#even though she usually has lashes the big dark ones look so silly on her?! 😂 marx would definitely share some falsies with her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

startanewdream · 3 years

Note

hi, Mah! well i don't really like the winter solstice as i don't deal with winter very well but i love birthdays!

so, to join the game I'll send to you a prompt you and let you send me another one - any couple you want <3

for you: 1. “We found you crying. What happened?” and 13. “You’re supossed to be mad at me! Why aren’t you yelling at me?” + jily lives <3 (if you want to do just one, that's fine)

Hi, Sweet! I like to think winters solstice just means my birthday has the longest night of the year. More stars!

Well, for you I went with what's probably my fave soft moment between Lily and Harry (with a little twist on quote #1). All love here. Hope you enjoy it! ❤

The thunder shakes the windows of his room. Harry peaks from under his blanket, watching the rain lashing the window. It’s just a summer storm, he tells himself, trembling. Uncle Moony explained to him why there are more storms in the summer, and it should be something very normal.

And yet he can’t help but recoil as lightning crosses the sky, illuminating all the room and creating shadows that Harry never saw before inside his room. Monsters and ghosts and claws and what if they catch him...

He puts the blanket all over his head, but it doesn’t help much. He can still hear the rain and the wind and his heart skips a beat over each thunder. He wishes he hadn’t told his parents they could store away his lion plushie (‘I am seven, Mum, I’m too big for plushies!), because he really wanted a company right now.

And not any company.

He raises hesitantly, careful to avoid looking in the direction of the window again, and he leaves his room quickly. The hall is deserted, but the lights are on, and that gives him a small comfort. By the time Harry reaches his parents’ room, he is already feeling silly for being afraid of a storm. Perhaps he should get back to his bed, be the brave boy his father tells him he is, and just laugh of the whole thing—

But another thunder breaks through, resonating all over the house, and Harry opens the door to his parents’ room without further thinking about it.

The room is dark, only illuminated by the lightning that crosses the sky every now and then, but here the sound of the thunder seems less strong, as if the sheer presence of his parents is enough to draw away its force. Harry breathes in easily now, walking on tiptoes until he reaches his mother’s side of the bed.

She is sleeping peacefully and he pauses again; he doesn’t want to bother her, not with his stupid fear… But another thunder shakes the window and he lets out a tiny whimper.

‘Mum?’ he whispers, but she doesn’t move. ‘Mum?’ he grabs her arm, shaking her carefully.

She awakes with a start, blinking fastly. ‘Harry? Is everything all right?’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he assures her quickly, with a glance towards the bundle in bed that it’s his father, but he didn’t seem to be awake, for which Harry is grateful. He doesn’t want his father to even suspect his silly fears.

Lily sits on the bed, watching him with concern, raising her hand to take out the fringe out of his sweaty forehead and then drying the tears Harry hadn’t even noticed before.

‘You are crying… What happened, Harry?’, she asks in a whisper, and Harry hesitates. He is seven, after all, and he shouldn’t be afraid of anything, and yet…

Thunder makes the window tremble again and he shivers, moving closer to his mother.

‘Ah, Harry,’ his mother sighs, raising now to place her arms around him, holding him safe in her arms. ‘Everything is fine—’

‘I know, I—’, but he doesn’t finish his sentence, shame wrapping over him as powerful as her hug.

‘You just wanted a hot chocolate,’ she guesses for him, breaking apart just enough to take her robe and put it around her shoulders. ‘What do you think?’

He nods, grateful—anything so that he doesn’t get to be alone while the rain falls heavily.

They go together to the kitchen, and with his mother holding his hand, Harry thinks the rain seems to have weakened a little. He sits at the table while she prepares the chocolate, watching her. It almost looks like it’s an usual morning in the Potter house; it’s comforting.

‘Why don’t you use magic, Mum?’ he asks, as she breaks chocolate bars in small pieces with a knife.

‘I like to do things how I learned,’ she explains, turning to him with a warm smile. ‘It’s how my Mum made it for me.’

‘Grandma Evans made hot chocolate for you?’

‘Oh, yes.’ There is a nostalgic glint in his mom’s eyes now. ‘We used to talk until late at night over a hot chocolate cup, just the two of us. It was nice’. She pours the milk over a cup, offering him. Harry mixes the milk. ‘I miss her.’

Harry nods somberly. If he didn’t have his mother, he would miss her everyday too.

‘I’m here, Mama,’ he promises, slipping into the nickname for her he is trying to overcome (he is seven). ‘We can share hot chocolate and talk like you did with her.’

His mother smiles, warmer than the boiling milk.

‘I would love that very much’.

Harry beams.

When their chocolate is over, Harry glances in the direction of the stairs, wondering if he feels brave enough to face his room alone. Maybe if he could ask his mother to tuck him in for the night… but he is seven, he is too grown up for that…

‘I am not sleepy yet,’ his mother declares, watching him with that glint that always makes Harry feel as if she can read his mind. ‘Why don’t we stay a little in the living room?’

‘I can keep you company,’ Harry says, almost nonchalantly. The smile on his mother’s face just becomes brighter.

At the living room, his mother lights up the fireplace before sitting on the couch, and Harry sits next to her, his head on her shoulder before he admits defeat and lays his head over her lap.

His mother doesn’t say anything, though, just staring at the fire as her hand runs through his hair in a soothing movement.

‘Are you cold?’ she asks after a while.

‘No, I’m fine.’ She hums in answer, distracted. ‘Mum? Could you not tell Dad about… the storm?’

She gives him a knowing look, a soft smile on her lips.

‘There is nothing to be ashamed of, Harry.’

‘Dad always tells me to be brave… I don’t want to upset him.’

‘The only thing your dad will be upset about is that he didn’t join us for hot chocolate,’ she assures him. ‘He loves you so much, Harry. And you always make him proud.’

‘I don’t want to be a coward. I want to be brave like him. And you.’

‘You are brave like your own,’ she tells him, touching the point of his nose and making him smile.

‘Even when I am afraid?’

‘Especially then. It takes courage to admit you fear something. There are all kinds of courage, Harry.’

‘Like there are all kinds of heroes?’

‘Exactly.’ His mother sighs. ‘Sometimes the hero is strong, sometimes he is smart, sometimes he sings all his troubles away. You’ll find your own.’

Harry nods, even though he still thinks he wants to be brave like his parents. They faced an evil dark lord after all. He touches the scar on his forehead absently. ‘Could you tell me a story, Mum?’

She looks at him, her eyebrows raised.

‘One that I want, or your type of stories?’

Harry sighs dramatically.

‘Your stories always have a kiss!’

‘It’s what happens before the happily ever after!’ she remarks, though the grin on her face tells Harry she is not taking this very seriously. ‘Fine, I will try to tell you one that no one gets kissed.’

‘With heroes!’

‘Ok.’

‘And swords?’

‘You want sword fights and no true love’s kiss?’

‘Fine, it can have one kiss. Just one.’

Lily laughs, lowering her head to place a soft kiss over his forehead.

‘There, one kiss.’ Harry can’t help but giggle. ‘Now, close your eyes and imagine it. Once upon a time, there was a noble warrior —’

#jily lives au #eyes glistening #Lily and Harry #soft moment #birthday prompts #and now I am off drabbles I promise #no more spamming you

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( VELVETEEN RABBIT. )

What do you get when you mix Thumper and Bambi? Answer: Jeon Jungkook.

pairing. french lop bunny!jjk x ragdoll cat f!reader.

genre + rating. hybrid!au set in college. super fluffy, a little angsty, with a dash of smut to balance it all out. explicit towards the end because i just can’t help myself. oops.

tags / warnings. honestly, this jungkook should just come with his own warning. but more realistically, mentions of kook using a scrunchie, kook being cute, kook railing his date after using the world’s worst puns... the usual.

wc. 4.4k

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif as always become, c’mon. i’m me. she’s her.

author note. this was written as part of @thebtswritersclub‘s a hybrid fest and is gloriously late (i’m so sorry @ditttiii). i’ve never written anything hybrid-related before so hopefully you enjoy. feedback goes a long way! xoxo

He orders the same thing every time he’s in. Iced Americano, no room for cream, and a single almond croissant. (Every once in a while, he switches it up for matcha but that’s exceedingly rare.) He always pays with a tap of his wrist - a sleek black AppleWatch with rubber band - and flashes his trademark slightly too-big smile. All the girls swoon. So do the guys. Everyone except for you.

He’s unnervingly handsome, with long dark ears that sometimes hang in front of his eyes. You’ve caught him with them pulled back Lola Bunny-style, knotted with a loose silk scrunchie that looks nearly as soft as his fur. His hair’s usually unkempt, tossed into a little sprout of a bun, overly long fringe falling all over his big round eyes. He wears butterfly clips sometimes, though that’s usually on days where he isn’t freshly sweaty and carrying his gym bag. They appear in his hair when it’s damp from a shower, the smell of papaya and honey clinging to every inch of him. You know, because you have a great nose - one that’s sensitive to every smell under the sun but especially his. (You try not to think about it much.)

It’s a Wednesday morning when you notice the change. It doesn’t register at first, acknowledgement coming in a curious sniff at the air. Weird.

“Thanks,” he says like clockwork, a well-oiled polite machine, deceptively slender hands receiving the exceedingly hot cup without a care in the world. He’s got his usual bag over his shoulder - overly big, black, almost tactical - and a pair of comfortable looking pants on that seem more like they belong on your beloved grandmother. Somehow, he rocks it (but he always does). “Have a nice day.”

Because of course he says that. Of course he steals the words right out of your mouth, turns them back on you as easy as he makes your heart rattle around in your chest like it’s a Friday night bingo ball.

He moves toward the bar - he only ever grabs three napkins, tucks them into the slot on the left side of his bag - but pauses halfway there. Rooted to the same spot as always, sleek ears following the imposing line of his shoulders.

One, two—

The thumping starts, so quiet it’s almost negligible. But you catch it, because you always do and because you’re the reason for it.

He turns then, levels you with a look from the corner of those pretty, pretty eyes and you can’t help but laugh, openly, unashamedly, with the back of your hand plastered to your mouth. A true ojou-sama.

His mouth quirks - does that funny thing where he sucks in his cheek then rolls it back out with his tongue - and you think he might finally say something. Call you out for writing his name wrong for the past five weeks, finding more and more creative ways to do so every time. Even occasionally using nicknames - silly things you’d come up with while on the walk home, or during lunch, or in bed.

“Good one,” he states, laugh lines threading over his face, prominent around his eyes. His nose wiggles with the sound - another of his traits that comes out to play often. Your favourite of them all, if you’re being honest.

“Anytime.”

You don’t realise it’s him until it’s too late, until you’re practically running into him, bouncing off the broad expanse of his back with a startled squeak. Lucky for you, you’re quick on your feet, catching yourself before your skull can become too well-acquainted with the red brick wall to your right.

“You okay?” Though he asks, you have a sneaking suspicion he knows you’re not and an even stronger suspicion that he’d been waiting for you, hovering past the entrance of the cafe with his big university hoodie on.

“Barely,” you manage around a laugh, straightening the backpack slung over your shoulders, packed to the brim with goodies you got to bring home at the end of the night and two of your textbooks.

“Should watch where you’re going.”

This is the most conversation you’ve had - ever. But it’s fun, easy, organic and natural. You wonder why that is.

“You should watch where you’re standing, actually.”

He’s so much bigger than you, imposingly tall (especially being part of the Leporidae family) and wide in the chest. Not bulky by any means, but big. Strong. Threaded with a strength you don’t normally see in hybrids of his kind. It probably has to do with how often you see him covered in sweat and panting, basketball hooked under his arm, soccer cleats tied to his bag.

When he speaks again, it’s full of mirth, squeezing his round eyes near shut. “Got a problem with me standing here?”

You nod, solemn as ever (which is really never, but that’s besides the point). “It’s dangerous to block entryways, didn’t you know?” You’re gesturing to the awning, the dark interior just past the window of the shop. “You’re loitering, Jungkook.”

“So you do know my name.” You can tell he’s not surprised - that he’s hamming it up for dramatics, softly pink lips rounded in a little ‘O’. He’s cute like this, you think. Playful in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I do?”

There’s that cheek thing again. It’s even more attractive up close, the shape of his jaw thrown into prominent relief when he sucks in a breath.

“You just said it.”

You nod, thoughtful, finger tapping upon your chin. “I guess I did.”

“Say it again,” he states, expression inscrutable, eyes bright. They’re so glossy even under the dimmed streetlights, impossibly big and undeniable. So easy to get lost in - if your attention weren’t caught by something else.

“What is that?”

You’d noticed it earlier in the day, caught the scent in passing sometime during the early hours. You’d been unable to place it then, too distracted by freshly ground coffee, a girl’s three too many spritzes of Daisy by Marc Jacobs, and baking banana loaves.

It’s heady, masculine. A strong musk that sinks into your nose and makes it twitch, ears rotating as if that’ll help pin the smell down.

“What’s what?” You hadn’t realised how close you’d become, your face five seconds from planting directly into his chest. (It’d probably be nice - you know how soft your school’s merchandise is.) “Are you okay?” He asks because you’re now, actually, planting your face right against the worn navy cotton. It’s terribly nice, silk upon your cheek.

You answer more to his clothes than to him, nosing into the fabric. “You smell different.”

You feel more than hear his laughter, the sound barreling past his teeth seconds later. The vibrations running along his spine jostle you from your position face first upon him but you don’t mind. It doesn’t send you far, dark eyes peering up into the face of the bunny hybrid. True to his kind, his nose is twitching, puffs of laughter expanding his cheeks when he meets your stare.

“No I don’t.”

“You do.” Tone firm, a finger lands upon the neatly embroidered N on his hoodie. The white stitching stands in stark contrast to your baby blue nails. “You smell… off.”

Whether Jungkook’s offended or not, you can’t tell. He’s got that same strange expression on his face - the one from this morning when he’d received his coffee. It’s made up of too many moving parts: the flutter of his lashes, the coil of his jaw, the minute tick of the corner of his mouth. You can’t read him for shit, somehow more confused now than in your 300-level art history class. (You’d taken it as one of your optional electives assuming it’d be an easy A. You were wrong.)

“Sorry you think so,” he hums, looking down at you. You’ve seemed to fully forget the meaning of personal space, edged up beside him as if you’re best friends and not just two ships passing in the night.

“It’s not bad.” Really, it isn’t. It’s strong and sensual, vegetal in a way, calming in another. But it isn’t unwelcome.

In fact, you think you might like this scent a little more - less sweet than what normally clings to his skin, natural honeycomb rather than processed sugar. It zings across your teeth, pieces broken up and scattered behind your molars. You can practically taste it. Him.

“Is that so?”

“Yep.”

You share a look - one that says more than all the words you’ve ever spoken, that threads together all the silly laughter, narrowed stares, (written) flirtations. It settles between the two of you, filling the spaces with something akin to cotton, light and airy and soft.

The desire to speak lingers, hidden just beyond the cotton candy dusting. Should you? Shouldn’t you? You still have no idea what he’s doing here, a street urchin making his rounds on the campus village.

He beats you to it. “Can I walk you back to your dorm?”

You don’t think you could want anything more. “Sure.”

Silence falls again but it’s comfortable, a caress rather than a crutch. The grounds are surprisingly quiet - wayward students on their way to the library or heading home from lectures. There are no picnic blankets spread across the grass, no gaggles of girls dressed in school colours. It feels like the first day of fall, change sitting heavy in the air.

“So—” You start.

He finishes, “do you wanna go on a date with me?”

That’s surprising. (Or is it? You’re not really sure.) You nearly trip over your own two feet in your haste to look at him, entire body swivelling on the spot because apparently you can’t just turn your head like a normal person. Something something all or nothing.

“What?”

“Do. You. Want. To—” He’s being insufferable for the hell of it. You can see it in his eyes, glossy things shining down at you like he’s got the entire fucking nightsky hung in them.

“Not if you keep that up,” you retort, though you both know you’re lying. You’ve been waiting - wishing, wanting - for this moment since the day you laid eyes on him. Since Yuri had elbowed you so hard in the ribs you’d thought you’d be bruised for days, since Jae had rambled on and on for his entire shift about the cute new bunny who’d come in that morning. Since that very first wrongly spelt name on his plastic cup and every visit since.

“Is that a challenge?”

“You won’t get it in.”

He scoffs, loud and drawn out, cheek rounding with disbelief at your disbelief. How can you possibly doubt him - school basketball star and all-around athletic freak of nature?

“What do I get if I do?” The ball rests in his palm, poised to be shot through the hoop, sunk without making contact with the rim. He’s confident - he’s done it a million times.

“A pat on the back?” As much as you tease him - loop mockery around nearly every syllable you speak, you’re endlessly supportive, already carrying the fruits of his labour under your arms. A Pikachu shoved haphazardly into the purse slung across your body, a Snorlax tucked under your arm at an awkward angle that crushes his poor head, a Sylveon tucked into the side pocket of his joggers. (The arcade was really into Pokemon, apparently.) “Me saying thank you?”

“Not good enough.” He leans in close - those big galaxy eyes practically swallowing you whole - and taps a single finger upon your nose. It makes your nostrils flare, an itch blooming under his touch. “Gotta sweeten the deal.”

You must look hilarious because Jungkook’s biting back a smile, smirking down at you. Then, all at once, without breaking eye contact, he’s extending his arm, flicking his wrist, and— swish!

In goes the ball, leaving him with a perfect score.

“I want you to stay the night.”

You think he’s joking. He must be joking. This is your third date.

But he’s staring at you like he’s completely serious, gaze expectant, lips pursed around something that reads like a smile but has your heart doing a strange little one-two step in your chest. It soars for a moment, high above the clouds like the string orchestra of a choral work - Beethoven’s Ninth in D minor.

“Are you propositioning me, Jeon Jungkook?” It’s the same reaction he always has when you say his name: a twitch of his ear, the corner of his bottom lip quirking and then resetting, eyes so sparkly it’s almost absurd.

“No. I’m just telling you what I want.”

“Huh.” You should say no. Guys like him - with charm that oozes out of every pore, whose offhanded smiles break more hearts than you ever have - are almost always bad news. Too sweet, too funny, simply too much for your feeble heart to take.

“Is that a yes?” He’s got you in his clutches - a viper rather than a hare, with a smile so dangerous you’re paralysed by just the sight of it. (Who needs venom?)

Your words catch in your throat, stick to one another like the deformed gummies at the bottom of the movie theatre bag. What comes out isn’t what you expect. “Okay.”

Damn you. Damn him. Damn how good he smells and the big dumb grin that spreads over his lips, sunshine in human form, undeniable and warm and cute enough to start a war over. (That’s probably what’s happening - a vicious battle between your head and your heart.)

Damn his stupid thumping foot that you can make out over the sound of the video games, the boisterous din. It’s so cute you can’t help yourself from smiling, mouth pulling and pursing around the delight that begs to be freed.

“Cool,” he says, and you almost think that’s not very cool. He’s so nonchalant, cavalier about it as if it means nothing. You’d be bothered if you felt like you didn’t know him so well - hadn’t learnt his idiosyncrasies over the last two months.

How he looks when he laughs really hard, his slightly too-big front teeth taking up all the real estate in his mouth. How he sounds when he’s tired (groggy, with a lisp that rarely sees the light of day otherwise) or when he’s told he’s wrong (pouty, with his bottom lip jutted out so cutely you want to scream). How he runs every morning, hits the gym every night, and eats double your protein because fitness, bro! How his cheat meal of choice is soy garlic fried chicken from the place off-campus and he hates tangy, tart desserts (your lemonade lip gloss not included, he insists). How he can’t sleep if he’s too hot - which he often is - and he spends way too long combing through his ears with a specialty brush he doesn’t let anyone touch. How he’s secretly raindrops and gummy bears and hand holding in the car, so much more than his high school superlative of most likely to grace the cover of GQ.

You wonder, because you know those things, does that make you special? Does it make you immune to the heartbreak that you swear you imagine whenever your mood drops (not often, but often enough)?

You hope so.

“Let’s go shoot guns?” He’s tearing you from your reverie, planting an open-mouthed kiss to your temple. It’s sloppy and not very refined, much less suave than what you’d expect from your school’s soccer captain (and basketball small forward and swim team stand-in). You suppose that’s why you like him so much - because he’s always surprising you, keeping you on your toes.

“Let’s.” You agree, letting your date drag you toward the Time Crisis machine. It’s blissfully unoccupied, allowing the two of you to slide into place. He takes the blue gun, you the red.

He squeezes your hip when you take up position, one eye squeezed shut as you look down the barrel of the plastic weapon. “Better not let me die.”

“Better not get shot,” you return.

He doesn’t listen - failing halfway through the helicopter scene, his shot missing and resulting in some sad miserable death in the form of Continue? blinking across the screen. Neither of you mind that much though. He occupies himself on his phone, free hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. You play better when he’s not shouting terrible call-outs, nearly crashing into you because he gets so into it.

(How he’s never got a concussion on the basketball/soccer/etc. field before, you’re not sure.)

By the time you’re done - a good five minutes later, you think - Jungkook’s growing restless, tugging at your belt loops enough that you stumble with every shot, nearly knocking yourself out when you have to steady yourself on the centre console.

“Kook!” Your glare is barely that, too affectionate to dissuade him from his childish antics.

He pulls you forward, traps you between his thick thighs, tattooed hands settling comfortably on your hips. “Let’s go home.”

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

Of course, he doesn’t deny that.

It’s not the first time you’ve been over. Not even your second or third. You’ve met up with him before his games, thrown his jersey overtop and helped him wrap his fingers before hitting the court. You’d even had to grab his cleats for him once, running across campus as he did drills in his socks as punishment.

This time feels different. You know why but it doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow. It lodges somewhere in your throat, makes it hard to breathe when you kick off your shoes and tuck them neatly beside Jungkook’s.

“Are you hungry?” He’s already in the small kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at you as you linger in the adjoining hallway, bag halfway over your head.

“I’m good.” You are, really. You’d eaten one donut too many at the arcade, indulged in a little too much disgusting nacho cheese goodness. You don’t really understand how your date’s still hungry, a cucumber crunching between his teeth when he turns back to you.

Standing there, vegetable devoured in quick, decisive bites, he looks every inch the French lop bunny he is.

You reach him in the same instant he finishes his midnight snack. Arms fold around you like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, head dropping to rest comfortably upon yours. Like this, his ears tickle your cheek - velveteen fur lost to the silk of your hair. “Are you tired?”

Another no comes - spoken into the fuzzy fabric of his sweater - and he hums above you, whole frame rattling with the noise.

“No bed then?”

At least he’s transparent, you think.

“One track mind much?” You’re only teasing. A part of you looks forward to… whatever it is that sits over the horizon, lost past the creaky bedroom door and somewhere beneath his surprisingly soft sheets. (You’d asked about them once - he’d told you his mother liked to send him housewares to remind him of home. He was a real mama’s boy that way.)

The monster only laughs, snuggles into your hair like it’s home. “Can you blame me?”

You can’t do much of anything when he’s like this - so utterly adorable and enticing and good for your heart that it feels as if you’ve taken a straight dose of morphine.

“Let’s go to bed, Wookie.” Another nickname, recently coined after you’d spent an evening watching Star Wars for the first time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You whack him on the way to his bedroom, smack a hand over the arm curled around your shoulders. He pretends like it hurts, howls in a way he he thinks resembles a wounded animal but really just sounds stupid. “Not a ma’am.”

“Sir?” He asks, just to make you laugh.

“If you don’t shut up—”

He pushes you through the door of his bedroom while giggling to himself, sound puffing out of his cheeks. “Don’t be mad, kitten.” The two of you drop to the bed, a tangle of limbs and silken fur and squeaking laughter. “You’re so purr-ty when you’re annoyed.”

He’s doing it again. Dropping those stupid cat puns that make your nose wrinkle, ink-tipped ears folding back against your head.

“I think I’m hiss-terical, don’t you?”

Face adamantly buried into his sheets, you don’t give him the time of day. You don’t even care that your mascara is probably rubbing off against the charcoal fabric, lipstick tint doing potentially irreversible damage. He knows how unfunny you find these jokes, how you’ve heard them your whole life and roll your eyes so hard your optic nerve might sever every time you face another.

What’s the point of sharing your pet peeves with him when all he does is lean into them? Use them against you like it’s the cool thing to do. Make you wonder what you’d seen in him when he was just another customer, another boy in Seoul National indigo and bedhead so dishevelled it begged to be managed.

(You’re not sure why you’re so irritated suddenly, caught in the clutches of a moodswing as you curl into your side and ignore his bad jokes.)

Stupid Jeon Jungkook. Annoying, silly, too-cool-for-his-own-good Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook who makes you second guess your choices, leaves you breathless and confused with just one dumb look. Who has convinced you into his bed and teases you mercilessly, snickering to himself as his foot bounces against the floorboards because he finds himself that funny.

“Baby?” The pet name comes, presses itself past your curtain of hair and invades your thoughts.

You say nothing, adamantly faced away.

He doesn’t like that, sneaking his hands around you and cradling you into his chest as if that’ll lighten the mood. (It does, a little bit, but you don’t tell him that.) “Don’t ignore me,” he mumbles, warmth breath tickling your ears, fingers dancing over the rungs of your ribs as if they’re ivory and not bone, playing a tune only he can hear.

“Stop with the shitty jokes,” you retort. You’re being difficult - can feel the vinegar turning your blood even as he tries to will it all away.

You feel the intake, the rise and fall of his broad chest. You can only imagine how hard he’s biting his tongue, careful to keep his next errant pun at bay. People don’t tell him no - only you. Maybe that’s why you do it, to remind him you’re not just like everyone else.

“Sorry.”

You don’t tell him to show you how sorry— but he does anyway.

You’re astounded by him, utterly entranced by the way he moves. How power runs the length of his frame, manoeuvres each of his limbs and turns your own to jelly.

He’s got you face down, ass up, hands cradling your hips like they’re his home and he can’t bear to let go. Every upward stroke feels like heaven - feels like a million lifetimes of pleasure you can barely wrap your thoughts around. He’s impossibly big, thick and long. The first thought you’d had when he’d stripped his black Calvin Kleins was pretty.

You realise now there’s nothing pretty about him. He’s filthy - the devil come to collect as he fucks you across his bed, nearly loses you to the pillows at the head with each snap of his hips. (What they said about rabbits was true, you think.)

“B-Bunny,” you sob, scratch over cotton that’s worn soft and smells exactly like your favourite sweater of his. The linens are defenseless, tangled up and wrinkled with each flex of your fingers, bunched up within your palms every time he buries himself like he’s looking for the answer to life, thinks he might find it within the fluttering walls of your pussy.

“Not my name.” When he sounds like this, he’s more predator than prey, a thousand volts of electricity shooting up your spine. He’s demanding and unrelenting. It makes your head spin.

“Wook—”

“Not.” Bunny teeth are just as painful as a feline’s, doing their job as they dig into the flushed skin over your back, marking his territory with two prominent indents right between your neck and shoulder. “A.” He ruts into you as if he’s got something to prove, snaps his hips to a beat you can’t keep up with. “Wookie.” Grips you so tight you might snap, red blooming beneath his hands.

You sob under him, drool against the pillows because you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut. (You feel like Jungkook post-win, spewing nonsense as he prattles on about game winning plays with his teammates.)

“K-Kookie.” It’s what he wants to hear - hits him right in the chest, a bull’s eye to the thing that beats wildly and in tandem with your own.

His rhythm stutters. The bed is shaking and not because he’s practically breaking the weak wooden frame. No, his foot’s thumping, bouncing across the sheets even as he tries to regulate the roll of his hips, return it to the assured, teeth-numbingly good tempo it’d been at.

It doesn’t work. You love it anyway. Like it more, because it means he’s just as affected by you as you are him. Your heart sings, leaps out of your chest on hummingbird wings, and dances around your head. You’re a goddamn cartoon - Pepé Le Pew in ragdoll form - animated pink shapes circling like a crown.

You don’t care. You can’t. Not when he plasters himself to your back and asks you to say it again, begs you to tell him how good he is, tells you how he wants to make you his.

Who cares if it’s three dates in, if your meeting was cliched and silly and he’s the campus heartthrob?

You don’t - because he’s yours and when he flips you onto your back and you curl your fingers into his hair, it’s your name he stutters out. It’s you who has him coming apart beneath your hands, the feel of his ears like velvet, the little whines he huffs growing louder each time you tug at the base. It’s you who knows what he sounds like as he falls to pieces, throws himself against you as if gravity demands it. It’s you who holds him to sleep, whose skin acts as a canvas for the doodles he traces as he drifts off.

It’s you and it’s him and that’s enough.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

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cactusnymph · 3 years

Text

matters of the heart

“Sir Caroline, I must ask your advice in an important matter.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘Sir’ anymore, Angelo. We’ve been over this.”

“Excuse me, Caroline. Now, this important matter—“

“Is this about Ale? Because, and I cannot stress this enough, I do not want to hear anything about your love life, Angelo.”

Angelo has to admit that this is not the way he had hoped the conversation to go. He feels himself deflate a little as he looks at Caroline’s disapproving face.

“But S—Caroline, I wouldn’t know who else to ask! Usually my best friend and former rival would be my first choice, but he’s not available at the moment.”

Caroline looks at him for a moment then sighs, lowering her head into her hands for a heartbeat before looking up at him again.

“Fine. Just this once. Next time you can just write Damien a letter.”

“Yes, Sir—I mean. Yes, Caroline.”

Caroline starts massaging her temple.

“So. Spit it out. What is it?”

“I almost can’t believe that I am saying this—truly, I think it is the first time I understand my friend Damien. I must speak my heart—“

“Oh, for the love of—“

“You are married to Miss Quanyii, are you not, Caroline?”

“Yes, I am. What does that have to do with anything?”

“So you must be well-versed in matters of the heart! How did you court your wife? I admit, I have never attempted this before and I have no idea how to go about courting a man—“

“And why should it be different than courting a woman, Angelo?”

Angelo pauses for a second. It was brought to his attention many times now that the distinctions between men and women he has learned about all his life might not actually be as accurate as many people make them out to be. Truly, Caroline is the best example. And now he has met Ale and Miss Quanyii, who is sometimes not Miss Quanyii but Mr Quanyii.

Angelo considers Caroline’s words.

“So you’re saying I should court Ale in the exact same way I would court a woman”, he says.

Caroline rolls her eyes.

“I do not see how gender has anything to do with this, Angelo. The way you court a person depends on the person. Not all women care for flowers and candles and love letters. I have no idea what Ale would prefer as courting; maybe he doesn’t want to be courted at all.”

“Like Sir Talfryn, yes. I have learned about this. You are correct, Caroline and I am glad to have asked you. I shall speak to Ale about this to make sure that I am not overstepping any boundaries! I thank you for your wisdom! Hophophophophophop.”

Angelo is not afraid of anything.

He’s not afraid of pain or fighting or dying or even things as complicated as numbers even though he is not very good at them. But when he finds Ale sitting next to Olala, showing her how to start a campfire with her little hands, something tightens in Angelo’s chest and all he can do is stare.

Ale is beautiful. Dark skin, long hair, big eyes and long lashes, a soft smile as he tells little Olala that she’s doing well.

Angelo feels his stomach drop; a sensation that is very similar to falling and his heart beats so rapidly in his chest that he has trouble breathing for a moment.

Maybe he should have rehearsed this. Maybe it would be better if little Olala was not there with Ale. Maybe he was hasty when he concluded that speaking directly to Ale would be the best course of action. A warrior’s approach. Head on. The same way he always approaches difficulties.

Ale looks up when he notices Angelo and he flashes him a grin that makes Angelo’s insides squirm around like very lively snakes. Saints, if he starts using more metaphors for how Ale makes him feel he might turn into Damien before he knows it.

“Hey schoolboy, what can we do for you?”

Angelo isn’t sure why it makes him feel warm and tingly when Ale calls him ‘schoolboy’, but it absolutely does.

He clears his throat.

“I was about to—hm. Well.”

Angelo wishes Damien were here so he could tell him how to find the right words for this. Damien has such a knack for language and beautiful words, while Angelo—well. Angelo has never in his life understood one poem that Damien showed to him.

“We’re making fire, Sir Angelo! I made a small flame, all without magic! Look!”, Olala proclaims excitedly and waves at the little wisp of smoke her efforts have conjured.

“Very good, Olala. I—uh. I must take my leave.”

And for the first time in his life, Sir Angelo The Strong turns around and flees.

“Aw, Angelo, what is it?”

Angelo looks up as Quanyii appears out of nowhere right beside him.

“I am afraid that I have become a coward, Miss Quanyii”, he says as he looks down at his big hands.

“I highly doubt that, sweetie. Is this about our beautiful vigilante boy?”, Quanyii wants to know as she scoots closer to Angelo, her colorful hair surrounding her head like a cloud.

“Yes. I have spoken to Si—to Caroline about this and she gave me important insight on the matter of courting rituals.”

“She did?”, Quanyii asks, sounding surprised.

“Yes. She explained that courting is not a matter of gender but of the individual’s personality. She also pointed out that Ale might have no interest in romantic relationships which I had not considered before.”

Quanyii puts her index finger to her lips and taps them thoughtfully.

“Yes, yes, such wisdom. But have you considered asking me about this? Romance is a magical thing after all and sweetheart, I’m a witch! Caroline doesn’t know one itsy-bitsy thing about romance, let me tell you that”, Quanyii says and pouts a little.

Angelo raises his head.

“So you would help me in this quest to court Ale?”, he asks. The grin that spreads on Quanyii’s face makes Angelo pause. This might not be a good idea.

“Oh, sweetie, don’t you worry your silly little head. I will give you one tip for free because we have become such good friends during those past few weeks! I know a little secret and that is that Ale does like romance!”

Angelo feels his face light up with a smile as relief courses through his entire body. He feels like he could do a hundred push-ups right here and now. Maybe even lift Porthos. Or the whole, fallen tree he’s sitting on.

“Why thank you, Miss Quanyii, that is most helpful!”

He grabs both of her hands and shakes them as Quanyii giggles.

“You are so very welcome, Angelo. For every other piece of help I’m going to require a little bit of payment. A witch has to make do, you know.”

Angelo doesn’t really understand but he nods anyway and gets up from the fallen tree trunk.

“I do not believe that I will need further assistance, now that the issue of romantic attraction has been resolved! Sir Angelo The Strong is back on his feet! Ha ha! Hophophophophophop.”

“Good luck, brave knight!”, Quanyii calls after him as Angelo runs back towards the camp.

Now that Angelo knows that Ale is not generally opposed to romance the path seems clear. That is, at least until Angelo arrives back at the place where Ale and Olala made their little fire before.

The two of them are still there, but both of them are asleep. Ale is sitting with his back against a tree, his legs spread, and Olala has curled up between his legs, her tail gently snoring. Caroline sits by the fire and sharpens her blade.

She looks up as Angelo enters the clearing.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Angelo”, she says as Angelo stares at Ale’s sleeping form. His long lashes are feathered out on his cheeks and for a second Angelo imagines to brush his fingers over Ale’s cheek and give him a kiss.

The thought immediately sends his heart into another gallop that would make Porthos proud and Angelo swallows heavily.

“I cannot report any ghost sightings at this point, Sir—I mean. Caroline.”

Angelo notices how Caroline’s eyes narrow as she looks him up and down and since Caroline has stated that she has no interest to know anything about Angelo’s love life he tries very hard to respect her wishes and to not look at Ale as if he’s the most beautiful thing that Angelo has ever seen.

Which he very definitely is.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, sit down, you oaf”, Caroline snaps and Angelo, still as an automatic response to her authoritative voice, walks over to the fire and sits down next to her.

“Did you talk to Quanyii?”, she wants to know.

“Yes. She cleared up a question I had and I thought it would make things easier, but as it turns out, it did not.”

“I wouldn’t make any deals with her, witches are fickle and cunning creatures.”

“Babe, you’re being so mean!”

“Oh, shut it. You know it’s true.”

“Yes, but when you say it like that it’s mean, mean, mean!”

Angelo watches them bicker for a while before his eyes drift back over to Ale and Olala. Ale’s hand is resting on Olala’s back and Angelo looks at it for a while. Ale’s hand is much smaller than his and Angelo wonders what it would feel like to hold it. It must be rough from all the sword-fighting, much like Angelo’s hand.

Maybe Ale doesn’t have any interest in holding Angelo’s hand. Maybe Ale doesn’t like men.

“What is it now, Angelo”, Caroline asks with an expression on her face that says she might regret asking.

“I forgot to consider another important thing regarding this whole courting business”, Angelo says and looks at Caroline. Quanyii seems to have vanished into thin air—something Angelo has seen happening multiple times during those last few weeks.

“Which is?”

“You made me aware of the possibility of Ale being averse to romantic relationships, but I forgot to consider whether or not Ale would be opposed to romantic relationships to men. I only ever knew one man who liked another man. Lizard. Does it count as a man if it is a lizard? I certainly don’t know. My point stands, though.”

Caroline sighs deeply and cards through her short her.

“It seems highly unlike you to ask all these questions instead of simply acting, Angelo”, she says and looks at him with a stern gaze.

Angelo sighs.

“Yes, I know. I am afraid I have found my most lethal opponent yet! Matters of the heart! No monster could ever best me in combat, but my own heart is betraying me.”

Caroline puts her blade to the side and leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she looks at Angelo with her piercing eyes.

“Just talk to him. It’s that easy. No one can ever truly know another person’s heart or thoughts unless they speak them out loud.”

“Unless you’re a witch”, comes a disembodied sing-song from somewhere above them.

“Unless you’re a witch in which case you should stay out of people’s heads”, Caroline barks up the tree and looks back at Angelo.

“I cannot believe that I should turn into a coward for something as simple as talking. It seems highly ridiculous.”

Caroline shrugs.

“Emotions are hard. And I... understand your hesitance. But you should not let your feelings rule over your rational thoughts.”

“That is a very Caroline thing to say, Sir Caroline.”

“Stop calling me ‘Sir’ already!”

“Certainly, Sir Caroline.”

“Ugh.”

“Ale, can I ask you a personal question?”

“You can ask anything you want, schoolboy. I can decide whether or not I want to answer.”

“Oh—yes. That is very reasonable. Thank you. Uh—“

“Sir knight, are you alright? Did you get sunburnt? Sir Caroline says it is important to not stay outside in the sun for too long!”

“I am not sunburnt, little Olala.”

“Ask your question, schoolboy. Is this about gender again?”

“Uh—no. Not—huh. I suppose it is! But not in the way you think!”

“Well then, shoot.”

“This is more about the genders of others, I suppose! A potential paramour, one might say! I have a friend who has a fiancée but who is also involved with a man. Lizard. Male lizard? I am not entirely certain about the lizard’s gender and I was told not to assume. Anyway. What I wanted to ask—“

“You want to know if I like lizards?”

“No, that’s not—“

“I was joking, schoolboy. Calm down. You want to know what kind of people I’m attracted to.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t much care about gender, but it doesn’t happen often that I’m attracted to people. Either romantically or sexually.”

“Oh.”

“I just don’t fall in love easily. And I don’t find many people hot.”

“Hm.”

“Any more questions?”

“Yes, but I am afraid they would be borderline offensive and highly invasive.”

“Well then. Let’s keep it at that, schoolboy.”

“Sir knight, are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, little Olala.”

“It’s just that you are usually very loud but you have been very quiet for a while. I recently learned about heatstrokes and it sounds awful and I hope you don’t have a heatstroke, Sir knight.”

“I don’t think I have anything of the kind, Olala.”

Olala sits down next to Angelo. He’s leaning against Porthos who’s lying down and nibbling on some grass. Ale and Caroline are investigating something and since Angelo is not the best at clues he offered to stay behind to guard their belongings and also Olala.

“Most adults do not like to tell children why they’re sad. But if you wanted to, I would certainly listen.”

“That’s very kind of you, Olala. Have you ever liked someone?”

“Of course! I like so many people!”

“Ah, yes. Hm. And were you ever scared to tell any of these people that you like them?”

“No, Sir knight. I grew up in the Garden of Graves and we tended to the dead and my sisters always taught me that it is important to speak your heart while the people you love are alive, for you never know when they might die and then you can’t tell them anymore.”

“That is... very wise, Olala.”

“Thank you, Sir knight! My sisters taught me a great many things and I am honored to pass their wisdom on to others.”

Angelo looks down at Olala’s small form and ruffles her hair.

“I will take it to heart!”, he promises.

“Hey, Angelo. Can I talk to you for a moment?”

They make camp by a river and Caroline takes Olala for a bath. Angelo turns around to look at Ale, who tied his long braids into a top knot. He’s wearing a white tunic that is a little too big for him and allows Angelo a view of Ale’s collarbone.

Angelo tries very hard not to stare because he refuses to be disrespectful any more than he already was when they first met.

“Of course, Ale.”

Ale looks at him. Angelo would never trust himself to read people’s behavior—that has never been his forté. But he could swear that Ale looks almost a bit nervous; something that Angelo hasn’t seen on him so far.

“So, remember that talk we had? About how I might like lizards or not?”, Ale begins and Angelo winces a little.

“It was poorly worded and I apologize—“

“It’s fine, Angelo. That’s not what this is about. But... you remember what I said. About not being attracted to people often?”

“Yes. I remember.”

“Why did you want to know that?”

Angelo takes a deep breath and scratches the back of his head.

“I—uh. Well”, he starts, then doesn’t know how to continue. He remembers the talks he had with Caroline and Olala and straightens his back. Sir Angelo the Strong will not back down from a challenge. Any challenge!

“I would like to court you, Ale.”

Ale blinks. Once, twice, three times.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“You—what?”

“Courting. I would like to court you. Woo you. Win you over. In the romantic sense. But I was not sure if that was something that would make you uncomfortable, so I tried to figure out if you might be opposed against courtship. By men. Or anyone.”

Ale takes two steps towards him and Angelo has the great need to spread his arms and pull Ale close to him, but he doesn’t. He’s asking for permission and he will not ruin this by overstepping boundaries.

A slight chuckle pulls him back to reality and he sees Ale’s eyes twinkle, the corners of his lips turned upwards.

“Are you asking me on a date, schoolboy?”, Ale asks. His playful smile is doing things to Angelo he can’t describe because he is not Damien. But man, he almost feels the need to write a poem about that smile. That is how badly smitten he is with this wonderful, splendid man standing in front of him.

“I suppose so! Ale, will you allow me to take you on a date?”

Ale takes another step and raises his hand to softly flip one finger against Angelo’s forehead.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

#ale of milltown #tpp #the penumbra podcast #penumbra podcast #the second citadel #second citadel #sir angelo #sir angelo the strong #alengelo #mi writes #i'm still in the penumbra zone #and i love these two so much and also the whole weirdo brigade

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takohebi · 3 years

Text

Serpentine Escapade

Pairing: f!MC/Yuu x Jamil Viper

tags: fluff, romantic tension || word count: 2431

Summary: The NRC was hosting an extravagant Ball. Yuu wanted a few moments away from the party. A familiar snake slowly glides up to her.

Read on AO3

Fic under the cut-

Yuu slipped away from the main hall quietly. The NRC Ball was a huge event, with student representatives coming from other colleges as well. Yuu was overwhelmed by the number of people on the dance floor, swirling together delightedly as the light music club provided music and entertainment. It wasn’t like she was lonely- she had already danced a lot, albeit clumsily with Ace and Deuce and even twirled an indignant Grim around a few times. Then Azul and the Leech twins danced with her, their movements elegant and graceful despite being mermen. And she had promised Cater and Lilia dances later. No, Yuu wasn’t lonely; she just wanted a short time away from the bright lights and the crowds. She may not be as asocial as Idia (who did not turn up today, although Ortho did) but big crowds still made her feel nervous and overwhelmed.

She retreated to one of the more reclusive balconies surrounding the humongous ballroom. There was no one around. She let out a sigh of relief.

Yuu stood in the wide balcony overlooking the immaculate Pomefiore gardens. The music was a dull rhythm in the background now, a comforting constant in the otherwise still and quiet night. Yuu sighed. It had been many months since she was whisked away by the carriage. She had essentially restarted her life here. New friends, new rules, new troubles, new...feelings. It was definitely an improvement from her old life, so much so that she continues to repress those memories when they inevitably intrude upon her life in Twisted Wonderland. Shaking her head to dispel the rising mix of apprehension and unease whenever she slipped and remembered her past, Yuu tried to focus her thoughts on the faraway beat, tapping her foot in cadence. It was a tried and true technique that kept her from spiraling and soon she was back to being herself again, eyes closed, body swaying gently to the music, her foot keeping the beat.

“Yuu? Is something wrong?”

A familiar voice jolted Yuu out of her focused distraction. Her eyes flew open to meet Jamil’s, her heart racing a mile a minute. Jamil walked casually towards her, his expression collected but maybe hinted with a slight bit of concern. Maybe. At any rate, Yuu didn’t say anything but watched him get closer, her eyes idly taking in his appearance, though not for the first time this evening. Jamil hardly wore shirts. His dorm uniform and gym clothes always consisted of a hoodie. So seeing him buttoned up in an elegant suit was a special treat. Jamil looked good in everything he wore, and tonight was no exception. The well-tailored suit accentuated his long legs and lean body, making Yuu’s breath catch with every stolen glance during the Ball.

Yuu realised she was attracted to the reticent vice dorm-head shortly after his overblot incident, when Kalim started inviting her over for dinners or mancala games. These sojourns almost always ended up with her staying back to help Jamil clean up and settle things in order and during these moments, Yuu came to realise 2 things: Jamil Viper was a very capable man, who balanced his duties, academics and hobbies perfectly and without complaint, which was pretty cool and admirable. And also, Jamil Viper was very handsome, alluring and physically attractive.

The second observation hit Yuu with the power of a speeding truck when she first saw him laugh at a silly story she shared with him as they were wrapping up after an evening of mancala. His mirthful expression combined with his voice ringing out in amusement dazed Yuu and she realised she was already in love with him for a while now, enjoying their small, quiet moments in each others’ company in the opulent Scarabia Dorm.

At present Jamil had reached her spot in the balcony, the worry on his face a tad bit clearer. “Hey are you feeling well? You look spaced out. Everything okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Oh, I just wanted a small break from the crowd. I am fine. Needed a moment away, that’s all.”

“I get what you mean. The Ball is really grand and it seems with each passing year, more people turn up for these events. It’s just...I saw you leave the Hall and not return and-”

“Ha you thought I was going to run away? Away from the delicious desserts? No way!”

“- and was concerned that you might not be well.” he continues, eyebrows creasing disapprovingly at her feeble attempt at deflection. His annoyed face was adorable, Yuu thought to herself. But she refrained from saying it. It won’t be wise to annoy him further.

So she smiled and said “I am fine, Jamil. Thank you for asking. I do intend to return to the Ball before Lilia hexes me for spurning his dance offer."

She gave a shallow laugh as Jamil’s earlier words sunk in. Had she continued watching Jamil as she spoke, she might have seen his frown get deeper when she mentioned Lilia and her promise to the enigmatic fae. But Yuu now had other thoughts in mind.

So he had watched her leave huh? He had watched her leave. The idea of Jamil looking at her from afar made her insides flutter. She too, had been looking at him during the event, quite a lot in fact. She saw him dance with a lot of students from his dorm, Azul (though Jamil seemed extremely reluctant about it), Ace and Floyd. She was hoping to dance with him at some point too, making a mental note to ask him later. And now he is here, with her, under the waning moon, alone and away from the party. As she slowly started to think of how to phrase the question without being weird, Jamil spoke.

“Would you like to dance with me?”

Yuu’s head snapped to face Jamil. He was looking away, expression neutral but she swore he was blushing slightly, the same look he had on his birthday celebration, many weeks ago. She blinked rapidly, her mind blanking. She wasn’t mentally prepared for this!!

Jamil looked at her, his frown had returned. Yuu panicked for a moment before forging on.

“It’s fine-”

“YES”

“I want to dance with you Jamil. I mean it.” Yuu grinned, barely able to contain her excitement. She hoped the semi-darkness helped hide her blush.

Her heart hammered in her chest as Jamil wordlessly held out his hand, a soft smile on his face. Why was this man so beautiful?

Almost too eagerly Yuu took it, and Jamil pulled her into a slow dance, in perfect harmony with the distant, ongoing music.

Now as noted previously, Yuu had already danced quite a bit before but somehow this time, it felt more...personal. Was it because her partner was a man she’d been slowly falling in love with? Was it because right now they were away, separate from the rest of the school, rest of the world, tangled together in this moment of time?

At any rate, all she could think of right now was the feeling of Jamil’s hand in hers, his other on her waist and the proximity of their bodies, their breaths. It felt intimate and it made her forget to breathe. Her body followed Jamil’s mechanically, and she was happy to be led by him. It gave her time to drink him in. She could hear the soft tinkling of the bell in his hair accessory. It was a soft reminder of their closeness. Her eyes wandered more. She noticed his lashes were a kind of long, and his makeup for tonight seemed immaculate. Oh his ear had a small mole, how cute.

She continued.

The muscles in his neck flexed and moved slightly with their steps, the sight mesmerizing Yuu. Ha, Jamil didn’t need his unique magic to hold her captive. His lips were gently sloped into a casual small smile and Yuu could not believe her heart could beat any faster, but it did. Her eyes raked over his hands next- seeing their intertwined hands made her skin tingle with happiness and excitement. His other rested steadily on her waist and Yuu wondered how would it feel to let it wander. He smelled nice too. Some kind of soft cologne. Yuu was careful not to inhale too much, lest she forget herself and do something inappropriate. Ahh, she was enjoying this dance very much.

Though her eyes ravished his body and face, Yuu did not look into Jamil’s eyes. She knew if she did, she would do or say something stupid and or crass and she was scared. Scared of breaking this magical spell. The air around her felt electric and heady. And she wasn’t done with it yet. Just a few moments more...

Suddenly Jamil’s grip on her hand grew a slight bit tighter, breaking her indulgent thoughts and prompting her to glance quickly at him. He was again looking away, again frowning and looking a little...pouty?

“Hey are you okay?” Yuu asked, slightly panicky. Was she dancing badly? Is he bored?

He started. He probably squeezed her hand unknowingly. Odd. Jamil is usually pretty calculative of everything. Impulsive is not a word to describe him. He sighed softly, the action fanning Yuu’s hair and gently caressing her neck, causing her mind to go into overdrive. Focus! She has to focus! It won’t do to lose her mental faculties right when Jamil is about to speak.

“It’s not me, I am worried you are not enjoying this.”

“What?! Why would you say that?” Yuu asked with a laugh, the idea that she could possibly not be enjoying being held by Jamil seemed so absurd.

Jamil huffed, lips quirking, accentuating his pout. Lord this man can be so endearing! He seemed to be carefully thinking about his words. Hmm, he usually didn’t need to think so much.

“Earlier… when- hmm. When you danced with Ace, you were talking...laughing. You seemed more- enthusiastic. You can be honest with me you know? I have faith in my dancing but not in being an enjoyable companion.”

Jamil seemed to be picking his words slowly, cautiously. Yuu was not.

“Jamil! That was because Ace was constantly mimicking Crewel as we danced. His imitations are really funny. Well you know how Ace is, he is never serious.” Yuu laughed nervously but Jamil didn’t look convinced. Yuu’s brain raced, trying to find words and string them together.

Instinctively she tightened her grip on Jamil’s hand and leaned in, hoping her panic doesn’t show. “Jamil, I swear I am having the time of my life right now. I- I don’t know how to express it well. But I would rather be here dancing with you, than with anyone or anywhere else right this moment. I really enjoy your company and would have refused to dance if I really did not want to. You know that right? I am here because I want to.”

Jamil’s eyes widened slightly, his lips parted as if to say something but no words were spoken. Yuu realised she had done what she was avoiding- looking at Jamil’s eyes and with them being this close, she noted his eyes were a pretty grey, the light from the Hall casting a warm glow. Yuu felt her thoughts trailing to his lips again. They were right there. She glanced at them and wet her own. How easy would it be to accidentally lean in a bit and brush her lips against his. A small chaste kiss. She let out a breath and quickly shot a look at his eyes again. They were searing into hers and she could see him quickly work something out as he held her stare.

How and when she did not know but Jamil’s hand had now moved from her waist to her face, cupping it gently. His expression shifted to something a little cocky. The way he looked when he knew he was winning. Smug and certain. Yuu hoped her heartbeat wasn’t actually audible because right now, all she could hear was the roaring in her ears.

And Jamil’s voice. His silky smooth voice as he spoke in a lowered tone-

“Yuu. If it’s ok with-”

“YUU! THERE YOU ARE!!”

Ace’s voice cut through the moment, cleanly slicing the tension and Jamil instantly leaned back, face immediately resuming his usual stoic expression. Yuu loved her friend but right now she was angrily wishing she could use magic because she would very much like to curse him for a year. But the look of relief on his face as he ran towards the two softened her heart. A bit. Yuu was still pretty mad.

Behind him, Deuce appeared, a little out of breath, holding Grim. Evidently they were looking for Yuu. “We were worried about you. You could have at least told us before taking off y’know.” Grim said, a look of exasperation on his face.

“Sorry, I chanced upon her sometime ago but she wanted some fresh air so I was accompanying her.” Jamil replied, politely.

“Well we just didn’t want her missing out on the desserts. That’s all.” Ace said, crossing his arms. Sure Ace. That’s all. His reluctance to admit his feelings made Yuu smile. Her idiot trio were most definitely the cutest people in the campus. Uh, save for Jamil. And Kalim. Hmm maybe that title has a lot of competition.

Deuce was on his phone, maybe texting someone. Ace was talking, “-yeah tell Ruggie that we found her and she’s fine. Hang on, maybe don’t tell him. He still owes me for cheating me out of my lunch the other day…” As Deuce elbowed him and the bickering started, Yuu’s idle thoughts were interrupted by a pressure on her hand. Her heart skipped several beats when she realised Jamil was holding her hand throughout this even if they broke apart the moment Ace spoke. Yuu slowly glanced at him and saw him stare at her friends, with a blank expression.

“When the light music club performs “Buzzing Currents”, come back here, I will be there. We have a dance and other...things to finish. I’ll be seeing you.” Gently letting go of Yuu with a final squeeze, Jamil strode away, citing some excuse about disciplining his dorm. As she stole one last glance, he looked back, a cheeky smile on his face and eyes narrowed in what looked like amusement. He looked like a cat that got the cream.

Yuu couldn’t wait to be eaten.

#jamil viper #jamil x mc #jamil x yuu #twst fanfic #twst #twisted wonderland #whew i wrote a fic!!#i am considering a sequel #lets see #i love jamil so much lmao #you can see how thirsty i am for him in this fic #it's so self-indulgent #My writing

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pressedinthepages · 4 years

Text

Peace

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: @sometimesiwrite requested Geralt and Eskel having a conversation post-mountain!

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: mild language, hurt/comfort, geralt go fix it you dumbass

Geralt borrows Eskel’s braincell in an effort to apologize to Jaskier.

Geralt was in Velen, in a tavern in the middle of nowhere. The wind howled outside of the dingy window stained with gods-know-what. He watched as rain began to pour, thankful that he was able to afford an ale that granted him a spot under a roof. Ever since Jaskier left him on that mountain, coin had been few and far between, and Geralt hadn’t really felt the same motivation to take on new jobs. Geralt nursed the same sad, watered-down ale that he had been working on for the better part of an hour, mulling the aching silence that ate at the marrow in his bones.

The door to the tavern suddenly slammed open, startling Geralt away from his thoughts. A familiar face peered out from beneath a dark hood before it fell. Another Witcher, strikingly similar to Geralt, save for the mahogany hair and scars down his cheek. His golden eyes tracked around the room before they caught Geralt’s, a smile pulling his lips into an odd sort of grimace as he strode to the White Wolf’s table.

“Eskel,” Geralt smirked, “Well met, wolf.”

Eskel shucked off his wet cloak before he sat across from Geralt, motioning to the barmaid to bring him an ale of his own. She set it down gently as Eskel passed her a bright coin, leaving the two Witchers to their own devices.

“It’s quiet,” Eskel peered over his shoulder to examine the rest of the room, finding a scant handful of other travelers tucked away in the shadows.

“Has been all afternoon,” Geralt replied, running his thumb over the rough handle of the tankard before him.

“Not usually,” Eskel hummed, “Where’s your bard?”

Geralt’s mind ground to a halt for a split second, panic seeping under his skin. He shook it off quickly and hid it with a long draw from his cup. “He-he’s not my bard.”

Eskel scoffed with a shake of his head, his eyes, so like Geralt’s, narrowing in clear disbelief. “Horseshit. That bard follows you all over the Continent for more than twenty years, writes songs about your contracts and how much of a hero you are, you’ve saved his life how many times? He’s your bard.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably in his seat before leaning back against the wall with a thunk of his head. “I fucked it up Eskel, royally fucked it up.”

Eskel hummed with a crook of his brow, raising his cup to his lips.

“I-I took out my anger on him, said some things I didn’t mean. I blamed him for every shit thing that’s gone on, but tha-that’s not fair.”

Eskel swallowed with a nod of his head and a tired look in his eyes. “How long has it been since you’ve been together?”

“Few months.”

“Geralt. I mean this with the utmost sincerity,” Eskel reached across the table and grabs his brother by the shoulder, “you dumbass. Go find him. You won’t find many rays of sunshine like that in a life like ours, don’t you dare let one go.”

Eskel’s eyes bored relentlessly into Geralt’s, brokering no room for argument. And Geralt knew that he was right. Geralt stood, reaching for his swords. May as well, Oxenfurt is a long ways away...

Eskel reached out again, but in a motion to stop Geralt. “No, wait. It’s pouring. Have a drink with me, let the skies calm. Then, go get him.”

Geralt hummed as he sets his swords back down, another ale joining his now-empty cup on the table. Eskel winked at the pretty barmaid as she takes her leave once more, giggling under her breath. Geralt rolled his eyes as Eskel smirked into his ale.

***

Gods, Geralt hated Oxenfurt. Not nearly as much as Novigrad, but still. There’s just so much, everywhere, all of the time. At least here, though, Jaskier’s kind influence has reached. People recognized him, and not as a threat. They actually smiled as he passed atop Roach, weaving through bustling city streets.

The university loomed through the fog, dense and chilly with the approaching frost. Roach plodded confidently through the gates and Geralt steered her towards the stables, hoping to just easily leave her under a shelter with some hay.

There was no such luck though, a young stablegirl coming to meet him as he dismounts. She smiled, a cute little thing with a gap between her two front teeth. She had straw in her hair and tears along the bottom of her skirt where it was a bit too long for her, and Geralt can’t help but smile back.

“I can take care of your horse, Master Witcher. I’ll brush her down and give her lots of pets, if she likes them.” Her words even had a little lisp whenever her tongue caught in that notch between her teeth. Geralt melted a bit at just how innocent this little human is.

“Alright, sure.” Geralt nodded, handing Roach’s reins to the girl. “Be careful with her, though. She’s pretty big, don’t let her push you around. Come find me if you need to.”

Geralt knew that she wouldn’t need to. This Roach was wonderful, and she loved children. She was already putty in the little girl’s hands, letting her scratch behind her ears and down the velvet of her nose.

Geralt walked quickly towards the dormitories that house the professors. The sun has set, leaving the world drenched in an ethereal twilight. Geralt visited Jaskier here once before, fetching him in the spring so they may begin their travels. He just hoped it’s the same damned room.

As he approached, Geralt knows that he was at the right spot. He could hear Jaskier humming behind the door, and he can smell the bard in the air. But something was off about the scent, tinged with a damp, earthy scent that could only be described as sad.

Geralt took a deep breath and knocked gently, his knuckles just barely rapping on the cured wood. He heard the humming stop, replaced by quiet muttering. “Do they know what hour it is? By the Gods, this is why I can’t stand scholars…”

The door opened, revealing Jaskier just on the other side. It was just as soon slammed into Geralt’s face, and he heard how Jaskier gasped before he wrenched the door back open. The two of them stared at each other in stunned silence, and Geralt could almost make a quip about how often that must happen for the bard.

But then he saw Jaskier’s eyes, so bright and blue with clear skies and rays of moonlight, start to well up, and before he knew it he had an armful of bard sobbing into his shoulder.

“Oh Geralt, you actually came for me!” Jaskier cried, touching and feeling Geralt under his hand as if worried he may disappear. “Geralt, I’m so s-”

“Don’t,” Geralt said as he turned his face into Jaskier’s hair. “Don’t you dare apologize. I should be on my knees, begging you to forgive me.”

Jaskier pulled back, his cheeks flushed and eyes reddened. Geralt was yanked into the dorm and the door shut decisively behind him. Geralt shuffled, looking around the room, bare of anything personal, save for Jaskier’s precious lute tucked into the corner.

“Jaskier, I-the things that I said. You were right, they weren’t fair. I was hurt and lashing out, and I know that’s no excuse, and you deserve so much better than what I have to give you, and-”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, pushing himself flush up against Geralt and taking his face into his hands. “You silly Witcher, you are forgiven. Yes, it hurt. But it hurt more to know that you were in pain, and there wasn’t anything I could do that would help.”

Geralt sighed as Jaskier ran his fingers through his hair, breathing in deeply as Jaskier’s scent finds its resonance in his soul. “Jaskier, I-I care very deeply for you. And I can’t push it down anymore.”

Jaskier paused his minstrations, looking deep into Geralt’s eyes. They stayed like this, suspended in their own creation before Jaskier breathed in, pressing even closer.

“May I do something that I have wanted to do for a very long time, dear Witcher?”

Geralt swallowed thickly and nodded, rubbing his fingers nervously where they sit at his side. Jaskier tilted his head up and just barely brushes his lips over Geralts, only the fluttering of fairy wings left in the movement.

But then Geralt grew bold, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist and holding him tight, slotting their lips together in a move that feels so perfect it is as if Destiny planned it herself. Jaskier positively melted, his hands tangling in Geralt’s silver hair and tugging him impossibly closer.

Jaskier broke the kiss first, keeping his arms wound around Geralt’s neck. “So, does this mean I can come back on the Path with you?” He smirked, already damn well knowing the answer.

Geralt hummed, resting his forehead on Jaskier’s. “If you would be by my side, I would be forever grateful.”

“There is nowhere I would rather be than at your side, my White Wolf.”

#geraskier #fluff #hurt/comfort

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vaindumbass · 4 years

Text

I’m letting loose (but holding on tight to you)

Remus was feeling a bit drowsy. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, but Remus also felt relaxed, which warned him that something was out of the ordinary.

Carefully, he opened his eyes. As soon as he saw the white sheets he was bundled up in, the realizations slowly entered his mind, as if they were just passing by on a lazy river.

There was a full moon. This shouldn’t be a surprise, and it isn’t, not really, and it explains why he’s in the hospital wing, but it doesn’t explain why he feels so... light.

This full moon was worse than usual. He hums a little, at the back of his throat, and it sounds weirdly detached in his own ears. It also causes his chest to move in a way that’s painful, but not as painful as it could’ve been without these pain killers.

Huh. No moving for him, then. He lies back down and- Did you know there was a ray of sunlight, just above Remus’ bed? It illuminates specks of dusts that twirl in nonsensical, beautiful patterns.

Remus stares at it for quite a long time, and he doesn’t even worry about all the schoolwork he has missed. The floating feeling is a nice bonus, and the hospital bed feels softer than it ever has.

He’s warm, and content, and only mildly irritated when the door opens loudly. Sudden sounds and loud noises simply don’t fit with the silence and calm he had gotten used to.

Then he sees that it’s Sirius and all of his irritation dissipates. “Hey,” Sirius says softly, and Remus likes that, likes that Sirius isn’t being loud for once, all for him.

He needs to return the favour. He strains his throat, and the “Hey” comes out a bit more scrapy than intended, and a little bit slurred, but it hurts only a little bit and Sirius smiles in response.

“Moony, as much as I love to hear your voice, please just leave the talking to me for now.”

Apparently, even the non-physical hurt of being fake-flirted with is dulled by these pain potions.

Sirius is coming over, now, is settling in on Remus’ bed, careful not to sit on his legs. Remus isn’t sure whether he imagines that he can feel the heat coming off Sirius or not.

For once, he allows himself to be unguarded, to bask freely in Sirius’ presence, to stare as much as he wants to.

He smiles drowsily, because Sirius looks gorgeous like this, hair falling into his eyes, a determined look on his face, rummaging through his bag in search of something.

“Aha!” Sirius says then, and Remus’ smile widens at that, because he’s simply overflowing with fondness right now and he can’t find it in him to keep it in like he usually does.

Sirius shows him a jar filled with a thick green paste as if it’s the greatest treasure in the world. “I got this from Pomfrey. She has already tended to most of your wounds, of course, but she said that if I was going to get in here anyways I should make myself useful.

“It should work against scarring, because while I think your scars make you look quite dashing, I know you disagree. Apparently the school couldn’t afford this, but you know I love spending my parents’ money, and since Gringotts doesn’t know that I’m disowned, probably because my lovely mother hates the goblins--”

Remus closes his eyes, and listens to the pleasant rythm of Sirius voice. His bed is soft, and Sirius’ voice is calming, and Remus feels as if he can fall asleep any moment now, and just sink away into the covers.

Then, Sirius touches him, and oh, that’s sure to pull him up. It doesn’t exactly startle him, though, but it’s grounding, and undeniable.

Warm fingers trail over his left arm. Remus opens his eyes, because he needs to know what Sirius looks like while doing this, needs to know if Sirius is disgusted by all of his scars.

It’s hard, and it takes a while, but it’s worth it for the sight of Sirius, looking at his arm in a way that’s almost reverent, with the end of his tongue peaking out of his mouth in a way that should be silly, and at the very most endearing, but the idea that Sirius is concentrating so hard on helping him does things to Remus.

Almost as if he can feel Remus’ gaze on him, Sirius looks up. Remus doesn’t look away when their eyes meet, like he usually would, but simply says: “Thank you.”

Sirius holds his gaze for a beat longer, before he grins a bit and says: “What did I say about talking?”, but Remus sees the way he keeps on smiling. It’s almost more intoxicating than the drugs he’s on.

Sirius fingers move down his arm, and Remus thanks the Wolf in his head for giving him a gash that extends until the back of his hand.

He realizes, in a detached sort of way, that normally this moment would be filled with tension. Normally, Remus would pull away a bit, or find a way to incorporate James, anything to avoid anything that could reveal his feelings.

Then again, Remus isn’t normally this relaxed. As it is, he simply turns over his hand when Sirius reaches it, and entertwines their fingers.

He sighs contently. This is how it should be.

Sirius stills, for a bit, but then he uses his left hand to scoop some of the paste out of the jar, never letting go of Remus, and uses that one to spread the salve, in a way that’s probably less than ideal.

Remus likes it, likes it a lot, the way Sirius rubs the salve in his skin in constant, soothing circles, likes the constant reminder that someone’s there, and that that someone is Sirius.

After a while Sirius finishes applying the paste, and the he just sits there and holds Remus’ hand in both of his, and Remus likes that even more.

Remus doesn’t know how long it’s been when Sirius moves his hands again, drawing shapes on his skin tentatively. “Is this okay?”

Remus smiles again, or maybe he has never stopped. “More than.”

He revels in it, then, that he can have this, that he can have quiet moments where Sirius touches him as if he wants to, that he can have his lifelong crush so close to him without worrying about fucking it up.

(He thinks heaven can’t exist, because there’s nowhere that could be a better place than here, with Sirius)

Sirius’ eyes are a wonderful shade of gray, and his lashes are long and dark and beautiful, so Remus looks at them. And then Sirius looks back.

Once again, Remus can’t bring himself to worry, but decides, instead, to enjoy it.

Sirius’ palm is against his, in a way that means their hands are dangling a bit off the bed, but Remus doesn’t worry because Sirius will make sure his hand doesn’t fall.

Just as Remus thinks of falling asleep again, his hand is left cold. He doesn’t worry too much, because Sirius’ fingers are still entertwined with his, but it is a bit weird that his palm is suddenly exposed to the air.

Sirius still doesn’t break eye contact, not even while he shifts his hand a bit, so that Remus’ hand is easier to carry, and then, with a delicious slide of his fingers, he brings Remus’ hand, palm up, to his lips.

Remus’ drug-addled brain thinks it’s fitting, that his hand looks like one of a beggar, like one of a reciever, like one of a taker. He doesn’t move his hand, and wonders what gift Sirius’ll give him.

Sirius gives him this: A hot breath, that makes warmth spread from his hand and makes it settle into his heart

Sirius gives him this: Lips skimming over his palm, and Remus has never been big on Divination but he thinks whatever path Sirius’ lips take must be where the love line is located.

Sirius gives him this: His pulse point, his veins protected by the seal of Sirius’ lips. That’s where Sirius holds still, and Remus knows that his heartbeat should be going through the roof, that he should be nervous, but Pomfrey did her work well.

All he feels is that same contentment that has characterized their entire interaction, and an almost overwhelming sense of rightness, because Sirius used his mouth to kiss where the Wolf used to bite.

Remus needs to give something back, he decides, and he clumsily raises the arm that isn’t held by Sirius to pull Sirius in closer, so that their foreheads are touching.

He could kiss Sirius, of course, but he doubs he’d be any good at it in his current state, and he’s still very tired so he looks at Sirius intently and says: “Talk. Tomorrow.”

“Whatever you want.” Sirius responds, and then he puts some distance between them again to brush some hair from Remus’ forehead. “Goodnight.”

“ ‘Night” Remus responds, and his eyes are already closing, “Love you.”

He’s asleep before he can see Sirius’ reaction.

((also on ao3))

#if anybody is wondering why remus is different than I usually write him its because hes drugged out of his mind #yes i wrote this entire fic JUST because of that one wrist kiss #no i dont regret it #this was meant to be a drabble but it turned into a oneshot #oh well #god this is soft #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #wolfstar fluff #wolfstar fanfiction #marauders #marauders era #homoerotically tending to each others wounds #my writing #god i just edited it but can you believe that i misspelled 'tight'??#i need a beta #mywriting

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

Hey could you do one where Steve is completely falling apart over the whole Upside Down thing and he has like a fwb thing with Billy and Billy is never usually affectionate or anything but he catches Steve having like a nightmare or a breakdown or something and he comforts him?

Read on ao3!

Steve and Billy started fucking the night the gate closed.

Of course, Billy didn’t know that had happened. All he knew was that he showed up at that freaky house and Steve had said look man, I’ll do anything to get you to get back in that car, and go the fuck home Hargrove and Billy had smirked and said I’ll be waiting, Pretty Boy, and he got in his car, and went the fuck home, while Steve led the kids through certain death and somehow came out the other side.

When Steve got home, itching for a shower, Billy was dozing in the front seat of his car. He rolled his eyes, banging on the top to wake him up.

Billy followed him inside, not asking about the soot and goop on his clothes, the dead look in his eyes as Billy pounded him into the mattress.

It became a thing, Billy coming over to Steve’s, fucking him silly, and then getting dressed silently, slipping out the door, leaving Steve with his nightmares.

It’s always worse on the nights Billy has been there, giving Steve a reprieve from the horror of his life, letting him feel good, wanted, comforted, but then he’s brought back into reality, soothing himself through the nightmares as best as he can.

Until one night, Billy flops off of him and just, lays there.

Steve doesn’t really know what to do with himself, sits against the headboard as Billy falls asleep.

When Billy starts spending the night, he starts to notice something, odd.

He’s never seen Steve sleep.

Billy always falls asleep first, tired after doing all the fuckin’ work for this pillow princess. But if he startled at night, blinked himself awake before dawn, Steve would always be awake, sitting at an odd angle against the headboard, eating dry cereal in the kitchen, smoking out on the front porch, never the back.

Billy just wants him to sleep. He always looks like shit at school dark circles under his eyes, dozing off in class.

Billy wants to see the way he sleeps, if he talks, kicks out, snuffles, does other cute shit.

He’s been gone on Harrington since he first laid eyes on the soft bastard in the halls of Hawkins High, giggling at Nancy, giving her those big eyes Billy lov-liked so much.

So he started sleeping over. Not cuddling or anything, but after cumming all over Steve’s ass, he’ll roll over and plant himself next to Steve who would smile at him softly, and trot of to the bathroom to clean himself up.

The penny dropped on a cool March night. Billy had brought out some new tricks, had made Steve ride him all night, and Steve was coming off of two nights of no sleep, so when he slumped on top of Billy, he fell asleep right there, right on Billy.

Billy was in Heaven. Steve was cooing in his sleep, making all these soft little noises. Billy was drinking them all in, noticed when they began to sour, when the happy sounds turned into whimpers.

Panicked groans gave way into screams. Steve was writhing, thrashing about, shouting no, no, NO. Telling someone to get behind me! Hands grasping out for something.

Billy was at a loss. The first time Steve falls asleep with him he has what appears to be a horrible fucking nightmare.

He shakes Steve’s shoulder, moves him aggressively, shouts Harrington at him.

That’s apparently the wrong move.

Steve lashes out, Billy barely dodging the blow, rolling on top of Steve, pinning his arms down.

“Harrington! You’re having a nightmare!” Steve’s eyes flew open, looking around the room, eyes panicked. He met Billy’s eyes, and whimpered, immediately starting sobbing.

“I’m, I’m sorry. I didn’t, I usually don’t sleep when you’re, when you’re here. I didn’t want you to know.” Billy rolled off of him, pulling Steve in close, put Steve’s head in his neck, shushed him gently, rubbing his hands softly down Steve’s back.

It took Steve a long time to calm down, for the tears to stop flowing, the whimpers to stop.

“That happen often?” He felt Steve nod against his chest.

“Most, most nights.” Billy just kissed the top of his head.

“Pretty Boy, what the fuck? You have nightmares like that most nights?”

“Yeah, but it’s, it’s not a big deal-”

“Yes, it is a big deal. That’s not good for you. Have you always had nightmares?”

“No they, they started last year. When Barb, when Barb drowned.”

“Wait, I thought she dies in like a chemical leak or something.” Steve swallowed.

“Not, not exactly.” His head spun as he thought of a lie he could tell, a convincing one. “She got exposed to whatever it was but then she, I had a party, and she-I was inside, I was in here, and she drowned and I can’t even look at the pool anymore and-” he took a sharp breath, tears coming back into his eyes. “And the night, the night with all the kids, we got, we got attacked by a bunch of fucking dogs, and I had to, had to beat ‘em all with a fucking bat, and once, with Nancy and Jonathan, we all almost fucking died and they, I think they would’ve if I hadn’t, if the bat hadn’t been right there, and sometimes, I just, what if I was too slow, or too scared, or if, if-” He broke down again, Billy cooing softly in his ear, I’m right here, Stevie, it’s okay, I’ve got you.

“You weren’t though. The kids are all fine, no dog bites, and you weren’t too slow or too scared, obviously because everyone is fine, and that girl drowning, that, that wasn’t your fault. She probably like, passed out due to the chemicals and then fell into the pool or something it was not your fault.”

Steve was shaking against him. This was so new to Billy. Was use to Steve being bratty, being cocky and egging him on until he held him down. He was not ready to see this vulnerable side, this protector who was, a mess.

“Have you ever talked to anyone about this?”

“Fucking who, Billy? Who can I tell? Because, i had to sign those fucking NDAs, and, and the kids can’t know I’m like this and Nancy and Jonathan, they have each other, and I have, I have no one. No one gives a fuck about me. My own parents barely even acknowledge I exist, and only then it’s just when my dad calls to tell me that I’m a failure, an embarrassment, and to get a job because I can’t work for him because I’m not going to college, can’t go to college, with my shitty grades and no good brain.”

It was a lot for Billy. Steve was babbling. Every little thing that was stressing him out, it was pouring outta his mouth, right onto billy’s chest.

“Pretty Boy, that’s not true. Maybe, maybe you can’t talk to the kids, I mean, they’re kids, but that doesn’t mean they don’t care about you. Lots of people care about you, lots of people love you, I mean, I, I love you.”

It was silent.

Billy barely breathed as Steve brought his head up, tear-stained face staring at him in the moonlight.

“You, you what?”

“I love you.” Steve’s face split into a grin, a tearful beautiful brilliant grin.

“Thank God. I, I thought I was the only one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I love you, Bill and I was, I thought you only wanted sex, so I was trying, trying not to.” Billy barked a wild laugh.

“I was goin’ the exact same shit, Stevie. You mean to tell me we could’ve been in love this whole time?”

When Steve laughed it was watery, but it was also joyful. It made Billy’s heart soar.

“Maybe I’m not the only mess here.” Billy just took his face, pulled him close enough to kiss him, to lick into his mouth, to smile and laugh against each other and to let themselves be happy, be in love like a coupla messes.

#harringrove #yikes writes #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove

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neighborhoodmoonchild · 4 years

Text

ᾰ̓γᾰ́πη - Pt. II

Pairing(s): Cursed!Seokjin x Reader

Genre(s): Fantasy Au, Fluff, Soulmate Au

Summary: “There’s a story whispered around here. One surrounding the beautifully carved statue of a man at the center of the town. Legend says that when the hand of his true love graces his palm, he shall wake from his cursed marbled slumber. It’s always been a silly old wives tale, until you give in to a friend’s dare.” (prompt idea from writing-prompt-s)

Warning(s): mild language

Word Count: 2.8k

Part I, Part 2, Part 3, ...

taglist: @best-space-boy @maryelixabeth @mochimaw @yeontanismypresident @hannahantonette17 @ign-is @fanfuckingfic @koala-wonderland @suchgayaesthetic @dulcaet

~ if you want to be added to the tag list for this fic, feel free to send me an ask! thank you💜

For the record, you’d never once been so thoroughly stupefied by anything the entirety of your existence. Not that much has ever happened before this...debacle, but still.

Lying on the ground, however, draped with a recently statue-turned-man as the faces of every person who’d openly mocked your beliefs sit painted with the same concoction of horrified wonder, it was safe to say, this was definitely a first.

It was like your mind was awake while your body lay paralyzed. Thought after thought, albeit incoherent, made rounds throughout your consciousness. Limbs splayed across the dirt, useless, like those of a rag doll.

Perhaps part of the initial stun could be blamed by the impact with which the body crashed into yours, as well as the force of hitting the ground.

Maybe, in your likely now-concussed state, you were not actually under a man who a mere moment ago was marble. It’s believable that this was all just some brain-trauma induced hallucination. You probably just tripped on your way to the statue and hit your head. Really, really hard.

That scenario could have very much been the one you decided to go with, that is, until the man started to lift himself up, just enough to look down at you.

Even if you didn’t want to lock eyes with the, admittedly, incredibly handsome man you found yourself in such a precarious situation with, it wasn’t like you had any other choice.

Space only big enough for a single breathe lay between you.

His eyes, a lovely dark, warm brown shade that gave you such an odd sense of security, studied your own.

This close, every detail of his face was on HD display for you, from the length of his lashes, the slope of his nose, to the curve and plushness of his lips. Horrifyingly enough for you, that meant every one of your flaws must be painfully on display for him as well. Look at you now, suddenly worried about how you looked to a once-inanimate object.

It was an oddly intimate moment, one that you weren’t quite sure you wanted to end before it had begun, or to continue forever, until the sun set and the stars shone and everything in-between. The way your head swam, thoughts torn between two opposing sides, a regular Capulet-Montague affair within, it was like losing sense of yourself.

There was no way this was really happening; that this man has come to life at your hand. However, you couldn’t deny the tangible evidence that is the vessel hovering over you now. Oh yeah, there’s a strange man on top of you...and everyone is watching.

Like a cadaver reanimated by a bolt of lightning, you shot away from the man, pushing yourself back on your butt and scooching like a child until you were satisfied with the distance between. Skin painfully alight with the burn of embarrassment, you didn’t dare look back into the eyes of your ‘soulmate’ just yet.

‘Soulmate,’ it’s like that very word incited an allergic reaction in which your body suddenly had the urge to convulse until whatever contents remained in your stomach were one with the earth.

Trying merely to catch your breathe, you almost didn’t register the warmth of a hand pressing firmly to your back.

“I, um, think we should take this somewhere more...private, perhaps?”

That voice, the slightly monotone, yet strangely comforting voice of the girl you both tolerated and treasured. The only one that treated you as an equal; an actual human being.

“Mira...” It sounded choked, weak, like saying her name was a laboring task you weren’t sure you could handle. Turning back to look at her, you could tell how horrified you must have looked based on her own expression.

If anyone knew what to do in this insane situation, it’d be her.

Rising to her feet, Mira took in the way your body curled in on itself, to shield you from the alarming situation of which you had no control over and no clue how to precede. It stung at a piece of her that had been buried deep down inside for a long time.

Strange, was all she could pen it as, but you are her companion here, and it was her duty to aid you in this, especially considering the circumstances.

———

The walk home was quiet. One on the outside might almost call it peaceful, tranquil, but it was none of the above.

After suggesting to take this to her home, Mira helped you and the stranger to your feet and broke up the little side-show that had gathered. The townspeople were a mixture of curious, horrified, and smug; seeing the girl they taunted get stuck in this situation was irony at its finest.

While there were plenty of broken hearts staggering their way back to their homes with heavy souls, no one could deny that this was fate, and whether they agreed with the outcome or not, it was not their place to question.

Many, however, did get a good laugh in when you had paced frantically around the circle created around you, practically begging people to take the man instead. It was pathetic, sad, pitiful, and it left all with a disturbing sense of pride.

‘Serves her right,’ they all thought, only speaking it aloud once they were sheltered within their own walls.

They weren’t wrong though, you did look and feel wholly pathetic. On the verge of tears, begging people you loathed to help you, and right in front of the poor, confused man who was at no more fault than you. It wasn’t your best moment.

Thus, the journey to Mira’s was awkward if anything. You strode a few paces ahead, mind foggy and emotions scattered like confetti. Mira made a comfortable wall between you and the man, who brought up the rear, taking in his surroundings with curiosity and a weird sense of familiarity.

Nobody dared say anything, not that there was much to talk about at the moment. Tensions were running high, and a calm, quiet, middle ground was needed before any successful conversations were to be had.

You couldn’t help the slight tears pricking at your lash line, threatening to spill over any second. It made you feel dumb, crying over something as if you were a child who didn’t get their way.

But the thought of spending the rest of your life otherworldly attached to a person you’ve never met before was terrifying. It has always been you on your own. You have enough struggles as it is. Oh, how mother will get a kick out of this.

Your mind wondered if she would even understand what was going on. She’d been in the home on the east side for a few years now, after the dementia got to be too much for you to deal with alone. She’s doing better there anyways, and it wasn’t like you weren’t unaccustomed to going it solo anyways.

Your head slowly swiveled back to catch a quick glimpse of the man behind you. He was swinging his head side to side, back and forth, taking in everything like a puppy. His clothes, now that you were looking, were very outdated, things you’d never seen before except in history books or century dramas on Netflix. He didn’t look real. Another irony, you guess.

Before you could turn back and focus on the road ahead of you, his eyes shot down to catch yours. He didn’t seem scared, upset, or even worried. In fact, he looked almost sympathetic. It probably had to do with the terrified expression you had a hard time fighting every time he caught your gaze. The heat crept up your neck quickly and you shot your head forward to get away from his stare.

Before you knew it, you were standing shoulder to shoulder with the man as Mira unlocked and swung her front door open. The porch creaked under your weight as you shifted to gain some space, the nervousness making you antsy and unable to stand still. He didn’t seem to notice you move away from him, but you weren’t about to look at him and check.

Once inside, you placed yourself in one of the large wicker dining chairs you occupied often during long debates with Mira over the years. Her house was quaint and quite charming. A decent size, especially for her living alone, and giving off a rustic, bohemian air that made it feel homey to even the most distant of strangers.

Speaking of strangers, it was an odd sight to say the least, watching the tall man cross the room stiffly, dropping down onto the velvet couch with a sigh. The humanness he possessed after being rock only a few hours ago was unsettling. You don’t know what you expected him to act like, but then again, any expectations were out the window and 100 miles downwind by now.

Considering how off-put you are by the whole thing, it both amazed and scared you how easy it was for your gaze to linger over him. What it was that pulled you to him, you couldn’t put your finger on- no, you didn’t want to put your finger on in fear of the implications. The longer you were in his presence, though, the more curious you became. And we all know how curiosity plays out, just ask the cat.

Again, as if you both really were connected in some fantastical way, his eyes instantly found yours. This time, however, the nervous heat that usually accompanied it vanished. Instead, locking eyes almost brought an innate sense of peace within you; comfort.

“So, would either of you like some tea?” Mira’s way of easing the awkward air quickly broke the two of you from...whatever that was, and it immediately threw you back on edge. Grabbing the edge of the chair till your knuckles paled, your voice took on a defensive tone.

“ I’d like to know what the hell is going on.” Laced with a sharp venom you weren’t even aware you were capable of, the statement immediately caught all attentions, air increasing in its thickness instead of dissipating like Mira had hoped.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at the man, so instead you focused all of your negative energy, unfairly, on Mira. Her face twisted into an uncomfortable grimace as she thought of the best way to talk you down from your growing agitation, but before she could speak, a light chuckle wafted through the tiny room.

That snapped both of your heads towards Mr. post-statue.

Even with both of your uncomfortable gazes, he didn’t seem affected. It wasn’t like he couldn’t read the room, or understand the gravity of the situation. It was more like he had this innate sense of optimism; that everything was going to work out and he just didn’t see the point in getting so serious.

“I think it’s pretty obvious what’s going on.” You wouldn’t say you were surprised by the soft, honey-tone of his voice, or that you were entranced by it, but if you were to deny, you’d be utterly lying to yourself.

Maybe there was more to this soulmate thing than just waking him up and living ‘happily ever after’. Was it possible there were physical and psychological changes that came along with it? It doesn’t seem too far fetched considering the events that have taken place today. At this point, anything could happen and you wouldn’t be any more surprised. Maybe it’s the shock talking.

“What?” Once you said it, you want to take it back. God, could you sound any dumber? The first thing you say directly to him, and it’s an idiotic reiteration that makes you sound like you can’t infer from context clues and common-freaking-sense what he means.

A quick urge to bury yourself somewhere far away from here shoots through your being, but it’s not a look of disdain that you are met with, but a sweet, soft, smile. It’s not that he seems to pity you in any way, but that somehow knows exactly what you’re feeling without you having to say it. Although, now that you’ve realized it, that small sense of fright wiggles in the back of your mind. A stranger should not be able to read you as easily as he is.

“If I’m awake, it means the spell is broken.”

You stare at him as his face lights up, as if remembering something wonderful; a long lost memory just now recalled.

Suddenly, he bolts up, coming straight for you. Despite your heart protesting, your body starts, pushing yourself as far against the chair and curling tight to protect yourself. As you flinch, your eyes shut and you suck a quick breath in. Like being charged by a fearsome beast, you react in such a way that you don’t even have to open your eyes to know the affect.

The footsteps stop instantly, and when you do open your eyes, you see the man frozen in place, face paled and arms limp at his sides. He was only a few feet away, but even when he shortened the distance between you, he suddenly felt further away now than before.

The guilt of reacting in such a way was a feeling you weren’t accustomed to, and you couldn’t lie that you felt worse after seeing the pained expression on his face.

He slowly backed his way back to the couch, lowering down onto it while avoiding your gaze. Strange how quickly it went from you avoiding his, to him avoiding yours.

“I’m sorry...I know...I know how scary this must be, and I shouldn’t have gotten so excited,” he started, voice low and cautious, like he was afraid to scare you again. Seeing the hurt in his eyes and hearing the strain in his voice affected you more than it should.

Carefully, your body returned to its original position, unfurling to show him that you weren’t afraid of him. You don’t know why it was suddenly so important for you to assure him but it was a natural reaction you didn’t think twice about.

Brown eyes once again catching your own, you tried your best to give him an apathetic smile, something to rid his beautiful features of that sorrow you inadvertently caused. When his eyes shone with a newly-gained light as the corner of his mouth upturned the slightest bit to return your gesture, you knew that no matter the insanity of this situation, you’d probably do just about anything to keep that smile on his face.

“I just never thought this would happen.” A slight pink hue rises to the apples of his cheeks and it takes a strong part of you to hold yourself together and not swoon at how adorable he looked.

“That what would happen?” Mira speaks up and reminds you that you are, in fact, not alone and you recompose yourself.

The man clears his throat and despite the increasing blush on his cheeks, he manages to look from Mira back to you, bringing his hand up to scratch the back of his neck.

“That my soulmate would find me.” This time it’s you whose blushing, the heat creeping up and spreading to every part of your body. The implications of being a soulmate, let alone to someone you don’t know, made the uneasiness resurface. Even though you felt a growing warmth for this random man, you weren’t about to throw your inhibitions out the window all for the sake of being ‘soulmates.’

As cliché-fairy-tale-garbage as this whole thing seems, you weren’t some dim-witted damsel who’d fall for a man she just met.

“Maybe you should start with introductions, stave off the soulmate thing for a moment.” Mira sends you an understanding smile, knowing that you’d lack the frame of mind to conduct this conversation without her assistance.

A breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding escapes your lips in a relieved sigh. Turning back to the man, you muster up enough courage to rise from your seat, cross the wooden floor, and stop before him. Shaking slightly, your right hand reaches out to rest midair in front of him, fingers open and waiting.

“I’m Y/N.”

He looks at your fingers, then up at you, then fingers again. Slowly, his hand approaches yours, gliding softly against the pads of your fingertips before lightly grasping your hand in his. Before you can signal your arm to start a shaking motion, he brings your hand towards him and delicately places a soft kiss to the skin of your knuckles. You can feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin, and suddenly it feels like the Sahara desert in the sweltering summer months.

“My name is Seokjin. It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N.”

To Be Continued...

_________________________________________________________________

A.N.,

This part is more-so an establishing piece. I know not much goes on plot-wise, but I needed to develop the dynamic before any of the juicy bits can happen. I hope you all understand and like this newest edition to the story. I originally planned this to be a 3 part series, but there will definitely be more than 3 parts, oops. I hope you all stick around for the ride, and thank you for all the love and support!💜

-Moonie🌙

113 notes · View notes

prettyboy-parker · 5 years

Photo

come with me and escape

words: 4k

warnings: cheating, underage drinking, fem!peter, daddy kink (always), semi degradation, unprotected sex

author’s note: happy summer! I’m feeling really summer-y right now, so this was the perfect way to get those vibes out! as with most dark/taboo themes that I write about, I do not condone cheating in real life. It is used as a plot device/conflict in the story. Happy reading!

listen to while reading:

Escape (The Piña Colada Song)- Rupert Holmes

Does Your Mother Know- ABBA

Santeria- Sublime

Doin’ Time (Cover)- Lana Del Rey

Tony has a hard time relaxing.

Pepper tells him this constantly. They’ll be sitting outside, sipping on some cucumber water, watching Morgan put on her own one-woman play, and Pepper will point out how hard he’s holding his glass. His dentist tells him that he grinds and clenches his teeth in his sleep, he’s getting sick more easily, and he’s lashing out at Pepper.

He assumes the stress is from work, since the launch of the new Stark Phone X is coming up. Or, it could be how his marriage is falling apart. He’s definitely fallen out of love with Pepper. She’s still his best friend, of course, but they don’t romantically love each other anymore. Tony would file for divorce, but his company would take a huge hit.

And he doesn’t want to do that to Morgan.

So, when Pepper announces that they’re taking a family trip to an all-inclusive resort somewhere in Bali, Tony knows he’s not going to be able to relax. He’ll most likely be worrying about his own work while worrying about Pepper’s work the entire time. Also, a 5 year old and a day long plane ride sound like a recipe for disaster.

Tony fully expects his stress levels to multiply by 10.

Tony was wrong.

When he stepped off that god-damned plane, it was like all his worries were brushed off of his shoulders. Pepper definitely looked happy, the salty Bali air raising her mood. Morgan was just ecstatic to be off the plane.

Pepper is in such a good mood that she actually is letting him drink.

“I’ll get a strawberry daiquiri,” Tony tells the bartender, a young woman with dark skin who looks a little too enthusiastic for her job. She hustles off to make the drink, when,

“Everything sucks. I can’t tan. I only burn.”

There’s a gorgeous young man leaning over the bar, plump, pink lips formed in a pout. His damp, chestnut brown hair is pushed back by the Ray Bans perched on his head. His long eyelashes flutter as he looks at Tony, big, brown, doe eyes peering at him as he cocks his head to the side. His pert ass is sticking out, contained in the shortest red bathing suit bottoms Tony has ever seen. A sheer red coverup is draped over his long, milky arms, leaving little to the imagination.

“Why don’t you just get a spray tan?” Tony manages to stutter out, pushing his own sunglasses on top of his head. He wishes he lived in a world where his biggest problem was that he couldn’t tan.

The boy bites his lip and lets out a little giggle.

Tony wishes hecould bite those lips.

“As if!” He exclaims, “I don’t want to look like an orange.” The boy hoists himself up onto one of the bar stools.

The bartender puts Tony’s drink down in front of him and he gives her his resort card.

“That’s fair. Don’t lay in the sun all day, though, if you know you burn.” Tony tell him, taking a sip of his drink.

“That’s very thoughtful,” The boy says, then turns to the bartender.

“Could I get a Shirley Temple, please?” He asks, tapping his fucking French manicurednails on the countertop.

“Not old enough to drink?” Tony asks teasingly.

He rolls his eyes.

“Not legally,” He winks, “Will be in a year.”

Tony smirks at the boy.

“You’re 20?”

“On the nose. It kind of sucks, because I’m not really into guys my age.”

Tony only gets a moment to process what the boy said because Morgan comes bounding up to the two.

“Daddy! Mommy said you’d come watch me on the slide.” She squeals, pulling on the bottom of his swim shorts.

His chances with the boy are totally gone.

On the slim chance the boy didn’t know who Tony was, he definitely doesn’t want to get with someone who’s married and has a kid.

“Did she? She’s crazy.” Tony jokes, leaning down to put Morgan on his lap. He brushes a wet strand of hair out of her face, trying to avoid poking her eye.

“Hi!” Morgan exclaims, waving her pudgy hand wildly at the boy. Tony should be a good dad and tell her not to talk to strangers, but he wants any excuse to keep talking to the boy.

“Hi!” The boy says, waving back at her.

“What’s your name?” Morgan giggles, swinging her little legs donned with pink crocs.

“Peter.” Peter responds, taking a sip of his drink.

Being the child she is, Morgan doesn’t respond.

“Daddy, can you come watch me on the slide now?” She asks, reaching up to tug on Tony’s ear.

“Ouch! And yes, I’ll come watch you.” Tony tells her, putting her on the ground gently. Tony stands up and takes her tiny hand in his, which is already outstretched.

“Bye Peter!”

Peter waves goodbye and winks at Tony.

Yeah, he has to see the kid again.

***

The next time he, or should he say they, see Peter again is at dinner.

Pepper is exhausted because Morgan is complaining about the smell of the seafood and how yucky shrimp is. Tony just wants to go to the bar alone.

While Tony and Pepper try to eat their food, Morgan’s head snaps up from where she’s sulking.

“Peter!” She shrieks, Pepper promptly shushing her. Tony turns around and there’s his boy, swiftly approaching. He’s dressed in tiny, high waisted black shorts and a red Hawaiian shirt that has the top 4 buttons undone. Peter’s face is practically glowing and as he gets closer Tony can see that his shirt has dogs riding fucking surfboards on it.

“Hey Morgan!” He says as he stops at the edge of their table, curls bouncing from his stride over.

Pepper gives Tony a look that says who the fuck is this kid and why does he know my daughter?

“Pepper, this is Peter. We talked for a bit at the bar earlier. Morgan introduced herself.” Tony tells her with a forced smile, wanting to look at the boy instead.

“Oh, you made a friend, Morgan?” Pepper turns to their daughter, who nods furiously, whipping her unruly brown hair around.

“You have a very polite daughter, Mrs. Stark.” Peter says, practically beaming.

What a charmer.

Pepper takes a breath, surprised.

“Why thank you. We try to raise her well.”

Peter giggles and bites his lip.

“You’re definitely doing something right! I have to go eat now, I’ll see you all later!” Peter waves goodbye and trots off to the other side of the restaurant, hips swaying.

“Sweet boy.” Pepper mutters through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah. Sweet boy.”

***

If there is a god out there, he must like Tony.

Because Pepper ends up with food poisoning.

She starts throwing up around 2 in the morning. Google tells Tony that she’s going to be bedridden for a couple of days.

Perfect.

After breakfast, Tony promises Morgan that they’ll spend all day at the pool. She’s ecstatic, jumping up and down. Tony shushes her and helps her get ready for the day.

Peter finds him relaxing on one of the pool chairs, watching Morgan play with her mermaid Barbie doll.

“Tony,” Peter purrs, the older man almost dropping his drink in surprise.

“Peter, hey,” Tony responds, adjusting himself in his chair.

Peter perches himself at the edge of the lounge chair, extending his long legs and crossing his ankles. He’s chosen black swim shorts today, paired with a sheer black coverup embroidered with roses.

“You’ve got your sunscreen on?” Peter asks, hand resting very close to Tony’s leg.

Tony chuckles at the thoughtfulness.

“No, I’ve got this umbrella.” He says, gesturing to the big tan umbrella over them.

Peter gasps, reaching for the spray can of sunscreen next to the chair.

“You still need sunscreen, silly goose.” Peter scolds, spraying Tony’s legs. He can only swallow thickly as Peter takes his dainty hands and rubs the sunscreen in. Tony tries to tear his eyes away as the boy’s hands rub up his thighs. Peter sprays more on his chest and arms, hands massaging the liquid into his skin. He quickly pushes Tony’s sunglasses onto the top of his head, spraying the sunscreen directly into his hands. Tony almost loses it when he starts putting sunscreen on his face, ridiculously soft hands cupping his rough cheek.

“There.” Peter says, wiping his hands on his on thighs.

“Thanks.” Tony manages to choke out, adjusting his swim trunks.

“Anytime,” Peter giggles, standing up.

“Hey, why don’t you sit down? Hang out for a little bit?” Tony offers, gesturing to the empty lounge chair next to him.

Peter rolls his eyes and smiles, climbing onto the chair. He sighs as he leans back, closing his eyes.

“This is my favorite spot.” He tells Tony, keeping his eyes closed.

“What, you come here often?” Tony laughs, shaking his head.

Peter opens his eyes and turns his head, grinning.

“My dad owns the place.”

“Shit, really?” Tony says, surprised.

Peter lets out a breathy laugh.

“Yeah. I’m down here quite a bit in the summer.” He says nonchalantly, picking at the bed of his nail.

“Where are you usually?” Tony asks, taking a sip of his water.

“Massachusetts. I go to MIT.”

Tony smiles.

“No way! That’s where I went.”

Peter cocks his head to the side.

“I know.” He says. He bites his lip and brushes stray curl out of his face. His cheeks are dusted with red, most likely due to the sun, and his sunglasses block his honey brown eyes.

“Do you want to have a drink with me tonight?” Tony blurts out without thinking, too caught up in the boy’s beauty.

His heart sinks when Peter stays silent, eyebrows rising.

“The misses has food poisoning, so,” Tony trails off, face heating up in embarrassment.

“I’d love to.” Peter says softly, pink lips stretched in a genuine smile.

“Really?” Tony asks in disbelief, like a teenager.

“Of course. But I’m going to need your number.”

***

Tony can’t remember being this nervous about a date in a very long time.

He doesn’t even know if it is a date, but he like to think it is. He feels like he has butterflies in his stomach as he waits at one of the bars near the end of the resort. There’s not too many people around, which is nice.

“Hey, Tony.”

The older man turns around, coming face to face with a literal angel.

Peter stands before him, smiling softly. He’s wearing a very skimpy outfit (not that Tony’s complaining) for drinks at 8 at night. He’s wearing tiny white shorts over what looks like a very light pink chiffon teddy. Dusty rose colored silk drapes over his shoulders, wound tightly around his forearms. The cutest pink ballet flats encase his feet, silk ribbon tied into a bow around his ankles. There’s blush dusting his cheeks and clear lip gloss slathered on those plump lips.

“Oh, Pete, Hey,” Tony manages to say, clearing his throat. Peter giggles and bounds up to Tony, stands on his tippy toes, and presses a kiss to the man’s cheek. Tony’s at a lost for words as Peter sits down, leaving lipgloss on his stubble ridden cheek. He’s glad Pepper made sure to find a very private resort, because if there were crowds of people he’d be screwed.

“You look nice.” Peter compliments, thin fingers grazing over the rolled-up sleeve of his gray dress shirt. Tony swallows as he tries to get his shit together.

“Thanks, you do too. Gorgeous, actually.” He blubbers, losing years worth of smooth talking experience

Peter giggles and looks at one of the purple coasters on the countertop.

“Thanks,” He says softly. He brushes a stray curl out of his face, tucking it behind his ear.

“You want a drink?” Tony asks, fiddling with his Rolex.

Peter blinks a couple of times.

“I’m not old enough to drink. You know that,” He teases, swatting at Tony’s arm.

Tony leans in close, lips brushing against the top of Peter’s ear. He hears the boy’s breath hitch. His fluffy brown locks tickle the older man’s nose.

“We can indulge for one night. Isn’t that right sweetheart?” He mumbles, nipping on his ear before pulling away.

Peter’s blush has darkened and his mouth is parted slightly.

He nods wordlessly.

Life Lesson #254: Never give kids alcohol.

Peter’s not really a kid, but he is really fucking light weight.

He’s tipsy after his first drink and Tony would like to avoid a complete blackout, so he denies either of them more drinks around 10.

“Let’s do something fun,” Peter insists as the leave the bar.

“Yeah? Like what?” Tony asks as they enter the near empty hallway, the smell of disinfectant in the air.

“Mini golf,” Peter whispers, bouncing on his feet slightly in excitement.

Tony can’t help but laugh at the boy, wrapping his arm around Peter’s dainty waist.

“Show me the way, princess.” Tony says, not registering the pet name that slipped out. Luckily, Peter just grins wider.

The make their way through the resort, through hallways that all look the same. They eventually reach the outside, the humid air hitting their bodies.

“Here we are!” Peter exclaims, dragging him to a nice looking shed.

“Shit baby, it’s closed.” Tony says, noting the “We Open at 8 A.M” sign perched on the front counter.

“I told you, I know my way around.” Peter giggles as he punches in a code on the keypad that’s connected to the door. It opens and Peter slips inside.

“Hello, sir. Mini Golf is 7 dollars per game, but I think I’ll give you the handsome customer discount,” Peter jokes, wiggling his perfectly groomed eyebrows.

“Oh hush, you.” Tony scolds jokingly, leaning on the top of the counter.

Peter just winks and disappears under the counter.

“What color do you want?” He asks, voice muffled. “You can have anything but pink. I always get pink.”

Tony rolls his eyes and smiles.

“You have red down there?”

Peter pops back up, a red club and a pink club in hand.

“Sure do.” He says, waving the clubs around. He places the clubs on the counter, disappears again, then reappears with two golf balls in his hands, each their respective colors.

“You ready?” He asks, swinging over the counter.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Tony responds, taking both his golf club and ball in one hand.

Peter takes his free hand and they walk to hole number one.

“I’m absolutely atrocious at mini-golf, by the way. I miss every single time.” Peter huffs, bending over to place his ball on the ground.

Tony tries to tear his eyes away from that ass, but he’s unsuccessful.

“I guess I’ll have to give you a private lesson, then.” Tony smirks, poking Peter in the stomach.

“You’re funny. But I wouldn’t mind,” The boy purrs, looking up at Tony and fluttering his mascara coated lashes.

“Let’s get started, then.” Tony grins and places his hands on Peter’s tiny waist, his own club forgotten on the ground.

“Spread your legs a little more. You need a proper stance.” He says huskily, turning Peter so he’s standing to the side. The boy obeys, then sticks his ass out a little more.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, like that.” Tony growls, his arousal almost clouding his brain.

“Now you need a good grip on your club. Right hand under the left.” He instructs, placing his own hands over Peter’s.

“There you go. Good boy.” He praises.

Peter shudders against Tony, heavy breaths falling from those perfect lips.

“Then you just swing back,” Tony swings the boy’s arms back, “And hit it.” The club hits the ball, narrowly missing the hole.

“Damn. Nearly got it in the hole.” He mutters in the boy’s ear. He slowly moves his lips right down under Peter’s ear, right under his jaw. He sucks the skin into his mouth, biting hard enough to leave a mark. A high pitched whine leaves Peter’s throat as he drops the club onto the ground.

“Kiss me already, god dammit.”

At that, Tony grabs the boy by his shoulders and pulls him in, pressing his chapped lips to the glossy ones. Peter moans immediately, hands flying up to grip Tony’s salt and pepper hair. Tony cups his lower back, dipping Peter down slightly. His tongue eventually slips into Peter’s mouth, the younger much less experienced than Tony.

“Fuck, Tony, we need to get to my room now.” Peter whines once they pull apart, gripping at Tony’s broad shoulders.

“Roger that.” Tony quips, guiding Peter off the mini golf course, clubs and balls long forgotten. Peter leads them to one of the lesser known elevators, kneading Tony’s growing bulge the ride up to his room.

“Damn, baby. So spoiled, a suite all for yourself?” Tony teases as Peter tries to swipe his room key. The boy moans at the older man’s words, pushing open the door weakly.

“Daddy-“ Peter moans, but immediately cuts himself off in embarrassment. Tony can only let out a deep moan, throwing his head back.

“Fuck, such a needy princess.”

Peter falls to his knees, massaging Tony’s cock through his slacks.

“Only for you, daddy.” Peter responds, mouthing over the fabric of the pants.

Tony groans and starts to unbutton his slacks, but his thick fingers are pushed out of the way by Peter’s dainty ones. The younger pushes down the black slacks, then gives Tony’s very visible bulge a squeeze through the fabric. Tony’s hand flies up to grasp Peter’s pretty brown locks tightly. Peter’s long nails scrape against his thighs as he pulls Tony’s boxers down. He moans when Tony’s thick cock springs free, slapping against his stomach. Peter wastes no time, one hand cupping Tony’s heavy balls as the other starts stroking his cock slowly. Tony groans and tightens his grip on Peter’s hair when he sees that the kid is drooling. Peter leans down to wrap his lips around the head of his cock.

“Fucking hell, baby,” Tony moans, Peter lips slipping further down his length. He hollows out his cheeks and sucks.

“Peter, honey, we need to move this to the bed now if you want daddy to last.” He managed to grunt out. Peter pulls off his dick with a satisfying pop, saliva covered lips formed in a pout.

“Poor baby. Daddy will give you what you need.” Tony coos, thumb running over Peter’s bottom lip.

“Take everything off except for your underwear.” Tony orders, kicking off his pants and moving to unbutton his shirt.

Peter nods vicariously and drops his shawl on the ground. He bends over to untie the bows on his shoes, placing them neatly next to the bed. Dexterous fingers unbutton his shorts. His shorts slide down his milky legs and he’s left standing in the chiffon teddy, small cock hard and leaking, covered by the fabric.

“Fuck, you naughty boy.” Tony growls, giving his dick a few strokes.

Peter giggles and hops up onto the king bed, immediately going on his hands and knees.

“Good boy,” Tony praises, making his way to the edge of the bed. He gives Peter’s ass a little slap, pushing the fabric covering his skin away. He climbs onto the bed, kneeling behind Peter.

“Lube?” Tony asks, gently running his hand over Peter’s red cheek.

“Drawer,” He croaks out, pressing his ass against Tony’s cock. The older man leans to the side, sifting through the drawer until his hands hit a familiar bottle. Tony uncaps the lube, squirting some on his fingers.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He coos, brushing his slick fingers over Peter’s tight whole. The boy shudders, back arching at the contact.

“Be good.” Tony orders as he slips his index finger into him. Peter moans, hips desperately rutting into the bedsheets.

“Daddy,” Peter whines as Tony pushes in a second finger, than a third. The older man chuckles as he purposely avoids his prostate.

“Just fuck me already!” Peter cries, trying to fuck himself on Tony’s fingers.

“Needy slut.” Tony grunts, pulling out his fingers and slapping Peter’s ass again. He snatches up the lube, squirting more into his hands and stroking his cock.

“Ready Baby?” Tony asks Peter, gently pushing him over so he’s on his back.

“Yes, daddy.” Peter responds, eyes glistening with tears.

Tony groans and grips the base of his cock, positioning it on Peter’s hole. The boys hips jerk upwards, pretty pink cock slapping against the silk of his lingerie. Tony can’t take it, so he pushes in. Both of them moan, Peter’s high and breathy, Tony’s deep and full.

“So fucking tight,” Tony grunts through gritted teeth once he’s all the way in.

Peter doesn’t respond, just breaths harder.

“So full,” He mumbles, manicured nails scraping at Tony’s biceps. Peter is a vision, brown curls all tousled and cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

“M’ gonna move, that okay, princess?” Tony asks, tightening his grip on the boy’s unblemished hips.

Peter nods and Tony gets to work. He starts his thrust slowly, burying himself in Peter’s tight, wet heat. But when Peter cries out for him to move, how could he deny it?

“Fuck, daddy, harder!” Peter wails, body moving back and forth from the force of Tony’s thrusts.

“Yeah baby,” Tony grunts, hips snapping at a ridiculously delicious pace.

“Gonna come,” Peter moans, squeezing his eyes shut, a tear rolling down his cheek. His lips shine with his own saliva, parted enough to let out another moan.

“Do it baby, come on daddy’s cock,” Tony coaxes. Peter’s body tenses and he’s coming, eyes screwed shut as he paints his chest white. His walls tighten around Tony’s member and with a shout he spills his release inside of Peter.

The older man collapses on top of the younger. Peter lets out a giggle as Tony slips out of him.

“You did such a good job. You were gorgeous. Perfect. Beautiful.”

Tony peppers kisses down Peter’s torso, the boy’s eyes screwed shut, smiling softly at the praise. Tony adjusts the two so their heads are on the pillows and wrapping his arms around Peter’s thin body. He nuzzles into the crook of Peter’s neck, inhaling his scent of sweat, sex, and perfume.

“Stay?” Peter squeaks, pulling Tony’s arms closer to him.

“Of course.”

***

“I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

Tony sighs heavily, running a hand through his messy sex hair.

“You know I don’t want to.” He tells the boy, looking at where he’s seated.

All he’s wearing is Tony’s dress shirt from last night. He’s sitting criss-cross on a wicker chair, staring off over the balcony railing. There’s hickeys down his neck and chest, proof of their slower morning session.

“I always get caught up in this.” Peter says, not looking at Tony. “Fall head over heels for some rich guy that vacations here with his wife, then become forgotten after his trip.”

Tony swallows thickly.

“You know I won’t forget you.” He says, staring at the glass in his hands.

“I don’t think you can promise me that.” Peter says sadly, picking at his ring finger nail.

“I sure can. You’re an angel, Peter.” Tony says truthfully.

Peter smiles sadly.

“I’ll come visit you. At MIT.”

Peter laughs bitterly and shakes his head.

“I will. I don’t particularly want to have dorm sex again, but I can make an exception.”

Peter lets out a genuine laugh this time. He rubs his face with one hand.

“How are you going to explain that to your wife?”

Ah, there’s the dreaded question.

“We don’t talk much anymore. I don’t think she’ll even ask.” Tony says sadly, eyes drifting to the crisp blue ocean in the distance. Long arms wrap around his bare torso. Peter rests his head on Tony’s shoulder, breathing in deeply.

“You know, in an alternate universe, we’re probably together.” He mumbles, squeezing Tony tighter.

“Alternate universes. Funny.” Tony says dryly.

“There’s a reason why we found each other.”

Tony smiles.

“Yeah. There’s a reason.”

#starker #starker fic #starker moodboard

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luminescentlyricist · 3 years

Text

♌ Tea Cups And Tenderness ♐

arsenicCatnip [AC] began trolling centaursTesticle [CT]

AC: :33 < *ac smiles at ct, swishing her tail and waving in a welcoming meownner*

CT: D --> Hello, Nepeta.

AC: :33 < *ac pounces on ct, glad that her meowrail is here to k33p her company*

CT: D --> I am glad you are here too, you make for e%cellent company.

AC: :33 < *ac asks ct how his day is going, hoping for a pawsitive answer*

CT: D --> I must confess that I am rather lonely.

AC: :33 < *furrowning, ac asks why, dropping off his back and nuzzling his cheek comfortingly*

CT: D --> Because you are not here in person.

centaursTesticle [CT] ceased trolling arsenicCatnip [AC]

~~~~

Equius knew that his love for the catlike troll was... morally wrong, just as his feelings for Aradia had been. To a lesser degree, yes, but to have feelings for a lowerblood of any level felt distinctly unbecoming, as did having feelings for a higherblood. He felt as if he had his place in the world, and he was determined to keep it as it was. He had feelings for no 'b100b100d', however, and thus was conflicted.

Nepeta stared longingly at her shipping wall for periods of time, often ones that were considered troubling. She was almost obsessive, the way she cared about the more-often-than-not imaginary relationships she had constructed and displayed, displayed as her pride and joy. She cared for Equius so, so much. But she couldn't shake the careful drawing that she hid from view, the one 'ship' that she wished for more than anything. She knew that the other didn't reciprocate feelings for her, but she persisted in her daydreams nonetheless.

~~~~

The two were moirails, and they couldn't have been better for each other.

Equius was strong, strong and steady. He was a protector, and though he could come off as too strong, almost... disgusting in his ways, he loved her and wished her the best.

Nepeta was soft. She was loving, understanding and the gentlest of souls. She helped him as much as she could, and although many cringed at her fascinations, she loved him and wished him the best.

They were capable of becoming more, so much more, but the roles they held in each other's hearts and eyes was enough. It made them happy. The joy that they felt could far surpass any doubts they might have had, shatter any negativity as long as they kept close. When they were separated, they had Trollian, but it would never be enough to satisfy their need to... be with each other, to have physical closeness.

The tea had been brewed in a hopeful, happy manner, as Nepeta had thought everything was actually going to be fine, despite the encroaching gloom. Equius' comforting, warming darkness was the only one she had expected. The catlike troll was ever the optimist, however, and that would serve to help her through the next events.

"Oh no! The Purrl Grey has been on for too long! It'll taste pawful!"

She hissed, tail lashing about - as opposed to its normal gentle sway - and running to check the lilac pot with a worried expression. She couldn't believe it had been steeping so long! She was so careless. Her tail slid motionlessly across the floor, shifting only when she herself moved. She felt downcast within moments, as she had tried so hard to make everything so, so perfect for Equius in her land.

She checked for a supply of sugar in the small dwelling she had made there, as she liked her Cameowmile nice and sweet, before giggling to herself. She was going nuts, being alone, surely. She spun around, gazing at the hills and mounds of Little Cubes, her eyes bright and filled with a childlike wonder. Even though it felt like she had seen it all a million times, it never failed to amaze her time and time again.

"Silly Nepeta! Your land is made of sugar!"

Nepeta murmured to herself, walking out of her dwelling and looking around. She soon collected a basketful of sugar cubes, and bent down to the green tea river running like veins through her land. Sticking her tongue out, she looked around just in case Equius had been able to come to her land so soon. She didn't want to make a fool of herself in front of him. Happily, as she did most things, she bent over and quickly lapped at the green tea.

It was bitter, and she stuck her tongue out in disgust. She decided that she'd have to topple a whole hill worth of sugar into it later; it would give her something to do while Equius wasn't there, and it would be a lot of fun. Sweetness, as well as being sweet, really improved everything, or so she thought. She stood from the banks of the tea river, humming to herself as she licked the sticky residue of the sugar off her hands.

Skipping, she made her way back to the dwelling, humming softly. Equius would arrive at any minute, and she wanted to be there when he arrived. She was looking forward to seeing him, very much so, but also wanted to make sure that his often untameable strength didn't cause him to break the door as well. She'd worked on the small hut for a while, if only to keep her fidgety 'paws' at bay.

The troll soon arrived, beads of sweat trickling down his face relentlessly. She walked and got him a fresh white towel - those she had stocked up on for this reason alone - from the cupboard. He walked into the door of the hut, taking the towel from her. Equius almost seemed too big for the small dwelling, but Nepeta wanted it no other way. His size bought her comfort. He wiped his face gratefully, a broken-toothed smile coming to his lips.

"Thank you, Nepeta. It is good to see you."

Equius stood in the hut, looking around at the home Nepeta had made for herself. He was proud of her for doing such a thing, even though his head grazed the roof when it sloped down on occasion. Judging by her shorter-than-average size, and the fact that sugar grains crunched under their feet at every step, she had used the stackable cubes as leverage. She would have spent far more time than was necessary on the dwelling.

It made his hardened heart full with warmth and his gentle smile stay, unwavering, to know how much effort his Moirail had gone to, even if it wasn't specifically for him. She obviously had a real passion for what she was doing, and her fingers were still sticking together due to the baking she had done. She had set everything up just so, but she had been rather busy. She had only just had time to clean up a little before he came.

"Just a meowment, please, Equihiss."

Nepeta chirped, scampering off and to the little sink. She hummed some more as she washed her hands. Her short fingers saw the light for the first time in a while, as her bright blue paw-gloves nearly always obscured them from view. She had liked baking, as well as licking the bowls when she was finished, but didn't particularly enjoy washing up properly. She usually took her time with it, nonetheless, but she hurried because she wanted to get back to her blue-blooded friend.

She slipped her gloves back on, wiggling her fingers in relief. Although her skin was grey, and was already rather light in colour, her hands were noticeably more pale than the rest of her skin because of her habit of wearing them. She had dyed the tail and gloves when her moirallegiance with Equius started, wanting the blue to remind her that he was always with her, even when they were not together in person.

Soon, the troll bought the things she had baked to the small table, setting the plate of steaming hot muffins down and setting out a couple of placemats so that the teapots wouldn't scorch the table. She had left the Cameowmile to sit and cool down a little while the Purrl Grey steeped further, as Equius had told her that he liked his tea 'E%TREMELY STRONG'. She didn't want to burn her mouth, however.

It was evident that she had used too much sugar in the muffins, presumably to try and deplete the supply that was naturally given to her by the Land Of Little Cubes And Tea. She hadn't known that the supply was nearly infinite, so as to prevent sugar-based land degradation from Nepeta using it all up. She liked everything she had nearly as sweet as she was, which was copiously, overly sweet. That said, Nepeta wasn't a stuck-up, and her positivity always seemed to be genuine.

She padded over to the long-brewed tea, bringing it over to the table and setting it down after pouring a cup for Equius. She had reinforced the cup somehow so that he wouldn't crush it, and the tea was piping hot. She had even added some of Arthour's milk to it, as Equius had bought it over with him. He said it kept his bones strong, and she didn't doubt it, but she thought to herself that he didn't need any more calcium. He was already too strong for his own good, and for others'.

Nepeta cherished him and appreciated him far more than most, despite his almost debilitating strength and his sweating problems. There were a lot of negatives to Equius, but most tended to forget about him completely. She had reason to believe that he was seen in a negative light by most of the other trolls that bothered to acknowledge his existence, and considered that extremely unfair. Even Vriska seemed to dislike him, and Aradia hold the blue blood in her robotic veins against him, even though he had done them a courtesy and replaced their body or body parts.

They talked over tea and muffins, and joy radiated from the two trolls. They had never shown such happiness unless they were together, and even then Equius had been... apprehensive about his feelings for Nepeta. In this small hut in an expanse of sugar, they had found cause to believe that they truly were moirails, and that they were perfect for each other. The guardian and the helper, the stoic and the empathetic.

Equius soon left, his hands clutching a basketful of muffins, the likes of which Nepeta absolutely insisted he take. She claimed that she couldn't eat them all herself, but he knew that it was a lie, and simply an excuse to share what she had made for him. It was lighthearted, and she watched him go with a small and satisfied smile lighting up her cheeks. Nepeta knew that she had made him happy, and that, in turn, made her the most gleeful troll in the whole of Alternia.

But that had been long ago.

Almost too long.

~~~~~~~~~~~

So, they sat together in the darkened lab, stoves and long-cold teapots providing a barrier to what lay beyond. The two had sought shelter from him as soon as they could, sought one another because they knew it would be even colder without that comfort. The two would have liked to meet like this in a more positive setting, but that was not to be. The time of tea and piping-hot muffins in a land of sugar was long gone. It was likely that they'd never experience such a thing ever again as long as they were trapped.

The clown was lurking in the cloaking dark, and that was terrifying to them both, but Equius didn't move a muscle as Nepeta shivered against him. His role in the moiraillegiance was to guard her to his dying breath, and to have an unwavering resolution and stoicism in the face of danger. He would fulfil that role to the best of his ability. However strong he was, when a distant smashing of a bottle was heard, Equius' fingers tightened around the wood of the bow that he held, and a crack rang out.

"Do not worry, Nepeta."

He murmured, feeling the troll flinch against his body from where she was curled, obviously scared out of her mind. Aside from this, he hadn't felt her move in a while. He thought it had been a long time, though he had no way of knowing. Equius had thought her dead, for she had become literally petrified with fright for some time earlier. Although he hated it, it was a relief to feel her shivering form. It was movement, at least.

He had left her sore in the back from his hugs many a time, and did not want to risk such a thing happening ever again, especially due to his moirail's emotional fragility. She already suffered so much, particularly in their current situation. A broken back would likely kill Nepeta, as she had not - and would not - gain the abilities and immortality that came with the highly coveted ascension to God Tier.

"I am here, and I will not let anything happen to you for as long as I live."

Equius spoke, though he expected no reply. He knew that she was feeling far too weak to even gain the energy to do so. All he had to go on, all the signs that she lived, were her wheezing breaths, and the gentle shudder of her every limb. He himself was fighting the urge to close his eyes, to slip into the comfort of fading away. The void that he held called to him louder and louder until it was a deafening roar in his ears, though he had no voices in his head as Sollux had.

The goldblood had never interacted with him, and he found that better than if he had. Equius was a troll who had followed the hemospectrum closely for all of his sweeps of life, and had thus forbidden himself from interacting with Sollux and his lowblooded... breed. Power didn't matter to him, though he was so fixated on his own, and paid no mind to the boy's psionic prowess, nor his hacking skills. He wasn't self-absorbed, and he cared for those who cared for him, or that he felt he could trust.

One of the few people he felt he could trust was slowly, agonisingly dying against his body. Her breathing was so shallow that it became barely noticeable, and her chest barely moved. He provided her with all the warmth that he could, but had no idea if his efforts would be enough to save her. It was safer, he decided, for him to let her... he couldn't. He couldn't even think of the word. His Nepeta, dying. It was... preposterous. But it was better for her to fade in his arms than to die fighting that horrid, maniacal clown.

Equius brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his hands finally beginning to tremble. He didn't want her to die, even more than he feared death himself. He'd been lonely for so, so long. He'd finally pushed all that away and embraced his relationship with her, and he wanted to be safe and happy. With her. His stubbornness was a big downside when it came to socialising, but he refused to let her go even now, and it was sad that they were closest when she was so far away. He'd have his revenge, sure, but wanted to stay by her side until her very last breath.

She breathed it all too soon, and for the first time in his life, he felt a tear slip down his cheek.

#nepeta #equius #nepeta leijon #equius zahhak #homestuck #angst #luminescent lyricist writes #🏠 stuck at home 🏠

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eternlle · 4 years

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♡ STUDY : EVELYN FERRIDAY.

♡ BASICS.

IS YOUR MUSE TALL / SHORT / AVERAGE? evelyn is quite short, only 5′2″ and built very slender --- she almost looks frail, as though she’d blow away with a strong wind. her mother used to say she has ‘sparrow bones’, and it’s true ; evelyn gives off the impression of being tiny and delicate, even though she’s anything but fragile.

ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT? the best explanation is, she’s used to it. after two-hundred-odd years, she’s learned exactly how to maneuver her body ; she knows how it works, and at this point would be weirded out by anything else. there are so many benefits to being short! she can get into tiny places, move quickly, sneak into clubs without bouncers noticing... short girls rule the world.

WHAT’S THEIR HAIR LIKE? her hair is naturally dark, inclined to go wavy at the ends when it gets too long ; she enjoys brushing it, allowing her thoughts to wander with the repetitive motions, and for this reason she likes having it long. it’s quite pliable and easy to style... even if, for convenience’s sake, long hair is an awful pain. it gets in her way all the time, but ev loves having a lot of hair.

DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING? she spends a fair amount of time on it. looking after her hair is evelyn’s quiet time, one of the only instances she’ll hold still for a prolonged period ; she never considers herself done until satisfied with how she looks. things will get messed up --- her love of adventures makes that inevitable --- but she devotes a good amount of time to self - care.

DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE / WHAT OTHERS THINK? she’s... definitely not sloppy. i wouldn’t say she cares about what other people think --- she’s more than willing to splash in mud or climb trees, has no problem getting dirty --- but evelyn likes to look good, and genuinely enjoys putting effort into her appearance. she doesn’t really like dressing up, and her style isn’t fancy, but she feels good when she looks good. other people don’t need to approve ; it isn’t about them. nonetheless, if she’s not crawling out of a ditch, she usually makes an impression on people with how neat ( on occasion, even elegant ) she looks.

♡ PREFERENCES.

INDOORS OR OUTDOORS? outdoors.

RAIN OR SUNSHINE? rain, but sunshine is wonderful too... it depends on her mood.

FOREST OR BEACH? forest.

PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS? gems.

FLOWERS OR PERFUMES? flowers.

PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE? personality.

BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD? in a crowd.

ORDER OR ANARCHY? anarchy.

PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES? white lies.

SCIENCE OR MAGIC? magic.

PEACE OR CONFLICT? peace.

NIGHT OR DAY? day.

DUSK OR DAWN? dawn.

WARMTH OR COLD? warmth.

MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS? many acquaintances.

READING OR PLAYING A GAME? playing a game.

♡ QUESTIONNAIRE.

WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS? escapism. rampant escapism. she makes shit up to cope. evelyn runs from her problems like she gets a high out of it, and this extends to mental running --- literally ignoring them, pretending they don’t exist or trouble her --- and physically sprinting away. she’s very non - confrontational, so she prefers to flee a problem before addressing it. she’s... very good at lying to herself.

HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM? check that residual trauma, babey! she still suffers, centuries on, from the loss of her children --- her miscarriages, and especially maerie. seeing her grow up was a small comfort, but evelyn mourns the fact that she wasn’t there to raise her daughter, as her mother was for her. speaking of her mother, evelyn never even got to say goodbye --- she died by the time she found herself back in france after “faking” her own death. evelyn hasn’t even begun to process that grief, and it’s been literal centuries. she keeps all her traumas in neatly packed boxes, stuffed away at the back of her mind - attic, and god help the person who ends up knocking one over.

WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS? oh, so many --- evelyn honestly holds on to memories less easily since she became immortal ( she blames it on her head being crowded with just so much ) but many from her early life remain extremely vivid. she remembers the way her mother used to sit at the piano on sunny spring days, and play tunes while evelyn and her siblings danced around the room ; she remembers chasing frogs in the stream with her brother and best friend, how suzanne would shriek whenever they touched her, and charles would laugh until he fell over sideways ; she remembers little maerie’s bright smile as she chased a butterfly across the field, and how she didn’t cry when she fell and skinned her knee. evelyn has many incredibly fond memories, but she cherished these early ones most of all.

IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL? i... don’t know if she could. she’s never been put in a situation where she’d have to. defending herself is a different story, and evelyn will gladly fight like a feral badger for her own self - preservation, but killing someone might go too far. ultimately, i think she could do it, but only if something she valued greatly was at stake --- like her liberty, or the safety of someone she loved. she doesn’t like to kill creepy-crawlies, killing a person is a big leap.

WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN? very messy. evelyn truly breaking down is a release of all the emotion she hasn’t allowed herself to feel --- it’s violent, tumultuous, and as frightening to her as it is to any person unlucky enough to witness it. she hits a very low point. while not the sort of person to lash out at anyone else, she’ll retreat inwards, probably trying to isolate herself. ( she’s gonna sprint into the freaking woods. ) it’s like... a volcanic explosion of emotion, and it leaves her drained and listless for days afterwards ; she has to physically recover from it. has only happened... a handful of times in two centuries, it’s that bad.

IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE? “trust” is a big word for evelyn. she’s very individualistic ; she doesn’t truly trust anyone, not with her every secret ( and there are some big ones to unpack ). her trust is handed out like grains of sand, steadily built up overtime into a mountain. it has to be earned. for evelyn, it’s not about trusting someone with her life --- she’ll visit an active volcano with someone she barely knows, just for the hell of it --- but trusting someone with her vulnerabilities, her secrets, is a slow process. she usually doesn’t let herself get that close to people. casual friends are... easier, and don’t notice when you’re gone.

WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE? hopeful. walking on air is maybe a more apt term, but evelyn in love is the lightest she will ever be. it’s so easy to see the beauty in everything, and suddenly she has someone to share it with. she... gets a bit ahead of herself. she starts planning things, coming up with grand adventures they’ll share, places they’ll go, hoops they’ll jump through. a lot of her ideas are a little unrealistic, so she’d need a partner to anchor her --- “no, we can’t go mountain-climbing in tibet this weekend, i have an actual job” --- but also to know how to humor her. the thing about ev : she deceives herself in love. she’s not good at facing the hard truths in her own life, so she tends to romanticize the idea of a life with her partner. she will get discouraged if life doesn’t live up to those expectations. if she feels ignored, if she feels patronized or suppressed... she’ll fall out of love very quickly, and develop the urge to flee. it takes a lot to get to that point, though. if there’s a sufficient base of understanding and mutual affection in the relationship, she’ll never get to that point --- it’s worst-case scenario. by now, she’s smarter about who she falls in love with. she’s already married a man who tired of her, who saw her as a silly child ; she’ll never put herself in that position again.

♡ TAGGED BY : @trailost ( thank you bby!! ) ♡ TAGGING : ummm, imma hit up @notberried @darlingflight @ducavalentinois @evermxre !!

#( hcs ) / waiting was enough for me #// this was so comprehensive i honestly loved it

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pollylynn · 4 years

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All in the Family—Chalk Talk: A Caskett Future Fic in the Heliotrope Series

Title: All in the Family—Chalk Talk WC: 2000

A/N: So, because @coraclavia is a terrible person, she forced me—FORCED ME—to write a number of ridiculous stories where Caskett have a daughter named Madeleine (who has imaginary friends—siblings—named Heliotrope and Jacquard, who are impeccably dressed throughout all their adventures). This cropped up tonight. Wut? (The rest of the series is here.)

She doesn’t want to be the one to tell him it will end in tears. But whatever it is—his grand surprise—she’s sure before he even unveils it that it will end in tears. That is simple the state of the Mad One’s Union these days.

“Fireworks for Alexis. That’s traditional. ” He has insisted she close her eyes. He’s leading her by the hand around to the pool. He stops short and she crashes into him. “You aren’t gonna narc on me just because they’re the good kind, are you?”

“Homicide cop, Castle.” She makes a face and shakes her head. “Like I’d stoop to narcing about fireworks?”

He squeezes her arm with pleasure, and she feels a twinge of multilayered guilt. She’s glad for the cover the question offers. She’s already pressing her lips together hard to keep from pointing out that Alexis has said, again and again, with increasingly desperate looks at Kate, that she is a very tentative Maybe for the big Official Summer in the Hamptons Kickoff Weekend. She’s pressing her lips together hard to keep from reminding him that they aren’t really spending Summer in the Hamptons, because she has to work.

“Okay. I need you to stand here for a second.” He drops her arm. “But no peeking. You’re not peeking, are you?”

“I’m not—” She can feel him waving a hand two millimeters from her face, and she swats back. “I’m not peeking, Castle. Just show me already.” “Almost,” he calls out from what seems to be surprisingly far away. She hears an odd sound, like plates and mugs jostling in a plastic dish tub, but not quite. “Almost ready.” She twists in place, anxiously cocking an ear in what she thinks is the direction of the open French doors. Madeleine has been asleep for something like fourteen consecutive minutes by her count, and it can’t last. The way things have been lately, it absolutely cannot last. “Aaaaannnd.” His sudden voice in her ear makes her jump a mile high, but he catches her by the hips. He turns her to face the direction he has in mind. “Ready!”

“Oh.” It’s all she can manage at first. He’s vibrating with excitement behind her, but when she sees the pitch black expanse of ground stretching beyond the pool with their names written—Mama, Daddy, Gram, Alexis, Madeleine—in multicolored, multi-flourished letters that must be six inches high, all she can manage is Oh. “Is that—?”

“Chalkboard paint.” He dashes around the edge of the pool, pulling her along with him, until she’s standing with her bare toes just touching the line where the sand-colored flagstones end and the stretch of black begins. “Had to pull up the pavers and pour concrete—did you know chalkboard paint works on concrete? And colored chalk? Colored chalk is way better than it was when we were kids.”

“We?” She can’t resist arching an eyebrow at him.

“Since I was a kid and you were . . . I’m going to go with embryo, because thinking about a twinkle in your dad’s eye makes me uncomfortable.” He makes a face, and she gives him a yes, please nod. “But isn’t this great? When she doesn’t want to be in the pool, she can be out her just drawing her little heart out, and you . . .” He grabs her hand and steps out to arm’s length before spinning her into his body. “You get to float around with fruity rum drinks.”

“Fruity rum drinks?” She tucks her chin into her collar bone and peers up at him through her lashes. She’s being seduced by the picture he paints, in spite of herself. “I don’t recall that in the brochure.” “I’ll fire our marketing department, because that should have been on the cover,” he purrs in her ear. “I intend to ply you with a steady, yet safe-for-the-pool stream of fruity rum drinks.”

“Ply,” she says leaning back into him. “I’m a fan of plying, Of being plied.”

“Counting on that.” He wraps his arms around her waist. “Because I plan on plying, wearing out our little terror with cannonballs and sidewalk chalk, and then the post-plying festivities begin.”

She wants to believe. She badly wants to believe that a trip smack dab in the middle of their sweet, funny, wildly entertaining four-year-old’s unexpected transformation into the Bad Seed won’t accelerate the process. She turns in his arms and rests her palm along his jawline. “She’s gonna love it,” she tells him, and it’s not not true. Madeleine will love it eventually or initially or for fifteen seconds every twelve hours or in the middle of the night when she will wail until they give in and carry her out to it. She will love it . . . somehow. But it’ll end in tears.

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

It sort of begins in tears. Madeleine actually sleeps for thirty-eight minutes beyond the first fourteen, making it some kind of record for the last twelve days. When she wakes, she’s clingy and babyish. She cries out for Mama and Kate sweeps her up in her arms.

She’s heavy these days. It’s strange, because she’s spindly and long-legged, as Kate herself was at that age, but she’s also solid enough to make her mother’s shoulders ache long before the Mad One will even think of being put down.

“I can take you, baby girl,” he offers, stepping close, but Madeleine turns her head swiftly into Kate’s neck.

“No. Not a baby.” She hollers right in her mother’s ear. “Want my mama.”

“Uh, excuse me then, Miss.” He tugs at her toes, falling back on old patterns that have served him well for the whole of her life until the calendar flipped and most of May had expired. “Aren’t those mutually exclusive?”

“Not Ess loose luv!”

The girl’s voice is winding up, and Kate is trying her hardest not to glare at him. They’re both sleep deprived. They’ve both been working too hard and Madeleine has spoiled them up to this point. She’s been rambunctious and melodramatic and exhaustively curious, but she’s been such an easy baby, toddler, growing little girl up this point.

“Hey, loose luv.” She makes a Herculean effort to bounce her daughter’s heavy body in the hopes of kidding her out of this mood. “Did you know Daddy has a surprise for you?”

“A big surprise?” She peers up at Kate with more skepticism than some of the seasoned detectives she knows. “Just for me?”

“A Daddy-sized surprise,” Kate tells her. She sticks out her tongue at Castle, short-circuiting his reflexive eyebrow waggle. “By the pool. Should we go see?”

“Down!” Madeleine exclaims as she engages some kind of gravitational field that almost takes the two of them right to the ground. Kate manages to set the girl on her feet. “You all right?” Castle is already taking off after her, but he snags the doorframe on his way through.

“Fine.” Kate presses a hand to her lower back. “Go, before she’s screaming about the pool gate.”

He beats her there. He manages to speed-dial the combination lock and has the gate open almost before she has to break stride. Madeleine’s eyes go wide as she spies the chalkboard that’s as tall as she is, twice over. She takes three swift steps straight toward it, not seeming to care that the pool itself is in the way.

“Hey, hey.” Castle catches her by the hand. “Let’s go around until you’ve got your suit on and not a pretty sundress, okay?”

Madeleine obliges. She scampers along the more regular tiles that form the pool’s edge, dragging Castle in her wake. She stops abruptly with her tiny bare toes in almost exactly the spot Kate’s had come to rest earlier. “This is black,” she states. Her tone is a comical echo of Kate’s own when she has a suspect against the ropes. “It is black,” Castle says cautiously. “But Memorial Day is Monday, so it’s technically still after Labor Day until then. We can check with Gram, but even Heliotrope should be okay with black by the pool.” “The ground is brown.” Madeleine whirls. Her hand reaches out in a pathetic gesture as though she’d draw the color up off the flagstones and hold it to her heart if she could. “All the rest is brown.”

Castle looks helplessly in Kate’s direction. “Black and brown. That works, right?”

“Mixed neutrals,” she says briskly as she makes her way to join them. “Heliotrope approved.” She catches Madeleine’s fingers as she passes by. She pulls her to stand in the center of the chalkboard paint. “Look, Mad One. Do you see what this is?” She taps her toe on the the tall M at the beginning of her name. “What does this say?”

The girls frowns. She tips her head to the side and counts the letters under her breath. She stumbles over six and five, reversing them, then correcting herself.

“This Madeleine!” She looks from Kate to Castle to Kate again, astonished. “This mine name!”

“Just like at school.” Castle creeps warily toward the two of them. “When Miss Oz writes Madeleine up on the board when you’re Sparkle-Star Good?”

“I not at school.” Madeleine looks down at her own name with all the sadness in the world in her eyes. “Mine friends at school. School is far away.”

Kate’s heart breaks. She can’t bear to look at Castle. It’s such a silly, obvious thing—she misses school. She’s been missing her friends these last eight miserable days, but she’s so little. Isn’t she still too little for this? She finally does look at Castle. It’s a mistake. He’s frozen in place. He’s silent, but even a quick glance tells her that he’s beside himself.

She suddenly sees him at Madeleine’s age, with Madeleine’s wide blue eyes and hair five shades lighter than her dark curls. She sees him constantly uprooted as Martha struggled to make ends meet through Summer Stock productions and work where she could get it. She sees him miserable and volatile and utterly unlike his usual, sweet, tender-hearted little self.

She looks down at her feet, her skin stark white with winter. She sees the grand gesture for what it is—a piece of this place transformed for the exclusive use of their charming, challenging, wonderful little miss, who’s having the kind of hard time he remembers having.

She drops to her butt in the middle of black. The paint has spent the day soaking up the sun, and it’s pleasantly warm against the bare skin of the back of her thighs. She flips open the treasure chest full of chalk—because of course there is a literal treasure chest full of chalk—and hefts a fresh, satisfying chunk in her hand. “Is it, Mad One?” She quickly sketches a rickety square with a triangle on top. She shades in a door, a window with four panes. “Is school far, or is it right here?” She pats her creation.

“That’s not school.” Madeleine stomps. Her bare foot makes a resounding slap right on the window. “It not.”

“Oh, it’s not?” Kate waggles the chalk enticingly. “Can you show me, then? Can you show me and Daddy what school looks like?” “I show you.” She turns up her nose at the proffered chalk and heads for the treasure chest. “I show,” she repeats, coming up with her own piece. “School purple, Mama.”

“Purple!” Kate smacks her forehead dramatically with the heel of her hand. She catches his eye. She sees him take one pained, hitching breath, before he shakes himself—before he smiles and she smiles back, conspiratorial. “Of course, purple.”

“Silly Mama.” He makes a production of lowering himself to the ground behind her. He snatches the chalk and reaches to stow it in the treasure chest. He takes her hand and kisses the chalky pink tips of her fingers. “Always purple.” A/N: I honestly don’t know if there’s more to this. It didn't go where I thought it would. But that’s hardly news.

#Castle #Caskett #Castle: Future Fic #Kate Beckett #Richard Castle #Madeleine James Castle #Heliotrope #All in the Family #Fic #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Fan Fic #Fan Fiction #Cora Clavia

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punkscowardschampions · 4 years

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Savannah, Jac, Amelia & Isabelle

Savannah: What are we doing to get party ready? Savannah: because I vote we hit the spa to get our collective ✨ back Savannah: it should be ILLEGAL how my skin looks Jac: No way, I was JUST thinking how good your skin looked like THIS morning Jac: but it's never NOT a good time for the spa too though so 🤭 Savannah: your hype is everything! I don't even deserve how flawless you are in a beyond skin deep way Savannah: but yes to the spa being my go to fave ^^ Amelia: I can't Jac: only giving what you put out, it is beyond deserved ❤❤ Jac: Why not Meelie? Amelia: I'll be at the party but the only way I could be there too is if my mum comes with and NOBODY wants that Jac: Your mum is fun Amelia: not that fun Jac: Doesn't [some boujee place they'd like] have a 10% discount right now, Savvy? Jac: they do THE BEST facials Savannah: 👏🏾 Yes! You have the BEST taste & I think it's actually gone up to 15% 🙌🏾 Isabelle: Awh 😟 it sounds like so much fun but mine won't give me any money and I'm so broke after getting those new trainers Savannah: Don't be silly! It's totally my treat, Is Savannah: your pores shouldn't have to stay clogged for the sake of those trainers Jac: That is so generous of you 🥺🥺 Jac: I NEED a hot oil hair treatment like yesterday, I don't know why it's so dry right now but it's not a mood Savannah: your hair looked beautiful yesterday & if you don't believe me, I literally heard so many girls from the year above talking about it so Jac: 😳😳😳 Jac: well I KNOW Ty heard those 6th years talking about you, he was so jealous, bless him 🥰 Savannah: I was in the bathroom overwhelmed by sadness & I heard your name over & over, it felt seriously fated Savannah: oh my god, he refuses to tell me what they sad, I've given him the full 🥺 & everything Savannah: *said Amelia: maybe you need bigger eyelashes Savannah: Do you think? Jac: Oh my God, where even was I? Boo! 😖 You should have called so I could come find you Jac: no way, you like, INVENTED puppy dog eyes, your natural lashes are so thick and dark Jac: he's just saving your blushes, so cute Savannah: ugh, my phone was like dying because Sienna had all this drama with a girl in her class earlier Savannah: 🥰 you're so cute, I can't even handle all these compliments Jac: Is she okay or do we need to talk to this girl? Jac: her year is vicious, I swear Savannah: she says she's okay but she can't hide how upset she is from me Jac: You're way too empathetic, you know her inside out Jac: Poor Sienna, does she want to come too? Savannah: that's SUCH a great idea, I'll ask her Jac: We could all get matching nails Isabelle: Sorry...mum called Isabelle: won't that be really expensive though? are you super sure Sav? Savannah: of course, Is Savannah: it's not like I need a new outfit for Erin's house party Isabelle: Yay, thank you so much! 😁 So you can come too Meels? Amelia: No Amelia: it wasn't about the money, remember? Isabelle: 😥 you don't want to be left out though Amelia: there's nothing I can do about that Isabelle: oh that's such a shame Isabelle: I'll bring you back some of those mini cakes and sandwiches they do Amelia: thanks Amelia: I'll see you at Erin's Jac: Are you sure there's no way? Amelia: you've really forgotten the 📅 haven't you? Jac: Oh, it's her birthday Jac: right? Amelia: yeah Savannah: we should send her 💐 from all of us Savannah: I love your mum Jac: Are you definitely coming to the party then? Amelia: I'll be there Amelia: Erin throws a good party Jac: 💐 is a great idea, we can go pick them out Jac: what are you doing with her today then? Amelia: 🎭🩰 totally not my thing but my dad won't take her Amelia: she doesn't think I will either, so it'll be stay a huge surprise Jac: That's really nice, she'll love it Jac: I'd love to go sometime Savannah: Ballet lessons were the highlight of my Saturday when I was little, I was obsessed Savannah: mainly for the outfits though 😄 Jac: I can so picture you with your little bun 😊 adorable Savannah: [pics because she's that bitch] Jac: 😭😭😭😭 Jac: how have you always been PERFECT Jac: I was so ugly 😬😂 Amelia: no you weren't Jac: I so was Jac: you and Is were really sweet and I was so 😱😱 Jac: never mind the puppy fat, yikes Amelia: the fringe my mum forced me to have was not sweet 😣 Savannah: I'm with Amelia, you were definitely such an 👼🏻👶🏻 Amelia: she was Amelia: [pics of them all as kids but especially her being bffs with Jac to make that point to Savannah like] Jac: You guys are so sweet Jac: I love you Isabelle: I look exactly the same is that a good or a bad thing Amelia: 😂 Amelia: better than looking like 👧🏻 Amelia: I'm literally an emoji Isabelle: Iconic, some would say Isabelle: 🤭 Savannah: these pics are going to make me cry, I swear Savannah: too adorable Savannah: as if you've all been friends for so long Jac: It's so wild to me that we weren't friends before now Jac: we should've been friends this whole time too Savannah: I know, but I guess I wasn't ready until now Savannah: I had so much character development to do first Jac: 🙌🙏 ^^ SAME Jac: it had to be now Jac: you're all being nice about it but I would lowkey DIE if you knew me even a few years ago Jac: not cute Savannah: ^^^^^^ Savannah: Ty hasn't seen me before we got together & I 🙏🏾 he never will Amelia: he didn't go to another school, I think he knows that you existed before him Jac: the glo-up is too real to go back 💁 Savannah: I'm still waiting for my glow up Savannah: there's only so much the spa can do Jac: 😤 you're so FLAWLESS Jac: like literally, there isn't a single thing wrong with you Savannah: stop, I don't know if I'll start blushing or sobbing Isabelle: I would love to look like you, Savannah Isabelle: what should I wear tonight? Isabelle: I want Tom to notice me Savannah: I'm flattered but you need to embrace your own beauty, Is Savannah: it's so important Savannah: Oh, Tom R or Tom S? Isabelle: Ew, Tom S Isabelle: I made out with Tom R last year and it was baaaad bad Savannah: One second, I'll ask Ty about him now I have the right Tom Isabelle: I'm so excited I might puke Savannah: okay so he likes to make the first move, you'll need to dress like you're not the kind of girl who kissed Tom R Isabelle: How do I do that? I need help 😩 Savannah: maybe you can borrow something of Amelia's Isabelle: Can I Meels? Isabelle: I dunno if I'll suit your style though...I'm not cool Amelia: I couldn't get the grass stains out of the skirt you borrowed last time Isabelle: Whoops 😉 Amelia: and you don't need to dress to impress Tom S anyway, he's nothing special Isabelle: He's so lush though Amelia: 🤨 Isabelle: Come on! You have eyes Isabelle: isn't he so fit guys Savannah: I only have eyes for one boy, but he does have nice eyes himself Jac: You've done worse Isabelle: Yeah, Tom R for example Isabelle: 😨 Savannah: 😅 Savannah: You know who apparently is the worst kisser ever, Donovan! Savannah: have you ever kissed him, Is? Isabelle: Have I? Isabelle: 🤔 Amelia: he leaned in to 💋 but you 🤮 on his trainers Isabelle: Ha! Isabelle: Dodged a bullet, apparently Jac: He wasn't as fast Savannah: Oh my god! Jac: It was so shaming, we had to call her mum to pick her up Savannah: my parents would kill me Jac: Your mum is like, beyond chill, Is Jac: she lets you get away with loads Savannah: I'd be beyond jealous if I wanted to kiss Tom R, or fall down drunk in his path, at least Savannah: thankfully he's not my type Isabelle: Not even, she was so mad at me for ages Isabelle: I was sick in the fireplace Isabelle: it was so hard to clean Jac: Is that friend of Ty's going? Jac: 😶 Savannah: yes Jac: 🥴 Isabelle: oooooooooooooooooh, do you like someone J?!?!? Savannah: he doesn't usually go to house parties but as soon as he heard you were, he recognised that Erin's had potential Isabelle: who who Savannah: J doesn't want to make a big deal out of it Amelia: then why turn it into a big secret? Jac: It's no secret Jac: but Is has already got no chill and you know I'm shy Jac: I won't be able to cope with how blatant her 👀 is Amelia: you could've told me that you liked someone Jac: I am telling you Jac: like, right now Amelia: not really Jac: What do you mean? 🤨 Amelia: I mean, you're not actually telling me anything Jac: I'm not trying to like, commandeer this whole convo and make it about me Jac: but okay Jac: he's one of Ty's friends, he's on the team too Amelia: I could scroll up for that info but okay Jac: I don't know what you want me to say? Jac: I've not spoken to him properly yet, he's just interesting Amelia: interesting how? Jac: 😳 Savannah: is this third degree honestly necessary? Jac: maybe I shouldn't go now Jac: I'm feeling kinda off Savannah: Baby 😔 Savannah: we can do whatever you want to do Jac: No, I won't spoil your guys fun Jac: you should all go Savannah: it won't be any fun without you Savannah: & anyway, if you don't feel well you need someone there to take care of you Jac: You'd do that for me? Jac: you'll make me cry, I swear Savannah: It's just a stupid party, you're you Jac: Will Ty be mad at you? Savannah: of course not, all his friends will be there, he doesn't need me as much as you do Jac: I wanna still try to do the spa Jac: for Sienna Jac: but I just can't see him now, the anxiety is too high Savannah: she'll understand if we have to reschedule but it might make you feel better to be pampered Savannah: but I'll give you a facial if you can't cope with a full spa situation Savannah: it's totally your decision Jac: I do have this new mask I think will be amazing for your skin type Jac: bring Sienna, she can see the new pup we just got Savannah: you understand too, don't you, Is? Savannah: I'll take you for a manicure next week, I promise Isabelle: Oh, yeah, totally Isabelle: mum said it's too much to accept anyway Isabelle: Are you sure you don't want to come though? Isabelle: sounds like he really wants to see you Savannah: I'm here for you if you want any more outfit help for Tom, just facetime me Isabelle: Thank you sweetie, I'm really torn between these 3 dresses Isabelle: wait, 4 Isabelle: I'll definitely call Jac: You're a doll, Is Jac: Tom is gonna be 😍 Savannah: ^^ I can't wait to hear how blown away he is by you Isabelle: I'll give you all the rundown tomorrow morning 😁😁😁 Isabelle: do you want to go together, Meels? Amelia: I've got to put the time in with mum, I'll probably be late getting there Amelia: don't worry about waiting for me Isabelle: Okay, if you're sure Isabelle: come find me when you get there Amelia: yeah, Tom's tall, I'll be able to Isabelle: 🤤🤤🤤 Isabelle: he's so tall Amelia: play it cool, Is Isabelle: 😖 Savannah: you don't need to listen to Amelia, she's not an expert Amelia: I don't need to know about boys, I know her Isabelle: I don't wanna be sick on this one's shoes Amelia: of course you don't Amelia: trust me, drink less, dance more Jac: you should let him give you your first drink Savannah: 👏🏾 he'll LOVE that Isabelle: Ugh, thanks guys Isabelle: I am going to need to pre-drink though Isabelle: for my nerves Amelia: me too, for my 🎭🩰🧠 Jac: What ballet is it? Amelia: 🔥🐦 Jac: Your mum will love it Amelia: she hasn't already seen it, that's a good start Jac: I haven't either Jac: I mean, I just watch the performances at home but yeah Jac: we've sent the flowers via one of those postbox ones, they'll come tomorrow Amelia: she'll love those too Amelia: maybe even more than seeing me dressed for 🎭🩰 Jac: send us your outfit too then, yeah Amelia: no way, they're going nowhere but my mum's facebook Jac: I am her friend, you know Isabelle: hey, I'm not! Amelia: add her, she won't mind Isabelle: I'm so going to Isabelle: not my Insta though Isabelle: I've blocked mine 💁 Amelia: it's okay, I don't let her on my insta either any more Amelia: she leaves too many 😳 comments Isabelle: Mammys are the worst Isabelle: 😬😬 Amelia: at least she understands socials, my dad is clueless Amelia: and he's not THAT old Isabelle: My nan loves selfies Amelia: your nan is my everything Amelia: if I could bring her to the party tonight, I would Isabelle: 😂 you're so wild Amelia: tear yourself away from whichever Tom it is and you'll see Isabelle: not with Pam thank you 🤣 Isabelle: she has a boyfriend Amelia: get it Pamela Isabelle: his name is Brian Isabelle: they go down dolly mount every Friday, it's so cute Amelia: I'm so happy for them Jac: Awh, how sweet Jac: What about Jackie, has she been dating? Isabelle: She never tells me anything Isabelle: she says she's too busy working Amelia: Jackie doesn't need a man Isabelle: You sound just like her! Amelia: cut me deeper, Is 💔 Isabelle: sorry, you do though Isabelle: do you listen to the same female empowerment spotify playlist? Amelia: link me, I'd probably I'd be into it Isabelle: [does, imagine those single lady tunes lmao] Amelia: 😂 Amelia: this could save my life when I hate the 🎭🩰 Isabelle: no, no, take this Isabelle: [some dance sexy sassy playlist she's listening to] Amelia: you should send that one to Erin Amelia: save the party too Isabelle: Good idea Isabelle: [some cringy tiktok moment of her dancing, Isabelle stop] Amelia: [a video of amelia dancing amazingly at some party or other recently that Isabelle had to go home early from so she missed it, cos we gotta remind the lurking bae who we are] Isabelle: 🤯🤯🤯🤯 YOU'RE SO GOOD Isabelle: you should post! you'd get so many likes Amelia: I was so drunk, that's all Savannah: I can't believe that's you! Amelia: 🤔 am I flattered or offended Isabelle: Meels has always been a good dancer Isabelle: you should teach me Amelia: we can start tonight if it won't make Tom rage that he isn't teaching you something Isabelle: it's for his benefit Isabelle: so many lads are gonna be 😍 at you Amelia: they'll be looking at you if I do it right Isabelle: I'm fine with that 😋 Amelia: me too Jac: [some message between Ty and this Tom with some form of insider info they've made him get lol like you're welcome Isabelle but you also owe us now] Amelia: I'm seriously not understanding why you like him, Is Isabelle: 😲 OMG OMG Isabelle: it is so useful having a boy on our team Isabelle: thank you Ty, ahhhhhhh Isabelle: [pictures of him like hello] Savannah: We all want you to be happy Isabelle: 🥺🥺 awwwww Savannah: did you narrow down your outfit picks yet? Isabelle: no, I'm making toasties Isabelle: mum said I have to line my stomach 🙄 Jac: I hope that doesn't make a reappearance later Amelia: Erin's 🏠 is lovely, try not to redecorate it for her Amelia: can I stay over at yours, Is? Amelia: my parents will be all 😍🥰😘 Isabelle: 🤢🤢🤢 Isabelle: You can Isabelle: mum's on nights so she'll be gone and we won't have to worry about waking her up Amelia: if Tom's staying too, tell me now because that's as 🤢 Isabelle: Amelia! Amelia: I don't want to see or hear it, sorry Isabelle: he won't be staying, oh my gosh Amelia: okay Isabelle: I'm not a slag Isabelle: that's just what Kane put about when I dumped him for two-timing me Amelia: until I shut him up Isabelle: Ha, that was funny Isabelle: I thought he was gonna cry Amelia: he probably did when he went home Jac: 👏 Amelia: I should probably go get 🎭🩰 ready Amelia: 😣 this 👗 though Amelia: I'm going to look like I belong on Pam's 🚽 to hide her 🧻 Jac: 😏 Jac: it's not like you can wear your grass-stained skirt Amelia: It's long gone Jac: Shame Amelia: yeah, I liked it Jac: and Is had a good time in it Jac: fond memories Amelia: I'm sorry, okay? Jac: ... Jac: What? Amelia: for the 'third degree' earlier Jac: Oh, right Jac: well thanks for apologising, that's mature of you Amelia: I can be, sometimes Jac: I wouldn't suggest otherwise Amelia: I just had no idea you liked any of Ty's friends Jac: It's not like a thing, is all Jac: I'm not like in love with the boy Jac: you'd know if it was serious Amelia: would I? Jac: Obviously Jac: don't be silly Amelia: I have to go, I wouldn't have time to be silly even if you wanted me to Jac: Make sure your mum has a good time then ❤ Amelia: she will, I've booked a dinner reservation and everything Savannah: That's so cute! I feel like I should be a better daughter starting today Jac: Same Jac: putting us all to shame Isabelle: I only got my mum a necklace from the market for her birthday Isabelle: and it made her neck go green 😩 Amelia: she's been annoying me less lately Amelia: actually being helpful Isabelle: 🥳🥳🥳 Amelia: I didn't realise she was good for advice AND gossip Jac: You know you can talk to us too, right Isabelle: ^^ We're your best friends forever Amelia: it's nothing, I thought I liked someone too but I got it wrong Isabelle: but you never like ANYONE Isabelle: no offence Amelia: none taken Isabelle: you'll find someone Meels 😙 Amelia: maybe Amelia: maybe not Isabelle: Of course you will, you're lovely! Isabelle: right girls Jac: But she can take as much time as she likes, Is Savannah: Ty has so many amazing friends when you are ready, but there's no rush Amelia: Thanks Sav, but they're not my type Jac: I hate to think of your mum waiting on her birthday Jac: you don't wanna be late because Is still hasn't picked an outfit Amelia: don't worry, I'm going Isabelle: See you at Erin's 💖 Jac: Later 👋 Amelia: yeah x 2

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kayincolwyn · 4 years

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In Memory Of Roxy

Yesterday my family and I sadly had to say goodbye to our beloved family cat Roxy, whom we have had in our family for about 16-17 years, nearly half my life.

Within the last week she got very sick and went downhill quickly, and she showed all the signs of fading away that we've seen in cats of her age that we have had in the past, so rather than prolonging her suffering we decided to take her to the Humane Society to have her put to sleep yesterday. Sadly because we are still in the midst of a global pandemic I wasn't able to be with her in her last moments like I wanted to be, but thankfully she was quiet and calm when we gave her over, and they said it went smoothly and she didn't struggle. We believe she was ready to go, and that gives us some comfort.

I realize that losing a 'pet' in the midst of a global pandemic and widespread civil rights protests, all of which are of course important and need our attention, seems small and inconsequential, and I can understand that as I know others are having to face far more pain and loss than I am right now, and no doubt some would say 'well she's just a cat'. Trust me, I know that the timing of this is crazy, as having to deal with the weight of everything that is going on around me as well as my grief is just surreal for lack of a better word, and I know that there are those who see animals as having less importance or value than human beings, which I can kind of understand at least to a point (even though I don't wholly agree), but then in my experience you can love an animal as much as you can a person, if not exactly in the same way, and you can certainly grieve for the loss of them as much as you can for the loss of a person, as I know from experience

C.S. Lewis, the author of The Chronicles Of Narnia, once said this when speaking of love:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

I agree with Lewis here, that, and whether we like it or not, with love comes vulnerability, and if we want the joy of bonding with another person, or even with an animal, we must accept also the potential grief of losing them, as we inevitably will lose both humans and animals that we love at some point in our lives. That vulnerability, that potential grief, is all part of a package deal that just we have to accept as best we can if we choose to love. Love and loss must go hand in hand in this world that we live in as difficult as that reality may be.

With all of that said, I just wanted to tell you a little about Roxy.

Like my dog Shasta (who I also wrote a tribute for a few years ago), we inherited Roxy from my aunt Stephanie after she passed away when Roxy was a kitten. Stephanie bought Roxy at a pet store, and I think she named her after the song Roxanne by The Police. Roxy stayed with us in our trailer along with Shasta and my sister's cat Smokey (who passed away last year at about the same age as Roxy) for about the first ten years of her life, and I admit to my regret that I didn't pay as much attention to her or bond with her as much then as much as I did with Shasta or Smokey, as she was at that time more standoffish and something of an 'ice queen', and there were times I would lash out at her in anger, and I feel that I ignored her far more than she deserved.

But about seven years ago when we moved out of our trailer and into our apartment where we now live, with my sister taking Smokey with her and with my dad helping Shasta find a new home (as we couldn't take Shasta with us) with some friends of his on the coast, we took Roxy with us, and once she got over the usual anxiety of being introduced to a new home, she began to blossom in ways that she hadn't before. I think we realized overtime that she had been more standoffish and 'icy' because she didn't like having to compete with other animals and was more comfortable having the place to herself, so for the next seven years we let her 'rule the roost' so to speak, and she opened up more and became more affectionate, and my mom and I bonded with her more overtime, and when my wife Kaylyn moved in about a year later she bonded with her more as well.

Roxy could be something of a 'diva' at times, demanding our complete attention, but she could also be very sweet, and she was often quirky and silly, and as many animal lovers will talk about, overtime we developed our own little traditions with her, like her love of sitting in front of the heater while eating some goodies, also known as 'heats and treats', or 'Sunday dinner' when we would give her a can of wet food as a special weekly treat which she was always ecstatic about, or how she loved to lay in between my mom's legs when she was sleeping in bed, or lay on my lap while I was watching movies or shows or writing or chatting with friends on my laptop on the couch in our living room, or how she would greet me at the door almost every night I came home from work, waiting and hoping for more treats, or how she would 'help me' with my exercises by plopping on the floor next to me while I was working out in my room, or how she would plop on the floor in the midst of gatherings of family or friends at our place, as if saying 'look at me', or some of her favorite sleeping spots in our apartment (or should I say her apartment), including my 'Tardis' (or should I say her Tardis), a Doctor Who throw blanket that Kay bought me a few years ago, which she often laid on while Kay and I hung out together in our room, keeping us company, or how Kay and I would refer to my mom as 'grammy' or to ourselves as 'mom and dad' and would call her our 'fuzzy daughter'.

There were all of these traditions, and more, that we developed over our seven years with her here in our little two bedroom apartment, and her presence and these moments with her would make us smile or laugh or would give us a little more joy than I believe we would otherwise have, and while for the first half of her life I admit that we may not have appreciated her as much as she deserved, in the second half we realized what a wonderful little soul she was and really bonded with her and were grateful that she was a part of our lives.

Roxy seemed to be very healthy for her age, and looked very good for her age as well, even to the point that I had begun to call her 'the Sophia Loren of kitties', and I had hoped that she would be one of those very rare cats that made it into her twenties, but I knew her time would come someday and with her age that it could come anytime, though I wish we had had more time with her, and as many animal lovers will say, I wish that she could live longer, as long as us 'hoomans' can live.

After Roxy was put to sleep she was wrapped in my Tardis (her Tardis, now and forever) blanket and placed into a sealed canvas bag that the Humane Society gave us, and then my mom and I took her up to my dads place out in the country up in Washington, and we buried her in a garden area behind their house, under an open sky and next to a fence with a big beautiful green pasture behind it. We also sprinkled some of our friend Bryan's ashes in the grave with her, as our friend Bryan (who passed from cancer about three years ago, and who I also wrote a tribute for) had a special bond with Roxy and she with him whenever he came over to visit us, so we think he would have appreciated if some of his ashes were left with her.

These last few days have been hard for me I admit, especially knowing that I was somehow, in the words of my wife, 'her favorite human', with her wanting to be around me more than any of us, but with that honor I also bonded with her the most I think, so I have been doing a lot of crying the last few days, which is unusual for me, and it has been hard letting her go, and like I was telling a friend a little while ago, it now feels like a part of our home is missing.

A couple nights ago with the encouragement of my friend Annie (who also sadly recently lost her cat Paws) I took about an hour to just hold her in my lap and tell her how I felt about her, apologizing to her for all of those times that I was mean to her or ignored her, especially in the first half of her life, thanked her for being with me for nearly half my life and for all the joy she had given me and telling her how much I loved her and would miss her, and just crying over her while she burrowed quietly in my lap, not understanding my words but maybe understanding how I felt about her on some primal level.

It was still hard to let her go, but I tried to do my best, and am still trying. But I am grateful for the time that I and my family did have with her, and for all the ways she enriched our lives. I also hope that somehow she will live on in spirit. Like my family and I have been saying, maybe Shasta or Bryan or Stephanie were there to help her cross over into whatever spiritual realm there may be for animals beyond this one, which I hope there is. Maybe if all dogs go to heaven, perhaps all cats do too... My medium friend Claire Broad (the author of What The Dead Are Dying To Teach Us) told me, when I shared about losing Roxy with her, that 'She will definitely go into spirit. She’s consciousness after all like we all are. I’ve seen many spirit animals. She’ll be with you still.'

I will try to take that to heart, and I hope that maybe I will see her again someday, somewhere, somehow. But until then I will try to be grateful for the time I had with her, and will try to let her go and move on as best I can. My wife and I are hoping to eventually get another cat after we have had some time to grieve, but we will always remember Roxy and the time we had with her.

So again I know well that compared to the enormity of everything that is going on in our world today that losing an animal can seem like such a small thing, but even so for us it feels like a big thing, and I am grateful to everyone who has offered their condolences and support to us through this, it is much appreciated, thank you.

With all of that said, here is to Roxy, my silly and beautiful and lovable little 'fuzzy daughter', may you rest in peace and I hope that on the other side you have all the treats and laps and love that you could ever want, and I and others will miss you until hopefully someday we meet again.

#roxy #cat #tardis #fuzzy daughter #in memory of

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omgviolette12 · 5 years

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After Hours - A Professor Loki fanfic

Summary: Evelyn Monroe has been a TA for professor Laufeyson’s Calculus course for four months now. He was known to be quite strict, but that never deterred her from applying for the position in order to be close to the man she had been secretly pining for. One evening, she returns to his office after opening hours… and with her bountiful luck, she walks in on something not meant to be seen.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Eventual Romance/Smut

Pairing: Loki / Original female character

Chapters: 1/?

Words: 1681

A/N: The professor Loki fanfic you never asked for ;.; I was gonna wait till I had like… six chapters written in advance till I posted this, but fuck it. I’m fairly consistent, so you don’t have to worry about ‘when the fuck is this gonna update!?’ Anyway, let me know if it’s good so far.

Come check this out, babes!: @milkymaidme @dangertoozmanykids101

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“Excuse me! Sorry, please move! I said move!”

Evelyn spoke as she weaved her way through the busy hallway, bee-lining straight towards Professor Laufeyson’s office.

She had been absent not once, but three times the past two weeks for each one of their meetings, and she could feel that his patience had long vanished.

Until now, being a TA for his calculus course had been smooth sailing - contrary to what herself, and everyone else who had taken his class thought.

When Evelyn opted to take calculus the previous semester, she had already braced herself for failure. Math had never been her strong suit, barely passing even the most basic of classes despite her studious nature.

But under his tutelage, Evelyn had unexpectedly grown a deep love for the subject - and the professor himself.

In class, while professor Laufeyson could be unbearably strict most times, he never failed to find innovative ways to make each lecture fun and engaging. Not only that, he was extremely patient with her when she came for extra help during his office hours. She had even breached his lunchtime on multiple occasions, and not once did he turn her away.

That was why after passing his course with flying colors, Evelyn decided to apply for the TA position as soon as it opened. Admittedly, she had grown attached to the man; not only was he knowledgeable in mathematics, but with subjects ranging from history, literature - anything she could possibly think of.

But now, as she raced towards his office, she steeled herself for a harsh tongue-lashing from her scary professor. One thing that professor Laufeyson hated the most, was tardiness. He had been lenient with her thus far, and Evelyn feared he would think she was taking advantage of his good-will.

Reaching the door to his office, she swung it open in haste.

And there he sat, his mere presence exuding authority. One long elegant leg crossed over the other as he flipped idly through a book, not sparing a glance in her direction. He was even more intimidating with his sharp way of dressing; White dress shirt pressed to perfection, covered by a dark, slim- fit suit vest. Evelyn was a sucker for men in suits, and her professor wore them like no other.

She scuffled inside, closing the door behind her. Evelyn made sure to check if it was closed correctly - perhaps due to its age, the door refused to click most times.

After doing so, she walked to stand in front of his desk, shuffling awkwardly on her feet as she waited for him to speak.

It took several beats of silence before she finally heard his cold voice, “ Enlighten me…what day is it, Miss Monroe?”

Shit…what was today? “Uhm…Taco Tuesday..?”

He looked up from his book to give her a sharp look, “Is this a joking matter to you?”

“N..No..Nope! Uhm..I don’t- what… what was today suppose to be again?” Really Evelyn? Taco Tuesday? That’s the first thing that came to mind?

Sighing, her professor pinched the bridge of his nose before lifting a sheet of paper into view with two fingers.

Teaching Assistant Evaluation Form: Midterm Progress

“I am highly disappointed in the effort being displayed thus far, Miss Monroe. Out of all my other TA’s, I expected much more from you.”

Evelyn gaped stupidly at the paper in his fingers, and then began to panic internally. She had no idea TA’s had midterm evaluations, so she did plan on slacking a tiny bit until finals rolled around.

As an art major, taking three studio classes began to take its toll - so much that even professor Laufeyson became an afterthought. But now faced with the danger of failing, she would have to re-organize her priorities.

“I understand that you have a lot on your plate this semester. However, I would advise that you treat all responsibilities with equal priority.”

“Yes…I’m sorry professor, I promise to make up for all the lost time…”

The look he gave her after she said those words made her extremely uncomfortable. Sharp, and burning with intensity. Uh…did I say something wrong?

Having noticed that he must’ve looked off, he turned his head abruptly back to his book.

“Actions speak more than words, Miss Monroe. Now sit. You have much to make up for.”

And so, for the next three hours, Evelyn worked hard in the suffocating silence of his office grading one too many papers. Her professor never talked much, granted. But he wasn’t usually this quiet with her.

Over the past four months as his TA, they had developed a sort of… companionship. If you could call it that.

She was intimidated at first- and still is, but he was surprisingly easy to converse with. After she assisted him with whatever he had on his plate, they would usually fall into casual conversation, and talked about all manner of things that inevitably drew them closer.

But now…she could sense that he just was watching her, and she could barely concentrate on grading due to nerves.

Evelyn raised her head from the papers to chance a glance at her professor - and sure enough, he was staring at her with furrowed brows, and narrowed blue-green eyes.

What.. what’s his deal? He’s acting so weird…

Evelyn cleared her throat stiffly to breach the silence, “Uh… is everything okay?”

He shot her the unfriendliest look she had ever seen on his face, but spoke in a calm voice that did not match it, “You pull three no-shows, show up late, and then have the audacity to ask if everything’s okay?”

Welp…guess I shouldn’t have asked…

He closed the lid to his book a bit too harshly, causing Evelyn to jump slightly in her seat at the sudden sound.

“You’ve done enough, you may take your leave.”

Evelyn glanced down at the pile of papers she barely managed to make a dent in, “ Oh..but-”

“It is lunchtime, and I’d like to eat in peace. Now please leave.”

At his stern command, Evelyn gathered her things quickly before walking to the door. She glanced over her shoulder to look at her professor one more time, guilt weighing down her heart as she watched him gather the large pile of ungraded exams in front of him.

While she was a student in his class, professor Laufeyson always went above and beyond to make sure she knew the material and spared no effort in tutoring her when she asked for help. He was a busy man, so he rarely showed any other students the same courtesy.

But her lack of effort and laziness not only gave her a poor grade, but unnecessary stress to the person she admired the most.

No wonder he was so affronted with her. She was a terrible student, in addition to being a terrible friend.

Evelyn walked a little around campus aimlessly with a heavy heart, until she went inside a cafe across the street.

She loved the place - it had a cute little reading corner at the back, and she would always order a huge slice of lemon cake to eat while she studied.

And at the thought of cake… Evelyn was suddenly struck with an idea. She recalled, during one of their many casual conversations, that he mentioned having a bit of a sweet tooth.

Even if she couldn’t make up entirely for her poor work ethic, she could at least treat him to a nice, big slice of cake as a start.

After studying for a few hours, she went up to the counter to order the biggest slice of lemon cake they carried.

It was around six in the evening by the time she left the cafe, the skies now a dark purple hue as she scurried across campus with a large cake box.

The cake’s size was a bit overkill - but like her mama always said, go big or go home.

She just hoped he was still there around this time. More than likely he is, with the amount of work she left behind.

Evelyn entered the now empty building where his office was situated, taking care to walk as slowly as possible. She could be a bit clumsy when she was nervous, and at the moment her heart was beating a mile an hour.

Just give him the cake, apologize again, then head on home. No biggie.

He was really pissed with her earlier on though, and she hoped he cooled down considerably since then to accept her gift graciously.

As she slowly approached the office door, Evelyn paused.

Eh… the heck is that sound?

She walked closer to the door, and the sounds grew louder as she did.

Whack! Whack!

Slap!

Evelyn was beyond perplexed. What in the world was he doing in there to make that sound?

She was about to knock when the sound of her professor’s velvety voice through the door caused her to go stock still.

“I am highly disappointed in you, Miss Monroe. Who told you to come?”

Evelyn shivered at the tone of his voice, her eyes growing wide.

How…how did he know I was here? And why’s he talking like that?

She plagued herself with so many questions that she felt herself turning silly.

’‘But… I suppose you’ve been a diligent, good girl. You may come now, Evelyn. Come for me.”

What the…I guess he wants me to come in then?

Without further confirmation, Evelyn twisted the knob to swing the door open.

“Uhm… I’m sorry for - Holy SHIT!”

Little did she know… it wasn’t the ’come in, have some tea!’ type of come, but the sexy, kinky kind.

Evelyn all but threw the cake inside the room with a surprised yelp, shocked at the sight that now tainted her poor virgin eyes.

Her beautiful professor… whom she secretly admired… was currently balls deep within a fortunate female victim - paddle in hand as he fucked her mercilessly against the obviously sturdy surface of his mahogany desk.

Good? Bad? Worth pursuing? Let me know~

#loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki smut #tom hiddleston fanfiction #professor loki #tom hiddleston fic

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