly something you would look forward too.

Now, you weren't a prude, but giving head to a guy in a place that had probably STD all over the walls wasn't exactly appealing to say the last.

If only you could find a decent guy that would, at last, have the decency to wash before going on a date and who wouldn't choke on his own spit when laughing.

You were ready to get yourself a refill of wine when your doorbell rang, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

You sure weren't expecting anyone, but knowing some of your friends they sure would stumble to your house when drunk because they couldn't find their cellphones or keys.

Putting on your fluffy bunny slippers, you marched up to the front door and looked through the hole to see who it was. You learned from murderous documentaries that you shouldn't open the door at night if you don't know who it is.

None.

So, you opened it, looking from left to right to see if you could spot anyone, but no such luck. Probably some children messing around.

You were ready to close the door when your eyes looked down to see a white envelope on the welcome matt. Crouching down you grasped it and looked one more time left to right, hoping to spot the person who left it.

The silence of the night and chilly September night made you shiver a little, so you moved back inside to the couch and opened the envelope to see it was a letter, so you started reading it:

My dear little piggy,

Ever since the first time I meet you, I must say I always wondered how you would look in red, dripping down your body, your kissable lips into an 'o' shape, your nails dragging down my back as your flesh envelopes my knife.

Aren't you scared, so alone?

Your eyes widened at the twisted words on the white sheet, and the fact that the only sign at the bottom of the letter was a scribbled skull made it all the more unnerving.

That's the moment when you felt like you were being watched, your paranoid mind making you feel anxious.

If only you looked out the window you would see the ominous and out of the scenario black Bentley on the other side of the road.

In the past three months, things haven't been any decreasing either, because from twisted letters it all went to gifts if you could even call them that. Yes, they were gifts, but what made them unsettling was how the coincidence went.

You went out shopping one day and saw your favorite perfume, but didn't have the money to buy it. Imagine the surprise that after two days a velvet pink box sat in front of your door with the expensive perfume.

Then one time you saw a beautiful dress from Chanel that you were oh so tempted to buy, but rent and food were more important, then later that night you received it and it was your size. That was just disturbing.

This continued for months and from anxious to went to curious and intrigued. It was insane, but none in your life put so much thought in spoiling you, despite not knowing who this person is.

To put it simply you were basked into luxurious gifts and cards for shopping.

You felt special.

-----------------------------

It came to no surprise that Chromeskull was always chasing piggies, but this time it was you that he was chasing after; not the usual slaughtering piggy way, but more like spoiling a little kitten who was you.

It was pretty comic to see a 40-year-old man chasing after a girl that has half his age, but what can you say? Jesse has always liked them young and fresh, no wonder he gave off big-bad-killer-daddy vibes.

He loved to see your appreciation for his gifts and attention towards you, despite it not being direct, but his self-consciousness after he lost his face made it almost impossible to get woman willingly.

Paying piggies to suck him off didn't count.

He wanted someone who was willing to go full length into a relationship with him, someone who he could have a good time, from conversations to mind-blowing sex.

That's why he chose you.

It all started with an unpredictable meeting.

Yes, you have meet Jesse, but you didn't know it.

How?

You were shopping and because you were in such a hurry to catch the bus, you run into him while you looked down at your phone, your head meeting his chest.

The way you looked up at him at that time almost made him want to stop you. Your wide eyes, not of fear or disgust, maybe it was surprising because he knew very well how a displeased face looks like, your pouty lips and slightly pink cheeks of embarrassment were so appealing.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir!"

That was the only thing you said before sprinting away and that was also the moment when he knew he wanted you and what Jesse Cromeans wants, he gets.

In the past months, he made sure you weren't lacking in anything and he was even more so pleased when you accepted all the gifts, seeing you wear the clothes he gave you made him feel like he owned you.

Normally, Jesse was the ever so most confident person you could meet, but now he felt like his shy teenage self, looking at you from a few feet away as you were grocery shopping.

He wanted to approach you. Badly, but how could he? His face and his muteness didn't help.

You were at the liquor part, looking over bottles with furrowed brows, not knowing what to get, until a pale hand gripped a bottle of expensive scotch from the top shelf, the forearms fully tattooed.

You looked behind you to see a tall and bald man, dressed in all black, the fully tattooed forearms been on display from how his sleeves were rolled up.

'This one is the finest scotch from here if you want to drink something more refined.' an electronic voice spoke from his phone that he held in the other hand.

You were to say so surprisedly by this man's approach.

"Oh...You're mute? I know ASL, so there's no need to type on the phone if it's easier for you." you quickly said, making the man grin.

Did you know ASL? How could he miss that? You were full of surprises.

'That's good. I hate to use the electronic reader all the time.' he signed, his grin never leaving his scarred lips.

'I'm Jesse.' he signed and you introduced yourself, shaking his bigger hand.

"I would love to try this scotch, but donating my kidney for glass doesn't sound too appealing." you said with a dry chuckle.

Dark sense of humor. Good. Check.

'How about I buy it and you go out on a date with me? Sounds like a deal?' he signed and you arched an eyebrow, a lop-sided smile on your face.

That was the moment Jesse felt nervous, despite not showing. He could already imagine you laughing at him, for thinking that a cute girl like you would go out with someone like him.

"Sure."

What? His brown eye widened a little and you giggled at his shocked expression.

"You don't have to buy me a 2,500$ bottle of scotch to go on a date with me." you said, making him silently chuckle.

'Do you want a ride?' he asked, signing and you grinned, nodding.

----------------------------

Yes, that was the start of an interesting relationship. At first, it had ups and downs because of the age-gap and the hateful comments, that made Jesse want to murder all the people that even dared to question his relationship with you.

Imagine the surprise when one time you punched one guy for calling Jesse 'old-sugar-daddy' and you 'nasty-gold-digger'.

That was another aspect of you that he learned that you had and started to love it a lot; you were a feisty little thing and protective of him.

You always took care of his ego, assuring him that he was perfect just how he is and it made Jesse's heart swell with things he almost forgot existed.

To put it simply, you completed each other....In all ways.

-------------------------

Your hair was splayed in a mess on the black silk pillows, one hand fisting the bedsheets and the other rubbing the bald scalp of your lover who had your red lace panties pulled aside and his tongue wiggling inside your heat, making your toes curl.

"Fuck.......Jesse......I-If you don't stop...I-I'm gonna squirt." you breathed out, chest heaving and nipples hard from all the pleasure that was jolting up your spine.

The man between your legs stopped, giving your clit a flick with his tongue, his body moving up on top of you, scarred lips meeting plush ones, kissing with you such vigor you sometimes couldn't keep up.

He broke the kiss, looking down at you, so perfect on his bed.

'I'm going to wreck your world.' he signed with a dark smirk and you couldn't help but smile, your hand coming to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over his scars.

"Please do, Chromeskull." you whispered, looking up at him from under your eyelashes.

Jesse grinned, pulling you into another passionate kiss, taking your breath away.

#Laid to rest 2009 #Chromeskull: Laid to rest 2 #Chromeskull #Jesse Cromeans #chromeskull x reader #jesse cromeans x reader #slasher x reader #horror movies #SkullDaddy can throw me in a coffin any day he wants

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glitching-desert-snake · 3 years

Note

“Last time I ask you for a favor!” with some venom sibs! :^)

It 'tis done! 3k worth of venom siblings and some lovely StarParty for ya. Hope you like it!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31265705

(appologies if the read more doesn't work smh)

:readmore:

"Order up! Can we get two blue plates and a Destroya special, hold the cactus!" Party called from the booth they're waiting to Ghoul and Kobra in the kitchen.

"On it!" Ghoul called back.

"Hey," a voice said from behind them, tapping them on the shoulder. Poison turned around to see Jet Star and their cheeks flush.

"Did you um need something Star?" They asked

"It's noon so Venom's are off, I can take it from here."

"Right" They hand him their notepad and pen, "Oh the girls over there want just one milkshake to share so make sure Ghoul puts extra in it."

"Got it, have a nice break." Jet smiled and they try not to beam right back, a small wave and they are hanging up their apron and heading outside.

"Heyy, Party Poison." A killjoy was at their heels as soon as they exit the swinging doors.

"And who might you be?" They pause and lean on one leg as the 'joy caught up to them.

"The name's Band Saw, and well- you don't happen to like roller skating do you?" It took Party a moment to hide their curiosity. They didn't care for tricks or anything but you could find them rolling around. Not like Show Pony who was on quads 24/7. But they did know a certain blue haired someone who was dying to learn to skate.

"Say I did,"

"Well would'jya maybe want to come with me to the rink party Pony's holding this weekend?" Party Poison looked up with intrigue but quickly hid it with a long eyeroll, "I would sooner go with you than get my finger stuck in a band saw." The joy recoiled and took a deep sigh, "Oh ok um, nevermind then." they scurried off. Poison felt a twinge of regret but then happily didn't as they looked up to see Kobra Kid leaning on the back wall smirking.

"Don't they know the first rule of The Diner is no flirting with the waitstaff." He chuckled, "I made the rule to get rid of goonies like that."

"Eh, they technically weren't in The Diner when they asked." They noted as the two walked out to the fields.

"I guess. Here, slap up the sun's nice today." Kobra handed them some sunscreen and went to find a spot in the dry grasses to lie down. "Ghoul said Helibomb is going to come by on Sunday to see about the warm water not working."

"Oh the gal who wears heelys everywhere? I didn't realize she did more than just well work."

"Yep, they say she can even roll on her heelys up hill."

"Seems like just a frequency static rumor to me."

"If it's true then I'm taking one from her book for my bike. I don't care if it's magic or what, I want a piece."

"I'm sure you do. Hey Kobra, could you do me a favor?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"Did you hear about Show Pony's gig this weekend?"

"The partner skate? Sure I have, but I'm not planning on going on account of too many love birds in one flock."

Party swallowed and went red even though they knew better.

"Well duh, I know you're not going. That'd be like me walking into the bathrooms at Hyperthrust during a party." They both laughed and fake gagged.

"But man, for all that I'm supposedly talk of the town, apparently I'm also the last to hear about major events." They threw up their hands. "Anyways, think you could be a messenger pigeon?"

Kobra grinned, "Party,"

"Look- I can't go asking myself, I have an image to uphold!"

"A damn bitchy one" Kobra quipped, chewing his lip. "But no, I get it. Who's the lucky 'joy?" he looked sharply into Party's eyes and they quickly looked down.

"You're going to hate me for this." They said with a flush creeping onto their cheeks.

"I'm not gonna be mad Pois, you know that." he said, hugging his knees and looking at them.

"It's Jet Star." They say with a gulp.

"Party fuckin Poison, what to say." Kobra was grinning and shaking his head as he spoke in a sing song drawl, "You pick good ones. Aesthetics? Top game."

"Shut up!" Poison giggles

"And yes, of course I can do the honors for you- but it better be at The Nest because we all remember the last time drama happened while at work."

"Yeah, bacon and avocado do not belong on the ceiling." Party shook their head and smiled. Their face is still hot but they stand up and shake twigs from their jacket. "Thank you for this, Kid, really."

"Oh I wasn't done-" Kobra said, standing up and pointing a finger at them. "Because I want a favor in return."

"Alright shoot,"

"I don't know what it is yet," he said as they began "It all depends how much of a chaotic disaster the ask winds up being." He laughed and the sun glinted on his braces.

"Of course," Party said with a chuckle but they can't help their mind racing with every dismal possibly that could happen.

"So we only sold five milkshakes today on account of the machine breaking, big deal! Helibomb is coming Sunday afternoon, don't stress it Ghoul." Jet was leaning on the table and poking through music to put on.

"You know they're are biggest seller when it's hot out." Ghoul reasoned as he reached for a brush from the couch and worked on undoing his braids.

"Pst, Poison get over here." Kobra tapped his sibling on the shoulder. "I'm not being your wingman if you're just going to hide in the kitchen." Poison gulped and reluctantly drifted into the living room and stuck to the side of the wall. Kobra looked back at them and smiled and then walked over to Jet who was putting Earthling into the cassette player.

"Hey Jet, I've got a proposition for ya." Kobra grins as Little Wonder came on intermixed with static.

"Oh yeah?" Jet tucked a curl behind his ear. Party cringed at The Kid being so formal but couldn't look away.

"Party Poison here wants to go to the skate party at Pony's rink tomorrow night. And they want to know, if you'd do them the honors of being their date." Kobra put his hands in the pockets of his jacket and rests a contented look on his face. Jet for his part looked astonished.

"Really?" He asked, with a smile creeping over his face, looking from Kobra to Party and back.

"Yeah- but like, only if you want." Party said. They got themself off the wall and managed to stay standing despite harboring no trust in their legs to function.

"No I'd like that, sound's rad. It's just- man I don't even know how to roller skate."

"Oh"

"But I'd love it if you showed me how." Jet finished and Party beamed

"Hey you should pick some skates from the shoe pile, I think TCM dropped off some that might fit you."

"Oh yeah!" Jet bobbed his head and smiled.

He left to the nest and Party followed after him but not before siding up next to Kobra to mutter, "Thank you," with a breathy sigh.

"'Course" The Kid chuckled, "But remember, you owe me."

"Yeah yeah." Poison smiled as they exchanged their secret hand shake. Poison bounded down the hallway after Jet.

"Hi." Star said, quickly turning around. He brushed his hair back for like the fifth time that day and Poison couldn't help but notice all the freckles that had come out from being in the sun on the walk home from The Diner where Kobra's whispered heckling and teasing just made Party more giddy than they already were.

"Hi" They repeated. They knew enough to not think that something like What's your shoe size? was a deemable conversation but were lost of what to say instead.

"Did you really mean me?" Jet was asking.

"What?" Poison looks at him with concern as they pull out the pile of shoes and start handing skates to Jet.

"I mean like, you really want to go on a date date with me, not just like as friends?"

"I- yes." they swallow and look away, "Jet if you don't want to go that's fine. Just tell me now so I can sort out my feelings in peace."

"What? No no I'm not breaking up with you- I mean I'm not- I'm pastel for you too, Party." It's Jet's turn to look away but Poison drops a skate in their lap to stare at him. "I didn't think you felt any way for me, I mean you're Party 'I insult everyone' Poison, I never thought you'd like someone like-"

"I don't insult every one." They interject with a sigh. "You and Kobra both on top of me over this." They shake their head, Ghoul understood the need to cover everything up and keep things safe with a shell of spite but Kobra and Jet would just zip shut over anything touchy. Well, or punch your lights out if it was Jet.

"Wait a minute, what were you going to say?"

Jet turned slightly towards them, "I didn't think you'd like someone all well, quiet n' stuff. Man, I come home from work and then just work on my bots whiles you off partying the lights away."

"Pff Star, you think I go to parties to pick up 'joys to date?"

"I mean, yeah?" Jet looks at them confused as he puts on another skate, "Think these fit." he said absent mindedly, still looking intently at Party.

"Star, I go to parties for the music, for the friends, and yeah maybe sometimes to blow off some adrenaline without a raygun, but I-" they stuck out their tongue slightly as they slipped the lace into an eyelet, I don't take people home from parties and I'd never fuck anyone, ever they want to say but instead just mutter, "I don't go to the club for crushes. And besides, I didn't think you liked me. Whyd'ja think I sent The Kid to ask for me."

"Party what do you mean! How could I not be pastel for your smiles and when you wear tank tops while tagging up the radio station, or skirts out to parties, and the way you get all nervous before reading."

"Okay now that's just not fair. You're so cute when you're covered in motor oil and showing me your bots, not to mention how sharp of a shot you are both at darts and dracs. But also you know you make the best milkshakes this side of the radiation pools."

"Stoop now you makin me all melted." Star shoves them and laughs,

"Not before you did!" Party retorts and they dissolve into a fit of laughter.

The following night Party and Jet rode down to the rink. The lights were bright and the pizza was pretty shitty but it was ok. Jet told them about his plans to try to make a drone while Party tied his skates for him. They stepped out on the rink and skated in a small circle then rolled back to the edge where Jet was still standing on the carpet. On other days they would stare at the black and bright colored carpet wanting to look like it but they knew Jet was just scared.

"If you fall, I've got you." They whispered in his ear and he looked up. Poison hadn't seen Star actually scared, not since ray blasts streaked the sky. He stepped onto the rink and diligently kept his feet exactly parallel.

"Here see, you skate like this." Party kicked off and skated a few feet, then turned and slid back to Jet.

"Here goes nothing." Star said and tried to put his feet into a V like theirs. He started to pick up his foot but fell off-balanced onto Party who hit the rink on their wrist guard. Star was mortified but his body was so close, Party reminded themself to breathe. They ran their hand along his arm.

"Hi" they breathed

"I suck at this for real." Jet groaned and then took their hand. Party got onto their feet and pulled Jet up to standing.

They spent most of the night very close to the nice friendly padded wall. Party showed Jet how to get comfortable on his skates and every once in a while left him on the shore of the rink to practice a spin or skating backwards.

"Now you're just showing off." Jet laughed as Party vogued to the song playing.

"C'mon you can at least do this." They insisted and rolled their wrist against their neck. Jet was much better at voguing than skating, shaping his face square and sweeping circles in the air. Party watched with a quiet smile intently trained on Jet, watching him slowly get more confident until the fear from the beginning of the night melted away.

Eventually Jet did manage to skate without holding onto anything, only to realize he didn't know how to stop. Veering towards Party, he pressed them up to the wall. Poison just laughed.

"Can I kiss you Star?" Party asked

"Only if you show me how to stop after." Jet smiled and Party pressed a kiss to his cheek. Jet held onto the wall as Party kicked off into a simple forwards skate.

"Point your toes and bring your legs together." Party half shouts over the music. Jet takes a couple of tries but eventually gets the hang of it. He skates up to Party and stops right in front of them. They hold his hands and he kisses them. Poison flips up to stand on their heel stops and leans into him. When they finish skating Jet's legs are shaking. He thinks it's on account of it being his first time skating. Party can't tell if it's from skating or being on a date with Jet. But really it's all three mixed into a wavering walk home bubbling with laughter and then dying down to quiet murmurs on the wind.

"So, what's your revenge against my innocent little ask?" Party said with their hand on their hips and a sarcastic lilt in their voice.

"You know how little Mr. Tommy Chow Mein's got that one spot on the back shelf that damn no body supposed to touch?"

"Oh noo, what about it."

"Well, I've been peeping this helmet he's got up there, right? And I think it'd be perfect to go with my wheels now that I have some races under my belt as Lucky No. 27 this dinky BLI helmet got nothing on the other guys. I want you, with all that charisma you got packed away in there, to get it in my hands."

"Oh come on Kid, it's TCM! I can't just walk up to our used-to-be-dad and ask him to sell me contra!"

"It's not actually contraband though, red." Jet Star chimes in from where he's listening bemusedly to the venom siblings. "Hand me a hair tie would you Ghoul?" he asks Ghoul, who's patiently getting his hair braided by Jet.

"I got 50 carbons you can use for bartering."

"Oh sure that'll help but it's still the no sells shelf. And TCM isn't pastel for you like Mx. Propulsion here." Ghoul said with a smirk and Jet flicks hair in his face.

"Alright alright, I'll try but no promises alright Kobra."

"What? Just try, that's BS."

"Hey I didn't know if I'd be getting a joyfriend or not out of your favor, I don't know if you'll be off with a helmet or not."

"Fine." Kobra said in a drawn out whine.

Poison grabbed the ring of carbons and Ghoul tossed Jet the keys to the Trans Am.

"You're coming too?" Party asks as Jet leaves with them

"You know I want to see how this plays out." He said with a laugh and Party rolls their eyes.

"Make sure they're putting in effort, I want that helmet next sunrise race!" Kobra called as they left.

"Heyy Tommy C! How's it hanging?" Party said

"It's hanging like a plastic bag in a 'crow's nest- what do you want Party?" Tommy shuts off whatever audio drama he'd been listening to and leaned on the counter looking down at Party.

"Jus' wanna talk, that so bad?" Tommy just rolled his eyes.

"Look are you buying something or just here to make me change the station. I've heard enough of your rants, I'm not turning on the radio my books are just fine."

"So listen, I was just wondering about that helmet you got over there. It's pretty bonus track and a uh, associate of mine was looking into it."

"This is not the helmet you're looking for." TCM said and a wave of calm washed over Party. They were immediately confused, they were never this calm. There was something they needed but it wasn't here. Wait of course it was. Jet wouldn't be standing in the corner watching the whole scene amused if it hadn't been for Kobra. What was it about Kobra? He wanted the helmet right. It took half of Party's effort just to remember this but then he was at it again.

"Where'd you get it anyways?"

"A long time ago. It's very old, your sibling doesn't want it."

"Oh yeah?" That pang hit their thoughts again but they kept going. "Where'd you get it?"

"No where near here, a galaxy far far away, you could say."

"Well look, since you already know it's The Kid who's trying to get his hands on it what do you even have against him?'

"Yeah, Jet pipes up- me and Ghoul were the ones always pulling pranks on you. He didn't do nothing to you."

"Let me do this, it's not your trade." Party said, putting their hand on Jet's chest.

"Fine." Jet sighed and went back to browsing the zine rack.

"The Kobra Kid can't have my helmet, and no one else can either."

"Ok but what if I gave you 50 Cs?" Party asked, stifling the blow to their train of thought.

"Agh! Why don't these work on you rascal?" Tommy threw down his sunglasses in annoyance. "Fine you want to know about this helmet. I got this helmet pod racing until my rival decided to blow out my hyperdrive frequency and led me to crash land by ship on this measly planet. And then what? Jammed radios from a certain somebody meant I couldn't fly anymore. Set up shop instead, an the rest's history.

"But you know what? If it's useless to me, it's just as useless to you and yours." Tommy sighed and took the carabiners of 25 carbons each and slid them onto the rods in his cash register and begrudgingly passed the helmet down to Party.

"Kobra! We're home!"

"Did they get my helmet?" Kobra asks as he runs into the nest.

"Sure did! Diligently and without help from yours truly." Jet reported back and kissed Party quickly on the cheek to the return of a grin on their face.

Kobra ran over and took the helmet from Poison and immediately put it on.

"Uh Party?" He waved his arms around

"Do you like it?"

"Pois, I can't see a thing." Kobra took the helmet back off and examined the front, realizing that not only was GOOD LUCK painted across the entire screen but the inside was also painted black.

"What the-" Party grabbed it from him and put it on, only to find completely darkness and if they crossed their eyes, a bit of shine to the paint.

"Man you get a joyfriend and I get a fuckin useless helmet!? Last time I ask you for a favor!" He pouces onto Poison and they topple onto the couch, wrestling each other until it dissolves into a pillow fight.

#snake writes #this was so fun to write #ask to tag #jet star #party poison #kobra kid #ttlotfk #ttlofk #danger days #starparty #jetpoison #answered aks

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komahinasecretexchange · 4 years

Text

Title: Feelings To Write About

Author: @magioftheseas

For: @spaghetti4u

Pairings/Characters: KomaHina + mentioned KamuKoma

Rating/Warnings: G

Prompt: “Hinata or someone else trying to encourage Komaeda into doing something funny to spend the time (going to the beach, playing some game or anything really!)” + “Sharing a bed”

Author’s notes: It’s a pretty lowkey fic, and I ended up having them talk about the WoH because I have fluffy feelings when it comes to them. Cakeland is obviously based off Candyland which I have a lot of nostalgia for. I hope it’s cutesy enough for you!

The weather on Jabberwock wasn’t the perfect, eternal sunshine it had been in the simulation. There were storms and quite harsh ones at that. Hence why when him and Komaeda got caught up in one, he brought Komaeda with him to the hotel for studier shelter rather than just relying on one of their cottages. It was one of those weeks where the others were out trying to fix other parts of the world or meeting with the other sections of the Future Foundation, so the hotel was as vast as it was vacant. Hinata doesn’t try to think about how this scenario is like a million haunted movies and games—he especially doesn’t want to think about games—and instead, he focuses on drying Komaeda’s hair off with several towels.

Komaeda is docile when being fussed over, but he’s still shaking like a leaf. Hinata wraps him in some blankets for good measure, trying to keep a straight face when Komaeda sneezes.

“If we get enough blankets and pillows, this won’t be too bad a place to sleep for the night,” he says, tearing open a tissue packet pulled from Komaeda’s pocket for the other to blow his nose on. Hinata does flash him a smile, playing idly with the wet but still springy curls on his boyfriend’s head. “Do you need anything else to make yourself comfortable?”

“Mm.” A noncommittal hum and a meek shrug. Komaeda’s been in a low mood all day and the storm hadn’t seemed to help measures. Hinata tries to retain a reassuring smile as he tucks silvery strands behind the other’s ear. “It doesn’t really matter.”

I wouldn’t ask if that were true. Hinata bites his tongue. You know I would’ve just decided what to do without you. You probably wouldn’t even care in this state.

“There might be board games,” he found himself saying. “How about we play something to pass the time? You like Go, right?”

Komaeda shrugs again, as if he didn’t carry around go jars all throughout high school and even had them stored in his cottage at that exact moment. Hinata can only sigh and go along with Komaeda’s unstated hesitance.

“Maybe something new,” he said as we went to the closet where the board games were stored. “Variety is the spice of life.”

Komaeda sneezes behind him and makes no further comments. Fine. That’s fine. Hinata should just focus on deciding—or just grab the first thing that catches his eye and settle with that. Which is what he does. Either the dormant Kamukura Izuru’s kicking him in the mental balls right now or Komaeda’s momentary apathy is contagious.

He could figure out which if he thought about it. He elects not to think as to conserve energy. This is how he lives his life now.

Although the board game he grabbed is—not really to his or to Komaeda’s tastes. He still commits and takes it with him before setting it in front of Komaeda. Komaeda does look at the cover, his mouth twitching.

“Cakeland,” Hinata read aloud. “For ages 4 and up. If I didn’t know any better I’d say this is Usami’s doing.”

“Oh, I’ve seen it before,” Komaeda said, soft and low. “Utsugi-san was fond of it. She always forced me to be Donatsuo. She hated that character most.”

Even without a genius brain, Hinata can tell who that is. The donuts-themed boy with short choppy hair and absurdly large, caramel-colored eyes.

“This was Utsugi-san’s character of choice,” Komaeda recalled, tapping his finger against a happy girl in pink. “Ichigo-hime.”

“So,” Hinata said, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Was this game any good?”

“It’s not very complicated because it’s for kids, ages four and up,” was Komaeda’s dull response.

“We’re not kids but we’re older than four, so we should be fine.”

With all that said, it looked like they were playing Cakeland. Hinata sets up the board—which is even kitschier in design than the box and he picks the character that looked the most normal-ish save for a strange hairstyle—identified by Komaeda as the Baron Maron. Komaeda does look between them and muffle a small snort, and Hinata doesn’t care to ask.

Komaeda picks Donatsuo, although he very lovingly places other pieces aside. Ichigo-hime and a few others who mysteriously had similar color schemes to those troubled kids he babysat all that time ago. As Servant. In Towa. After Enoshima Junko died but they were still all in despair.

That he can even have fond memories at all—

Hinata feels his throat burn with questions, but swallows back and just rolls the dice.

“We’re just both going to get six,” Komaeda said. “What to do?”

Hinata doesn’t say that he could probably get any roll he so wanted, so he just grumbles.

“I’ll go first because it’s in my name. Sound enough logic?”

Komaeda giggled warmly. It strikes a soft chord within him, and his heart may or may not do a flip in appreciation of such a sound.

“Whatever,” Hinata says, drawing a card. “What’s important are these, anyway. Wow, I drew you.” He does flash the card, showcasing Donatsuo with a dorky grin and dual peace signs. “Guess that means I go to your character space. It’s the first one on the map though so it’s not that far ahead.”

“It’s good luck to get that at the beginning of the game but bad luck to get that at the end,” Komaeda said, drawing his own card. He just gets a plain color so he only moves ahead four spaces. “Since your luck is better than mine, I wonder if this is even a fair game…”

“Your luck is still formidable,” Hinata pointed out as he drew. It was green. That was five spaces. “I’d say it breaks to about even.”

“Oh, no,” Komaeda breathed, shaking his head. “No, that’s wrong. Comparing my luck to yours is like comparing a gnat to a swan because both can fly.”

“It’s not…” Hinata sputtered a bit, unsure of what the hell to make of that. “What does that even mean? Komaeda, your—your luck’s on a whole other level. You should know that more than anyone.”

Komaeda just draws. He still hasn’t selected a special card. Hinata ends up drawing the next one, a strange angelic figure named Enjunji, who he just didn’t get good vibes from.

“Kemuri-kun’s favorite,” Komaeda said quietly and Hinata moved further ahead. It was the closest character space in reality, so it still wasn’t impressive.

I have a feeling I know how this is gonna go.

Still, they kept playing.

“You’re still like that, huh,” Hinata mused quietly. “You’re still—really harsh on yourself. That hasn’t changed, but I suppose other things have.”

“Other things?” Komaeda echoed before laughing. “Like what, per say?”

“You’re not as reckless as you used to be,” was the immediate answer. Another draw. Another several steps ahead. Komaeda’s piece was struggling to keep up. “You’re much calmer. You don’t talk about hope and talent all the time.”

“Because,” Komaeda said. “Hope’s Peak—the encapsulation of all of that—was in reality a breeding ground for despair. It was poisoned to the core and I was just too blind to notice.”

We all were, myself especially, Hinata thought, reaching up to touch his temple. He knew Komaeda noticed, but his eyes screwed shut so that he wouldn’t have to see whatever warp Komaeda’s face. I wasn’t just blind, I was so, so fucking stupid.

“You agreed to be with me,” he forced out so that he wouldn’t have to keep thinking about his own failures. “Your old self never would’ve let yourself have any real sense of happiness. At least not something you’d have to maintain, like a relationship.”

Komaeda chuckled. “You mean you would’ve let me reject you?”

“You did reject me,” Hinata reminded him dryly. “Several times. And then you demanded Tsumiki make sure I didn’t have brain damage.”

“Oh, did I?” Komaeda tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I still find your attachment to me nonsensical, especially when I more or less stated I wanted nothing to do with you in the past. But—I suppose you knew that was a lie, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, you’re a liar.” Hinata cracked a smile. “At least when it comes to your feelings. You’re sincere most of the time.”

“The proper word is stupid,” Komaeda said, moving his piece a single space with a nudge from a metallic finger. “I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. Don’t say that. You shouldn’t even think it.”

Hinata’s tone was as serious as it was grim. Komaeda’s self-effacing expression twitched, but he simply ducked his head reservedly.

“It’s in moments like this where you most resemble Kamukura-kun,” he murmured, fringe falling before his eyes and obscuring his gaze. “He’d speak up like this in the past despite being so quiet most of the time.”

Hinata felt a stirring in the back of his head. He held his breath until it went away and all that was left was the pounding in his ears. Even with that, he still knew.

“He cared about you.”

Kamukura doesn’t let him see into those memories often, although he still sometimes imagined it—maybe even dreamed it. Komaeda Nagito, eyes murky with despair and shoulders trembling under the weight of it, smiling up at him.

“He didn’t think to acknowledge it, much less accept it,” he went on, rubbing his digits into his scalp and catching skin flakes and rain droplets under his nails. “I was the same way in the simulation.”

“You both had strong reasoning to be that way, my inherent worthlessness none withstanding.” Komaeda laughed. “I wasn’t exactly in my best frame of mind at either time, although that’s not saying much.”

“Nor was I,” Hinata retorted. “I even denied part of my identity. I was—pathetic. You were right about that.”

Komaeda is quiet, lips twisting. His shoulders shake briefly under a certain kind of weight. Hinata draws his next card, and it’s another character, a studious blue one named Chouchoux.

“You were an ass about it,” he said. “Like, an absolute ass. But, hey, definitely not the worst thing about you at the time. By the way, this one was used for Shingetsu Nagisa, wasn’t it?”

Komaeda nodded, fiddling with his mechanical hand and making a loud series of whirly noises. He drew his card as well. Another plain one, with his piece moving only two spaces ahead.

Hinata draws and it’s a card of a boy in stripes and red, looking fierce and fiery. Torayaki—obviously the favored character of one Daimon Masaru.

“Do you miss them?” he found himself asking. “If so, we can contact Towa City and ask Naegi’s sister how they’re doing. They might even be curious about you.”

“I doubt it,” Komaeda laughed mirthlessly. “And it’s fine. As long as they’re doing well.”

“I don’t think they hated you,” Hinata said. “You took care of them after all.”

“I was a wretched despair.” Komaeda shook his head. “And they were perfectly self-sufficient. I doubt they even think of me anymore—and rightfully so. I only approached them in the first place out of curiosity, not because I saw children who needed protection and guidance.”

“They would’ve killed you if you had,” Hinata can’t help but remind him. “Probably would’ve found that sentiment insulting with all that they’ve been through. They were children and angry ones at that. I don’t blame them, of course…” He trails off. “I don’t think it’d be bad to send a letter now that things have calmed down a little.”

Not to mention—you lit up when talking about them. You’ve been listless lately, and I know. I get it. There’s no particular reason for it, that’s just how depression works sometimes. I still missed your smile, Nagito.

“Just a letter shouldn’t be too bad,” he insisted. “You’ve been practicing your calligraphy with that hand after all.”

The hand in question flexes. No joints pop, it’s just more whirls. Komaeda does smile, but it’s one that is curled up on his face, like a body trying to keep itself warm in the cold.

Hinata draws Ichigo-hime next. At this rate, Komaeda has no chance of winning. But the funny thing about a game like this was that luck of the draw could flip things so easily. There was one last character space, furthest ahead and closest to the end.

“Maybe,” Komaeda says and—as expected, he draws the card.

It’s a young woman dressed in green named Monaka-jou-sama.

Komaeda wins the games just a few turns later.

Outside, it was still storming.

“It’s pretty late, so let’s get ready for bed, Nagito.”

“Okay.”

Hinata goes to find futons while Komaeda puts away the board game. Hinata sets up a couple of makeshift beds and he presses them together. He does pause afterward, wondering if this was right. He heard Komaeda shuffling about, the whirling of his arm, and then, he felt Komaeda sliding the board game back onto the shelf. Thunder rumbles, the trees are being rustled by the wind, and Komaeda lets out a soft whew.

Hinata is still up until the moment he hears the padding of Komaeda’s soft footsteps, and he only truly relaxes when Komaeda’s slim arms encircle his waist, with Komaeda pressing his face into Hinata’s back. He pets Komaeda’s hair with a lop-sided smile, and Komaeda’s cheeks puff.

“You don’t just remember the simulation, right,” he murmured. “You have Kamukura-kun’s memories, too.”

“Technically,” Hinata replied. “Kamukura Izuru has to share them with me first. Sometimes he does. Sometimes he doesn’t.”

Komaeda huffed.

“It’s so complicated, keeping you two separate yet also together. Sometimes I wonder who I’m with.”

I wonder that, too. But what matters is…

“Regardless of who I am, I still love you.” He pats Komaeda’s head. “That much is and always will be clear.”

“Regardless of who you are, I love you, too,” is mumbled into his back.

It’s so soft a sound that Hinata wouldn’t have even heard him if not for the vibrations, but that’s fine. It’s not like he’s ignorant to Komaeda’s feelings. Not anymore.

He ushers Komaeda under the blankets, Komaeda still clinging to his wrist all the while. Chuckling softly, Hinata slips in after him and squeezes Komaeda’s hand. He rubs his thumb against the other’s pulse, only pausing because Komaeda grips him with the mechanical hand. His grip only tightens when Hinata kisses his forehead and then down his face.

“When the storm passes,” Hinata says, nuzzling along Komaeda’s jawline and pressing another kiss to his cheek where ensuing the blush tinted it pink. “We should send out letters.”

Komaeda ducks his head, but he still accepts the affection that he’s showered with.

“We should also walk along the beach, maybe,” Hinata teases. “See what gets washed up. It might be treasure.”

“You’re a treasure,” Komaeda retorted, flustered. Shoving Hinata’s hands off and his face away, he buried his face into Hinata’s chest, hiding it from further embarrassment. “You’re the worst thing to have ever washed up on that beach.”

Hinata hummed, stroking his hair.

I didn’t technically wash up, but…

“And yet you stayed behind for me.” Hinata hides his smile in those wild white curls. “You’re still here right now.”

Komaeda grumbled but gave no further response. That was fine. Perfectly fine.

Stay with me, alright? Please keep staying with me. He decided against asking that for now for now. Opting instead for, “Sweet dreams, Nagito. I love you.”

#komahina #kamukoma #fanfiction #komahina secret exchange

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aenwoedbeannaa · 4 years

Text

Forest Fires | Geralt x Reader | Pt. 4

Summary: You are a Huntress who has been living in the forest for years, as far from civilization as you can get. Until recently, you were quite content living there alone, until one day you find a gravely wounded Witcher in the forest. It has been two weeks, and you have grown to need one another. But sooner or later, you fear that your secret will come out, and you have no idea how Geralt of Rivia will respond when it does.

Note: You know… I could have ended it here with some fluff and tied up with a nice little bow, but then I realized it is me, and the dark storylines and action were bound to happen sometime. Sooo here we go. Hope you enjoy!

Also, this is Part 4, so make sure to read the first three parts here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3. Make sure to follow so you don’t miss out on future chapters!

Warnings: Mentioned smut, also sad.

Morning came slowly—the kind of morning where you feel as if you are floating, wrapped in happiness and warmth, a haze that brings comfort rather than fear. For a few moments, you do not open your eyes. You want to savor this moment, where every inch of your body was pressed up against Geralt in a tangle of limbs.

You feel his chest, rising and falling at an inhumanly slow pace, and you feel his heart beating a slow steady rhythm. That, and the Witcher’s arm still draped around you, has you never wanting to leave this bed—you never want to leave his arms.

But still, you know that you have to get up sooner or later. You still have to skin the deer that you’d hunted yesterday, and you needed to do the same with the rabbits. In Geralts embrace, you cannot feel the chill in the air, but you can tell by the slight frost built up along the edges of the windows that it is growing colder. Winter always seemed to approach this way—one day it was warm with a cool breeze, the next it was gray and cold, with icy wind blowing through the forest.

The Witcher must have felt the flutter of your eyelashes against his chest as you blinked them open and looked about, because you hear him sigh contentedly and feel him shift slightly on the bed, fingers tracing invisible patterns on your bare skin.

“Morning,” you finally say, a little unsure. You’d certainly taken men to your bed and woken up to find them gone, and for some reason, you almost felt as if you were only imagining his warm strength next to you, but you know that its really him.

“Morning,” he responds in the even deeper, tired voice that you have grown used to hearing as you prepared for you days.

You gingerly shift away from him slightly so that you can prop yourself up on one elbow and look at the still fresh scars across his shoulder and chest. “How are you feeling?” you ask, eyes scanning over the area. You don’t notice any swelling, and his face appears relaxed, not like before, when he’d grimace and try to hide his pain with a smile.

“Never better,” he said with a grin, rolling onto his side so he is facing you.

Trying not to read too much into the words, you let out a huff of a laugh, chewing your lower lip. “Oh, come on, Witcher—I’m certain you’ve had better mornings than this.” It would be hard to believe, by any stretch of the imagination, that the famous Geralt of Rivia would be so happy to be shut up in a middle-of-nowhere cabin with an antisocial huntress. And yet, the softness of his gaze told another story.

“I’ve never had a morning like this one.” His only response comes out in a matter-of-fact sentence that somehow still edged with emotion, sharp as a knife.

You blush, still chewing your lip as you try to think of a proper response. But before you can say anything, Geralt catches your gaze once more before his eyes move to your lips. “Is this you asking me to kiss you?” he quips, catching your chin between his forefinger and thumb.

You start to laugh, still frantically searching for words that will never come, but Geralt silences you by pressing his lips to yours, soft and sweet. A morning kiss from a person you… care about.

When he finally pulls away, he still grins down at you, brushing some stray hairs from your face and then running his thumb over your cheek, warm to the touch from blushing so heavily. “You are adorable,” he says after a moment of consideration. “If I hadn’t seen you shoot that bow and arrow, I might’ve mistaken you for a deer.” He kisses you once more, a soft peck on your forehead.

“Now, as much as I’d like to lay here all day, I’m starving,” the Witcher admits. You nod in agreement, as you’d been thinking the same thing. Long days of work followed by long nights of, well, everything the two of you did the night before, certainly helped you work up quite an appetite.

“I can make porridge,” you offer with a shrug. Nothing special, but it is the breakfast you usually make. You’d have to go to the market for fresh eggs, as you had no hens. You could get them from birds’ nests, but you could never quire bring yourself to do it. They seemed too delicate, and the thought of a bird coming back to an empty nest was heartbreaking. So, no eggs.

Thinking for another moment, you add, “I can make bacon as well.” Somehow, you feel that this breakfast should be special, as if having sex means you have to feed him better now. Or maybe, you don’t want him to know how much you’ve been rationing the last couple of weeks. You always had enough food for yourself, but you’d never even considered that anyone else would be joining you in your little home in the forest. It was a safe-haven away from the cities and towns, a place where you could hide from the war, pretend like it wasn’t happening; guests were not a thing you planned for.

“Hm,” the Witcher muses, “Bacon does sound delicious.”

You smile, slowly sitting up, bracing yourself against the slight chill as you let the covers fall from around you. The fire has died down now to only a few smoldering pieces of wood and charcoal. You’ll have to re-light that as well. However, before you can step out of bed, the Witcher sits up, wrapping his arms around you and pressing himself against your back. All at once, the warmth returns, and the goosebumps covering your skin disappear.

“You stay warm,” he says, “I can take care of it.”

You want to protest, to tell him that you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, as you have been for years now. But there is nothing patronizing in his voice, nothing to suggest that he actually thinks you are incapable. Instead, it is just the kind of warm kindness of someone who just wants to do something kind for somebody else. How strange, you think, that all my life I’ve been told Witchers are monsters. Granted, you have only met one Witcher, but he acts more like a man than any you’ve ever met.

As he gets out of bed and pulls on his trousers and a shirt, you catch his arm before he walks away.

“Geralt,” you say quickly, stumbling slightly over the words, “I… Thank you.”

“No need,” he responds quickly, bending over to place a kiss on top of your head.

You try to stay in bed, curled up among the covers, but only a few minutes pass before you get up and start dressing. You’ve never been one who can lay about all day. Especially when there is work to be done, you cannot make yourself stay still. Geralt is out in the shed, which you use for salting and drying meat. He lit the fire with one of those Witcher signs that you couldn’t quite understand, so the cottage is warm and cozy once again—a sharp contrast to the cold, wild forest that surrounds it.

He had also already placed a pot over the stove, slowly bringing the oats to a boil. You give it a quick stir before setting the heavy lid back on top of the pot. Then, you head outside and around back to the cellar doors, bumping into Geralt on the way.

“I thought I told you to stay in bed!” he says with fake disappointment, shaking his head as he looks you up and down. You’re dressed in your usual leathers and lace-up top. You don’t own many dresses – hunting is rather difficult in them. You never quite felt pretty before, but those amber eyes somehow change your mind. You must be beautiful, for him to look at you like that.

“I’m just running down to the cellar to get some ale,” you tell him, “Bought some at the market a few weeks back.” You’d never tried brewing your own ale – the whole process just seemed far too complicated. Lots of waiting around, and lots of room for error. Besides, you made a decent living selling extra furs, leathers, and meats to the village folk. You could splurge here and there.

“In that case, by all means, go ahead,” Geralt says with a smirk, patting you on the back as he walks back toward the cottage. You laugh and watch him until he’s rounded the corner, then head to the cellar doors, lifting the heavy wood and walking carefully down the crude wooden steps. You didn’t bring a candle, so you leave the cellar door open to let a stream of light in.

You make your way to the back, in the corner that never gets any light, where you keep things that need to stay as cold as possible. It takes you a moment to feel along the shelf, searching for the right jug. But then, all of a sudden, you feel the jugs start to rattle. Your eyes widen almost immediately, once you realize that it’s not all in your head.

“What the hell?” You back away from the shelf as the rattling intensifies, sure that the glass and earthenware jugs are going to start falling if this keeps up. Panic rises into your throat as you back towards the stream of light and the stairs. You have no idea what is happening, but you know that you need to get out of there.

The next realization hits as you make it to the stairs—there are only two things that can be making the ground shake so violently. Magic, or a cavalry, and a large one at that.

“Geralt!” It comes out in a desperate yell, though you are certain he is more aware of what is happening than you are.

You trip on the third stair, having attempted to run up them too quickly. Thankfully, you don’t hit your head. The last thing you need now would be to knock yourself unconscious. Whoever is coming, it is unlikely that they’re friendly.

“Y/N!” the Witcher’s voice pulls you out of your head, and you look up to see him at the entrance to the cellar above you, offering you a hand. He has your bow and quiver in the other, and two swords on his back.

You take his free hand and he hauls you up. You don’t even have time to question what is going on as he hands you your bow.

“Does anyone know that you’re here?” he asks you, one hand still gripping your arm. You just shake your head, eyes wide with surprise. Niflguaard has made their way across most of the Northern Kingdoms, but that has been going on for quite some time. You’d picked this place, so far from the nearest town, let alone city, partly because of that fact. You hadn’t expected Nilfguaard or any of the other armies to come anywhere close to your hideout, let alone close enough that the ground shakes.

“A few family members?” You desperately search your mind for anyone else who might know, anyone who would have connections to Nilfguaard. Of course, that could be a lost cause. Armies didn’t need a reason to tear across land; it’s just what they do. But the stories you heard—the things the Nilfguaardians would do—make your hair stand on end and your grip tighten on your bow.

The Witcher finally speaks, pulling you away from the cottage and further into the trees, where the shade bathes the two of you in shadow. “I’m sorry.”

You look at him, confusion streaking your face. “Sorry… What do you--?”

“Nilfguaard is looking for me,” he speaks before you can finish your question, “They may have learned that I’m here somehow... They’ve got spies. Dammit, they must have figured it out, and now you’re in danger, too. Fuck!”

You are silent for a moment, staring down at your feet before finally lifting your head to look at him. You breathe in and out, steadying your breath before finally looking up at him. “No, Geralt,” you tell him, shaking your head, “They’ve been looking for me for years.”

You slowly reach into your pocket, pulling out the brass necklace, an ornate crystal moon hanging from it. You haven’t worn it since he’s been here—in fact, you haven’t worn it in years. “I thought.. I thought perhaps if I hid out here, didn’t use magic, that they would give up. They would think I was dead.” You look at the man you’ve come to care so much for, expecting to see him looking back at you with disgust. This whole time, he’d been with a Sorceress, and you hadn’t even told him. But he wasn’t looking at you with disgust. Surprise, yes, but he didn’t look ready to run for the hills.

“Not a bad plan,” he finally says, that same matter-of-fact tone you are so used to hearing from him, though he’s speaking in a whisper. “What did you do to piss them off?” he asks a moment later, a rueful smile on his lips.

“It’s a long story,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I used to be a mage at court.” The ground is still rumbling, even, the sound growing even louder now as the two of you weave between trees, looking for a place to hide. He doesn’t say anything, just continues to pull you along, his hand still wrapped around your forearm. You find that you are glad for it, like it is an anchor holding you to the world, staving off your rising panic.

“They put a bounty on my head after I refused to kidnap a girl, a child… I couldn’t do it, so I ran.”

At that, he stops moving and stares down at you. A moment of silence passes, where the only sound to be heard is the sound of hooves hitting the ground faster and faster, coming from the direction of your cottage.

“Cirilla?”

You stare back at him, and slowly nod. But before either of you can ask another question, you realize that the sound of horses running has died away, leaving only ear-splitting silence. You are shaking now, and you draw closer to him, the two of you hiding behind a large tree.

You smell the fire before you see it, but you know exactly where it is coming from. You lean out, peering around the tree, to see the orange glow of flames and the obsidian-black smoke of fire as flames engulf your home.

To be continued.

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Taglist: @dark-night-sky-99, @pantrashtic, @lilred254, @cilorawr, @blackravena, @keithseabrook27, @danielarlington, @jesseswartzwelder, @fairytale07, @divaroze, @geeksareunique, @evyiione, @salmonbutter

#forest fires #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia fanfiction #witcher fanfic #fanfiction

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lihikainanea · 4 years

Note

it's raunchy hours here in the twilight zone so allow me to indulge you with a thought— bill practicing a sex scene for one of his upcoming roles on tiger. him in full character, would tiger get excited if for example bill was practicing a sex scene as roman / henry / etc?

or as THE BRAND NeW SWEDISH GANGSTER? Babe you sent this to me ages ago, and I didn’t get to it. And now I know why.

God I’ll bet he sets the scene, doesn’t he? Of course he does. I don’t know much about Clark Olofsson and I’m pretty sure this is wildly inaccurate but like...John Joseph Gotti, right? One of them gentlemen gangsters. Feared, cruel, even son of a bitch--but one that dressed real well and knew how to treat a lady.

And he’s seen the way tiger is eyeing him on set, eating him up in his costume and his accent and the whole bit. Let’s not forget--tiger loves it when Bill gets a little mean. So when he’s a dapper gentlemen in a scene and then gets all ruthless and mad as hell, tiger is just d y i n g. And Bill knows. He remembers her little Merkel kink that he indulged for her some time ago.

So listen, Bill has a real early call time one morning. He kisses her in her sleep, squeezes her a little tighter, and then he leaves--but he leaves a nice dress, a real nice dress, in a dry cleaning bag strewn neatly across the chair. A pair of high heels--very high heels, higher than she’d ever wear--on the floor in front of it. A note saying that she better be looking real good for dinner with his clients tonight. A hairdresser will come by the room at 4, the make up artist at 5. He leaves the tube of her dark, crimson lipstick--the one he loves on her--beside the note, and the unwritten message is clear. Wear it.

Tiger wakes up and stretches, makes her way to the coffee machine, and she sees the whole kit. She snickers a little, but then she reads the note and...oh. Oh my. A little thrill runs through her, and she texts her big dude. Asks him what the hell the deal is.

She gets a text back in return.

Mr. Olofsson is currently unavailable. He’s tending to business matters.

Oh.

And a second one a minute later:

But he implores you to mind your language when addressing him, Mrs. Olofsson.

Oh, my.

She texts him sporadically out the day, but is always met with some variation of it--his messages sometimes a tad annoyed, a tad warning, a tad mean the more she picks at him--until his assistant texts her, and tiger can read the confusion in the message.

He said...pineapple applies? Does that mean anything to you?

Tiger smiles.

And sure enough, at 4 o’clock the hairdresser knocks on the door. Tiger lets her in, but as she goes to close it, the girl stops her.

“My assistant is coming, ma’am. She just needs to get her kit from the car.”

“Her...kit?”

“For your nails, ma’am.”

“Right,” tiger eyes her, “Okay then.”

So they set tiger up, push her into a comfy chair, and the manicurist gets to work on her hands. Tiger leans over, tries to peek into her bag.

“Can I see some of your colours?” she asks. The girl bites her lip.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she says, “But Mr. Olofsson already chose the colour. I only brought that one.”

“Of course he did,” tiger smirked, and then gestured to her hair, “I suppose he also told you what he wanted, here?”

“He did, Mrs. Olofsson.”

“Right then.”

And they doll her up to the nines. To the nines. Her hair is soft and shiny, big waves and loose curls just how he likes. Her nails are polished in crimson--identical to the lipstick that the make up artist swiped on her. Her make up is dramatic, deep feline-flicked eyeliner and everything is sultry and mysterious and...dangerous. They help her get dressed, do up all the straps on her dress and help her teeter on her heels and then the doorbell rings again--and this time, it’s a chauffeur in a crisply pressed tuxedo. Tiger squeaks a little, has to stop herself from running to the gigantic blacked-out, shiny SUV. And that’s when she sees it--Bill. Only it’s not Bill. This dude is tall and handsome but he’s dangerous, his hair curling loosely on his forehead, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips, black striped slacks and a button up shirt rolled to his elbows and--oh god--suspenders. A bow tie hung undone around his neck.

Tiger walks to him--allbeit a little slowly--in her heels.

“You are out of your goddamn mind, you know that?” she mutters incredulously to him. But the grin is wiped off her face when his goes stern, and she sees his jaw clench. Oh my. This is definitely not her Bill.

“You are going to watch your goddamn mouth with me, Mrs. Olofsson” he snaps, “No lady of mine will be caught dead swearing. ‘Specially not at me.”

Tiger squeaks a little, her eyes widening.

“Now apologize, get in the car, and mind your fucking manners tonight.”

She mumbles out an apology and he throws his cigarette to the ground, blowing the smoke out to the side before climbing in the car with her.

And listen, Bill doesn’t let up the entire night. Not for a second. he’s so dapper, so gentlemanly, so mannered. Tiger is wetter than a fire hose, fidgeting in her seat, but it’s clear the night is only over when Bill--er, Mr. Olofsson determines it is. And just uunnnf the sex would be so hot because Clark is a ladies man in that real bad boy way that I hate myself for finding so irresistible? He’s fucking filthy. It’s so dirty, the shit he’s muttering in her ear. He’s got her all tied up and trussed up and gasping for him, and he’s all dominating and taunting and god, tiger is in absolute pieces by the end of it. He probably disappears after too--because you know bad boys don’t stick around. They don’t spend the night, they don’t cuddle--he has clients to get to, associates to exact revenge on, an empire to steal. So instead he swats her ass, leaves her all tied up, tells her she can probably find her way out of it--and then he disappears.

And he probably disappears for a good 20 minutes. Tiger’s pretty sure she blacked out during that time. But when he comes back, he’s...he’s Bill again. Her Bill. His hair is wet from a shower, in a t-shirt and lounge pants, and he has a dopey, soft smile on his face. He smells like soap, like clean and comfort, and he leans over to brush a gentle finger down her cheek.

“Looks like you got yourself into some trouble tonight,” he smiles softly at her.

Tiger still can’t breathe.

#BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabbles

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davidlynchschreibner · 4 years

Text

A long while ago an anon asked me for Davenzi touch headcanons and as happened previously it spiraled out of control into a snapshot-style fic. I left it a long time but with other angsty projects in the works I think it is high time for a fluff break. I hope you enjoy!

A Love Song In The Language Of Hands

With a mother whose arms had always been open for him to crawl into, a boisterous extended family during summer holidays, and friends who drape limbs over each other with thoughtless ease, Matteo has never had any real cause to be touch-starved. Yet, he finds that he has become most spoiled by the ready availability. He asks for nothing but observes how his bones ache and muscles cramp if he goes too long without physical contact. It sates that twinging discomfort to feel a hand on his back, passing over his hair, flicking the round tip of his nose. As he submerges in the warmth he realizes how much he had missed letting it soak in. Readily he gives back, reaching with his hands as once his heart could not, and revels in the care he can exchange. But while the affections of his family both blood and chosen quench his thirst, David is a pitcher of water drawn from an abundant well and the shady cool of a shelter to drink it in. Matteo feels quickly parched for want of the warm press of his body and chapped lips sliding over any available skin. Where the hugs of his friends soothe an ache David’s touch is a euphoric pleasure. So he’s always groping around for it in daylight, artificial light, and darkness. They are teased for their relentless displays of affection but any potential embarrassment rebounds off him without even leaving a scuff mark. Matteo isn’t particular about the method or the mood of their touches but he always craves them. Even a playful slap is good if its David’s hand that’s connecting. He doesn’t have a reason to need like this. But every day he does.

They have equally restless hands. David is an artist and through his eyes Matteo is the first masterpiece he can touch. Not like the stylized saints or marble heroes which awe viewers in museums. Nor the beautiful street art that spills over high city walls and the crumbling innards of abandoned buildings. Matteo is low to the ground, spindly, undecorated when he peels off his many patterned layers. David finds him a perfect canvas that begs for sweeps of paint and ink. The smooth hills of Matteo’s shoulderblades and the sharp mountain range of his spine make a small world to populate with myriad creations. Matteo loves David’s art with oceanic depth and power; he is eager to be part of it. It begins with a bird, a question, and a pen. They both find David’s little portrait on Matteo’s shoulder immensely satisfying. Later, Matteo volunteers to trial a design David is debating for a character and all frustration evaporates as he works. David admires the design after, blows air across the non-toxic paint to dry it, and says only ‘perfect’. With this in mind, Matteo discovers an excellent way to vent stress. When the feelings inside make David feel his skin is stretched too thin Matteo offers for David to communicate in the way he does best--- with art. He works so delicately and diligently, unspooling all the tangled cares of his day and putting them where they are felt, acknowledged, and later washed away by the shower. Matteo lies still for however long it takes, occasionally humming a gentle query or a contented encouragement, until David is almost as relaxed as the puddle of boy beneath him. With an admiring eye the artist observes his work and the way Matteo shows through in the spaces between lines. He smoothes his hands over the fresh ink, uncaring of the way it smudges in places, and presses a kiss to the top of Matteo’s tawny head.

It didn’t take long for Matteo to learn he loves the springy curls of David’s hair beneath his fingers. In quiet moments he strokes tender touches over the pleasantly textured strands, meditating with abstract appreciation how beautiful his boyfriend is. David never lets anyone else touch his hair (would understandably bristle if they tried) but he allows even the most provocative of ruffles because this is Matteo’s love language. His hands are not mean when they tug, not dehumanizing when they reach, not careless when they accidentally get tangled. They can give in their turn the softest admiration and comfort that cards away all worry. The underlying love can be felt no matter what the particular delivery method is. It would be a lie to say that Matteo doesn’t take advantage of his unique permission. Whether it is a playful mussing, sliding his hands into the tight whorls in order to push away or bring closer the face he loves so well, or reverent strokes reserved for private moments, it’s a treasured indulgence. David has grown to enjoy lying pliant under gentle attentions. When they’re curled together in bed or on the living room sofa with a film playing on the television he becomes so relaxed beneath the steady passes over his scalp that he’s fallen asleep on more than one occasion. Matteo buries his fingers in the thickness of the top, rubs over the shaved sides, traces the fine wisps that frame David’s hairline. He loves every hair on David’s head and what he can say with the ways hands move over them.

It’s not a feature most people give thought to but David thinks Matteo’s forehead is particularly well suited to kisses. It’s one of his favourite spots made all the more attractive for being usually covered by tangled ribbons of hair. They tumble into his eyes and move across in unpredictable patterns that shift the slivers of skin between with every movement. Matteo’s forehead isn’t seen in full often but David never forgets the warm plane and the way it curves around his eyebrows. There is a variety of ways to kiss it, each one a silent message that David’s intuitive boyfriend is an expert at interpreting. A slow press still humid with the shared moisture of many kisses says a silent ‘I love you’. A hard smack planted while Matteo tries to dodge teases ‘you’re my favourite idiot’. A feathery brush is an acknowledgment of connection when it feels like there is not enough time in the world. The lingering kiss that rests long and is eventually replaced by David’s cheek murmurs ‘there’s nowhere and no one better than you’. There’s a short peck reserved for praise which makes Matteo’s cheeks dimple and glow more than any flattering words. Sometimes his brow is wrinkled with the swells of his stressors and David traces his lips over the lines until they relax back into smoothness. When David is otherwise occupied with the demands of school, work, and his activities for the student group he volunteers with he apologizes for not being his best self with a firm kiss to Matteo’s temple. They’re still discovering the endless vocabulary of forehead kisses. And they have all the time in the world.

For all that David once fashioned himself a vampire it’s really more Matteo that has an interest in necks. David’s pointedly and specifically. It has always been this way even in the swaddled months of winter, back when they were both hiding in too many layers of clothes and anxiety and David first stood in the WG’s kitchen stripped down to a low-necked shirt. Matteo is quite enthralled with the long lean line his boyfriend displays when he turns his head. His eyes trace the curve from a distance, track the way it bobs when David swallows, shine with contentment when they come indoors from the cold and he watches David unwind his scarf. It’s Matteo’s special place to lavish kisses of both the tender and excited variety. A butterfly-soft contact to reassure, a passionate mouthing in the heat of the moment, a slow press in place of those three precious words. It makes his skin tingle and tighten pleasantly when he runs his lips over David’s throat in the early morning and a patch of stubble pricks him. Sometimes he buries his face there, just presses into the curve of David’s throat and breathes him in. It presses safety into his nerves, the shape slim but solid like the trunk of a young tree, and fragrant with his favourite person’s scent. Despite the strength of it this is such a vulnerable location and they both know it. The skin is thin over blood and bone and he sometimes revels in the fact David is completely at ease beneath his touch. Never shies, never tenses, instead tilts his head in invitation and wraps Matteo up in the warmth of his arms and sunbeam smile.

It’s a very common occurrence to find Matteo lying against David in lazy cat-like fashion and this sight is the one which readily comes to mind. But this is not always the case. It’s fact that David takes immense pleasure in curling his arms around the relaxed borders of the person that embodies home. He would do so until they both surrender to inevitable eternity. But the times where he curls into Matteo and lays his head down are also plentiful. They instinctively relax each other and find the grooves where they can fit together. Sometimes David releases the mindful control with which he guides his life and lets himself dissolve. With a contented puff of air he rests the head so heavy with thoughts in all the dips and bends of Matteo’s body. They cradle him with wordless patience and support. Whether it’s the soft bellows of Matteo’s belly, the sinuous hammock of his shoulder, or the firm plate of his chest, David feels the weight of his skull absorbed as easily as an empty eggshell. Other times, he is thinking of nothing serious at all and feels anchored to the world by the grounding pressure against his head. He turns his cheek into the divots between ribs and listens to the metronome of Matteo’s breath. Or Matteo does something annoying and David lets his head lift and thump back in fond rebuke. Or gently, so as not to jostle their brains, David slots his head just beneath Matteo’s and feels them rest like stacked stones. David can always rest his head on Matteo and the same is true in reverse.

Matteo is fascinated by David’s hands. They are useful in ways he loves to count and he thrills at what they can do. Yet they are not big or heavy with those abilities. The slim lengths of his brown fingers slide between Matteo’s pale digits like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place. Their palms are exactly the same size as he idly measured the first time they pressed together. Beautiful hands, he thinks, capable of both labor and the softest of touches. Long ago Matteo’s hands felt cold with emptiness that longed for another to enfold. It seemed perhaps he would never have that--- especially not from a boy. But David is always eager. In bed or on the street his fingers spread invitingly and prove ready to hook around Matteo’s. He loves those generous hands and how well they care for him. David knows when Matteo is anxious by the way his fingers twitch with the urge to fidget. The calloused pad of David’s thumb rubs soothingly over the nearest knuckle. If Matteo’s hand clenches suddenly tight he’s reaching his snapping point and David quickly places himself between whatever the trigger is and his boyfriend. When Matteo is wilting with the exhaustion of prolonged social engagement he slots their fingers together like a seamless mechanism, squeezes weakly, and David squeezes back in agreement. Then the former gets towed by the hand to an available space where things are less hectic. He’s tugged to lying his weary body against the strong support of David’s with their hands still intertwined. Their palms and fingers speak to each other with a language no one else understands.

Love can be expressed with roughness, David has discovered. He grins when Matteo shoves him across the couch, glares without real ire when teeth nip him, enjoys the way he can’t properly pin his boyfriend down because he fights dirty. The burn in his muscles when they wrestle is like a joyful flush. No matter how tenderly he’s cared for Matteo is still untamed. But that’s perfect--- David wants to be challenged and played with. Matteo pokes him in the side when he’s trying to focus and he slaps at the offending finger to make it go away, but it’s already been retracted in favor of an expectant expression that’s difficult to resist. If he wants to linger in bed (as happens every now and then) but Matteo wants to make breakfast he will seize David by the ankle and try to drag him off the mattress and even across the room should it come to that. They race each other and Matteo cheats to get ahead, but then David tackles him to the ground and they’re both yelling and laughing too much to go on. One day they are talking about something tedious and Matteo starts hitting him repeatedly with a pillow. With a frustrated growl David rips it from him and squashes the soft stuffing into Matteo’s face until he signals that he needs a breath. Even when David swallows it back because really he is irritated there’s always a sound of delight vibrating inside him. The other boy is a complete menace but it’s invigorating, lights him up inside, and is somehow more charming than good manners. His stomach jumps and then explodes upwards into butterflies when he’s given that devilish grin presaging some mischief. It’s not a delicate declaration of ardor but they are not fragile.

Their feet tangle and press when they lie together. Sometimes in the heat of summer cuddling is too sticky and they sleep sole to sole like sets of palms in prayer. Matteo loves thick socks, the fluffier the better, so the bottoms of his feet are kept smooth as silk. David began life running barefoot outdoors and his feet are calloused with years of pounding the ground, jumping, twisting inside his trainers so that the soles of his feet scrape. Matteo traces the arch of David’s foot with his toes and marvels at how the other boy is not at all ticklish. In the slanting light of another afternoon David balances a book at an awkward angle because their legs are wound together like a trailing plant and Matteo is cuddled under his other arm. Sometimes when they wrestle David seizes his boyfriend’s leg between both of his and holds tight against the wriggling and kicking as Matteo struggles to gain the upper hand. Eventually they declare a stalemate and lie panting with their limbs still twined. As their breathing quiets into sleepy softness Matteo burrows his foot beneath the edge of David’s trouser leg and runs his toes up the curve of the calf inside it, shivering as rough hairs brush against his skin. In winter Matteo’s feet are consistently freezing but David’s are always warm. They snuggle into the pile of blankets like two birds in the nest. Without being asked David stretches across the cool bedsheets and folds Matteo’s icy feet between the pleasant heat of his own. Like their hands, their feet are often holding each other.

The ways in which they affirm their love through touch are many and ever expanding. It’s impossible to count every expression and location and occasion. There are, David thinks, as many types of touch as there are words in the dictionary. Every one is listened to and remembered. Some spoken sharply, softly, slow and slurred, a burst of sound, an entire speech, staccato. They whisper in the dreamy dark and shout so suddenly it’s startling. Matteo has always been slow to find his words but he writes David beautiful sonnets with his fingers. David sometimes doesn’t know how to say what he is thinking but he can explain with the way he fits his body to Matteo’s. This language is foreign to some. But it is complex, evolving, equal, and most importantly theirs. They’ve had to learn it but it feels as comfortable as a mother tongue. When Matteo can barely lift his exhausted head let alone open his mouth he knows David will listen with his arms. On days that David can’t explain the feelings that throb inside his skin Matteo hears those thoughts through the head tucked beneath his chin. Sometimes they use words, sometimes they use touch, but they tell each other how much the other is loved twenty times a day. With their bodies they can talk, and talk, and talk.

#druck #fic #druck og #og druck #davenzi #my content

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dramaticlester · 3 years

Text

Miles of skin

summary: there’s so much dan loves, it’s hard to list it all

genre: fluff,

warnings:swearing, sexual scenes (not too detailed), lots of body imagery

hair

When Dan was 18 and dreaming up his ideal partner, it never started with black, straight hair. It was usually blonde, maybe slightly ginger, and swept away from their face. his ideal man was a model. he thought of them stood on a beach, perhaps, their hair blowing in the wind. jaw strong and chiselled, Dan much smaller, nestled in their arms like a prize.

But Phil, he wasn’t like that. Phil had hair as black as anything, in a straight fringe across his forehead. he wasn’t a chiselled model, and he certainly wasn’t much taller than Dan. when he stood on the beach, he squinted and complained that his glasses were going to blow away, and took time to swipe his hair away from said glasses. Dan couldn’t stand nestled under his arm, more like the other way round. but Phil was special. As Dan got older, he realised that the perfect guy wasn’t perfect. His Phil wasn’t perfect, either. But he was the closest, he thinks, he could ever get. He didn’t want perfect, anymore, he wanted his Phil. His Phil with the stupid straight emo hair that, when he got older, started being pushed into a quiff. Phil looked sexy with a quiff.

eyes

Dan had never been one for beautiful eyes. he didn’t look into someone’s eyes and feel taken away by their colour, or shape, or size. when he was younger, he struggled to look into people’s eyes, anyway, preferring to cast his gaze between their eyebrows or down at the floor. he struggled to feel any connections and he certainly did not believe eyes could hold pain or happiness. he just didn’t believe it. he hated his own eyes, too. he hated their colour and the almond shape, his obnoxiously long eyelashes that curled into his eyes sometimes and hurt. but, then he met Phil.

it was when Dan saw a picture of Phil that he started to doubt his own intuition. you could go swimming in those eyes he thought. in fact, he commented it, right there on the very photo. the camera he used for YouTube did no justice. when they met, it was the first pair of eyes Dan could look straight into. the first pair he could see love brimming in, focused solely on him. Dan was elated. it was the first pair he saw the pain in, shown by shed tears as they hugged goodbye at the train station. it was the first he saw untainted happiness in when Dan agreed to move in with him after announcing he would be attending Manchester university. they were, undoubtedly, just eyes. but my god, they were the most beautiful pair Dan had ever seen. though, Phil.s favourite activity was to argue that Dan's were, in fact, the “most beautiful plus 1.”

lips

Dan always thought lips were just lips. he didn’t understand why he was so chapped, he didn’t understand why people got injections to plump them up, he didn’t understand at all. the only time he really concentrated on people’s lips was when he couldn’t be bothered listening to what they were saying, so he’d lip-read instead, albeit rather unsuccessfully. he never looked at someone and thought fuck, they should do something about that or wow I wish I could kiss them. well, until he met Phil, of course.

after he’d noticed Phil's eyes, his gaze wandered down to his lips. plump and inviting, pink and so smooth. Dan suddenly felt the need to apply five tubs of Vaseline. he stared at Phil’s lips the day they met, and not just to lip read. Phil didn’t really hint at much, but Dan saw how his lips curved into a smirk, obviously. they’d gotten on the Manchester eye, hands clasped between them. Dan thought he’d been subtle. Phil had bitten his lip, Dan had reciprocated without thinking. that’s when he was kissed. soft and gentle, unsure yet so passionately. it was wonderful, chapped against smooth. Dan reiterated his apologies for his chapped lips. Phil laughed and stroked his thumb along the bottom one, pulling it and watching it ping back into place. another gentle kiss. you’re perfect.

neck

Dan didn’t have a neck kink, he told himself, he just found it really fucking arousing when someone kissed his neck. or if he was indulging himself alone, or perhaps on Skype to Phil, he swiped his thumb along the side now and then, gasping at the spark of unadulterated pleasure. but he didn’t have a neck kink. Phil changed things for him, though.

the first time they made love was wonderful. Dan experienced things he’d never felt, just taking and taking from Phil's body, only able to emit the smallest gasps of love. Phil gave it all to him, never held back. he showed Dan what he’d been missing.

they were moulded together, one entity. Phil buried deep inside him, his head tugged into his neck as he whispered encouraging words. Dan’s eyes were squeezed shut, alleviating his senses most deliciously. that’s when Phil had whimpered against his neck, the blow of hot hair making Dan tip his head back and let out an almost scream. a quiet scream, no doubt. Phil had smirked, pulling back to look at Dan’s face (which was turning more crimson by the second.)

“you’re beautiful,” Phil had whispered, kissing the corner of Dan’s mouth before moving back to his neck. he started kissing at first, barely applying much pressure, revelling in the short intake of breath from Dan’s mouth. then he applied more pressure before he was nibbling at Dan’s neck, moving along until he found the place that made Dan tense up, letting out a shrill moan and a large breath of air. Phil kept at this spot, sucking and sucking until the mark bloomed up against the pale skin of Dan’s neck.

Dan had come with a shout and then a whisper of Phil's name, Phil's mouth against his neck and his tip pressing against the most sensitive place inside of him. Dan vowed to never let anyone love him the way Phil did ever again.

shoulders

shoulders were never something Dan thought about. they usually resided underneath someone's clothes, occasionally flexing when the person lifted something or wrote. it was never anything special, nothing that made Dan want to strike up a conversation with a person or beg them to pin him down to a mattress. they were shoulders.

when he met Phil, he noticed that Phil's shoulders were broad. they were the type of shoulders you would associate with a man, though stereotypical. when Dan hugged him for the first time, he allowed himself to notice the muscle under his shirt, allowing his hands to find a home on top of them when they pulled away, not-so-discretely squeezing. Phil was his boyfriend, his man. he was the one Dan cuddled up to, a hand placed over his heart, head bracketed between Phil's chin and his shoulders, loved and protected from the whole world. dan felt pretty damn undefeatable with his head nestled there. he was the one who let Dan throw his arms around his neck when he was happy or encased him when he cried or screamed. he was the one who used the strength within those shoulders and arms to carry Dan to bed when he fell asleep on the sofa. he was nothing less than the love of dance life and his shoulders, though minor, were strong. they were Dan’s favourite place to sleep and his favourite place to wake up.

tummy

Phil always joked over messenger about actually having a dad bod hidden beneath the camera.

“id love you all the same,” Dan insisted every time, fondness twinkling in his eyes. Phil would smirk, leaning closer to the camera with his tongue caught between his teeth. Dan longed to be with him.

when Dan saw the first full body picture of Phil, his jaw literally dropped. Phil was beautiful, Dan had known that even just from looking at his face, but seeing his whole body was something Dan kept locked in his mind all the time. Phil was hot. not just hot, but hot. he was something Dan would've never dreamed of because his mind wasn't capable of conjuring something so wonderful. Phil had sent it to him shyly, telling Dan to check his messages whilst they were on Skype. Dan had stared at the picture for too long, only remembering he was on a video call when he heard Phil cough. he looked up just in time to see Phil cast his eyes down, blushing and his lip pulled between his teeth.

“you're fucking beautiful, Phil Lester,” Dan had whimpered, tears in his eyes. “I want to be with you so bad right now.”

“what, you don't think I'm too fat, hm?” Phil had whispered. Dan suddenly realised all of his jokes, were actually issues. Dan had stared at the screen, not quite sure what to say, not quite sure how to articulate what a fucking masterpiece Phil Lester was.

“I say this with all the love I can muster,” Dan had said. “shut the fuck up.”

Phil had giggled, finally looking back at Dan.

“Phil, how’d I get so lucky?” Dan settled on, shaking his head in disbelief.

Phil had never needed to complain about his appearance after that, because every day, Dan told him he was beautiful.

to this day in 2020, Dan tells him he's beautiful. whether its when Dan wakes up first and watches Phil for a while before carding a hand through his hair and muttering a “you're pretty, Lester,” or whether it's after a shower when Phil's skin is dry and flaky, and he's squinting trying to see through the fog without his glasses (Dan will usually slip his glasses back on, kiss the tip of his nose, unravel the towel from around his waist, and drop to his knees. Phil doesn't need words at times like this.)

legs

growing up, Dan had always had little stumpy legs that kept him below shoulder height of everyone. people made jokes about how his little legs couldn’t keep up in the playground, or his mother would tell him his legs were too little to climb the trees, and the workers at the fair told him he could ride when he grew a few more inches. it was frustrating for Dan... well until he hit 14. it was as if overnight, he became a lanky 6-foot-something lad, who didn’t quite know how to control his long limbs, constantly carving his shin off the coffee table and walking into open doors because he couldn’t see them at eye level. Dan hated long legs. well... his own.

Phil was also 6-foot-something. if Dan thought he was tall when he met Phil he was the short one. he had to look up at Phil and when they hugged, Dan's head just about reached his shoulder. Dan loved to run his hands up and down Phil’s legs when they were lying together on the bed, Phil giggling and tugging at Dan’s fringe with a “get back up here.” Dan wasn’t sure what it was, but Phil’s legs set off some kind of primal, animalistic urge within him. he wanted to cover every inch with his lips, kiss and nip his shins till they were red, suck on his thighs and leave bruises that still wouldn’t be faded by the time he got back to Manchester. he loved to hang behind Phil so he could watch how his legs moved, long and lean as he took clumsy steps downstairs or long strides down the streets of London. he loved to watch Phil try to fold his legs up in the bathtub, insisting that they could both fit. even when Dan's legs length surpassed Phi’ls, he was never quite as mesmerised. Phil's favourite part of Dan's body was probably his thighs, as he spent most of his time caressing them and squeezing and kissing them, but Dan didn’t understand how he could love Dan's so much, but hate his own. it was something they could argue about though when they lay sated and naked, curled up together.

“I love your thighs,” Phil would mutter.

“Yeah, well, I love yours more,” Dan would grin, kissing the top of his head.

“in this essay, I will explain why yours are better...” Phil would joke. they never took it much further though, just silently knowing that they were right.

bum

Dan kind of understands this one. he wouldn’t date someone based off their ass, but it didn’t hurt to feel the appeal. Dan's own wasn’t too flat until he crammed it into his obnoxiously tight skinny jeans that pushed it down so much that it looked like nothing. he didn't mind though, anything for fashion. Phil would usually pout quite a bit though, pulling Dan forward by the belt loops and kissing him, trying to sneakily undo the button and tug them back down.

“looser ones,” Phil always murmured against Dan's lips, crossing his arms when Dan would roll his eyes at him.

“what do I do for you?” Dan would sigh dramatically, kicking them off and putting Phil's favourite pair on.

but Phil's ass was perfect. it was impossible to crush as, even when he’d wear a pair of Dan's jeans, it was still there. Dan usually always slapped his ass when he bent over as a joke, giggling as Phil would jump and whine “Dan!” Dan couldn’t help it though.

when they kissed, his hands usually started on the small of Phil’s back. ever since he’d grown, Phil’s go to was to stand on tippy toes so he could reach around Dan's neck, insisting it brought them closer together when Dan would complain that his back hurt. he was only joking really though, as this way, when it got heated, Dan could move his hands down over the curve of Phil's ass, pulling him closer to press flush against each other, or even grind their bodies together if things got especially heated. it was just a wonderful part of Phil that Dan loved so much (especially whenever he was big spoon at night time and he could feel it pushed up against his body)

everything

Before they met, Dan never appreciated the beauty of the human body. with Phil, he appreciated it. because contained within that body, was the most beautiful soul, the funniest personality and the most gentle, loving giant he’d ever known. It was the perfect body for Dan’s favourite person in the whole world. He wouldn’t change a thing about it, ever. from his brilliant blue eyes down to the tips of his toes, Phil was beautiful, inside and out.

and Dan never tried to stop himself from falling deeper in love every day..

#phandom #phan #phanfiction #Dan and Phil #danhowell #phil lester #cute #body positive #love #lovers #dramaticlester

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softbiker · 5 years

Text

Bucky Barnes Oneshot

Warnings: a couple of bad words

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: After being injured on a mission, Bucky winds up spending a day with the Avengers newest recruit. Bucky x Reader

A/N: This is my submission for @nacho-bucky ‘s writing challenge! My prompt was ‘the smell of freshly baked bread’. As a side note, I drank a whole pot of coffee yesterday and wrote this in one afternoon, so it’s also unedited :) As always, let me know what you think!

By the time the quinjet is an hour out from New York, Bucky Barnes is in an irredeemably foul mood.

Breaking up terror cells in Germany was supposed to be an easy mission - in and out, with the practiced ease of their well-oiled strike team. Really, they took the mission to spare German special forces the trouble...that, and a potential connection to an old Red Room contact of Natasha’s. With their “dream team” (Sam’s words, not Bucky’s) of Cap, Bucky, Sam, and Natasha, this should have been a light op, a scrimmage, Nerf ball.

Turns out superheroing is a contact sport, and they’ve got the bombs and broken ribs to prove it. A train station, a decoy, and an explosive device Natasha failed to disarm. With Sam coordinating civilian evacuation, there had only been a couple dozen injuries, but the suspect had slipped away, leaving them bruised and empty-handed.

Bucky had taken a brutal hit as he pulled Nat to safety, and now he is curled in his seat on the jet, metal hand holding his ribcage. He watches Steve scowl in the cockpit, jaw unflinchingly tight as he goes over the mission in his head. The captain doesn’t know how to let things go - never has, never will. Sam is actually piloting the quinjet, making unreturned small talk about a basketball game he went to last weekend. Natasha sits across from Bucky, a Stark tablet in her hands, dissecting bomb schematics and diagrams of diffusion techniques. There’s a little scab of dried blood on her bottom lip that she pokes at with her tongue, red brows lowered in concentration.

Bucky is exhausted - his hair smells like dust and smoke, his mouth is tangy and dry. There’s dried sweat underneath his uniform and he itches and his feet are hot in his boots and his ribs really fucking hurt. He lets his head fall back against the seat, and wishes they were home already.

**********

She pops her head up over the back of the couch when she hears them. What a sight they make: Bucky, propped up on Steve’s shoulder, Natasha dust-covered and buried in her tablet, Sam still sweaty and tugging at the harness on his suit. She still smiles, tentative but kind.

“Hi guys.” She lifts her fingers in a little wave. “Everyone okay?”

Bucky grunts in response; Natasha says nothing, making a beeline for her room and a shower. Sam, without doubt the most talkative person on the team, props himself on a stool and blows a harsh breath past his lips.

“We’re alright, yeah,” he sighed. “Barnes is a little beat up but he’ll get over it - he’s just dramatic.”

“Fuck you, too, Wilson.” Bucky flips Sam off over his shoulder as they hobble towards the elevators.

She winces, not yet used to their harsh banter.

“Hey man, be nice in front of the rookie, alright?” Sam hollers, mock-offended. “You’re creating a hostile work environment!”

Steve chuckles a little at that, jostling Bucky’s tender ribs, which makes him scowl at his best friend.

“Bucky is a hostile work environment,” Steve deadpans. They’ve reached the elevator, and shuffle inside, turning to face the common room. Bucky catches the rookie’s eyes as she giggles behind her hand.

“She’s fine,” he rolls his eyes, sparing a wink for the rookie. “When I make it hostile, bird brain, you’ll know.”

The elevator doors close, and he leans on Steve a little heavier, and jabs his elbow into Steve’s stomach.

“Thanks a lot for that, by the way,” he huffs.

“What?” Steve feigns innocence, and very poorly. “Didn’t know you were so worried about making a good impression on the rookie.”

“I’m - I’m not.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.”

They meet Dr. Banner in the medical wing where his lab adjoins the clinic; Sam had messaged him half an hour ago that they were inbound with a broken supersoldier, and Bruce had taken the liberty of setting up some of his supplies. Of all the doctors on staff, Bucky favored Dr. Banner - he was mild and soft-spoken enough to not trigger Bucky’s anxiety, in spite of the needles and IV drips and the snapping of latex gloves.

An X-ray and some bandages later, Bucky is removed from the active duty list for two weeks.

“Even with your advanced healing factor, I wanna be careful with this,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses to scratch the side of his nose. “I mean, your medical history is a little blurry, to say the least - and with all the shit HYDRA pulled, who knows what kind of stress your bones have been through before.” He taps away on his tablet, notifying FRIDAY and the admin system to remove Bucky from the roster. “In the meantime, take it easy - no missions, no training, no lifting weights. Probably avoid the motorcycle, too. I’ll check on them again in two weeks, and we’ll go from there.”

Steve is nodding - he never leaves Bucky by himself in medical - and crosses his arms. Neither of them have changed out of their uniforms yet, and in this sterile observation room, Bucky can finally smell the layers of grime and sweat clinging to them. His nose wrinkles when he gets a little whiff of himself, feeling bad for the nurse who bandaged his ribs.

“Oh I almost forgot -” Bruce turns around and reaches for something on his lab bench. A little blue bottle, full of round white pills. “Here. I developed these for the two of you - since you metabolize normal painkillers so quickly, I figured we might need something that would work in the event you sustain heavy injuries which…well, seemed likely. Take 2 every 4 hours, okay?”

His metal fingers grip the little bottle, rattling the tablets inside.

“Sure thing, doc.”

**********

She lifts the hem of her shirt, wiping at the sweat on her forehead, and leans against the wall of the gym. Her breath comes in short pants as her chest heaves, trying to cool down from her last bout with Agent Romanoff.

“Heads up.”

Her hands barely make it up in time to catch the flying water bottle headed for her face.

“Good catch,” Romanoff smirks a little. She’s sweating, too, but in a way that’s decidedly more sexy, little red curls hanging by her face. She looks fresh from a Pilates class, not a suicide workout - the rookie can feel the heat of her own face, the sweat drenching her clothes, and knows she’s not nearly as glowing as her trainer.

“You did really good today,” Romanoff continues. She keeps saying to call her “Natasha” but that is so hard to do with a woman so intimidating her alias is one of the world’s deadliest animals. “Really good. You’ve shown tons of improvement since we started. I’m going to recommend we start letting you shadow on missions in a couple more weeks.”

“Wow, really?” Her face lit up in spite of her exhaustion.

“Sure.” Natasha smiles. “I know it’s gotten a little boring, having you go through all of this.”

“Boring” was an understatement. Despite having a few years of experience under her belt - well, according to Tony Stark, vigilantism barely counts as “experience” - the rookie was assigned to a training program for her first couple of months on the team.

“Too much of a risk to put you in the field right away,” Stark had rattled off, handing her forms to sign and an official t-shirt (‘Look Mom! I’m an Avenger!’) and a tablet with a map of the compound. “Legal says we can avoid liability issues with a training program before we gradually phase you in, and I’m inclined to agree, so! Welcome to the team, but not officially!”

Her days consisted of early morning workouts, followed by combat and tactical training with Black Widow herself, and then...well, not much. There was research, of course, and she stayed on top of the intelligence briefings with the rest of the team. She went to meetings and official dinners and unofficial karaoke nights, but the rest of her time was mostly her own. Frankly, she was chomping at the bit to get back out there, in the action. Helping people.

“Well, hopefully it’ll pay off,” she sighs, giving Agent Romanoff an exhausted smile. “I wouldn’t want to be the weak link on the team.”

“You won’t be, believe me,” Natasha shakes her head. With a glance at her watch, she picks up her own water bottle and heads for the door. “Now I’ve gotta run, Skype meeting with Fury in 5. I’ll see you later, Rookie!”

**********

Bucky Barnes was feeling good.

Like, damn good.

Like, ‘Banner should label his controlled substances’ good.

Thing is, post-HYDRA and post-fugitive and post-cognitive reconstruction therapy, Bucky was more mentally okay than he had been in decades. He had the occasional rough day, and he definitely wasn’t perfect by any means, but with the shrinks that Stark had on retainer, he was getting better at dealing with it all. His physical health, however, was more of a moving target. In spite of receiving a bastardized supersoldier serum, he had been pumped full of so much other shit and gone through so much physical stress that his body had fundamentally shifted equilibrium. Multiple appointments with Dr. Cho and Shuri revealed that his chronic pain may never fully heal - if it did, it would be a very gradual process. Normal painkillers in reasonable doses did nothing for him, so Bucky settled in to his discomfort, carrying it the way he carried his knives and his scars - always.

24 hours into his medical leave, a few doses of pills down, and he couldn’t feel a single ounce of pain in his body - he shifted his awareness to each part of himself, like that guided meditation thing Wanda did sometimes, and he couldn’t find the pain, not even lurking behind the muscle and metal. He might be a little miffed at being off the active duty roster, but if his whole vacation is going to feel like this? Well, he doesn’t mind to let Steve handle the next threat to world peace.

With his schedule suddenly wide open, Bucky wonders what he’ll do with his day. He can’t remember the last time he truly had nothing to do - it’s an exciting prospect. So he lets himself ease through his morning, sleeping in, long hot shower, slipping on those plush Black Widow pajama pants Nat gave him as a gag gift. He knows everyone else will have had their breakfast and moved on to morning briefings and training drills by now, and he wanders down to the kitchen in the hopes that they’ve left him some coffee.

He sees her there, perched on a stool at the island and frowning at the tablet in her hand. There’s a little scrunch to her nose when she does that, he notices.

“Good morning,” he says softly, trying and failing not to startle her.

“Oh, hey Bucky,” she smiles, watches him round the island to the coffee pot on the counter. “I didn’t see you there.”

“S’okay. I’m quiet.”

“You didn’t get tapped for the recovery mission? They’re going after your suspect from Berlin again, I think.”

“Oh, I’m off missions for two weeks.” He turns, giant ‘Don’t forget to be awesome’ mug gripped in his metal hand. “Banner’s orders. You didn’t hear about my smashed ribs?”

“Oh no, I guess not - are you okay?” Suddenly she’s concerned, and a little sheepish. “Sorry, I’m still a little out of the loop I guess.”

He feels guilty for that - she’s eager, bright, kind, a brilliant recruit. But it can take a while before you’re ‘in’ with the team. Not because they exclude her, but, well - a group made up of outsiders has a hard time adding new faces to the mix.

“Don’t apologize. Not your fault.” Bucky digs around in a jar on the counter for a few sugar packets, dumping them into his mug. “Anyways, I’m off the roster for now. Gotta figure out something to do with myself, I guess.”

Her smile is slow, ducked under pretty lashes - he really needs to stop noticing these things.

“Would you - I mean, you can hang out with me if you want?” She chews on her lip. “I’m done for today - my training with Natasha ended early and they didn’t need me in on the briefing so…”

The rookie was lonely - he could see that, anyone could. The fact is, between their own training and missions, it had been a little hard for the team to spend very much time with her. Bucky himself was often a bit of a loner in his free time, preferring to hole up in his room with books and movies rather than go out for drinks or another karaoke night. And yet, he found himself feeling eager at the thought of spending a relaxing day with the new recruit, getting to know her a little, hearing that funny little laugh through her nose.

“Sounds great, Rookie - what did ya have in mind?”

**********

“Okay, I just wanna go on the record and say I called it. I called it!” She’s grinning. “I knew you would love this.”

“Well, hey, in my defense, I’ve never hated beautiful women.”

She just rolls her eyes, kicks her feet out to rest on the coffee table in front of them. There’s a pile of DVD’s, all hers, laying across the surface, picked through and ranked in order of what was most important for Bucky to see. His film education was obviously lacking, considering he missed out on 70 years of movies, and didn’t even know what he liked anymore, so he was content to let her pick. After raiding the kitchen for an array of snacks, they settled in, opposite ends of the same couch with a bowl of popcorn and dark chocolate M&M’s between them.

Approximately 20 minutes into the movie, Steve appears, just passing through for an apple from the fridge. He stops in his tracks behind the couch, the crunch of the fruit in his mouth just above their heads.

“What is this?” he says around his mouthful. If his Ma could see him now, Bucky thinks.

“It’s called ‘How to Marry a Millionaire’ - came out in 1953,” she answers, smiling over her shoulder at him. “It’s one of my favorites honestly.”

“That’s - that’s Lauren Bacall!” Steve perks up, smacking Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, punk,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Betty Grable’s in it, too.”

“No shit!” Steve is grinning now, and he gives the rookie a conspiratorial look. “Y’know, Bucky used to have her pin-up poster. The one in the white bathing suit? Had it in his suitcase when he shipped out.”

“Oh, really?” She’s looking at him now, eyes sparkling at the rosy blush climbing up Bucky’s cheeks. “Betty Grable, huh?”

He clears his throat. “Well, everybody had that picture, I mean...it’s famous for a reason. All the boys had ‘em.”

“No, no, I get that,” she shrugs. “I just had you pegged as more the Rita Hayworth type, that’s all.”

It takes him back for a second, Steve too, that she knows these starlets, that they could’ve been having this same conversation 75 years ago. He can see that look in Steve’s eyes, sly and knowing as they slide towards him. Bucky works his mouth, tries to control his smile.

“Well, nothing wrong with her either,” he drawls, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. “But did you see Grable’s legs?”

“I just thought you might’ve had a thing for redheads!” she laughs.

“They’re alright, I guess - now Dugan on the other hand…”

Neither of them notices Steve leave the room, tossing the apple in his hand and a huge dopey grin on his face.

**********

“Tell me again what the recipe says?”

“One cup of pumpkin puree.”

“Oh - shit, I thought you said one can.”

She smacks her forehead. “No wonder the batter is so goopy!” She rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re trying to ruin my bread, Barnes.”

“I swear I’m not, doll - it was an accident.”

“Okay, new plan - we just make a double batch since the can has two cups in it.”

She shuffles around behind him, grabbing her flour and sugar and sour cream and other ingredients, hands flurrying to measure and fix the dough. It’s mid-afternoon now, a couple of movies down, and they (she) decided they needed to get in the fall spirit by baking a ridiculous amount of...breads. The banana bread is already in the oven, the pumpkin will be on its way as soon as she fixes his mistake, and a blueberry bread (made from muffin mix) is next on the list.

“But...what’s so special about making it into breads?” He had asked, causing her to look at him like an idiot.

“Ask me that again after you try them, Bucky.”

So he shut up and cracked eggs and sifted flour, stirring when her arm got tired. He was already regretting his words now that the smell of the banana bread was drifting towards him from the ovens, and he had to admit the pumpkin and cinnamon from her bowl was making his stomach growl. With all the bowls and measuring cups laying around, they were making enough sweet breads to feed an army, but hey - the Avengers are practically a small army of their own. And besides, Bucky intends on taking an entire loaf - baker’s privilege.

He decides that he likes watching her work, bouncing around the kitchen, some oldies playlist on the speakers, her tongue poking out between her lips. She’s got her sweater sleeves pushed up over her elbows - he had to help with that, after she got dough on them. This song is good, too, and he wants to ask her who wrote it-

“Are you gonna stand there staring at me, or are you gonna help?” she quips over her shoulder. He has no idea when he last smiled so much.

“You’re the boss, Rookie.”

**********

She’s got her feet in his lap now, and they haven’t said a word in an hour, and Bucky doesn’t even remember taking his last dose or two of his pain pills but he doesn’t feel a goddamn thing.

There’s a huge book in her lap, Stephen King - a favorite, he’s learned.

“I read at least one of his books every year in October,” she tells him. “You know, to get ready for spooky season.”

“Spooky season? What the hell is that?”

“You know, Halloween time!” she smacks his arm. “It’s Halloween first, Buck, you gotta get in the spirit.”

“I’m -” he sputters, face drawn in the most adorably confused look. “Halloween first?”

She hands him a book of his own and now here they are - he’s 20 pages into The Shining, but he’s stopped paying attention because she’s yawning behind her book and her eyes are fluttering shut, and it shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

He forces his eyes down to his own page, to Jack Torrance and haunted hotels, but they’re drawn back up when her book finally drops the rest of the way to her lap. Her head slumps sideways onto the back of the couch, mouth open just a little. He draws the blanket down around her feet and tucks it in a little tighter, but other than that, doesn’t move a muscle. He’s just fine right here, thank you.

He’s sinking in again, driving up the twisting mountain road to the Overlook, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Carefully - in the way highly trained superspies can be careful - he lifts his hips up and pulls his phone from his pocket, managing not to dislodge her feet or wake her up. She merely sighs in her sleep, nuzzling her face into the couch pillow. A text notification from team group message lights up the screen.

It’s Natasha. A photo, a photo which she somehow managed to take without him knowing, of him and the rookie, practically snuggling on the couch and reading together. Her legs are propped over his lap, and Bucky’s eyes are staring straight at her over the top of his book. Nat has captioned the photo: “looks like Barnes found a good nurse.”

He snorts a little. Natalia. Glances up at her, still sleeping, and tilts his phone upwards a few degrees and snaps a picture to send back.

“She sleeps on the job” he types, thumbs still slow on the phone keyboard. Instantly, his phone starts buzzing with more texts from the team, but he mutes it and lays his phone on the coffee table. He doesn’t feel like talking now. Well, talking to them.

“Hey...Rookie,” he whispers, reaching out and shaking her shoulder a little. She hums in her sleep, but makes no other move.

“Rookie, I gotta ask you something.” He wiggles her leg a little, shaking her feet in his lap, and whispers her name. He’s rewarded with her eyes fluttering open, her mouth drawn down in a pout at being woken up.

“Whatisit,” she sighs, still slumped into the cushions. He clears his throat. Here goes nothing.

“So, there’s a charity gala for the Stark Foundation coming up next weekend,” he starts bravely. “And - and the whole team is going anyway, so I know you’re gonna be there, but - well, maybe you would consider going...with me?” Courage runs out, and his brain backpedals. “I mean, just as a friend?”

She huffs. “I can’t believe you woke me up for that.”

“Oh.” He looks down, hair falling in his eyes. “So...you don’t want to go with me?”

“Of course I’ll go with you, Barnes,” she sighs. “Now shush. I was napping”

His face hurts from the stretch in his cheeks when he smiles. He’s gonna give Bruce those pain meds back.

#nachobuckychallenge #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #marvel fic

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gemstoneconstellations · 5 years

Text

Kittens and Bottles

Summary: Your happy life with your favorite cat and favorite hero. This is a small continuation of here.

Wordcount:2644

You have the best cat in the entire world. Here are the reasons why.

She’s adorable; the cutest fur baby. She’s fluffy, sleek, and mews in the most adorable way.

She is cuddly. Not many cats let you rub your face into their bellies as much as you want. But she does; in fact, she will make you cuddle her belly. If you aren’t careful, you could die in your sleep from her smothering you. It would be a happy death.

She found you a boyfriend. A hot, sassy, sexy, funny, pro-hero boyfriend.

It’s been nearly a year since Kuiper’s escape tactics had been discovered and now you were happily co-parenting her with Hitoshi. It was pure bliss. Everything has been going so nicely. Hitoshi pretty much lived with you at this point; he really only used his apartment used to store his things and some of his clothes. Coming home to his sleepy, handsome face has been really nice.

His job as a pro-hero does put a damper on things sometimes. He is often changing his bandages in your living room and sometimes had to leave abruptly for emergencies. But he always makes sure that the two of you can spend some proper time together. You get to cuddle him when you go to bed, before he leaves for work; he would wait for you to fall asleep in his arms before leaving. But the best part is when he comes back.

That night, you woke up to a hand massaging your hip, a familiar chest pressed to your back and lips on your neck. He gently sucked on your skin, making you giggle. “Hmm, Hitoshi, that tickles.” Hitoshi hummed into your shoulder, continuing to kiss you, his thumb pressing into your lower back. You opened your eyes to see the clock showing that it was early in the morning. “Did you just get back?”

Hitoshi wrapped his arms around you, pulling your body closer to his as he nuzzled your hair. “Yeah… I think you should always wear my shirts. Nothing else…” You bit your lower lip as his hands wandered into said shirt. Teeth dragged across your neck, causing your toes to curl.

You gasped and opened your eyes to look for the special, small foil package in the nightstand. Only to see your Kuiper sitting in the middle of the room, watching the two of you. “Hitoshi.” Your boyfriend hummed but didn’t stop, his fingers venturing lower. “She’s watching us…”

“___.”

“Yes-” A haze took over you as Hitoshi used his quirk.

“Now, hold still for Daddy while I put our nosy fur baby to bed.” He rose from the bed and picked up Kuiper. She mewed at him, unhappy about being picked up and pushed out of the room. You almost felt kind of guilty as you listened to her voice her displeasure behind the closed door.

The bed dipped and you felt your body being moved, your ankles placed on Hitoshi’s shoulders and your clothing being pulled away. “Now, it’s time for Daddy to play~”

You sighed with relief, your stiff and sore muscles now relaxed after a nice hot shower. A soft towel wrapped around you, you hit the switch to turn on the fan to get rid of the humidity but nothing happened. You tried flipping the switch on and off, but still nothing happened. Great, you’ll have to call the landlord later, but for now, you just opened the small window to let in fresh air.

Wiping away the fog on the mirror, you were about to dry your hair when something caught your eye. “Hitoshi!”

“I didn’t do it!” Your boyfriend shouted, most likely from the bedroom.

You run your fingers down your poor, abused neck. “Then why do I have a bunch of hickies on my neck?”

Hitoshi appeared, shirtless, beside you in the mirror and leaned down to kiss one of the offending marks on the base of your neck. “I may have done that.” He continued to kiss you, pulling you closer to him.

You almost melted into him, till you felt tugging at your towel. You jokingly shoved Hitoshi away from you. “No way mister, I have work and you need to go to bed.” He stepped back into your space, despite your rejection.

“Nah,” Hitoshi’s hands seemed to have a mind of their own and were wondering your body again, squeezing your butt under the towel. He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “I think we should both go to bed.”

You shake your head at him and turn him around, realizing then that he wasn’t just shirtless. “Hitoshi, at least put some boxers on. We have young kitty eyes watching us.”

“Oh, I see who your favorite is. She can walk around naked but I can’t.” The two of you kept bantering back and forth. You were nearly late to work but you couldn’t help the smile that seemed to permanently pull on your face.

The open window in the bathroom long forgotten.

“I’m telling you, you don’t need to give her a treat every time she meows at you. She just got her weight down.” You were laying on Hitoshi’s side; the two of you were just lounging on your couch together today. Kuiper was stretched out over both of your laps, her slightly round belly exposed. Hitoshi opened his mouth and you could see the stupid word forming. “Say it, I dare you.”

He just laughed, leaning his head back on the couch with his eyes shut. “I can’t help but spoil her. She’s too cute.”

“Uh huh. At least you’ve stopped dressing her up in ugly bows.” You pinched his side as he laughed more. Kuiper seemed to have enough of the two of you moving so much and left your laps.

Now free from kitty petting obligations, Hitoshi pulled you closer into his lap and whispered in your ear. “I’m more into undressing you now.” He starts to shower your face and neck with kisses till he thought it would be a great idea to blow a raspberry on the junction of your neck. You snort and try to push his face away. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, thank you. The cold has been going around in the office lately.” You’d woken up this morning with a stuffy nose, nausea, and a heavy body. Hitoshi had to convince you to stay home by bribing you with snuggles and being waited on hand and foot. The two of you had sat together wrapped in warm blankets, watching movies and petting your spoiled kitty all day.

“I’ll buy some weight control food for her on my way home today.” Hitoshi ran his fingers through your hair as you tried to sleep. You groan when he tried to pull away, not ready for him to leave yet. Hitoshi chuckled, holding you closer to him. “Now who is acting spoiled. Five more minutes and then I have to go.” You hummed in agreement but that didn’t stop you from clinging onto him later.

“Okay, I know you are tired, but I can’t find my capture weapon.” You groaned, exhausted from the long week you’d had. You were so fatigued; that cold had really kicked your ass and your body was still recovering. You’d spent all day trying not to fall asleep, to finally come home to your comfy bed only to find Hitoshi frantically looking around the room and asking for help.

You pulled the blankets more tightly around you. “Noooooo.”

Hitoshi chuckled, getting down on his knees beside the bed and petting your head. “Okay kitten, but have you seen my capture weapon? I swear, I put it on the nightstand this morning.”

Thinking about it now, you might have seen it in the living room with Kuiper. “Find the real kitty, I think the fur baby was playing with it again.” Hitoshi hummed, his hot fingers massaging the back of your neck. Your eyes closed again. It was so nice to have someone else take care of you when you’re down. You feel a press of lips on your forehead as you drifted off to sleep.

As you suggested, Hitoshi went to look for the now slightly round black kitty. He swears that he isn’t giving her more treats… at least he doesn’t think he is. He looked in the living room, calling the kitty’s name till he heard her meow form the kitty climbing tree. Inside the small cubby at the base, Hitoshi found his scarf. Kuiper was lying in the middle of what looked like a nest. “What you doing, pretty girl? You can’t have that.”

He pulled Kuiper out of the nest and she purred in his arm as he grabbed his capture weapon. There was more than just his scarf though; socks, two shirts, and a random pair of boxers also resided in the cubby. So that’s where those had gone. “What you doing with all this stuff, princess?” He asked the cat, who just purred against him.

“Hmmm…” You groan, looking down at the pants that just wouldn’t button. “Have I been gaining weight?” Turning to the side with your shirt up to expose your stomach, you frowned at the full length mirror. You pinch at your skin and sigh.

Kuiper sat on your bed, watching you with her tail twitching. “Looks like both of us need to go on a diet. Maybe I’ll even get you a kitty leash and we can go for walks.” Even though you’d switched her food to a less fattening kind, she still seemed to be growing. You’d gotten rid of all the treats and Hitoshi swears that he isn’t giving her any more. Plus, she has been more demanding of attention, even at night.

Giving up on those pants, you dug through your closet, looking for some spandex pants instead. You’d finally found them when you heard the telltale sign of gagging. “Oh no, oh no. Hold it in Kuiper!” You rush over to pick up your cat and run her to the bathroom. Thankfully, you got her to the sink just in time for her to throw up, but you seemed to be a vomit sympathizer and could feel yourself getting nauseous as well. You were going to the kitchen for water when the front door opened.

“Hmm, now this is a greeting.” You jump as hands gripped at your butt; you were still only in a shirt and underwear. “I could get used to this.”

You giggle as you pulled Hitoshi’s offending hands closer to make him hug you instead. “I see you’re back later than usual. Everything okay?”

Hitoshi yawned before laying his head on your shoulder. You smiled at how cute and cuddly Hitoshi gets when he’s sleepy. He won’t move from his spot if you don’t, so you start walking with him on you to put the sleepy boy to bed. “Yeah, there was just a raid that turned out larger than expected but it’s okay now. How was your morning?”

You pushed your boyfriend onto the bed; he gave you a dopey smile. “Kuiper seems to be sick, she’s puked twice today already. She puked yesterday too. I’m gonna take her to the vet.”

Another yawn as he tiredly rolled over. “Poor baby, let me know how she is.”

“I will.” You found the spandex pants from before but paused before putting them on. “Hey, Toshi? Do you think I gained some weight?” There was no answer; you looked over to see him taking shallow breaths and letting out small snores. Dressed, you kissed him goodbye before taking Kuiper to see her vet.

“I’m sorry… could you repeat that?”

The vet handed over the test results while his other hand scratched Kuiper behind the ear. The kitty was purring so loudly, it was the only thing grounding you right now. “She’s not fat. She’s pregnant. I’d say about three weeks, entering her fourth.”

“But she hasn’t even had her first heat!” You’d wanted her to have kittens one day but had just been hoping that it would be when she was a little older. Is this what parents feel like when their teenage child tells them they are having a baby? You start to think that you’re going to throw up again.

You fell back into your seat as the vet placed Kuiper back inside her carrier. “She is old enough to have had it. Is there a way she could have gotten out?”

“No, there’s…” Last month, when your fan had stopped working, suddenly came to mind. Your landlord didn’t come to fix it for two weeks so you would leave the window open. It was so high up that you didn’t think she would be able to… but then again, she had gone through the air vents to get to Hitoshi’s apartment. You sigh and smack your own forehead. You should have known. “Fuck.”

“Well, I’m surprised you didn’t notice this sooner, especially if she’s been nesting. Gaining weight, puking, and being moody are all signs of pregnancy. She’ll be taking a lot more naps; it’s a lot of work making new life.”

With Kuiper now in your arms again and some nausea medication for your apparently pregnant kitty, you leave the vet’s feeling a bit unsure. You sigh as you stop by a store to get some baby blankets for Kuiper; she can’t keep stealing shirts and Hitoshi’s scarf to have her kittens on. There’s a lot you needed to prepare for with so little time. “Right, should mark down her expected due date.” You looked at your phone calendar to enter it in when you noticed something; you’d forgotten to mark your own period this month. Wait…when was it?

Hitoshi entered the kitchen yawning. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you cooked dinner. “Hey.”

“Good evening, my love. Feel better?” You leaned your head against his, your hand weaving through his lavender locks.

He was practically purring against you. “Nah. I could sleep some more, but something smelled good.”

Trying to keep your voice even so as to not give anything away, you focused on cooking again. “Hmm, well now that you are up, do you think you could go to your apartment? I could hear her lonely meows but I didn’t want to leave the food.”

Hitoshi stepped back to stretch and yawn one more time. “I thought we closed those vents? Yeah, I’ll pick up the princess.” You bit your lower lip to hide your smile as he left the room.

You waited a few minutes till Hitoshi came barging back into the room, holding up Kuiper in a panic, a small note in his hand. “___! Kuiper’s pregnant?!”

You didn’t look at him as you continued to cook. “Yeah, her too.”

“Too?” You turned to him and placed a sonogram in his free hand. Hitoshi’s eyes widened, looking down at your hand now resting on your stomach.

You smile at him as he placed Kuiper down on the ground, staring at the small picture of your eight-week-old fetus. “Mmhmm, too.”

Next thing you know, you are being spun in the air and kissed deeply by your ecstatic boyfriend. The rest of the night, Hitoshi was buzzing, his hand not leaving your stomach, even when you two were eating dinner.

The two of you laid together in bed, Kuiper against your chest and Hitoshi pressed against your back as he stroked circles around your stomach. “___.” You turned your head to face him as he whispered in your ear. “Marry me.”

You turned back to your cat, petting her as she purred in her sleep. “Nah.” You felt him go stiff and you turned back to him with a smirk, snickering. You kiss his forehead. “Kidding, yes.”

#shinsou hitoshi #shinso hitoshi #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #kitty #pregnancy announcement

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